To put the recent ruling into context, not that it will make any difference to some here, I am providing some pertinent sections from an article in The New Yorker magazine. The article was published on 25 June. The situation is far from "black and white" as so many would like to believe.
A ruling on Roe v. Wade was imminent and the procedure could be banned at any time, Ivy would warn the pregnant women who approached the front desk, after the perfunctory good mornings. Friday, patients began arriving at eight o’clock, having negotiated picketers who were working the parking lot. “Let me see your I.D., mija,” Ivy said to the first woman to reach the light-filled lobby, where a large fish tank was murmuring away. The woman, dressed in black pants and a gray hoodie, was assigned a patient number to protect her privacy. Only four weeks along, she, like the vast majority of the morning’s patients, was coming for her second of two visits. As mandated by Texas law, women have to wait at least twenty-four hours after receiving paperwork and a sonogram that confirms their pregnancies. Now she was returning in hopes of having a second sonogram and then the abortion. To the right of the desk where Ivy checked her in was a framed proclamation, signed by the mayor of Houston, honoring the forty-fourth anniversary of Roe v. Wade.
Despite the tension, for the next hour, the workers tried to focus on their particular responsibilities, including answering the phone, which rang constantly. The faster they worked, the more patients they could ready to see the doctor, who would either give the eligible women pills to begin a medication abortion or proceed with a surgical one. But at 9:11 a.m., before the doctor had walked through the door and any abortions had commenced, Sheila heard from an A.C.L.U. lawyer. “Roe, overturned,” she said flatly. Ivy, emerging from the lab, hadn’t caught Sheila’s exact words, but she understood them when she saw her hands shaking.
For a few seconds, no one said a word. Ivy retreated to an area of the clinic where women’s vitals were taken and a urine sample awaited analysis. Alone, she pressed her fingers to her welling eyes. Other workers wrapped their arms around one another. Confused, one of the patients left her seat and interrupted their silence. “Why are y’all crying?” she asked. Sheila, trying to collect herself, wiped her tears away and turned to the woman and three other patients in the waiting room. “Ladies, I’m so sorry to tell you that the law for abortion has been overturned,” she said. “We are not able to perform any abortions at this time, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t have an option, O.K.?”
Two of the patients, wearing bright fluffy slippers, stared into space, speechless. A third, who wore black horn-rimmed glasses, burst into sobs. The fourth, who spoke no English, asked, “Qué pasó?” Sheila kneeled by her side, and, in broken Spanish, said, “No podemos hacerlo ahora,” meaning “We can’t do it now.” The woman, who was of Cuban origin, had no reaction, so Sheila asked Ivy to do a better translation. “Mi amor, the Supreme Court just ruled that abortion is banned in Texas,” she said in Spanish. “We cannot assist you.” The woman froze, in disbelief.
Ivy handed her a leaflet with the National Abortion Federation’s phone number and urged her to call it to learn about options in other states. The leaflet was in English. The guidance it contained included contact details of three abortion funds, two of which had immediately ceased operations upon announcement of the ruling. “They don’t do it in Texas anymore?” the woman asked, her eyes widening. Ivy shook her head, resting her hand on the woman’s shoulder.
Over and over again, Ivy conveyed the same message to two dozen other women who had been waiting to see the doctor. She could share the results of the ultrasounds the women had just done, but the clinic was unable to perform the procedure that they’d come for. “Abortion, no more,” Ivy told one woman sitting in the lobby, eyes down. In her distress, her perfect fluency in two languages seemed to disappear, momentarily, but then she gathered herself. “You’re gonna call them,” Ivy said, handing over the now outdated leaflet while fighting back her own tears, “and they’re gonna guide you, O.K.?”
Some patients fled the clinic the moment that they heard the news. When Ivy called their numbers to offer what little advice she could give, there was silence. Sheila felt especially pained by a woman whose previous medication abortion had failed and who had come back that morning believing that, this time, the treatment would work. Other patients simply refused to accept the news and leave the clinic. One of them clasped Ivy’s arm and would not let go. “Please help me,” she whispered, offering to give her a stash of money in exchange for abortion pills. “We can’t do it,” Ivy insisted. “It’s against the law.” The woman begged her: she would take the pills at home—no one would have to know. “Your husband has to take you to another state,” Ivy said, her tone severe. “Abortion is not legal.”
