Banning abortions isn’t particularly effective. When governments restrict access to abortion, abortions actually continue to take place at roughly the same rate, according to the World Health Organization. But they get less safe. When abortion services are denied or limited, coat hangers, toxic herbal medicines and unqualified practitioners step into the breach, while medical professionals who provide proper care are criminalized.

Total bans or restrictive abortion laws in countries like El SalvadorPoland and more recently several U.S. states (including Louisiana, Ohio, Kentucky, Mississippi, Georgia, Alabama and Missouri) are designed to control and confine women and girls to stereotypical gender roles. They are an affront to their human rights and dignity and constitute gender discrimination. For transgender and queer people who need abortions, such restrictive laws are the latest in a long line of attacks on their rights and freedoms.

Organizations defending human rights have documented the agony and despair stemming from restrictive abortion laws around the world. One of the most harrowing stories is that of “Ms Y”, a woman who was granted asylum in Ireland after being beaten and raped by paramilitaries in her own country. Ms Y tried to kill herself several times when she was told she could not end her pregnancy, which was the result of rape. She was eventually forced to give birth by C-section. At every step of the way, the Irish authorities’ concern for the protection of the fetus trumped any consideration of Ms Y’s mental and physical health.

Last year Ireland joined the list of nearly 50 countries that have expanded access to lawful abortion over the last few decades. It was a historic move which came too late for Ms Y, but which will protect others from suffering the same trauma.

More recently, we have seen the horrific impact of criminal abortion laws being used to punish people for suffering pregnancy-related complications. In El Salvador, women who suffer miscarriages or stillbirths are routinely “suspected of having abortions” and charged with homicide.

In April 2016, Evelyn Hernández, a 21-year-old El Salvadorian woman, suffered an obstetric emergency at home, resulting in the loss of her pregnancy. She was arrested, tried and sentenced to 30 years in jail for aggravated homicide. In February this year, a higher court overturned this ruling and ordered a re-trial — which found Evelyn innocent. However, on Sept. 6, the Salvadoran Public Prosecutor’s Office announced that it would appeal that judgement – showing the authorities’ obsession with charging her under the country’s draconian laws.

We must continue to stand up to governments’ efforts to control women’s and girls’ bodies. According to the US-based reproductive health non-profit the Guttmacher Institute’s latest report, as of 2017, 42% of women of reproductive age live in the 125 countries where abortion is highly restricted (prohibited altogether, or allowed only to save a woman’s life or protect her health). Jurisdictions around the world are going to extreme lengths to restrict abortion access — stripping those who can get pregnant of their human rights and bodily autonomy.

Any person who does not control what happens to their body cannot be free. The debate around abortion should go beyond whether a person’s life is endangered by pregnancy. At the core of the issue is a person’s right to make decisions about what happens to their body. This right is critical to enabling all people who can get pregnant to fully exercise their human rights and to live their lives with dignity. Governments must not only decriminalize abortion and ensure access to safe abortion in practice, but also create social conditions in which people can make pregnancy-related decisions free of oppression, discrimination, stigma, coercion, violence, lack of opportunities or punishment.

More and more countries have woken up to this fact, despite the alarming rollback of reproductive rights in some countries, like the United States or Poland, driven by anti-choice groups and supported by populist politicians. Over the last 25 years, around 50 countries have changed their laws to allow for greater access to abortion. Although national contexts vary, one thing has united all successful campaigns to reform abortion laws: women speaking out. From Ireland to South Korea, activists have helped dispel the stigma and secrecy surrounding abortion by sharing their stories. In Argentina and Poland, over a million women have marched to demand that their voices be heard.

People who need, or have had, abortions deserve our support and solidarity. Whether by donating time and resources to national abortion networks, taking to the streets in protest or educating people in our lives about the need for safe abortion, we all have a role to play in reclaiming our rights.

At the same time, governments must expand access to safe, lawful and affordable abortion and contraception for all people. Not only is it the humane thing to do, it is a state obligation under international law. It will prevent countless deaths, life-long trauma and life-changing injuries.


In 1962, a woman named Sherri Chessen Finkbine, who was the host of a children’s TV show, learned that a tranquilizer she had been taking for chest pains contained a drug known to cause birth defects. This was definitely troubling enough, but Finkbine was pregnant too. Knowing that the fetus was in danger, the mother of four, accompanied by her husband, sought an abortion at a hospital in Phoenix, Arizona.

