[img_assist|nid=598|title=Special Series|desc=|link=none|align=left|width=100|height=67]Joe Scheidler of Pro Life Action League is getting a little defensive about our special series and online advertising campaign addressing his recent conference entitled Contraception Is Not The Answer. In the very first sentence of his Action News Hotline he claimed that "More than 250 Pro-Life stalwarts, one pro-abortion spy, Tyler LePard, and several members of the press attended the first-ever national anti-contraception conference in Chicago Friday and Saturday."
Joe Scheidler of Pro Life Action League is getting a little defensive about our special series and online advertising campaign addressing his recent conference entitled Contraception Is Not The Answer. In the very first sentence of his Action News Hotline he claimed that "More than 250 Pro-Life stalwarts, one pro-abortion spy, Tyler LePard, and several members of the press attended the first-ever national anti-contraception conference in Chicago Friday and Saturday."
But here's the curiosity, he doesn't mention our website or link to us or Tyler's writing at all. We suspect that having facts about contraception (even more can be found here) might not be in the interest of his efforts to launch a new tactical war to take it away from every American by making contraception illegal, so instead he just uses loaded language like "spy" to inflame his troops. When we discuss differing opinions, we always link to their sites or statements because we believe that people should see all sides and make up their own minds.
Rewire covers reproductive health issues and we sent Tyler, registered by her legal name, to the conference to learn about the issues as they presented them.
But Joe's piece was a little puffed up in other ways too. He mentioned "several members of the media." There was one Chicago Tribune piece which we linked to when the series was introduced, but it turns out his Saturday morning news conference was cancelled, for lack of attendance. Joe also makes no mention of Ian's piece linking several of the lesser known groups behind the conference.
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Lastly, Joe said this, "About all the spy has said so far is that taking contraception away from women will coarsen the culture and that a full 81% of Americans would not consider contraception to be the root cause of abortion. We are happy to find 19% agreeing with us that it is the root cause of abortion. And we must point out that before Columbus proved the world is round, 90 percent of people thought it was flat. The 90% were wrong."
Joe Scheidler talking about discovering the world is round while advocating a return to the flat earth policies of prohibiting contraception, is priceless.
Pay attention to the "so far" in terms of what we have to say about his speakers, this series is just starting. And, for the record, the other 249 "stalwarts" … let's just say, Tyler wasn't alone. Stay tuned ;-)
On the evening of March 5, Texans gathered to mark the closure of abortion clinics in two Texas cities—one a public vigil, another a private gathering, both befitting the particular politics of two Texas communities that, for the first time since Roe v. Wade, are without a legal abortion provider.
The Whole Woman’s Health clinic in McAllen had been the last operating abortion clinic in the sprawling and largely rural Rio Grande Valley, while in Beaumont, another Whole Woman’s clinic served East Texas and an area known as the “Golden Triangle,” a swath of Gulf-bordering land where about 20 percent of the population lives below the federal poverty line.
At Whole Woman’s Health in McAllen, bordering Reynosa, Mexico, clinic owner Amy Hagstrom Miller hosted a candlelight vigil for her employees and their supporters. They took turns reading, often through tears, snippets of stories from the thousands of Whole Woman’s patients treated over the years.
“This is very similar to my actual story,” read one young woman, quoting her anonymous patient: “I am 23 years old. I live in McAllen. I’m a single mother, with one child.” Another: “I’m from Mercedes, I’m 33 years old, a mother of two, and I’m living with my parents.” And another: “I just turned 18 years old. I am unemployed and a full-time college student. I cannot afford to have a child.”
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But in Beaumont, about an hour east of Houston and a world away from its snarled traffic and high-rise towers, Hagstrom Miller decided to do something more private, inviting her employees there to gather at their clinic behind closed doors.
Abortion just isn’t something folks in East Texas talk about with company—let alone gather in public to support. If abortion makes a public appearance at all, it’s in the form of the sun-faded anti-choice billboards that dot the landscape between clusters of pine trees and rolling farm and ranchland, featuring toddlers in biker gear who are “Born to Ride!” Others show grinning infants excited about heartbeats that began either at 18 or 24 days after conception—the consensus seems to vary from one two-lane highway to another.
And so Hagstrom Miller’s Beaumont staffers joined their McAllen colleagues and supporters at a virtual vigil, linking in by video conference, their voices broken both by tears and an occasionally spotty Internet connection.
“Personally, I’m simply devastated,” said Marva Sadler, surrounded by a handful of her former Beaumont colleagues as the crowd in McAllen shaded their eyes from the setting sun to see their East Texas counterparts on a projection screen.
“I am so very worried about the women and their families in Beaumont, the Golden Triangle, and the southwest region of Louisiana,” she continued.
The stories of East Texans who seek abortion care—many of whom call the Lilith Fund, a hotline that provides financial assistance for Texans who need help funding their procedures—are as varied as the folks who live there: there’s the woman left “high and dry” by an ex who “didn’t really care” about her pregnancy, the newly pregnant woman already raising a 10-month-old, the woman whose partner “disappeared as soon as she told him about the pregnancy,” the woman who went in for a prenatal check-up only to find her baby had no cranial structure.
And the one refrain that seems to tie them together: “This was the best decision she could make for her and her family.”
And so the number of legal abortion providers in Texas dropped once again in the wake of the passage of Texas’ omnibus anti-abortion law, HB 2. Its four provisions—restricting medication abortions, banning abortion after 20 weeks, requiring doctors who provide abortions to obtain hospital admitting privileges, and mandating that abortion clinics operate as ambulatory surgical centers—are expected to eventually leave Texas with just six legal abortion providers come September.
The Valley’s clinic mourners closed their vigil with a somber candlelight walk, their chants of “We will not forget!” echoing off the buildings of downtown McAllen as a handful of anti-choice protesters stood on a nearby street corner, praying in celebration.
In Beaumont, the closure was similarly marked with candlelight, but quietly—no public mourning or protests—with a handful of clinic workers gathered in just one small room in a small Texas town where residents have been left without safe, legal abortion care for the first time in 40 years.
Behind the Pine Curtain
Cross an unfamiliar threshold in East Texas—anywhere in the 200-mile or so stretch from the eastern borders of Dallas, Waco, and Houston all the way to the Louisiana state line—and you won’t know whether to expect the warmest reception of your life, or the coolest. I once spent an hour and a half trying to strike up idle conversation over Jell-O shots and tallboys at a Beaumont dive, to no avail, but have also met gas station attendants who wanted to tell me their life stories—and hear mine—before handing over the bathroom keys.
