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The Ecosystem of Refusal
Menopause and the Power of Maroon Space

Charting Pathways from the Margins to the Menopausal Multiverse
From Black Girl’s Guide to Surviving Menopause by Omisade Burney-Scott
Margins are maps in disguise, coded with ancestral memory, ecological wisdom, and stories too bold for the center. The margins—the spaces where the stories, experiences, and wisdom of human beings deemed “other” have been relegated—are not places we chose. They were deliberately constructed by a dominant culture intent on controlling not just the narrative of menopause but the narratives of race, gender, sexuality, class, and power itself. For those of us who live at the intersections of these identities, the current menopause landscape could be considered inhospitable terrain, one that mirrors the broader societal patterns of erasure, exclusion, and pathologizing difference.
But what if these margins were sacred spaces instead of sites of exile? What if the margins were ecosystems of resistance, transformation, and care? They could be places where people create culture, conjure safety, and practice sovereignty. Margins are not the edge of the story—they are the origin of new ones.
The margins of menopause—once peripheral spaces of silence and invisibility—are being reclaimed and reimagined as intentional, intergenerational menopause maroon communities and a direct pathway to the Menopausal Multiverse.
A Word About Maroons
Throughout the Americas and the Caribbean, maroon communities were formed by formerly enslaved people who refused the terms of their captivity. These communities, often hidden deep in forests, swamps, or mountains, were rooted in self-liberation, sovereignty, and cultural preservation. They integrated themselves into natural landscapes, allowing them to live, organize, and thrive in plain sight.
In the American South, the Great Dismal Swamp became a haven for those who had self-liberated from enslavement. Historical records and oral histories document that from the 1600s through the Civil War, thousands of Black people sought refuge in the swamp’s dense forests and wetlands, forming maroon settlements that lasted for generations. Despite the harsh terrain, these communities developed intricate systems of agriculture, bartering, kinship, and resistance. The swamp became not only a physical sanctuary but also a site of Black ingenuity, perseverance, and refusal.
In Jamaica, Queen Nanny of the Maroons is celebrated as one of the most formidable leaders of resistance against British colonial rule. Born in what is now Ghana, she was brought to Jamaica as an enslaved African and escaped into the Blue Mountains, where she became a leader of the Windward Maroons in the early 18th century. Nanny led successful guerrilla warfare campaigns against the British, outwitting colonial forces and negotiating a peace treaty in 1739 that secured land and a degree of autonomy for her people. Beyond her military prowess, Queen Nanny was a spiritual leader and herbalist whose knowledge of African traditions, healing, and community governance shaped maroon society. Her leadership embodied the power of post-menopausal Black womanhood—rooted in clarity, strategy, protection, and vision.
These maroon societies were not utopias, but they were declarations of self-determination in a world that denied their humanity. Many were led by elder post-menopausal Black women—women who wielded their wisdom, pragmatism, and power to build sovereign spaces of care, resistance, and renewal. Their stories offer not only a historical blueprint but also a spiritual map for how we might reimagine our own liberation.
The Menopausal Maroon and the Margins We Did Not Create
At Black Girl’s Guide to Surviving Menopause, we recognize that people of the global majority did not create the margins of the current menopause landscape, but we are reclaiming them. These margins were built by systems that failed to see us: the medical industrial complex that pathologized our bodies, the wellness industry that commodifies our pain, and media and research landscapes that often render our experiences invisible unless they can be exploited for profit.
Yet within these margins, we are creating something different. Through storytelling, oral histories, intergenerational knowledge exchange, and embodied cultural practices, we are illuminating what has always been here: a rich and diverse ecosystem of menopausal wisdom. We are not hiding in plain sight. We are illuminating the margins as a sacred space of safe passage—a waystation between erasure and freedom, between isolation and multiverse.
Our divestment from the mainstream menopause landscape is not about abandonment, it is about realignment. It’s about redirecting our labor, attention, and partnerships toward the world we want to live in. And in doing so, we are transforming the margins into a map with a series of questions born out of 6 years of excavation from the margins:
-
What might a divestment strategy look like if it begins with a question of sovereignty? What would it mean to build structures that refuse exploitation and instead center our stories, truths, experiences, power, and cultural wisdom?
