#female autonomy

[alixfoxx]

You know, people talk about The Little Mermaid being about teenage rebellion, but I think it's more about female autonomy. The main character, a young woman, is not allowed to have an interest in something she's passionate about, but she doesn't care. Her father thinks he knows what is best for her, but she wants freedom. When she speaks out about it, he destroys her work. The only way she thinks she will be freed is to reach out to his enemy, who has also been hurt by her father. However, this puts her in even more danger, but this danger never would've happened if her father just acknowledged her passion. The whole story is about a woman not being taken seriously. Even the other women just view her as her voice and looks.

[justanotherbloodywoman]

For a woman to have a sufficient level of autonomy, we should be able to know how to do home repairs, at least in a basic to normal level.

Women, I have a question concerning screws. I was putting my cat's scratching table on the wall, but the screw bushing (?), although supposedly of the same length of the screw, got pushed deep into the wall hole, cause I want to keep the screw close to the wall, so my cat wouldn't hurt himself.

What should I do? Should I buy a bigger bushing? How should I go about pushing the screw all the way so my cat won't stuck his nail on it?

[fiercemillennial]

Joyner Lucas Oversteps: Why Ashanti's Pregnancy News Was Hers to Share

Joyner Lucas let the cat out of the bag about Ashanti's pregnancy...but was it his place to do so? 🤔 Let's talk about women's privacy and the right to share personal news when they're ready. #Ashanti #WomensEmpowerment #Respect #FierceMillennial #FierceImpact #JoynerLucas

Rapper Joyner Lucas confirmed Ashanti’s pregnancy, and fans are wondering if he crossed a line by sharing personal news that wasn’t his to announce. Ashanti’s Ex Joyner Lucas Confirms Her Pregnancy: ‘I Know How Much She Wanted To Be A Mom’ For any woman, pregnancy can be an intensely private and personal time, filled with a mix of anticipation, nerves, and excitement. It’s a special journey…

[yawnderu]

CW: mentions of kidnapping and stolen body autonomy.

Find a way in, kill the enemy, retrieve the hostages, leave. A routine of sorts that gave his life some sense of purpose to avoid going insane for the past two decades. Simon liked to believe he got over what happened in his past... truly, he did; and yet Manuel Roba’s horrors seem to haunt him no matter where how many years pass.

“C’mere.” Simon’s voice held no hostility, he made sure of it, yet your stiff position never changed. Legs angled to the right, hands folded on your lap, and eyes looking forward, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze even if it’s been hours since your rescue. Garrick, Price and Johnny have already tried to get you to talk multiple times, all of them with different approaches. 

Garrick was friendly, trying his best to seem approachable, a bright smile on his lips that you didn’t seem to notice, too busy staring at a wall no matter how much he tried to hold a conversation.

Price seemed fatherly, never once laying a hand on you even if it was itching to comfort you, and so he settled with telling you you’re safe now, how no one will ever get you again now that they're here. His words didn’t seem to do much, either. 

Johnny was… something else. His first attempt was a shitty pick up line, getting a reaction out of you for the first time— a nose scrunched up in disgust, but a reaction nonetheless.  

And Simon… Simon’s approach was different. The man was used to barking out orders and obeying them himself, not to deal with an unresponsive hostage. His behemoth frame was nestled next to you, putting a tray on the table and observing your reactions. From the way you swallowed thickly the moment the meal was presented to you, to the sound of your stomach growling. 

“Go on, then.” Your gaze follows his movements for the first time, the feeling of your stomach rumbling makes you more aware of your hunger, so many years being fed nothing but what was necessary to keep you alive by Manuel and his associates, so many years of being trained like a dog to obey to their very order. 

Simon can see the hesitation in your body language, too tense to allow yourself to dig in the way you wanted, yet no longer as stiff as before. There was a sense of relief at the fact that they didn’t seem to want to hurt you —unlike Roba—, yet years of non-stop brutal training can’t be erased within hours.

