Amelia Meman (they/them and she/her), GWST ’15, is the interim director of the Women’s Center. They have worked in the Women’s Center as an intern, a student staff member, a volunteer, and now professional staff member. This is a loving retrospective on Take Back the Night (TBTN), written in the third spring semester where UMBC has not been able to hold such an event.

Author’s Note: I am proud to say that I have been to every single Take Back the Night since its revival on UMBC’s campus in 2013. This does not mean I am an expert on this event nor that my opinion of Take Back the Night is shared by the thousands who have taken part in this event throughout the past nine years. Because Take Back the Night is such a shared experience, I reached out to some alumni who have experienced TBTN as attendees, volunteers, and leaders. You will see their contributions throughout. Thank you, Yoo-Jin, Autumn, Calista, Hannah, and Sydney.

As we share our spring semester with the pandemic once again, I know I and many of our community members are deeply disappointed to not be able to come together for Take Back the Night. Even more alarming, however, is that many folks don’t know what it is to miss Take Back the Night because they’ve never experienced it. 

Our last in-person Take Back the Night was in 2019 and most recently (2021), Jess Myers alongside several student activists and campus partners, created the Take Back the Night Virtual Experience. Before that, the Women’s Center staff and community co-created a zine called “Survivors to the Front,” which invited survivors of gender-based violence to submit their creative works–whether visual art or written word. 

These online options have been balms in an otherwise quiet series of Sexual Assault Awareness Months (SAAM) for the Women’s Center. Normally, April is a huge month for the Women’s Center with [at minimum] weekly programming and often a full, month-long calendar of events, workshops, and educational opportunities offered through various departments on campus. 

The major event of April (and for many, the entire school year) is Take Back the Night. In the last 3 years, however, we have not been able to host this event. And that’s why I’m writing this blogpost: because it’s been a long time and in addition to cultivating the hope that we can one day bring Take Back the Night back to its glory days as a large in-person, campus-wide event, I hope to preserve just a little bit of this institutional memory.

A Very Brief History of Take Back the Night at UMBC*

In 1971, a group of feminist advocates and survivors hosted the first-ever rape speak-out in New York. A few years later, one of the first “Take Back the Night” marches was held in Philadelphia, PA in October 1975.

UMBC (from what we can tell from the archives), held their first TBTN event in the early 2000s for just a few years. Campus stopped hosting it for several years so as to be in solidarity with other area colleges by participating in Baltimore City Hall’s Take Back the Night. But, by 2013, it made the most sense for us to bring back our own Take Back the Night. So the Women’s Center with support from UHS’s Health Education, Greek Week, and a BreakingGround grant did just that. Since Spring 2014, this campus-wide rally and march against sexual violence has been a signature Women’s Center event every April. Each year the Women’s Center hosts survivor speak-out followed by a campus march against sexual assault. When marchers return, UMBC’s TBTN spends the rest of the evening doing “craftivism” art healing projects and hosting a community resource fair. A smaller version of the Clothesline Project also serves as a backdrop to the evening’s events.

*Thank you to Kayla Smith, who wrote “What You Need To Need Know: Take Back The Night & Its History” in 2017; almost all of this information is from that resource.

How did Take Back the Night work at UMBC?

Take Back the Night starts on The Commons’ Main Street with the Survivor Speak Out. On the third Thursday of April, we take over this campus nexus with a mini-Clothesline Project display, microphones, speakers, a ton of folding chairs, resource tables, and hand-painted rally signs. The Speak-Out provides an open opportunity for survivors of power-based violence to tell their stories out loud, in front of an audience.

It was the first time I really identified as a survivor publicly and put myself in that vulnerable position. I remember the wave of emotions while we marched–anger, happiness, relief, anxiety–and how beautiful it was to just feel those things as they came.

Sydney (she/her)

This is a strategic location as it is one of the most heavily trafficked areas of campus. You might ask, “But aren’t the Survivor Speak-Out and the Clothesline Project a little disruptive for all the folks in The Commons?” The answer is yes, and that’s the point. Take Back the Night is placed in such a way that we can bring people together whether they’re attending the event on purpose or walking through and experiencing it randomly.

And that’s how many folks come to be involved in Take Back the Night–they stumble upon this big public event and get wrapped up in the stories they hear over the speakers. For Calista’s (she/her) first speak-out, she was a witness to the power of the event which caused a mixture of emotions: “My first experience felt very comforting seeing others being there for each other. It was also challenging to be in a space that reminded me so much of my trauma — but ultimately made me feel less alone.” 

We have heard this reaction echoed in a number of other participants. Survivors are given the opportunity to stand up at a microphone and speak their truth; the result is raw, unfiltered vulnerability and power. Some survivors recall every last detail of their assault. Where it occurred, what they were wearing, who the perpetrator was… Others only talk about what happened in the aftermath. Regardless of what is shared, each person who comes up to the mic speaks their truth and the audience bears witness. 

Autumn Cook (M29, ‘21) actually experienced her first TBTN from the front of the stage as one of our TBTN leaders. As a leader, they provide background information about TBTN and also start the Survivor Speak-Out by sharing their own story. Of their first experience, Autumn said:

Jesus. My first TBTN at UMBC was my first year on campus [in 2017]. Before then, I had never interacted with the Women’s Center  – either because I didn’t super know what they did or that I was too scared too. But during the lead up to TBTN and aftermath, it felt like I found a family within the Women’s Center. I was one of the intro speakers for TBTN and getting up in front of the massive crowd was fun and illuminating. I was able to share my truth and afterwards I felt loved and seen by everyone in the crowd. The environment of support was like a big warm hug, enveloping and unending.

Autumn Cook (M29, ‘21)

And still others experienced TBTN by working the event, like Sydney (she/her):

My first experience with TBTN, I was actually interning with The Monument Quilt. I was completely moved by the survivor speak out and the feeling of the community in the air. I remember watching survivor after survivor get up, being struck by their bravery and thinking “I couldn’t do that,” yet feeling heard and seen and accepted regardless. It was also the first true time I think I accepted my own assault and what that meant. I knew [TBTN] was something I needed to be involved in moving forward.

Sydney (she/her)

Following the energy that builds in the Speak-Out, we mobilize all of the people who have gathered as witnesses and speakers to march across campus and demand visibility, justice, and healing for survivors. 

We call on folks to move.

We hand out rally signs to anybody who wants to hold one.

We bring out the megaphones and we line up.

The march is divided with survivors at the front and UMBC community supporters bringing up the back. Marchers are given cards that have different rally chants written on them and line leaders are spread amongst the marchers. Once the march begins, leaders use their megaphones to start chants and direct people along the march route. The number is different at each TBTN, but the march group usually consists of approx. 250 campus community members.

