by Audre Knepp, SACReD’s Collective Rising Summer Intern
My perspective is shaped by the spaces I bridge: as the daughter of a Mexican mother and white father, an international student living 8,000 miles from family, and an aspiring physician fighting for healthcare equity among LGBTQ+ and immigrant populations. Navigating these varied cultural and institutional systems showed me early on that our lives cannot be neatly compartmentalized. I’ve been able to hold internships at Collective Power and Clarke International University in Uganda to discover more on how reproductive rights impact multi-faceted lives. As I step into my own confidence in navigating these fields, I find myself questioning long-held dogmas, and seeking connection through shared storytelling. I’m also guided by many influential feminist, and Reproductive Justice leaders. So why don’t I introduce you to a favorite quote given to us by my namesake, Audre Lorde.
In a speech titled “Learning from the 60s” delivered at Harvard University (1982), Lorde reminds us of a truth that we shouldn’t forget: “There is no such thing as single-issue struggles because we do not live single-issue lives”(BlackPast & BlackPast, 2012).
Fighting for reproductive justice and freedom from reproductive violence requires the acknowledgment of multiple factors—a web of systems designed to keep us quiet. Lorde reminds us that in telling our histories, we need to lean into their complexities. Defining moments of reproductive violence and struggle require that we all work towards identifying our strengths, as well as calling out ongoing systems of social control and practices which are catered towards white heterosexual men.
Audre sits on a stump in a wooded area. Her head is looking at the camera, her body is turned at an angle. Her legs are crossed. She is smiling and wearing a pink, green, and white floral tank, white skirt, and white boots. She has dark, straightened hair past her shoulders.
The overturning of Roe v. Wade came at a monumental time for my generation. A wave of paralyzing fear swept through young people starting to grapple with their sexual identity and access to representative healthcare, especially in the south. For me, the people I looked up to the most, my parents and religious leaders, were blinded by stigma and misguided by religious dogma. They began echoing the rhetoric of our oppressors. I was told birth control and access to abortion were sinful and were not to be supported. However my scripture search didn’t provide concrete answers and we received little to no information on the topic at our bi-annual conferences where we received news straight from our prophet. Being in a multi-generational Mormon family, we needed to appear unified in our religious beliefs. We had to maintain our good image to remain in good standing within our roles at church, even if the silence we created didn’t feel right. But for me, this wasn’t a single-issue struggle of silence. Alongside this court ruling, I was a 13-year-old navigating finding basic medical care in Texas, learning English alongside her grandparents, and discovering her body as she grew into herself. All of these forces came together to strip the choice of my own healthcare out of my control.
As I began to ask my church questions, the silence in the doctrine of The church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints was deafening. The news of abortion access being taken away from vulnerable young girls, and the soaring numbers of sepsis cases and medical emergencies caused by unsafe or delayed care, didn’t match the doctrines I was being taught. If we were meant to lead with love, kindness, and reverence for life, how could we stand behind the harsh reality of these bans? This disconnect was the catalyst for me. Only after looking beyond my religious upbringing was I able to better examine the larger web of oppression around me.
It wasn’t until I was older and more confident in my body that I could recognize this as an interconnected struggle. A struggle that compromised my own bodily autonomy long before I understood the damage of hurtful doctrine and harsh laws.
Navigating an already difficult healthcare system for young women, and following the advice of well-meaning yet misinformed parents and religious leaders who weren’t educated on reproductive health, set me up for failure. Combined with the pressure of organized religion to maintain an image of purity and perfection, I was brought on my own path of reproductive harm. Eager to protect me, my leaders unintentionally misinformed me and the news terrified me into making choices on my own body. I was placed on birth control without sufficient education about what was being done to my body. Years later, I am still healing from the trauma and complications of getting my first IUD as a scared, and ill-guided teenager.
Unfortunately, in America, narratives of mis-informed youth being forced into choices by stigma in religious spheres is quite common. Being able to share my story with people who walk in similar shoes has helped me better understand the hardships caused by recent reproductive justice laws in the South. It is in the sharing of our stories that I have found a community of young advocates. This community reminds me that I’m not putting myself in these spaces to fight my own battle, but to bring urgency and vision that is needed to dismantle the oppressive systems currently in place. This curiosity led me to an internship in Uganda working with teenage mothers on how to establish better education on reproductive health and policy. Here I was able to better recognize and label the maze of intangible hardship that patriarchy and white christian beliefs places on child bearing bodies in communities outside of America. If I hadn’t reclaimed my narrative and listened to the varied experiences of people across different cultures and languages, I wouldn’t have allowed myself the opportunity to grow stronger in my beliefs on bodily autonomy and reproductive freedom. I would have become a version of myself that would be inaccessible to the people who need similar stories, and to a movement that needs momentum. When we stay silent, we make oppression effortless for those against us and fail to prevent others from finding the lighthouse they need to navigate their own storms. But, how can young advocates step up to address this multiple issue struggle?
It is often helpful to remind myself that politics ebb and flow. Because I was so young when the right to reproductive healthcare was taken away, it is hopeful to remember that a lot of fight went into reproductive freedom before me, and a lot of fight has yet to take place. My few years in the space are just my beginnings, but a story I know has many chapters to come. Tackling a large multi issue struggle is daunting, but beginning by educating myself and surrounding myself with others in the same boat helps.
Every time I turn on the news to see another devastating story of a young person’s body being stripped of its right to bear or not to bear children, I have to remind myself that we are fighting towards an end goal. A future where everyone has bodily autonomy, the right to have children or not to have children, and the right to a safe place to raise their children.
In order to keep my horizons bright I like to keep myself surrounded by like minded people who are also navigating the intersectional space. I find community in story telling and look forward to emotional healing through being vulnerable with others around me.
Researching my own religious perspective on reproductive issues has significantly changed my perspective. This has been amplified by connecting with organizations like Advocates for Youth and Collective Power, that make space for religion in the conversation and work for reproductive freedom. I looked into different groups which help guide different communities, acknowledging that our healing must be as multifaceted as our identities. I was inspired by organizations such as the Spiritual Alliance for Reproductive Dignity, Muslims for Progressive Values and Catholics for Choice. By continually reaching for growth and working to understand how complex, overlapping struggles cause harm, I empower myself to fearlessly share my story.
Bibliography:
BlackPast, & BlackPast. (2012). (1982) Audre Lorde, “Learning from the 60s.” In BlackPast.org. https://blackpast.org/african-american-history/1982-audre-lorde-learning-60s/