Righteous Rage

I was talking with my best friend over FaceTime this past weekend. We live 1,200 miles apart because Lord knows, if we lived in the same city the world couldn’t handle us. We’re literally the same person in a different font.

We caught up on everything: my dog Snowfie passing, her new relationship, my car bleeding me dry with $1,500 in repairs, her seven-foot tomato plants, and her latest article at work. Somewhere in the mix, I told her about this blog and my vision — deep-diving into topics that light a fire in me, almost like op-eds.

I was explaing how I wanted to talk about feminism, theory, sociology etc.. And then, out of nowhere, we were debating abortion. I don’t even remember what she said to spark it, but I do remember snapping back: “You can’t be 50/50 on abortion.” From there we went in — Roe v. Wade, Dobbs, abortion bans, the economy, healthcare, and most importantly, body sovereignty.

At one point, I caught myself thinking: Wait, have we had this convo before? We had. And suddenly I wanted to hop a plane and drag my best friend back home because — what did this red state do to my girl?!

Finally, after I’d unloaded a whole monologue, she smirked and said: “Now that I’m done riling you up… THAT’S how you write your next note”

I was gagged. How dare she cosplay the opposition so well that I didn’t even notice she was testing me? But that’s her . My sounding board, my outline-builder, my hype woman. She gets my brain moving.

By the time we hung up nearly three hours later, I sat there buzzing. Inspired. Fired up. Thinking: Yeah, I’m about to influence all y’all to be better humans, and share some knowledge — because what the fuck are we even doing right now?

That’s when I realized what I’d been feeling. Anger. Sadness. Hope. Strength. Even a little revenge. All at once. I finally had the words for it: Righteous Rage.

This is what I feel, day in and day out. I’m mad. I’m angry — but morally justified — because I’ve seen injustice crush too many lives, even my own. My rage isn’t random; it’s rooted in love. Love for others, love for myself, love for our future.

"Fractured Fury" by Joyce Chen

Let’s go back. June 24, 2022: the day the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health. In a 6–3 ruling, they erased nearly 50 years of precedent and handed abortion rights back to the states. Justice Alito wrote that the Constitution does not confer a right to abortion, calling Roe and Casey “wrongly decided.” Since then, 41 states have abortion restrictions in place, 12 with total bans, and 28 with gestational limits.

We are living in a time where our bodies have become battlegrounds. Our choices are being debated by people who will never face the consequences of those decisions. This isn’t about “life.” It’s about control. And when control strips us of dignity and autonomy, it demands a response.

That response is body sovereignty. That response is rage. Do you really think this government cares about you? No. They don’t. Liberation starts with sovereignty — with owning your body, your choices, your mind. Frederick Douglass once said, “Once you learn to read, you will forever be free.” The same

concept applies here: once you reclaim your body, you are free.

Anger is not weakness. It is the soul’s fire alarm, screaming that something sacred is being violated. Every movement for justice — civil rights, women’s suffrage, queer liberation, Black Lives Matter — was sparked by people who refused to “be polite.” Our anger is not irrational. It is righteous. Because it is born out of love.

But the moment we let that fire show, we’re told we’re “too much.” Too loud. Too sensitive. Too invested. You know what? Fuck that. Let me be too much. Women have been told to smile through our oppression for centuries. That’s not strength — that’s silencing. And I refuse it. Half the population is women — why should we let some dusty orange fart and his puppets dictate how we live? Rage isn’t the opposite of reason. Rage is clarity.

This is why I stand with Reproductive Justice. She is the roots of the tree of all justice. Without bodily autonomy, there is no freedom. Reproductive justice means deciding if and when to have a child, and raising that child in a safe, healthy community. Two simple asks. Yet the world makes them impossible.

We need to get mad. Mad enough to scream, cry, march, call, organize. Righteous rage doesn’t sit still - it propels us. It funds abortion access, fuels mutual aid, inspires art, and drives movements. I’ve been so angry I wanted to scream, but instead I turned that scream into strategy: organizing, fundraising and showing up for people who deserve more. That’s rage transformed into justice.

And let’s be clear: attacks are escalating. Bans are tightening. People are being criminalized for seeking care. This isn’t the time for apathy or politeness. This is the time for righteous rage — the kind that refuses to normalize injustice. Without it, we go numb. And numb people don’t get free.

Look at Texas State Representative Nicole Collier, who refused to sign a “permission slip” letting police stalk her during an illegal mid-decade redistricting scheme. Instead, she turned the statehouse into a sit-in for democracy. That’s righteous rage in action — refusing to be silenced, refusing to surrender. If she can risk confinement for our rights, the rest of us can risk a little discomfort.

So I’ll leave you with this: what makes your blood boil? What injustice keeps you awake at night? Don’t run from it. Don’t numb it. Channel it. Because righteous rage isn’t destruction — it’s creation. It’s the fiercest form of love. And right now, rage in the act of love, is exactly what our world requires.

For her, always,

Karinna