Roba’s training was engraved into your brain, and while the sense of security the SAS blokes gave you is something you’re thankful for, nothing guarantees they’re not working for him. You’ve seen other military men come and go throughout the years, always Roba’s friends, and always sharing the same disgusting, sadistic desires.

“Eat up.” The rest of the men watch the way you move, curiosity and amusement mixing at how strange your movements seem, almost robotic. Your forearms rest on the table, elbows away from the cheap wood as you attempt to hold your own cutlery— attempt, because it looks fully foreign to you, trying out different angles to make it work, and yet it's the first time in years you've been allowed to try and feed yourself.

Simon is the first one to catch on, having lived under Roba’s rules for long enough to know he enjoys taking people’s autonomy, to reduce them to nothing but a pathetic mess that depends on him. His gloved fingers are gentle as he takes the spoon from your hand, scooping up some food before holding it up to your lips. His full attention is on you, relief starting to make its way into his body as sees your rather soft lips wrap around the spoon, eating whatever he was feeding you. Lucky for you, this time it wasn’t an MRE… or beans on toast.

His gloved thumb wipes the corners of your lips every time you’re done chewing, and he’s quick to pick up more food from the plate, nothing but patience and kindness shown in his actions, so unlike the brooding soldier he's known to be.

“... two goldfish are in a tank…?” Johnny’s loud groan gets your attention for a second, yet you quickly glance back at Simon, curious eyes looking up at him, almost as if asking him to go on. 

“One turns to the other and says… ‘you know how to drive this thing?’” You can see the corners of his eyes crinkle before he even finishes his joke, clearly trying his best not to laugh at just how awful it was. A small smile hides in the corners of your lips, and Simon takes that as a victory, ignoring the questioning looks he’s getting from his team, for now.

[hadesoftheladies]

anti-abortionists and pro choicers like me can agree on one thing: whoever creates the life can destroy the life. only the former have the male-self-insert god character who metaphysically acts as the one "knitting" the fetus in the womb, while those who observe the world as-is without invoking yahwhist lore rightfully attribute that ability to the woman.

[my-midlife-crisis]

[freckled-radfem]

From the article “How to be a feminist revolutionary and set women free” by Caitlin Moran

[sleepyfan-blog]

Meeting Interrupted

Author's note: This is the next part of Rotten Fate. Masterlist here. AO3

tagged: @ms--lobotomy @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @bleedingichorhearts

warnings: body horror, loss of autonomy, manipulation, unhealthy relationship, please ask me to tag something if I've missed it/something bothers you

Summary: You decide to interrupt Typhus' Meeting with the thousand sons. What's he going to do? Make your life worse? Hah.

Once your lust dies down to the point after you can think clearly again, you mull over your current options. Your shitty “husband” calls you little Isha from time to time. Referring to the fact that you are his captive spouse that he is unable to permanently kill, nor blight with the horrific plagues and poisons of his Patron, Nurgle. What he seems to be entirely unaware of (and, good for her) is the fact that part of the reason why Isha does not attempt to escape Nurgle - other than being relatively safe from the predation of Slaanesh… Is that Isha works against Nurgle’s plots and plans by whispering the antidotes and cures that are always effective against his plagues and poisons.

While you can’t do that - Typhus doesn’t seem to make new poisons and plagues as Host of the destroyer hive - what you can do is attempt to fuck up his plans, whatever those may be. You have no idea what his plans are at the moment, but he did ask you to stay put while he parlayed with his cousin. And you can waddle your way into causing Problems for him on purpose by interrupting the meeting.

You’re also hungry as fuck, and there is no food anywhere within Typhus’ rooms. His evil bees buzz menacingly as you approach the door that leads out of his rooms, but you glare at them “Fuck off, you ugly shits. I’m hungry as hell and he didn’t leave me anything to eat. And I’m eating for at least two with-” You pat your distended belly. You can sense the little mind growing within you. The little one does not feel tainted by Chaos… At least not yet. Part of you hopes that you’ll find a way to get the child to safety, somehow.

