Tobi Hill-Meyer on Trans Organizing in the LGBT Movement

Tobi Hill-Meyer, delivering the keynote at the Trans Justice Summit in OR. 

November is Transgender Awareness Month. As the month wraps up, Strong Families is taking this opportunity to highlight and celebrate the work of Basic Rights Oregon to support and celebrate transgender leaders.

On a rainy November afternoon, more than 55 trans activists and leaders from across Oregon attended the third annual Trans Justice Summit. The Summit was part of the Basic Rights Oregon’s Trans Justice Program, and is a space intentionally created to build the skills of trans folks who have often been pushed out of the LGB movement.

Tobi Hill-Meyer, a former Oregonian who now calls Seattle home, was the keynote speaker. She is an activist, writer, and filmmaker, her most recent work is Doing It Again. Strong Families had a chance to catch up after the summit to talk about her reflections on the work, the state of the movement, and challenges ahead.

What did you want folks attending to take away from your keynote?

Tobi: The main things I wanted them to take away is a sense of how to create a movement and community that is strong, capable and can take care of each other—while still being able to get the work done!

What do you think of the current priorities of the LGBT movement?

Tobi: Well, it’s no secret that I am worried about us becoming a single issue movement. Marriage is clearly the issue that’s taking priority right now, and I think that marriage is not a unifying issue in the trans community. Marriage is not the problem per say, but a single issue focus that ignores other important issues is the problem.

Not only is it a contentious issue in the trans community, but the way the politics have played out in the LGBT movement are also problematic. Trans folks have often been told to wait their turn. But somehow it never seems to be the trans community’s turn? For example, Massachusetts and New York both cut gender identity from non-discrimination bills in the early 2000’s, and then went on to deal with marriage without “coming back” for trans folks.

As a trans organizer, I believe that when LGBT orgs lose the ability to speak for trans issues, it’s a loss for all of us, not just the trans community. LGBT organizations often try to fit trans issues in, but it is not the focus of their work. For example, some LGBT organizations have taken on employment non-discrimination. It's an important issue, but often it's prioritized because it also impacts non-trans gays and lesbians and they aren't aware of or don't seem to care about other priorities within the trans community like health care, police profiling or prisoner rights. 

Participants at the Trans Justice Summit

How do you think that we should handle disagreement in the LGBT community? Building on that, how do we foster and build greater accountability?

Tobi: I’m really interested in some of the dynamics within the LGBT community about how we handle disagreement and hurtful behavior. I've seen too many instances of where someone does something—puts out something that is unintentionally racist, is part of some kind of violence—and the community response is to ostracize them.

Now I’m not saying that we should tolerate racism or violence or anything that is hurtful and dangerous to folks in our community. But how do we avoid blacklisting? It doesn't help the community—it just isolates and shuts folks down. We need build a culture of loving accountability that holds people in our communities responsible for actions that might be hurtful and also recognizes that people can grow, evolve and change.

What was it like to be back in Oregon and back at Basic Rights?

Tobi: It was really nice to be in that space, it’s great working with folks I have more of a history with. I grew up in Oregon and worked with Basic Rights for almost a decade before moving to Seattle.

Ten years ago I was one of the complainers that sometimes people didn't want to hear from. But almost all of the things I used to criticize BRO for have shifted – they have done a lot of work. There’s a tangible difference between LGBT organizations and Trans groups. But I've seen BRO shift enough that they are a Trans organization too – and they are pretty much one of the only groups I can say that of.

Tobi Hill-Meyer is a multiracial trans activist, writer, and filmmaker with over a decade experience working with feminist and LGBTQ organizations on a local, state, and federal level, having served on several boards and offering support as a strategic consultant. She is the director of Doing It Ourselves, and winner of the Emerging Filmmaker Award at the 2010 Feminist Porn Awards. Find out more at www.doingitonline.com.

Shame From All Angles: Why Doesn’t Anyone Seem to Respect Teen Parents?

A new article by Echoing Ida member Gloria Malone was just published at RH Reality Check, about the lack of respect shown to teen parents. An excerpt:

While right-wing anti-choicers hog the spotlight when it comes to judging personal decisions, people of all political and ideological persuasions perpetuate the idea that teenage pregnancy is inherently terrible, and confuse supporting teen parents with encouraging teen pregnancy.
Even among those of us who agree people should be able to make their own sexual and reproductive decisions, we’re often on different sides when it comes to how we can best support teens’ bodily autonomy. While some advocates use tactics meant to scare teens out of having sex, others focus on health education, and a few go further to ensure support for those who are pregnant and parenting.

 When a Ms. Blog writer wrote a post about the #NoTeenShame campaign, many of the commenters—ostensibly liberals, feminists, and/or progressives—were quick to sound off about teen parenthood as a terrible decision, and to argue that scaring teens about pregnancy is a good thing. For these commenters and others who think like them, it seems sexual freedom is great as long as you’re not a teen who becomes pregnant and chooses to parent.

Read the full article here.

Echoing Ida is a Strong Families project that uplifts the voices of Black women in the reproductive and social justice movements.

Why Don't More People Care About Black Maternal Deaths?

This article was published at RH Reality Check, written by Cynthia R. Greenlee, an Echoing Ida member talking about the failure within the United States to adequately address Black women's reproductive health needs. It's part of an ongoing series of perspectives on the Affordable Care Act. 

Echoing Ida is a Strong Families project that uplifts the voices of Black women in the reproductive and social justice movements. Our writers have been published in online media outlets as part of our campaign to provide historical, critical, and candid perspectives on health care just as the Affordable Care Act is rolling out. An excerpt:

In September, 19-year-old Ayaanah Gibson bled to death in her Benedict College dorm room after delivering a stillborn child. Gibson was within walking distance of the campus health center and a few miles from multiple health facilities in Columbia, South Carolina.

Gibson, a first-year student from Sacramento, had survived a battle with brain cancer to die alone a month into her college career. Her death is a cautionary tale about how seriously the United States needs to take its maternal mortality problem and, secondly, how barriers to adolescent sexual and reproductive health care can turn a common event —an apparent unplanned pregnancy—into a preventable tragedy.