A doctor agreed to do the procedure, which at the time was illegal except in atypical health circumstances. But after Finkbine’s story made it into the press, the hospital reversed the decision, and the family of six was at the center of a fiery national moral debate. Eventually Finkbine went to Sweden and obtained an abortion. She was able to exercise her reproductive freedom, but she also lost her job as a result.

That August, the nonpartisan polling group Gallup conducted its first-ever poll concerning abortion, specifically about Finkbine (called “an Arizona woman” in the poll) and her decision to have the procedure. The poll asked: “As you may have heard or read, an Arizona woman recently had a LEGAL abortion in Sweden after having taken the drug thalidomide, which has been linked to birth defects. Do you think this woman did the right thing or the wrong thing in having this abortion operation?” When the poll was released in September 1962, 52% of the nation said the Arizona woman did the right thing; 32% said the abortion was the wrong thing; and 16% had no opinion.

Among those surveyed, 54% of men said it was the right thing, as did 50% of women.

The Gallup press release announcing that poll was headlined “Public Agrees With Abortion Action Taken by Mrs. Finkbine.” Nearly 60 years after the American public was asked to judge a working mother from Arizona, the subject of abortion, in one form or another, continues to have support from a majority of Americans. It just may not feel that way.

Abortion is almost always presented as a divisive and contentious issue. How can it not be when clinic workers know their protesters by name? When clinicians have reported more than 3,000 incidents of protester obstruction and more than 1,000 cases of trespassing at facilities? Since at least the first major wave of murders of abortion providers and their staffers in the 1990s, abortion has been largely presented as a ride-or-(literally)-die issue.

The truth is, though, abortion is largely condoned. One could even say abortion is popular. And while abortion may become more divisive when you dive into party identification, many other societal markers show that the medical procedure and the freedom it allows remain popular issues. Gallup has been tracking abortion as a social issue since 1975, two years after Roe v. Wade was decided by the Supreme Court, with one consistent question used to gauge public opinion: “Do you think abortions should be legal under any circumstances, legal only under certain circumstances or illegal in all circumstances?”(The analytics company has tracked abortion through other questions starting earlier, but the 1975 question lets us measure (un)favorability over decades.)

When that question was asked in 1975, 55% of Republican voters said abortion should be legal under certain circumstances, with another 18% believing abortion should be legal under any circumstances. Only 25% of Republican voters in 1975 said abortion should be illegal no matter what. When looking at independent voters, these numbers were similar: 58% said abortion should be legal in certain conditions; 24% said legal under any conditions; and only 16% said abortion should be illegal.

These numbers were relatively similar when polling Democratic voters in 1975. Fifty-one percent said abortion should be legal under certain circumstances and 19% thought abortion should be legal under any circumstances. The Democratic voting pie was rounded out with 26% saying abortion should be illegal. This means that among the self-identified Republicans and Democrats polled, abortion had roughly the same amount of broad support, 18% and 19% respectively.

In 44 years the numbers haven’t moved that much. In 2019, 55% of Republican voters still said that abortion should be legal under certain circumstances. The number of Republicans who said abortion should be legal under any circumstances dropped 6 points to 12%. The number of Republicans who said abortion should be illegal increased by seven points from 25% to 32%. For independents, the numbers have changed even less: The only movement in 44 years was for those who believe abortion should be legal only under certain circumstances, which decreased from 58% to 56%.

Numbers among Democrats have seen real shake-ups, despite the trend lines staying at roughly the same level. Fewer people believe abortion should be legal in only certain circumstances (51% to 45%), but the number who believe abortion should be legal in all cases increased from 19% all the way to 39%. Additionally, the percentage of people who believe abortion should be illegal in all circumstances decreased from 26% in 1975 to 14% in 2019.

“The overall trend hasn’t moved very much, but that’s masking the fact that Democrats have become more supportive of abortion rights and Republicans have become more entrenched in the pro-life position,” Gallup senior editor Lydia Saad told Teen Vogue.

To Saad’s point, Republicans who identify as “pro-life,” as opposed to “pro-choice,” increased from 51% in 1995, when Gallup first started asking the question, to 75% in 2019. Those who identify as pro-choice dropped by 21 points during those 24 years. Democrats who identify as pro-choice increased by 10 points to 68% and those who identify as pro-life dropped by 4 points to 29%.