Before long, the afternoon’s patients started showing up, despite the voice mails that workers had been leaving. Every time the door alarm chimed, staff members turned in unison to the front entrance, their faces drawn. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard the news,” the receptionist told a woman who seemed on the brink of tears. Another patient arrived and, baffled, asked Sheila what the law was now. “Since Roe v. Wade has been overturned, it goes back to each state making the decision,” she explained. “So, obviously, we live in a conservative state and it becomes illegal.” Around her, Sheila’s colleagues were already starting to refer to Roe in the past tense, as if evoking some distant era in which abortion had been a right.
Inside, a decision that had been in the air for months was suddenly concrete: after more than forty years, the clinic would be closing. On the phone with one of the medical assistants, a pregnant woman screamed furiously, before dropping the phone, “I guess I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands, won’t I?” The clinic’s counsellors knew of patients who had thrown themselves down a flight of stairs or had seriously contemplated suicide. “We’ll see more babies in the dumpsters,” Lupe, another medical assistant, said. She was most worried about the women who could not travel out of state and Latina patients she had treated throughout the years, some of whom were illiterate. With the staff at the clinic gone, who would pass on information about alternatives now?
Lingering in the parking lot, uncertain, was the Cuban woman who had earlier been given a leaflet that listed options she couldn’t read. As she left the clinic, a picketer named Raúl had tried to lure her into a large bus that could take her to the Houston Coalition for Life, which he referred to as a “medical center,” but she decided to walk past him. “I can’t keep the child. I already have three,” she said, adding that they were aged two, four, and eight. The woman was five weeks into her pregnancy. “Why would they do this?” she said of the Court. The woman said that she couldn’t afford to travel to another state. Even the fund that was meant to pay for her abortion that day had gone dark. But she was convinced that she would find a way. A friend of hers had told her about a Mexican man who could go to her home and perform the procedure. “She told me that, if things didn’t work out at the clinic, I could always call him,” she said hopefully, looking straight at the closed clinic door.
A ruling on Roe v. Wade was imminent and the procedure could be banned at any time, Ivy would warn the pregnant women who approached the front desk, after the perfunctory good mornings. Friday, patients began arriving at eight o’clock, having negotiated picketers who were working the parking lot. “Let me see your I.D., mija,” Ivy said to the first woman to reach the light-filled lobby, where a large fish tank was murmuring away. The woman, dressed in black pants and a gray hoodie, was assigned a patient number to protect her privacy. Only four weeks along, she, like the vast majority of the morning’s patients, was coming for her second of two visits. As mandated by Texas law, women have to wait at least twenty-four hours after receiving paperwork and a sonogram that confirms their pregnancies. Now she was returning in hopes of having a second sonogram and then the abortion. To the right of the desk where Ivy checked her in was a framed proclamation, signed by the mayor of Houston, honoring the forty-fourth anniversary of Roe v. Wade.
Despite the tension, for the next hour, the workers tried to focus on their particular responsibilities, including answering the phone, which rang constantly. The faster they worked, the more patients they could ready to see the doctor, who would either give the eligible women pills to begin a medication abortion or proceed with a surgical one. But at 9:11 a.m., before the doctor had walked through the door and any abortions had commenced, Sheila heard from an A.C.L.U. lawyer. “Roe, overturned,” she said flatly. Ivy, emerging from the lab, hadn’t caught Sheila’s exact words, but she understood them when she saw her hands shaking.
For a few seconds, no one said a word. Ivy retreated to an area of the clinic where women’s vitals were taken and a urine sample awaited analysis. Alone, she pressed her fingers to her welling eyes. Other workers wrapped their arms around one another. Confused, one of the patients left her seat and interrupted their silence. “Why are y’all crying?” she asked. Sheila, trying to collect herself, wiped her tears away and turned to the woman and three other patients in the waiting room. “Ladies, I’m so sorry to tell you that the law for abortion has been overturned,” she said. “We are not able to perform any abortions at this time, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t have an option, O.K.?”