The march is loud and big. Its meant to grab people’s attention, just like the Survivor Speak-Out. Hannah Wilcove, GWST ‘19 remembered her “first encounter was seeing the march pass by me as I was walking back to my dorm freshman year and feeling a kinship with everyone participating that I couldn’t explain. Next year, I wanted to get more involved with the Women’s Center so I volunteered and participated for the first time.”

Many of the people I spoke to have experienced the march from the frontlines and share vivid memories of the emotions that are at play while walking through campus. For Sydney: “It was the first time I really identified as a survivor publicly and put myself in that vulnerable position. I remember the wave of emotions while we marched–anger, happiness, relief, anxiety–and how beautiful it was to just feel those things as they came.”

Yoo-Jin Kang, MLL & INDS ‘15 also remembers the rush as she maneuvered the march around campus: “Leading the march with dearest Kayla Smith. Walking alongside powerful survivors, shouting into a mic, and looking back to see a huge line following behind us. I still have chills thinking about it.”

The march goes all the way around campus starting at the southern entrance of The Commons, going east toward True Grits (and sometimes inside True Grits) and up around the Residence Halls before turning northwards and moving up the hill toward Library Pond. From the pond, the march hangs left to go all the way down Academic Row and stops at the statue of True Grit in front of the Administration Building and The RAC. 

Recently, the march has added this stop around the True Grit statue so that marchers can circle up with survivors in the center and allies on the outside. The survivor circle rests with one another while the community continues to bear witness and offer respect.

Healing from trauma isn’t linear, but healing can happen and it does happen.

After regrouping in the circles, the march crosses the Quad diagonally and heads back to The Commons. Once inside, participants are met with a once again transformed Main Street. Where there were chairs and microphones for the Survivor Speak-Out there are now big circular tables with crafting materials available for folks to decompress through art, food and drinks to refresh themselves, and music blasting on the speakers so people can dance it out. 

Every part of Take Back the Night is my favorite part, but this ending back at Main Street is really distinct. No matter the feelings that have erupted during the last few hours in the speak out and march we can all come back together to breathe. Breathe. Eat a cookie. Breathe. And laugh.

 It might be as biologically simple as the flood of endorphins that comes after something painful or difficult… but it feels magical and powerful. We come back to where we had started… and the space is transformed but so are we. Healing from trauma isn’t linear, but healing can happen and it does happen.

What did UMBC’s Take Back the Night feel like?

It’s different for every person and often different minute-by-minute within the event itself, but for many, TBTN is a time of “firsts.” For Yoo-Jin, “TBTN was one of the first times I saw survivor voices lifted up in a public and unapologetic way. It was the first time I shared about my survivor story in public (and cried lots doing it).” With one of the goals of Take Back the Night being to take up space and push things often shrouded by private shame out into the public space, it can act as a catalyst for many as they work to understand their own trauma and their identities as survivors.

Sydney said that TBTN played a major part in her own identity development and growth as a survivor as it “allowed me to come to terms with the fact that I was sexually assaulted and work through all the emotions that came with it. Over the years attending, I was able to come to terms not only with the event but how I wanted to handle it. I didn’t want to do [the] Survivor Speak-Out but I did want to be there to feel community and then to march and let my story out that way.”

As identity-defining and cathartic as Take Back the Night is… it’s also really and honestly hard.

For as much time as I can take extolling high praise, I could also tell you about how deeply it has rocked myself and so many others that I know. Throughout the event, you are made to listen to stories of violence and abuse. As a witness to the Speak-Out, you play an important part in holding space and honoring others’ stories, but that does take energy and emotional endurance. A lot of people (especially those who shared their stories with me) have been able to reckon with Take Back the Night as something extremely positive, but it can also feel agonizing. 

Autumn Cook remembered this duality:

Take Back the Night is a really difficult event to attend. It’s almost impossible to not squirm or react to some of the stories that people share, but that is part of the event. We are all living in each other’s horrendous truths and healing together. You’re supposed to be uncomfortable at TBTN. It means that you’re taking in what is happening and processing it. It’s horrible and liberating and healthy.

Autumn Cook (M29, ‘21)

How has Take Back the Night changed over the years?

One of the most beautiful aspects about Take Back the Night is that it’s always growing with our campus. It grows from year to year. It grows with you. Where Calista started as a spectator, she eventually grew to tell her own story… and then to leading the speak out. Calista spoke of this growth as she recalled how she “struggled a lot with my assault and the process of regaining my voice —  but TBTN empowered me.”

One person noted that they are still trying to find an outlet similar to Take Back the Night: “I have been looking for TBTN marches or something similar since graduating because I have wanted to share my experience. I don’t think I’d feel ready to do so if I hadn’t participated in it while at UMBC.”

If you look at some of the pictures in this blogpost, you might see the same people show up during different TBTN years. The shirts might look different or their hair might be a little longer. There are different shirts hung up in the Clothesline Project display. The weather during the march goes from sunny to cloudy.

The event has changed each year we’ve put it on to answer the needs and values of our campus community. For example, our march route was adapted to include an accessible route for those with mobility disabilities; previously, stairs were an obstacle for some as they participated in the march. Now we have an accessibility route that is not only available, but has a dedicated volunteer leading folks.

A Personal Reflection + A Conclusion

To be totally honest, I am writing this blogpost for partially selfish reasons… I desperately want to feel the power of Take Back the Night and I am sincerely regretful that I will not have been able to bring Take Back the Night back to UMBC’s campus by the time I start my own next chapter. 

There are many reasons why I wanted to work in the Women’s Center and why I love my job now; a big one is Take Back the Night. Over the course of my time at UMBC, I have proudly been present for every single iteration of TBTN since it was revived by Jess and the team in 2013. However, as an undergraduate, I had not yet been able to identify as a survivor nor what I had experienced as abusive.

I worked in the Women’s Center from 2013 to 2015, I was a Gender, Women’s, + Sexuality Studies major, and I had been learning about sexual violence prevention and response work throughout that time but it had never occurred to me to consider my own story and my own experiences. It was only after graduating from UMBC, returning to the Women’s Center as a professional staff member, and a lot of therapy that I began to consider how I might be a survivor… how I am a survivor. My identity and my roles changed–changing my own relationship with TBTN. And TBTN changed again when I began working with student survivors and then again after the September 2018 lawsuit and subsequent Retriever Courage campus activism. 

