Commentary Religion

Why Should Feminists Stay in the Lone Star State? To Mess With Texas

Andrea Grimes

I’m not the feminist savior of Texas, but if I don’t leave, and if my feminist friends don’t leave, maybe we can bring more people to our side. Maybe if we don't leave, we can change the conversation instead of scoffing and tsking from outside while anti-feminist, anti-woman laws and social practices leave a legacy of lasting, visceral harm on real, live Texans.

AlterNet wasn’t wrong when they called Texas the second worst state in the country for women. No, they pretty much nailed it. Our mostly white, male conservative legislators are happy to let our Medicaid Women’s Health Program expire because they believe Planned Parenthood forces abortion on every woman who walks through clinic doors. Amid a multi-billion dollar budget shortfall that has threatened to cripple what little existed of Texas’ social programs, our governor, Rick Perry, declared it an “emergency” that abortion is legal and accessible here. Soon, Texas will require women who want an abortion to undergo an invasive vaginal ultrasound at least 24 hours before their procedure and tell a doctor they do not want to see an image of the fetus or hear its possibly available heartbeat, but they’ll still have to listen to a description of the fetus. And rape culture? No shortage here.

Rick Perry and his legislator buddies refuse to tap into the state’s “Rainy Day” fund to help keep women healthy and children educated properly because the needs of women and children in Texas are secondary to political posturing and big business. Texas has more uninsured people–notably, more uninsured women and children–than any other state. Of course, that’s not a problem for Texas legislators who believe crisis pregnancy centers provide pap smears. And then there’s the array of ways in which the state treats LGBTQ Texans like second-class citizens: here, conservatives hate gay people so much they almost, through a legal technicality, outlawed all marriage in an effort to keep gays out of the institution.

These are not fringe elements of conservative whack-a-doodle politics in Texas. They are business as usual. They are the norm. They are status quo. We may once have had Ann Richards, but those days are past. Today, we are a state run by old privileged white guys for old privileged white guys. Great Tex-Mex, excellent musical traditions and beautiful weather ain’t gonna fix it, y’all.

What is going to fix it are smart, feminist people staying here in Texas and doing the hard work of grassroots activism, writing and talking and campaigning instead of hopping the first flight to a cold city with a Democratic congressperson and a Sunday night erotic reading series at an adorable indie coffee shop.

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Believe you me, I have tried to leave. More than once.

The first time, I was 18 years old and headed for college at New York University, anxious to get out of the cookie-cutter suburb of Fort Worth where I grew up. But at NYU, I struggled to love the city that I had longed to live in my entire life. I found myself too often defending Texas against people who saw the state, and its people, as punchlines. Still, I thought, I couldn’t be right to miss Texas. Maybe studying abroad in London would help–maybe the problem was that I wasn’t far enough away from Texas. To my dismay, studying abroad only made me less enchanted with New York. I didn’t miss anything about NYC, and I was desperate for a decent taco.

Disenchanted with the city, I graduated a year early from NYU. I left the man I was sure I wanted to spend my life with because I didn’t want to follow him to Washington, D.C. I took the first job I was offered post-graduation at a newspaper in Dallas. I thought I’d capitulated to Texas life, but I was wrong. I tried to leave one more time.

It was during graduate school in cultural anthropology at the University of Texas at Austin, where I was writing a thesis on female stand-up comics. I went back to New York City to conduct fieldwork, thinking perhaps it was my awkward youth that had made my first try there such a failure. I interviewed comedians and went to summer concerts and hooked up with incredibly hot bearded men in my six-floor walk-up apartment. I even brought my cats. By anyone’s account, I was doing it right as a liberal, feminist twenty-something activist in the big city. But god, I just wanted to get back to Texas.

I say all this because I want you to understand that I’m not trying to play the martyr here. I am not trying to show off the feminist cross I am forced to carry uphill both ways in 115-degree summers, all the while crying jalapeno tears because I touched my eyes after I made salsa.

I know why liberal, feminist or otherwise progressive and left-leaning people leave this place, and I don’t blame them. Anyone who lives here whose wellbeing is harmed by constantly feeling in conflict with others or discriminated against absolutely deserves to live a life of peace and comfort.

I know it can be bad. My conservative, Republican family never fails to make fun of my feminist bumper sticker. I¹ve been practically laughed out of the offices of legislators I¹ve lobbied for pro- choice causes. I know how Texans take it personally when anyone dares criticize their state. It’s fucking ridiculous that there exist cake pans shaped like Texas. And it’s always nice to remember that it’s still technically illegal to have anal sex in Texas if you’re gay.