My parents, and their people going back five or maybe even six generations, hail from the smattering of tiny towns between Dallas and Texarkana and Shreveport—towns charmingly twanged and, in some cases, aspirationally named: Annona (Ann-OWN-uh), Avery (EH-v’ry), Detroit (DEE-trawt), Paris (Pairse). Northeast Texas tends to be more white and Hispanic; southeast Texas has more Black folks, especially out toward southern Louisiana.
It is a geographically beautiful place, as anyone who has seen the “pine curtain” first-hand will attest. It is a place where neighbors get together to fry frog legs and eat hundreds of pounds of crawfish on Sunday afternoons. A place where a stranded motorist can depend on the next passing car to pull over with a helping hand, where folks poking down backroads on tractors never fail to give a wave or a tip of their hats.
A lot of East Texans work in the oil fields out in the Gulf of Mexico. A lot of people work farms and ranches. And a lot of people can’t find decent-paying work at all—especially not when the plant and factory jobs dry up. People drink. People make, deal, and use a fair amount of methamphetamine. Sometimes even the police chief gets in on the drug game.
One East Texan I talked to described their experience spending 30 minutes trying to work—at a state-funded institution—while a fellow employee “laid hands” on them, praying to Jesus Christ for the swift recovery of their sick parent. Unpaved beer-joint parking lots—usually set off to the sides of the two-lane blue highways that snake through East Texas farmland and into the piney woods—quickly get full up with oversized trucks and gargling motorcycles come 7 p.m.
Dallas and Houston, the westernmost metropolitan gateways to northeast and southeast Texas, tend to lean blue—both cities have, for example, non-discrimination ordinances that protect people on the basis of race, religion, sexual orientation, or gender identity.
But outside of these urban loops, things get redder. Much redder. The kind of red where gay couples are called “f*gs” by restaurant employees. The kind of red where a woman can lose her substitute teaching job because she is transgender. The kind of red where it’s weirder if a roadside stand selling sweet tea, decrepit lawnmowers, and “We Don’t Dial 911” signs doesn’t have a prominently displayed confederate flag on the premises.
And indeed, race relations in East Texas are particularly complicated; the area is home to Jasper, where in 1998 three white men dragged a Black man named James Byrd to his death, behind a pick-up truck. Last fall, in nearby Hemphill, a Black man named Alfred Wright was found dead in a field after local law enforcement leaders—all white men—appeared to delay an investigation into his disappearance, bringing up simmering tensions between a Black community hoping to have, at last, a serious conversation about racism, and a white community that would rather pretend those tensions didn’t exist in the first place.
And somewhere on the road between Beaumont and Orange, Texas, this last spring, a Ford F-250 gunned past me on a two-lane highway, boasting an “I <3 BIG OIL” bumper sticker on its back window.
While the Rio Grande Valley has seen national and international coverage of the impact of Texas’ new abortion restrictions and family planning budget cuts there, a similarly serious situation exists in East Texas—though its manifestation differs somewhat from the reproductive health-care crisis unfolding in the blue-tinted Valley.
Cultural taboos around having sex—and around talking about sex—are especially strong in rural and suburban East Texas, and the extreme right-wing Tea Party has a firm—and strengthening—hold on voters and public officials in an already deeply socially, politically, and fiscally conservative area. A decade ago, redistricting turned East Texas’ once-Democratic First Congressional District into an easy-win playground for native son Rep. Louie Gohmert, a now five-time congressman who believes the Obama administration is teeming with members of the Muslim Brotherhood and that terrorists are birthing babies on U.S. soil to create a secret army of future spies. East Texas is also home to Texas A&M University, a proudly conservative stronghold in the Texas public university system.
Abortion providers in Waco, Bryan, and Beaumont—two Planned Parenthood locations, and that Whole Woman’s Health clinic—have all either shuttered or ended abortion care in the last year. Today, East Texans must travel hundreds of miles roundtrip to Houston, Dallas, or Shreveport for legal abortion care. And unlike in the Rio Grande Valley, where health-care professionals worry about pregnant people crossing the border to and from Mexico to buy the abortion-inducing drugs that can be purchased over-the-counter at pharmacies there, there is no easy access to the drugs that, while illegal, may be the safest, and one of the most common, methods that Texans choose to self-induce abortions when they cannot access a legal provider hundreds of miles away.
Marva Sadler at Whole Woman’s Health estimated that their Beaumont clinic alone saw about 3,000 patients per year. She now works at the Whole Woman’s Health in Fort Worth, which will close in September along with all but six of Texas’ existing abortion providers. Then Texans will need to travel to one clinic in San Antonio, one in Fort Worth, one in Dallas, one in Austin, or two clinics in Houston for legal abortion care inside state lines. But some of them are already heading to Louisiana, because as one anonymous Dallas abortion provider wrote in Women’s eNews in May, providers in Texas are “swamped,” often working through the night to see desperate patients.
Abortion access in East Texas and western Louisiana. Red pins represent a shuttered site, green pins are sites that remain open for now, and the orange pin represents a reproductive health clinic that is open but does not provide abortion care.
“We are getting calls from [Texas] women who can’t get into any of the available clinics without a waiting period,” said Kathaleen Pittman at the Hope Medical Group for Women in Shreveport. At Hope, Pittman can get clients in the next day for patients early in their pregnancies. In Dallas and Houston, patients now often have to wait a week or more for their first appointment—the one that precedes Texas’ mandated 24-hour waiting period unless a patient can prove they live more than 100 miles from any legal abortion provider—and many Texas providers have stopped prescribing medication abortions altogether due to the provision of HB 2 that mandates patients visit the clinic four separate times to take two abortion-inducing pills.
For now, at least, Hope can see patients quickly, though they still must obey a mandated 24-hour waiting period law, just as Texas providers must. And soon, Hope’s abortion providers—indeed, all Louisiana abortion providers—will be forced to obtain hospital admitting privileges, thanks to a Texas-style omnibus anti-abortion access bill that passed the Louisiana legislature 88-5 in late May. When that law goes into effect, Hope is expected to become one of two remaining legal abortion providers in Louisiana, with the other located just a few miles away in nearby Bossier City—300 miles from New Orleans. The last abortion clinic in Mississippi, in Jackson, is 200 miles from Shreveport and New Orleans.
There isn’t a looming reproductive health-care crisis in the South. It has already arrived.
“We Don’t Even Talk About Good Sex Here”
2010: “The sexually transmitted disease syphilis is on the rise in East Texas.”
2012: “Houston’s health department reported a near doubling in the number of new infectious syphilis cases during the first eight months of 2012 compared to the same period last year.”