I mention all of this because we are all growing. We are all welcoming new aspects of ourselves–and similarly, Take Back the Night is bound to change. The power Take Back the Night has is in the change it creates for each person who interacts with it. 

The power Take Back the Night has is in the change it creates for each person who interacts with it.

Right now, Take Back the Night looks different because it must, but that’s not a death sentence so much as it is an opportunity to welcome and cultivate change.

Perhaps, Take Back the Night will resume its live, in-person status in the Spring of 2023. I have hope that it will. And as much as I worry that it won’t look or feel like the Take Back the Night that I remember… the shared memory that people like Autumn, Sydney, Yoo-Jin, Hannah, Calista and I will continue to hold power and the institutional history of Take Back the Night will only grow. And that’s where the magic of TBTN is and always has been–with the people who are there to witness, the people who speak truth to power, and the people who demand space, time, energy for radical acts of healing.

More information about UMBC’s TBTN:

What You Need to Know About Take Back the Night Series

Take Back the Night at UMBC: Virtual Experience

Survivors to the Front: A Call to Witness Zine (2020)

URCAD XXVI is open for applications!

December 3rd is the UN International Day of Persons with Disabilities, honoring the United Nation's commitment for promoting the rights and well-being of persons with disabilities. The day raises awareness of the political, economic, social and cultural aspects of disability that affects people around the world.

Image description: [Photo shows Rachael dressed in black attire, one of the Women’s Center interns, smiling in front of one of the UMBC buildings.]

Content Note: This post is written by Rachael Joslow, a second-year and student staff at the Women’s Center. I am a transracial adoptee adopted from Vietnam who grew up in Georgia for most of my childhood and adolescent life. I hope to highlight my experience growing up as an adopted child who dealt with difficulties connecting to my ethnicity and race. I would like you, as the reader, to acknowledge and learn the realities of adoption through my experiences, personal readings, and different transracial adoptees’ perspectives.

Growing up, I was always taught and still firmly believe that being blood-related is not a condition to be a part of someone’s family. As a transracial adoptee of a single, white, tie-dye hippie mom, I have been lucky enough to grow up knowing I was loved unconditionally.

Nonetheless, there are certain inside jokes that only those of us who have grown up in a transracial adoptive relationship know about. For example, when I think about one of the most memorable moments I have had as an adopted child, I remember my mom embarrassing me in public and trying to introduce me to her friends. After saying anything in a loud, funny voice or performing a funny dance in public, she would also try to point towards me and say, “yes, this is Rachael, my daughter!” When these moments happened, I would start walking away from her during the conversation, acting as a random stranger. Once she realized what I was doing, she would then reach out to me and exclaim, “no, really, she is my daughter! Rachael, stop walking away!” This interaction is one of the entertaining aspects of being adopted: if your parent is embarrassing you in public, simply walk away.

[Image description: An older woman with a brown-haired ponytail sitting in a wooden chair with a baby in her arms. She’s wearing a pink shirt with jean shorts, and the baby is wearing a white onesie.]

My mom first saw me in an ad in the newspaper one day because she was looking to adopt. She was stationed in Germany at Fort Landstuhl, where she worked as a neurologist at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. She always wanted to have a family, and in fact, she thought she was going to get married after college and have four children, but as some things turn out . . . plans change! In the picture shown to the left of this text, it was her first time meeting me at my foster home, and I believe I was 7-8 months old in that. I looked pretty cute as a baby! Apparently, I was a mellow infant and I only cried when food was late. As in, I scream cried. I was a moody baby if I did not have food on my plate and it still applies to my age now. Some things never change!

“What was it like being told that you were adopted?”

Well, I was the one who figured it out! My mom tells me that when I was about 5 years old, we were sitting in the bathroom getting ready for bed, and I started saying, “we don’t have the same hair.” My mom would reply with a “yes…” and wait to see what would happen next. I then say, “we don’t have the same eyes,” and she goes, “you’re right.” “I didn’t grow in your belly,” and mom keeps responding truthfully as to not hide anything from me. A delayed response follows from me, and my mom was worried but curious about what else I was about to ask. After the pause, I ask her, “can you pass me the toothpaste?” My mom releases a sigh and passes me the toothbrush.

[Image description: An Asian girl with long black hair is shown standing in front of a door with pink sunglasses on and carrying a purse that has Disney Princesses on it. She is wearing black pants and a flower print, blacktop.]

As you can see from this interaction, I was unphased that I was not her biological daughter, and I am still unphased by the fact that I am adopted. It still does not change that I have my mom, and she has me, her daughter. She always has and will continue to love me unconditionally, I know—the bare minimum. Still, through her kindness, openness, acceptance, and much more, I realized how she’ll always have my back over time. She was also really transparent with me whenever I asked questions about my adoption. For some background knowledge, there are no names under “biological mother and biological father” on my Vietnamese birth certificate. My mom has always been honest whenever I asked her questions regarding that information. I used to be open to finding my biological parents, but now that I have become older, I am content to not meet them. I settled that I’m sure that my biological parents wanted what was best for me. Through UMBC, I have connected with my Vietnamese culture more by meeting people and joining the Vietnamese Student Association.

“What are other transracial adoptee’s experiences?”

Although my experiences have been smooth and supportive so far, my personal experience is not shared by ALL transracial adoptees. This NPR podcast called Code Switch: Transracial Adoptees On Their Racial Identity And Sense of Self calls in multiple adoptees who talk about their personal feelings and experiences about their adoption. One person stated that they spent the first 12 years of their life thinking that they were white, and learning that they were not white resulted in an identity crisis. Some transracial adoptees are not told that they are adopted, and the consequences can be very harmful. It makes us think as to why the parent was hiding that critical information. Telling children that they are adopted is okay, and it should not be something to hide from them because it erases a part of their identity. Another adoptee mentioned that their adoption acted as a narrative of their mother being a savior. Unfortunately, some people end up adopting because of their savior complex.

What is the savior complex?

As explained by this Psychology Today article The Savior Complex, it is “a psychological construct that makes a person feel the need to save other people. This person has a strong tendency to seek people who desperately need help and to assist them, often sacrificing their own needs for these people.” When a person with a savior complex sets out to adopt a child, they have the goal of rescuing a child from their situation.

As a reminder to people who would like to adopt in the future, it is not about you, and it has never been about you. Adopted children are not your trophies and we should never be used as tools when you want to earn brownie points to “look like a good person.”