Two of the patients, wearing bright fluffy slippers, stared into space, speechless. A third, who wore black horn-rimmed glasses, burst into sobs. The fourth, who spoke no English, asked, “Qué pasó?” Sheila kneeled by her side, and, in broken Spanish, said, “No podemos hacerlo ahora,” meaning “We can’t do it now.” The woman, who was of Cuban origin, had no reaction, so Sheila asked Ivy to do a better translation. “Mi amor, the Supreme Court just ruled that abortion is banned in Texas,” she said in Spanish. “We cannot assist you.” The woman froze, in disbelief.
Ivy handed her a leaflet with the National Abortion Federation’s phone number and urged her to call it to learn about options in other states. The leaflet was in English. The guidance it contained included contact details of three abortion funds, two of which had immediately ceased operations upon announcement of the ruling. “They don’t do it in Texas anymore?” the woman asked, her eyes widening. Ivy shook her head, resting her hand on the woman’s shoulder.
Over and over again, Ivy conveyed the same message to two dozen other women who had been waiting to see the doctor. She could share the results of the ultrasounds the women had just done, but the clinic was unable to perform the procedure that they’d come for. “Abortion, no more,” Ivy told one woman sitting in the lobby, eyes down. In her distress, her perfect fluency in two languages seemed to disappear, momentarily, but then she gathered herself. “You’re gonna call them,” Ivy said, handing over the now outdated leaflet while fighting back her own tears, “and they’re gonna guide you, O.K.?”
Some patients fled the clinic the moment that they heard the news. When Ivy called their numbers to offer what little advice she could give, there was silence. Sheila felt especially pained by a woman whose previous medication abortion had failed and who had come back that morning believing that, this time, the treatment would work. Other patients simply refused to accept the news and leave the clinic. One of them clasped Ivy’s arm and would not let go. “Please help me,” she whispered, offering to give her a stash of money in exchange for abortion pills. “We can’t do it,” Ivy insisted. “It’s against the law.” The woman begged her: she would take the pills at home—no one would have to know. “Your husband has to take you to another state,” Ivy said, her tone severe. “Abortion is not legal.”
Before long, the afternoon’s patients started showing up, despite the voice mails that workers had been leaving. Every time the door alarm chimed, staff members turned in unison to the front entrance, their faces drawn. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard the news,” the receptionist told a woman who seemed on the brink of tears. Another patient arrived and, baffled, asked Sheila what the law was now. “Since Roe v. Wade has been overturned, it goes back to each state making the decision,” she explained. “So, obviously, we live in a conservative state and it becomes illegal.” Around her, Sheila’s colleagues were already starting to refer to Roe in the past tense, as if evoking some distant era in which abortion had been a right.
Inside, a decision that had been in the air for months was suddenly concrete: after more than forty years, the clinic would be closing. On the phone with one of the medical assistants, a pregnant woman screamed furiously, before dropping the phone, “I guess I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands, won’t I?” The clinic’s counsellors knew of patients who had thrown themselves down a flight of stairs or had seriously contemplated suicide. “We’ll see more babies in the dumpsters,” Lupe, another medical assistant, said. She was most worried about the women who could not travel out of state and Latina patients she had treated throughout the years, some of whom were illiterate. With the staff at the clinic gone, who would pass on information about alternatives now?
Lingering in the parking lot, uncertain, was the Cuban woman who had earlier been given a leaflet that listed options she couldn’t read. As she left the clinic, a picketer named Raúl had tried to lure her into a large bus that could take her to the Houston Coalition for Life, which he referred to as a “medical center,” but she decided to walk past him. “I can’t keep the child. I already have three,” she said, adding that they were aged two, four, and eight. The woman was five weeks into her pregnancy. “Why would they do this?” she said of the Court. The woman said that she couldn’t afford to travel to another state. Even the fund that was meant to pay for her abortion that day had gone dark. But she was convinced that she would find a way. A friend of hers had told her about a Mexican man who could go to her home and perform the procedure. “She told me that, if things didn’t work out at the clinic, I could always call him,” she said hopefully, looking straight at the closed clinic door.
Comment