Support The Black Girl Project

I am on the board for an amazing organization: The Black Girl Project. I've written about the fabulous work and national screenings of this film and of the educational work we are doing as an organization. We are in need of funds and have started a virtual fundraising opportunity for folks to contribute and help us because more Black girls need to share their stories and we need more dialogue in our communities! And YES this includes ALL ethnic backgrounds!

Below is the trailer for the video as well as a formal letter we have drafted. If you would please send this letter to folks in your network, every little bit helps!

Formal Letter (Please send to the folks you think would be interested in supporting The Black Girl Project!)

Dear XXX,

I hope this message meets you in good spirits! I'm excited about an organization called The Black Girl Project, which is the educational outreach arm for the film of the same name. It's a wonderful organization dedicated to empowering young girls. You can check us out at www.BlackGirlProject.org.

The film has screened successfully at universities and organizations nationally, but there is a need for more materials in order to support their mission. The filmmaker, Aiesha Turman, has started a Kickstarter page to support the outreach portion of the film. In order to meet their funding goal of $8000 in March, 2011, they need your support. I am asking you to spread the message to friends and family to help us reach our goal. By making a pledge to The Black Girl Project, you'll be helping them do more vital work. Go to Kickstarter to learn more, there's less than 45 days to go!

Please pass along, every pledge counts! Many thanks for reading.

With warm regards,

XXX

(VIDEO) Walking Home: A Film About Street Harassment Among Women of Color

cross-posted from my RH Reality Check blog

Late last week jaz shared the following film with several of us reproductive and sexual health advocates. It is called WALKING HOME and it is by a filmmaker Nuala Cabral. The description that accompanies the video states:

This is an experimental piece about women ritually facing street harassment as they walk home. Shot in Brooklyn and Philadelphia, it mixes 16mm film, video, poetry and music in an effort to honor and reclaim our voice, name and humanity in the public sphere. This is for the walkers, talkers and those who say nothing.

Take a moment to watch the film. Unfortunately, the film is only in English and at this time does not have any subtitles. I’m in communication with Nuala and will ask her if the poem being read can be shared, if so I’ll post the words. There is some profanity used in this video so it may not be safe for work (NSFW).

When I shared this film with the people in my circle and network it received the following responses: “Loved this.” “Will be using at work. Thanks!,” “Wow, love this, this is walking in the BX,” and “Brilliant!’ I had to agree with my homegirls, the film is stunning. I immediately thought of the limitlessness of using this film in my classroom and work with youth of Color, especially with young men of Color. There are so many layers to the film that I wanted to share with those of you who are searching for quality films created by members of the community in which they are speaking/targeting/educating.

This film has come to my attention at an important time. Earlier this week a woman in Southeast Washington, DC was shot by a man when she refused to give him her telephone number. As La Macha states on the Vivir Latino posting: “It reminded me of how very rare it is for so many people to say ‘no’ in safety.” Here’s the video for some coverage:



I know I have a lot of plans for using this film in my classroom. Nuala has also agreed to an interview after the semester is over so stay tuned for part of that shortly! I’d like to know what your thoughts are when watching this film. How do you see this film being used with the young people that you work with? How can this film be used to address topics/issues that may not be presented in the film? I’m thinking specifically of women with disabilities, and how, if at all, street harassment is different by people of the same gender. Do you find this film effective?

Lessons From Pam Grier: How Can We Do Better?

Cross posted from my RH Reality Check blog

Trigger Warning

My homegirl sent me an email in the early morning called: How Richard Pryor Gave Pam Grier A Cocaine Encrusted Vagina. This was a article about Pam Grier and a small part of her memoir Foxy: My Life In Three Acts which was released this month. The exchange is between Grier and her gynecologist regarding her sexual activity and reproductive health while she was dating Richard Pryor. The conversation has made its way around the Internet and if you have yet to read it I’ve posted it below. If you want to skip reading it again scroll down to after the block quote.

He said, “Pam, I want to tell you about an epidemic that’s prevalent in Beverly Hills right now. It’s a buildup of cocaine residue around the cervix and in the vagina. You have it. Are you doing drugs?”

“No,” I said, astonished.

“Well, it’s really dangerous,” he went on. “Is your partner putting cocaine on his penis to sustain his erection?”

“No,” I said, “not that I know of. It’s not like he has a pile of cocaine next to the bed and he dips his penis in it before we have sex.” I had a nauseating flash of one of Richard’s famous lines: Even my dick has a cocaine jones.

“Are you sure he isn’t doing it in the bathroom before he comes to bed?” the doctor asked.

“That’s a possibility,” I said. “You know, I am dating Richard Pryor.”

