Public Perception and the Weaponization of Shame
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ON THE 47TH ANNIVERSARY of Roe v. Wade (a ruling which didn’t begin abortions, but ended an era of women needlessly dying from them), and against the backdrop of anti-abortion measures being pushed through state legislatures across the country in record numbers— in the year 2020 — I am once again thinking about the time, just a few months ago, when my sister texted me this question:
“Without using google, what percentage of pregnancies would you estimate are terminated in the United States?”
As I stared at her text, blinking, it dawned on me that, despite how passionate I am about reproductive choice as a fundamental human right, I had absolutely no idea.
I thought about the fact that there are several states down to low single digit numbers of abortion providers. I thought states like Missouri, where there’s only ONE abortion provider left in the entire state (and the state recently had to back off a new cruel requirement of state sanctioned sexual assault in the form of compulsory, medically unnecessary vaginal exams on women prior to their unnecessary three day waiting period before terminating a pregnancy).
I thought about my own circle of friends and the sum total of first hand stories I’ve heard over the course of my life as a 48 year old woman. Not exactly scientific, but anecdotal stories should be at least a starting point, shouldn’t they?
(as an aside, anecdotal stories might be a better starting point if shame weren’t such a powerful societal disincentive around sharing personal details involving abortion)
The percentage undoubtedly had to be quite small, right?
I took a shot and texted her back.
“Less than 1%?”
My sister replied that several of her friends had guessed the same exact percentage.
“The actual number…”
She hit send after three dots to pause, I assume, for maximum dramatic effect. Or perhaps she was giving me time to re-evaluate my answer.
(and now I’m pausing to allow you, reader, to take a stab at your own number)
Her text finally pinged to my phone.
