"I don’t know how you do it," my neighbor’s girlfriend commented. My five-year-old daughter Siu Loong was at her father’s house and I had taken advantage of my free night to attend and photograph a march against police brutality, then stayed out till midnight developing the film I had shot. "I dunno. I just do," I mumbled, not knowing what else to say. But that’s not entirely true. To simply say that leaves out the resources and community I’ve gained from years of being engaged in social justice work.
As if nursing wasn't already hard enough - the sore nipples, the restless nights, the torn shirts, the toddler screaming "boobie" in the middle of a crowded restaurant - the act of publicly nursing a child places many women in a category they haven't been in before: that of victims of discrimination.