-
What would it mean for genderqueer, nonbinary, and trans people to divest from narratives that flatten or erase their embodied experiences, and instead claim space as knowledge holders, visionaries, and healers?
-
What would it mean for formerly incarcerated people to reshape the narrative entirely, to reclaim agency in a system that pathologized and punished them, and build a community rooted in care, dignity, healing, and renewal?
-
What would it mean for people under 40 to divest from the idea that menopause only belongs to the old, the straight, or the settled, and instead, see their own early, surgical, or medically induced menopause experiences as valid, powerful, and transformative? What would shift if younger people navigating menopause were affirmed in their identities and offered language, community, and care that honors their transformation as legitimate and deeply wise? What if their stories became maps, guiding others through uncharted terrain with clarity and courage?
Our answer, shaped by the determination of maroon communities and the futuristic vision of the Menopausal Multiverse, is this:
It means building something sovereign and interdependent. It means reclaiming the ecosystems we’ve been told are wastelands. It means listening to our elders, trusting our stories, and creating spaces where all of us, not just some of us, are free.
Lessons from Queen Nanny and the Great Dismal Swamp
As we shape new ways of being and belonging in the Menopausal Multiverse, we activate the memory, strategy, resilience, and creativity of our ancestors—not to replicate the past, but to honor its wisdom while creating something radically new. These lessons from Queen Nanny and the maroons of the Great Dismal Swamp remind us that what has been built before can be reimagined, and what was meant to be hidden can now be illuminated.
From Queen Nanny, we learn that leadership can be strategic, emergent, and deeply spiritual all at once. Her legacy teaches us that organizing for freedom demands not only tactical brilliance but also a profound reverence for ancestral knowledge. She reminds us that survival alone is not enough—we must also fight for land, for dignity, and for the sacred right to govern our own lives. In this light, menopause becomes more than a biological transition; it emerges as a threshold into a new kind of leadership, one that is clear-eyed, protective, and unapologetically rooted in community.
From the maroons of the Great Dismal Swamp, we learn that even the most seemingly inhospitable places can be transformed into havens when shaped by collective will and resistance. The margins, far from being empty, are alive with potential, with memory, and with the blueprint for what is possible. These communities show us that we do not need proximity to power to create safety, culture, or systems of governance that reflect our values. What we need is each other, a deep connection to land, shared commitment, and the courage to build beyond the gaze of the systems that have abandoned or betrayed us.
To build the Menopausal Multiverse is to carry forward these lessons. It is to reconnect with the land, with the community, and with ancestral wisdom. It is to root our future in place, resistance, and self-determination. It is to honor the margins, not as peripheries but as portals. It is to understand that healing justice and reproductive justice begin with remembering who we are and refusing to be forgotten. The Menopausal Maroon is not a metaphor. It is a living practice of reclamation and redesign. And it will lead us home.

The Margins Are a Map
A Meditation from the Menopausal Multiverse
Close your eyes.
Inhale deeply.
Let the breath trace a line—not to the center, but to the edge.
To the margin.
To the place you were told was too much, too complicated, too far.
Now exhale, and imagine this:
The margins are not exile.
They are a beginning.
They are the ground where ancestors whisper,
where stories root,
where liberation takes its first breath.
The margins are maps in disguise—
coded with memory,
lined with resistance,
drawn in the hand of the Maroon, the midwife,
the queer visionary, the freedom-seeker.
They are where those of us othered by our race, ethnicity, gender, religion or access to resource
those who have been cast out have always conjured safety,
crafted beauty,
and practiced sovereignty.
So today,
if you find yourself at the edge—
of a system, of a story, of your own becoming—
know this:
You are not lost.
You are not late.
You are not outside.
You are exactly where the map begins.
This margin,
this wild edge,
is not a boundary.
It is a portal.
It is a place of power.
Breathe into it.
Honor it.
Name it sacred.
