Giving voice to survivors of sexual assault

Missoula: Rape and the Justice System in a College TownMissoula: Rape and the Justice System in a College Town by Jon Krakauer

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

You’d have to be living under a rock this year to avoid stories of entitled, young male athletes sexually assaulting young women and serving little or no jail time for such crimes.

Missoula, Montana may not be unique in the number of young women who are vilified or simply not believed when they step forward naming their assailants. Jon Krakauer gives those young women who’ve survived rape a powerful voice, one we should all listen and respond to.

Whatever we are teaching young men, it shouldn’t be that they can get away with rape. From prosecutors to communities, we all have a responsibility to clearly and definitively say, ‘this is not okay’. Perhaps, we’ve woken up in the wake of cases like Brock Turner’s outrageously light sentence for sexually assaulting an unconscious young woman. Judging by the reactions and words of his father — diminishing rape to a mere ‘20 minutes of action‘ — as well as some of the reactions and character assassinations all too common in Missoula and elsewhere, we have a long way to go.

Whilst Krakauer pens a particularly difficult book to read given the understandably horrendous descriptions and details throughout, it’s an incredibly important read. We need to listen to those who come forward after being sexually assaulted. We need to approach their assaults from a place of belief and seeking truth and justice rather than giving their attackers the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise, the shame and guilt and fear each woman experienced in the immediate aftermath of their living nightmares will never heal. They will never find peace.

View all my reviews

Phenomenal Women (Day 66: Proekt 365)

Day 66: Proekt 365 International Women's Day

Day 66: Proekt 365
International Women’s Day

The 8th of March is International Women’s Day. During my time in Russia, it was a time of year when all of the men and most women celebrated the ladies in their lives. Men showered women with flowers and raised their glasses to toast the fabulousness that is women. Women, much like every other day, celebrated and supported one another, but with just a bit more sense of sisterhood and infinitely more booze.

As a woman and as a feminist, I’d rather not just have one day when the work, worth, beauty and burdens faced by all women are given the spotlight. I’d rather we applaud ourselves and are celebrated every day. I’d rather we were equally rewarded, equally valued and equally represented in all aspects of life and in every corner. I’d rather we worked towards righting the injustices and eliminating the gender-specific barriers which make life more difficult for women every single day until they were a distant memory.

Still, the fact that I’m admittedly privileged is not lost on me—my husband is a feminist (and at times more so than I am!), I live in a society which places great value on the work of women domestically and beyond the home and I am afforded specific protections which prohibit discrimination against me based solely on my private parts. These are all great things, and for them I am grateful.

That isn’t the case for all women. Far, far too many women. And, not just those who live in lesser developed places, but also women who live in my own society. Whether it is allowing women and girls to attend school, work outside the home, drive, vote, voice their opinions, marry whom they love / wish, choose when and under what conditions to have children or when and with whom to have sex, every day should be an opportunity to make gender equity and justice a reality. For all women. Because all women are of value. All women are beautiful. And, all women should be celebrated. In all our diversity.

On this International Women’s Day, the words of the brilliant Maya Angelou come to mind. Whilst recognising and grieving for the difficulties and outright horrific conditions in which some women are forced to live, I am mindful today (and everyday) of just how amazing women are. Here’s to all of the truly phenomenal women in the world, particularly those who have enriched my life so, so much.

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Maya Angelou, ‘Phenomenal Woman’ from And Still I Rise. Copyright © 1978 by Maya Angelou. Used by permission of Random House, Inc.

Day 36: Proekt 365 (My girlfriends)

Day 36: Proekt 365 To all my Thelmas & Louises

Day 36: Proekt 365
To all my Thelmas & Louises

No film captures the bond of friendship and ‘family’ I feel towards my closest girlfriends more than Thelma and LouiseSteel Magnolias comes very close, but can also just as easily apply to some of my very best guy friends as well. (In fact, there is one particular friend for whom that film fits better…but, I digress.) There is something specifically about Thelma and Louise as individuals and the journey they share which reflects just what I would do and how far I’d go for my sisters—the sisters I may not share a last name with, but with whom I share a very deep and real bond.

