From the cradle to the grave, the female sex endures physical struggles built into their bodily functions, such as menstruation. Women’s monthly periods can range from mild discomfort to debilitating pain and suffering. But for a natural biological process experienced by half of the population, the topic of menstruation remains forcefully swept under the rug.
Ninai Chavez, founder of the non-government organization We Bleed Red, notes in Filipino, “Ironically, the Whisper napkin is called Whisper because we still hide discussions on menstruation.” This culture of silence plays a part in the widespread disenfranchisement of menstruators from proper access to information to their reproductive health needs.
Bleeding money
The inaccessibility of menstrual hygiene basics and information, especially among the less fortunate, is described as period poverty. This issue manifests in several forms; in particular, man-made challenges such as the “pink tax”—a discriminatory gender-based strategy by charging higher prices on women’s personal care products—increase the financial burden of these health essentials for menstruators. The consequences of this phenomenon economically strangle menstruators while the stigma keeps them screaming in silence, effectively burying the necessary discussions on women’s health.
The financial burden becomes even more evident when the only apparent option for menstruators on a budget is making do with 90 percent plastic-made products. These menstrual necessities, particularly plastic sanitary pads, are the only option readily available in mainstream markets. Options such as organically-made pads—although labeled as a “healthier alternative”—are more expensive for Filipinos, who would rather prioritize cost over quality. But even cheap sanitary pads can sometimes be a big strain on one’s wallet; when menstruators struggle with affording basic sustenance, menstruators are left with no choice but to create makeshift pads.
This is palpable among Filipino menstruators in far-flung areas. Chavez shares that due to the inaccessibility of mass-produced period products in these places, women are forced to be inventive with what they have. “They make their own reusable pads,” Chavez illustrates. “Gagamit sila ng lumang basahan, dry leaves—just to absorb the blood—newspaper, and all that.”
(They would use old rags.)
Obstetrician-gynecologist Dr. Viktoria Matibag emphasizes that the lack of access to proper menstrual hygiene causes serious health problems such as infections. And when these conditions happen frequently, they can lead to troubling misconceptions which may cause more alarming problems. “Maybe for them, infections and irregular menses are normal,” Dr. Matibag speculates. “Maybe irregular menses [are] a blessing because you don’t have to use pads every month, right? So that leads to them not seeking [proper] healthcare.”
With basic health necessities for menstruators financially becoming out of reach, these normal female biological attribute turn into bigger gender-based societal disparities when government policies fail to recognize the prevalent issue. Recently, lawmakers in the Philippines have been pushing for tax exemption on menstrual products, citing how taxes on basic health products exploit the necessity of menstrual hygiene for female reproductive health.
Coagulating matters
Unfortunately, the problem behind period poverty extends beyond gender-biased tax policies; the lack of accessibility to proper reproductive health also hinders menstruators’ rights to understand their body.
With little advocacy for menstrual health as a national health concern, public period education is spotty at best. Chavez conveys common questions posed by the communities We Bleed Red visits: “They wonder why their periods are stronger, why they’re weak, or why their cycles aren’t regular.“ Though these concerns are natural, women in these communities experience periods without really knowing what they go through. She shares, “Some moms don’t have the exact information of what menstruation is. They just know that there’s blood coming out. All they’re saying to their children is to buy a napkin.”
Many young menstruators rely on wisdom passed down from their mothers or other women in their community to navigate their periods. However, they often lack an explanation for the bloodiest parts of the cycle: premenstrual syndromes and fertility concerns. Dr. Matibag and Chavez detail cases of women having debilitating dysmenorrhea and menopausal symptoms, exacerbated by the anxiety of being unable to understand the changes in their bodies. “We already have the Reproductive Health Law, but a lot of the information still [gets distributed by] the private sector rather than coming from the government,” Dr. Matibag comments.
“The fact that they don’t teach [these topics] in school [means] you’ll just end up maybe noticing it but not acknowledging it,” Chavez remarks. Periods mark the start of the female body’s maturity, often accompanying the drastic bodily developments from puberty. With girls getting their periods progressively younger than in previous years—some as early as six years old—it becomes a priority to equip young menstruators with all they need to know about menstruation before they draw their first blood. She insists, “If you are already aware of what your body is capable of as soon as you hit puberty, that would already provide a lot of…empowerment to know what kind of choices [you] can make for [your] body.”
Down to the last drop
Bandaids do not fix bullet holes; common initiatives like providing free menstrual products in schools and public spaces are insufficient to patch up neglected demands for accessible reproductive healthcare. It can take years to institutionalize the basic needs of women’s health, and the pink tax is all but one hurdle to accessibility. But Chavez underlines that local government units could lead the charge by requiring OB-GYNs in their barangay health centers and medical missions. She asserts in Filipino, “Reproductive and menstrual health should be included in general medicine. [Mayors] don’t have to wait for a law to do that. They just need to make an ordinance.”
Accessibility shouldn’t stop at physical means; it must extend to education. Dr. Matibag admits that the monolingual nature of most reproductive education initiatives leaves much to be desired regarding audience reach. “We need to translate [the information] to other languages, especially to Filipino and other dialects,” she declares. In the same vein, We Bleed Red practices using the proper terms for private parts in their educational seminars. “We do not use period euphemisms. Saan lumalabas ang dugo? Sa puke,” Chavez contends, “There is power in naming—in using the right words.”
(Where does the blood come out? From the vagina.)
Reproductive health rights affect everyone; therefore discussions are—and should be—open to all. “Makikita mo talaga ang difference kapag naiintindihan ng mga kalalakihan ‘yung mga pinagdadaanan ng mga babae,” Dr. Matibag posits. Chavez recommends including men in period conversations, which could be as simple as asking them to check for period stains. The key to normalizing period talks is openly discussing and mentioning them with our peers, regardless of gender.
(You will really see the difference when men understand what women go through.)
Period poverty saturates any discussion on Philippine reproductive healthcare. Until menstrual products and education become readily available to all levels of society, the price of women’s health remains too high to be justified. As a society, we must work toward letting the topic of periods naturally flow into daily conversations, in hopes that the tides of reproductive rights will soon turn.