What kept Ayaanah Gibson from getting life-saving care for herself and her child? We can only speculate. It’s unclear that Gibson was aware she was pregnant, whether she was in denial or concealing her condition for some reason.

Read Cynthia's full article here.

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Read more about the series here, and check back for additional articles from the series.

Join the #SexEdSaga Twitter Party on Friday Oct 18th because #SafeIsSexy

by Eddie Chao, Fiona Tang, Sidhartha Taruc, and Trang Vo of Forward Together Youth

Remember when we brought you 20 Condoms, that catchy safer sex jam that got you singing along to the tune of Macklemore’s Thrift Shop? Well, we’ve done it again! We’re gearing up to release our 2nd video THIS FRIDAY and want YOU to help us lead a conversation about safer sex by and for young people.

Social media is a way youth can spread information through a medium they’re experts in, which is why we are hosting, along with Advocates for Youth, a #SexEdSaga Twitter Party THIS FRIDAY, 10/18 @ 11am PST!

Our #SexEdSaga Twitter Party is an opportunity for young people to explore and use Twitter in order to bring visibility to youth-of-color led efforts around the need for comprehensive sex education that is relevant to ALL young people.

Youth in this generation have been using social media inside and out to spread their messages across the web. These tools, especially twitter, are essential to start as well as sustain a youth-led campaign. Our #SexEdSaga Twitter Party is the perfect opportunity for all young people to harness this 21st century skill and apply it to our organizing work.

Participating in this Twitter Party means helping us bring visibility to our campaign and gaining supporters who will see that we are youth being active in what we are passionate about. We want youth voices to be heard, and taken seriously, and we want to have fun while making it a reality.

The twitter party is open to anyone and is a way for others to help us lead the conversation! We’ll be talking about how to have “The Talk”, youth created media, and strategies for STI / HIV prevention from a youth perspective.

Join us on Friday by jumping on Twitter and using the #SexEdSaga hashtag. You can also follow along with #SafeIsSexy, because, well, it's true.

Continuing the Fight for Medicaid Expansion in Montana

By Sarah Howell

I sat down to write a piece on access to health care, but I can’t help but mention that we are well into week two of government shutdown with no end in sight. This government shutdown is an unnecessary and aggressive tactic in a war on the idea that government – any government – can be a force for good. We live in a time when so many families and communities are struggling and we need effective, proactive policy solutions. Instead, Congress has shut down the federal government because they refuse to pass a budget that invests in the programs and services our communities need. Congress deserves to hear from all of us: (202) 224-3121 or house.gov if you want to be in touch.

Earlier this year, Montana had the opportunity to expand our Medicaid program to provide affordable, quality health care to 70,000 low-income Montanans. Expanding Medicaid would provide an economic boost, creating jobs and bringing federal tax dollars back into the state. Expanding Medicaid would provide health care to 20,000 American Indians and 8,000 uninsured veterans. It would stop the closure of rural hospitals and clinics.

For Rachael, expanding Medicaid would mean getting treatment for her fibromyalgia – treatment she’s currently unable to get because she makes $80 a month over the current Medicaid eligibility limit. For Jennifer, it means getting care for herself and her three kids in her small hometown, instead of driving 90 miles round-trip to access a sliding scale clinic. For Brenda, expanding Medicaid means finally getting the surgery she needs for a neck injury she got in a car accident three years ago.

So it seems like a no-brainer, right? We should jump on this opportunity to make sure our family, neighbors, and community members can get access to health care. Sadly, that’s not how this story goes.

Despite significant statewide support for expansion, conservative out-of-touch leaders in our state legislature blocked efforts to pass a bill expanding Medicaid in Montana. They did so by refusing to allow the state house to vote on the bill. If we had seen a vote, we believe the bill would have passed. Throughout the session, reasonable legislators on both sides of the aisle came together to find a compromise. On the final day that Medicaid expansion was debated in the session, we lost a vote on whether to allow the bill to move to the floor by one vote – and that one vote was a Democrat who accidentally voted the wrong way because he wasn't paying attention. (Life lesson: pay attention when important stuff is happening!) We came very, very close to getting this done.

In Montana, working together is a fact of life. We all know each other and we have to work together to win. But in all my years of organizing, I've never seen a coalition as broad, diverse, and strong as the coalition that came together around Medicaid expansion. Health care providers, business owners, county commissioners, moms and dads, seniors, hospital administrators, farmers and ranchers, labor unions, low-income families – the list goes on. These folks made phone calls, wrote letters, drove hundreds of miles to the Capitol to testify (in snowy February no less!), talked to the press, and shared personal stories. It is nothing more than a shameful failure that conservative legislators ignored their constituents and community members and instead played politics with people’s health.

Fortunately, the story’s not over. (In fact, we think when it comes to organizing for change, the story’s never over!) All those people who poured their hearts, free time, and energy into the fight this spring are back at it. We are asking Governor Steve Bullock, an ally and supporter of Medicaid expansion, to call a special session of the legislature to finish the job left unfinished last April. If that doesn't work, we’ll consider going to the ballot with an initiative. We believe the stakes are simply too high to quit. We believe it is our responsibility as a state and as a nation to take care of our neighbors and community members, especially those most vulnerable and those going without. Access to health care is not a privilege or meant only for those that can afford it. We have the means, the opportunity, and the core values to provide health care to thousands of Montanans. Let’s do this.

Sarah joined Montana Women Vote as Co-Director in February of 2012. Before coming to MWV, she worked as a Field Organizer and Trainer at the Western States Center, a regional social justice non-profit, in Portland OR. She has organized in seven states across the country and has worked on issues ranging from HIV prevention policy and access to health care to LGBT equality and economic justice.

How Racial Impact Legislation is Working to Address Racism in Oregon

By Shannon Wight, Partnership for Safety and Justice

Five years ago I moved back to my hometown, Portland, Oregon. I had lived in New Orleans for the better part of the previous 15 years. The differences between the two cultures are vast. New Orleans is an older city and its history vibrates from every French Quarter building, Cajun meal, Delta blues song, and easy conversation in grocery store lines or at trolley stops. New Orleans is a majority African-American city.

