Walking the walk
Raised to fight abortion, woman finds a new path
By Joanna Reese
Less than a month after I changed my 30+ year stance on abortion, news broke that the U.S. Supreme Court had overturned Roe v. Wade, eliminating federal protections on women’s right to choose abortion.
Growing up in a very conservative home, I was taught that abortion is wrong… for everyone… all the time… no exceptions. Most of my childhood Saturdays were spent standing in a neat line with all my siblings — the youngest two still in strollers — holding graphic signs in front of the entrance to an abortion clinic located in nearby Asheville, NC.
Joanna Reese
Most people completely ignored us. But with our perfectly combed hair and coordinated outfits, my siblings and I desperately tried to catch the wandering eyes of each nervous could-be mother. In those moments of locked eyes, I would muster up a sanguine smile, unable to escape the pressure of knowing that the compelling expression on my face was the only thing standing between a baby and its impending murder.
Every time my expecting gaze met the eyes of the expecting mothers… only to see them continue on inside the clinic anyway, my stomach would twist into knots and my eyes would sting as I lamented my failed attempt to save a baby. My protest sign and sad eyes just hadn’t been enough.
In 2000, a couple of cases made it to the Supreme Court regarding late-term abortions and abortion clinic picketing restrictions. In response, my parents loaded all of us kids into the minivan for a pilgrimage to — what my parents called “the birthplace of our Christian nation” — the Supreme Court in Washington D.C.
We decorated our emotionally manipulative signs en route for our protest, where we stood for many more hours than for our typical Saturday protests. As our guts began to growl, boredom set in, and our skin began to feel crisp from the harsh June sunshine, my father reminded us that we were fighting to save innocent babies’ lives. That pep talk was enough to override my childish concerns! Later that afternoon, after enduring verbal attacks from counter-protestors, I watched the federal police arrest my father for illegal protesting activities, and my 10-year-old brain realized that abortion is clearly an “us vs. them” kind of battle worth fighting.
Naturally following my parents’ lead, I believed that all pro-choicers were either evil or insane. With every life experience, confirmation bias proved that abortion was truly a simple issue — black and white, right and wrong, good and evil. I simply couldn’t imagine that any sane human could ever justify murdering a baby.
Throughout high school and college, I continued the mission my parents had assigned me by attempting to convince people that abortion was wrong. I equipped myself with an arsenal of pro-life Bible verses, emotionally manipulative analogies, anecdotes of women who regretted an abortion, and the like. And I searched for opportunities to lecture anyone silly enough to ask me about the tiny golden baby footprint pin boldly displayed on my backpack.
After college, I left my hometown and began meeting woman after woman after woman who was kind, educated, and -- to my horror — pro-abortion! After dozens of such interactions, I finally started to wonder if I might be the one who was missing something. Despite all of my (one-sided) research, could there be more to the topic than I realized?
Finally ready to stop chanting my prejudiced opinions and to listen with an open mind to another perspective, I started by reading articles in scientific journals on the topic and investigating the Bible verses cited as evidence that God is pro-life.
I was shocked to find that many, many of my former beliefs had been based on information misrepresented to me my entire life. For example, I still haven’t found even one baby-hating murderer among pro-choice advocates. As it turns out, most of the vocal pro-choice women I have met were fighting because of their love and care for women and children.
Seeking deeper understanding, I started listening to women share their own experiences with abortions. From prostitutes to pastors’ wives, I listened to countless stories about how access to abortion saved their lives. BUT no one likes to admit fault on a life-and-death issue, so I found myself in merely neutral territory for the first time in my life.
Later, at a women's Bible study, a friend told me about how she was providing doula services to a 12-year-old girl with severe pregnancy complications. As I listened to the story of the girl who had been raped by her father and feared death while giving birth. I could feel my heart twisting and aching. Against my better judgment, I piped up to ask why the poor child couldn't have an abortion to save her life. Exuding disgust and disdain, the women in my circle jumped straight to the party-line, rattling off Bible verses that I had memorized at 5 years old. In that moment, I finally found the clarity I had been so intent on finding!
Rather than trying to cram the complexity of the human experience into a rigid structure of prescribed morality written thousands of years ago, I believe that we should look at every individual the way Jesus did.
So in thinking about the malnourished, terrified 12-year-old rape victim, my stomach churns at the thought of her being forced to go through labor and delivery with her underdeveloped child’s body. What kind of person could look into her terrified face and tell her that after being raped, God now demands that she risk her life and put her body through unthinkable pain for the next year?
Not me. Not anymore.