Feminism

cross-posted from: https://beehaw.org/post/21033066

In which Mars-in-Theory🦋 goes into how 'common sense' and similar discussion terminating cliches are fascist and merely exist to maintain and prop up the status quo.

Detention of 18-year-old man part of anti-terror police force’s first case linked to involuntary celibate movement

The depiction of strangulation in pornography will be banned in a move to protect women from violence, the Government has announced.

It was an audacious moment. During a recent government hearing, allies of former President Jair Bolsonaro berated Brazil’s environment and climate minister, telling Marina Silva she was “hindering our country’s development,” didn’t deserve respect and should “know your place.”

“You just want me to be a submissive woman,” Silva replied. “But I am not.”

A lifelong Amazonian environmentalist credited with helping slash Brazil’s deforestation rates, Silva walked out after further verbal attacks from members of the powerful ruralista caucus—a pro-agribusiness bloc known for pushing policies that drive deforestation and land conflict with the people living in the rainforest.

For a growing women’s climate movement, the exchange was more than political theater. It revealed a connection between aggressive resource extraction and attacks on women.

Lake and other women in the movement describe climate change not as a glitch in the system, but the system’s logical outcome, the result of centuries of extractive economies built on disconnection from the natural world. For these women, the path forward isn’t just cleaner energy—it’s a deeper transformation that heals the relationship between people and the Earth.

Ayshka Najib, a climate activist based in the United Arab Emirates, put it this way: “Capitalism is only 500 years old—we created these systems, and we can create newer ones rooted in equality, justice and respect for everyone’s rights.”

To do that, the movement increasingly is looking to women in the Global South—the Indigenous, Quilombola and local communities that have resisted extractive industries while cultivating their own sustainable economies.

For this, the Kichwa women of Sarayaku, Ecuador, are providing a master class. For decades, multinational corporations have sought to extract oil and minerals from their ancestral lands in the Amazon. With the arrival of industry to the region came workers. And with workers came prostitution, alcohol and violence, said Patricia Gualinga, co-founder of the Amazonian Women Defenders of the Rainforest (Mujeres Amazónicas Defensoras de la Selva).

Driven by escalating threats, Gualinga and others formed Mujeres Amazónicas Defensoras de la Selva, a coalition of women from multiple Indigenous nationalities, around 2012. They organized protests, partnered with groups like Amnesty International and defended their territories by physically monitoring the forest and turning to the courts. Gualinga’s testimony, for instance, helped Sarayaku win a landmark victory based on the Indigenous right to free, prior and informed consent at the Inter-American Court of Human Rights in 2012.

Their activism has come at a cost: They’ve faced threats, harassment and arson attacks. Still, the women have persisted.

In 2020, as the world was gripped by the coronavirus, the killing of George Floyd shocked Americans into action and into the streets by the millions, protesting the unrelenting killing of Black people by police.

The moment sparked a nascent reckoning in America around systemic racism and institutional inequality — in many cases, with Black women at the center. They led protests and were hired to fix broken institutions and diversify boards. They also did the emotional labor of educating their friends and neighbors. Already the backbone of our democracy, many were called on to also be a bridge to racial healing.

Then, it seemed like the country was ready to listen, understand and move toward a freer, fairer, more equal democracy. Five years later, many of these same Black women find themselves at the center of a backlash, confronted with attacks on the diversity, equity and inclusion efforts that were previously championed.

As I reflected on the five-year anniversary of the start of the reckoning, I thought about the Black women who were on the frontlines — in the streets and workplace, from the boardroom to the classroom. At this milestone, I wanted to hear from them about what this moment had cost them, then and now.

I reached out to several Black women I talk to often with a single question: “Five years after the racial reckoning of 2020, what did that moment ask of you — and what, if anything, did it give back?” Their answers, in their own words (with some editing for length and clarity), were insightful and honest.

Notably absent from the conversation is the voice of Muslim women. [...] It seems evident from recent events in Iran and Kurdistan that Muslim women are very well capable of speaking for themselves on the issue. They certainly do not need posh white people in positions of exalted power and privilege to speak for them.

At first, Luu felt okay with the situation. Her relationship was the healthiest one she’d ever been in, and “we just felt like we were married from the get-go,” she says. They combined finances, and Luu took on more of the household chores. But as time went on, her feelings changed. “I love keeping a clean space, I love cooking, and I love doing the homely duties. But after a while of being the only person contributing [to the housework], it’s like, Damn, if I was making money, I could just be doing this on my own and not have to take care of someone else,” she says. “But you know, he was contributing financially. So then it’s like, How can I speak on that? That internal conflict just got stressful.”

People with common sense probably know this already, but the right wing obsession with "trad wife" or "stay at home mom" often do not work in real life.