Today was all about sharing moments with some of my ‘sistahs’ in Helsinki. I didn’t get to see all of those I’d like to have (you know who you are and it will happen soon, damnit!), but I saw more than I’d expected to when I walked out the door this afternoon. That’s fine by me.

In the few stolen moments I scheduled for some quality time with my girlfriends, my plan was initially for a late lunch with one friend who is currently house-bound due to an unfortunate pasta accident. We were delightfully joined by another friend who is moving on far too soon to another country — the awful part about being an expat, but one we all deal with in whatever way we can. At this point, any chance we get to schedule quick meet ups and a few more moments of face-to-face bonding are very welcome. Before heading home, I decided to try to squeeze in a quick cup of tea to catch up with yet another girlfriend I’d not seen in a while. And, then, there was the random running in to yet another girlfriend at the supermarket whose been on my mind and I’d not seen lately.

Basically, it was all about the ladies today.

I’m very fortunate. In every place I’ve lived, I’ve met and been lucky enough to get to know and become close friends with some truly extraordinary women, most of whom are still in my life today. Despite many years and miles separating us, I’m quite confident that we’d easily pick up right where we left off the last time we saw one another given our all-too-infrequent communiques these days.

But, here in Helsinki, perhaps more so than in any other moment in my life, I feel downright blessed by the closeness and extent of what I’ve come to view as my sisterhood of girlfriends. All of the women I know and love here are incredibly talented, smart, witty and truly special in one way or another. They are as varied as women everywhere are, and each has taught me something important at key moments. We’ve been through some shit together as each of us has had to deal with life’s more challenging aspects on various occasions. And, I can only hope to be there for them a fraction as much as they’ve been there for me.

I don’t have my own picture from today. How could I pick just one instant to capture given the many moments of joy these girlfriends of mine provided? So, I’m borrowing Thelma and Louise, partially because I love this particular image so much, but also because I want all of those women who I’m lucky enough to call my friends to know that I’d do just about anything for them.

Good. Bad. Near. Far. New. Old. And everything in between, y’all bring more to my world than I’ll ever deserve and infinitely more than I ever expected. I love ya, sistahs! This post is for you.

Day 25: Proekt 365 (Here’s to Finland’s Maternity Box)

Day 25: Proekt 365 Here's to Finland the the Maternity Box)

Day 25: Proekt 365
Here’s to Finland’s Maternity Box

Finland’s approach to ensuring its citizens and residents live a quality life and have equitable access to such a life from the youngest of ages impresses me. Today, whilst having lunch with a few expat friends, one of whom has an adorable baby girl who was born here, I was reminded of just how early that focus begins. If you have never heard of the Finland Maternity Box, look it up. I’ve marveled about this briefly before, but today I was particularly impressed with it for whatever reason.

Last year as the world awaited the birth of one prince or princess in particular, news focused briefly on the brilliance of the Maternity Box. For more than 75 years, Finnish mothers-to-be have received these boxes, which contain an impressive collection of clothes, toys, personal hygiene items for baby’s first bath (and for Mom), outerwear and various other necessities for newborn babies. All of the items are packed neatly into a decent-sized cardboard box, which can also be used as a baby bed — the package also includes all of the items for baby’s first bed, including a mattress that ingenuously fits snugly in the box.

Mothers can also opt to get cash. But, the loot which comes in the box far exceeds in value the cash disbursements (€140 as of 2013). So, most of the moms I know opted for the loot. I would! The picture above is an item my friend received in her Maternity Box when she was expecting her daughter. Not only is it as cute as her precious little girl, but her daughter LOVES the little bug and kept herself quite busy playing with it when she wasn’t concentrating so completely on being cute. Who wouldn’t love that bug?!