Polling shows that support for abortion is up on both sides of the aisle. A poll by NBC News and the Wall Street Journal found that the number of Democrats agreeing that “abortion should be legal all or most of the time” grew by 13 points between 2008 and early June 2019, when the poll was conducted. Republicans increased their broad support for abortion by four points during that same period.

That support was cited by National Abortion Federation interim president and CEO, the Very Rev. Dr. Katherine Hancock Ragsdale: “The majority of people in this country want [people] to have safe, compassionate, quality health care,” Hancock Ragsdale told Teen Vogue. “Even if that were not true, [if] the majority didn’t agree, that doesn’t mean it’s okay to deny women safe, compassionate, quality health care. This is a basic human right that cannot be denied because of numbers, and a majority of people know that.”

Oddly, party identification is one of the only societal identifications where this split in opinions on abortion is so clear. Saad said that while the partisan entrenchment is real, it overlooks the crossover Americans have in their views on the procedure: “People are so nuanced on abortion that it oversimplifies public opinion. It makes it sound like this intransigent two different camps when there’s, in fact, a lot of overlap [in] views among both groups about when abortion should be legal.” Saad continued, “I always like to tell people there’s a lot more opportunity for compromise than you would think from the politics of it, or even these labels.”

Interestingly, views on abortion are not divided along gender lines. In May 2018, 26% of men and 31% of women favored legal abortion under all circumstances. This number has only grown since Gallup started tracking the opinion in the late 1970s; it was then 21% of men and 22% of women.

“Gender is one of the least differentiating demographics on abortion,” Saad told Teen Vogue. “Year to year, it goes back and forth whether men or women are more pro-choice or more pro-life. If you average it out over our history, it comes out pretty even-steven.”

Saad’s assessment remains true for the participants who favor abortion legalization but only in certain circumstances. In 1979, 54% of men and women said they favor legal abortion in certain circumstances. By 2018, the numbers had barely moved: 53% of men and 48% of women.

These numbers track with what Linda Greenhouse, coauthor of Before Roe v. Wade: Voices That Shaped the Abortion Debate Before the Supreme Court’s Ruling, witnessed for decades while covering the Supreme Court for The New York Times. “All that’s changed is our politics. And the politics have been driven by particular, very engaged interest groups and politicians, not by anything that the public wants changed,” she said.

There have always been conflicts about abortion despite its popularity, Greenhouse added. “Public support for the right to abortion has basically not changed. It’s a little up, a little down. It’s been the case since Roe v. Wade; there’s a solid majority of the public that support women’s access to abortion,” she said. “One part of our efforts of the Before Roe v. Wade book was to show that it wasn’t the court in Roe v. Wade that created the conflicts over abortion. There were conflicts over abortion before then.”

Abortion may have incredibly vocal opponents, but polling that’s been conducted since before abortion was legal shows that reproductive choice was and remains popular. Maybe it’s time for the national media to treat abortion supporters as the loudest voices in the room.


A fund in Georgia is responding to restrictive legislation with a familial kind of care.

Oriaku and Dirichi Njoku, of the abortion fund arc-Southeast.Photograph by Andrew Lyman for The New Yorker

n June, 1994, at a pro-choice conference in Chicago, twelve black women gathered together to talk. One, Loretta Ross, was the executive director of the first rape crisis center in this country. Another, Toni Bond, was the executive director of the Chicago Abortion Fund. A third, Cynthia Newbille, was the leader of the National Black Women’s Health Project, which was among the first national organizations to be devoted to the wellness of black women and girls. After the first day of the event, which was hosted by the Illinois Pro-Choice Alliance and the Ms. Foundation, the group met in a hotel room. “We did what black women do when we’re in spaces where there are just a handful of us,” Bond, who is now a religious scholar, recalled. “We pulled the sistas together and talked about what was missing.”

