By: Sujatha Jesudason, Executive Director
Walking down State Street in Madison, Wisconsin, the love-at-first-sight could have come scripted from a rom-com. I caught his eye as he was heading in the opposite direction and my heart just tumbled out of my chest. Never mind that this “meet cute” was about all that was traditional in our union.
Walking down State Street in Madison, Wisconsin, the love-at-first-sight could have come scripted from a rom-com. I caught his eye as he was heading in the opposite direction and my heart just tumbled out of my chest. Never mind that this “meet cute” was about all that was traditional in our union.
Flash forward four years to our most un-Midwestern of weddings: the Catholic church down the street, me in my sari, walked down the aisle by both my parents to Andean music, Chinese food and home made cake at the reception in his sister’s backyard.
Seven years later, we were divorced. The pain I swam in throughout that period didn’t diminish the truth. Divorce was the best thing that could have happened. My life now is richer, deeper, more fulfilling and authentic. Divorce propelled discovery; I found myself and I am flourishing.
This story came back to me at a Practice Circle in Oakland. In our discussion about alternatives to “pro-choice” as a label, somebody offered the catalytic suggestion that the three sectors – reproductive health, rights and justice – go their separate ways. Instead of working so hard to align ourselves, to find common ground and share strategies across silos, what if we struck out on our own? What if each sector focused on what it did best and stopped trying to fit together pieces of unmatchable shapes? It was a shocking and, until that moment, unthinkable notion.
Another participant, a self-described unhappy child of divorce, voiced resistance. For her, separation was an undesirable last resort. She had tremendous faith that the differences between sectors and worldviews – like those of her splitting parents – were better worked out for the collective good.
This desire is completely understandable. In the throes of my divorce, I cried on the phone to a friend, ‘Why can’t we work it out? I love him. There has to be a way.’ She gave me advice that made a difference, gently suggesting that I could put all my determination, creativity and heart into making this one relationship work, or I could use all that energy to cultivate many new ones. That was a turning point for me. I had a choice between one familiar dysfunctional bond and an unknown abundance of connections. After many tears, I chose many.
This scenario seems all too familiar. As a movement, we have invested a tremendous amount of goodwill and hard work into bridging ideological difference across the health, rights and justice divides. And yet the building is nowhere complete, the existing connections in constant need of mending.
Remember the transvaginal ultrasound fight? Reproductive rights advocates deftly used it to mobilize in defense of individual privacy. Never mind that reproductive health professionals were appalled to see an important standard care procedure for early abortions labeled medical rape. Meanwhile reproductive justice activists were fighting the shackling of pregnant women, too busy to pay much attention to this less pressing issue. What would we have to do to get these groups to agree on strategy and message, given forewarning of a pending problem, much less confronting it in real time? In the end, the only note of accord here was that the outcome proved a total loss for all camps: the legislation passed cementing a still unwelcome and also inferior standard of care via abdominal, not vaginal ultrasound.
The first animating idea of CoreAlign, as the name suggests, was to align the efforts and strategy of the three core sectors of our movement. So far, engaging and bringing together this diverse group of folks has been fascinating and hard work. As I’ve come to know them better, my admiration and respect for the leaders and activists in each sector deepens. Their vision, passion, goodwill, and hard work serve as my hope and inspiration.
Will all that get tamped down if we keep trying to bring them together and insist on a single vision and strategy? Will we douse the fight and the passion they bring to their piece of the work, the one that speaks to their hearts and brought them to the fight in the first place? Will insistence that we all double down on a single issue splinter our fragile relationships? Working toward a unified 30-year strategy could leave us too compromised and embittered to collaborate on its execution.
My challenging, emotional and, yes, happy divorce taught me that good people with kind hearts and a tremendous amount of love and admiration for each other aren’t necessarily meant to be together. My ex- and I are in close touch as good friends sixteen years after things formally ended. I joke that I love him like family; after all, we grew up together.
What if the reproductive movement needs a divorce? What if health, rights and justice gave each other a hard hug and we all set off on our separate paths? What creativity, initiative and action might that release? Could we get more done choosing to pursue many different strategies and relationships in the world, rather than trying to make this one function? Maybe we could spend less time working through misunderstandings, trying to convince each other of what may be fundamentally irreconcilable viewpoints and turn to recruiting new members to our movement. Maybe we would each do more of what we are good at by no longer having to attend to what others feel it best that we do.
