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abortion bans
A Public Health Emergency: How Abortion Bans Are Fueling Maternal Deaths in America
People living in states that have banned abortion are nearly twice as likely to die during pregnancy, childbirth, or soon after compared with those in states where abortion remains legal and accessible.
Apr 10, 2026
The maternal mortality crisis in the United States is a national embarrassment, and it’s unfolding in real time. The US continues to have one of the highest maternal death rates among high-income countries, and the situation is getting worse, not better. Behind this trend is a growing body of research showing that state abortion bans directly contribute to increased maternal mortality, especially in communities already burdened by systemic inequities.
Maternal mortality has traditionally reflected deep structural problems in a healthcare system that fails to serve all people equally. In 2024, the US maternal mortality rate ticked upward again, reversing a brief decline and demonstrating that the crisis is far from over. Experts point to a range of causes, including reduced access to prenatal care, maternity care deserts, and strained hospital systems, all problems intensified in states with abortion restrictions and in states with increased Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents.
A comprehensive analysis from the most recent Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) mortality figures shows that people living in states that have banned abortion are nearly twice as likely to die during pregnancy, childbirth, or soon after compared with those in states where abortion remains legal and accessible. What’s more, in supportive states where abortion has remained legal, maternal mortality has declined by about 21% since 2022, suggesting that access to comprehensive reproductive care saves lives.
Restricting abortion does more than eliminate a medical procedure; it forces people to carry pregnancies that pose very real health risks. Childbirth has inherent dangers from hemorrhage and infection to hypertensive disorders and cardiac events, and the risk of death from pregnancy is at least 44 times higher than from abortion. When abortion is inaccessible, people are compelled to continue unwanted or medically unsafe pregnancies. That dynamic alone drives increased deaths that could otherwise have been prevented.
Bans do not reduce the prevalence of abortion; they reduce its safety, push people into riskier medical scenarios, and leave pregnant people with fewer options even when their health is at stake.
Racial and socioeconomic disparities in maternal mortality did not begin with the reversal of Roe v. Wade. Black birthing people in the US have long faced significantly higher death rates than white birthing people, a symptom of deep structural racism in healthcare, poverty, and chronic stress. But abortion bans have exacerbated these inequities.
In states with abortion bans, Black birthing people are more than three times as likely as white birthing people in those same states to die from pregnancy-related causes. Those figures make crystal clear that when we talk about maternal mortality, we are talking about a crisis of racial inequity, class inequity, and political neglect. States with the worst maternal health outcomes, including Louisiana, Mississippi, and Texas, are predominantly in the South and have enacted some of the most restrictive reproductive laws.
These disparities compound with other conditions such as limited access to early prenatal care—which the CDC reports has declined across the country, with the steepest drops among Black mothers. Delays in early care are associated with worse outcomes for both mother and baby and are worsened by the closure of maternity care facilities in rural and under-resourced areas.
For undocumented and immigrant communities, the maternal mortality crisis is layered with additional barriers. Fear of immigration enforcement, including ICE, deters people from seeking care, even in emergencies. Clinics in border states with large immigrant populations were already medically underserved before Dobbs, and abortion bans have deepened that inaccessibility. Many undocumented people lack insurance, fear reporting, or face economic barriers that make traveling for care impossible. These structural obstacles do not just delay care, they can literally cost lives.
Immigrant and mixed-status families are disproportionately concentrated in states with abortion bans, like Texas, Arizona, and Florida, meaning that people who already face the greatest systemic barriers to healthcare are also the most likely to lack access to safe abortion or comprehensive maternal services. This intersection of racist policy, reproductive restriction, and anti-immigrant enforcement creates a perfect storm that pushes already vulnerable people further to the margins and deeper toward harm.
Critics of abortion argue from moral or ideological positions, but the evidence shows that access to abortion care is fundamentally a matter of public health. Bans do not reduce the prevalence of abortion; they reduce its safety, push people into riskier medical scenarios, and leave pregnant people with fewer options even when their health is at stake.
We are now witnessing a preventable loss of life, and the window to act is closing.
We know how to prevent many maternal deaths: Expand access to comprehensive reproductive care (including abortion), strengthen prenatal and postpartum support, increase Medicaid coverage, invest in maternity care infrastructure, and dismantle the historic and systemic inequities that predict who lives and who dies. We know these interventions work because states that have protected reproductive rights are already seeing declines in maternal mortality.
To ignore this crisis is to ignore evidence, dignity, and the lives of pregnant people, especially those in Black, Indigenous, immigrant, and economically disadvantaged communities.
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Separating Abortion and Pregnancy-Loss Care Harms Everyone
New bills seek to reinforce a false binary between abortion care and care for pregnancy loss, but this will only harm pregnant patients and further restrict access to comprehensive sexual and reproductive healthcare.
Mar 29, 2026
People experiencing pregnancy complications in states that restrict abortion have died preventable deaths; others have been forced to bleed out while waiting for providers to deem their conditions were life-threatening enough to receive care under narrow legal exceptions or had to travel out of state for emergency abortion care. Meanwhile survivors of rape and incest have been denied care, despite exceptions that supposedly permitted abortion in those circumstances.
This is the new reality of seeking pregnancy-loss care and abortion care post-Dobbs. But instead of addressing the root issue—abortion bans and restrictions—policymakers are advancing a new strategy: redefining abortion itself. These new bills seek to reinforce a false binary between abortion care and care for pregnancy loss, but this will only harm pregnant patients and further restrict access to comprehensive sexual and reproductive healthcare.
For example, a bill in Utah would allow people who have obtained abortion care for certain reasons (such as treating an ectopic pregnancy; removing a dead fetus; or in the cases of fetal anomaly, rape, or incest) to request that their medical record state that the abortion was “involuntary.” The proposed legislation attempts to legally codify the distinction between “elective” abortions and those obtained for medical reasons to further stigmatize abortion care. The bill’s sponsor has been at the forefront of restricting abortion in Utah, and claims this bill is for medical records and to prevent patient “distress.” However, there is no need for legislators to define medical care for the sake of providers or patients. People’s reproductive experiences are highly personal, and the language they use to describe them should be up to them—not politicians.
In other states, attempts to omit care for pregnancy loss from the legal definition of abortion opens the door for abortion to be further restricted. In Missouri, Wisconsin, and South Dakota, bills are being pushed that change the definition of abortion to exclude a range of pregnancy-loss care. Wisconsin’s bill, for example, aims to “exempt [this care] from abortion restrictions,” implying that there is some reproductive healthcare that should be protected, while some should not.