It’s impressive. Mighty impressive really when you consider the reasons behind and history surrounding the Finnish Maternity Box. Their distribution is designed to give all children born in Finland an equal start in life — regardless of socio-economic background, geographic location, family composition or cultural heritage. Every child born in Finland is entitled to receive the box (or cash equivalent) with just one condition placed on its receipt. Mothers wishing to receive the box must have visited an OB-GYN clinic by the fourth month of her pregnancy. In the late 1930s when the boxes were originally distributed to the poorest families, infant mortality in Finland was quite high (65 per 1000 births). Once the programme was expanded for all women and families in the 1940s and then following reforms to ensure all residents in Finland had equal access to all types of healthcare, infant mortality dropped and fewer complications were reported. Now, infant mortality is negligible.

Infant mortality over time has dropped incredibly in Finland

Infant mortality over time has dropped incredibly in Finland

The contents of the box are brilliant. Items are gender neutral (so that they are suitable for boys and girls) and are now chosen for their sensitivity to the environment. They are also durable and not cheaply made or designed. Many of the items in the box would be prohibitively expensive for the poorest families. Snow suits alone are incredibly pricy despite their necessity given the length and depths of winter we experience here in Finland. The contents even include baby’s first books. Yet, every mother is entitled to the box. And, every child can start life out with the same basic necessities. Well done, Finland. Very well done.

It doesn’t at all surprise me that Finland is ranked top in terms of where its best to be a mother. When you get a box like this to welcome your little bundle of joy, how could it not be pretty fab for moms? It should be. And, I’m delighted to live in a country that takes its newest and youngest residents so seriously, and which helps out its moms in the process.

Come on, Texas. Really?

I’ve written before about my connection to that most unique state, Texas. Today’s post sadly isn’t one which fills me with state pride.

Since seeing the tragic news a few days ago about Marlise Munoz, a 33-year-old brain dead woman who is forcibly being kept alive to serve, quite bluntly, as an incubator, has me speechless. Ms Munoz by all accounts is unable to live without full life support and will not recover. Her husband and parents want to take her off of life support and have wished to do so since learning that there is no brain stem activity. She herself had previously said that she did not want to be kept alive in a vegetative state. So, why is she now on life support against the wishes of her family and her own living will?

She was 14-weeks pregnant when she collapsed.

In Texas, life-sustaining treatment can not be withdrawn or withheld from a pregnant woman regardless of how far along she is in her pregnancy. As of 2012, similar strict laws surrounding end-of-life care for pregnant women existed in 12 states in the US, according to a 2012 study by the Centre for Women Policy Studies. (These states are Alabama, Idaho, Indiana, Kansas, Kentucky, Michigan, Missouri, South Carolina, Texas, Utah, Washington, and Wisconsin.) Thus, even if an advance directive exists stipulating that a woman does not wish to remain on life support if she is considered brain dead, the state has the right to keep her on life-sustaining support if she is pregnant. Her wishes for a dignified death are unimportant and she is essentially rendered an incubator. This is precisely what has happened to Ms Munoz.

Had she been further along in her pregnancy, I might find this more understandable. But, she was still in her first trimester when she was classified as ‘legally’ dead. She suffered from a lack of oxygen for an extended period of time, which most likely also affected the foetus. But, nevermind that.

What really gets me is the medical bills. Since it is the hospital’s decision to keep Ms Munoz on life support , you would think that the costs would fall on the administration. No. The bills will ultimately go to her family. With an average cost of US$4004 per day, already the bill is quite steep (~US$170 000 already at least). And, that’s just for the intensive care unit bill. But, this does not necessarily include the costs of the ambulance, emergency room and other various services and service providers, specialists, etc. undoubtedly used since she first collapsed on 26 November. All of these add to that already hefty bill and in the absence of a national healthcare system. For what?

My understanding is that, currently, the hospital is waiting until the foetus has developed further to determine if they will keep Ms Munoz on life support further and what additional actions they will take. Should tests reveal that the foetus is brain dead, what next? Who will be responsible for providing long-term care to that foetus/infant? The family? Or the hospital? Or the state of Texas?

