Feminism | Posted by Grace Wong on 01/25/2017

After Marching

Signs from the Women's March

Signs from the Women’s March

I said I wouldn’t march. In fact, I promised myself I had gotten all the marching out of my system. The day after the election, I protested Donald Trump’s presidency — protests that turned to riots. I therefore came to the conclusion in November that protesting Trump was not the solution. Yet at 6:00 o’clock on Saturday morning, I found myself on the floor of an LA hotel room, scrambling to make a poster that read: “My body. My choice. My country. My voice.”

I had initially considered marching. As a self-identifying feminist, I understood the importance of fighting for women’s rights. As a young woman of color, I understood the importance of amending systems rife with racism. As a climate-enthusiast, I understood the …

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Feminism | Posted by Mankaprr Conteh on 01/23/2017

What I Witnessed At The Women’s March

Lakeisha Robinson at the March

Lakeisha Robinson at the March

Janelle Monáe took the Women’s March on Washington stage with a box office hit under her belt, hope for unity among the hundreds of thousands of women before her in her heart, and what should have been a simple request of those women on her lips.

As she performed her anthemic protest song “Hell You Talmbout,” Monáe would call the name of Sandra Bland, a young black activist who suspiciously, supposedly took her own life while in police custody.

“Say her name,” were the words Monáe charged the audience to respond with, invoking the African American Policy Forum’s 2015 campaign that recognized police violence against black women.

“Sandra Bland!” she yelled.

“No!” pockets of white women around me yelled in response.

We …

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Feminism | Posted by Virginia Jiang on 01/20/2017

Why I March

Are you going to March?

Are you going to March?

I remember the first time I was called a fag.

It was on a crisp fall day. I was walking to class. A man passed by me. It was casual, almost off-hand, like a bigoted stutter. It wasn’t the first time I had heard the word, but it was the first time it felt pointed, chiseled into the heart of my being. It was two days after the 2016 election.

Before that day, I had never felt that sense of otherness – the feeling that I was somehow alien to my homeland. Because though I am a queer woman of color, I had never before felt that my identities could fuel such casual enmity.

Maybe that was naïve of me, but we do live in …

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