Between Typhus’ potent psychic abilities and you being a perpetual there is no chance that the child you’re carrying won’t be a psyker of potent ability, once you give birth to them. Whether or not they are going to be a Perpetual is ambiguous to you. Neoth sired more than a few bastards before deciding to rule Humanity as a whole - or attempt to do so. Some of them were psykers. Some were Perpetual. Most, however, were neither… Though that was long before psykery became more commonplace amongst Humanity as a whole. 

The bees buzzed ominously, but apart from a full cloud of the ominous little fuckers flying around and behind you, they didn’t actually sting you this time. Which was nice, as you used a bit of psychic energy to flick the internal mechanism of the door open, through which you moved through…

The view of the hallway you were walking in was just as rank and dismal as the first time you’d seen it, having been picked up and thrown over one of Typhus’ shoulders unceremoniously… Weeks? Months? Years? Ago. You weren’t sure how long you’ve spent in Typhus’ captivity. You deliberately tried not to track the days, as the answer would only upset and distress you. You silently hoped that your crew was still alive and thriving. 

You pass mumbling cultists and tiny daemons, none of whom take notice of your passage, as you are using a little bit of Psykery to go unnoticed by the beings around you as you waddle your way over to where your captor and his Very Important Guest are either talking, posturing at one another or fighting.

Or possibly a combination of all three of them.

You can tell that you’re getting close to where Typhus is, by the way that his Evil Bees have landed on the simple white dress that you’re wearing. It’s the only piece of clothing he’s given you - you haven’t been allowed even any under things or even sandals. Which made traveling through the unpleasantly biological horror of a ship that Typhus had been gifted by his Patron a wildly unpleasant experience. 

You reached the door behind which was Ahriman and Typhus, along with at least a dozen of their brothers each. You drop the glamor, startling the four guards standing in front of it. You stare at the two Death Guard, ignoring the shifting and growling Thousand Sons. “I am going into that room, to talk to my husband. You can either step aside or open the door for me.”

“Who the fuck are you, and why are you dressed like that? How are you dressed like that and not -” One of the Thousand sons began to growl, reaching out to grab you.

You lean away from his touch “I would very strongly suggest you don’t try that again. My…  Husband’s little helpers don’t like it when strangers try to grab me. I am a Perpetual, and unable to be affected by the…” You gesture to the filth, stagnation and decay all around you “All of this unless I explicitly allow myself to be, which I don’t. Dying like this seems like a misery.”

“What do you mean by -AAahhhh! NO no no no no! Get it off, get it off, get it off of me!” The grabby Thousand Son wailed as one of Typhus’ destroyer bees landed on his out-stretched gauntleted hand, stinger poised to plunged through the armored plate. 

You snort and scoop up the angry bee, booping it on it’s snout “No. Bad bee! He didn’t do anything to try to hurt me, and stopped trying to grab me when I told him to. No stinging guests!”

The Destroyer bee buzzed unhappily in your hands, but did not sting you. You roll your eyes and settle it back on one of your shoulders. You go back to looking at the Death Guard at the door “Let me in to see my husband right now. Or I will escalate things. The Emperor of Mankind didn’t want me to stay on Terra after I left the Astartes project for a number of reasons. Do you want to find out what those are personally?” 

“... No. It’s just… Oldest Brother is in the middle of delicate negotiations and -” One of the Death Guard tried to explain.

Adorable. You kind of want to pat his helmeted head. Bless his gross, bloated hearts he’s trying. You reach up and pat one of his gauntleted arms gently “Don’t worry. I will handle my husband. I”ve done quite a few negotiations, you know. During my time as a Rogue Trader and before that. I remember what it was like during the Dark Age of Technology, though those memories are dim and distant now.” You sigh, shaking your head a little. It was a shame how things had gone to such heights, before crashing and burning so spectacularly because of the Eldari being too bored and horny so they decided to try and make a new powerful warp entity. 