Adoption is about giving a home to a child who does not have a family, and it should revolve around giving the child unconditional love and support. It does not revolve around reminding them how grateful they should be that you adopted them. From an article called Avoiding the Savior Complex in Adoption, an adoptive parent explains it well in a letter to their adoptive child:

“You never have to feel grateful for your adoption. We don’t have to have special gratitude for something that is inherently ours. And my love? That’s yours. It was yours before we met. It will be yours when time is gone. It was, and is, your right to have. My love for you is something I want to be so part of your being that it doesn’t cross your mind to even contemplate its existence. Take it for granted. Assume it will always be there. Because it will. There were losses in your lives. I know them. I respect them. My love for you does not take away those losses. But those losses don’t mean you owe us some form of special gratitude. Don’t ever believe someone who tells you they do. I don’t need you to be grateful; I want you to know, to assume, to not even think that there was another option except me loving you. Because there wasn’t. This love? It was here waiting for you all along. You simply claimed what was already yours.“

– Anonymous

“Is it hard being adopted?”

[Image description: Rachael at her Bat Mitzvah and she’s standing in front of the Torah. She is wearing a tallit, a prayer shawl, and a kippah, a religious headwear in Judaism.]

Being adopted is amazing. Even though I have a different origin story, I’ve always known that I was adopted so it has never been a big deal for me. For me, it is as normal as me having brown eyes; it has always been there. What’s been harder to deal with is others’ perceptions of me. My insecurities about my identity came from outsiders’ comments and people’s perceptions of me. My mom and I have received many weird and uncomfortable comments, but one that I often remember is, “you know she’s going to be raised by strangers, right?” This was not said in front of me; it was actually told to my mom before she signed the papers to bring me home. As mentioned above, my mom is a single parent, and she has done an extraordinary job making me feel secure and loved growing up. As she worked long hours, I would go to daycare after the school day during elementary until I was old enough to stay at the house by myself for a few hours. To that comment now, I would like to say, “yeah! I was raised by strangers, but those strangers became family to me”. My mom had a vast support system, and I understood that although my family structure was different, she still had the same level of care and love for me as any other family.

The comments don’t end at my mom; they came to me too. I received a few judgemental statements during high school, and a common one was how I was white-washed and not really Asian. I wanted to say in response to these comments, “who cares?!” However, a part of me felt alienated from people because although I felt I was Asian from my looks, I still did not feel Asian enough. I was given this label that I couldn’t do certain things. Since I had a white mom, some people had an attitude of “oh, so that’s how it is.” During high school, I felt stuck on who I was and what I was supposed to be. I couldn’t control what was happening to me, and I couldn’t control the fact that I was adopted; why is there so much judgment towards me?

[Image description:The art picture depicts three people standing on a podium in a crowd of people inside what looks to be an art museum. The three people show two parents with their child in the middle who is holding their hands. The picture is from: Stories of transracial adoptees must be heard – even uncomfortable ones.]

Other transracial adoptees have also experienced this same disconnect between their personal social identities and their adoptive families. The article The Transracial Adoption Paradox reported that about 37% of transracial adoptees felt that race made growing up difficult. This YouTube video called “Do All Adoptees Think the Same?, from the YouTube channel Jubilee, brings in 6 adoptees who all come from different backgrounds, and each brings their own perspectives on the relationship between adoption and identity. One of the adoptees, Alexis, had a more challenging time growing up with her white family as an Asian person. When her adoptive family laughed at her when she said she wanted to be white, it showed a lack of sensitivity, kindness, and understanding. Unfortunately, this has destroyed their relationship now that she’s an adult and is now distant between them. Another adoptee in the video, Rebekah, stated how she was called “oreo” growing up because of her background. Whenever she would try to bring up race or racism against her, she would receive comments like “oh, they didn’t mean it like that” or “they’re just from the older generation, and they don’t understand.”

[Image description: Rachael holding her cat named Girl Kitty while sitting on a leather couch when she was 11 years old.]

As parents, especially white parents, you need to be prepared to have those conversations about race. When transracial adoptees go to their white parents about how they experience racism, their first response should not be silence or anger because we, as transracial adoptees, are not trying to make it as if it’s our parent’s fault—we want to have this conversation to improve our relationship with parents. We want our parents to learn about racism, prejudice, and white privilege, and work hard to be strong allies. We want our white parents to understand that it is not their fault that we experience racism, but it is their fault if they’re not there to help us. When it comes to addressing and confronting ignorance and racism, being a parent as well as an ally means making it clear that you are always willing to answer our questions, always available to talk about even the most difficult or hurtful experiences, and always there to advocate for us, assist in our healing, or simply share our pain in any way you are able.

Recommended Videos

Others’ experiences of adoption and family history: Adoption & Identity Intertwined

Do All Adoptees Think the Same? | Spectrum

Netflix Show – Colin in Black & White: Colin Kaepernick narrates this drama series recounting his formative years navigating race, class, and culture while aspiring for greatness.

Recommended Readings

The Realities of Raising a Kid of a Different Race

Transracial Adoption in the Time of Black Lives Matter

How to talk to parents about race if you’re adopted or multiracial

Race and Identity in Transracial Adoption: Suggestions for Adoptive Parents

The Transracial Adoption Paradox

Stories of transracial adoptees must be heard – even uncomfortable ones

Avoiding the Savior Complex in Adoption

NPR Podcast – Code Switch: Transracial Adoptees On Their Racial Identity And Sense of Self

Image description: shows student, Jane, smiling in front of a UMBC building

Positionality Statement: This post is written by Jane DeHitta, an adult learner in her final year at UMBC, who works as a student staff and social work intern at the Women’s Center. I am a first generation Filipino-American student who seeks to be self-aware of the power dynamics that take place in the intersections of our identities and strives to be intentional in the ways I speak to and encounter others. In this post, I share my experience of microaggressions against race and discuss a connection between microaggressions of different forms and the impact that can have on the individual. My experience is my own and I use it as a point of reference and not to represent the innumerable diversity of people’s experience with microaggressions. I hope that what I share in this post gives validation to those who have had experiences similar to my own, and to give a moment for thought and self-reflection for those who find themselves as the microaggressor.

Image description: a cartoon gif of two hands holding up a dark blue sign with the words “Words have power” written across it. The word “power” has an animated line being crossed underneath it for emphasis.

“I wonder who is more Asian?” my white female friend said in passing. She and I had been discussing movies we recently watched, among them Crazy Rich Asians and Always Be My Maybe, movies that feature a predominantly Asian cast. My friend had lived for several years in China and even spoke Cantonese and Mandarin, she had the privilege of experiencing much of Chinese culture. I, on the other hand, grew up in Maryland my whole life and have never been back to my parents home country of the Philippines, nor was I taught how to speak their native languages of Tagalog or Cebuano beyond a few conversational words. 