The only way to ensure that people in medical emergencies or who have experienced violence can get the care they need is expanding and protecting abortion care for all.
These bills all also rely on language that personifies the fetus or embryo, advancing the long-held anti-abortion goal of granting full legal rights to embryos and fetuses. Fetal personhood directly undercuts pregnant people’s rights and can be used to target other reproductive healthcare such as forms of contraception and IVF. While this language was eventually removed from the South Dakota bill, its inclusion when it was first introduced exposes the policymakers' intention: to carve out some forms of pregnancy care and use that as a foundation to attack abortion care.
The push to “clarify” exceptions, or what care can be provided under abortion bans, stems from understandable public outrage—outrage we share. The horrific outcomes for pregnant people who have died preventable deaths are the direct result of abortion bans--but adding legal carve outs designed by the same policymakers who champion draconian abortion laws is not the way to ensure that everyone has access to essential pregnancy-loss care.
The truth is, it’s impossible to silo abortion care from the rest of reproductive healthcare through medical or legal frameworks. Abortion, pregnancy-loss care, and pregnancy care are interconnected by their practices, medications, and the people that provide and obtain them. The only way to ensure that people in medical emergencies or who have experienced violence can get the care they need is expanding and protecting abortion care for all.
Separating abortion care from pregnancy-loss care also does not align with many people's lived experiences. Guttmacher research shows that people’s understanding of the boundaries between reproductive experiences are deeply nuanced. The author and model Chrissy Tiegen, for example, has been public about redefining her own pregnancy loss as an abortion, which she proceeded with after learning she would not survive the pregnancy without medical intervention. Ultimately, how someone defines their pregnancy outcome and the care they receive is subjective, and policymakers’ efforts to establish clear legal distinctions ignore the frequently blurred boundaries between these experiences.
Categorizing abortions as elective or "involuntary” is not only stigmatizing and medically unnecessary but ignores the complexities of people’s reproductive lives. Likewise, “clarifying” exceptions is simply another tool of the anti-abortion movement to further restrict and stigmatize abortion. What pregnant people need is compassionate and personalized care, not further state involvement in their bodies and decisions.
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Beyond Motherhood: Reclaiming Women's Agency in an Era of Control
We must advocate for a society where women's autonomy, choices, and identities are respected and celebrated in all their diverse forms, irrespective of their maternal status.
Jul 16, 2025
I have yet to be a mother, but I froze my eggs a few years ago, and am thankful to have that choice to have a family of my own one day—that ability to have a choice was taken away from a woman in Georgia who was declared brain dead in February, yet kept on life support and forced to carry her fetus until she gave birth this June. This harrowing situation unfolded because hospital officials feared they'd violate Georgia's law banning most abortions after fetal cardiac activity.
A few years ago, after the overturning of Roe v. Wade, some anti-abortion advocates were taking issue with IVF procedures, citing that destroying unused embryos is equivalent to taking a life.
In May 2025, a car bomb exploded in the parking lot at a fertility clinic in Palm Springs. Upon hearing the news, I immediately felt concern for the individuals who kept their eggs and embryos at this clinic. While no individuals or reproductive materials were harmed, the fear was palpable for me, having stored my own eggs in a Massachusetts clinic. This incident was deemed an act of terrorism, carried out by the perpetrator because of his anti-natalist views—his belief that it is wrong to have children.
What all these stories have in common is the insidious attempt to control women—control our reproductive health, our bodies, whether we live or die. They are only the most recent examples of how women's choices are being systematically stripped away.
This societal obsession with motherhood as the pinnacle of female existence not only devalues women who choose not to have children or are unable to, but it also places undue pressure on those who do.
Even the way those in power respond shows a disturbing and deeply ingrained narrow view of women and their choices. In response to the Palm Springs incident, Attorney General Pam Bondi stated in a post on X, "Let me be clear: The Trump administration understands that women and mothers are the heartbeat of America. Violence against a fertility clinic is unforgivable." That sentence, though seemingly innocuous, reveals a troubling worldview. It implies that women are primarily valued as mothers, that our worth as women is intimately connected to our reproductive lives, and our health choices are directly tied to our ability to fulfill this singular role.
Yet, there are myriad valid reasons why a woman may never have children: health issues, infertility, personal choice, not finding a suitable partner, or socioeconomic instability, to name a few. Despite this, the current Trump administration and the conservative faction in our country seem fixated on justifying womanhood solely through the lens of motherhood. This reductive stance is evidenced by Vice President JD Vance's dismissive "childless cat lady" comment, where he questioned the stake of childless individuals in the nation's future, and further underscored by the Trump administration's proposals for 'baby bonuses' and tax-deferred investment accounts designed to incentivize childbirth.
Consider the ripple effects of this narrow perspective.
The overturning of Roe v. Wade has paved the way for states to make abortion illegal or incredibly restrictive, fundamentally stripping women of their agency and bodily autonomy. Once pregnant, in 41 states, a woman's body is now no longer entirely her own, but rather a vessel subject to state control.
The very act of bombing a fertility clinic, while deplorable, was deemed so primarily because a fertility clinic is associated with the creation of babies. The outrage stemmed from the perceived threat to potential motherhood, not necessarily the broader violation of individual liberty or the act of terrorism itself.
This singular focus extends to how women are perceived even in death. The Georgia case forces us to confront a horrifying reality: Even when a woman is brain dead, her bodily autonomy can be overridden in favor of a fetus. Her existence, in this context, is reduced to her reproductive capacity, even in her final moments. This legal and ethical quagmire highlights how deeply ingrained the concept of women as mere incubators has become in some interpretations of the law.
Individuals should be valued for more than their potential or actual role as mothers. I do not disagree that motherhood can be a profoundly important and vital aspect of life, and for many, it is. As someone who still hopes to be a mother, it is for me. Yet, I do not know the future, and there is a real possibility that I may never have children. Therefore, to define a woman's entire identity and worth by her reproductive capacity is a dangerous reduction, not to mention emotionally charged for individuals such as myself. Like any human, women are multifaceted beings with diverse aspirations, careers, contributions to society, and personal lives that extend far beyond the biological function of childbearing.
This societal obsession with motherhood as the pinnacle of female existence not only devalues women who choose not to have children or are unable to, but it also places undue pressure on those who do. It limits our collective imagination of what a woman can be and achieve. We must challenge this pervasive narrative and advocate for a society where women's autonomy, choices, and identities are respected and celebrated in all their diverse forms, irrespective of their maternal status. It is time to assert that a woman's life, and her death, should be her own.