2014: Primary and secondary syphilis “concentrated primarily along the I-35 corridor and eastward.”
In terms of common sexually transmitted diseases (STDs) like gonorrhea, chlamydia, and syphilis, Texas is the eighth most infected state in the country, with its highest concentration of STD outbreaks located in East Texas. Neighboring Louisiana ranks number one. Trailing Louisiana: Mississippi, Georgia, and Alabama.
Sex education for public school students is wholly optional in Texas, where the vast majority of districts choose abstinence-only programs; in Louisiana, sex education is also optional, but when it is included in curricula, it must be abstinence-only, and it may not be provided by any abortion-affiliated person or group. In May, Louisiana legislators also rejected a proposal that would have let the state’s Department of Education ask students questions about “risk behavior associated with chronic health conditions, including those related to sexual health.”
It’s no wonder, then, that along the porous border between rural East Texas and western Louisiana, folks really don’t like talking about abortion.
“If there wasn’t a stigma attached to abortion, people here could talk about it all day long,” joked Kathaleen Pittman when I met with her and her colleagues at Hope Medical Group in Shreveport this May. Folks in her neck of the woods can talk—and talk, and talk—but they get quiet when the subject of reproductive health care comes up.
Hoping to speak with supporters of women’s health care in East Texas, I reached out to the Temple Foundation, a philanthropic organization that in 2006 made a “generous lead donation” to a new $1.5 million Planned Parenthood facility in Lufkin, a two-hour drive northeast of Houston. Previously, the Planned Parenthood facility there had been operating out of a Junior League-provided location since 1977.
Today, that $1.5 million facility has shuttered, and Lufkin’s Junior League declined to talk to me about their involvement with Planned Parenthood. The Temple Foundation eventually began hanging up on my calls when I telephoned hoping for an interview with its leadership. Other private citizens who’ve done fundraising and reproductive health-care outreach in East Texas backed off of interview asks—one demurring because their spouse is a public official in a rural county, and they feared it would have negative political repercussions.
So I turned to East Texans and Louisianans who talk about taboos for a living. People like Brooke King, the director of programs and services at the Women’s Center of East Texas, a domestic violence shelter and rape crisis center with several locations in the area.
“We don’t even talk about good sex here,” she cracked, laughing in her cozy, dimly lit office in the back of a Tyler strip mall. Bad sex? Negative consequences of sex? Rape? Out of the question.
King says she especially walks a fine line when she does healthy relationship education in schools, because parents are especially wary of outsiders giving their children “permission” to have sex outside of marriage.
“Our parents aren’t talking to their kids about it,” she told me. “It’s this idea that if we talk to our kids about it, it’s only giving them permission. We only believe in abstinence. Which is fine! And abstinence is the safest way to be, hands down. We get that. But we also get that when we have, continuously have, 13-year-olds who are in school who are pregnant, abstinence is not something you can force.”
But in particular spaces, like university classrooms, abortion clinics, and King’s domestic violence shelters, the walls come down—for East Texans of all ages.
King says she often works with her shelter clients who are especially burdened by religious mandates to obey their spouses and partners, who feel as though they cannot, biblically, say no to sex or say yes to planning their families.
“Religion.” King sighed.
“God love religion. It serves such a great purpose, but it’s twisted so much. It makes it really easy for abusers to get their point of view across.”
King keeps a special book in her office, a kind of Bible study guide to help battered women better understand the scriptures that are so often used to keep them silent and submissive. Rarely, said King, does she meet women who have been explicitly told not to take birth control, or whose husbands have outright taken it away from them. Instead, the pressure to bear children, and to submit to coerced sex, is more subtle.
“We see reproductive coercion,” said King, but she says it’s frequently “masked” by religion. “People don’t recognize it as such,” she said, until they get to talking with someone like her, usually in the aftermath of a domestic violence call or visit to a SANE—Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner.
Before the Whole Woman’s Health clinic in Beaumont closed, Marva Sadler told me, they were the unofficial health-care “navigators” for the Golden Triangle area. When Sadler would work on clinic scheduling, she would always make sure to block out extra phone time for callers—once they got on the phone with a Whole Woman’s receptionist, they would unburden themselves of their entire back-stories, or explain complicated health situations that might have had nothing to do with abortion, but which they hoped Whole Woman’s could provide answers to.
“When [clients] called on the phone, from the moment they call and make their appointment, you nine times out of ten know their life story,” remembered Sadler. “You have to allot extra time on the phone, because she is going to tell you everything from the moment she got pregnant. You develop that relationship from the beginning.”
“If I close my eyes,” said Sadler, “I still remember their faces.”
When people couldn’t get information about sex and contraception from their families—”If you get pregnant or you’re having sex and you need contraceptives, you ask grandma, and if she can’t tell you, you just don’t get it,” said Sadler—they turned to Whole Woman’s Health.
And low-income East Texans also once turned to the now-shuttered Planned Parenthood facilities in Lufkin, Huntsville, and Bryan. Today, those Texans must wait weeks, or sometimes months, for Pap smear and contraception appointments at county health clinics when they find themselves uninsured. And about half of working-age, low-income adults in East Texas are uninsured.
Now that East Texans have lost so many of the resources that were available to them in recent years, some residents are particularly trying to open up conversations about health and sex that start before that phone call to Planned Parenthood or Whole Woman’s Health. Often, those conversations start on college campuses.
[slideshow_deploy id=’40369′] “I Feel Like I’m on Another Planet Sometimes”
“It’s almost like it’s the 1950s out here,” Savannah Anderson-Bledsoe, a student at Lamar University in Beaumont and one of the founders of the school’s nascent feminist club, told me. Driving through the campus to meet her, I pass a crisis pregnancy center adjacent to a sand volleyball court filled with undergraduates in tank tops and bikinis.
One of the very first things that Anderson-Bledsoe explains is that “the gender norms down here are so rigid.” That’s not something she’s necessarily used to.
A Georgia native and child of a single mother who spent her high school years in Austin, 20-year-old Anderson-Bledsoe said she loves Beaumont, and she loves her college, but “coming from Austin, I feel like I’m on another planet sometimes.”
With her group, Feminists of Lamar, she says she’s trying to “change things one day at a time” by starting small conversations with her fellow students—students who, she says, feel immense pressure to find a spouse in college, and to marry soon after, if not during, the course of their schooling. Her club’s hosted screenings of Miss Representation, the documentary that examines the objectification of women in popular media, have hosted clothing drives for local women’s shelters, and they’re hoping this year to work with young teens in middle school on a self-empowerment project.
