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Akio Maroon: mother and human rights activist

AKIO MAROON: mother and human rights activist (akiomaroon.com@AkioMaroon)

We’re taught to hide our vulnerabilities. But doing a nude shoot, there’s nothing to hide behind. All your vulnerabilities, all your insecurities – everything is laid bare.

Being pregnant helped. It felt like this mothering experience: here I am, and my body’s taking care of a life. And it’s presenting that to a world where black women are normally seen as hyper-sexualized.

I was raised very Christian, and initially the images of my body were that it didn’t belong to me – it was a temple for God. But as I got older, I became more appreciative and more conscious of the fact that my body is my own.

The sex workers’ rights movement taught me that my body isn’t just mine to protect and nurture but also to use and capitalize on in the way I see fit. We’re taught that sex workers sell their bodies. They don’t. They sell their services. Viewing my body as a weapon and as a tool to strengthen a movement and to strengthen myself is definitely something I’ve learned from sex workers. 

Any interaction with the police, however – such as when OPP officers pulled me over for no reason last May – makes me hyper-vigilant of the ways in which I’m perceived. Black bodies, black kids, black parents in general are seen in a very negative light. Black babies are looked at as cute and innocent, but the second we’re able to walk and talk and self-actualize and speak our minds, then people view us as very violent or very aggressive and frightening. 

Being stopped by the cops is really hard for me, because when they pull their guns I don’t know if this is my last moment on earth. Is this my last opportunity to call my daughter or my family and tell them I love them? What I do know is that every movement of my body could send a signal to the authorities that I’m there to attack or kill them. So my experience in May with the cops woke me up to the fact that every single day might be my last, just because I live in the skin I’m in. 

My skin colour and my body represent so much negativity. It’s really important for me not only to show my body in a positive light, but also to use the tools I have to make a difference. Right now I’m working on the province’s Violence Against Women initiative and on sex workers’ rights.

If tomorrow I am stopped by a cop and become the next hashtag, what has my life been up to that point? It’s a huge responsibility that my white friends don’t have to carry. It’s a huge burden that I face every single day as I face the world and realize that white supremacy exists – because regardless of how I’m dressed or how I speak, my body is viewed in a certain way, and there’s nothing I can do to change anyone’s perspective of that. 

So all I can do is change lives, change the system, change the regime and strengthen my kids so they can continue to fight when I’m no longer here.

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