Coping with Trump 2.0-era repro rights: Finding power in your community

Recent events may leave you feeling uncertain about basic human rights. If the president wants to take away your reproductive freedoms, who can you turn to?

Since I could ovulate, my reproductive freedoms have been on the political chopping block. This is the case for many people my age—and many of us can’t remember a time when issues like abortion, contraception, and other subjects weren’t on the news. During my most vulnerable years, I was taught to fear politicians and, at times, my own body. 

In a country that heavily emphasizes freedom, my freedoms were constantly threatened: Whether it be my status as a woman of color, a person with a uterus, or a member of the LGBTQ+ community. 

I remember learning about developed versus developing countries in high school. My AP US Politics teacher informed us that we, luckily, lived in a developed country. At the same time, my mother (a Black woman) was preparing for the birth of my sister. While birth is typically a time of joy and new life, for my mother, it was a time of intense preparation, worry, and fear that she wouldn’t make it through labor. 

Simply because she was a Black woman in her 40s, she was significantly more likely to die during childbirth. Many Black women in this country face this same harsh reality. Many times, their medical concerns are ignored, so my mother was forced to do extensive research on doctors and doulas who would listen to her needs.

I remember seeing her worry, and I thought, “It sure doesn’t feel like I live in a developed country.” 

These feelings continued as I completed high school under the first Trump administration. During this time, I learned to fear politicians and their power over my body, which produced distrust in my country. At my most vulnerable stage of development, my rights were questioned, debated, and demonized in the media. 

Under the Biden administration, I felt relieved that my rights would remain intact. But after Roe v. Wade was overturned halfway through college, I—and many of my friends—ran to get IUDs as a precaution. My anxiety returned, and my uterus once again became a burden. Even with an IUD’s 99.8% success rate, I lived in constant fear of having an unwanted pregnancy with no way out. As a recently independent young person, my sexuality was stunted.

My fears reached a new high when Trump announced his next run for office. This run felt similar to the last, but a new threat loomed on the horizon when Trump spoke out against contraception. With my shiny new English degree, I couldn’t help but feel that our country was morphing into a dystopian novel (e.g. The Handmaid’s Tale or 1984). 

Soon after my college graduation, Kamala Harris announced her candidacy for president, and I felt a new seed of hope flourish inside me. A fellow biracial woman had a chance to run our country. Finally, someone like me who knows my struggles would call the shots. Suddenly, a small light was at the end of the tunnel. 

Of course, this light was extinguished once Election Day came and went. The day after the election was a time for my community. I made numerous calls to my family, friends, and anyone who felt affected by the results. Many were angry and expressed that they felt stupid that they ever believed America was ready for a Black woman as president. Other people were sad, as their hopes for a better America lay in pieces at their feet.

I felt hopeless, and as I sat down to write for the day, my dejection left me without inspiration or the ability to express myself. I went doom-scrolling for an escape, and I discovered an unexpected glimmer of hope. I found my social feed flooded with local advocacy groups and non-profit organizations. People were turning to their community in a time of uncertainty. Humans, after all, are social creatures, so it makes sense that these people would return to their roots to ground themselves. This made it clear that the fight was not over; it just had to resume at home.

I felt an overwhelming sense of compassion from my fellow Virginians. As a “blue” state, many of us felt the same sense of fear and hopelessness. When the world crumbled around us, we turned to one another. I was overwhelmingly grateful to live in a state that shared my values, and just like that, Virginia became a haven for many. 

Suddenly, my answer to every threat a new Trump administration posed was my fellow Virginians. Worried about tariffs? Support more local businesses! Want your rights protected? Advocate for yourself to your local politicians! Do you want to see change? Start at home with local groups.

As a lifelong Virginian, my home has become my solace in these hard times. When I lacked inspiration after Election Day, I turned to these Virginia-based advocacy groups for a spark. I couldn’t control the world around me, but when I returned to my roots, I found I could make a profound difference at home. 

With the recent Virginia General Assembly session, my hope has been restored. During this session, Virginia lawmakers are working to pass state constitutional amendments to protect reproductive rights such as contraception, abortion, and guaranteed health insurance benefits for reproductive health. For the first time, I’ve turned my attention away from federal politics and started looking closer at my local lawmakers. 

While the next four years may be a trying time for many, I encourage you to focus on your community. Thanks to our unique form of government, our state politics are—dare I say it—just as important as the federal government. You can be the difference you want to see in the world. Just remember to start small and dream big!

Looking for a place to start? Here are some Virginia advocacy groups and resources for the problems you care about:

• Repro Rising Virginia
• The Richmond Reproductive Freedom Project
• Planned Parenthood Advocates of Virginia
• Virginia ACLU
• The Hamkae Center
• The Virginia Sexual and Domestic Violence Action Alliance
• The Virginia General Assembly: Who’s my Legislator?