Taken aback by my friend’s question, I scoffed and went along with what I assumed was a joke by saying, “between you and me?”

She laughed, “yeah.” 

I felt uncomfortable but uncertain why or how to express it so I half-heartedly laughed back and said in an exaggeratedly teasing tone, “don’t make me prove my asianness to you!” We continued our conversation for a few minutes more before parting ways, but that discomfort lingered as a knot in my stomach. 

Prior to this recent encounter, I know that I have experienced microaggressions throughout my life, from friends saying, “oh, sometimes I forget your Asian!”  to strangers asking me “Where were you born? (Maryland) No, but where are you really from?” But because of my introverted personality and the culture of passivity I grew up in, I learned to respond much like the way I responded to my friend. Ignoring it or laughing it off. I wouldn’t confront the perpetrator or call them out, because it was easier that way, I could deal with my discomfort later. And afterwards I would go through a dialogue in my head that looks something like this, “they didn’t mean it like that. I shouldn’t be offended! They were just kidding! I’m not actually hurt by what they said. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Even if I was hurt or bothered, I’ve already laughed and moved on, and so have they. They don’t always say/do things like that.  Dwelling on it isn’t going to help. I don’t want to make them uncomfortable or feel bad.” I also struggle with invalidating my own experiences simply because “others have it worse”.

Infographic shows a breakdown of the impacts of microaggressions; key words: Imposter Syndrome, Stereotype Threat, other bad feelings like poor self-confidence, depression, etc. Link for more information

Growing up in Maryland for the entirety of my 26 years of life, I have had conflicting feelings about my Filipino/Asian identity. My parents did their best to share their culture, through cooking, traditions, and stories; every summer we went to the local Filipino festivals, and were a part of various Filipino groups. I loved going to these places, tasting the food, seeing the traditional clothing, and watching the dances–one of the years, my sisters and I even participated in the procession for Filipino princesses. And there were moments at these events as we would walk through the stalls as a family, when vendors would greet us, striking up a conversation with my parents in Tagalog or Cebuano. While they talked, I would just stand there awkwardly, nodding and smiling, though I didn’t know what was being said. Then they would turn to me and ask me something, and my mom would translate to me so I could answer. The shopkeepers would give a look of disappointment, “Oh you don’t speak Tagalog…?” It was in those moments, I remember this feeling, almost like imposter syndrome, that I’ve blown my cover, that if someone tried to talk to me they would realize I’m not actually Filipino and I didn’t belong.

A microaggression is “a statement, action, or incident regarded as an instance of indirect, subtle, or unintentional discrimination against members of a marginalized group such as a racial or ethnic minority.” These can be subtle and are often considered harmless by the deliverer, but can have a huge impact on the individual. 

This infographic describes how to be an active bystander and address microaggressions. Key words: Observe, Think, Feel, Desire. Link for more information

Once my friend left me to ponder the authenticity of my racial and ethnic identities, I was able to take some time to reflect and navigate through my feelings. I asked myself, what about that question has continued to bother me? I was able to confide in my siblings, and as I processed through the experience with them I realized that the question I felt was lying underneath my friend’s words was this accusation of  “are you really Asian if…?” …you haven’t been to the country of origin, if you don’t speak the language, if…

I felt this question cutting at the ties of my belonging and identity. And I broke down crying.. 

Fortunately, my siblings were quick to support and affirm my feelings of confusion and hurt, as well as, comforting me with a list of  reasons of “you’re so Asian you…” (always tap the bags of rice at the grocery store; have a blue sash in Kung Fu; know how to pronounce adobo…etc) It’s funny, I laughed, and also I realized how ridiculous it was to even have a list of these qualifiers. 

Image description: an Asian woman making a “check mark” gesture with her finger saying “okay check!”

Being Asian or belonging to any racial or ethnic minority cannot be qualified and boiled down to a few checkboxes. It’s the different and unique combination of an individual’s upbringing, family history, ancestry, shared culture, passing on of traditions, and along with that, their experience of the intersectionality of their identities of race and ethnicity with gender, religion, sexual orientation, ability/disability, socio-economic status, etc.

The next day, I ran into this same friend and we made small talk. I was about to walk away when in my head I thought, “now is as good a time as any.” I asked if she had a moment to talk about our conversation from the other day and was able to express how what she said had made me uncomfortable. However, I was so concerned about her feelings that I kept downplaying my hurt and focused more on reassuring her “I know that wasn’t what you intended, or what you meant, and you’re not responsible for how I feel or react, but you are responsible for the things you say.” She apologized and shared that she was probably coming from a place of insecurity as well because she sometimes doesn’t feel connected with either her Asian connections and her White-American identity. This is not an uncommon experience, oftentimes when women of color are talking to a white woman to call them on, the conversation moves quickly from impact on the person of color to the guilt the white person feels for having made that impact. Their whiteness becomes centered. I listened and nodded and reassured her. And then I said we were fine and we ended the conversation.

The peace and resolution I felt after that encounter did not last. I found myself avoiding spaces I knew she would be in and feeling unsure of myself because I had already said we were fine, and I didn’t know how to communicate that I was, in fact, not. 

I ended up texting my friend and setting a boundary, “Hi, I know we had our conversation but I realize I’m still uncomfortable and I need space. That might look like I’m giving you the silent treatment, but I’m just trying to process.” 

She responded, “Thank you for letting me know. I have been thinking about our conversation too. If and when you would like to talk together again or process together I am open to that. I am very sorry for hurting you so deeply.” 

After taking a few days, and talking it through with my siblings, I made a plan for having a follow-up to the follow-up conversation with this friend. My sister suggested I write down the things I wanted to be able to say and to think of the reason or goal behind having this conversation:

The point of this conversation is to: 

1. Express how our second conversation made me feel unheard because it became centered on you
2. Be able to freely and authentically express how I feel without interruption or downplaying the impact of your words

Things I wanted to say:

1. It’s important to have this conversation because my feelings are valid and important and matter
2. I was hurt because it felt like you were asking me to prove my asianness and it hurt to think of the fact that my parents didn’t have the money to send me or my siblings back to the Philippines to visit or that there was an assumption that my parents didn’t care enough to teach me their language 
3. I think it would’ve been offensive even if you were Asian to say that, but it was more so because you are white and in that sentence you assumed my experience was similar to yours, when your lived experience is fundamentally different simply because you are white. Like when the rise in Asian hate crimes happened, you didn’t have to question how that would affect your behavior or safety.

