Before I begin, I’d like to take a moment to invite us to check in with our own bodies, our own breath. How are you showing up to this space today? What are you longing for? Perhaps some of us have come here today as an ally or an organizer. Perhaps some of us have come here today bearing our own wounds in relation to our bodies, our agency, and our own access to healthcare and reproductive justice. Many of us know the ache of being unheard deep in our bones, and many of us also know the power of speaking about that which we know to be true.
I was honored to be invited to speak with you today about the connection between reproductive justice and the current devastation in Gaza. As a local organizer with Jewish Voice for Peace of Western MA, I have been working closely with local Jews, Palestinians and organizers of many backgrounds and lived experiences to call for an immediate and permanent ceasefire in Gaza, an arms embargo of Israel, and an end to the relentless genocide of the Palestinian people.
This genocide in Gaza has left no civilian untouched, and yet, it is important for us to take some time today to really consider the lived realities of many women, care-givers and womb-bearers on the ground. Despite the ongoing censorship of Palestinian voices and unprecedented attacks on journalists in Gaza, many of us have still seen the images of war-torn Gaza, the apocalyptic rubble where neighborhoods once stood, the agonized faces of family members mourning their many children and beloveds, the countless images that you will find at your fingertips on your phone. As feminists, we must keep looking and we must learn to discuss this dire situation as a women’s issue, as a reproductive health issue, as a queer issue, as a disability justice issue, as a human rights issue, as an environmental justice issue, and as a moral issue.
We must also look and listen for the stories that cannot be so readily depicted. We must imagine what it is like to menstruate without any access to menstrual products, we must imagine the choice between bleeding into one’s only dress, or searching for another option, a piece of fallen tent or cloth that cannot be washed. We must imagine what it is to watch our own belly expand as we wait another week, and then another month, for food and water that never comes. We must imagine, for a moment, what it feels like to harbor life in an occupation intent on death, and the sensations of chronic grief, and chronic stress, and chronic terror in our body. We must imagine the complete and total loss of choice, whether because birth control was far from the realm of possibility, or because the conditions themselves cannot be made to support life. We must imagine so much more than any number can convey about infant mortality, stress-induced miscarriages, stillbirths, premature babies and malnourished children. We must imagine, until we know deep in our bones, that each of these bodies, like our body, is a whole universe of longing and need and desire and pain and hope. And we must imagine that we cannot look away.
The reproductive injustice that is taking shape in countless ways before our eyes and beyond our sight is not only a byproduct of this horrific war, it is an expression of an intentional targeting of Palestinian bodies, lives and society. As we continue to work steadfastly towards securing our own rights to contraception, abortion, and healthcare in this country, we must not forget the many expressions of reproductive injustice taking shape both locally and globally. We must continue to ask ourselves whose voice is not being heard or centered within our communities, our organizations, and our movements. And to never forget the wise words of Audre Lorde: “I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own.” May we find our strength, and our freedom together, and leave no one behind. Thank you.
Kaia Jackson WMJVP