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The first time they gassed us, I was reading in my cell. It was 2009, and I had just arrived in prison.

There was no warning, no incident — just the sudden hiss of oleoresin capsicum, better known as pepper spray, deployed because the guards said someone “refused to comply.” This refusal was defined as not returning to their assigned cell fast enough during count time, when security staff documents our presence at designated times.

Within seconds, my eyes, throat, and skin started burning. Women began screaming, coughing, and vomiting. In these dilapidated buildings without adequate ventilation, with most windows nailed shut, the gas lingers for hours. It seeps into our clothes, our bedding, our bodies.

This wasn’t an isolated incident. In women’s prisons across Texas, tear gas — which includes agents such as pepper spray — has become the go-to response for minor infractions. Guards deploy it at close range in enclosed spaces, against policy, against humanity. They gas entire housing units to punish one person’s “noncompliance.” What they don’t tell you is how this chemical weapon — which is banned in warfare by the Chemical Weapons Convention, an international treaty that aims to eliminate weapons of mass destruction — affects women’s bodies differently than men’s.

Studies have found that women experience more serious reactions to tear gas exposure, particularly impacting reproductive health. In 2021, a study on the effects of tear gas on reproductive health found that nearly 900 people reported abnormal menstrual changes after exposure to tear gas, including intense cramping and bleeding that persisted for days. And while research is limited, other studies have linked tear gas exposure to

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