To be clear, I share this not to villainize my friend. To her credit, she was able to have that conversation with me and give me the space I needed to process with her in that final dialogue without coming to her own defense and explaining where she was coming from. She listened to how her words had affected me, gave a sincere apology, and acknowledged that the excuse of “I wasn’t thinking” was lacking. To that end, I share this to make room for self-reflection for all of us, myself included, “have I said or done things that would be considered microaggressions to others? How have I used language that excludes others from feeling like they belong? Have I, at times, done more to defend myself than to listen to the impact of my actions or words?” 

“So maybe another question to ask is, how can I let this person share their experience with me before I assume what their experience has been…?”

These questions are things I have been asking myself.

As The Women’s Center continues their year-long conversation on Disability Justice + Access, I want to pose these questions specifically towards disability, both visible and especially invisible disabilities

Microaggressions can take a number of forms against those with disabilities. As I was reading I was struck by how subtle these can be and how harmful they are to the individual. Becoming aware of them and naming them can help prevent us from making the same hurtful mistakes in how we interact with those in the disabled community. 

My experience with having my own racial identity questioned closely resembles the invalidation that people with disabilities often face from those who question whether or not they are actually disabled or disabled enough. 

For instance, in this article I read, for those with invisible disabilities who drove, parking in handicapped spots often engendered glares, questions, or negative comments. A woman with a hidden disability stated, “Sometimes I get out of the car and I’m like, ‘Oh, who’s around, like do I need to take out the wheelchair for show?” (Olkin, 2019)

These microaggressions, among other things, can be felt as an attack against belonging and identity. As a non-disabled person, I cannot speak to what these experiences are like, and I don’t want to sit here comparing microaggressions like some sort of oppression olympics; what I want to do is be thoughtful about the ways I encounter those with disabilities (and to be considerate with meeting people in general because you never know what someone might be struggling with). So maybe another question to ask is, how can I let this person share their experience with me before I assume what their experience has been…?

In the last two years, I have been working on finding my voice and learning how to express my needs and feelings. This instance that I’ve shared was the first time that I really addressed a microaggression directed at me. And as I shared, it was not a straight-forward or easy path. I questioned how I was feeling and whether it was worth speaking up. I had to have the conversation a couple of times and sought out support from those who know and love me to help me organize my thoughts. 

Image description: An Asian woman saying with a determined expression, “We do speak up now. We do have a voice.”

As I’ve been educating myself more on social identities, I am learning how I can advocate for myself and on behalf of others. 

I’m challenging myself to 1) be brave in holding these conversations when someone says something that makes me uncomfortable and 2) be humble and self-reflective if and when someone calls me out or calls me in for something I have said. Making an authentic apology without excuses can be healing for both persons involved.

I encourage you to join me. Together, we can be the change we want to see in the world (too cheesy with the Ghandi line? I think not!).

Image description: A scene from Always Be My Maybe, in which the Asian female lead, Ali Wong points to the camera and smiles affectionately.

Recommendations and Resources: 

 I quoted this article when talking about microaggressions against disabilities: The Experiences of Microaggressions against Women with Visible and Invisible Disabilities. Olkin, R., Hayward, H., Abbene, M. S., & VanHeel, G. (2019). Journal of Social Issues, 75(3), 757–785. https://doi.org/10.1111/josi.12342

How Microagressions are like Mosquito Bites

A Guide to Responding to Microaggressions 

University of Washington made these infographicson microaggressions that can be helpful 

Office of Equity and Inclusion also helps with civil rights issues including discrimination, harassment, hate and bias

Content Note: This post is written by Sara Stewart, a sophomore and student staff member at the Women’s Center.  I am a non-disabled student, who, in my reading, work with CSJ, and personal reflection, hopes to be a better ally to my disabled family members, friends, and community members.  I wish to recognize where social and institutional practices reinforce ableism, and work to dismantle that. I hope what I share in this post is thought-provoking, and helps others find opportunities to work on ways to improve online accessibility.

October is in full swing, and the Women’s Center kicked off our 2021-2022 Critical Social Justice Initiative: Disability Justice and Access Matters with our first event, CSJ 101: Disability Justice at UMBC + Beyond.  While participants discussed accessibility and the history and principles of the disability justice movement on and off-campus, there were also conversations on how the pandemic forced UMBC, other colleges, schools, and many workplaces to adapt to remote work and learning.  Among other things, the flexible hours and ability to work and learn from home are options that disabled people have advocated for years.  We must raise the question: What does it mean that it took a global emergency to push accessibility to the forefront of our minds?

With this foundational question, we need to consider the ways we can continue to practice and expand our values of accessibility and inclusivity online.  In particular, as acts of oppression and anti-Black violence have been public and widely discussed in online spaces during the pandemic, much of our storytelling, learning, and growth from one another has become more prominent online, especially on social media sites like Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok.  This demands that we work together to make social media spaces accessible for all.

Many disability activists and users have long been discussing disability justice on these platforms, sometimes at the risk of being shadow banned: unknowingly having their content hidden from followers and other users.  A simple way to be good allies and challenge this online erasure is to reflect on the online learning we choose to engage in and our current accessibility practices, while recognizing where we can hear feedback, grow, and change.  Disability justice must exist in all spaces where we are coming together to share knowledge, stories, and cultivate a sense of solidarity.  

In my research to improve social media accessibility at the Women’s Center, I’ve focused on image descriptions, alt-text, video captioning, and transcriptions.  One of the first pieces I read to get a sense of the issue was this article: ‘May be an image’: what it’s like browsing instagram while blind.’  However, I had trouble picturing and fully understanding the mechanics of a screen reader, so I decided to try it myself by switching on VoiceOver in my phone settings and browsing Instagram.  It was nowhere near the same experience, since I’m not visually impaired, but it quickly became clear why not including alt text or image descriptions in a post would become a problem.  The screen reader would offer a variety of descriptions of a post’s content, ranging from: “Photo” or “Image” without any more information, or it would guess, “May be an image of: an animal” when describing a Halloween post of a kitten sitting in a Jack-O’-Lantern.  As the article discusses, the accuracy of the screen reader was a complete hit or miss without the help of image descriptions or alt text, and people who need this technology would miss out on a lot of content online.

Even though these features may be new to some people, especially to those who are non-disabled, we must do the work together to make the spaces we create online inclusive and accessible.  To that end, I’ve put together an easy resource guide of some social media accessibility practices, however, this is not an exhaustive list.  Compiled at the end of this blog post is a list of resources and advocates that assisted me in this research, and are also good places to consult for yourself!

Image Descriptions and Alt Text

Both image descriptions and alt text are used to describe an image or video being shared online, however, they can be displayed differently.  These features are useful for a variety of reasons, for those with limited vision, language-learners, to transcribe difficult fonts, and so much more.  