And walk forward, not toward the center,
but into the multiverse
where all of you is welcome.

{
"article":
{
"title" : "The Ecosystem of Refusal: Menopause and the Power of Maroon Space",
"author" : "Omisade Burney-Scott",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/menopause-maroon-space",
"date" : "2025-06-15 14:26:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/BW_Omi_Eno_M_Nixon_Taplet.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "Charting Pathways from the Margins to the Menopausal MultiverseFrom Black Girl’s Guide to Surviving Menopause by Omisade Burney-ScottMargins are maps in disguise, coded with ancestral memory, ecological wisdom, and stories too bold for the center. The margins—the spaces where the stories, experiences, and wisdom of human beings deemed “other” have been relegated—are not places we chose. They were deliberately constructed by a dominant culture intent on controlling not just the narrative of menopause but the narratives of race, gender, sexuality, class, and power itself. For those of us who live at the intersections of these identities, the current menopause landscape could be considered inhospitable terrain, one that mirrors the broader societal patterns of erasure, exclusion, and pathologizing difference.But what if these margins were sacred spaces instead of sites of exile? What if the margins were ecosystems of resistance, transformation, and care? They could be places where people create culture, conjure safety, and practice sovereignty. Margins are not the edge of the story—they are the origin of new ones. The margins of menopause—once peripheral spaces of silence and invisibility—are being reclaimed and reimagined as intentional, intergenerational menopause maroon communities and a direct pathway to the Menopausal Multiverse.A Word About MaroonsThroughout the Americas and the Caribbean, maroon communities were formed by formerly enslaved people who refused the terms of their captivity. These communities, often hidden deep in forests, swamps, or mountains, were rooted in self-liberation, sovereignty, and cultural preservation. They integrated themselves into natural landscapes, allowing them to live, organize, and thrive in plain sight.In the American South, the Great Dismal Swamp became a haven for those who had self-liberated from enslavement. Historical records and oral histories document that from the 1600s through the Civil War, thousands of Black people sought refuge in the swamp’s dense forests and wetlands, forming maroon settlements that lasted for generations. Despite the harsh terrain, these communities developed intricate systems of agriculture, bartering, kinship, and resistance. The swamp became not only a physical sanctuary but also a site of Black ingenuity, perseverance, and refusal.In Jamaica, Queen Nanny of the Maroons is celebrated as one of the most formidable leaders of resistance against British colonial rule. Born in what is now Ghana, she was brought to Jamaica as an enslaved African and escaped into the Blue Mountains, where she became a leader of the Windward Maroons in the early 18th century. Nanny led successful guerrilla warfare campaigns against the British, outwitting colonial forces and negotiating a peace treaty in 1739 that secured land and a degree of autonomy for her people. Beyond her military prowess, Queen Nanny was a spiritual leader and herbalist whose knowledge of African traditions, healing, and community governance shaped maroon society. Her leadership embodied the power of post-menopausal Black womanhood—rooted in clarity, strategy, protection, and vision.These maroon societies were not utopias, but they were declarations of self-determination in a world that denied their humanity. Many were led by elder post-menopausal Black women—women who wielded their wisdom, pragmatism, and power to build sovereign spaces of care, resistance, and renewal. Their stories offer not only a historical blueprint but also a spiritual map for how we might reimagine our own liberation.The Menopausal Maroon and the Margins We Did Not CreateAt Black Girl’s Guide to Surviving Menopause, we recognize that people of the global majority did not create the margins of the current menopause landscape, but we are reclaiming them. These margins were built by systems that failed to see us: the medical industrial complex that pathologized our bodies, the wellness industry that commodifies our pain, and media and research landscapes that often render our experiences invisible unless they can be exploited for profit.Yet within these margins, we are creating something different. Through storytelling, oral histories, intergenerational knowledge exchange, and embodied cultural practices, we are illuminating what has always been here: a rich and diverse ecosystem of menopausal wisdom. We are not hiding in plain sight. We are illuminating the margins as a sacred space of safe passage—a waystation between erasure and freedom, between isolation and multiverse.Our divestment from the mainstream menopause landscape is not about abandonment, it is about realignment. It’s about redirecting our labor, attention, and