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Trump, Epstein, and the GOP’s Planned Rape Culture
The question is not why they hid the list. The question is why they need it at all when the ledger is already written in their laws.
Jul 15, 2025
By the time the U.S. Justice Department released its memo in July 2025, the faithful were already starting to turn. There was no “client list,” no smoking gun, no perverted cabal of global elites laid bare for public vengeance. What they got instead was a cold government document and a half-mumbled shrug from President Donald Trump, who barely remembered the man everyone else had turned into a folk demon. “Are people still talking about this guy, this creep?” he asked, blinking like he’d just wandered out of a golf simulator.
The betrayal was almost elegant. For years, Trump’s people had promised the black book. Attorney General Pam Bondi said it was on her desk. Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) Director Kash Patel practically branded his political future with it. Counselor to the President of the United Staes Alina Habba promised flight logs and names. And then the punchline: nothing. Or rather, a truckload of documents scrubbed clean and a memo telling the public to move on. The frenzy turned inward. MAGA loyalists melted down on camera. Laura Loomer called for a special counsel. Deputy FBI Director Dan Bongino stopped showing up for work. Right-wing media turned on itself like rats in a pressure cooker.
But the Epstein file was never the point. The real story was not buried in a locked safe or hidden by the FBI. It was out in the open. It is still out in the open. The political movement that once pledged to drain the swamp has spent its second tour of duty building a legal and bureaucratic fortress around some of the oldest crimes in the book. Modern conservatism has come to rely not just on outrage but on inertia, and nowhere is that more visible than in its handling of child sexual abuse.
We are not talking about a secret ring or coded pizza menus. We are talking about a system that tolerates child marriage in over half the states. A system that forces raped minors to carry pregnancies to term. A system that slashes funding for shelters and trauma counseling. A system that lets rape kits pile up in warehouse back rooms while politicians pose in front of billboards about protecting kids.
This is not a moral failure or a bureaucratic oversight. It is an architecture. It is built from votes, funded by budgets, signed into law by men who say they fear God but fear losing donors more. The Epstein affair may have collapsed in a cloud of whimpering and spin, but what it revealed is far more corrosive than any one man’s crimes. The question is not why they hid the list. The question is why they need it at all when the ledger is already written in their laws.
Legalized Child Marriage as Institutional Abuse
As of mid-2025, child marriage remains legal in 37 U.S. states. In most of these jurisdictions, statutory exceptions allow minors to marry with parental consent or judicial approval. Some states permit marriage for individuals as young as 15. Others lack any explicit minimum age when certain conditions are met. These legal frameworks persist despite growing evidence of their links to coercion, abuse, and lifelong harm.
Missouri serves as a prominent example. Until recently, it permitted minors aged 15 to marry with parental consent. Testimony from survivors has revealed how this legal permission facilitated predatory relationships cloaked in legitimacy. In one case, a girl was married off to a man nearly a decade older, and the marriage became a vehicle for sustained sexual and psychological abuse. Former child brides in Missouri have since called for a statutory minimum age of 18 with no exceptions. Legislative efforts to enact such reforms have repeatedly stalled.
Tennessee offers a more recent and pointed illustration. In 2022, Republican lawmakers introduced legislation that would have created a new category of marriage not subject to age restrictions. The bill failed under public pressure, but it signaled a continued willingness by some conservative legislators to bypass modern child protection norms. Even when confronted with documentation of exploitation, physical violence, and long-term trauma, these lawmakers often frame the issue around religious liberty and parental authority.
The Epstein affair was never going to end in justice. It was a mirror. What it reflected was not a single man’s sins but a political order that treats predation as a price of stability.
The prevailing rhetoric in these debates centers on traditional family values. Proponents argue that restricting child marriage infringes on the rights of families to make decisions without state interference. In some cases, advocates for maintaining the status quo invoke Christian theological justifications or present marriage as a preferable alternative to state custody. These arguments shift the legal focus away from the vulnerability of the minor and toward the autonomy of adults, particularly parents and religious leaders.
This legal tolerance undermines the enforcement of statutory rape laws. When marriage can be used as a legal shield, older adults who would otherwise face criminal prosecution gain immunity by securing parental consent or exploiting permissive judicial channels. In practice, the marriage license functions as retroactive permission for sexual contact with a minor. Law enforcement agencies are often reluctant to investigate allegations within a legally recognized marriage, even when age discrepancies raise clear concerns.
The persistence of child marriage statutes in conservative-controlled states is not simply a relic of outdated law. It reflects a policy choice. The choice is to preserve adult control over minors, particularly in contexts that reinforce patriarchal and religious hierarchies. In doing so, the state becomes an active participant in the erasure of consent. Legal recognition of these unions confers legitimacy on relationships that, in other contexts, would be subject to prosecution. The result is a bifurcated legal system where a child’s age and rights are contingent on the adult interests surrounding her.
Forced Birth Laws and the Abandonment of Minor Victims
Following the Supreme Court’s decision in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, state legislatures moved swiftly to implement abortion bans. As of July 2025, 10 states enforce prohibitions with no exceptions for rape or incest. These laws apply equally to adults and minors. In doing so, they erase the distinction between consensual and coerced sexual activity and impose state control over the bodies of children.
The consequences are observable. In Ohio, a 10-year-old girl became pregnant after being raped by a 27-year-old man. Because Ohio law prohibited abortion past six weeks and included no exception for rape, the girl traveled to Indiana to terminate the pregnancy. The physician who provided the abortion was targeted by state officials and subjected to professional disciplinary action. The child’s identity was shielded, but her case became a national flashpoint. No changes were made to Ohio’s statute in response.
In Mississippi, a 13-year-old girl gave birth after being raped by a stranger. Her family, unable to afford travel or secure an out-of-state appointment, watched as the pregnancy advanced. Though state law permitted abortion in cases of rape, it required police reporting and formal certification by the authorities. The procedural burden, combined with lack of local providers, rendered the exception functionally inaccessible. The pregnancy was carried to term. No support infrastructure was provided beyond birth.
In Texas, multiple cases have emerged involving girls under 14 who were raped by family members or acquaintances. One minor received abortion pills through informal networks. Another did not. In that case, the pregnancy continued until birth. In both situations, school staff, health workers, and shelter employees described an atmosphere of legal ambiguity and fear. Providers worried about prosecution for aiding what could be construed as an illegal abortion. Parents feared legal action or custody loss if they sought help out of state.