Usually, alt text is not visually displayed, as it primarily refers to the text added to the alt attribute within an image.  In other words, alt text is embedded within an image for accessibility purposes and to be shown in the place of an image if it can’t load.  Since screen readers can’t “read” an image, they read the alt text instead, passing on the information either through a Braille display or by reading it out in a synthetic voice.  On platforms like Instagram and Twitter, alt text can be manually entered by selecting “advanced settings” and “+ALT” when sharing content online.  When writing alt text, there are a few things you should keep in mind.  There are usually character limits, so try to be short and concise!  Consider the context, content, and function of the image and give a very brief description. 

On the other hand, image descriptions can be lengthier and more detailed.  They can be included in the main caption of a post or in a reply to the original content.  When writing image descriptions, think about the reason for sharing an image and the information or message to be conveyed.  If the image is a graphic, make sure to transcribe the text.  If you’re sharing a picture of your funny dog, take some liberties in describing its goofy expression!  You know your audience and their needs best, and the right tone to use when sharing information.  Alex Chen, a product designer and writer in Chicago, recommends using a framework of object, action, and context in an attempt to stay concise while also communicating the full intent of the image.  In this model, the object would be the main focus or subject of an image, the action would be what the object is doing or what is happening to it, while the context describes the surrounding environment and purpose.  While these are only a few helpful pointers, image descriptions will naturally take a bit of practice and getting used to.  Don’t be discouraged!

Video Captions and Video Transcriptions 

So what about live video?  Well, video captions divide speech transcripts using caption frames that are synchronized with the audio.  These identify speakers and depict all speech and sound effects, including relevant sounds and inflections.  Captions or sticker captions can be added on pre-recorded videos on some platforms such as Instagram and TikTok.  Where live-streaming is possible, live captioning is typically available online with some paid services like 3playmedia.  Otherwise, on Instagram specifically, auto-generated captions can be included when posting the saved video.

On the other hand, video transcriptions convert all spoken audio and information, including on-screen text and key visual information, into written textual descriptions.  The main difference is that transcriptions are separate texts that aren’t synced to any audio, and can be either verbatim or clean read, the latter of which uses light edits to allow for readability.  

Both captions and transcriptions are great to use when sharing video content online, and when used in conjunction with image descriptions in alt text, increase the accessibility of social media. 

Other Good Practices 

• When writing hashtags, use camel case: #CaptionLikeThis #notlikethis
• Place mentions and hashtags at the end of the post
• Use emojis sparingly, since each one is read out by screen readers
• Include trigger warnings and/or content warnings when sharing material that may include sensitive content for some people.  Posting these warnings also empowers people to choose what they want to interact with online, or not
• It can be challenging to differentiate between low-contrast colors, so use an online high contrast color checker, such as this one by Coolors, to ensure your image is readable
• In text-based images, use one or two easy-to-read fonts, like Serif or Arial, with large text and ample spacing

Give Credit Where Credit Is Due!

When engaging with and sharing disability activists’ content online, give credit where it’s due!  Follow, uplift, and take the time to reflect on what is being shared.  When possible, support activists directly by financial means!  Part of doing this learning is giving recognition to the people who have been taking the time to do the work of teaching disability justice.  Giving credit and offering meaningful engagement are actions that can be so simple, and that go a long way in empowering others.      

Just do it!

While I’m just beginning to explore the ways I can make my online spaces more accessible, there’s still so much more for me to consider.  People have advocated for baseline accessibility for a long time, so we must continue to address this and adapt to the needs of those around us.  I invite readers to join me on this journey!  What suggestions do you have to make social media more accessible?  If these are new concepts for you, what’s one takeaway you’ll consider incorporating into your own practices?  Feel free to share below in the comments or message on our social media! 

We invite you to learn more about this year’s Critical Social Justice Initiative!  Our next event, Crip Camp: Screening and Discussion will take place online on October 27th, from 3-6pm.  If you would like to be involved in our upcoming events, subscribe to this WordPress and follow us on myUMBC.

Further Resources

• “May be an image;” what it’s like browsing Instagram while blind
• Is Your Social Media Accessible to Everyone? These 9 Best Practices Can Help 
• Closed Captioning vs. Live Transcription: What’s the Difference? 
• Transcription vs. Captioning – What’s the Difference? 
• How to write an image description (Alex Chen) 
• AccessThat: Digital Accessibility Basics 
• Disability Intersectionality Summit: Places to Start 
• Access Is Love Reading List 
• Alt Text as Poetry  
• Shadowbanning is a Thing — and It’s Hurting Trans and Disabled Advocates 
• Instagrams
  • @higher_priestess
  • @annieelainey
  • @accessbitch
  • @access_guide_
  • @thedisabledhippie

For more information on disability services at UMBC, including how to get accommodations and reporting issues of inaccessibility, please see our previous post outlining these resources.

This October, as we begin to recognize National Disability Awareness Month, we here in the Women’s Center are excited to relaunch Critical Social Justice with the theme of Disability Justice + Access Matters!

Our goal is for our conversations to build a vision of a world where all bodies are valued and essential, and where we acknowledge and affirm that other identities intersect, creating a unique lived experience.  A society built on global capitalism, colonialism, and the multiple oppression of disabled people asserts everyday that people’s bodies are “expendable.”  However, we work to challenge that idea and honor that everyone has inherent worth independent of their productivity or labor.  As we attempt to “return to normal,” we have to reconsider who “normal” serves and take into account the lessons learned from how we have lived and survived through the pandemic.  What can we do, and what should we do, to carry forward the practices of accessibility?  

To kick off a year of Critical Social Justice events, we began with CSJ 101: Disability Justice at UMBC + Beyond.  Leading this workshop was the Women’s Center’s own, Amelia Meman, who described for participants the current state of the disability rights movement and what disability justice means as a more radical concept.

Participants started by discussing a few definitions of disability justice and the ways it resonated with each individual.  A few examples were intersectionality and the myth of a “neutral body”.  The conversation then moved into highlighting some important founders of the disability justice movement, which included:

• Patty Berne: co-founder and artistic director of Sins Invalid, a radical crip artist and activist group prioritizing queer people of color with disabilities
• Mia Mingus: writer, educator, and trainer for transformative justice and disability justice
• Stacey Park Milbern: a Bay Area-based organizer and disability justice thought leader
• Leroy Moore Jr.: a Black artist, writer, poet, activist, feminist, founder of Krip Hop, and co-founder of Sins Invalid

These four figures (and several other queer and disabled activists) developed the idea of disability justice which prioritized the needs of disabled people located at the intersection of multiple identities, and thus, experience layered oppression. With this established, the discussion then illustrated a vision for disability justice (originally developed by Sins Invalid), where we recognize that: 

• All bodies are considered unique and essential.
• All bodies have strengths and needs that must be met.
• Each and every person is powerful, not despite the complexities of our bodies, but because of them.
• All bodies are confined by ability, race, gender, sexuality, class, nation state, religion, and more, and we cannot separate them.