Without delving into the pro-life / pro-choice debate, this case in particular fills me with sadness for the family of Ms Munoz, but also for Ms Munoz herself. Her dignity as a human and as a woman specifically has been diminished so greatly. She expressed her wishes to not be put on life support should she lose brain function. Her wishes have been ignored completely all for the sake of a foetus which may or may not survive to birth, and may or may not itself be brain dead.

In the words of her father, she is a ‘host’ at this point, not a woman or a mother. In cases like this, it’s hard to see that women are valued within society as anything but incubators when the rights of a foetus are placed so clearly above those of the mother. And, if we can fight so fiercely for the well-being of a foetus before it enters the world, why do we not then provide that same level of care and concern for the child it becomes?

Clearly, medical technology has advanced at an amazing rate, so much so that the ethics of our options have not completely sunk in and we have yet to philosophically ponder let alone come up with solutions / answers which work for all of us given our varied beliefs and moral compasses. Yet, I would hope that we would at the very least put the dignity of an individual, especially when spelled out when one is capable of still making such decisions, above all else.

For now, my thoughts are with the Munoz family. Suffering such a loss is bad enough. Having to relive it each and every day in such a viscous, callous and myopic way is unthinkable. May they be able to finally and definitively grieve sooner rather than later.

What we are taught, part 2

Over breakfast one morning when I was maybe 14 or 15 years old, my grandfather advised me to ‘keep [my] knees together’. To this day, I have no idea what prompted this seemingly random statement.

As an awkward adolescent sitting at breakfast in a restaurant with her family, I was mortified. From the faces of everyone except my grandfather and the choked chortling coming from the wait staff, it’s one of my most vivid memories of my grandfather and one I’d rather not recall quite so easily. The message, however, was as clear then as it is now: my own actions as a girl or woman will be interpreted by others and either invite judgements of virtue or exploitation and I alone hold responsibility over whatever happens. In other words, what happens to me (sexually) is my ‘fault’.

Horseshit, I say, now as I did then. I am of course responsible for the choices I make and decisions I take. But, I am not an object.

Nearly 30 years later and armed with a firm understanding of feminism, sexual justice, and the notion that there is no justification for the subjugation or exploitation of anyone, it’s discouraging to hear what is passing as a project aimed at today’s youth in West Virginia.

Labelled Project Future Two-a-Days, the ‘social media and drug education’ programme launched in August is aimed at high school athletes and guiding them on ‘avoiding trouble on the internet‘. Basically, it teaches young athletes how not to tweet, text or post to social media any evidence which might incriminate them or lead to criminal charges against them.

That is, things happen when you add drugs, alcohol, smartphones and raging hormones. Don’t share it via social media and here’s how you can avoid getting caught.

Maybe, in all this training, we can insert a little bit of guidance on not sexually assaulting young girls? Maybe a little something about ‘consensual sex’ and its meaning? And, hey, whilst we’re at it, maybe we could talk about safer sex? Since the programme mentions drug education, maybe we can also add a little about responsible drinking and drugs behaviour as well?

But, no, the idea is to not get caught — not to not do it in the first place. That it is designed for young male athletes is rather shocking.

News this week has showcased yet another town’s lovely treatment of a pair of young girls who were raped (at a star football player’s home and by him and his friends), one girl being left for dead on her lawn in freezing temps. Despite both physical and digital evidence, despite eye witness accounts from the younger girl and several of the other boys there, and despite what appears to be confessions from the two boys who assaulted the girls, the charges were mysteriously dropped. Instead, the two girls — one 13 and another 14 — were blamed for what happened to them and much of the town stands firmly behind the boys who perpetrated rape whilst publicly shaming the girls.

‘They asked for it’. ‘They deserved it’. ‘Matt 1: Daisy 0’ read one viscious t-shirt — Matt being the star football player, Daisy being the girl left for dead. That t-shirt was worn by another girl.