These laws are not merely restrictive. They are designed to inhibit access through a combination of legal uncertainty, bureaucratic obstruction, and geographic isolation. Requirements for parental consent and judicial bypass impose additional delays. In conservative jurisdictions, judges often refuse bypass requests outright. Clinics have closed. Providers have left. In many counties, no legal abortion services exist. For minors with limited mobility, no resources, and histories of abuse, these constraints function as a full prohibition.
Psychological consequences are profound. Research conducted by trauma specialists indicates that forced pregnancy following sexual assault exacerbates the risk of suicidal ideation, self-injury, and long-term mental illness. Minors compelled to remain pregnant often experience acute dissociation and chronic anxiety. Social workers report increased incidents of runaway behavior, substance use, and refusal to attend school. The medical literature consistently describes these outcomes as preventable harm.
The political response to these outcomes has been largely nonreactive. Elected officials in affected states have declined to revisit statutory language. When presented with specific cases, responses are limited to procedural defenses or deflections. Conservative media outlets often ignore these incidents altogether or question their veracity. State agencies rarely publish disaggregated data on minor pregnancies resulting from assault. In legislative hearings, victims are not called to testify.
This absence of acknowledgment is not accidental. The architecture of forced birth laws depends on abstraction. It requires a conceptual fetus without context, a generic moral narrative without victims. The insertion of real children into that framework exposes its contradictions. In response, the system silences or discredits those who do not fit the script.
The effect is the systematic abandonment of minor victims. The state declines to intervene in the act of abuse, imposes control over the outcome, and then withdraws when support is needed. In doing so, it transforms rape from a crime to a reproductive event and reclassifies children as bearers of state policy. The result is not a deviation from conservative thought. It is one of its clearest expressions.
The Systematic Dismantling of Survivor Support
In early 2025, the Trump administration released a proposed federal budget for fiscal year 2026 that included significant funding reductions for agencies and programs supporting survivors of domestic and sexual violence. The Office on Violence Against Women removed all open funding opportunities from its website. This move came amid a broader effort to eliminate what the administration referred to as “woke” or ideologically driven programs. Internal Department of Justice (DOJ) memoranda confirmed that existing grant language was being revised to align with White House policy preferences, with particular scrutiny directed toward anything referencing diversity, equity, or inclusion (DEI).
The proposed budget eliminated the Centers for Disease Control’s National Center for Injury Prevention and Control. That agency had previously overseen funding for rape prevention and domestic violence education through the DELTA and RPE programs. These initiatives provided critical infrastructure for community-based interventions, including education campaigns, prevention training, and partnerships with local law enforcement. Their elimination removed a core pillar of upstream support.
At the same time, DOJ grant freezes disrupted downstream services. Nonprofit organizations across the country reported immediate and severe impacts. In Ohio, the Hope and Healing Survivor Resource Center announced potential layoffs of its court advocates and a reduction in emergency shelter capacity. In Washington D.C., House of Ruth stated it was experiencing multiple levels of new scrutiny when seeking reimbursement for already-approved expenditures. Organizations were directed to pause hiring and halt finalization of pending grant applications. Many could not meet payroll obligations for March.
Survivors of violence were displaced not by explicit prohibition but by the withdrawal of every practical means of assistance.
In Philadelphia, Women Against Abuse reported difficulties accessing funding for its LGBTQ-specific services. In Washington state, the King County Sexual Assault Resource Center prepared to end its legal advocacy program entirely. In both cases, staff warned that client wait times for crisis response had doubled within a single quarter. Administrators noted that many of their clients were minors or undocumented women who lacked other options. Reductions in services were expected to increase reliance on emergency departments and law enforcement, systems ill-equipped to handle trauma recovery or long-term safety planning.
The effects extended to rural programs as well. In smaller counties, shelters funded primarily through DOJ block grants began closing intake lists. Survivors were told to wait or relocate. Legal assistance for restraining orders and custody cases became difficult to obtain. Mobile crisis units were discontinued. Hospital advocates who had previously accompanied victims during forensic exams were no longer available. Each removed position created a compounding absence in systems already operating at capacity.
The budget’s emphasis on eliminating federal programs associated with DEI goals shaped the targeting of these cuts. While many victim services agencies did not explicitly advertise such language, internal reviewers flagged any mention of racial disparities, LGBTQ outreach, or culturally specific programming as potentially noncompliant with revised priorities. A senior DOJ official, speaking anonymously, stated that the Office on Violence Against Women had been instructed to avoid “risk exposure” by minimizing support for identity-based initiatives.
Although the Violence Against Women Act had been reauthorized in 2022 with bipartisan support, its implementation now faced procedural obstruction. Staff who had expanded under the prior administration were informed they might be subject to termination. A memo from the Office of Management and Budget described plans for agency-wide attrition. Staff with less than three years of tenure were given no assurances. Departments were instructed to prepare for reduced grant-making capacity over the following two fiscal cycles.
The dismantling of support systems was neither sudden nor undocumented. It unfolded through administrative erasure, funding attrition, and legal recalibration. Survivors of violence were displaced not by explicit prohibition but by the withdrawal of every practical means of assistance. Those left behind were often the least able to navigate the resulting gaps. For these individuals, the state offered no replacement. Instead, it imposed a bureaucratic silence where aid had once existed. The outcome was a deliberate contraction of the public obligation to protect.
Forensic Neglect and the Rape Kit Crisis
Despite the adoption of sexual assault kit tracking systems in over 30 states, the United States continues to face a persistent national backlog. Tens of thousands of kits remain untested in police storage facilities, hospital evidence rooms, and crime labs. Many of these kits have been stored for years without analysis. Others were never submitted for processing due to departmental triage, lost documentation, or discretionary decisions by investigating officers. While some states have mandated timelines for submission and testing, enforcement mechanisms remain weak, and compliance is inconsistent.
The Sexual Assault Kit Initiative, a federal program designed to support evidence processing and data coordination, has received limited attention under the current administration. Although the initiative has produced measurable results in jurisdictions that prioritized its implementation, recent Justice Department actions suggest a deprioritization of forensic reform. The DOJ has declined to expand funding, and the program has not featured in recent public safety messaging. Internal budget documents indicate that grants for kit testing were not included in the administration’s revised funding priorities for fiscal year 2026.