“... As you say, Lady of Mercy.” Both of the Death Guard murmur, opening the door for you.

You blink a couple of times as you enter the main conference room of the massive spaceship. Lady of Mercy, hmm? That’s a new one. Did Typhus give it to you? Or did some of the others, now that you were here to distract him from some of his crueler pursuits at times? “Good boys.” You murmur distantly, patting them on the armored arm once again as you pass by.

Typhus and Ahriman are standing on opposite sides of the table, pointing and yelling at one another at considerable volume. There are a lot of very tense mutated astartes on both sides watching their eldest brothers having a go at each other, in regards to centuries if not millennia old slights and petty squabbling. 

Ah, family. Such a messy thing it often is. 

You teleport onto the table in a flash of cyan warp light, making sure to make enough sound and light to catch the attention of everyone in the room.

The yelling blessedly stops as you appear on top of the table, heavily pregnant and half-covered in Typhus’ bees. The unadorned white silk dress that fell just above your knees, the hem plunging down just far enough to give a peek at your cleavage and sleeveless, the thin straps starting to fall off of your shoulders. The pregnancy bulge of your belly quite prominent as the soft silk clings to your body,

For several seconds, there is a profound silence as the assembled Astartes process your sudden and unexpected arrival.

You allow yourself to giggle, smiling up at both Ahriman and Typhus, before demurely hiding your smile behind a hand. Your other hand coming up to cup your swollen belly, knowing that the motion would catch the attention of many in the room. “Greetings, First captain Ahriman of the Thousand Sons. I do apologize for Ty’s behavior. We were a little… Mm… Busy, when you stopped by for a visit.” You allow a demure blush to spread across your cheeks as your voice dips into a coquettish purr, your eyes going half-lidded for a moment.

The destroyer bees that were resting upon your body begin to stir and buzz, likely in response to the shifting and heightening emotions of their Host. They are the only sound being made in the room, to your unending amusement. Your incongruous presence and statements seemed to have stalled their allegedly enhanced minds. Then again Chaos rots even the best of beings. 

Before things can escalate in ways that you don’t want them to, you walk over to where Typhus is standing, needing to go up on your tiptoes to kiss his corroded helm. You stage-whisper, knowing that the enhanced hearing of all of the Astartes present will allow them to hear you, if they aren’t deaf or otherwise hard of hearing, leaning into Typhus “Hubby, dearest, the baby and I are hungry… And you never told me where you keep the safe food.” You give him what you hope is a flirty pout “So I had to come find you. Your little friends were only a bit naughty.” You murmur, gently plucking up one of the ominously buzzing bees and pressing a faux-affectionate kiss to it’s unpleasantly furry and matted body before letting it go.

It buzzed back over to Typhus, swaying and flying as if it was drunk. Your amusement only increases. 

No one else has yet to do or say a single thing. It’s as if they’ve all turned into very strange statues. You know they haven’t as you can sense their rapidly shifting minds and emotions plainly, but none of them have yet to actually react. 

It’s very funny. It’s quite possible that none of them have seen a woman in thousands of years, and even longer since they’ve seen a pregnant one. The poor dears are dreadfully caught off guard and deeply, deeply confused. At least the Thousand Sons are. The Death Guard are mostly worried.

You tilt your head up and reach for Typhus’ helm, giving him a look of mock-concern. “Darling? Husband? Sweetheart? Why aren’t you responding?” You pout more as your nimble fingers find the catches on his helmet, pressing them in before twisting and removing his helmet, revealing his face. You set it down on the table before you close your eyes, going up on your tiptoes once again and press a kiss to his flesh-cheek. You lean against his armor -which is eternally cool to the touch and wrap your arms around his neck, batting your lashes up at him, peering through them as you ask “Husband? Typhus? Ty-darling?”

