I believed that if someone tried to rape me, there would be nothing I could do. When I took a self-defense class, I found out I was wrong.
I investigated and handled claims of workplace discrimination and harassment every day during my 12 years as an employment attorney—and I was experiencing precisely such discrimination and harassment from my own employer.
Like many children of immigrants, there is a seed planted deep within me that sprouts hesitation when it comes to fully claiming to be an American. Watching the President tell “the squad” to “go back to their countries” reminded me why.
Unless you are part of the narrow demographic of rich, white men deemed to have rights in 1776, this new Trump administration commission won’t protect you.
These were the subversive sisterhood of saints unsung in most seminaries, unheard of in most congregations, missing in the stained glass and absent in the canons codified by patriarchy. One decade ago, I began to paint them and write about them.
Participants and speakers at the UN Women U.S. National Committee Los Angeles chapter’s General Assembly were asked one question when the event began: When was the first time you felt displaced?
The world that we are currently taught to recognize is one where women—and, especially, poor women of color—are so inessential that if they disappear, we don’t even notice.
The title is perhaps melodramatic—but publishing a quarterly periodical means that occasionally there is scrambling to pull together an issue. This is particularly true when the journal, like Sinister Wisdom, is an all-volunteer enterprise.
Women in the U.S., now facing down anti-abortion laws across the country and a domestic gag rule replicating the dangerous policies the Trump administration administers abroad, find themselves considering a dismal future for their reproductive health and rights—and wondering what life under an abortion ban would look like. They don’t have to look far.
I am too often asked to recount my career trajectory as an example of female triumph against the stacked odds of a male dominated orchestral field. But frankly, I am tired of waging this battle on traditional grounds.