Portland is newer, still struggling to find its identity, but proud of its progressive politics, its commitment to the environment, and its food that is both delicious and good for you. Portland is 90% Caucasian.

Still, New Orleans, seated squarely within the Deep South, is considered one of the many bastions of overt racism in the region. (Indeed, before moving to New Orleans, I had several white people warn me against the move "because it's so racist there!")

Despite many visits to Portland, when I left New Orleans and returned home, I experienced some culture shock. Maybe I could have anticipated that. But what I didn't expect was how much harder it is for people—white people—in Oregon to talk about race and racism than it is for people in the South. In fact, hardly anyone even says the word racism in Oregon. (We say "bias" or, simply, "I didn't mean it that way.")

Given the extreme difficulty Oregonians have in talking about race and racism and the devastating impact that both racism and silence about racism have on our criminal justice polices, it was exciting to be part of passing a piece of legislation that is explicitly, and solely, about race and "bias."

This year Oregon became the fourth state in the country, following Iowa, Connecticut, and Minnesota, to enact racial impact statement legislation. The now-signed-into-law bill will allow two legislators to make a request to the Oregon Criminal Justice Commission to produce an estimate of whether or not a proposed law would disproportionately impact people of color.

This legislation makes sense to me for this reason: Every bill that goes through the legislature has to have a fiscal impact statement. These statements let us know if a bill is going to cost the state money, and if it will, experts estimate the approximate amount the state would need to spend to implement that law.

Similarly, racial impact statements will give legislators information about whether or not a specific piece of criminal justice or child welfare legislation will have a disproportionate impact on communities of color. We don't question the need to know if a bill is going to cost the state money. Shouldn't we also be willing to know if a law is (even unintentionally) biased?

Some people mistakenly believe that there is no bias in our legal system. People commit crimes, they are convicted, and the system simply reflects that reality. That just is not the case. One of the clearest examples of racial bias in our laws is the disparity in federal sentences for crack cocaine versus powder cocaine. Although they are essentially the same drug, African Americans are disproportionately arrested for and convicted of possessing crack and are sentenced to a term 18 times longer than someone convicted of having powder cocaine. (Notably, the ratio is now 18:1; it used to be 100:1.) In another example, some crimes have increased penalties if they are committed close to a school. Because people of color tend to live in cities, they also live closer to schools, and therefore if they commit a crime in their neighborhood they can be subjected to a longer sentence because of where they live.

Laws like these don't just impact individuals. When black and brown people serve longer sentences, their children, families, and communities suffer as well.

Some have wondered if racial impact statements are meant to lessen appropriate accountability for crime. Of course not. In fact, the opposite is true. Racial impact statements are designed to help make accountability fair and impartial. Data has demonstrated that we have a problem with bias in our systems; racial impact statements have the potential to help address entrenched racial disparities.

Passing this law was no small feat. After multiple attempts over more than five years, Senator Chip Shields finally succeeded during the 2013 legislative session in making racial impact statements part of Oregon law. During the first attempts the bill didn't even make it out of committee, the first step in passing a bill. This session, Senator Jackie Winters and Representative Joe Gallegos (two of a very small handful of legislators of color) joined Shields in sponsoring the bill. Over the intervening years, Senator Shields set up a working group that included numerous social justice organizations including the Urban League, the Center for Intercultural Organizing, the Partnership for Safety and Justice (my organization), and others, who continued their support over the years. Shields also won the backing of the Oregon Criminal Justice Commission (whose lack of support had been a barrier in the past) by getting them the information they needed to understand how to produce racial impact statements.

Will racial impact statements actually change the disproportionate and racist impact of criminal justice policies in Oregon? It’s hard to tell. What we do know is that Oregon policymakers will have to start talking about race when they consider policies that might tear families apart and create unnecessary costs for the state. While conversation isn’t enough, it’s only by exposing the racism of our system that we can begin dismantling it.

 Shannon Wight is the Deputy Director for the Partnership for Safety and Justice. The Partnership for Safety and Justice unites those most affected by crime, violence, and the criminal justice system (survivors of crime, people convicted of crime, and the families of both) to advance approaches that redirect policies and resources from an over-reliance on incarceration, to effective strategies that reduce violence and recidivism, and increase personal and community safety.

Prior to joining the Partnership for Safety and Justice, Shannon served as Policy Director for Innocence Project New Orleans Shannon worked for the public defender’s office in Portland, Oregon before moving to the Deep South in 1994 to investigate death penalty cases in Louisiana. In 1997, she co-founded the Juvenile Justice Project of Louisiana.

The 3 Questions That Every American Should Ask About Obamacare

As part of the ongoing Echoing Ida series on health care reform, journalist Dani McClain interviewed Echoing Ida writer Malika Redmond, Exective Director of SPARK Reproductive Justice NOW, for her PolicyMic article on the new health reform laws.

An excerpt of Malika's comments:

Look at a map of which states have decided to expand Medicaid by raising household income eligibility to 138% of the federal poverty level, and you’ll see the Southeast cordoned off like a big block of “no.” Legislatures and governors there have taken advantage of the Supreme Court’s ruling last year that this aspect of the ACA should be left up to state decision makers and can’t be mandated by the federal government. But many of these politicians are acting against the will of their constituents, as poll results released this summer revealed. 

Malika Redmond, executive director of SPARK Reproductive Justice NOW, is one such constituent. Last month, she stood outside the Georgia State Capitol along with representatives from the Atlanta chapter of the National Domestic Workers Alliance and demanded that Republican Governor Nathan Deal reverse his position and agree to expand Medicaid.
Redmond’s reproductive justice work puts her in touch primarily with LGBTQ youth of color between the ages of 18 and 25 and with black women. She says these populations struggle to find secure jobs and that inconsistent income makes it hard to commit to a premium( or monthly payment on a health plan), even with the government subsidies that will be available under the new system. 

“What happens if you lose your job? What happens if you’re in a plan but now you can’t afford that plan? In a state like Georgia, it’s just too bad,” Redmond said. “Medicaid expansion is the only safety net. It’s the only piece that allows for the fact that people’s lives fluctuate, and sometimes they’re employed and sometimes they’re not." 