As a result, survivors often experience long delays in receiving updates about their cases. Some discover years later that their evidence was never tested. Others are notified only after investigations are closed due to expired statutes of limitation. Communication is sporadic and mediated by agencies with limited resources and unclear protocols. Victims who attempt to inquire directly are frequently redirected or denied information outright. In some states, survivors have been required to submit formal public records requests to learn whether their kits were processed.
These delays compromise prosecutions. When evidence is eventually tested, witnesses may be unreachable, suspects may no longer be within the jurisdiction, and memory degradation may weaken the reliability of victim testimony. Prosecutors, facing caseload pressures and limited bandwidth, often decline to pursue cases that were mishandled in their early stages. Defense attorneys use the lag in testing to undermine credibility or introduce procedural challenges. The net effect is a collapse in accountability long before any trial begins.
The failures of evidence handling disproportionately affect marginalized populations. In rural areas, law enforcement agencies lack personnel and funding to maintain evidence integrity or pursue cold cases. In urban centers, kits from Black, Indigenous, and Latina victims are more likely to go untested. Multiple studies have found that law enforcement officers are more likely to doubt the credibility of victims from low-income neighborhoods, undocumented communities, or those with previous contact with social services. These judgments influence whether evidence is submitted for analysis and whether cases receive investigative follow-up.
The forensic crisis is compounded by data gaps. Many states do not track the number of untested kits in private hospitals or non-mandated reporting facilities. Others exclude kits from the backlog if they were collected before a specific year. The result is an undercounting that obscures the true scope of institutional failure. Federal authorities have not established a national registry or auditing mechanism to standardize reporting. This lack of oversight permits continued neglect without consequence.
Efforts to reform the system remain fragmented. Some jurisdictions have implemented notification protocols to alert survivors when their kits are tested or their cases reopened. Others have passed legislation requiring mandatory submission timelines. These efforts, however, rely on sustained funding and political will. In the current policy environment, neither can be assumed.
The accumulation of untested rape kits reflects more than a bureaucratic shortfall. It reveals a hierarchy of value embedded in forensic practice. Victims whose experiences align with prosecutorial priorities receive attention. Those who fall outside those norms are left in limbo. The backlog is not only a logistical failure. It is a measure of who is deemed worthy of pursuit.
The Performance of Protection and the Reality of Harm
In the contemporary conservative lexicon, few terms have gained as much political traction as “groomer.” Once associated narrowly with criminal prosecutions of adults who built relationships with children for the purpose of sexual exploitation, the term has been repurposed as a generalized insult. It now targets a wide array of perceived ideological enemies, from public school teachers to LGBTQ advocates to librarians. In its current usage, “groomer” does not denote a specific criminal act. It signifies dissent from cultural orthodoxy. It functions rhetorically rather than descriptively.
This shift is not accidental. The term has become a central instrument in the conservative culture war arsenal. It is applied liberally to any policy, institution, or public figure that departs from a narrow conception of sexual and gender norms. The invocation of grooming no longer requires evidence. It requires proximity to subjects deemed socially suspect. Teachers who support inclusive sex education, therapists who serve queer youth, and public health professionals working with at-risk adolescents are all subject to the accusation. The result is not the exposure of exploitation. It is the expansion of suspicion.
The logic underpinning this rhetorical turn is strategic. By collapsing the distinction between ideological disagreement and criminal intent, the conservative movement recasts public discourse as a permanent battlefield of moral danger. In this framework, policy is secondary. What matters is posture. The capacity to signal vigilance becomes more important than the provision of safety. The accusation becomes the protection. The spectacle replaces the intervention.
By focusing public energy on the symbolic boundaries of morality, policymakers insulate themselves from accountability for structural abandonment.
This performance obscures the absence of actual safeguards for children. While conservative figures warn of drag queens and inclusive curricula, they vote against background check expansions for youth workers. They resist efforts to create national child abuse registries that include religious institutions. They block legislation to raise the minimum age of marriage. They eliminate funding for school counselors and after-school programs. They cut budgets for child protective services and reduce oversight of private adoption and foster care networks.
There is no contradiction here. The performance is the policy. Protection is not measured in outcomes. It is measured in volume. The louder the accusation, the less scrutiny is applied to legislative choices. Policy failure is neutralized by narrative substitution. When a child is raped and forced to give birth, the story is not told. When a teacher reads a picture book about diverse families, the story is told at volume. One incident is silent law. The other is national scandal.
The political value of outrage lies in its ability to redirect attention. Material neglect becomes invisible behind symbolic noise. The passage of laws criminalizing drag performances near schools draws headlines. The failure to fund rape crisis centers does not. By focusing public energy on the symbolic boundaries of morality, policymakers insulate themselves from accountability for structural abandonment. The child becomes a rhetorical device. She exists in theory rather than in law.
This asymmetry is visible in legislative activity. Since 2022, Republican-controlled legislatures have introduced hundreds of bills targeting LGBTQ speech, education content, and library access. Fewer than 10 bills have addressed forensic backlog reform. Even fewer have advanced. Proposed federal legislation to protect minors from online exploitation has repeatedly failed due to concerns about regulation of private companies. At the same time, multiple states have attempted to prosecute school staff for discussing gender identity under “grooming” statutes. The alignment is clear. Threats are defined ideologically. Interventions are reserved for performance.
Media infrastructure amplifies this distortion. Conservative news outlets and online influencers produce continuous content warning of threats posed by social workers, librarians, and drag performers. The framing consistently positions adults who support youth autonomy as predators. At the same time, actual cases of child sexual abuse in religious, athletic, and political institutions are downplayed or reframed. The function of this narrative is not to inform. It is to sustain a moral panic that legitimizes surveillance and censorship while diverting attention from systemic failures.
This process also redefines harm. Under the current paradigm, harm is not measured by suffering or injury. It is measured by deviation from normative identity. A child exposed to age-appropriate information about gender is framed as endangered. A child raped and forced to carry a pregnancy is not framed at all. She exists outside the moral narrative. Her pain is illegible because it does not confirm the ideological premise. She does not symbolize anything useful. She is inconvenient.
This redefinition produces policy that protects ideology rather than people. It enshrines the fiction that surveillance and restriction produce safety. It displaces accountability by substituting criminalization for care. The result is a system in which the primary targets of protective legislation are not predators but professionals. Teachers, counselors, and medical providers are monitored more closely than the men marrying minors or the judges enabling child pregnancies. The apparatus of protection becomes an apparatus of control.
This structure is not malfunctioning. It is performing as designed. The emphasis on symbolic enforcement over material assistance ensures that power remains centered. Actual protections would require redistribution. They would require funding, oversight, and transparency. They would require confronting the institutions most closely aligned with conservative authority: churches, courts, families. That confrontation is not forthcoming. Instead, the state protects the ideology of protection while abandoning the child.