“Oh, my God,” he said. “We have a serious problem here. If he’s not putting it on his skin directly, then it’s worse because the coke is in his seminal fluid.”

After any shock, fear, or discomfort there have not been too many writings about how this exchange can be useful for practitioners and for people working with women of Color and/or youth of Color. There’s something, I’m not sure exactly what, or if I will know what it is in a few hours (or days), about the Jezebel writers piece doing research with a physician regarding this story. I do not think it was a bad idea at all; there is just something I can’t pinpoint that leaves me with the impression of attempting to debunk the narrative of a Black woman.

Perhaps it is the use of the terms “The Truth” in the headline, as if Pam was not telling the truth. Perhaps it is Dr. Gurley’s statement (Jezebel’s “Bottom Line”): “It's extremely unlikely that there could be any toxic vagina effect of cocaine” that questions Pam’s recollection of the exchange with her physician which Dr. Gurley states could be “either misremembered recall on the patient's part, or, possibly more likely, a sleazy attempt by a vaguely irresponsible doc to scare someone into making a major life change.” My bottom line: There are ways to question aspects of a narrative without totally debunking the persons lived experiences. I had very clear memories and recollections of the attempts at discrediting Rigoberta Menchú when I read this piece. These are not memories I wish to have triggered to be honest.

In reading this part of Grier’s narrative I immediately thought of a few things: power physicians have over (not often enough with) their patients as Dr. Gurley mentioned, access to resources and education, various impacts of drug and alcohol use during sexual activity, issues of consensual sex, and harm reduction strategies.

Working at a school based health center in East Harlem under a medical director, physician, nurse practitioner, and other ancillary staff I learned very quickly that certain medical staff make final decisions and sometimes they are not exactly what the patient desires. I know this happens often enough, especially with younger patients, patients who may not speak the language of their care provider, patients who are undocumented, or who are differently-abled and thus have someone making decisions for their care. It took me a while to realize and understand that just because someone is a physician does not mean they know everything they need to about a particular form of care. It also does not mean that they are willing or able to provide the care that is required or desired. I remember being in situations where the physician used their power over me (as in their status, the assumption they knew more than me about my body, their wealth, and the list goes on) and I was so scared/intimidated/overwhelmed that when I left I felt totally frustrated.

Some ways activists and physicians have approached this topic is sharing what patients rights include. Yet, do we explain this to youth who we encourage to seek reproductive and sexual health care by themselves? How do we discuss the rights of our younger patients with them and confirm they understand?

At the time of this situation occurring with her physician, Grier was most likely in her late 20s and she had over 10 films she had starred in. I wonder about what resources and education she was exposed to in the early 70s regarding sexual and reproductive health. During the time of her relationship was when women of Color, especially Black and Latinas were being forcibly sterilized in the U.S., and many Nationalist organizations had taken strong anti-abortion and reproductive freedom stances in response to these human rights violations, in addition to the ideology of increasing the number of people of Color would come an increase in political power. Historical context matters, especially when we live in a society where we are quick to judge people’s decisions.

Many of us discuss alcohol and drug use during sexual activity and the connection to consent. However, as someone born in the “Just Say No” era of drug and alcohol use, it is extremely difficult to unlearn all of the misinformation and “scared straight” tactics that were taught to us. I recall being in an adult education class about the U.S. War on Drugs and having to unlearn so much I was told was right regarding how our bodies respond to various forms of narcotics and alcohol. To this day I’m still appalled at how many deaths are connected to alcohol use and consumption over illegal drug use and abuse.

One aspect of this discussion that is important to keep in mind is the access to cocaine by communities of Color in the U.S. at specific times (and some may argue even today). Anybody remember why “crack is wack?” It’s tied to class status and wealth. The first time I really understood and even heard about a person of Color using cocaine was Len Bias. That was in the 80s. I can only imagine how cocaine was seen as a drug used by the wealthy and a part of a hierarchy of drugs that is connected to status. Do we even discuss class and status in our sexuality education with youth? If so, how? If not, why not?

I admit that when I first read the story I thought: “where were the condoms or diaphragms?” then I caught myself and asked, “Who am I to ask such questions?” I then wondered what information or lack of it was provided that Grier believed having a numb mouth while performing oral sex might be a normalized physical response. I don’t doubt that Grier and Pryor both received one another’s consent to engage in particular activities together. I do wonder how this narrative challenges my ideas of consent.