The one Southern governor who’s gone on record as sharing Redmond’s way of thinking is Democrat Steve Beshear of Kentucky, whose op-ed in The New York Times last week explained why his state will make Medicaid more widely available. If you’re interested in watching how things unfold in Southern states with obstructionist leadership, keep one eye on Kentucky as a point of comparison.

Read the full article here.

Echoing Ida is a Strong Families project that uplifts the voices of Black women in the reproductive and social justice movements. Our writers have been published in online media outlets as part of our campaign to provide historical, critical, and candid perspectives on health care just as the Affordable Care Act is rolling out.

Where the Safety Net Won’t Catch Us: How Obamacare Fails Black Women on Maternal Health

The third article in the Echoing Ida health care series is by Elizabeth Dawes Gay, published at RH Reality Check. Her article addresses the major challenges facing Black women when it comes to maternal health, and the ways in which the ACA may fall short in addressing them.

I am what I like to think of as a “young and fun” 20-something. I am a healthy young adult with a decent education and income, and I feel safe in my neighborhood. But the growing sense of my own mortality haunts me. Specifically, what haunts me is that I am a Black woman living in the United States, and I hope to create a family by giving birth some day. As a reproductive health advocate, and someone who is particularly interested in maternal health, I am all too aware of the weight of the evidence against me. When it comes to seamless and successful conception, pregnancy, childbirth, and recovery, the odds are not in my favor.

I am the product of a nation in which Black women—regardless of their income or education levels—are more likely than their white counterparts to experience poor pregnancy outcomes.

• Overall, the rate of maternal mortality among Black women is three times that of white women (28.4 per 100,000 live births and 10.5 per 100,000 live births, respectively).
• The rate of maternal mortality among Black women in New York City, at 79 per 100,000 live births, is worse than that of some of the most under-resourced countries.
• Black women are also more likely to give birth prematurely and to have infants with low or very low birth weight.
• Black women are two times more likely to suffer from severe maternal morbidity than their white counterparts.

Racial disparities in maternal health outcomes are intolerable; yet, they have been tolerated for decades. So while reproductive health, rights, and justice advocates celebrate the October 1 launch of open enrollment in the health insurance marketplace, I cannot help but reflect on how the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act (ACA) fails me and so many women just like me.

It’s fantastic that ACA will put access to health care in the hands of millions more people and provide important preventive services and products, such as contraception, at no cost to the person seeking care. The renewed commitment to preventive health services via the ACA is important and should be celebrated, but not overestimated. While improving access to prenatal health care and maternal health services, ACA ignores the social, economic, and psychological factors outside of the health system that affect health and pregnancy outcomes. These factors are known as social determinants of health.

Read Elizabeth's full article here.




Echoing Ida is a Strong Families project that uplifts the voices of Black women in the reproductive and social justice movements. Our writers have been published in online media outlets as part of our campaign to provide historical, critical, and candid perspectives on health care just as the Affordable Care Act is rolling out.  

Beyond Benefits and Body Parts: Obamacare and Black Trans Health

An article from the Echoing Ida series on health care was published at Ebony this week. It's coauthored by Renee Bracey Sherman and Kelly Eusaint Lewis, and addresses the question of whether the ACA will improve the situation for Black trans* people.

Starting today, open enrollment for the Affordable Care Act (ACA) will set in motion a trifecta of change. The ACA adds protections for many, expands coverage for services once considered rare, and ensures the vast majority of the population will receive affordable preventive care. With Black folks more likely to die from cancer, and higher rates of diabetes and heart disease, the preventive care made available in the ACA is crucial, but as gains are made for some, adequate health care is still a distant dream for many of the most vulnerable and misunderstood among us. Whether trying to get a basic doctor’s visit, mental health services, or HIV/AIDS related care, Black trans* people have an uphill and often dangerous battle.

The ACA deals with technical issues that have prevented many trans* individuals from obtaining insurance. It prevents insurance companies from turning away trans* health care seekers, dropping current clients from coverage because of their gender identity, and canceling trans* clients’ insurance due to paperwork mistakes, including misgendering a client or using a former name. This is great news, but for many, insurance is unaffordable and competent care is not available due to bias and inexperience.

Even when covered by a major health insurance company in the San Francisco Bay Area—the epicenter of cutting-edge trans* healthcare—it was difficult for Kelly Lewis to find competent care. "The doctor told me he didn’t feel comfortable prescribing shots, so he wanted to start me on the patches," Lewis was told by a doctor when seeking testosterone hormones. “I felt that this physician was more of a gatekeeper than a provider,” he continued. After requesting to change doctors, Lewis was asked by the office to stay because the doctor wanted to learn about transgender healthcare—on his body. While the provider’s intent to learn more about trans* health care appeared noble, no one should have to be treated as an experiment especially given the sordid history of experimentation on Black bodies in this country. The lack of education among providers and the ongoing stigma facing Black trans* people factor prominently in health disparities in the Black trans* community—the ACA does not specifically address healthcare discrimination based on gender identity or expression,** which is a prevalent experience.

Read the full article at EBONY.

Echoing Ida is a Strong Families project that uplifts the voices of Black women in the reproductive and social justice movements. Our writers have been published in online media outlets as part of our campaign to provide historical, critical, and candid perspectives on health care just as the Affordable Care Act is rolling out.  

One of New York’s 2.7 Million Uninsured Asks: Will I Finally Be Able to Afford Health Insurance?

This is the first piece published in the Echoing Ida health care series launched this week.

Echoing Ida is a Strong Families project that uplifts the voices of Black women in the reproductive and social justice movements. Our writers have been published in online media outlets as part of our campaign to provide historical, critical, and candid perspectives on health care just as the Affordable Care Act is rolling out.

The first article is published at RH Reality Check, written by Taja Lindley, an Echoing Ida member talking about her own experience as an uninsured person exploring the possibilities offered to her by the ACA.

I am one of nearly 2.7 million New Yorkers (approximately 16 percent of the state’s population) under age 65 who does not have health insurance coverage. Since January 2012, I’ve relied on healthy eating habits, home remedies, rest, and prayer: “Lord, please don’t let me get hit by a car when I ride my bike today. Allow for safe travels. Amen.”