Anderson-Bledsoe told me she hates to see her fellow students—many of them, like her, “Black women who are empowered, strong”—put such an emphasis on finding a (heterosexual) relationship to avoid single motherhood, and she feels for the men in her community who she says are pressured to fulfill an unattainable version of masculinity, unable to hug their brothers or cry when they are upset.
“Women, a lot of them out here feel like they should want to take care of a man and a family,” explained Anderson-Bledsoe, from a booth in the comfortable, cool-toned common room of her campus dorm. And the guys? “The men out here are helpless,” she jokes.
But what really gets her, she says, is her fellow students’ difficulty separating the sin from the sinner when it comes to topics like premarital sex and abortion.
Almost everyone I talked to in East Texas stressed the importance of Christianity in their and their neighbors’ lives—for better and for worse. Church is inextricably entwined with a broader, socially enforced mandate to avoid premarital sex—or at least avoid letting anyone know you’re having it—to marry early, and to, ideally, settle down to have children, with “Dad” going to work and “Mom” staying home with the kids, in the same town you grew up in.
And of course all of this is drowned in mandated heteronormativity and traditional gender roles, within a social system that is set up not for prevention, but for punishment.
“When someone has an abortion, it’s an abomination,” said Anderson-Bledsoe. But if you don’t have an abortion, and you’re a single mom working to support your family, “you’re judged.”
Anderson-Bledsoe’s fellow Feminists of Lamar founder, Shelby Murphy, echoed her classmate’s concerns. A 20-year-old who’s lived her entire life in her parents’ home in Beaumont, Murphy said that while East Texans her age are especially taking “baby steps” toward more open-minded thinking, “it’s hard.”
Murphy said she was “scared” when she heard that the Beaumont Whole Woman’s Health clinic had closed, though as she was growing up, she didn’t even know Beaumont had an abortion clinic at all. It simply wasn’t discussed. Now, she worries that in a community that can be as tight-lipped about social issues as Beaumont can be, “they won’t see the after-effects” of diminishing access to abortion care.
Talking to these norm-defying college feminists, the thing that stuck with me the most was a casual joke that Anderson-Bledsoe made near the end of our chat.
“When it’s 2020 in the rest of the world, in Beaumont it’ll be 1992.”
Planned Parenthood: Texas’ Only Abortion Provider?
But willful blindness and ignorance to the consequences of bad health policy is certainly not unique to East Texas—it’s a statewide affliction, particularly among the conservative, Republican, and anti-choice Democrat legislators who have spent the past several years finding new ways to restrict abortion and to cut family planning funds.
The particular target of their ire has been Planned Parenthood, an organization which they have relentlessly tried to force out of the state. But Texas’ restrictive abortion laws may have had an unforeseen side effect—at least one unforeseen by the state lawmakers who have been saying for years that they hope to regulate the provider out of business. It’s a side effect that has to do with the choice within a choice—or perhaps, that very limited choice within a very limited choice: where Texans can go for their legal abortion care.
When the ambulatory surgical center provision of HB 2 is put into effect on September 1, half of the six remaining abortion providers in Texas will be Planned Parenthood facilities. If Planned Parenthood is able to open another projected San Antonio ambulatory surgical center by that deadline, it will then run four of the state’s seven existing legal abortion providers.
Instead of ushering Planned Parenthood out the door, conservative and anti-choice lawmakers have ensured that patients who seek legal abortion care are more likely than ever to get it—if they can make it to a legal provider at all—at Planned Parenthood. And it’s important to remember that legislators simultaneously slashed family planning funds and dismantled, then relaunched, a low-income contraception program—now called the Texas Women’s Health program—that today sees a fraction of the clients it served at its peak.
The bright new Planned Parenthood Center for Choice ambulatory surgical center in Houston will likely become the de facto destination for East Texans who might otherwise have chosen care at a smaller, more local provider like Whole Woman’s Health. Depending on the legislative situation in Louisiana, and whether doctors there are able to secure admitting privileges in their home communities, it may also become the only option for pregnant folks from Baton Rouge and Lake Charles who would otherwise have chosen Whole Woman’s Beaumont, or even Hope Medical, with their hot tea service in recovery rooms and clinic-style procedure facilities.
Because while the Planned Parenthood Center for Choice is a beautiful medical facility, it feels like a hospital—just as ambulatory surgical centers are meant to be. The hallways are wide enough for two large gurneys, and procedure rooms must be maintained for temperature and humidity at all times, making them chilly and also hard to regulate with the Texas sun pouring through the former bank building’s windows.
Before their procedures, says Tram Nguyen, the director of the Center for Choice ASC, “Patients stop in the doorways. ‘I thought you told me it was minor,’ she says they tell her. ‘This is an operating room.’”
Nguyen has worked at Planned Parenthood for years, the most tenured member of the staff in Houston. She told me that she complies with the ASC regulations because, legally, she has to—but she, and a number of mainstream medical professionals and organizations, see the ASC regulations as totally medically unnecessary. She fondly recalls days in Planned Parenthood’s smaller, homier abortion clinic, but is dedicated to defying legislators’ efforts to shut down legal abortion care in Texas.
“We’re not going anywhere,” she said, after walking me through the facility, peppering her tour with stories: the patient from the South Texas oyster fields who traveled hundreds of miles for her procedure, the sobbing, screaming patients she couldn’t help after Texas passed its 20-week abortion ban, the woman who drove all night from Mississippi and slept in the parking lot.
“We’ll figure it out,” Nguyen told me. They have to. “It’s kind of a kick to prove that to the state.”
But while Planned Parenthood in Houston—and other urban-area abortion providers who can afford to rent or build ambulatory surgical centers—may have the resources to keep their doors open in the coming months, a larger question looms: whether any but the wealthiest abortion-seeking Texans, with access to cars and time off work and child care for the children they already have, will be able to walk through those few remaining doors.
In 2005, Brittany Wilson said in federal court that her boyfriend had forced her to have an abortion she didn’t want. She blamed Planned Parenthood for letting it happen. Now, Brittany’s story is again being used in federal court — this time to defend a South Dakota law that addresses the issue of coerced abortion.
On a Friday morning in September 2005, 22-year-old Brittany Wilson sat in a Planned Parenthood clinic a mile away from her home in Sioux Falls, S.D., and bawled her eyes out.
Ten days before, she had called the clinic to schedule an abortion. Three days before her appointment, she had called back to listen to some state-mandated information about the risks of abortion and her legal rights. And moments before, she had driven to the clinic alone and paid $447. But she was crying, she would later say, because she did not want this abortion. She was seven weeks pregnant.