The cumulative effect is institutionalized harm. Systems nominally built to safeguard children instead categorize them. They are either politically useful or they are not. Those who conform to the narrative of victimhood receive visibility without assistance. Those who contradict it receive neither. The performance of protection absorbs public attention. The reality of harm proceeds without interruption.
This disconnect is not unique to recent years. It has precedent in every era of moral panic. What is distinct in the current moment is the speed and reach of narrative enforcement. Digital media enables rapid mobilization around symbolic events. Legislation follows quickly. Meanwhile, data on actual abuse, assault, and neglect remains underreported and underanalyzed. The disparity between visible outrage and invisible harm grows wider. The system becomes harder to map and easier to perform.
The result is a hollow institution of child protection. It possesses language without infrastructure, law without care, and policy without contact. It functions as a mirror reflecting ideology back to its authors. The child at the center of the performance is not protected. She is used. The system that claims to speak for her leaves her undocumented, unsupported, and unacknowledged. This is not a gap in the system. It is the system.
A Coherent System, Not a Series of Failures
This is not the result of a broken machine. It is the machine.
Child marriage laws that legalize statutory rape. Forced birth mandates that turn trauma into state policy. Rape crisis centers shuttered by budget design. Evidence kits rotting in closets. Drag queens banned from libraries while judges greenlight the weddings of 15-year-olds to grown men. None of this happens by accident. The patterns are too consistent, the outcomes too aligned. This is not a case of good intentions gone astray or bureaucratic confusion. It is a deliberate configuration of legal tools designed to shield abusers and discipline the abused.
The architecture holds. What looks like hypocrisy from the outside is strategy from within. It is not a contradiction to scream about “protecting children” while erasing them from legislation, data, and policy. It is not a glitch that the same people who ban books on puberty also block efforts to process rape kits. It is not ironic that the man whose administration claimed to be exposing Epstein’s secrets ended up presiding over their burial. It is structural.
The Epstein file was never about closure. It was about control. It served as a pressure valve, a vessel for all the anxiety and suspicion the base could not voice elsewhere. But when the promised reckoning finally came, it was blank pages and black ink. No fireworks. No arrests. Just a memo and a shrug. The silence that followed was not empty. It was full of meaning.
Because while they waited for the names to drop, the rest of the machine kept humming. Pregnant children were denied care. Shelters lost funding. Backlogs grew. Survivors disappeared into legal limbo. And the same men who had built their brand on outrage offered nothing but slogans and deflection. The spectacle of protection kept playing. But behind the curtain, the laws were doing exactly what they were designed to do.
It is easy to mock the true believers who spent years convinced that justice was one release away. But they were right about one thing. There is a network. It is not secret. It is written into the statutes and reinforced by the budgets. It lives in the votes cast to stall reforms and the speeches given to demonize victims. The rot is not hidden. It is codified.
The question now is not whether the system will be exposed. It already has been. The question is whether people are willing to see what has been made plainly visible. To understand that the policy scaffolding of modern conservatism is not a malfunctioning child safety program. It is a functioning disciplinary regime. Its purpose is not to protect the vulnerable. It is to sort them. To elevate the compliant and erase the inconvenient.
The Epstein affair was never going to end in justice. It was a mirror. What it reflected was not a single man’s sins but a political order that treats predation as a price of stability. The client list doesn’t need to be released. The clients wrote the laws. The machine is working.
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How Innovators Are Emotionally Supporting Abortion Seekers in a Post-Roe World
With laws constantly changing and often unclear, being able to reach abortion seekers on an emotional level is a critical touchpoint in the new digital landscape of access.
Jul 10, 2025
In the three years since the Dobbs decision resulted in abortion bans in 42 states across the U.S, the ecosystem of abortion access in America has shifted and stretched to meet the ever-changing moment. The Supreme Court’s ruling in Planned Parenthood vs. Medina has paved the way for even more states to further target abortion providers by enabling states to withhold state funding to clinics that provide sexual health services from sexually transmitted infection tests to cervical cancer screenings simply because they also offer abortion care.
With laws constantly changing and often unclear in the eyes on abortion seekers, being able to reach abortion seekers on an emotional level is a critical touchpoint in the new digital landscape of access. Innovators have stepped up to meet the demand for emotional support, helping individuals feel heard and get informed throughout the abortion process as laws change and stigma abounds. They’re pairing abortion seekers with counselors, peers, and educators as the digital entry point to care, meeting and supporting the actual and immediate needs, whether they are anxious, confused about where to find care, or feeling stigmatized.
With policies currently in Congress that might lead to the closure of even more reproductive healthcare clinics, including services from cancer screenings to STI testing, the need to keep patients informed of how to get the care they want has never been more dire.
We might discuss the emotional journey of an abortion seeker around getting them from confusion and disorientation to understanding and relief, regardless of their choices.
At the same time, Crisis Pregnancy Centers, or fake clinics that pose as counseling centers for pregnant people, persist in their anti-abortion messaging and are funded nationwide at five times the rate of abortion clinics and funds. Through the language of free testing and counseling, they encourage patients to enter illegitimate medical clinics, by talking about abortion decision-making despite the fact that they do not provide it, or any other form of medical care.
Their latest move has been to go digital, expanding their already vast and well-funded footprint into a mobile chat experience that utilizes the language of values-based decision-making and regret avoidance to deter those seeking real support amid a complicated landscape.Their goal is clear: be the first to reach abortion seekers confused by the complex legal landscape when they go online looking for information. They then delay, deter, and redirect them away from real medical care.
The punchline is that their latest innovation is a rip-off. Planned Parenthood’s Chat and Text program has paired website visitors with sex educators for the past 15 years, and the M+A hotline has operated a phone line staffed by doctors and volunteers since 2019. And post-Dobbs, the internet abounds with even more determined activist-innovators. There are comprehensive resource websites for those seeking medication abortion by mail, awareness campaigns, brave providers shielded by their state’s laws, health centers with stronger telehealth capabilities, and abortion doulas and hotlines stitching pieces together with the patient’s needs in mind.