I come from a family full of Black women who work as nurses and in other health-care professions, so visiting the doctor has been a habit and priority my entire life. That is, until it no longer fit into my budget. After paying for rent, ever-increasing public transportation in New York City, student loans, food, and utilities, not to mention my debt payments and household needs, there is barely enough left over to save, let alone pay for health insurance out-of-pocket.

For the past couple of years, the combination of unemployment insurance benefits, part-time jobs, and side gigs has made me ineligible for Medicaid and other state funded health-care programs. And during the moments when I relied on unemployment insurance alone, my income was still too high for me to qualify for subsidized health care. When the Affordable Care Act changed the rules so that young adults could be covered through their parent’s health insurance, I was employed at a full-time job with health benefits. My job ended soon after I turned 27, a year too old to qualify.

Read Taja's full article here. 

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Read more about the series here, and check back for additional articles from the series.  

Echoing Ida Dispels Myths and Gets Real About Health Care Reform

By Alicia M. Walters 

Echoing Ida writers L to R: Amber Phillips,
Elizabeth Dawes Gay, Cynthia Greenlee, Annika Leonard,
Shanelle Matthews, Jazmine Walker, Renee Bracey Sherman,
Malika Redmond, Jasmine Burnett,
Bianca Campbell, Alicia Walters, and Samantha Daley

Despite the shut down of the federal government, the Affordable Care Act, commonly and now affectionately known as ObamaCare, continues to roll out.  Yesterday, millions of uninsured and curious individuals began flooding www.healthcare.gov to find out whether they really could get health coverage, many for the first time in their lives. Like clockwork, those who would deny millions access to the care they need are attempting to do so by also denying pay to millions of federal workers and those who need access to programs like WIC and Head Start. For those of us involved in Echoing Ida—the Strong Families project that highlights Black women’s voices—these attempts to deny our basic human rights to health care, food, and education are nothing new. But with the onset of ObamaCare, for the first time, our communities have, as Echoing Ida writer Jasmine Burnett puts it, “a unique opportunity to bury the medical wrongs of the past that have had a negative impact on Black Americans.”

And yet, those of us with long histories of such medical mistreatment—who have endured the ridicule of the nation as we attempt to access public programs to sustain our families—have a sense that the potential for our health equity may come at a price. When the first Black president made a way (albeit an insurance-company driven one) for us to access care, it came with hateful protests many of us would like to forget. For those protesters and the political right, ensuring health care to millions of people by expanding Medicaid is an opportunity to roll out the welfare queen tropes of old. As an estimated 11 to 13 million Americans, many of whom are people of color, begin accessing care, what will those protestors have to say? What will pundits and officials say about who deserves health care?

Rather than wait for the nonsensical attacks to begin, Echoing Ida is launching a campaign to put forth historical, critical, and seldom heard views on the complexity of health care and its relationship to the Black community.

We are writing from and to our own communities: because we deserve to know the truth about our own health disparities.

We are writing to educate the public: sharing the historical barriers to health care and solutions to overcome them.

We are writing to counter stereotypes: for we have cared for ourselves, our families, and communities by any means necessary and through the richness and strength of our bonds.

Already, Elizabeth Dawes Gay has shared a critical aspect of Black women’s health where unfortunately, ObamaCare falls short. In Where the Safety Net Won’t Catch Us, she shares why the maternal mortality rate for Black women in the U.S. is worse than that of many under-resourced countries; that while ObamaCare expands access to prenatal care for all women, it does nothing to impact what's really causing maternal deaths: the stress of racism.

While most mainstream news outlets talk about health care in the Black community solely as an issue of Medicaid expansion, Echoing Ida writer Taja Lindley discusses her personal challenges and decisions around obtaining health care as the daughter of generations of nurses and health care professionals. She shares her journey navigating the health exchanges in New York not as one who is afraid to access care, but knowing she deserves to afford it.

Renee Bracey Sherman and co-author Kelly Eusaint Lewis were published today in Ebony’s online magazine with an educational piece about the challenges faced by Black trans* people, one of the most marginalized and misunderstood communities.

Echoing Ida is not stopping there. Look out for pieces from other writers on breast cancer disparities and the ACA; whether the navigators will fulfill on cultural competency in historically disenfranchised Black communities; how Black communities have cared for ourselves despite centuries without adequate health care; a young person’s journey through ObamaCare; and a moving piece on safe motherhood for Black women.

This campaign is about more than ObamaCare, the latest rhetoric, or political fight. Echoing Ida is focusing on health care because we have a collective opportunity to focus on the health promotion of our communities that have been long described as unhealthy and unworthy of assistance. As always, we will be critical, honest, and candid. We will move you to action and shed light on injustice. As Ida B. Wells did, so we will continue to do toward stronger families and healthier communities.

Alicia M. Walters is the coordinator and a participant in Echoing Ida. She is founder and principal consultant at Creative Justice Works where she works with organizations on communications, policy advocacy, and movement-building. 

TPM: How To Ditch Hyde Anti-Abortion Law And Win Elections

Our friends over at TPM (Talking Points Memo) have published a proposal to all politicians. The article is a response to the 37^th anniversary of the Hyde Amendment, abortion access, women in politics, and the importance of funding reproductive healthcare.

“How to Ditch Hyde Anti-Abortion Law And Win Elections” is an Op-Ed article collaboratively written by Forward Together’s Executive Director Eveline Shen, and Reproductive Health Technologies Project’s President and CEO Jessica Arons. Below is a short excerpt of the insightful piece,

“There is a new generation of activists rising up and they are looking for leaders who are bold, for champions who are unafraid to buck convention and stand up for what is right. They want elected officials to address their needs and the needs of their communities. They want action not platitudes. And opposing the Hyde Amendment, believe it or not, just might give lawmakers that opening. 

The Hyde Amendment, a law that withholds Medicaid coverage for abortion care from low-income women, turns 37 today. Spurred by the purported rationale that taxes should not go toward abortion, the measure has not only been expanded over the course of nearly four decades to deny abortion coverage to virtually any woman who receives health insurance or care from the government; it has become one of the most entrenched policies of all time.“ 

Head over to TPM to read the rest of the article. You may also follow our coverage of the Hyde Anniversary on Twitter and Facebook. 

