Decolonizing the sexual and reproductive health rights movement
On February 25th, I was invited to speak at an Oxfam Canada event titled “Decolonizing the Sexual and Reproductive Health Rights Movement”. As a panellist, I shared the ways the SRHR movement has reproduced colonial narratives and structures, its effects on Indigenous women, girls and 2SLGBTQQIA+ individuals, and the actions we can collectively take to repatriate pre-colonization Indigenous understandings of gender and sexuality.
Q: Is there a ‘trap’ that Sexual and Reproductive Health rights movements and initiatives have fallen into in reproducing colonial narratives and structures?
A: Absolutely. Colonization violently repressed our cultural understandings of gender and sexuality; as a result, those of us in the Sexual and Reproductive Health rights movement remain under pressure to speak about these rights in line with puritanical, sex-negative values, or on scientific, biological terms.
These two views are pervasive, and yet neither adequately speaks to the very normal, common, human experiences of gender and sexuality. I’ll give you a few examples:
Diverse genders and sexualities have existed since long before colonization; for example, my nation, the Anishinaabe nation, has words such as agokwa (man-woman) and okitcitakwe (warrior woman) to describe gender. When Europeans colonized Indigenous peoples, they enforced binary gender roles through tactics such as forcing gendered hairstyles and uniforms within the residential school system. Though the last residential school closed 26 years ago, the same gender binary continues to dominate.
When we frame Sexual and Reproductive Health rights solely in a biological, scientific way, we fail to resonate with people meaningfully. There’s a stark difference between the names for anatomy we’re taught in the classroom versus the slang terms many of us use in everyday life; this imposed pressure on us in the Sexual and Reproductive Health rights movement to use scientific terminology to avoid pushing buttons results in our failure to equip sexual beings with the knowledge they need to be safe and protected from harm.
Puritanical views of sexuality frame sexual and reproductive health in sex-negative terms - for example, “Don’t have sex until marriage!” “Don’t get pregnant!” “Don’t catch a Sexually Transmitted and/or Blood Borne Infection!”. This imparts shame on all of us, ignoring the reality that people engage in sexual activity for pleasure, not procreation, the vast majority of the time. This approach also does not equip us with the knowledge of what to do if we do get pregnant, or how to manage living with an STBBI.
Sex-negative messaging imposes a burden (overwhelmingly on women and non-binary people) that it is one’s personal responsibility to ensure sexual violence does not happen to them. Assuming that dressing modestly, not going out at night, etc. will prevent sexual violence is a lie that ingrains rape culture. It blames survivors for living their lives, rather than examining why perpetrators choose to violate, or looking at the wider systemic issues that contribute to that choice.
Q: What are the impacts of this ‘trap’ on Sexual and Reproductive Health rights and access for Indigenous, Black, and People of the Global Majority?
A: The result of these two views (puritanical, sex-negative values, and scientific, biological terms) being the dominant norm is an erasure of diverse understandings of gender and sexuality held by Indigenous, Black, and People of the Global Majority. As the current Sexual and Reproductive Health rights movement stands, many of us remain largely unable to define ourselves and be understood on our own terms.
As Indigenous people, we are too often reduced to racial stereotypes; Indigenous women are deemed hypersexualized princesses (think Pocahantas), while Indigenous men are branded as savage warriors (think Jacob Black in Twilight). Media portrayals of Indigenous peoples continue to “fuel the myths of conquest and glory”. The fallacy of Indigenous peoples having “already lost” to conquest denies us our rights to exercise our own bodily autonomy.
This myth, combined with trauma (historical, multigenerational and intergenerational), social and economic marginalization, and a lack of institutional will, maintains colonial violence. As a result, Indigenous women, girls, and two-spirit individuals experience violent victimization at a rate 2.7 times higher than non-Indigenous women, and sexual violence at a rate 3 times higher.
Indigenous women are also at particular risk of being murdered by serial killers on the basis of our identity, and violated by transient workers in resource extraction “man camps” on our traditional territories. Furthermore, our access to justice is decreased because of racism, sexism, dismissal and victim-blaming that permeates the justice system. When these cases end up in the media, the coverage they get is often abysmal.
To this day, there persists particular expectations on what a survivor is supposed to look and act like; for example, being thin, white, straight, and conventionally pretty, as well as having been violated by a stranger, fought back against our attackers, and immediately reported our cases to police. Those of us with marginalized identities or life experiences outside of puritanical expectations will continue to be failed by Sexual and Reproductive Health rights movements and initiatives as it stands because the justice system is incapable of bringing us the justice we deserve.
In short: we cannot build an effective Sexual and Reproductive Health rights movement until we are ready to:
Reckon with white supremacy, colonization and extractive capitalism; and
Move away from puritanical, sex-negative values and an overreliance on scientific, biological terms in favour of a model rooted in a culture of consent, gender-equitable relationships, and proactive sexual health.
Q: What does it mean to incorporate decolonial lenses and practices into Sexual and Reproductive Health rights-related work?
A: When I think about what constitutes decolonization, I want to ensure we are being specific. In their fantastic article, “Decolonization is not a metaphor”, Eve Tuck and K. Wayne Yang drew attention to how quick those of us in social justice spaces are to adopt calls for decolonization in our workplaces, schools, and organizations. Decolonization, in their opinion, is not just the decentering of settler perspectives; rather, it “brings about the repatriation of Indigenous land and life”.