The Planned Parenthood staffer whose job it was to make sure this abortion was voluntary and informed noticed Brittany’s distress and asked her if she had considered adoption. Brittany said she did not “want to do that.”
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Through the staffer, the doctor told Brittany she didn’t have to have the abortion that day. Brittany said, “I’m alright,” and went out to lunch.
Later that day, a doctor conducted a vaccuum aspiration abortion, terminating the pregnancy.
In the months and years that followed, Brittany would say in federal court that her boyfriend had forced her to have an abortion she didn’t want. She blamed Planned Parenthood for letting it happen. Brittany did not sue the abortion provider, but testified in defense of a 2005 state law requiring abortion providers to inform clients of certain state-determined risks of abortion–some of which are disputed by mainstream scientific organizations–including the claim that abortion puts women at higher risk for depression and suicide. (The legal challenge over the 2005 law was finally resolved this year, with all of the controversial provisions being upheld on appeal.)
In her testimony–given during a deposition under oath and later in a handwritten declaration–Brittany asserted that Planned Parenthood had not given her enough information to help her make an informed decision. She also said that after her abortion, she had an emotional breakdown and started drinking heavily; she indicated that she had already been taking medicine to treat depression before the abortion.
Brittany’s story is again being used in federal court–this time to defend a South Dakota law that addresses the issue of coerced abortion. Anti-abortion advocates have claimed that coerced abortion has reached crisis levels in the United States, despite a lack of scientific evidence showing that to be the case. The law–pieces of which went into effect in July–is part of a national legislative trend pushed by anti-abortion leaders, which in large part relies on the testimony of women who regret their abortions.
Often, anti-coercion policies are introduced as part of a package of restrictions and regulations and either dictate that an abortion provider must screen women for coercion, as in the case of a recently passed law in Wisconsin, or that an abortion provider must post signs in abortion clinic waiting rooms saying that it is illegal for anyone to pressure a woman into having an abortion, as in the case of a new law in Arizona. An omnibus anti-choice bill in Michigan, which would enact similar coercion-related policies, passed the state House earlier this year and is now being considered by the state Senate.
South Dakota’s new law, which was passed last year and modified this year, goes far beyond simply mandating that the abortion doctor screen for coercion. If the law survives the legal challenge, women will have to wait 72 hours after they schedule the abortion, meaning they will have to make two trips to the state’s only abortion clinic in Sioux Falls, which provides abortions once a week on average. During that waiting period, women will have to submit to an interview at one of three state-sanctioned “pregnancy help centers,” all of which are faith-based and are vocally opposed to abortion. The point of this interview, as stated in the bill, is so the pregnancy help center can “discuss [the pregnant woman’s] circumstances that may subject her to coercion.” Additionally, the pregnancy help centers can use the interview as an opportunity to “inform the pregnant mother … what counseling, education, and assistance that is available to the pregnant mother to help her maintain her relationship with her unborn child.”
Some of these new anti-coercion laws, including South Dakota’s, contain provisions making it easier to sue abortion doctors for failing to adequately screen for coercion.
Supporters of anti-coercion abortion bills argue that these policies are meant to protect women. But critics claim that–like laws that single out abortion clinics by imposing difficult-to-meet construction requirements–anti-coercion policies are really meant to make accessing abortion more complicated in the short term, and illegal in the long term.
The South Dakota lawmaker behind the state’s new anti-coercion abortion law and the 2005 informed-consent abortion law told The American Independent that the underlying intention of these bills was to create a legal framework for more abortion restrictions.
“This law, and even the 2005 law, basically legally speaking, this doesn’t deal with the same legal theories that Roe v. Wade dealt with,” Rep. Roger Hunt (R-Brandon) said. “This presents brand-new legal arguments … relative to abortions. The basic idea is that these laws would allow the Supreme Court to give states the right to adopt similar legislation.”
Legal scholars, such as Yale University law professor Reva Siegel, have described the rationale underpinning these types of laws as the “woman-protective” anti-choice argument. Siegel, who has written extensively about anti-coercion efforts in South Dakota and elsewhere, observed in a 2008 Duke Law Journal article that the anti-choice movement has begun to “supplant the constitutional argument ‘Abortion kills a baby’ with a new claim ‘Abortion hurts women.’”
Anti-coercion or anti-choice?
Many public-health professionals who support abortion rights oppose these types of abortion laws because they say anti-coercion policies that single out abortion sidestep the broader issue of domestic and sexual violence, which many believe is the root of coercion.
Dr. Elizabeth Miller, a medical doctor and associate professor of pediatrics at the University of Pittsburgh, has been researching domestic and sexual violence issues for more than 20 years. She told TAI that while her research has uncovered some evidence of coerced abortion, there is not enough data to show it being a pervasive problem.
What the data shows, she said, is that sexual coercion–women being forced into sexual activity–is a pervasive problem. She said that sexual coercion often leads to unwanted pregnancies, followed by abusive partners trying to control the outcome of the pregnancy, be it by trying to force the woman to continue with the pregnancy or to abort. Reproductive coercion can take the form of men sabotaging their partners’ birth control methods or otherwise forcibly impregnating them.
Very little research has been done exclusively on coerced abortions, and Miller told TAI there is not enough data to compare the rates of forced pregnancies and forced abortions.
A 2010 study co-authored by Miller surveyed approximately 1,300 men recruited from three community health centers in lower-income Boston-area neighborhoods. About 32 percent of participants reported having perpetrated physical or sexual violence against a female partner; 33 percent reported having been involved in a pregnancy that ended in abortion; eight percent reported having at one point sought to prevent a female partner from seeking abortion; and four percent reported having at one point “sought to compel” a female partner to seek an abortion.
“Coerced abortion is a very small piece of the puzzle of a much larger problem, which is violence against women and the impact it has on her health,” Miller said. “To focus on the minutia of coerced abortion really takes away from the really broad problem of domestic violence.”
Jay Silverman, a professor of medicine and global health at the University of California at San Diego, told TAI that recent laws addressing coerced abortionare nothing more than anti-choice laws that have been “barely dressed up” as public-health policies intended to protect women.
“It’s not that [coerced abortions] could not exist,” said Silverman, who frequently collaborates with Miller and coauthored the 2010 study. “It’s that the issue is to assist women by working to help identify instances of domestic violence. … In the climate where there is so much political hostility related to women’s reproductive rights, [singling out abortion] really inhibits a comprehensive agenda from being established.”