Abortion had been decriminalized in 1973, with the Supreme Court’s Roe v. Wade decision, but, with the passage, in 1977, of the Hyde Amendment, which banned federal funding for almost all abortions, the procedure had become too expensive for many women. In 1993, Bill and Hillary Clinton had proposed an overhaul of the health-care system, but reproductive-health coverage was sacrificed to make the reforms more palatable to Republican lawmakers. To the women in the hotel room, the conversation at the conference about reproductive health focussed too narrowly on “choice.” There had been no discussion of the services that black women needed most, such as fibroid-tumor screenings, mammograms, and pre- and postnatal care. (Black women have a higher risk of fibroids than white women, higher percentages of late-detected breast cancer, and a maternal-mortality rate that is more than three times higher.) Nor was there an acknowledgment that the reproductive and parenting decisions of black women were limited by poverty, unequal pay, lack of access to adequate housing and schools, and the abuses of the policing and criminal-justice systems.“No one was talking about black women’s health as a whole,” Ross told me, not long ago. “Too many people were examining policies through the lens of white supremacy.”

The women created the term “reproductive justice” to describe the scope of their activism. They were inspired by the work of the black legal scholar Dorothy Roberts, whose research traced the history of efforts in this country to control black women’s reproductive freedom, beginning with the forced procreation of enslaved women. Abuses had continued into the nineteen-seventies, when thousands of women—including some who were receiving public assistance in North Carolina and others who were incarcerated in California—were involuntarily sterilized. In Arizona, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Washington, state-court judges often offered black female defendants reduced prison sentences if they agreed to get birth-control shots or implants. (This practice was happening as recently as two years ago.) As Roberts observed, black people had turned to their families, friends, and neighbors for the family-planning services and child care that the government had denied them. Bond said, “Reproductive justice offers us an opportunity to talk about the ways in which black women have exercised agency and been resilient even in the midst of reproductive and sexual oppression.”

The twelve women called themselves Women of African Descent for Reproductive Justice. After the meeting in the hotel room, they bought full-page ads in the Washington Post and Roll Call, publishing a letter to Congress that argued for “unimpeded access to abortion as part of the full range of reproductive health services offered under health care reform,” which should be available “regardless of ability to pay, with no interference from the government.” The letter stressed that reform should be comprehensive, and “must include strong anti-discriminatory provisions.”

During the following months, Ross and some of the other women led a reproductive-justice discussion in Cairo, Egypt, and wrote a public letter in support of Joycelyn Elders, the former Surgeon General, whom Bill Clinton had asked to resign after she said that she approved of educating children about masturbation to avoid the spread of aids. In 1997, with funding from the Ford Foundation, sixteen groups representing African-American, Asian-American, Pacific Islander, Latina, and indigenous women came together to form SisterSong, a national collective advocating for the reproductive and sexual health of women of color. SisterSong was based in Atlanta, the birthplace of the civil-rights student protests and the home of several historically black colleges; the city also had the largest black gay population in the South. Activists there had already created a parallel system of care, encompassing the Feminist Women’s Health Center, an abortion and gynecological clinic in the North Druid Hills, which grew out of a women’s self-help health group, in 1976; the National Black Women’s Health Project (now the Black Women’s Health Imperative); and SisterLove, founded, in 1989, to tackle H.I.V./aids.

In the next few years, the leaders of SisterSong and of newer reproductive-justice organizations—such as Spark Reproductive Justice Now, founded, in 2007, to include queer perspectives in the movement—held round-table discussions and met up for dinners and happy hours, as well as get-togethers at Charis Books, a feminist bookstore downtown. In 2004, after the passage of the Partial-Birth Abortion Ban Act, SisterSong, Planned Parenthood, and the National Organization for Women, among other groups, put together the March for Women’s Lives on the National Mall in Washington, D.C. In 2010, after the passage of the Affordable Care Act, several Atlanta-based reproductive-justice groups sent their members to D.C., to protest the Stupak-Pitts Amendment, which aimed to prevent federal funds from being used to pay for insurance plans that covered abortions. The current Democratic Presidential candidate Julián Castro, one of several politicians who have recently spoken about the importance of reproductive justice, told me that he was thankful to the Atlanta community who had launched the movement. “Their voices are crucial, especially now, to get us out of our comfort zone,” he said.