Knowing that most users’ journeys start with a Google search on their mobile devices, it’s important to ensure that emotional support tools are easily accessible in a variety channels like web chat, text, Signal, or WhatsApp, and through completely low-tech options, and ensuring immediate connection to a person who can help no matter how someone prefers to communicate. These crucial organizations engage users compassionately and non-judgmentally. Powered by counselors, volunteers, and care providers, they are digital communities formed to listen, validate, and educate, without pathologizing the user’s emotional state. Engaging emotionally also helps users talk through social and legal stigma, misinformation, and education needs no matter where they live.
Reprocare is a peer phone and textline that offers comprehensive support at every phase of the process including informed landscape navigation for people who need detailed hand-holding and practical support, and the care team sends care packages directly to users who are alone and who express a need for resources and a human touch. Reprocare’s sister company, Autonomie, also builds technology that quickly matches users with abortion funds that help them access care.
Aya Contigo calls their bilingual chat tool “an abortion doula in your pocket,” and it first launched in the U.S. in Spanish, primarily using WhatsApp to reach vulnerable Latino communities. Designed in Venezuela with feminist organizations and 1,000 co-creators, it brings lessons from the Latin American feminist movement to our country, including the tradition of “acompañantes” or accompaniment as a framework. Using bilingual educators on WhatsApp chat and the asynchronous resources on their downloadable app, Aya Contigo ensures patients are never alone, that they have check-ins and follow-ups and are treated gently and compassionately for the days and weeks following their medication abortion.
Exhale Pro Voice is a post-abortion counseling program that offers a non-judgemental support text line for after-abortion support. Exhale also promotes its services for partners, parents, and friends of those who have had an abortion, in order to meet their unique emotional needs and also learn to be a support system for the person in their lives. Exhale is also a crucial resource for counselors, providers, and reproductive health workers seeking a confidential space outside of their work to sustain their well-being, especially important after three years of confusion and challenging, uphill work.
All-Options goes a step further, with a reproductive justice framework that understands that access to abortion has always been inequitable, be it because of location, resources, family, or tradition. Through their talk line, users are given emotional support to understand their access abortion care, and can also speak with a spiritual counselor, access adoption resources, pregnancy resources and infant care support, and a diaper program in their Indianapolis community.
Meeting the emotional impact of bans means considering a reframing of what we could term “the journey map” of an abortion seeker. The Turnaway Study highlights the mental health impact on those denied abortions over a period of 10 years. It elevates an important point: The most common emotion after an abortion is a sense of relief. Framed this way, we might discuss the emotional journey of an abortion seeker around getting them from confusion and disorientation to understanding and relief, regardless of their choices.
Today, researchers are only beginning to track the mental health impact of the Dobbs decision, and recent studies highlight depression and anxiety among women of reproductive age in general. Nearly 25% of women 18-25 years old have had a major depressive episode in the past year, and women of reproductive age in states where abortion is banned report increased anxiety. Further behaviors among young adults post-Dobbs, like increased permanent contraception like tubal ligation and vasectomy in banned states, are proof of the social pressures and sense of personal insecurity, and a lack of bodily autonomy created by bans.
Emotional support is key not just to providing immediate care, but to transforming the abortion access landscape. The coalition building of organizations that prioritize emotional and cultural competency can provide innovative, scalable solutions to a complex societal problem. While funders understand emotional support as a component of the wider access landscape, they don’t always see it as a fulcrum for change and outsize impact. Investing in innovators who have built this direct accompaniment ecosystem, powered by real, caring humans, is vital to maintaining access for critical abortion and reproductive healthcare.
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In a Post-Roe America, Knowledge Isn’t Just Power—It’s Survival
This is a critical moment in history for both patients and physicians alike to stay informed—because the moves happening now could reshape access to reproductive healthcare nationwide.
Jul 02, 2025
Three years ago, I remember exactly where I was when the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade. My stomach sank. As an OB/GYN PA with more than a decade in reproductive care, I knew this wasn’t just devastating—it was going to reshape the healthcare landscape completely.
The conversations I’d been having with patients for years—about abortion, birth control, miscarriage, pregnancy loss, pain—were about to get harder, more complicated, and more dangerous.
I had the honor of joining over 100 incredible storytellers in Washington, D.C. for the Our Voices, Our Stories, Our Future: Free & Just Storyteller Summit, to mark three years since the deadly Dobbs decision.
In emergencies, minutes matter. I’ve been in those rooms. And I can tell you: When someone is crashing in front of you, the last thing you should be doing is calling legal.
I am still in awe of the number of people who were courageous enough to travel from across the country to tell their stories and fight for reproductive freedom. We laughed together, we cried together, and we shared our visions for a better future.
We also came to D.C. to meet with lawmakers to remind them that Dobbs didn’t just overturn Roe: It changed lives.
Although the fall of Roe didn’t end abortion in this country, it made it exponentially harder to access. It made it scarier. It deepened the segregation of healthcare access in America. If you’re wealthy enough to travel for care, you might still be okay. But if you’re not—if you’re young, uninsured, working class, Black, or Brown—you’re at greater risk. And we know abortion bans lead to higher maternal mortality, especially for Black women.
Let’s be clear: The anti-abortion zealots behind Dobbs were never going to stop there. In the three years since, I’ve watched extremists celebrate it as a win for “states’ rights,” while women are forced to flee their home states for basic care. “Leaving it to the states” doesn’t mean freedom. It means chaos. It means harm. It means people die.
That’s not an exaggeration—that’s reality.
And President Donald Trump? He doesn’t need to sign a national abortion ban to wreak havoc. He and his allies are already gutting protections through rollbacks, legal loopholes, and silence where there should be leadership.
Recently, Trump’s Supreme Court ruled that states can block people relying on Medicaid from choosing Planned Parenthood as their trusted healthcare provider, a devastating blow to abortion rights and reproductive healthcare—specifically, the freedom of millions of people who use Medicaid to choose Planned Parenthood as their healthcare provider.
The court put millions of Americans’ essential right to reproductive care at risk, and it will devastate communities all across the country just so Republicans in Congress can completely gut Medicaid for millions more Americans. Earlier this month, the Trump administration rescinded federal guidance that protected abortion access in emergencies. That guidance made clear what EMTALA—our federal emergency care law—already guarantees: If a pregnant patient shows up to the ER in crisis and needs an abortion to survive, they must get care.
Now that guidance is gone. And providers are left wondering if they’ll be sued—or even arrested—for doing their jobs.
In emergencies, minutes matter. I’ve been in those rooms. And I can tell you: When someone is crashing in front of you, the last thing you should be doing is calling legal.
And now they’ve set their sights on medication abortion—specifically mifepristone. This medication has been safely used by more than 8 million people over the last 20+ years. It’s not only essential for abortion care—it’s critical for miscarriage management too. But extremists don’t care about science, or safety. They care about control.