I asked many of my Texan feminist friends why they don’t leave for friendlier political climes, and many spoke of the intangible Texanness that natives of this state experience and that I feel in my heart. I don’t expect outsiders to understand it. Maybe it happens in other states, I’m not sure. I’ve got the Texas blinders. It’s incredibly hard to separate oneself from one’s Texan identity, maybe because we all grow up eating cakes from stupid Texas-shaped cake pans. I don’t know.

Allison in Austin told me: “because being a Texan matters so very much to me, I feel strongly that working towards making “being a Texan” a good thing, an easier thing, a fairer thing, is important work for me.”

Marla, in Dallas: “Because we have a right and an obligation to effect change in the place we call home.”

Some feminists were more practical: Texas is a cheap place to live, and it’s hard for many people to live far from their families and long-time friends. Some feminists I talked to are in graduate school and tied down by academic responsibilities. My friend Rachel says she stays for the bourbon. But by far, my favorite reason was from Emily in Dallas, who gave as her reason, simply, “SPITE.”

I know that I love Texas too much, and I love Texans too much, to pack my bags and leave this state to be stripped down into something unrecognizable by people whose hearts are filled with hate and ignorance and contempt for equality. Yes, our elected representatives have, along with those in many other parts of the country (Indiana!), spent recent years doing all they can to make life worse for women. But I wonder if that’s largely a reflection of a Texas that doesn’t know, or perhaps has forgotten, what feminism looks like and can do for it.

If feminist Texans leave, who will be left here to fight? I refuse to believe that Texas is a lost feminist cause.

I’m not the feminist savior of Texas, but if I don’t leave, and if my feminist friends don’t leave, maybe we can bring more people to our side. Maybe we’ll get to change the minds of people who might otherwise have spent their lives hearing anti-feminist, anti-choice voices on the radio, in the legislature, on the television, in the streets, at the restaurant, behind the bar. Maybe if we don’t leave, we can change the conversation instead of scoffing and tsking from outside while anti-feminist, anti-woman laws and social practices leave a legacy of lasting, visceral harm on real, live Texans.

If you’re a Texan, and you’re a feminist and you can stay, please stay. I’ll get you a cold Lone Star. Let’s us stay here on the porch and talk about stirring some shit up, y’all.

News Sexual Health

State with Nation’s Highest Chlamydia Rate Enacts New Restrictions on Sex Ed

Nicole Knight Shine

By requiring sexual education instructors to be certified teachers, the Alaska legislature is targeting Planned Parenthood, which is the largest nonprofit provider of such educational services in the state.

Alaska is imposing a new hurdle on comprehensive sexual health education with a law restricting schools to only hiring certificated school teachers to teach or supervise sex ed classes.

The broad and controversial education bill, HB 156, became law Thursday night without the signature of Gov. Bill Walker, a former Republican who switched his party affiliation to Independent in 2014. HB 156 requires school boards to vet and approve sex ed materials and instructors, making sex ed the “most scrutinized subject in the state,” according to reproductive health advocates.

Republicans hold large majorities in both chambers of Alaska’s legislature.

Championing the restrictions was state Sen. Mike Dunleavy (R-Wasilla), who called sexuality a “new concept” during a Senate Education Committee meeting in April. Dunleavy added the restrictions to HB 156 after the failure of an earlier measure that barred abortion providers—meaning Planned Parenthood—from teaching sex ed.

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Dunleavy has long targeted Planned Parenthood, the state’s largest nonprofit provider of sexual health education, calling its instruction “indoctrination.”

Meanwhile, advocates argue that evidence-based health education is sorely needed in a state that reported 787.5 cases of chlamydia per 100,000 people in 2014—the nation’s highest rate, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s Surveillance Survey for that year.

Alaska’s teen pregnancy rate is higher than the national average.

The governor in a statement described his decision as a “very close call.”

“Given that this bill will have a broad and wide-ranging effect on education statewide, I have decided to allow HB 156 to become law without my signature,” Walker said.

Teachers, parents, and advocates had urged Walker to veto HB 156. Alaska’s 2016 Teacher of the Year, Amy Jo Meiners, took to Twitter following Walker’s announcement, writing, as reported by Juneau Empire, “This will cause such a burden on teachers [and] our partners in health education, including parents [and] health [professionals].”

An Anchorage parent and grandparent described her opposition to the bill in an op-ed, writing, “There is no doubt that HB 156 is designed to make it harder to access real sexual health education …. Although our state faces its largest budget crisis in history, certain members of the Legislature spent a lot of time worrying that teenagers are receiving information about their own bodies.”

Jessica Cler, Alaska public affairs manager with Planned Parenthood Votes Northwest and Hawaii, called Walker’s decision a “crushing blow for comprehensive and medically accurate sexual health education” in a statement.

She added that Walker’s “lack of action today has put the education of thousands of teens in Alaska at risk. This is designed to do one thing: Block students from accessing the sex education they need on safe sex and healthy relationships.”