Oriaku Njoku was twenty-five when she visited Atlanta, in October, 2010, to attend the Atlanta Pride Festival. The daughter of middle-class Nigerian immigrants, Njoku had grown up in a mostly white neighborhood in Bowling Green, Kentucky. While attending the University of Kentucky, she came out to her siblings, then to her parents, and participated in L.G.B.T.Q. activism. After graduating, she worked in retail in Kentucky and Indiana. At the Pride celebrations, she was drawn to Atlanta, with its ambitious black residents and its queer scene, and moved there a few months later. In January, 2013, she attended an event held by Spark that was an introduction to reproductive-justice organizing, and later volunteered on a Spark initiative to stop the practice in Georgia prisons of shackling pregnant women during childbirth. “Doing reproductive-justice work has been the one place where I feel like I can bring my full self to the table,” she told me recently. “Being a first-generation queer black Southern fat femme, I can bring all those identities to work and do it unapologetically.” Njoku, who is now thirty-four, calls herself “a giver.” She has the Southern female tendency to go out of her way to put others at ease, filling in an awkward silence with a caring question, a compliment, or a wavering “um.” When she is frustrated, she is just as accommodating, but her voice takes on a slight edge. She likes to wear Igbo dresses and head wraps in vivid colors, and has a sprawling tattoo on her forearm that reads “Love is lifeforce”—a quote from the queer Jamaican-American poet and activist June Jordan.

After the 2013 Spark event, Njoku started travelling to other reproductive-justice gatherings, including the annual summit held by the National Network of Abortion Funds, where people talked about intersectionality and abortion access. She briefly dated a trans man, a human-rights defender from Uganda, who was seeking asylum and trying to bring his children to the United States; she realized that trans men also had trouble exercising their reproductive rights. She began to ask people for their gender pronouns.

In February, 2014, Njoku got a job taking patients’ information and making appointments at the Atlanta Women’s Center, an abortion clinic near the wealthy enclave of North Buckhead. As of that year, legislatures in Georgia and twenty-five other states had enacted laws restricting the coverage of abortion in the Affordable Care Act health-insurance marketplaces. Women who contacted the clinic were often struggling to come up with the money for their abortions, which became more expensive as their pregnancies progressed.

Njoku regularly directed such women to call the National Abortion Federation, which, in 2014, donated to more than a hundred thousand women based on their needs, with the expectation that the women would raise as much as they could themselves. Its hotline was often busy for hours on end. When Njoku looked for regional sources of assistance, she discovered only one in Georgia: the Magnolia Fund, which helped women pay for abortions performed at the Feminist Women’s Health Center. (Magnolia closed last year.)

In May, 2014, Njoku and two colleagues decided to set up their own abortion fund to help women in Georgia, Alabama, Florida, Mississippi, South Carolina, and Tennessee. “I was, like, We gotta do right by our people,” she recalled. “There’s no reason that our folks should be calling multiple numbers and waiting on hold forever to try and get in touch with someone for basic health care.” Kwajelyn Jackson, of the Feminist Women’s Health Center, called abortion funds “the conduit through which people are going to be able to get connected with care in the long run.” That November, Njoku took a job at Summit Medical Associates, assisting in the operating room and caring for women in post-abortion recovery. Meanwhile, she approached the National Network of Abortion Funds for advice. Njoku and her colleagues worked from coffee shops and buffet restaurants, applying for grants and organizing fund-raisers, including a fish fry. Their fund, Access Reproductive Care-Southeast, began operating in May, 2015. Its first grant paid for a headquarters, in an airy arts center in downtown Atlanta. By January, 2016, Njoku was working there full time.

The following spring, Njoku went on a tour of the Deep South, hoping to form relationships with employees at independent clinics, which, in that part of the country, are more numerous than Planned Parenthood centers. At each one, she made note of the affordable hotels nearby, the schedules for intakes and procedures, waiting lists and patient backlogs, and whether there were translators on hand. The fund set up a hotline in July, 2016. As it received more calls, she needed more volunteers to take women to and from appointments. (Clinics require that women receiving sedation have someone with them to take them home.)

That year, arc-Southeast gave funding and assistance to about fifty women each month; it now serves more than three hundred a month. The average cost of an abortion is around five hundred dollars, with later-term abortions sometimes in the thousands of dollars. arc-Southeast gives most women between seventy-five and a hundred dollars. The fund now employs a staff of seven, who are mostly black and queer, and has more than a hundred volunteers. They provide a kind of care that might be considered familial, booking travel and hotel rooms, taking women out for meals, and even putting them up for a night or two in their own homes. “We try to lead with love,” Njoku said. In 2017, Njoku’s sister Dirichi, who goes by Chi Chi, joined the organization to run the hotline. A former nurse, Chi Chi had little knowledge of reproductive justice, but she felt a connection to the fund’s mission. When she was nineteen, she got pregnant after being raped by a friend and had an abortion, an experience she often shares with callers.