After all, one could describe the LGBTQ movement’s decision to pursue marriage equality as a separation of sorts. Many vehemently opposed an acknowledged heteronormative, privileged issue that wouldn’t bring justice for many. And yet, from that bitter division some amazingly sweet change has flourished.
What if we in the reproductive movement gave ourselves permission to go it alone? There is a chance that we might find ourselves and thrive. The separation would be undoubtedly painful, but in the long run it might be the key to many happy victories.
Seven years later, we were divorced. The pain I swam in throughout that period didn’t diminish the truth. Divorce was the best thing that could have happened. My life now is richer, deeper, more fulfilling and authentic. Divorce propelled discovery; I found myself and I am flourishing.
This story came back to me at a Practice Circle in Oakland. In our discussion about alternatives to “pro-choice” as a label, somebody offered the catalytic suggestion that the three sectors – reproductive health, rights and justice – go their separate ways. Instead of working so hard to align ourselves, to find common ground and share strategies across silos, what if we struck out on our own? What if each sector focused on what it did best and stopped trying to fit together pieces of unmatchable shapes? It was a shocking and, until that moment, unthinkable notion.
Another participant, a self-described unhappy child of divorce, voiced resistance. For her, separation was an undesirable last resort. She had tremendous faith that the differences between sectors and worldviews – like those of her splitting parents – were better worked out for the collective good.
This desire is completely understandable. In the throes of my divorce, I cried on the phone to a friend, ‘Why can’t we work it out? I love him. There has to be a way.’ She gave me advice that made a difference, gently suggesting that I could put all my determination, creativity and heart into making this one relationship work, or I could use all that energy to cultivate many new ones. That was a turning point for me. I had a choice between one familiar dysfunctional bond and an unknown abundance of connections. After many tears, I chose many.
This scenario seems all too familiar. As a movement, we have invested a tremendous amount of goodwill and hard work into bridging ideological difference across the health, rights and justice divides. And yet the building is nowhere complete, the existing connections in constant need of mending.
Remember the transvaginal ultrasound fight? Reproductive rights advocates deftly used it to mobilize in defense of individual privacy. Never mind that reproductive health professionals were appalled to see an important standard care procedure for early abortions labeled medical rape. Meanwhile reproductive justice activists were fighting the shackling of pregnant women, too busy to pay much attention to this less pressing issue. What would we have to do to get these groups to agree on strategy and message, given forewarning of a pending problem, much less confronting it in real time? In the end, the only note of accord here was that the outcome proved a total loss for all camps: the legislation passed cementing a still unwelcome and also inferior standard of care via abdominal, not vaginal ultrasound.
The first animating idea of CoreAlign, as the name suggests, was to align the efforts and strategy of the three core sectors of our movement. So far, engaging and bringing together this diverse group of folks has been fascinating and hard work. As I’ve come to know them better, my admiration and respect for the leaders and activists in each sector deepens. Their vision, passion, goodwill, and hard work serve as my hope and inspiration.
Will all that get tamped down if we keep trying to bring them together and insist on a single vision and strategy? Will we douse the fight and the passion they bring to their piece of the work, the one that speaks to their hearts and brought them to the fight in the first place? Will insistence that we all double down on a single issue splinter our fragile relationships? Working toward a unified 30-year strategy could leave us too compromised and embittered to collaborate on its execution.
My challenging, emotional and, yes, happy divorce taught me that good people with kind hearts and a tremendous amount of love and admiration for each other aren’t necessarily meant to be together. My ex- and I are in close touch as good friends sixteen years after things formally ended. I joke that I love him like family; after all, we grew up together.
What if the reproductive movement needs a divorce? What if health, rights and justice gave each other a hard hug and we all set off on our separate paths? What creativity, initiative and action might that release? Could we get more done choosing to pursue many different strategies and relationships in the world, rather than trying to make this one function? Maybe we could spend less time working through misunderstandings, trying to convince each other of what may be fundamentally irreconcilable viewpoints and turn to recruiting new members to our movement. Maybe we would each do more of what we are good at by no longer having to attend to what others feel it best that we do.
After all, one could describe the LGBTQ movement’s decision to pursue marriage equality as a separation of sorts. Many vehemently opposed an acknowledged heteronormative, privileged issue that wouldn’t bring justice for many. And yet, from that bitter division some amazingly sweet change has flourished.
What if we in the reproductive movement gave ourselves permission to go it alone? There is a chance that we might find ourselves and thrive. The separation would be undoubtedly painful, but in the long run it might be the key to many happy victories.
