Written by Emma Weber
I got my first period at 16, a late age to enter womanhood. I was the last of all my friends and sisters to get it. Before this moment, I couldn’t wait to finally uncover the secrets of the universe. It killed me that I was so far behind. This was my naivety, probably a result of my prolonged debutant, as I soon learned how much of a burden this natural function would be.
Arkansas is one of 21 states that still taxes period hygiene products, despite having an exemption on other health-related products. A bill has already been brought to Arkansas Attorney General Tim Griffin to exempt period products from taxation; however, it was rejected. Griffin claims the language used in the proposal was too vague and would risk disqualifying Arkansas from the Streamlined Sales and Tax Agreement (Streamlined Agreement), an agreement between 24 states that enacts certain exemptions on a product if the member state defines it in a way that is consistent with the Streamlined Agreement. I think Griffin is afraid of favoring what Arkansas conservatives view as a “liberal agenda” at the expense of those who experience a monthly cycle. Those who have periods are suffering from this choice. This also perpetuates the negative stereotype that periods have no place in conversation.
Hiding behind “unclear” verbiage is a weak attempt on Griffin’s part to kill the bill. The Arkansas Period Poverty Project, a group that is backing the recently rejected proposal, states that the “Pink Tax,” taxes on period products, account for 0.01 percent of tax revenue for the state. The average menstruator may spend around $11,000 in their lifetime for these products. These statistics show that simply having a period, something one has no choice in, costs an incredible amount of money. What happens to those without the funds?
One time in high school I bled through my shorts and school uniform skirt. I was not only mortified but also without anything to alleviate the situation. I told one of my friends, and she reached into her backpack to give me a tampon. The office lady I knew gave me a new skirt to borrow for the day. Without these gifts, I would have had to go home for the day. I think if you ask, you will find most women hold stories where security rests on the kindness of a stranger or friend.
This bill has already died before in Congress in 2021. What does this communicate to the community who have periods? I have never been denied a tampon or pad or liner from anyone I’ve asked for any reason other than not having it on hand. People so willing to share, to sacrifice, are being told they alone deserve to bear the financial burden.
I wish I could show Griffin the relief one feels when “Do you have a tampon?” is met with an excited “Yes!” from a bathroom full of strangers. At its basic level, a tampon is a cotton blend that absorbs menstrual blood. What it means to 3.905 billion people around the world, 1.533 million people in Arkansas and 2,923 people on campus is freedom to operate at least somewhat normally. Period products allow life to continue regardless of the time of the month.
There is a deep stigma around the discussion of menstrual cycles. I think a lot of times this fear or silence comes from a lack of education. Because periods are misunderstood, they are viewed as dirty or gross. They can be inconvenient, painful, disruptive, messy and a nuisance, but they are also just a thing that happens. Nobody wakes up and says, “I think I’m going to have my period today.” Yet, the responsibility stays the same.
There’s more I could say, possibly bring up an example of a certain man named Jesus who broke social customs to heal a woman with her bleeding, but I will end it with the concept of loving our neighbor. If we cannot educate out of love for the other, let’s do it for our mothers and sisters who would love to feel less uncomfortable around certain individuals’ ignorance.