Did anyone think of consent when reading this narrative? Do we have conversations and lesson plans in place that helps youth and adults think about how consent is not always so overt? Often my abstinence conversation with youth focuses on the various forms of sex that people may choose to have with themselves or with partners. I help youth decide how they want to define abstinence for themselves and giving them scenarios, versus telling them what it means. Yet, I realized reading this part of Grier’s memoir I don’t think I have as strong a conversation as I thought I did. How do we help people discuss what boundaries they wish to create, especially among younger populations, with their partners?

In the age of reality shows such as Intervention, do we discuss how consenting to a relationship, to a sexual activity, to a conversation about sexual boundaries and relationships is also a part of consent? For example, how could we begin a conversation about consensual sex with a 20-something finding herself in an intimate sexual relationship with a partner who uses a narcotic (even if not around her but to her knowledge) challenge or affirm the consent she’s given to her partner? Do we always meet our clients and patients where they are at in the moment? Or are we too committed to shaming and judging them into some form of action? Have we considered how shaming is connected to race, class, health, and is political as Dr. Melissa Harris-Lacewell discusses? What do we do if we over-identify with a client or patient?

Enter my ideas on harm reduction. I am in support of harm reduction strategies, yes even among youth who some may define as in “extremely vulnerable” spaces/situations. I realize this is not a very popular position, I worked with a supervisor once who made it very clear to me they did not approve of harm reduction at all, especially for the working class communities of Color we were working with at the time. I’ve found that harm reduction works well with many populations. It has opened up dialogues that I don’t think would have occurred had I shared a stronger judgmental/shaming approach. I also think that harm reduction can be more flexible than we may think. I’ve thought about this for a while now, and wrote a bit about this idea and if harm reduction can be more inclusive than we originally thought or were trained to implement. I wrote: “I choose to respect where people are as I hope others respect where I am at as we move through a situation or seek assistance or community.”

Instead of nurturing the shock, confusion, disgust, debunking of narratives, and ridicule of this testimony, what can we learn from Grier? How can we do better? We need to do better.

How Accessible Are IUDs?

Cross posted from my RH Reality Check blog

Earlier this month Newsweek reported that IUDs are becoming more popular as a form of contraceptive. Reporter Meredith Melnick discussed how the 2005 FDA approval of IUDs among younger women who do not have children has affected the increase in usage. I was not surprised when Melnick reported that some doctors do not support this method for younger women for various reasons. As someone who got an IUD in 2007 before I was in my 30s, I had a very hard time accessing the method of my choice.

Growing up with Puerto Rican hippie parents, I remember my mother telling me that the birth control pill kills Puerto Rican women. And it did. I knew at an early age that condoms were the method I was going to use before even considering a hormonal method, which was not appealing, and still isn’t. Even when the morning-after pill/emergency contraceptive came out I wasn’t too into the option for myself. However, as someone who provided counseling on all options to young people, I also knew where my personal boundaries stopped; it was my obligation never to interfere with my client’s options counseling. Several of my female-identified clients opted for hormonal methods.

My graduate research in sexuality, Latino communities living in the U.S., and women’s health complimented my family’s narrative of forced sterilization of women of Color in the Caribbean and women with disabilities in the US. Knowing these facts and choosing to work in a field that has such a troubling history, I considered myself an educated consumer when it came to birth control and contraceptive options. When I found a steady sexual partner I decided to look into getting and IUD, the only method outside of condom use that I knew was for me.

As someone who has the privilege of having health insurance in the U.S., I made an appointment to see my private physician. At the time I was employed fulltime and was insured via the union of which I was a member. We had pretty good health care, or so I thought, as I rarely had to pay out of pocket for seeing a physician or for prescriptions. I met with him and I shared that I was interested in the IUD. He informed me that my insurance did not cover the IUDs (there are twp available in the U.S., a ParaGard which can be used for up to 10 years, and a Mirena which can be used up to five years and has hormones). I asked him what methods were covered by my insurance and he said all hormonal methods (besides the hormonal IUD) and sterilization.

I was in shock.

I told my doctor that we would need to talk further about my options and how much the IUD would cost out of pocket. He shared the IUD would be about $600 for insertion and for the actual IUD (apparently they are two different costs). I asked about sterilization and he shared that I had two options: a “traditional” tubal ligation which would require an overnight stay in a hospital and follow up appointments or a newer form of tubal ligation which is outpatient surgery called Essure. If I chose Essure I would have to also choose a hormonal birth control method to use as back up for three months. He also told me about the risks involved and the 30-day waiting period required for me to be sterilized.