arc-Southeast has found rooms for homeless women who would otherwise have spent the night outside the clinic, and counselled mothers and daughters who needed abortions at the same time. Not long ago, the fund referred an undocumented Honduran woman living in Atlanta with her two children, whose husband had been detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement, to the National Abortion Federation, which agreed to pay for her procedure. The woman was twenty-six weeks pregnant, six weeks past the limit for abortions in Georgia. She could have taken a bus to a state where the gestational limit was higher, but she’d heard that immigration raids on buses were common. Njoku decided that the fund’s hotline operator, Crystal Zaragoza, who had previously run a clinic for queer migrants in Phoenix, should drive the woman in a rental car to a clinic in Bethesda, Maryland. Zaragoza and the woman stayed in an Airbnb for four days. The fund paid more than a thousand dollars for the car, the accommodation, the woman’s medication, and care for her children while she was away.

Abortion in Georgia is legal up to the twentieth week of pregnancy, and fourteen of the state’s seventeen clinics are in the Atlanta area. Calls come in to the fund from all over the Deep South; for some women, the clinics near them have closed, or offer only limited services. In South Carolina, there are just three abortion clinics. In 1995, the state put into place regulations requiring that all clinics terminating second-trimester pregnancies meet the same design and construction standards as “ambulatory surgical facilities.” Ostensibly meant to insure women’s safety, the regulations dictated, in overwhelming detail, specifications including the width of the corridors, the number and size of procedure rooms, and the size of the janitor’s closet. Pro-choice organizations and physicians agreed that the regulations were politically motivated; the necessary changes would be too costly for most clinics to make, and, ultimately, they would do little to improve patients’ care. More than half of the South Carolina women who had abortions in 2017 travelled outside the state for their procedures.

Spring is the fund’s busiest season. (As Chi Chi put it, “People get it on in the winter.”) In April, 2018, arc-Southeast assisted a hundred and eighty-two women. This past April, it helped three hundred and ninety-seven callers, and Njoku spent much of her time in her car. One morning, she woke up early to pick up a woman from her home in south Atlanta and took her to the Atlanta Women’s Center, in the northeast of the city. There, she met up with another woman, who was accompanied by her partner and their child, and gave her cash for food and a hotel. Then she took the first woman home and headed back to the office. In the parking lot, she received a call from Chi Chi about Naomi (a pseudonym), a woman who was waiting at Summit Medical Associates, four miles away, in need of an escort. Naomi had driven more than two hundred miles that morning, from Columbia, South Carolina, for her appointment. She believed that she was fourteen weeks pregnant. Twenty minutes after the call, Njoku arrived at the clinic and signed Naomi in. The process for second-trimester abortions, known as “dilation and evacuation,” usually takes place over two days. After the first appointment, Njoku gave Naomi a ride to her motel and learned that she and her partner were not speaking, that her best friend had wanted her to have the baby, and that she hadn’t told her parents she was pregnant, because she was too ashamed. Naomi knew that she needed an escort, but another friend, who had agreed to accompany her, had cancelled at the last minute. She had hoped to persuade the clinic to make an exception.

When I recently talked to Naomi, she still hadn’t told her family about her abortion, and she said she would take the secret of it to the grave with her. On her first night in Atlanta, she recalled, she had been in pain and lonely, and had slept badly. In the morning, when Njoku picked her up for her second appointment, Naomi was amused to see Njoku’s Pomeranian-Shiba Inu mix, Marley, in the passenger seat. She felt comforted by Njoku’s presence. “I didn’t have nobody there with me, and just in the moment of time being in that car with her—that really meant a lot,” Naomi said.

This past spring, after the confirmation of Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court, in October, 2018, legislatures in Alabama, Arkansas, Georgia, Kentucky, Louisiana, Mississippi, Missouri, Ohio, and Utah all passed bills that placed restrictions on abortion, which were intended to undermine Roe v. Wade. In May, Alabama passed a bill that, if it goes into effect, would outlaw abortion, even when pregnancies are the result of rape or incest, except in cases where the mother’s life is at risk; doctors who performed the procedure could go to jail for up to ninety-nine years. The new law is being challenged in federal court by the American Civil Liberties Union and Planned Parenthood on behalf of Alabama abortion providers.