partnerships toward the world we want to live in. And in doing so, we are transforming the margins into a map with a series of questions born out of 6 years of excavation from the margins: What might a divestment strategy look like if it begins with a question of sovereignty? What would it mean to build structures that refuse exploitation and instead center our stories, truths, experiences, power, and cultural wisdom? What would it mean for genderqueer, nonbinary, and trans people to divest from narratives that flatten or erase their embodied experiences, and instead claim space as knowledge holders, visionaries, and healers? What would it mean for formerly incarcerated people to reshape the narrative entirely, to reclaim agency in a system that pathologized and punished them, and build a community rooted in care, dignity, healing, and renewal? What would it mean for people under 40 to divest from the idea that menopause only belongs to the old, the straight, or the settled, and instead, see their own early, surgical, or medically induced menopause experiences as valid, powerful, and transformative? What would shift if younger people navigating menopause were affirmed in their identities and offered language, community, and care that honors their transformation as legitimate and deeply wise? What if their stories became maps, guiding others through uncharted terrain with clarity and courage? Our answer, shaped by the determination of maroon communities and the futuristic vision of the Menopausal Multiverse, is this: It means building something sovereign and interdependent. It means reclaiming the ecosystems we’ve been told are wastelands. It means listening to our elders, trusting our stories, and creating spaces where all of us, not just some of us, are free.Lessons from Queen Nanny and the Great Dismal SwampAs we shape new ways of being and belonging in the Menopausal Multiverse, we activate the memory, strategy, resilience, and creativity of our ancestors—not to replicate the past, but to honor its wisdom while creating something radically new. These lessons from Queen Nanny and the maroons of the Great Dismal Swamp remind us that what has been built before can be reimagined, and what was meant to be hidden can now be illuminated.From Queen Nanny, we learn that leadership can be strategic, emergent, and deeply spiritual all at once. Her legacy teaches us that organizing for freedom demands not only tactical brilliance but also a profound reverence for ancestral knowledge. She reminds us that survival alone is not enough—we must also fight for land, for dignity, and for the sacred right to govern our own lives. In this light, menopause becomes more than a biological transition; it emerges as a threshold into a new kind of leadership, one that is clear-eyed, protective, and unapologetically rooted in community.From the maroons of the Great Dismal Swamp, we learn that even the most seemingly inhospitable places can be transformed into havens when shaped by collective will and resistance. The margins, far from being empty, are alive with potential, with memory, and with the blueprint for what is possible. These communities show us that we do not need proximity to power to create safety, culture, or systems of governance that reflect our values. What we need is each other, a deep connection to land, shared commitment, and the courage to build beyond the gaze of the systems that have abandoned or betrayed us.To build the Menopausal Multiverse is to carry forward these lessons. It is to reconnect with the land, with the community, and with ancestral wisdom. It is to root our future in place, resistance, and self-determination. It is to honor the margins, not as peripheries but as portals. It is to understand that healing justice and reproductive justice begin with remembering who we are and refusing to be forgotten. The Menopausal Maroon is not a metaphor. It is a living practice of reclamation and redesign. And it will lead us home.The Margins Are a MapA Meditation from the Menopausal MultiverseClose your eyes.Inhale deeply.Let the breath trace a line—not to the center, but to the edge.To the margin.To the place you were told was too much, too complicated, too far.Now exhale, and imagine this:The margins are not exile.They are a beginning.They are the ground where ancestors whisper,where stories root,where liberation takes its first breath.The margins are maps in disguise—coded with memory,lined with resistance,drawn in the hand of the Maroon, the midwife,the queer visionary, the freedom-seeker.They are where those of us othered by our race, ethnicity, gender, religion or access to resourcethose who have been cast out have always conjured safety,crafted beauty,and practiced sovereignty.So today,if you find yourself at the edge—of a system, of a story, of your own becoming—know this:You are not lost.You are not late.You are not outside.You are exactly where the map begins.This margin,this wild edge,is not a boundary.It is a portal.It is a place of power.Breathe into it.Honor it.Name it sacred.And walk forward, not toward the center,but into the multiversewhere all of you is welcome."