‘Abortion is not an option’
In the years since her abortion, Brittany Weston (she has since married) has given birth to a child and now lives in Yankton, S.D. Weston says it was her former boyfriend, Joe (an alias), who, in her words, “pressured” her into having the abortion seven years ago. In a declaration dated July 1, 2011, Weston wrote, “If the Planned Parenthood counselors had any interest in determining that I was being forced to have an abortion, I would not have had an abortion and would have my child today.” And when she testified in favor of South Dakota’s new coercion law at a state House Judiciary Committee hearing (minute 22:13) in February 2011, she said: “I wanted Planned Parenthood to rescue me from the man who was forcing me to have an abortion. All they did was his bidding.”
Weston has said that from February to May 2006, she attended a post-abortion therapy program at the Alpha Center, a crisis pregnancy center in Sioux Falls. In April 2006, about a year after Planned Parenthood’s South Dakota affiliate filed a lawsuit against the state’s just-passed informed-consent abortion law, Weston was called as a witness by the counsel representing two CPCs (known in South Dakota as “pregnancy help centers”). The Alpha Center and Care Net Pregnancy Resource Center in Rapid City had entered the case as “intervenors” – meaning that alongside the defendants, these centers could take discovery and question witnesses. Those very same centers are once again intervenors in the current lawsuit.
Based on the two sworn affidavits Weston submitted in both lawsuits and a deposition she gave in the first lawsuit, this is what Weston says happened:
In July 2005, Weston had nearly completed her college degree and had started dating Joe, who was 41 years old, had two kids, and worked as a therapist counseling adolescent children. Two months later, when she was about to start a new full-time job, Weston discovered she was pregnant. The way she tells it, “I quickly told the nurse [at a local health clinic] in a forceful manner that ‘abortion is not an option.’”
When she later asked Joe for his emotional and financial support, she says he told her, “We can’t have a kid.” He said he didn’t want to pay child support for a third child, and for reasons that are not explained in Weston’s testimony, she says Joe told her that if she had the baby and it became known that he was the father, he would lose his job.
“At no time did I ever want an abortion,” she wrote in her initial affidavit, dated May 16, 2006. “Joe wanted me to have one. When I agreed to get an appointment for an abortion at Planned Parenthood, I scheduled the abortion for Joe, not for me.”
In that affidavit, she also said that when she reviewed her medical records related to the abortion, she was “surprised – even dismayed” to learn that the abortion doctor had certified that Weston had “given informed consent freely and without coercion to this abortion.”
“In fact, whatever consent, if any, was given at all, it was under pressure, against what I wanted, and it was not informed in any meaningful way,” Weston wrote.
Weston’s explanation of how Joe pressured her into having an abortion is essentially that he persuaded her, and told her to keep the pregnancy a secret. “I was very emotionally dependant on Joe and I thought I needed his approval,” she wrote.
Nowhere in either of her declarations does she allege she told any staff at Planned Parenthood that she did not want to have an abortion.
“I suspect it must be hard for others to understand this phenomenon about how I was pressured into going to Planned Parenthood’s clinic against my desires, because I struggle to understand it myself,” Weston wrote. “But my experience should be understood, not dismissed, because I am now certain it is a common experience for women. I now understand that it is common for women to have abortions they don’t want, especially when the father of their child wants it for himself.”
Is it coercion?
The original version of South Dakota’s 2011 anti-coercion law defined “coercion” very broadly.
In full, the definition read:
“Coercion,” exists if the pregnant mother has a desire to carry her unborn child and give birth, but is induced, influenced, or persuaded to submit to an abortion by another person or persons against her desire. Such inducement, influence, or persuasion may be by use of, or threat of, force, or may be by pressure or intimidation effected through psychological means, particularly by a person who has a relationship with the pregnant mother that gives that person influence over the pregnant mother.
In its initial suit against the law, South Dakota’s Planned Parenthood affiliate argued that this definition was unconstitutionally vague, and the court agreed. So in early 2012, the legislature narrowed that definition. The most controversial provisions of this law – a 72-hour pre-abortion waiting period and a mandatory interview at a state-sanctioned pregnancy help center to screen for coercion – are still blocked and under litigation, but other provisions detailing how abortion providers must now screen for coercion went into effect last month.
The state’s definition of “coercion” is now closer to the universal understanding of that word:
“Coercion,” exists if the pregnant mother is induced to consent to an abortion by any other person under circumstances, or in such a manner, which deprives her from making a free decision or exercising her free will.
But when Hunt introduced the revised bill (minute 38:55) to the state House Judiciary Committee earlier this year, he was still vague on the notion of coerced abortions, stating, “When the husband or the boyfriend or the father is sitting in the outer waiting room of the Planned Parenthood clinic, that in and of itself can easily be construed as coercion.”
Aspen Baker, the executive director of Exhale, a California-based support hotline for women who have had abortions, told TAI that she thinks there is a distinct difference between pressure and coercion when it comes to women’s decisions to abort.
“In life we feel pressure,” said Baker, who founded Exhale in 2000, a year after having an abortion and being unable to find an organization to help her deal with her sadness afterward.
“I feel pressure to eat healthy and go to the gym. Pressure is part of life and part of our work relationships and family relationships. I think of coercion as being more sinister and intentional and controlling or abusive.”
“If you’re pregnant and you don’t want to be, you feel pressured really fast to find out what you are going to do about it,” Baker continued. “There is pressure to make that decision, and not everyone navigates that pressure well. Coercion is related to violence and abuse.”
Baker’s own abortion story is in some ways similar to Weston’s, but unlike Weston, she ultimately views her abortion as a voluntary decision, albeit a difficult one.
In an interview that was uploaded to YouTube in 2009, Baker says that when she got pregnant at 23, she immediately wanted the baby, but the man who impregnated her wanted her to abort.
“It felt like one thing to become a mom, and then it was another thing to be really clear that it was going to be as a single mom,” Baker says in the video. “I decided that’s not actually what I wanted to do and not the way I wanted to become a parent and not the sort of ticket that I wanted to write to myself for the rest of my life.”
Baker, who favors abortion rights, said that Exhale’s hotline receives about 650 calls each month but that only a minority of the callers talk about coercion. More often, she said, women talk about economic pressures to abort and not having support from their partner or family to continue the pregnancy.
Asked if coerced abortion appears to be a widespread problem among the women she has talked to at Exhale, Baker said, “I would say that domestic abuse is a widespread social problem.”
For more than a year, lawmakers in South Dakota have been arguing that coerced abortions are widespread in the state. TAI reached out to several domestic violence advocates in the state, who told us that coerced abortion was not an issue they were aware of.