As someone who knew the IUD would, basically, instantly work I was not too happy with these options. My physician and I continued to talk and he told me that before he would agree to perform any sterilization procedure on me that I would have to “prove to him I really wanted to be sterilized” because I had never been pregnant, was 28 years old, and he wanted to make sure I wouldn’t “regret” the decision. My response to his statement was honest, but it may have come off as me being flip. I asked him “how am I to prove to you I don’t want to be a parent?” I proceeded to share with him that I was not interested in pregnancy, childbearing, or parenting an infant child. I also shared that I was more committed to helping youth of Color age safely and successfully out of the child welfare system than I was to having a biological child.

What finally convinced him was when I told him that if I did decide to have a child I would come to him for fertility treatment. I signed the 30-day waiting period form for sterilization and made the decision to call my health insurance and ask how much of the $600 fee they would cover, if at all. To my surprise my health insurance said they would only cover $180 of my IUD. I asked how is it possible that they would cover 100 percent a tubal ligation which includes overnight stay in a hospital, general anesthesia (which has its own separate risks), antibiotics, and follow up examinations when an IUD, which takes less than 10 minutes to insert usually, costs significantly less, yet they do not cover in full. My insurance company said I could “appeal” their decision. When I asked how long that would take they said up to eight weeks (if that). I told the woman on the telephone that I did not want to be worried about my method eight weeks from now. I wanted the method sooner rather than later.

It made no sense to me. It still doesn’t make sense to me. How can we live in a country where we talk about “choice” and where anti-choicers love to say: “you should have used a method” or “been responsible” when people who are being as responsible as they can be cannot access the method of their choice? How was my choice to decide what went into my body and what affected me (and who got money based on my care) gone?

After some research I found a city hospital that agreed to insert the IUD for me for free as they had federal funding. I was at a hospital that worked with many sex workers and young women of Color in helping them maintain their reproductive and sexual health. It was the best place for me to get this method and I was extremely excited. I never thought I’d be as excited as I was. Perhaps that excitement stemmed from “getting over” on the insurance companies, or that I knew I was getting the method I always wanted, it felt good. My physician asked me if I minded having a resident sit in so they could watch the IUD insertion. I agreed and after 10 minutes I had the method of my choice and was instantly relieved at having one of the oldest methods, with the most longitudinal studies, and highest effectiveness rate.

To say the IUD has rocked my world is an understatement. There were some side effects that I was told about, but was not completely ready for, such as bleeding within the first two months, and difficulty feeling the thread to check the IUD after my menstrual cycle. I had never had to prepare or “clean up” the way I learned to the first several months of IUD insertion. At the same time I found it almost impossible to find and feel the thread of my IUD through my vaginal canal. However, my partner did confirm the thread was there, and also claimed to have “felt” the thread but it was not painful.

The Newsweek article presents the opinion of several doctors and researchers and their positions on providing the IUD to patients. The only doctor of Color mentioned, Dr. Hilda Hutcherson, is cautious about offering the IUD to younger patients because of what can happen if someone has an IUD and contracts an STI. She makes connections between IUDs, STI infection and how the two together can amplify infertility if the STI is untreated and that “fertility is really important.” That is true, if someone wanted to become pregnant. I understand this position, and realize that the IUD only prevents pregnancy not an STI, as every other hormonal method. We also know that infertility may be the result of many untreated STIs. What I’m not in agreement with some doctors completely against the method (which is different from being cautious about it) is that restricting our choices is not the most effective way to be a provider to a patient.

Have we not learned from what happens when patients are not given all of their options? Not told of all of the possible outcomes of a method? The idea that women have options when they choose to be responsible is very much an illusion for many. The idea that sterilization is no longer an option that doctors push for some women, especially as a woman of Color, and a Puerto Rican woman, seems difficult to believe from my personal experience.

Earlier this year I went to a book release event for Dr. Iris Lopez’s recent text: Matters of Choice: Puerto Rican Women’s Struggle For Reproductive Choice, which follows three generations of Puerto Rican women over 25 years who have decided on sterilization as their birth control method. Her findings are fascinating and I encourage readers to engage with the text beyond this article. Dr. Lopez provides readers the opportunity to hear Puerto Rican women share their own testimonies about why they chose sterilization, and their choices challenge how I view sterilization as well. Although I considered sterilization, I didn’t want to have to go through the procedure. The discussions of feeling liberated by some participants opens up dialogue about power, modes of survival for women in abusive and/or violent relationships, and “traditional” US ideologies around “liberation” and what liberatory sexuality means.

I’m excited to see the IUD becoming more popular. I also think it may be a useful long-term method for people who may need it the most. In comparison to other hormonal methods for young women, I think the IUD can be a realistic option. Not only do some hormonal methods take a while to work (about 30 days is the “safe” window period often mentioned for hormones to become effective), they can also alter the menstrual cycle of many young women.