}
,
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"date" : "2025-10-17 09:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/mandela-keffiyeh.jpg",
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"content" : "In understanding global politics, it is important to look at Black liberation struggles as one important source of moral perspective. So, when looking at Palestine, we look to Black leaders to see how they perceived the Palestinian struggle in relation to theirs, from the 1960’s to today.Why must we understand where the injustice lies? Because, as Desmond Tutu famously said, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”{% for person in site.data.quotes-black-liberation-palestine %}{{ person.name }}{% for quote in person.quotes %}“{{ quote.text }}”{% if quote.source %}— {{ quote.source }}{% endif %}{% endfor %}{% endfor %}"
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{
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"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "events",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/1st-anniversary-of-eip",
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"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/WSA_EIP_Launch_Cover.jpg",
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,
{
"title" : "Miu Miu Transforms the Apron From Trad Wife to Boss Lady: The sexiest thing in Paris was a work garment",
"author" : "Khaoula Ghanem",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/miu-miu-transforms-the-apron-from-trad-wife-to-boss-lady",
"date" : "2025-10-14 13:05:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Cover_EIP_MiuMiu_Apron.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Miuccia Prada has a habit of taking the least “fashion” thing in the room and making it the argument. For Spring 2026 at Miu Miu, the argument is the apron; staged not as a coy retro flourish but as a total system. The show’s mise-en-scène read like a canteen or factory floor with melamine-like tables, rationalist severity, a whiff of cleaning fluid. In other words, a runway designed to force a conversation about labor before any sparkle could distract us.",
"content" : "Miuccia Prada has a habit of taking the least “fashion” thing in the room and making it the argument. For Spring 2026 at Miu Miu, the argument is the apron; staged not as a coy retro flourish but as a total system. The show’s mise-en-scène read like a canteen or factory floor with melamine-like tables, rationalist severity, a whiff of cleaning fluid. In other words, a runway designed to force a conversation about labor before any sparkle could distract us.From the opening look—German actress Sandra Hüller in a utilitarian deep-blue apron layered over a barn jacket and neat blue shirting—the thesis was loud: the “cover” becomes the thing itself. As silhouettes marched on, aprons multiplied and mutated—industrial drill cotton with front pockets, raw canvas, taffeta and cloqué silk, lace-edged versions that flirted with lingerie, even black leather and crystal-studded incarnations that reframed function as ornament. What the apron traditionally shields (clothes, bodies, “the good dress”) was inverted; the protection became the prized surface. Prada herself spelled it out: “The apron is my favorite piece of clothing… it symbolizes women, from factories through to serving to the home.”Miu Miu Spring 2026 Ready-to-Wear. SuppliedThis inversion matters historically. The apron’s earliest fashion-adjacent life was industrial. It served as a barrier against grease, heat, stain. It was a token of paid and unpaid care. Miu Miu tapped that lineage directly (canvas, work belts, D-ring hardware), then sliced it against domestic codes (florals, ruffles, crochet), and finally pushed into nightlife with bejeweled and leather bibs. The garment’s migration across materials made its social migrations visible. It is a kitchen apron, yes, but also one for labs, hospitals, and factories; the set and styling insisted on that plurality.What makes the apron such a loaded emblem is not just what it covers, but what it reveals about who has always been working. Before industrialization formalized labor into factory shifts and wages, women were already performing invisible labour, the kind that doesn’t exist on payrolls but sits at the foundation of every functioning society. They were cooking, cleaning, raising children, nursing the ill. These tasks were foundational to every economy and yet absent from every ledger. Even when women entered the industrial workforce, from textile plants to wartime assembly lines, their domestic responsibilities did not disappear, they doubled. In that context, the apron here is a quiet manifesto for the strength that goes unrecorded, unthanked, and yet keeps