Leandro Hernandez Jimenez
Repeal the 8th: Jordana
"It’s the beginning of September and I move through the customs line at Dublin airport, clutching my passport and immigration papers.
“Name?” The immigration guard asks.
“Jordana.” I answer.
“Country of origin”
“Canada.”
“Reason for moving?”
“I’m here for school, for the year.”
He asks if I had anything to declare, a question roughly translating to “are you in possession of anything the government could claim as their own,” and “are you in possession of anything potentially threatening?”
I look at the ground and remember learning about the 8th amendment, legislation banning abortion, forcing over ten women to fly to England every day for safe terminations of pregnancy and over 3 women a day to order abortion pills online, hoping they won’t be confiscated at the border.
In Canada, my body was my business. I have never become pregnant but, if I had, abortion services would have been legal and accessible. My provincial healthcare would have covered the costs. In Ireland, a country which legislates 14-year prison sentences for those seeking abortions, my body belongs to the government.
However, standing in the customs line I also know I am entering a country fired up for change. I am inspired by the thousands who have rallied around repealing the 8th amendment, by the individuals who have bravely shared their abortion stories, highlighting the detrimental nature of a country that does not care about its women and pregnant people. There is a mass and ever growing movement here that knows the time for passivity is a long time gone.
He looks at me again, impatient.
“I said, anything to declare?”
Exchanging my right to choose for a stamp on my passport, I hand over my bodily autonomy, now the property of this antiquated restriction.
We make eye contact and I indignantly answer,
"My uterus I guess. And my ovaries.”
Repeal the 8th: Jordana
"It’s the beginning of September and I move through the customs line at Dublin airport, clutching my passport and immigration papers.
“Name?” The immigration guard asks.
“Jordana.” I answer.
“Country of origin”
“Canada.”
“Reason for moving?”
“I’m here for school, for the year.”
He asks if I had anything to declare, a question roughly translating to “are you in possession of anything the government could claim as their own,” and “are you in possession of anything potentially threatening?”
I look at the ground and remember learning about the 8th amendment, legislation banning abortion, forcing over ten women to fly to England every day for safe terminations of pregnancy and over 3 women a day to order abortion pills online, hoping they won’t be confiscated at the border.
In Canada, my body was my business. I have never become pregnant but, if I had, abortion services would have been legal and accessible. My provincial healthcare would have covered the costs. In Ireland, a country which legislates 14-year prison sentences for those seeking abortions, my body belongs to the government.
However, standing in the customs line I also know I am entering a country fired up for change. I am inspired by the thousands who have rallied around repealing the 8th amendment, by the individuals who have bravely shared their abortion stories, highlighting the detrimental nature of a country that does not care about its women and pregnant people. There is a mass and ever growing movement here that knows the time for passivity is a long time gone.
He looks at me again, impatient.
“I said, anything to declare?”
Exchanging my right to choose for a stamp on my passport, I hand over my bodily autonomy, now the property of this antiquated restriction.
We make eye contact and I indignantly answer,
"My uterus I guess. And my ovaries.”