How many times will this happen? How many times has it happened and gone unreported?

The Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network provides a depressing answer to that last question: out of every 100 rapes, 54 go unreported. Only three out of every 100 rapists will spend a single day in jail for the crime(s) they commit. Three. I think we can agree that that is appalling.

From RAINN (http://www.rainn.org/get-information/statistics/reporting-rates). Sources:  1.  Justice Department, National Crime Victimization Survey: 2006-2010; 2. FBI, Uniform Crime Reports: 2006-2010; 3. National Center for Policy Analysis, Crime and Punishment in America, 1999; 4. Department of Justice, Felony Defendents in Large Urban Counties: average of 2002-2006; 5. Department of Justice, Felony Defendents in Large Urban Counties: average of 2002-2006.

From RAINN (http://www.rainn.org/get-information/statistics/reporting-rates).
Sources:
1. Justice Department, National Crime Victimization Survey: 2006-2010; 2. FBI, Uniform Crime Reports: 2006-2010; 3. National Center for Policy Analysis, Crime and Punishment in America, 1999; 4. Department of Justice, Felony Defendents in Large Urban Counties: average of 2002-2006; 5. Department of Justice, Felony Defendents in Large Urban Counties: average of 2002-2006.

There is no justice figures like these. Whilst these are figures for all rapes regardless of age, given the reluctance of most kids to talk about sex let alone sexual violence and drugs and alcohol with their parents, it’s easy to imagine that most instances of rape in adolescents go unreported to anyone. But, by all means, let’s start programmes which teach young men how to get away with sexually assaulting young girls.

Gloria Steinem may have been speaking on a seemingly unrelated issue when she recently said that we need to ‘change the culture‘. But, that seems precisely what we need to do. Rather than teaching boys and young men how not to get caught and to not post videos or pictures of their friends raping young girls, we have the tools and responsibility to teach them how to respect young girls and how NOT to rape young girls. We should spend a little energy and time imparting upon them that girls and women are not simply sexual objects — young girls are equally important and valuable — intellectually, socially and culturally. Let’s provide young people with healthy notions of relationships of all types.

And, while we’re at it, let’s teach young girls (and young boys) that have been sexually assaulted that they won’t be blamed for the heinous acts perpetrated against them. They will not be shamed by their community simply because the popular, well-connected individual is the guilty party. It is not their fault when a violent crime is committed against them.

The only way we can change the culture of rape and the culture of objectification is to call it what it is and hold those accountable for turning a blind eye. And, we commit further crimes when we blame those against whom such crimes have been perpetrated.

Thirty years on from that mortifying breakfast and I am realising nothing has really changed. But, that doesn’t mean it can’t.

Fact: Child brides exist

A particularly gruesome headline can bring attention to issues which otherwise garner far too little coverage. This morning, one such headline has been on my mind:

Bride, 8, dies of injuries on wedding night in Yemen

There is some question regarding the veracity of the reporting in the wake of regional outrage. True or not, child brides as young as 8 years old exist in many parts of the world. Very few of those lives spark any interest at all and never appear in headlines until tragedy (of another sort) strikes.

Girls Not Brides estimates that each year 14 million girls are wed before they turn 18, the age which is internationally recognised as the point at which a girl transitions to womanhood. One in seven of those 14 million girls marry before reaching the age of 15.

It isn’t just that girls under 18 marry, which is troubling. It’s that the majority of those young girls are forced to do so, and more often than not are greeted with husbands who are much, much older. A rather chilling collection of photographs and a short film (below) by Stephanie Sinclair vividly illustrate the reality of child marriage for many young girls across cultures.

In addition to the horror of rape, many girls who are married off far, far too young face a host of risks to their health and well-being. Most likely already living in poverty, they are more likely to experience complications due to pregnancy and childbirth given their age, and they are at risk for sexually transmitted infections including HIV. Unable to emotionally and physically deal with married life, domestic abuse and violence are also likely making the transition from girl to woman a living nightmare.