An Abortion Story Both Radical and Ordinary

By Cynthia Greenlee 

This piece is published in collaboration with RH Reality Check and was originally published there.

For more than 20 years, the New York Times’ Vows column has shared newly hitched couples’ idiosyncratic paths to marriage. Vows has followed Wall Street wunderkinds down the aisle as well as a flame-throwing bride, a couple who admitted they fell in love while meeting at their children’s pre-K class (and while married to other people), and countless stories about partners whose first meetings did not foreshadow connubial bliss.

In a September 1 Vows column titled “Taking Their Very Sweet Time,” the paper profiled a couple who talked openly about their shared abortion experience. It’s an atypical abortion mention for the Times, where coverage is more likely to focus on state-level efforts to restrict the procedure. And, indeed, it would be rare in most newspapers, where formulaic wedding announcements often contain little more than references to wedding fashion and family trees.

At first glance, the wedding announcement of 32-year-old stay-at-home mom Faith Rein and 33-year-old Miami Heat basketball player Udonis Haslem fits the mold of many Vows columns: a meeting in college, stumbling blocks, and an extended courtship. Athletics helped them bond despite the differences in her suburban upbringing and Haslem’s hardscrabble Miami childhood; she ran track at the University of Florida, while Haslem was a Gators basketball standout.

But in the column written by Linda Marx, Rein and Haslem described the unplanned pregnancy that threatened to derail her junior year, his NBA draft plans, and their educations. Haslem was already a father and said that while “I am not a huge fan of abortion,” they had sports careers to think about and very little money to start a family together. Haslem’s support of Rein solidified their bond. Rein said, “I saw another side of him during that difficult time and fell deeply in love. He had a big heart and was the whole package.”

The announcement’s matter-of-fact tone and the couple’s understanding of their abortion as just one important event in their relationship makes the article remarkable, says Tracy Weitz, a public health professor and director of the University of California, San Francisco’s Advancing New Standards in Reproductive Health (ANSIRH) research group and think tank.

“From my perspective, what is amazing about this story is that the abortion is not the beginning or end of the story—the way we usually tell abortion stories,” she said.

The usual abortion story often unfolds in this way, according to Weitz: “Here’s a woman in crisis. She doesn’t get the abortion or she does. Either way, her whole life trajectory is determined by this one event. Maybe she’s 21 weeks’ [pregnant] and there’s a fetal anomaly, and it’s a terrible situation. The story isn’t actually about the woman, it’s about the abortion.” The Vows article, by contrast “was really about the couple. Part of their story was about the abortion, part was about professional athletics, and part of it was about their class differences.” It reflected the totality of their lives and not just a single moment.

As extraordinary as the inclusion of abortion in a wedding announcement is, the Timesarticle is just one of many abortion stories to be publicized. For example, the Oakland, California-based group Exhale addresses the emotional well-being of men and women after abortion and sponsors abortion “storyteller” tours. Films like I Had an Abortion to initiatives such as the Abortion Conversation Project have all tried to open a broader, more constructive conversation about abortion in small, intimate groups or larger public venues.

The New York Times itself has weighed in on the public sharing abortion of stories. In June, its Room for Debate series offered different perspectives—from, among others, an artist who integrates her abortion experience into her performances and an Anglicans for Life representative—about whether or how women should share their abortion stories.

In a society where abortion is deeply stigmatized, sharing an abortion story is often a political act aimed to a specific objective, such as supporting insurance coverage for the procedure or advocating for the repeal of the Hyde Amendment. Advocates for sharing abortion stories suggest these conversations can debunk abortion myths, shift rancorous and impersonal debates that vilify abortion seekers, and ease abortion decision-making for women and men who may know little about the procedure and fear the responses of disapproving loved ones.

With most abortion polling asking whether abortion should remain legal and in what circumstances, there’s little research whether media stories about abortion or personal stories sway U.S. attitudes about abortion.

Yet the Vows announcement is a potent reminder of how common an experience abortion is for U.S. women. According to the Guttmacher Institute, one in three U.S. women will end a pregnancy in her lifetime.

It’s also a counterpoint to conventional wisdom that Black Americans (Haslem is Black and Rein biracial) are more likely to object to abortions than counterparts in other racial and ethnic groups. While anti-choice groups have stepped up efforts to position abortion as “Black genocide,” a 2012 Public Religion Research Institute poll found that some 67 percent of African Americans polled wanted abortion to be legal in all or most cases.

Anu Kumar, executive vice president at the global women’s health nonprofit Ipas and an abortion stigma researcher, said that the wedding announcement documents “the relationship of two highly accomplished and loving people,” but also reflects the experience of women facing an unintended pregnancy.

“Like many women, Faith got pregnant. She was fortunate enough to have the resources and to live in a place where she could have safe abortion care. He helped her through it, and they moved on. She wanted to have a career, and she went on to have a sports reporting career,” she said.

“Abortion is part of the reproductive life course, and it should be treated as something that happens. People make the best decisions they can at the time. She went on to have children and a marriage. He already had a child, he knew what it meant to be a parent, and he wanted to be a good parent. And so did she,” said Kumar. “People forget this about abortion, that many women who have abortions already have children and will have them in the future.”

But Weitz acknowledges that one wedding announcement does not signal the end of anti-choice sentiment or the beginning of more productive dialogue about one of the nation’s most contested legal, political, and social issues. Their honesty about their abortion may attract criticism and has already been covered by an anti-choice news outlet.

“This kind of inclusion helps to put abortion into the context of people’s lives, which is a vital first step to the United States finally starting a rational conversation about abortion,” said Weitz. “However, I don’t think we can say what effect it has on abortion stigma. Part of that will be determined by the response to this disclosure. If they receive a great deal of negative feedback, it may teach others not to take the risk. Only time can tell.”

Cynthia Greenlee is a participant in the Strong Families project Echoing Ida. She is a doctoral candidate in history at Duke University, a Southerner by birth and choice, and a reproductive rights advocate based in North Carolina. Follow her on Twitter at @CynthiaGreenlee.