The law follows the 2016 Legislative Round-up released this week by advocacy group Sexuality Information and Education Council of the United States. The report found that 63 percent of bills this year sought to improve sex ed, but more than a quarter undermined student rights or the quality of instruction by various means, including “promoting misinformation and an anti-abortion agenda.”

Analysis Law and Policy

After ‘Whole Woman’s Health’ Decision, Advocates Should Fight Ultrasound Laws With Science

Imani Gandy

A return to data should aid in dismantling other laws ungrounded in any real facts, such as Texas’s onerous "informed consent” law—HB 15—which forces women to get an ultrasound that they may neither need nor afford, and which imposes a 24-hour waiting period.

Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt, the landmark U.S. Supreme Court ruling striking down two provisions of Texas’ omnibus anti-abortion law, has changed the reproductive rights landscape in ways that will reverberate in courts around the country for years to come. It is no longer acceptable—at least in theory—for a state to announce that a particular restriction advances an interest in women’s health and to expect courts and the public to take them at their word.

In an opinion driven by science and data, Justice Stephen Breyer, writing for the majority in Whole Woman’s Health, weighed the costs and benefits of the two provisions of HB 2 at issue—the admitting privileges and ambulatory surgical center (ASC) requirements—and found them wanting. Texas had breezed through the Fifth Circuit without facing any real pushback on its manufactured claims that the two provisions advanced women’s health. Finally, Justice Breyer whipped out his figurative calculator and determined that those claims didn’t add up. For starters, Texas admitted that it didn’t know of a single instance where the admitting privileges requirement would have helped a woman get better treatment. And as for Texas’ claim that abortion should be performed in an ASC, Breyer pointed out that the state did not require the same of its midwifery clinics, and that childbirth is 14 times more likely to result in death.

So now, as Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg pointed out in the case’s concurring opinion, laws that “‘do little or nothing for health, but rather strew impediments to abortion’ cannot survive judicial inspection.” In other words, if a state says a restriction promotes women’s health and safety, that state will now have to prove it to the courts.

With this success under our belts, a similar return to science and data should aid in dismantling other laws ungrounded in any real facts, such as Texas’s onerous “informed consent” law—HB 15—which forces women to get an ultrasound that they may neither need nor afford, and which imposes a 24-hour waiting period.

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In Planned Parenthood v. Casey, the U.S. Supreme Court upheld parts of Pennsylvania’s “informed consent” law requiring abortion patients to receive a pamphlet developed by the state department of health, finding that it did not constitute an “undue burden” on the constitutional right to abortion. The basis? Protecting women’s mental health: “[I]n an attempt to ensure that a woman apprehends the full consequences of her decision, the State furthers the legitimate purpose of reducing the risk that a woman may elect an abortion, only to discover later, with devastating psychological consequences, that her decision was not fully informed.”

Texas took up Casey’s informed consent mantle and ran with it. In 2011, the legislature passed a law that forces patients to undergo a medical exam, whether or not their doctor thinks they need it, and that forces them to listen to information that the state wants them to hear, whether or not their doctor thinks that they need to hear it. The purpose of this law—at least in theory—is, again, to protect patients’ “mental health” by dissuading those who may be unsure about procedure.

The ultra-conservative Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals upheld the law in 2012, in Texas Medical Providers v. Lakey.

And make no mistake: The exam the law requires is invasive, and in some cases, cruelly so. As Beverly McPhail pointed out in the Houston Chronicle in 2011, transvaginal probes will often be necessary to comply with the law up to 10 to 12 weeks of pregnancy—which is when, according to the Guttmacher Institute, 91 percent of abortions take place. “Because the fetus is so small at this stage, traditional ultrasounds performed through the abdominal wall, ‘jelly on the belly,’ often cannot produce a clear image,” McPhail noted.

Instead, a “probe is inserted into the vagina, sending sound waves to reflect off body structures to produce an image of the fetus. Under this new law, a woman’s vagina will be penetrated without an opportunity for her to refuse due to coercion from the so-called ‘public servants’ who passed and signed this bill into law,” McPhail concluded.

There’s a reason why abortion advocates began decrying these laws as “rape by the state.”

If Texas legislators are concerned about the mental health of their citizens, particularly those who may have been the victims of sexual assault—or any woman who does not want a wand forcibly shoved into her body for no medical reason—they have a funny way of showing it.

They don’t seem terribly concerned about the well-being of the woman who wants desperately to be a mother but who decides to terminate a pregnancy that doctors tell her is not viable. Certainly, forcing that woman to undergo the painful experience of having an ultrasound image described to her—which the law mandates for the vast majority of patients—could be psychologically devastating.

