How I Became Active in the RJ Movement
Prior to 2023, I, like many people outside of the Reproductive Justice (RJ) movement, did not understand what the framework truly meant. I bought into the dominant narrative centering cisgender, heterosexual white women’s experiences with abortion, mainly because I did not realize there was a difference between RJ and reproductive rights. Although I did share in the belief that birthing people should have the right to abortion, I also recognized that the narrow focus on reproductive rights was not satisfying. I longed for a space that centered my perspectives as a low-income Black queer nonbinary woman, acknowledged the interconnected nature of all oppressive systems, and shared my vision for the future. Reproductive Justice gave me that.
As a freshman at Spelman College, I was still figuring out what activism meant to me and where I fit within larger movements for justice. Spelman set the foundation for my involvement with RJ, as my professors challenged me to look at how systems of oppression like racism and misogyny work together to oppress Black women through misogynoir. Making these connections led me to ask more questions: How do activists bridge the gap between seemingly disparate yet interconnected and interdependent systems of oppression? Who is leading the fight against these overlapping systems, and what strategies are they using? What does true liberation look like when we center those most impacted?
During my time at Spelman, I was exposed to several readings that unknowingly were foundational texts to the RJ framework, such as the Combahee River Collective Statement and Cherríe Moraga and Gloria Anzaldúa’s critical text, This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color. One of the most influential writers I was introduced to was Audre Lorde, who describes herself as a Black lesbian, mother, warrior, poet. Lorde’s work was focused on the intersections of race, gender, sexuality, and power, emphasizing the necessity of self-expression and embracing differences in order to obtain collective liberation. Reading Lorde’s work was a spiritual experience as I had never had someone make me feel as seen as she did with her poetic prose.
I first became explicitly aware of RJ during the spring semester of my freshman year at Spelman College. Having a desire for community and connection, I became a member of the event programming team for Afrekete, the college’s first and only queer organization on campus. When the opportunity arose to join Afrekete’s executive board, my connection to Audre Lorde made the decision a no-brainer, as Lorde was deeply embedded in Afrekete’s history. In fact, the organization was named in honor of Audre Lorde, who uses the name in her biomythography Zami: A New Spelling of My Name. The African-derived word meaning Black mother and goddess represented Lorde’s process of self-discovery and becoming in the book. It was pure happenstance that it was ultimately Afrekete that would facilitate my passion for RJ.
One of the major events that advanced my journey towards RJ was Afrekete’s Pride Week, a series of curated events centering Spelman’s queer population and aiming to create spaces for visibility, joy, and activism. As part of the week-long spree of events, we hosted “Reproductive Justice Through the Lens of Queerness,” a workshop connecting queerness to RJ and highlighting how LGBTQ+ experiences intersect with RJ’s broader fights for gender-affirming care, bodily autonomy, and economic justice.
In preparation for the conversation, I needed to know more about RJ. This led me to stumble across In Our Own Voice: National Black Women’s Reproductive Justice Agenda, an organization that uplifts the voices of Black women, femmes, and gender-expansive people in the fight for Reproductive Justice by advocating for policy change, community engagement, and leadership development. In Our Own Voice’s website provided social and political context for RJ – a framework developed by 12 Black women in 1994 that expands beyond pro-choice narratives to address the systemic barriers impacting bodily autonomy. This description, pushing beyond the edges of what I assumed RJ to be, helped me see the framework as more than just a movement that addresses abortion access but ensures that all people are able to live safe, healthy, embodied lives, free from oppression.
Since becoming involved in the RJ movement, I have focused on improving the quality of sex education taught to students of all ages. I believe a holistic and intersectional approach to comprehensive sex education can serve as a proactive strategy for addressing issues like sexual assault and violence, the contraction of sexually transmitted diseases (STDs), and unplanned pregnancies. By providing students with resources and skills like emotional intelligence and conflict resolution, we can equip them with the necessary tools to navigate both platonic and romantic relationships with autonomy and agency. By integrating an intersectional lens that addresses the multiple, overlapping, and intersecting identities that shape the quality of one’s sexual health and pleasure, we can begin to reject the stigmatization of sex and sexuality.
Having been engaged in the RJ movement for almost a year now, I have begun to find my purpose in this work. I am here to create safe spaces for people to learn more about RJ and equip them with the knowledge and resources needed for them to not only live a better life but also teach others to do the same. I am here to make concepts and theories more accessible to those outside of academia and bridge the gap between theory and practice. As time goes on, I will continue to grow within the movement and hopefully become a director of an RJ organization like URGE one day.
Bio: Angel W. is a trailblazing first-generation student at Spelman College, majoring in Comparative Women’s Studies with a unique concentration in Pleasure Activism and a minor …
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