For some young brides in Afghanistan and India, their situation is so unimaginably horrendous that self-immolation is preferable to returning to abusive, much older husbands.

Whether the headline of a single 8-year-old Yemeni girl is fact or fiction, the International Centre for Research on Women estimates that child marriage will be a reality for more than 142 million girls over the next decade globally if current trends persist. No continent is immune to this reality, and no single culture, religion, or ethnicity is ‘to blame’. It happens everywhere.

Whether that headline is true or not, hundreds of thousands of young girls have suffered emotionally and physically as a child bride on their wedding nights. Some wedding gift, eh?

Hooray for moms!

I am continually amazed at just how awesome today’s moms are. Since moving to Finland, we  met some pretty amazing people, including talented and intelligent women and their incredibly inquisitive and lovely children.

This is my homage to them.

Perhaps it is because we live in the best place on the planet to be a mother or simply a consequence of age, but most of the women I know here have children, many of whom are young kids. (As I write, I’m anxiously awaiting news of the arrival of one friend’s baby girl!) From the newest editions to the planet’s population to young adults embarking on epic journeys, each of these families have enriched our lives and our time in Finland immensely.

Finland is a pretty fabulous place to have kids. From the incredible landscape and clean, well-organised environment to the impressive system of health and social services, families are well provided for and supported. Recently, the Finnish tradition of providing a box of clothes, baby supplies, and other necessities which in turn can serve as a baby bed was spotlighted in the media, and even sent to the royalist of families before the arrival of their own little bundle of joy. Finland makes it easier to be a parent and evens the odds for all as much as possible for each new life. Those are all great things.

But, that doesn’t mean that being a mother is at all easy or without its challenges. The demands of contemporary life—busy social calendars all situated in a foreign land and/or in multiple languages—are enough to exhaust (and at times frustrate) anyone. Add into this mix children particularly young ones, and I honestly don’t know how today’s expat moms survive with their sanity in tact! What’s more, many of the super moms I know either have husbands who travel a LOT and/or also have their own careers and jobs to juggle as well.

Nevermind the cape — I often imagine these women with two heads (to accommodate what I’d imagine as the necessary brain power to keep everything in its proper intellectual place) and more tentacles than a school of octopi!

Mutants they are not. They’re just fabulous women who love their children, and are shaping amazing little people. It’s an absolute honour to spend time with all these amazing moms and children. Whilst I don’t have photos of them all, I’ve included a few of the moments I’ve been fortunate to share with these fantastic families. Thank you for all that you do and for sharing your lives with us!

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Don’t mess with Texas women

I am a Texas woman.

There. I said it.

To my Texan brethren, I am a Yankee. Fine. I’m a Texan Yankee. Whatever.

But, I was born in Brenham, Tx, home to the finest ice cream on the planet, and descend from the men and women who defended the Alamo long before Texas was a part of the United States. There is nothing more beautiful to me than a field filled with Texas bluebonnets. Nothing. Texas, as much as it completely baffles me, is still home. And, I am proud of my family’s heritage in the history of that most enigmatic of states. The steaks do taste better. The mosquitoes are gigantic. The TexMex is the finest anywhere (of course — ‘Texas’ is right there in the name!), and the margaritas flow bigger and colder than anywhere I’ve ever been.

All of these things are now things which fill me with a sense of pride at my Texan heritage.

I lost the accent long ago (something about being 3 and sounding incredibly different to all the other kids made that a lightning-fast loss), and I talk faster than a Texas twister I’ve been told on more than one occasion. I was a vegetarian for many years to the utter disbelief of some. Once I became active and cognizant of the political sphere as an undergraduate, I became not just a {gasp} Democrat, but a god-less liberal (resulting in many a family ‘intervention’ at holidays and visits). I do not own a gun, nor do I hunt. When I still had a car, I drove a Japanese car. And, I lived far, far North of the Mason-Dixon line when I last lived in the US.

