Reading Autobiography of a Blue-Eyed Devil again

Struck hard by this:

We could also dabble into why pro-life people aren’t beating down Calyx & Corolla’s door in outrage at the death to innocents that the rose plantation poisons perpetuate, and why the lives of Ecuadorean children aren’t as important as the lives of (white) U.S. children, and why a woman choosing to terminate a pregnancy is somehow considered more murderous than the systematic occupational siege under which the rose plantation employees and their reproductive systems exist, and why environmental crimes against poor women are not included in mainstream feminist discourse about reproductive rights, and why the fuck we consciously and unconsciously attribute value to people’s lives based on their religion, class, and/or skin color, but, alas, we need to get back on topic here.

First of all, WORD, Inga. Word. Second of all, reminds me of the project I did in the African American Women’s Experience class about forced sterilization, and the nasty realization that it’s still happening and no one really seems to give a shit about it. White women having abortions? Oh, lawdy, NO! Women of color being forcibly sterilized? NBD. (/hefty helping of sarcasm and bitterness about the state of things)

These are painful but absolutely necessary things to keep in mind. And the more I work on this, and the closer I get to really seeing things with clarity and understanding, the more important it’s going to be to hold onto things that bring me joy, to save my sanity. Or my blood pressure.

Also reminds me of the crux of The Newsroom: Why is America the best nation in the world? It’s not. But it can be. (And also, “You.”)


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