She said that within her network of domestic-violence counselors and shelter directors, the issue of reproductive coercion – women being coerced into having babies – has come up sometimes.
Mary Corbine, the executive director at a Rapid City women’s shelter called Working Against Violence Inc., told TAI in an email: “We serve many women whose partners do not allow them to be on birth control. I have not heard much if anything about forced abortions.”
When TAI asked South Dakota Attorney General Marty Jackley’s office about the prevalence of coerced abortions – and ultimately, what the new law accomplishes – a spokesperson for the attorney general’s office told us to contact Harold Cassidy, a prominent pro-life lawyer from New Jersey. Cassidy has been representing the two pregnancy help centers in the recent lawsuits over the state’s abortion laws. If the rest of the anti-coercion law goes into effect, all women seeking abortions in the state will first have to be screened for coercion by a counselor at one of his clients’ centers or a third pregnancy help center in Spearfish.
“There is no question that women are being coerced [into having abortions],” Cassidy said.
While conceding that “there aren’t any detailed studies that have tracked women coerced into having abortions in South Dakota,” Cassidy told TAI that the incidence of coerced abortion in this state, and at the national level, has reached “crisis proportions.” As evidence, he said that the 3,000-some pregnancy help centers across the country have reported vast instances of women claiming to have been coerced into having abortions.
“Abortion clinics do not do post-abortion counseling,” Cassidy said. “They create a mess, and the pregnancy help centers are cleaning it up.”
He said that through depositions taken in the lawsuit over South Dakota’s informed-consent law, testimony from Planned Parenthood directors and staff showed that “patient educators” often were not licensed counselors, and they didn’t really counsel women on their decision but instead operated under the assumption that women’s minds are made up before they come to the clinic.
Profiling Cassidy in Mother Jones last year, writer Sarah Blustain reported that Cassidy first came up with the signature concept of South Dakota’s 2005 informed-consent statute, that “abortion will terminate the life of a whole, separate, unique, living human being” and that abortion terminates a pregnant woman’s “existing relationship with that unborn human being.” It’s a concept Cassidy developed in the abortion-related cases he’s tried in the past two decades, including one where a teenaged girl said her parents had coerced her into having an abortion.
Cassidy told TAI that the environment at Planned Parenthood is geared toward terminating that relationship between the pregnant woman and her unborn child. The point of first sending women to a pregnancy help center, he said, is so the center can help them ask: “Can I and do I want to keep my relationship with my child?”
Jen Aulwes, spokesperson for Planned Parenthood of Minnesota, North Dakota, South Dakota, told TAI that, under her organization’s protocol, a doctor at Planned Parenthood could not perform an abortion if the woman says she’s being forced to abort. And Cassidy pointed out that, under state law, if a doctor were to perform an abortion despite a woman’s claim of coercion, that doctor would be guilty of malpractice.
What the new law does is create a new cause of action specific to coerced abortions.
Failure to comply with the provisions in this law creates “a rebuttable presumption” (meaning a claim that defense would have to disprove) that if the pregnant mother had been informed or assessed “in accordance with the requirements of this chapter,” she would not have aborted.
In this case, it would be up to the jury to “determine whether this particular mother, if she had been given all of the information a reasonably prudent patient in her circumstance would consider significant, as well as all information required by [the law]” … would have consented to the abortion “based upon her personal background and personality, her physical and psychological condition, and her personal philosophical, religious, ethical, and moral beliefs.”
But if it is determined that the abortion was the result of coercion and that the physician was negligent in failing to discover that coercion, “there is a nonrebuttable presumption [meaning it cannot be disproved] that the mother would not have consented to the abortion if the physician had complied with the provisions.”
“What the legislature did is very fascinating,” Cassidy told TAI. “Section 61 is very sophisticated to a trial lawyer like me. … I don’t think these kinds of presumptions have been passed in other states.”
Anti-abortion advocates who insist that coerced abortion is common in the U.S. often cite testimonies like Brittany Weston’s and news reports, like those about Kermit Gosnell, the Philadelphia abortion provider who last year was charged with the murder of seven babies and a woman and was subsequently accused of violently forcing a teenager to have an abortion against her will.
A major source behind the coercion claim is the nation’s large network of crisis pregnancy centers, many of which offer post-abortion counseling. This is has been true for South Dakota.
In 2005, a 17-member legislative committee called the Task Force to Study Abortion submitted a controversial report to the governor’s office claiming “that women are often subjected to coercion in the form of overt and subtle pressures from outside sources.” Rep. Roger Hunt, who served on the task force and sponsored the legislation that created it, told TAI that part of the state’s evidence that many women are pressured into having abortions comes from that report.
The report cited the testimony of CPC directors, such as Alpha Center co-founder Leslee Unruh, who “stated that among the post-abortive women seeking counseling … 75% to 85% in any given year report that they felt they were misled by the abortion clinics and that their decisions were uninformed and, in many ways, coerced.” Care Net Pregnancy Center director Stacey Wollman “testified that … almost 60% of the post-abortive women receiving counseling stated that their abortions were the result of some form of coercion.”
The task force also claimed to have received “powerful oral and written testimony from about 1,950 women who underwent abortions. Virtually all of them stated they thought their abortions were uninformed or coerced or both.” The bulk of those testimonies came from an anti-abortion legal nonprofit called the Justice Foundation, in the form of three volumes of 1,500 affidavits collected from women all over the country.
As Yale University law professor Reva Siegel uncovered, in 2000, the Justice Foundation, which is based in San Antonio, Texas, had started a project called Operation Outcry, which, according to Operation Outcry’s website, was set up to collect “legally admissible testimonies called ‘Declarations’ for submission to courts and legislatures in efforts to limit or ban abortion.” Shortly thereafter, a quarterly webzine called At the Center, which is published by a Christian-owned publishing company and distributed by crisis pregnancy centers across the country, included in one issue blank questionnaires that were meant to be filled out by women who have had abortions, signed by a notary public, and then mailed back to the Justice Foundation to be used in court cases. The affidavit included questions, such as: “Were you informed of any link between abortion and breast cancer?” “Did anyone pressure you into having an abortion?” “Based on your own experience, what would you tell a court that believes abortion should be legal?”
In the last decade, those affidavits have made their way across the country, influencing legislative debates on abortion restrictions. The Justice Foundation has claimed that affidavits and declarations from women have been submitted to the U.S. Senate Judiciary Committee and state legislatures in Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, Ohio, South Dakota, and Texas.
