I see that we are discussing eugenics again.

"Poor people shouldn't have kids."

Y'all are insufferable. But let's argue.

I grew up in a little two-bedroom section of a projects block in the south side of Chicago. Just me, my mom and our little fat dog named Princess. We didn't have much, and I never wanted for much. I was, and am, happy with very little. And a lot of that comes down to the person that my mother was. She had me later in life and, honestly, she struggled as a parent. She was disabled, older, and just finally breaking free of years of horrifying abuse. And then she had me. Her surprise baby that she now had to raise with almost no help, a body that constantly betrayed her, and with a $600 disability check and a food-stamp book (because back then, food stamps came in a little booklet of fake money. Throwback, anyone? lol.)

My mother spent sixty years being abused, mistreated, and abandoned by everyone in her life before she passed. And yet, the thing I most remember about her is that she had an unshakable love for humanity. Some of my strongest memories of my mother are of working the garden together, so that she could bring vegetables to other families, or of our backyard barbeques, where she would organize with the mothers of local gang members to get them invested in the community. I remember our table always being full of hungry kids and our washer always being used by neighbors who didn't have one. I remember countless people moving into our house so they could get their life together, and my mother organizing to actually meet people's needs, instead of trying to push people out who couldn't afford to contribute to the community. And I remember a lot of struggle for our family--sometimes seemingly because of how sacrificially she gave, even when we couldn't afford it. Which often turned into people criticizing her and questioning why she continued to pour even when there was nothing left in her cup. And those memories have had a massive impact on the way that I engage with the world.

Looking back, I can't remember a time where we had enough. Except for the years my older sister had the extra to look out for us, life was very hard. But it was always good. Because my mother was someone who loved. Deeply, unconditionally, and without regret.

It is always interesting to me when I sit down and talk about childhood with my friends. Because, honestly, most of my friends grew up in much better homes than I did, by societies standards. Most of them had two parents, enough food to eat, enough clothes to wear. Christmas happened every year, and when their parents bought them toys, it didn't mean the family going without something they needed. And yet, in my particular friend group, I am one of very few who look back on our parents fondly, truly believing they gave us everything they could.

I want to be clear: this is not me romanticizing poverty. I wish my childhood was better. I wish that I was not forced to grow up the way I did. And I wish that my mother did not die having never known what it was like to have autonomy or freedom, or just enough money to eat every day. Often, when I stop by a drive-thru for a burger just because, I think back to the fact that my mom sacrificed every single time she gave me something that I can give my kids pretty much whenever I want to. And it's not something I'm proud of. I hate that for her. That she never knew freedom. So no, I am not romanticizing poverty or oppression. Even now, in poverty myself, I have freedoms and privileges that she never knew, and I hate that.

and yet... because there is a point to me sharing all of this. Despite how horrifying that life was, there's no version of me that wishes I had been "rescued". I had an incredible mother who I will spend my entire life being proud of and trying to emulate. To this day, my greatest ambitions are to fight for others and to never walk through a door that I don't swing open for the people behind me. And that is entirely because of a woman that many of you don't think should have had kids.

Don't get me wrong, I know everyone doesn't feel this way. There are plenty of people who wish their parents had chosen not to have them. And there are plenty of people who make the choice to not have children because they don't want to raise them in a life of struggle. And I do not object to either of those feelings. I really don't. If people choose not to have kids because they are poor, I think that's valid. And if people look back on their parents with resentment because they went without, I think that is valid. And I relate to it in part (happy to talk more about that later). But I need for us to stop walking through life with the belief that people who suffer have no value and offer nothing to society.

It's not true. My mother had value. I have value. And many of the people who are currently fighting to rescue you from the mess that privilege and white supremacy put you in are people who you actively believe shouldn't exist and/or shouldn't have the right to reproduce. They are marginalized people who have been born into a world that doesn't want them to thrive. That actively tries to stop them from thriving. That robs them of their livelihoods and tries to strip them of their humanity. Many of the people you most rely on to rescue you are people who are fighting from positions of unbelievable disadvantage. And yet it is because of their unshakable love for humanity that they will continue to rescue you anyway. But even if they weren't willing to... and this is important so please listen...even if marginalized people hated you and refused to do a thing to fight for our collective freedom, we would still be human beings who have value and deserve to be treated well and to have autonomy.

I hate that, for many of you, the only reason you are listening to what I have to say is because I spent the first few paragraphs pointing to specific reasons that I think a poor person's life mattered. Which is a part of the point I am trying to make. You have been conditioned to think that because someone has less, they must earn their humanity. And that... that is evil.

Here is what I need you to understand: The reason children are born into families who cannot afford to take care of them is because there are systems in place that intentionally aim to exploit and eradicate communities that threaten their own advantages. And the reason that you are taught to hate parents who are raising children in poverty is because the people who benefit from those systems have used their wealth and their influence to convince you that those parents are failures, instead of victims. They have worked very hard to convince you that the weapon of poverty is in the hands of the poor, rather than the wealthy.

And at the end of the day, it is not just about poverty. These same people want you to believe that it is abuse to expose children to Queer identity, to Black culture, to feminine power, to disability... if they can convince you that oppression is a personal failure, then they can convince you to hate the oppressed and to view our identities as inherently abusive...and then they can convince you that the answer to oppression is to "rescue" our children from us and to stop us from having more.

This isn't hyperbole. It isn't fear-mongering. This is the reality. And we know that, because it's not a new playbook.

Yes, poverty is hard. Disability is hard. Being Black or Queer in America is hard. Rejecting patriarchy is hard. But the answer to oppression will never look like legislating or moralizing our disadvantages. The answer is to dismantle our oppressor's power.

If you want to end child poverty, tax the rich and return that money to the communities it was stolen from.

Here are some books I would like to read on this subject if you'd like to join me. And I think you can look forward to some follow up posts on what community care can and should look like as we fight to dismantle these systems.

• When the Welfare People Come by Don Lash

• Catching a Case by Tina Lee

• Care by Premilla Nadasen

• Reproductive Rights and Wrongs by Betsy Hartmann

• Undivided Rights by Jael Silliman, Marlene Gerber Fried, Loretta Ross & Elena Gutierrez

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