But maybe Texas legislators don’t care that forcing a foreign object into a person’s body is the ultimate undue burden.

After all, if foisting ultrasounds onto women who have decided to terminate a pregnancy saves even one woman from a lifetime of “devastating psychologically damaging consequences,” then it will all have been worth it, right? Liberty and bodily autonomy be damned.

But what if there’s very little risk that a woman who gets an abortion experiences those “devastating psychological consequences”?

What if the information often provided by states in connection with their “informed consent” protocol does not actually lead to consent that is more informed, either because the information offered is outdated, biased, false, or flatly unnecessary given a particular pregnant person’s circumstance? Texas’ latest edition of its “Woman’s Right to Know” pamphlet, for example, contains even more false information than prior versions, including the medically disproven claim that fetuses can feel pain at 20 weeks gestation.

What if studies show—as they have since the American Psychological Association first conducted one to that effect in 1989—that abortion doesn’t increase the risk of mental health issues?

If the purpose of informed consent laws is to weed out women who have been coerced or who haven’t thought it through, then that purpose collapses if women who get abortions are, by and large, perfectly happy with their decision.

And that’s exactly what research has shown.

Scientific studies indicate that the vast majority of women don’t regret their abortions, and therefore are not devastated psychologically. They don’t fall into drug and alcohol addiction or attempt to kill themselves. But that hasn’t kept anti-choice activists from claiming otherwise.

It’s simply not true that abortion sends mentally healthy patients over the edge. In a study report released in 2008, the APA found that the strongest predictor of post-abortion mental health was prior mental health. In other words, if you’re already suffering from mental health issues before getting an abortion, you’re likely to suffer mental health issues afterward. But the studies most frequently cited in courts around the country prove, at best, an association between mental illness and abortion. When the studies controlled for “prior mental health and violence experience,” “no significant relation was found between abortion history and anxiety disorders.”

But what about forced ultrasound laws, specifically?

Science has its part to play in dismantling those, too.

If Whole Woman’s Health requires the weighing of costs and benefits to ensure that there’s a connection between the claimed purpose of an abortion restriction and the law’s effect, then laws that require a woman to get an ultrasound and to hear a description of it certainly fail that cost-benefit analysis. Science tells us forcing patients to view ultrasound images (as opposed to simply offering the opportunity for a woman to view ultrasound images) in order to give them “information” doesn’t dissuade them from having abortions.

Dr. Jen Gunter made this point in a blog post years ago: One 2009 study found that when given the option to view an ultrasound, nearly 73 percent of women chose to view the ultrasound image, and of those who chose to view it, 85 percent of women felt that it was a positive experience. And here’s the kicker: Not a single woman changed her mind about having an abortion.

Again, if women who choose to see ultrasounds don’t change their minds about getting an abortion, a law mandating that ultrasound in order to dissuade at least some women is, at best, useless. At worst, it’s yet another hurdle patients must leap to get care.

And what of the mandatory waiting period? Texas law requires a 24-hour waiting period—and the Court in Casey upheld a 24-hour waiting period—but states like Louisiana and Florida are increasing the waiting period to 72 hours.

There’s no evidence that forcing women into longer waiting periods has a measurable effect on a woman’s decision to get an abortion. One study conducted in Utah found that 86 percent of women had chosen to get the abortion after the waiting period was over. Eight percent of women chose not to get the abortion, but the most common reason given was that they were already conflicted about abortion in the first place. The author of that study recommended that clinics explore options with women seeking abortion and offer additional counseling to the small percentage of women who are conflicted about it, rather than states imposing a burdensome waiting period.

The bottom line is that the majority of women who choose abortion make up their minds and go through with it, irrespective of the many roadblocks placed in their way by overzealous state governments. And we know that those who cannot overcome those roadblocks—for financial or other reasons—are the ones who experience actual negative effects. As we saw in Whole Woman’s Health, those kinds of studies, when admitted as evidence in the court record, can be critical in striking restrictions down.

Of course, the Supreme Court has not always expressed an affinity for scientific data, as Justice Anthony Kennedy demonstrated in Gonzales v. Carhart, when he announced that “some women come to regret their choice to abort the infant life they once created and sustained,” even though he admitted there was “no reliable data to measure the phenomenon.” It was under Gonzales that so many legislators felt equipped to pass laws backed up by no legitimate scientific evidence in the first place.

Whole Woman’s Health offers reproductive rights advocates an opportunity to revisit a host of anti-choice restrictions that states claim are intended to advance one interest or another—whether it’s the state’s interest in fetal life or the state’s purported interest in the psychological well-being of its citizens. But if the laws don’t have their intended effects, and if they simply throw up obstacles in front of people seeking abortion, then perhaps, Whole Woman’s Health and its focus on scientific data will be the death knell of these laws too.