Appropriate Cultural Appreciation

By Renee Bracey Sherman

If you’ve been watching the news, watching your Twitter feed, or posts on Facebook, many people have been discussing Miley Cyrus’ recent MTV Video Music Award performance in which she attempted to “twerk” on stage and on singer Robin Thicke during their duet of his song Blurred Lines. Lately much has been discussed about the rape culture language in his song and the sexual awkwardness of their performance in general, but most of the conversation has been about whether or not her performance was an appropriation of Black culture. As I perused through the social media conversations, I noticed a common thread: not everyone knows what cultural appropriation is.

So, let’s discuss and learn – what is cultural appropriation?

The short answer is when one from a privileged community uses something (a justice movement, style of clothing, dance, language, etc.) that is a part of a minority community’s culture and uses it as their own without citing credit, and often doing it wrong. In school, we have a similar idea called plagiarism, and students are held accountable for it. Cultural appropriation happens a lot. So much so, that we often don’t notice it when it happens.

Remember Madonna's famous ‘Vogue’ song? Of course you do. It topped the charts and still gets played…everywhere. Did you know vogueing, which originated as a style of dance performed by gay men and transwomen of color in NYC in the '80s, was a form of connection, community, and celebration of self for the queer community who were often rejected their families for their femininity, love of fashion, and sexuality? Madonna didn’t give you the history of or culture of vogueing, and she didn’t tell you that the houses in which the vogue competitions were held were safe havens for homeless youth. She just sold you the song on her album. Also, she did it wrong - no duck walk, no wrists, no spins, no cat walks. Today, vogueing is alive and well, check out this great video of queer youth of color vogueing at the Ruth Ellis Center in Michigan. Need more history, watch 'Paris is Burning' – a great documentary of the lives of the vogue houses in New York City.

Remember the Pepsi Super Bowl commercial of the “Harlem Shake”? The actual Harlem Shake is a dance that Black folks have been doing since the ‘80s and became popular again in the early 2000s when Missy Elliot and P. Diddy highlighted it in their music videos. It originated as a dance in Harlem, New York, and the challenge was to be able to do it well (which is hard enough) on a moving bus (even harder). When it was appropriated on the commercial, they did it wrong and didn't explaining that it was already a dance or use the dancers who know how to do it. Melissa Harris Perry breaks it down on her show, with actual Harlem youth.

In Cyrus’ case, not only is what she's doing not correct in style, but she erased its history and roots. Twerking has West African roots, made famous by Josephine Baker in the 1920s. As the Crunk Feminist Collective noted twerking was a ‘90s coming of age anthem for many teens: “twerk music from local New Orleans based musicians DJ Jimi and DJ Jubilee was always played on the radio.” It's also frustrating to Black women who have traditionally been called "hoes" or "video vixens" for dancing in such a way (and barely get paid to survive and have to work in a very sexually charged work environment), but when Cyrus does it, and creates a hashtag as if she created it, it's considered "cute" and her "sexual coming of age”. Not to mention she's getting paid, very well, to perform. It's White privilege at its best, and perhaps folks are having a problem seeing it because we've been watching it since the dawn of time…Elvis, jazz, yoga, the headdresses from the Victoria’s Secret fashion show, just to name a few.

It’s an ongoing problem, but what do we do about it?


We call it out when we see it. By countering the larger narrative that shows whichever dance, traditional ethnic clothing, food, etc. is being appropriated as a ‘new’ repackaged thing, we demonstrate that we do not tolerate it and we educate the larger community about the antiquity of our ancestors. We make sure our community is seen, not for someone to market and profit off of, but to celebrate our histories.

But what happens when we don’t realize when we ourselves are on the profiting end of the appropriation? Often it shows up as us becoming defensive regarding on the issue. Think about how we feel when people who haven't lived our lives use our stories for things that we haven't approved AND don't cite us as the source - It feels stolen, repackaged, and inauthentic.

For me, when I'm often being challenged by something, I try to take a moment and think about why I'm feeling so challenged. Then I take a breath, unclench my jaw, and start my research. I stop reading the articles written by the privileged group that keep me feeling safe in my current belief, and read articles by those who are calling out the appropriation. I listen to their stories and experiences because they are the voices less heard and are feeling the appropriation. They are the ones who have done the research on the historical and cultural context and can articulate how and why this is a pattern. It's then that I often realize, the issue usually is: I was uncomfortable with having my privileged checked. I didn’t like the realization that I was complicit in a system that was oppressing those closest to me. And that’s how privilege works, even though we may know that we have it, we still benefit from it in society and we can’t always see all the ways. When communities call it out, we need to take a step back and look for what is invisible to us. It doesn’t feel good to be called out when you’ve messed up, but it’s part of being an ally and creating a more just world. Acknowledge, accept, and educate.

This is probably not the last time that we will see cultural appropriation on stage, and probably not the last time we’ll see it this week. But when we as allies come together with communities to challenge cultural appropriation we are refusing to accept society’s plagiarism. We are ensuring that dances, foods, and cultures are preserved in their authentic form – not a watered down version for mass consumption. Our music and dances are complex, with long histories, sorrows, and joys. Our foods are from our ancestors, with rich stories to be shared over a meal with a community you love. I am not saying that those who want to explore cultures they are not a part of can’t; I am saying that when you do, do it with someone from the community by your side. Hold their hand and their heart. Don’t do it because it’s this week’s fad to be thrown away with next week’s trash or because it’s something fun to get you street credit. Do it because you truly want to invest in the growth of culture, cultural exchange, and are in it for the long haul. Learn the history and the stories, and then share the genuine meaning with others. Give credit where credit is due. There’s no need to stamp your name on everything, let others share their cultural expertise and open more minds. When we accept the melting pot version, everyone loses out, because no one has the chance to experience something deep and authentic: our lives.

Renee Bracey Sherman is a contributor to Echoing Ida, a project of Strong Families. She is a reproductive justice activist who shares her own abortion experience to encourage others who have had abortions to speak out and end the silence and stigma. She's shared her story on the BBC Newshour, Feministing.com, The Atlantic.com, and various college campuses and is frequently featured on RH Reality Check.