With that in mind, I want to speak to the repatriation of pre-colonization Indigenous understandings of gender and sexuality, as I think it should be an integral objective of incorporating decolonial lenses and practices to Sexual and Reproductive Health rights-related work.
Before colonization, Indigenous peoples did not see sexuality as shameful; rather, they saw it as a sacred ceremony and a gift from the Creator. Each nation has different stories and teachings about sexual health, which were passed onto children in the community openly; these included discussions about their bodies, coming-of-age ceremonies, moontimes, and sexual and reproductive passages. Sexual violence was not an element of Indigenous cultures, even when women were taken by enemy tribes during times of war. Rather, colonization, and the residential school system in particular, led to the violence we see against Indigenous women, girls and 2SLGBTQQIA+ individuals today.
Taylor and Ristock note that one of the most devastating results of the residential school experience was “the denigration of women and Two-spirit people in [Indigenous] communities” (306). Residential schools “did not make room for women to have roles equal to those of men”, erased a proud history of Two-Spirit people, and instilled homophobia and transphobia within society that persists today.
As a result:
78% to 85% of Indigenous Two-Spirit individuals have experienced gender-based violence;
Sexual violence is 3x higher for Indigenous women than non-Indigenous women;
85 percent of queer Indigenous women have been sexually assaulted;
78 percent of queer Indigenous women have been physically assaulted; and
The rates of violence we experience are higher than any other racial/ethnic group in North America, even when all other differentiating factors are accounted for.
Knowing these statistics, and being a survivor myself, makes it abundantly clear that we cannot end gender-based and sexual violence against our people until we end, and heal from, colonization. I agree with The Final Report of the National Inquiry Into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls which states, “An absolute paradigm shift is required to dismantle colonialism within Canadian society and from all levels of government and public institutions. Ideologies and instruments of colonialism, racism, and misogyny, past and present, must be rejected”.
In my opinion, decolonizing Sexual and Reproductive Health rights in an Indigenous context can look like:
Denouncing all forms of violence against Indigenous women, girls, and 2SLGBTQQIA+ individuals;
Recognizing and honouring Indigenous women’s vital roles - as “teachers, leaders, healers, providers, protectors”, and more;
Revitalizing Indigenous nations’ gender and sexuality terms, in our own languages, to revere the sacred contributions of Two-Spirit and LGBTQQIA+ individuals;
Treating our cultures as the “fundamental right, basic need and top priority to reduce risks of violence” that they are, and ensuring every Indigenous person has access to them;
Restoring Indigenous legal orders and principles of justice, (these include the ways we keep each other safe, care for one another, ensure our rights are upheld and uphold our responsibilities);
Funding Indigenous-led health and wellness practices, including ceremonial and health-based medicines, matriarchal teachings on midwifery, elder care, and others;
Creating culturally relevant and trauma-informed violence response services by and for Indigenous peoples;
Teaching comprehensive sexual education, including healthy sexuality, cultural competency, youth empowerment, reproductive justice, 2SLGBTQQIA+ identity, and sex positivity; and
Ending extractive industries and environmental violence, and advocating for land back.
I also recommend reading the 231 Calls to Justice listed in the Final Report of the National Inquiry Into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls, and asking yourself which ones you can take action on.
Q: How would you recommend aspiring youth leaders to meaningfully contribute to decolonizing Sexual and Reproductive Health rights?
A: When I began doing this work as a survivor in 2018, I felt completely alone and isolated in my experience. Knowing that there are aspiring youth leaders today who want to meaningfully contribute to the Sexual and Reproductive Health rights movement thrills me.
From an older youth to younger youth, here are my recommendations as you take on work in this space:
Treat your lived experience as the valuable knowledge it is.
As youth, we often aren’t listened to by older adults, because they assume we can’t possibly have the knowledge or experience needed to be a subject matter expert. But if you have had an experience with Sexual and Reproductive Health - such as surviving sexual violence, or being unable to access contraceptive or reproductive services - then you probably understand how systems and institutions fail better than most people.
2. Get involved in settings where you can speak truth to power and be taken seriously.
Back in 2018, I became a representative on my university’s Board of Governors. Being in that position, where I had equal voting power to the President of my university and other senior administrators, which allowed me the unique opportunity to raise concerns about and influence change in my university’s sexual violence policy.
3. You can’t build a movement alone.
Connecting with other social justice organisations around you can allow you to gain a deeper understanding of how issues such as white supremacy, colonization and patriarchy intersect. It can also help you spread campaigns, raise funds, and find communities to lean on.
4. Don’t underestimate the value of intervening with your peers.
One of the reasons why our Sexual and Reproductive Health rights continue to be violated is because few people are willing to intervene with the perpetrators in their lives. The majority (73%) of sexual violence is perpetrated by someone the victim knows; this includes our partners, families, friends, acquaintances, colleagues and neighbours. Most perpetrators engage in multiple forms of sexual violence (‘rape jokes’, cat-calling, sending unsolicited nudes, etc), so it is crucial that we intervene (as long as it’s safe to) when we witness warning signs.
5. Keep your activism sustainable.
If you want to sustain your action in the Sexual and Reproductive Health rights movement, you have to prioritize your own healing and well-being. If you don’t, you run the risk of burning out and stepping away from the work altogether. It is crucial that you be honest with yourself about your own limits, and commit to staying within them.
