As long as men who hate women murder us in bars, yoga studios, neighborhoods and homes, we need a women’s movement.
And as long as the men who lead other movements harm women as they pursue justice, we need a women’s movement.
And as long as health providers deny or prescribe unilateral, dominant care to resistant bodies who are hurt by the very institution that is supposed to care about them, we need a women’s movement.
And as long as chronically ill women’s bodies are silenced rebellions, we need a women’s movement.
And as long as government bodies have no information about the rates of murder of trans women, we need a women’s movement.
And as long as women are seen as more interesting and made less disposable because they are married to men while being more likeable, palatable, and likelier to survive than women who live alone, we need a women’s movement.
And as long as women’s identities are defined by others without regard to race, class, gender, ability—our own words about our bodies and experiences—we need a women’s movement.
As long as we exist, suffer, laugh, breathe, spin our stories and outlive other people’s rules for us, as we go out searching and believe in the fight for our expansion, we are in need of a women’s movement.
