Florida is still under a 6-week extreme abortion ban!

President: Debbie Deland

Vice President: Arlene Ustin

Secretary: Diane Lebedeff

Treasurer: Suzanne Southard

Membership Director: Judi Marraccini

Legislative Director: Kat Duesterhaus

Communications Director: Kaitlyn Kirk

Every 2 years, members of the Florida National Organization for Women (NOW) elect a new Board at the State Conference (the 2025 State Conference is May 2nd - May 4 in Orlando), with each member serving in a specific role that helps shape the direction of our organization. From President and Vice President to Treasurer, Secretary, and various committee chairs, each position brings unique responsibilities and opportunities to make a meaningful impact. We are seeking passionate candidates from all backgrounds—including diverse ages, races, gender identities, sexual orientations, abilities, and experiences—to ensure our Board reflects the vibrant diversity of Florida. Help us make a difference in our communities and across Florida! If you would like to run, please reach out to Debbie.

People in ban states are still accessing abortion care. Learn more with the resources below.

We are deeply saddened by the passing of Judith Southard, mother of Susan Southard. Judith was a fierce advocate for justice, and her legacy of activism continues to inspire all who had the privilege of knowing her. Her dedication to gender equality and the fight for a better world never wavered, and her spirit lives on in the countless lives she touched. As we mourn her loss, we commit to honoring her memory by carrying on the work she was so passionate about.

Rest in power, Judith.

Join FL NOW with a Virtual Movie on Sunday, April 27th 2pm - 4pm

In recognition of Violence Against Women Awareness Month, Florida NOW invites everyone to join us for the virtual showing of Behind The Rage: America's Domestic Violence on Sunday, April 27 from 2-4PM. In 2020 there were 106,615 DV crimes reported by the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. (It is common knowledge that there are far more cases that go unreported.) This seventy minute documentary made by the women’s rights activist and BAFTA, Peabody, and Emmy-winning filmmaker Deeyah Khan explores male violence against the women they claim to love – and asks if, behind the rage, rehabilitation and change is possible. Khan interviews victims, families of victims, and perpetrators to learn how to eliminate this horrific crime. Particularly compelling is the story of a paralyzed survivor, who takes a stunning ultra compassionate restorative justice approach.

Join Zoom Meeting
https://us02web.zoom.us/j/85965268740?pwd=hp6p5crobZUHBCOcka6oajSZHBauN5.1

Meeting ID: 859 6526 8740
Passcode: 072542

On March 20th, hundreds of trans folks and allies took to the Capitol to demand an end to Florida’s relentless attacks on trans lives. From bans on gender-affirming care and abortion, to the criminalization of existence, the state is doing everything it can to push trans people out of public life. But trans communities aren’t going anywhere. The Let Us Live march was a powerful reminder that resistance is alive, and the fight continues. We must keep showing up—through mutual aid, direct support, and demanding policy change that centers gender liberation. Stay connected for ways to take action beyond the halls of power and into our communities, because we keep us safe.

On April 5th, our chapters in Florida were out in full force in cities like St. Petersburg and Orlando, joining millions across the U.S. to protest Trump’s policies and harmful government cuts. While one day of action isn’t enough to bring the change we need, it was an important moment to stand up, show solidarity, and keep pushing for what’s right. We were there to ensure our voices were heard, keep the pressure on, and remind everyone that the fight for our communities continues—because we’re not backing down.

Black birthing people face a healthcare system that has long been designed to disregard, harm, and undermine their well-being. From the dismissal of pain to the denial of care, Black parents experience a higher risk of complications and death during childbirth. These disparities are not an accident—they are a direct consequence of systemic racism, patriarchy, and medical misogyny entrenched within our healthcare institutions.

Historically, the feminist and "pro-choice" movements have focused heavily on the rights of white, middle-class women—largely ignoring the lived realities of Black birthing people. These movements have long emphasized access to abortion and reproductive freedom, but they have failed to confront the fact that Black parents, especially Black mothers, are raising children in a country that remains deeply racist, unequal, and unsafe. Black families don't just need the right to choose—they need to be able to bring children into a world where they have the resources, security, and support to thrive.

Black parents are not only fighting for their right to parent but also for the right to do so in a safe, supportive, and just world—one that doesn’t place their children at greater risk of violence, poverty, and systemic exclusion. Black maternal mortality rates remain unacceptably high, and healthcare systems continue to perpetuate harmful practices that disproportionately affect Black communities.