Perhaps the parts of that heritage which resonate most soundly with me, however, are the attitudes and sass of just about everyone I know there, which rival none. We like our sass as big as our trucks and hats — super sized. The two phrases in my own family which carried the most meaning were ‘Don’t mess with Texas’ and ‘Don’t cross Grandma’. (My dearest darling grandmother, Katharine, to whom I owe much of my own personality now, was the strongest, most intelligent woman I’ve ever known. And, she was Texan through and through.)

Despite the many reasons I am proud of being a Texas woman by birth, yesterday’s utter insanity in the state Senate (along with Texas politics, in general) is a big reason why I am reluctant to shout my heritage from the rooftops.

For those sleeping under rocks or completely tuned out from all news and media outlets, the Texas Senate was poised on Tuesday to pass a sweeping bill which would eliminate 37 of the 42 clinics in the state that provide abortion services to Texas women*. (They are also acting incredibly fast to enact legislation which would make it harder for poor and minority citizens to vote in elections.) This is the state whose Governor refuses to expand Medicaid services with federal funds, despite having one of the highest percentages of uninsured individuals in the country. This is also the state in which spending on family planning services across the board were cut by two-thirds in 2011. Thus, not only will Texas women be unable to access abortion services, they won’t be able to prevent unintended pregnancies to prevent the necessity of seeking such services. Social benefits are hard to come by for poor Texans given the state’s largely conservative mentality.

Despite not living there for a long, long while, as a Texas woman I’d like to thank Senator Wendy Davis for her courageous and sadly necessary attempt to thwart the insanity in the state Senate yesterday. Even if ‘dirty tactics’ by the state GOP circumvent her filibuster, she stood up for all women across Texas and we witnessed the tenacity and bravery of a woman who said ‘no more’. And, she did so with grace, dignity and quiet contemplation. She did so in the tradition of those who fought for Texas Independence at the Alamo so long ago and gave us reasons to be proud of our heritage and state.

State Senator Wendy Davis is a hero among ‘thieves’ (in this case, thieves = Texas GOP politicians), to adapt and borrow a favourite phrase. And, she stood with honour yesterday, and provides yet another reason for me to be proud to be a Texan. And, prouder still be a Texan woman.

I #StandwithWendy and all Texas women, even those with whom I disagree.

I #StandwithWendy and all Texas women, even those with whom I disagree. (Image from Sarah Baker @bakerbk)

*I don’t want to go into the whole abortion debate, which is basically impossible here. To me, it’s no one’s business but a woman’s. What she chooses to do is between her and her doctor and partner. That’s all I’m saying here.

Why I Walk…

Today was the annual Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. This event takes place each autumn and is used to raise awareness and much-needed funding for research on breast cancer in Finland. I’ve taken part in the walk physically three years now, and at least supported the walk if I wasn’t able to attend it every years since 2008.

I won’t be missing any future years if at all possible.

One of the reasons it was a special day both this year and last revolved around sharing the event with dear friends who are breast cancer survivors. One of friend was in the middle of her chemotherapy treatment during last year’s walk and bravely and courageously walked the longer route through Helsinki despite not feeling at all at her best. This year she’s doing fantastic, she’s finished chemo, and she continues to amaze and marvel providing endless amounts of inspiration to many. This year was additionally special as another dear friend celebrated the official notice that she is cured of her own battle against breast cancer which started five years ago.

I honestly can’t imagine life without either of these two brilliant women, and I’m incredibly grateful and humbled to share the day with them.

The day was even more poignant when I arrived home to find a message from an old friend who is now beginning her own battle against breast cancer. It may have been years since I’ve seen her, but this news hit me hard and brought home once again just how precious life and time are. I hope she knows I’m with her, even if not physically there.

For the three women above, and for the other women who have fought and won, as well as those who have sadly lost, their individual battles against breast cancer, I will walk. With hope and the dedication of those who dedicate their own lives to finding a cure, may we be a few steps closer to eliminating it finally and definitively.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.