Fannie Lou Hamer and Her Dream for Jobs and Freedom

By Jazmine Walker

As we celebrate the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, it is critical that we remember that this march was about advocating for social and economic justice. In an era when people across the country are asking, “Where are the Black women leaders?” activists like Fannie Lou Hamer serve as a reminder of how many rural Black women have always been strong leaders. For Hamer, people could not be free unless they had freedom “from hunger, poverty, and homes that did not adequately protect needy families from the cold winds of ‘Old Man Winter.’”

An outspoken woman from Sunflower County, Mississippi, Fannie Lou Hamer bravely described her traumatic forced sterilization story and showed the importance of advocating for the reproductive rights of women of color.

A daughter of sharecroppers, she is also remembered as a grassroots voting rights activist and as someone who devoted her life to improving the livelihoods of rural Black women and families independent of the local, state, and federal government.

According to data from the 1960 census, about 5,000 families in Sunflower County earned less than $2,000 a year. To alleviate this poverty, Hamer began the Freedom Farm with a donation of 50 pigs from the National Council of Negro Women. She also acquired some 700 acres of land on which to grow, produce, and raise livestock to provide nutritional food for families across the Delta and generate income for Black women heads of household and young people who worked on the farm. In For Freedom’s Sake, author Chana Kai Lee reminds us that the Freedom Farm also provided families with down payments for Federal Housing Administration mortgages to increase homeownership, transportation to medical facilities, and scholarships for college or training schools, and served as a crisis relief agency for families in the region.

Though farming may seem to be a departure from Hamer’s civil rights work, it was actually a continuation of it, since the work created avenues for long-term empowerment of rural communities while also providing opportunities to improve the political, economic, and social well-being of Black women and girls. And though the Freedom Farm eventually failed, Fannie Lou Hamer’s legacy continues through a number of Black women farmers and Black women farmer-owned cooperatives across the rural South.

Black women-led cooperatives like the Southern Rural Black Women’s Initiative—a women’s agricultural cooperative in the Mississippi Delta—are working to supply fresh produce to local schools, restaurants, and farmers’ markets to provide economic opportunities for Black women and girls who lack access to quality education, jobs, and health care. As conservatives continue to compromise rural livelihoods by attempting to double food stamp cuts to roughly $40 billion over the next ten years, these groups are creating opportunities for farmers of color to ensure that women and girls live in conditions that enable them to improve their quality of life and health.

Black women like Fannie Lou Hamer embody the spirit of the March on Washington and the Civil Rights Movement, and Hamer’s legacy lives on through Black women and girls who are looking to generate and hold financial and intellectual assets so they can collectively build on and sustain their land and heritage.

Though many of these low-income women farmers lack the financial resources and flexibility to travel to Washington to commemorate the march for their right to civil and economic equality, they are collectively working together to invest in shared infrastructure and merge their fiscal and intellectual resources to ensure that rural communities grow and thrive. They help make the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington worth celebrating, and represent the work for freedom that Fannie Lou Hamer envisioned.

This piece was originally published on RH Reality Check in partnership with Echoing Ida.

Jazmine Walker, MA is a contributor to Echoing Ida, a project of Strong Families. She is a Mississippi native that specializes in reproductive and agricultural economic justice in the rural south. She provides support for MS & AL agricultural organizations working to create multiple forms of wealth to ensure that black farmers and rural communities are not only sustained, but also thriving. She currently resides in Asheville, NC. You can find her blogging at Still Furious and Brave. 

Women’s Equality Day 2013: Celebrating the nostalgia of past successes while remaining rooted in the dangers of the future

By Jasmine Burnett

Today, August 26, 2013 is Women’s Equality Day. It marks 93 years that white women have had access to the vote, and over 40 years since this day has been nationally recognized. Giving full credit to the importance of what this day means to the legacy of women’s leadership and self determination, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that Black women did not have access to the vote until our gender caught up with our race with the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

Unfortunately, just this year, in a 5 to 4 vote, the Supreme Court struck down the “racial discrimination” clause of the act, “freeing nine states, mostly in the South, to change their election laws without advance federal approval.” What this means is that 9 states – Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, South Carolina, Texas and Virginia and a number of counties and municipalities including Manhattan and Brooklyn will now be left to local jurisdiction on redistricting without Federal approval. Consequently, this means the way the lines are drawn can shift who controls the governing body and essentially change which policies get passed into law; as was evidenced in 2011 with the ballot and Personhood initiatives in Mississippi.

This ruling comes on the heels of an unprecedented voter turnout for Black Americans at 95% in 2008 and 93% in 2012. Black women have been leaders through our vote in the 2008 and 2012 Presidential elections outpacing Black men by 9 percentage points. Though this percentage is not a reflection of the disinterest of Black men in the vote it is, however, connected to the disproportionate number of Black men who have a felony conviction, which limits their access to the vote. According to the Sentencing Project, “1.4 million African American men, or 13% of Black men, is disenfranchised, a rate seven-times the national average.” For Black women, voter disenfranchisement due to felony convictions is 3 times the national average of women. This disenfranchisement also extends to Transgender individuals where their identification does not match their gender presentation. This has led to harassment at the polling site and many being asked to leave.

As I reflect on how Black women enter this celebration, I’m reminded of the internal racial and gender dynamics reflected in the recent hashtags #solidarityisforwhitewomen and #blackpowerisforblackmen that flooded Twitter this month serving as a cultural reminder that “All The Women are White, All the Blacks are Men, But Some of Us Are Brave.” Inherent in those hashtags are testimonies attached to the lived experiences of Black women today fighting for equality, recognition and access to address the systemic barriers that have shifted at best, and become more sophisticated at worse. For now, I’ll toss my confetti in celebration of the distance that we’ve traveled, while at the same time arming myself for the uncertainty of what this celebration will mean for us in the future.


This piece was originally posted on jasmineburnett.com and is being cross-posted with permission.

Jasmine Burnett is a participant in Echoing Ida, a project of Strong Families. Since 2009, Jasmine has been a Reproductive Justice leader and grassroots organizer in New York City. She is the Lead Organizer of New York Coalition for Reproductive Justice (NYC4RJ), formerly organized as SisterSong NYC. Jasmine also advocates for the Right to Sexual Pleasure and to Define Families through her online community, Aunt Betty’s Basement.