For some of the young women I’ve counseled continuing to menstruate was essential to their ability to use a method while feeling safe in their home where parents and/or guardians monitor their cycle. For young people who are not comfortable touching their genitals (think using the NuvaRing), want a menstrual cycle (so Depo-Provera is not an option), don’t want a method others can see (such as the patch, which only comes in 1 color, a perfect example of the normalization of Whiteness and light skin in our society and around the world in reproductive and sexual health), that they have to remember each day (oral birth control pills,), or that can be checked discreetly by a physician (vaginal sonogram) if a parent/guardian remains in the exam room during a gynecological exam (this happens a lot more than some people might want to admit). I see the IUD as an option for transgender men as well, the discretion based on who their partners are is one that I may add a new understanding of safety and security to a community often exclude when discussing contraceptives and birth control options.

Even though the FDA has approved the IUD for all ages, there remain challenges even in obtaining information. Earlier this week my homegirl, reproductive justice activist and college student Bianca M. Velez shared on twitter: “When asking for a pamphlet of further info re: ParaGard on the website, it asks if the reader is 18 or older.” How accessible did you think IUDs were?

(VIDEO) Is Representing Women of Color Really That Important?

Cross posted from my RH Reality Check Blog.

While searching for media that specifically represented young men of Color talking about how to properly put on and use a male and female condom for a previous post, I came across this video below which I linked to:




Excited that young college students from various racial classifications and ethnic backgrounds were represented and a part of the video, I shared the link via twitter. The next day I received a notification from someone called femidom_fan via twitter who said I should check out a video on a UKish site for a more “natural” model in a video. When I clicked on the video I noticed that 1. All the images that were drawn were colored in a peach color, what one might say is the color of the “flesh” crayon in a box and 2. The image of the person inserting the female condom matched these illustrations.

I responded to femidom_fan that the video and illustrations were of racially White or light skinned people and the videos I shared were more diverse and inclusive and so I would choose to use those over the one offered. The response was the following: “is it that important that WOC (women of Color) [are represented]? why?"

My immediate response was that femidom_fan’s question was problematic, then I found it interesting how exclusive femidom_fan’s thought process was. Why is it important to have women of Color represented and a part of conversations around reproductive health, reproductive justice, and sexual health? I couldn’t believe that was a question someone actually asked! It was as if my entire existence, my life’s work was seen as useless to this person. Good thing “I don’t really care what people say, I don’t really watch what them wan do, I got to stick to my girls like glue” as Sean Paul sings.

Then my homegirl, Aimee Thorne-Thomsen, executive director, Pro-Choice Public Education Project, a woman of Color in the reproductive justice movement, asked me: “where does one begin with schooling people about the importance of WOC, especially young WOC & QPOC (queer people of Color) in reproductive health/justice work...?” My response would probably be that I’d choose to educate other people of Color on why they are important versus educating racially White people on why our voices matter. I’m just in a space where I no longer want to prioritize or spend time educating racially White people who can educate themselves if they took time out to do their own research versus expecting us to teach and explain things to them. Talk about a sense of entitlement.

My homegirl Aimee and I are on the same page because then she wrote me this: “I think it's hard to begin those conversations about YQPOC (young queer people of Color) & repro health/justice with people who want YOU to teach THEM” (emphasis my own). Notice how she too says “conversations about” not conversations with YQPOC.

I agree with my homegirl, poet, radical tutor, media maker and mamí Maegan La Mamita Mala Ortiz’s belief: “It’s not my job to engage White people.” I know this may sound harsh, and even exclusionary to some, and I hear that. At the same time these are our lives. This is our life, death, murder, eugenics, inequality, survival. If I’m working to center youth, queer youth, people of Color, working class people, people with disabilities, undocumented people I’m going to focus on us first. We are a priority, and in a world that does not prioritize our lives or our survival, there is a lot of work to do.

What are your thoughts about the importance of women of Color’s representations in materials and education focused on sexual and reproductive health?

You Can't Stop My Go!: for dopegirlfresh

I was working on creating a curriculum for young women of Color in NYC who will be doing street outreach providing safer sex kits in their East Harlem community. As I was creating one of these handouts for an activity on what their strengths and areas to improve were I used the following hip-hop lyrics:

For Strengths "You are now rockin' with the best" by The Real Roxanne's Bang Zoom. For those of you who don't know she was one of the first Puerto Rican female MC to get signed to a label. You can listen to the song here.

For areas to learn and grow "You can't stop my go" by Mos Def's Casa Bey. My homegirl dopegirlfresh LOVES this song and I was thinking of her when I used this lyric. Here's the video