With the main founders and principles laid out, the group thought about how we do disability justice, starting with revisiting how we think about disability.  The medical model of disability “others” people’s bodies by viewing them as something to be rehabilitated, fixed, or cured.  Meanwhile, the social model was established to assert that disability is something born from people with impairments interacting with a society that doesn’t account for accessibility or justice in communication, interpersonal relationships, the political world, or in physical infrastructure.  It is the social model which has provided the foundation for the disability justice movement, the idea that disability isn’t related to personal deficit, but that it is the result of an inaccessible society that “disables”.  

Next, Amelia led the group through a few ways that allies and others with positional power can do the work to practice and leverage disability justice.  This included accepting feedback and changing as necessary, learning about disability justice, considering how to use positional power to create intentional accessibility, making content and spaces accessible, and finally listening and centering disabled people’s experiences.

To wrap up CSJ 101, the group discussed their experiences with disability and access at UMBC and off-campus. Some of the experiences named by those in attendance were*:

• “I often experience the physical campus as inaccessible.”
• “Accessibility routes can be confusing and accommodations are limited for some.”
• “Ableist implicit biases inform us all. We are all unlearning ableism.”
• “I have had frustrating experiences of inconsistent communication and support.”
• “I feel like there is a general lack of understanding, compassion, and humility on the part of UMBC faculty, staff, and other students when it comes to disability access and equity, and in working with disabled students.”
• “The pandemic has made UMBC consider and vastly improve digital and remote accessibility. The hope is that these practices should not end with the effort to “return to normal,” especially since many disabled community members have required and asked for these services for a long time.”
• “We should question the nature of medicalization, and what is considered the “normal” expectation of how a person’s body should look and function in and out of the classroom.”

Just as CSJ 101 participants were left with these questions, we also urge readers and our community members to consider: “What does disability justice mean to you?” and “How will you incorporate disability justice into your life?”  Even if it is through small practices such as changing vocabulary or practicing online accessibility, consider what you can do personally and in coordination with any positions of privilege to be in solidarity with the disabled community on and off-campus.  

If you are interested, you can access a recording of the CSJ 101: Disability Justice at UMBC + Beyond.  We also invite you to join us in our learning by attending our upcoming Critical Social Justice: Disability Justice and Access Matters events.  Check out our myUMBC page and follow along by subscribing to this blog!

*Considering this was an event with a small subset of UMBC community members, these themes and personal experiences should be viewed as individual opinions. In other words, many others experiencing impairments may not share the same opinion that this campus feels inaccessible.

For those who are experiencing some level of inaccessibility or ableism, it is important to know that there are resources and offices at our UMBC with the express purpose of assisting to resolve these issues. For more information on student accommodations, please check out the Office of Student Disability Services. For more on UMBC faculty, staff, and visitor accommodations/access needs OR to make a report of an inaccessibility, please check out the Office of Accessibility and Disability Services. If you believe you are being treated unfairly because of your disability and/or impairments (or any other aspect of your social identities), please consider working with the Office of Equity and Inclusion to make a report (anonymous reporting options are also available).

“How can I join the Women’s Center?”

Well . . .

Do you hang out in our lounge? Do you come to our events? Do you read our blog or chat with our staff? 

If you answered yes to any of these questions, then congratulations! You are a part of the Women’s Center.

But we understand the feeling of being a part of something special. Showing your loyalty and commitment to a cause is empowering. Finding home and belonging in a space that means something to you, means something to us.

So, now, you can “join” the Women’s Center by being one of our fearless and loyal Scouts! 

The Women’s Center Scouts program began several years ago in the spirit of the Pawnee Goddesses created by our friend Leslie Knope. Maybe you’ve also heard of the Girl Scouts? Radical Monarchs? Or Lumberjanes? Our Scouts program is kind of like that. Nonetheless, there are Women’s Center badges out there waiting to be earned!

Here’s the deal. To become a Women’s Center Scout, participate in our “This or That Scout Challenge!” Each Scout must meet the challenge by completing a set of 4 different challenges outlined by the Women’s Center throughout the fall semester. The challenges include:  

• 1. Follow us on social media @womenscenterumbc on Twitter, Instagram, & on myUMBC!
  • If you’re already a member and following one of our pages, great! You’re one step closer. After following us, comment/reply to one of our posts…

• 2. Spend time in the Women’s Center!
  • Bring a friend to the Women’s Center and give them a tour!
  • OR go to one of our discussion group meetings! (Learn more by visiting our myUMBC page and visiting our discussion-based groups’ page)

• 3. Celebrate our 30th Anniversary! 
  • Attend the 30th Anniversary virtual Homecoming event on Oct. 8 @ 6 pm!
  • OR watch the 20th Anniversary of the Women’s Center video OR view the 25th Anniversary Prezi and tell a staff member one fact you learned!

• 4. Get involved with Critical Social Justice!
  • Attend at least 1 CSJ event! 9/27, 10/27, 11/4, & 11/29
  • OR ask one of our staff members for a reading recommendation on Disability Justice from our lending library!

Any UMBC community member who completes the challenge by December 1st gets a Women’s Center T-shirt and a shout-out on our social media pages!

Wear your Women’s Center t-shirt with pride. Jess and Ojus are showcasing this year’s Women’s Center t-shirt!

All UMBC students, faculty, and staff are welcome to participate! Stop by the Women’s Center beginning Monday, September 27th to claim your Scout’s Card and get to work!

For questions, stop by the Women’s Center or email us at womenscenter@umbc.edu.

Who are your Queer and Trancestors? 

To Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera 

To Gloria Anzaldúa and Alexa Negron Luciano 

To Tony McDade and Nina Pop 

To those who lived and loved in time past with the hopes of times to come.

The spirituality of queerness

A force field of 

unconditional love 

The first flower to bloom in 

A post-apocalyptic heart 

Our claim to liberation 

Is in deciphering 

shadows

Queerness is a dance 

A choreography between shame and pleasure

I have grown accustomed to their wandering eyes

The essence of my being tickles 

Their blushed cheeks 

I love unapologetically 

In the name of the ancestors who had to love in secret