Today we hear from a former student of mine, Willow Delp, in what I hope will be a regular feature — what I am now calling “Emerging Voices.” The intent is to make this a regular feature, giving a forum for younger voices to speak on interesting and important ideas. I’ve found over the years that young alumni often have engaging perspectives and stories, so let’s provide a means for them to be heard. Over the course of the past year Willow has impressed me with extraordinary insight and thoughtfulness — and I am grateful to them for being the first to step up and put their ideas to “paper” in this forum. -gb
As I type this, our nation faces a pivotal moment in the battle for reproductive rights. As such, those affected by the denial of these liberties have been forced to share their most vulnerable experiences. Wanted pregnancies ending in miscarriage, sexual assault, near-death experiences – these tragedies have become pivotal in arguments for bodily autonomy. More than anything else, they are considered linchpins to draw people to the pro-abortion movement, and ultimately, create systemic change. The courage to share these stories is commendable – but is it fair for the victims?
During my recent years of student activism, I’ve observed that orally sharing my personal stories – often while blinking back tears – has been significantly more effective than cited facts delivered in print. The assumption is that, if I do not share how an issue has harmed me, I am entirely unaffected. If I do not tug on people’s heartstrings, they become more likely to envision someone cold and unfeeling, and my reasoned points become invalid. Testimony has not become optional, but essentially mandatory for those who hope to inspire change.
The idea that I could have any of my own personal experiences regarding a subject becomes preposterous unless I provide evidence. My humanity requires proof of pain.
I can understand the human desire for ethos – and the power of storytelling is perhaps unmatched. As a creative writer, I often use my short stories to deliver messages through characters and themes. However, it cannot be denied that there is an expectation for victims of various forms of oppression to supply such stories: to speak out, time and time again. To recount their hardships in front of unsympathetic audiences to hopefully elicit pity, which can then be transformed into substantive action.
I’ve struggled with this pressure. Put simply, I do not want to use all of my painful experiences for political gain. I want privacy. I want to heal from harm in peace, without the scrutiny of my readers. I want my writing to stand for what it is: writing that pushes readers to think and act. Not valid because I have had such-and-such happen to me, but valid on its own accord. I refuse to be defined by what I have suffered. I define myself.