And though they are used in South Dakota as evidence of coercion, the questions in these declaration forms, slightly updated since 2001, never ask specifically about coercion. Nowhere is the word “coercion” even mentioned. Instead, respondents are asked: “Did anyone pressure you into having an abortion? If so, who?”
In one affidavit used by the task force, among several that were obtained by TAI, a woman from Alabama said she was pressured by her “mother’s only sister” to have an abortion. She is not asked to explain how her aunt pressured her, but when she is asked what she would tell a court that believes abortion should be legal, she writes: “I would have never considered abortion if it had not been legal. My aunt said abortion would not be legal if it was not OK. I was stupid to believe her.”
The Justice Foundation did not respond to repeated requests for comment. In a recent online newsletter, the organization claimed that Operation Outcry was approaching 5,000 “declarations,” which can be submitted using online form.
The nonprofit, based in Springfield, Ill., was founded in the late 1980s by David Reardon, a prominent anti-abortion leader. A self-described “medical bioethicist,” Reardon is largely credited with encouraging the anti-abortion movement to embrace the “women-protective” argument.
Asked about the prevalence of coerced abortion in the United States, Reardon sent TAI a Wiki-style web page, which reads in part:
If a “coerced abortion” is understood in this context to mean one in which the woman feels pressured by others to have an abortion, the best range of estimates is that between 30 and 65 percent of abortions involve feelings of being pressured to have an abortion.
That figure, Reardon says, comes from an older study published by the Guttmacher Institute, a pro-abortion-rights organizations that specializes in abortion-related research and policy recommendations. He does not quote directly from the study but from a 1990 article authored by “pro-choice ethicist” Daniel Callahan: “Data reported by the Alan Gutmacher [sic] Institute indicate that some 30 percent of women have an abortion because someone else, not the woman, wants it.”
But Guttmacher spokesperson Rebecca Wind disputed that use of the groups’ research.
“Several anti abortion outlets have tried to make the claim that women obtain abortions because someone else wants them based on the [Guttmacher] Institute’s study of why women access abortion,” Wind said in an email.
The larger 65 percent figure in Reardon’s notes comes from a 2004 study co-authored by Reardon and anti-abortion researchers Vincent Rue and Priscilla Coleman about abortion and traumatic stress. That study found that among America women who reported having an abortion, “64 percent ‘felt pressured by others’ to have the abortion.”
The Elliot Institute’s 22-page report, titled “Forced Abortion in America,” is filled with anecdotes about women being allegedly coerced into having abortions.
When Chief Judge Karen Schreier temporarily blocked key provisions of South Dakota’s anti-coerced-abortion law last year, she cited a different type of coercion.
“[I]t is generally accepted that women are often the victims of abuse,” Schreier wrote, referencing a sworn affidavit filed on Planned Parenthood’s behalf, by clinical psychologist and researcher Lenore E. Walker, who specializes in domestic and family violence. “And abusers often forcibly impregnate their partners to maintain control or increase their control over their women. … The abusers in such relationships closely monitor the women. … For example, the abuser will often keep track of the mileage on the car or remove the distributor cap on the car to prevent the woman from leaving the house. … For those women who are in such relationships, the 72-Hour Requirement creates an incredible obstacle because it requires them to make separate trips, which for many is effectively impossible to do because two trips doubles the chances of being ‘caught’ and punished by the abusive partner.”
Schreier’s comment that women are often the victims of abuse is backed by data. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s most recent National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey, more than one in three women in the U.S. have experienced rape, physical violence, and/or stalking by an intimate partner in their lifetime.
Several studies in recent years have found a strong association between intimate partner violence and unintended pregnancies – that unplanned pregnancies are two to three times more likely than planned pregnancies to be associated with domestic violence. Qualitative and quantitative data have shown that the high associations between domestic violence and unplanned pregnancies are related to abusive men forcing their partners to have sexual intercourse, forcing their partners to have unprotected sex, and in some cases intentionally trying to impregnate their partners — a phenomenon dubbed “reproductive coercion.”
The CDC’s Sexual Violence Survey found that in 2010, about 9 percent of women in the U.S. reported at one time having an intimae partner who tried to get them pregnant against their will or who refused to use a condom.
Domestic violence researchers Dr. Elizabeth Miller and Jay Silverman, among others, have worked on numerous studies and research papers relating to this phenomenon. Reproductive coercion – which can be physical or verbal – can include sabotaging birth control (poking holes in condoms, flushing birth control pills, ripping out vaginal rings) or otherwise forcibly impregnating female partners.
A study published in the January 2010 issue of the journal Contraceptionand co-authored by several researchers including Miller and Silverman, found that approximately one in five among the approximately 1,300 young women surveyed at reproductive health clinics in Northern California said they had experienced said they had experienced pregnancy coercion; 15 percent of the women said they had experienced birth control sabotage.
At this point, a lot of the research done on reproductive coercion has been qualitative and based on interviews with women and men at abortion clinics and reproductive health clinics in specific communities. From those interviews, researchers have learned that sometimes men want their partners to have their baby to prove loyalty or love. Interviews have found that men about to go to prison will sometimes try to impregnate their partners before being locked up.
David Reardon doesn’t buy the theory that coerced abortion is merely a small subset of the broader issue of reproductive coercion.
“I am frankly surprised by the claim that abusive men are attempting to stop women from getting on birth control,” he told TAI in an email. “My impression is that abusive men are more likely to be so narcissistic that they would rather not have any children around laying claims on the their time, their money, or the time and affection of their women. … I support any reasonable laws that help to prevent abuse in any form, including this hypothetical problem. But I simply don’t have a pile of testimonies or statistics which indicated that there has ever been one case, much less many cases, of women being abused to prevent them from using birth control and I’m highly suspicious that this alleged problem is being raised as an artificial counterpoint to the very real problem of coerced abortions.”
But to researchers like Silverman and Miller, these two forms of abuse are related. What it’s mostly about, they say, is control.
“Violence and abuse is about power and control,” said Miller, who noted that research has found that abusive men who forcibly impregnate women tend to continue the abuse throughout the pregnancy.
Like Reardon, Miller also wants to reduce the rate of abortion, and both agree that intervention is key to helping women in abusive relationships get help. In fact, Miller and Silverman are currently working on an intervention project in Western Pennsylvania – similar to one they have done in California – to help reproductive-health workers recognize domestic and sexual violence.
“Given that about half of the pregnancies in this country are unintended, I think the key policy piece is recognizing that addressing violence against women will also ultimately help us to address this problem of unintended pregnancy,” Miller said. “To slice out coerced abortion as if it is an isolated phenomenon is wrong.”