As Missouri teeters on the brink of becoming the first state with no abortion clinics, a new Planned Parenthood center just across the Illinois border could help take patients who can’t get abortions back home.

Planned Parenthood said it is opening a new 18,000-square-foot health center in Fairview Heights, Illinois — just 15 miles from Missouri.
Planned Parenthood's Anita Murphy works in the new Illinois facility ahead of its mid-October opening.

“We are thrilled to be able to better serve our patients through this new center, both in Southern Illinois and around the region,” said Yamelsie Rodriguez, president and CEO of Planned Parenthood of the St. Louis Region and Southwest Missouri.
The new facility is scheduled to open in mid-October. It will also provide annual exams, cancer screenings, birth control, testing for sexually transmitted diseases, and HIV prevention services.
It could see an influx of patients from Missouri, which this year passed a law that bans most abortions after eight weeks. US District Judge Howard Sachs in August blocked the law from going into effect.
The law “conflicts with the Supreme Court ruling that neither legislative nor judicial limits on abortion can be measured by specified weeks of development of a fetus; instead, ‘viability’ is the sole test for a State’s authority to prohibit abortions where there is no maternal health issue,” Sachs wrote.
Missouri is one of several states that recently passed laws limiting abortions to eight weeks or fewer. Illinois, on the other hand, allows abortions until the point of the fetus’ viability.
Courts have typically blocked early-term abortion laws from going into effect, saying they’re unconstitutional.
But anti-abortion activists say they hope legal challenges will go all the way to the US Supreme Court, which now has a conservative majority, so justices can reconsider Roe v. Wade, the 1973 ruling that legalized abortion nationwide.

A federal court on Tuesday rejected arguments that a Georgia law didn’t “ban” abortions before viability, but merely “restricted” them.

Georgia was one of seven states with Republican legislative majorities this year to pass some version of an extreme abortion ban designed to challenge the durability of Roe v. Wade and abortion rights.
Elijah Nouvelage / Getty Images

Georgia Republicans’ effort to outlaw abortion around six weeks into pregnancy was temporarily blocked by a federal judge Tuesday.

Georgia’s GOP-held legislature in the spring enacted one of the most extreme abortion bans in the United States. The draconian law would both ban abortion as soon as fetal cardiac activity can be detected in a pregnancy, which can be before many know they are pregnant, and establish fetal personhood.

District Judge Steven C. Jones rejected every one of the state’s arguments in defending HB 481, the Living Infants Fairness and Equality Act (LIFE). Signed into law in May by Gov. Brian Kemp (R), HB 481 bans abortion after a “fetal heartbeat” is detected and attempts to establish fetal “personhood” by asserting that it is the “policy of the State of Georgia to recognize unborn children as natural persons.” Advocates challenged the law in court in June, arguing it is a patently unconstitutional pre-viability ban, one that has the potential to cause particular harm to Black women and other women of color.

Attorneys for the State of Georgia defended the measure, claiming the law around whether states can ban viability before abortion is “unsettled.” They argued that the law was not a ban on abortion but merely a “regulation” since patients would still be able to have an abortion “up to the point” that a “heartbeat” is detected and HB 481 contains a narrow exception for “medical emergency, rape, or incest.”

“This is a victory for people in Georgia and a reminder that these attacks on abortion access are illegal,” Talcott Camp, deputy director of the American Civil Liberties Union’s Reproductive Freedom Project, said in a statement. “Abortion is still legal in all 50 states.”

Judge Jones’ 47-page decision rejecting the State of Georgia’s arguments is, frankly, unremarkable. It is a straightforward application of over 40 years of precedent that clearly establishes states cannot ban abortion before viability. It’s a sober rejection of attempts to create disagreement in the law around issues of fetal viability and state power where none exist. And for that reason, the opinion is a breath of fresh air. 

“[T]he Supreme Court has repeatedly and unequivocally held that a State may not ban abortion prior to viability,” the opinion states. “By prohibiting abortions once a fetal heartbeat is detected, months before the point of viability, Section 4 of H.B. 481 does exactly that.”

Judge Jones rejected Georgia’s claims that HB 481 is anything other than an extreme and unconstitutional abortion ban. 

“In the face of this clear Supreme Court precedent, established nearly a half-century ago in Roe and reaffirmed decades later in Casey and subsequent cases, the State Defendants insist that the law on this matter is ‘unsettled,’” Jones writes. “The Court, however, disagrees.” 