civilization running.The algorithmic rise of the “tradwife,” the influencer economy that packages domesticity as soft power, is the contemporary cultural shadow here. Miu Miu’s apron refuses that rehearsal. In fact, it’s intentionally awkward—oversized, undone, worn over bikinis or with sturdy shoes—so the viewer can’t flatten it into Pinterest-ready nostalgia. Critics noted the collection as a reclamation, a rebuttal to the flattening forces of the feed: the apron as a uniform for endurance rather than submission. The show notes framed it simply as “a consideration of the work of women,” a reminder that the invisible economies of effort—paid, unpaid, emotional—still structure daily life.If that sounds unusually explicit for a luxury runway, consider the designer. Prada trained as a mime at Milan’s Piccolo Teatro, earned a PhD in political science, joined the Italian Communist Party, and was active in the women’s rights movement in 1970s Milan. Those facts are not trivia; they are the grammar of her clothes. Decades of “ugly chic” were, essentially, a slow campaign against easy consumption and default beauty. In 2026, the apron becomes the newest dialect. An emblem drawn from leftist feminist history, recoded into a product that still has to sell. That tension—belief versus business—is the Miuccia paradox, and it’s precisely why these aprons read as statements, not trends.The runway narrative traced a journey from function to fetish. Early looks were squarely utilitarian—thick cottons, pocketed bibs—before migrating toward fragility and sparkle. Lace aprons laid transparently over swimmers; crystal-studded aprons slipped across cocktail territory; leather apron-dresses stiffened posture into armor. The sequencing proposed the same silhouette can encode labor, intimacy, and spectacle depending on fabrication. If most brands smuggle “workwear” in as set dressing, Miu Miu forced it onto the body as the central garment and an unmissable reminder that the feminine is often asked to be both shield and display at once.It’s instructive to read this collection against the house’s last mega-viral object: the micro-mini of Spring 2022, a pleated, raw-hem wafer that colonized timelines and magazine covers. That skirt’s thesis was exposure—hip bones and hemlines as post-lockdown spectacle, Y2K nostalgia framed as liberation-lite. The apron, ironically, covers. Where the micro-mini trafficked in the optics of freedom (and the speed of virality), the apron asks about the conditions that make freedom possible: who launders, who cooks, who cares? To move from “look at me” to “who is working here?” is a pivot from optics to ethics, without abandoning desire. (The aprons are, after all, deeply covetable.) In a platform economy that still rewards the shortest hemline with the biggest click-through, this is a sophisticated counter-program.Yet the designer is not romanticizing toil. There’s wit in the ruffles and perversity in the crystals; neither negate labor, they metabolize it. The most striking image is the apron treated as couture-adjacent. Traditionally, an apron protects the precious thing beneath; here, the apron is the precious thing. You could call that hypocrisy—luxurizing the uniform of workers. Or, strategy, insisting that the symbols of care and effort deserve visibility and investment.Of course, none of this exists in a vacuum. The “tradwife” script thrives because it is aesthetically legible and commercially scalable. It packages gender ideology as moodboard. Miu Miu counters with garments whose legibility flickers. The collection’s best looks ask viewers to reconcile tenderness with toughness, convenience with care, which is exactly the mental choreography demanded of women in every context from office to home to online.If you wanted a season-defining “It” item, you’ll still find it. The apron is poised to proliferate across fast-fashion and luxury alike. But the deeper success is structural: Miu Miu re-centered labor as an aesthetic category. That’s rarer than a viral skirt. It’s a reminder that clothes don’t merely decorate life, they describe and negotiate it. In making the apron the subject rather than the prop, Prada turned a garment of service into a platform for agency. It’s precisely the kind of cultural recursion you’d expect from a designer shaped by feminist politics, who never stopped treating fashion as an instrument of thought as much as style.The last image to hold onto is deceptively simple: a woman in an apron, neither fetishized nor infantilized, striding, hands free. Not a costume for nostalgia, not a meme for the feed, but a working uniform reframed, respected, and suddenly, undeniably beautiful. That is Miu Miu’s provocation for Spring 2026: the work behind the work, made visible at last."
}
]
}