Typhus continues to stare at you with glowing, rotted eyes, seemingly transfixed to the spot. He hasn’t breathed in minutes -though you’re not sure that he needs to, given his long-ago transformation into the Herald of Nurgle. 

“Who are you?” Ahriman demanded, his voice strangled and deeply confused.

“Hmm? Oh me? I’ve gone by many names, and held hundreds of titles over the course of my very, very long life. I’ve died a few times as well, but it doesn’t stick, as I am a Perpetual… After the Unification of Terra, I found myself working directly with Him for a time. As soon as the Sol system was fully conquered and He started the Rogue Trader program, I was off to the distant stars, with my first retinue in tow. I did that for several thousand years… Until honey-sweet Typhus here decided to capture me in his clever web of death and sickness. Since then I’ve been his wife, per his decision.” You sigh. 

“You… A perpetual… One who has worked alongside the Carrion Emperor? How much… How much knowledge of Psykery do you possess? What could you teach those of us interested in the Arcane arts? Surely you would rather be around more psykers, rather than the fetid stink of Nurgle’s chosen Bastards?” Ahriman breathed, avarice in his voice “I would be more than willing to play the role of -”

“Don’t. You. Dare finish that sentence, you two-faced deceiver!” Typhus growled thunderously, two of his tentacles swiftly slid out from wherever he usually keeps them and wrapped securely around your body, carefully supporting the weight of the baby in your belly. He pulls you tightly to his chest, making sure not to squash your belly against his armor. “I have listened to your endless whining and plots about finding some ridiculous library that may not even exist for too long! Begone from this ship, you will have no aid from the Death Guard. If you refuse to leave, I will have you removed by force.”

Ahriman’s glare intensified “I was not speaking to you, Typhus, but the Psyker you are holding captive. Gods above only know why she seems to actually be sweet on you, though I suppose that honey of yours can addle even the greatest of minds.” His gaze shifts to you “Should you wish to leave this fetid, stinking bastard and his army of undead thralls, call for me and I shall whisk you away from all of this pungent suffering and treat you in the way that a psyker of your age and experience should be.”

With that, the first captain of the Thousand Sons sent out a psychic pulse. A moment later he and all of his brothers vanished from Typhus’ ship. 

“... Awfully dramatic fellow, isn’t he?” You murmur, an amused grin appearing on your face as you look up at Typhus, trying to get a read on his emotional state. It’s difficult, with the walls that he’s put up. 

“... You wouldn’t leave me for him would you?” Typhus asked, his voice surprisingly small and unsure. 

You blink, throw your head back and laugh “Go with him? Please. The endless machinations of his Patron and underlings would have me in a murder-loop within the week. Would I rather be able to wander freely throughout realspace on my ship, the one you took me from? Yes. But him? Hahahaha. No. His patron is far too capricious for my tastes.” You give him a little kiss on the cheek, for emphasis. 

“... I see. You mentioned being hungry, my flower?” Typhus rumbled, sounding calmer.

“Yes! Also, hand please. Unarmored.” You instruct, grabbing at one of his hands, which he gives you. It takes you a moment to take the gauntlet off, and you carefully grab the fleshy fingers of his hand, pressing them against your belly.

The little one in your belly gently kicks against the press, and Typhus gasps.

“Oh! Hello, little one. I am your papa… I am so excited to meet you, when you’re ready to enter the world.” Typhus murmured, his glowing eyes widening with awe and delight. He clicks his fingers and points at one of his brothers “Pestilan, get my wife food. The rest of you, clear this room and check to make sure those treacherous sorcerers didn’t leave any nasty surprises left for us to find for denying them their wants.”

“Yes sir!” The other Death Guards murmur at the same time, swiftly leaving the room.

[jacks-weird-world]

Jack was Today at the Kamala Harris’ campaign’s “Fighting for Reproductive Freedom” bus tour inside the Independence Visitor Center in Old City, Philly.