This Black Maternal Health Week, we must call on ourselves and the broader feminist movement to do better. Reproductive justice cannot be fully realized without addressing these deep inequities. We must center the voices of Black midwives, doulas, and birth workers, who are doing the vital work of ensuring that Black parents receive the care and dignity they deserve.

Reproductive justice is not just about access to abortion—it’s about building a world where all people, regardless of race, class, ability, or gender identity, have the resources and support they need to thrive and make decisions about their bodies. It’s a framework that understands reproductive rights as deeply connected to social, economic, and environmental justice. It demands that we address the root causes of reproductive oppression: the systemic racism, poverty, lack of healthcare, and violence that disproportionately affect marginalized communities.

The term "reproductive justice" was coined in 1994 by a group of Black women activists, including the SisterSong Women of Color Reproductive Justice Collective, in response to the limitations they saw in the mainstream reproductive rights movement. For too long, that movement focused primarily on the needs and experiences of white, middle-class, cisgender women. Black, Indigenous, and other marginalized people, particularly Black mothers, were largely excluded from these conversations. These leaders recognized that access to abortion and contraception was only part of the equation. True reproductive freedom is not just about choosing whether or not to have children—it’s about having the social, economic, and environmental conditions to make those choices freely and without fear.

This vision of reproductive justice is one that holds community care, mutual aid, and solidarity at its core. It challenges the notion that the ability to choose is a given right when so many people—especially in low-income communities and communities of color—lack access to the resources necessary to exercise that choice. It demands affordable healthcare, quality housing, economic stability, and an environment free from violence, all of which are essential for people to make truly free choices about their bodies and their futures.

As we continue to organize and fight for reproductive justice, we must remember that the work is intersectional. It’s about challenging not only the policies that limit access to reproductive care but also the broader systems of oppression that harm marginalized communities.

April is Arab American Heritage Month—a time to uplift the stories, strength, and resilience of Arab American communities. In Florida, Arab American women from across the diaspora—Lebanese, Syrian, Palestinian, Egyptian, Yemeni, and beyond—have long been forces for justice, care, and creativity in the face of racism, surveillance, and systemic erasure.

From the streets of Tampa to the classrooms of Miami, Arab American feminists have organized for reproductive justice, immigrant rights, and global solidarity. Groups like the Florida Palestine Network and Students for Justice in Palestine chapters across the state often center the labor of Arab women resisting both gendered Islamophobia and U.S. imperialism.

Dr. Nada Elbarasse, a Lebanese American researcher based in South Florida, has spoken out on the connections between anti-Arab racism and the carceral state. Syrian American educator and spoken word artist Amal Kassir—whose work has been featured at Florida universities—uses poetry to speak truth to power and connect diasporic stories across borders.

In Orlando, Egyptian American activist Nourhan El Ghoroury has advocated for mental health awareness within Arab communities, especially among women navigating intergenerational trauma and stigma. And in the arts, Palestinian American printmaker Hend Al-Mansour—whose work has been exhibited in Florida—boldly reclaims Arab femininity from Western objectification and Orientalist framing.

Across Florida, Arab American women are leading in ways both visible and behind the scenes—organizing community health initiatives, hosting cultural events, mentoring young people, and creating art that challenges dominant narratives. Whether through poetry readings, campus teach-ins, or mutual aid efforts, their work reflects a feminism that is deeply rooted in lived experience, community care, and collective liberation.

Sexual violence is reinforced by the very systems that claim to stop it. Survivors are told to report, to follow procedures, to seek justice through systems that were never designed with us in mind. Police, courts, and prisons don’t exist to support survivors—they’re built to protect power, exploit labor, and uphold cycles of harm.

In Florida, survivors—especially Black, Indigenous, disabled, trans, queer, undocumented, and low-income people—are taking matters into our own hands because we can’t afford to wait for systems that don’t work. We’re creating alternatives through mutual aid, community accountability, and support networks that prioritize our needs. These are not just temporary fixes—they’re the structures we need to heal and protect each other.

Sexual Assault Awareness Month reminds us of the collective strength of survivors, who are constantly protecting and supporting one another. It’s a reminder that healing and justice won’t come from the same systems that have failed us—they come from the communities we’ve built together, and the work we continue to do in the fight for justice, safety, and care.

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