That’s as much as Judge Jones says in response to Georgia’s claim that the law around when states can ban abortion is unsettled. It’s a powerful rebuke to basically disregard an argument, and that’s exactly what Jones’ opinion does.

“The State Defendants further insist that the Supreme Court has recognized the State’s interest in protecting the life of the unborn and that the ‘precise contours’ of that interest remain undefined. What is clearly defined, however, is that under no circumstances whatsoever may a State prohibit or ban abortions at any point prior to viability, no matter what interests the State asserts to support it.”

Georgia was one of seven states with Republican legislative majorities this year to pass some version of an extreme abortion ban designed to challenge the durability of Roe v. Wade and abortion rights. Not a single measure has yet to take effect, and that itself is a testament to the power of court precedent in protecting abortion rights. But the fact that anti-choice advocates continue to advance these measures with the hopes that one of them will be upheld is a testament to their belief that precedent can’t hold for much longer. 

Attorneys for the State of Georgia are expected to appeal Tuesday’s decision to the conservative U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals for the 11th Circuit.



A pro-choice demonstrator rises her fist during a session of the local congress as lawmakers are due to vote on legislation that would decriminalize abortion in Oaxaca, Mexico September 25, 2019.

The Mexican state of Oaxaca on Wednesday approved a bill to legalize abortion, making it only the second region of the predominantly Roman Catholic country after Mexico City to permit the procedure.

Amid raucous shouts of protest from opponents, the local Congress voted by 24 lawmakers in favor to 10 against to allow abortions during the first 12 weeks of pregnancy in Oaxaca, a southern state that has long been among Mexico’s poorest.

The state Congress is dominated by the leftist National Regeneration Movement of President Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador, who has avoided taking a clear stand on abortion.

Approval of the measure came just a few days after Lopez Obrador sent a bill to the federal Congress that would grant an amnesty to women serving jail terms for abortion.

Outside of the Mexican capital, which legalized abortion in 2007, the procedure has been illegal in all states until now except under certain circumstances, such as rape.


I’m a doctor at the only abortion clinic in Kentucky. Providing safe, compassionate medical care has been my life’s calling, and my patients’ well-being is always my first priority. But Kentucky politicians — determined as usual to interfere with access to reproductive healthcare — are trying to force me to harm and humiliate the patients who entrust me with their welfare. That’s why I’m joining with the ACLU today to ask the Supreme Court to keep Kentucky lawmakers’ insulting, anti-abortion political agenda out of the exam room.

H.B. 2, the law we’re asking the Supreme Court to review, is cruel and offensive. It mandates that I display an ultrasound to every abortion patient, describe it in detail, and play the sound of the fetal heartbeat — even if the patient does not want it, even if in my medical judgment I believe that forcing it on them will cause them harm. The law forces me to do this to a patient who is half-naked on the exam table, usually with their feet in stirrups and an ultrasound probe inside their vagina. With my patient in this exposed and vulnerable position, the law forces me to keep displaying and describing the image, even when the patient shuts her eyes and covers her ears.

Take a moment to imagine what this must be like. To tell your doctor, “thank you, but I don’t want to hear you describe the ultrasound,” and to have your doctor tell you that you have no say in the matter — that you must lie there, undressed, with an ultrasound probe inside of you, and have the images described to you in government-mandated detail over your objection. Even if the patient has already had one or more ultrasounds performed. Even if the fetus has been diagnosed with a condition incompatible with survival. Or even if the patient is pregnant as a result of sexual assault, and having to watch and listen to the ultrasound over their objection forces them to relive that trauma.

We have had patients burst into tears when we tell them that they must undergo an unwanted narrated ultrasound and that they must close their eyes and cover their ears if they want to avoid the speech Kentucky politicians insist we force upon them. I’ve had patients sob through the experience, and others pull their shirts up over their faces to cover their eyes.

As physicians who have dedicated our professional lives to providing compassionate medical care, being ordered by politicians to force this unwanted and harmful experience on patients who have sought our help is appalling. It goes against the very fundamentals of our role as healers and violates the trust at the heart of the physician-patient relationship.

My patients’ health and well-being come first, and if there is anything I can do to protect them from politicians trying to barge into the exam room, I will do it. Today, that includes asking the Supreme Court to put an end to this insulting political intrusion.

Enough is enough.