[sofigrace]

It's funny sad how some people, to fit their narrative that ashton (and by extension tal) is a selfish pos that only did this for power, seem to strip fearne (and by extension ashley) of all her agency

they claim to care about her "oh poor fearne, being manipulated by big evil ashton, i feel so bad for ashley, she was dragged into this" and blatantly ignore what was said on and off the campaign

they refuse to aknowledge that fearne didn't want the shard, that ashley believed it should go to ashton, that tal said they'd have to talk about options before the session, even that ashton was all for giving the shard to fearne until she said she didn't want it

and i don't mean it metaphorically, like, this were all things that were said textually, but they ignore it

just because they never had a good reason to dislike ashton, so now that they *reads notes* act human and make mistakes, they cling to that like a freaking life vest

[benjaminallhope-fulltimemind]

Don't ever forget this is the man who proudly claimed to have gotten Row V Wade overturned, this is merely a shameless attempt at rewriting history since it's proven time and time again that abortion is a topic that Republicans lose hard on, hard restrictions or outright abortion bans are deeply unpopular and negatively affect their chances of re-election. Every women and human being deserves bodily autonomy and respect no matter what, the fact it has to be debated or even voted on is a tragedy. Democrats desperately need to hammer trump and the Republicans in abortion in order to stop Project 2025, with Project 2025 it'd be the end of any abortion right in America with a nation abortion ban and the revocation of abortion drugs perfectly safe and already cleared by the FDA. Vote Democrat and keep spoiled billionaire Trump out of offuce, it's the only way to save democracy. If you think Republicans only want to oppress trans and LGBTQIA+ individuals then you're wrong, white woman and women of all races and creeds will be oppressed by Republicans if Trump wins another term.

[no-passaran]

Very important and heartbreaking news.

(Organizations to support at the end of the post)

March 19th, 2024

https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2024/03/19/gambia-female-genital-mutilation-cutting/

Gambia moves towards ending ban on female genital mutilation

Gambia’s National Assembly has voted to advance a bill that would overturn a ban on female genital cutting, putting this tiny West African country on a path to being the first nation in the world to roll back such a protection.

Many of the women who filed into the National Assembly building on Monday to witness the proceedings had experienced the horror that comes with cutting, which has been practiced for generations here. One woman said she was taken by her family at age 8 to a ceremony in which she was pinned down and cut. Another learned on her wedding night that her vaginal opening had been sealed. A third experienced years of infections and later infertility after being cut without her parents’ permission.

The women listened stoically as members of parliament — the vast majority of them men — pounded their gavels in support as Almameh Gibba, the lawmaker who introduced the bill, described it as intended to “uphold religious rights and safeguard cultural norms and values.” (...)

Already, the United Nations says that about 75 percent of girls and women in Gambia between the ages of 15 and 49 have been subjected to genital cutting, which is often described by opponents as female genital mutilation, or FGM. Globally, more than 200 million women and girls are estimated to be survivors of female genital cutting, which can involve removing part of the clitoris and labia minora and, in the most extreme cases, a sealing of the vaginal opening. Medical experts say the procedures, which do not have medical benefits, can cause a range of short- and long-term harms, including infections, severe pain, scarring, infertility and loss of pleasure.

An activist cries and gets support during a debate among Gambian lawmakers on lifting the ban on FGM. (Carmen Yasmine Abd Ali for The Washington Post)

“It is a rollback on women’s rights and bodily autonomy,” said Jaha Dukureh, a Gambian activist whose little sister died as a result of a botched procedure and who found out on her wedding night, at 15, that she had been sealed as a baby. “It is a rollback in terms of telling women what to do with their own bodies. This is all this is.” (...)

Outside the National Assembly on Monday, women and men holding signs that read, “Girls need love, not knives” squared off against Muslim clerics who were preaching to dozens of veiled girls from Islamic schools. They cheered as one cleric told them [female genital mutilation] was justified by religion.

Inside the building, where only five of Gambia’s 58 lawmakers are women, the discussion Monday was dominated by men. Among the survivors in the audience was Sainey Ceesay, the founder of a nonprofit focused on destigmatizing infertility, who said she only recently decided to start talking about what she experienced at 8 years old. At that time, women had gathered her and a group of other girls at a house in Banjul, the capital, and used a razor to cut off her clitoris.

Ceesay, who said she suffered for years from trauma and infections and was unable to conceive, is still holding out hope that the ban will not be repealed. “At least as of today, FGM is still illegal in Gambia,” she said with a quiet sigh.

Fatty, the cleric whose support helped push the bill forward, (...) explained that it was about following the teachings of the prophet, about purity and about reducing the likelihood of cancer. (Doctors say there is no basis for this claim.)

“It is something not to reduce feeling, but to control, to balance the feelings of a woman,” he said in an interview.

When asked to clarify whether he meant women have too much desire in the absence of cutting, he nodded his head and wagged a finger.

“Too much,” Fatty said. “Too much. We can say in sex, women’s power is more than men’s power. … Women can do sex longer than men. So that is why Islam came to balance. They can be together and their desire can be balanced.” (...) [Many Islamic countries do not have FGM.]

(...) Many women note that because cutting often happens when girls are no older than in elementary school, they are never given a choice in the matter. (...)

Fatou Baldeh, an activist and FGM survivor (...), said she tries to “hold grace” for the women who continue to advocate for the practice, knowing many have not been educated and have only their own experience to go by.

But sitting in the parliamentary chambers Monday as she listened to the men debate, Baldeh said she was seething.

When one activist started wiping tears from her eyes with tissues, a lawmaker demanded that women who were crying leave the chambers, and the speaker agreed, asking them not to make a scene.

Baldeh said she wanted to scream listening to the men trivialize the pain women had experienced. But she resolved to stay in the chambers, knowing the importance of the women being present, forcing the men to look at them as they cast their votes.

“We have a right to cry,” she said. “But we knew the importance of staying. So we kept our tears in.”

An activist cries during the parliamentary debate on FGM. (Carmen Yasmine Abd Ali for The Washington Post)

Full support and encouragement to the brave Gambian activists fighting to end FGM.

Support organizations and activists:

Safe Hands For Girls (survivor-led organization focused on ending female genital mutilation and child marriage, and helping women and girls who have gone through or are going through these experiences): website, X/Twitter, Instagram, YouTube.

Jaha Marie Dukureh (activist, founder of Safe Hands For Girls): X/Twitter.

Women in Liberation and Leadership (Gambian NGO): website, X/Twitter.

Fatou Baldeh (activist, in WILL) on X/Twitter.

Network Against Gender-Based Violence Gambia: X/Twitter, Facebook.

(Racists, transphobes, and other hate groups do not interact)

[femme-dor]

Sometimes avant-garde art films with themes you’re supposed to figure out on your own aren’t actually “bad” & you’re just upset America Ferrera didn’t stand up in the middle of it to explain what the movie is about.

[queerism1969]

Religious nutjobs are obsessed with people's sex life. How can they justify the brutality they are doing? They say abortion is 'murder' and that's why it should be illegal. But...how will they explain banning birth control, when you can't kill something that doesn't exist?

And what will women who need Birth Control for conditions like Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) do? Just suffer for the sake of non existent children?

[silver4tongue]

To men, rape of women is discretion of property at worst.

It is evident in the way marrying the victim to her rapist is seen as "settling the issue" in multiple societies. Because it corresponds to the "you break it, you buy it" notion.

It's why marital rape is still legal in so many countries. "you buy it you can do whatever with it".

Parents and relatives of the victim, usually in South Asia are more worried about "who's gonna marry her now??.

To them violation of their daughter's autonomy isn't even a part of the equation. It's a matter of attack on their family "honor".