If they succeed in restricting mifepristone, it won’t just impact abortion access. It will gut miscarriage care. It could force providers to delay or deny treatment. And it could shut down clinics that rely on it to function—clinics already hanging on by a thread.
This is how they win. Not just with bans, but with quiet sabotage. With red tape. With fear. With confusion. With back-handed backdoor restrictions on our rights to bodily autonomy.
This is a critical moment in history for both patients and physicians alike to stay informed—because the moves happening now could reshape access to reproductive healthcare nationwide.
That’s why I started Take Back Trust—because people need more than outrage. They need answers, and they need tools. Patients need to walk into an ER or a clinic and know what to say, what to ask, and what their rights are.
Take Back Trust is a national resource hub helping people navigate this broken system. Whether you’re facing a miscarriage, scheduling a birth control visit, or trying to figure out if your state still protects you—we’ve got your back.
I am inspired by the words of former Vice President Kamala Harris, who surprised us via video at the Summit. “I know these are difficult times, and it requires a whole lot of courage, and it requires a level of optimism, to remember that we’re fighting for something, not against something,” the former Vice President reminded us. “And in that way we are doing good and important work that is about upholding fundamental rights, such as the freedom of an individual to make decisions about her own body and not have her government tell her what to do.”
As a clinician, a content creator, and a full-time reproductive rights advocate working at the intersection of medicine and movement, I’ll keep showing up. I’ll keep saying the quiet parts out loud. Because we’re not going back—and we’re not backing down.
We can’t afford to.
Lives are on the line. Not someday, today.
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A Post-Roe world Is a Post-Rights World
The loss of Roe wasn’t just about abortion, it was a green light to dismantle reproductive freedom at every level.
Jun 24, 2025
It has been three years since Roe v. Wade was overturned. A seismic ruling shattering the constitutional right to abortion sent this country into a public health crisis. In the aftermath, millions of people have been stripped of autonomy over their own bodies, forced into pregnancies they did not choose, denied medication for miscarriages, and criminalized for seeking basic healthcare.
This is not a post-Roe world. It is a post-rights world. And we are still living through the consequences.
Across the nation, 19 states now have near or-total abortion bans. In many more, access has been drastically limited by targeted restrictions, clinic closures, and political interference. But the loss of Roe wasn’t just about abortion, it was a green light to dismantle reproductive freedom at every level. The attacks have expanded to birth control, emergency contraception, gender-affirming care, IVF, and even medical privacy.
Gerrymandered districts, activist judges, and extremist lawmakers continue to pass laws that do not reflect the will of the people.
Everyday clinics and doctors are under siege. Providers are being driven out by threats, legal risks, and burnout. Many Planned Parenthoods and independent clinics in banned states no longer provide abortion care at all. That burden has fallen on organizations like ours—small, often women-, queer-, and BIPOC-led abortion funds doing the lifesaving work of helping patients afford care and travel across state lines. But the need has skyrocketed, and funding has not. Foundations give less than 2% of their dollars to direct abortion support. We are asked to do more with less while the people we serve pay the price.
Survivors of rape or domestic violence are forced to carry pregnancies because they don’t qualify for their state’s narrow exceptions. Minors have to beg courts for permission to terminate pregnancies. Patients sleep in cars while waiting for appointments in the closest legal state. And we are their safety net and will continue to be in this man-made disaster.
Meanwhile, politicians—mostly white, mostly male—continue to play God with our lives. They are not doctors. They are not ethicists. They are not the people bearing the risks, the trauma, or the responsibility of pregnancy. And yet they are the ones deciding who deserves healthcare and who doesn’t.
Nowhere is that clearer than in Georgia, where a heartbreaking story made national headlines. Adriana Smith, a 31-year-old woman, was declared brain dead four months ago. But because she was pregnant, her body was kept alive by machines—not out of medical necessity, but due to Georgia’s abortion ban, which includes personhood language that grants legal rights to embryos at six weeks gestation. Her family was forced to watch as she was kept on life support against her wishes. In Georgia, the embryo inside her had more legal value than Adriana herself.
This is what happens when politicians legislate ideology. When we prioritize hypothetical life over a real one: a daughter, a sister, a human being, we lose not just rights, but our humanity.
And still, we hear silence when it comes to men’s responsibility.
No law mandates men to support a child they helped create before birth. No one is tracking their behavior, forcing paternity tests, or denying their autonomy. They are not losing jobs, skipping school, or facing stigma for becoming parents. Yet the full burden of pregnancy, childcare, and judgment falls squarely on the pregnant person who are forced to risk their health, financial stability, and futures to carry pregnancies. Where patients are denied their fundamental rights under the guise of “protecting life.” Where the father of a child can disappear without consequence.
It has been three years since Roe fell. And still, we are shouting the same truths:
- Abortion is healthcare.
- Bodily autonomy is a human right.
- Pregnancy should never be a punishment.
The majority of Americans agree. Poll after poll shows that most people support legal abortion and reproductive freedom. Yet the system is rigged. Gerrymandered districts, activist judges, and extremist lawmakers continue to pass laws that do not reflect the will of the people.
But here’s the truth: Roe was never enough. It was the floor, not the ceiling. Even before its fall, access was unequal based on race, income, zip code, and immigration status. Roe protected a legal right, but it didn’t guarantee access, safety, or justice. And we should not be fighting to go back to that flawed baseline. We must demand a future that does better for all of us.
So, what do we do?
We keep fighting—harder than ever. We vote like our lives depend on it, because they do. We support abortion funds that are on the frontlines, providing help when no one else will. We demand accountability—not just from politicians, but from the people in our communities who stay silent. We uplift the stories of those who’ve been harmed by these cruel policies, and we refuse to let them be erased.
And we imagine a future where our rights are not just restored but expanded. A future rooted in justice, equity, and compassion. A future where no one is forced to give birth against their will, and no one dies waiting for the law to catch up to basic humanity.
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After an Abortion Provider’s Murder, Clinics Became Safer; Let’s Not Undo That Progress
Rolling back protections in the name of political ideology puts lives at risk and undermines decades of work to keep patients and staff safe.
May 31, 2025
May 31 marks 16 years since Dr. George Tiller—an abortion provider and reproductive justice advocate in Wichita, Kansas—was assassinated by a radical anti-abortion extremist outside his church. Dr. Tiller’s murder is a stark reminder of the violence and hatred that abortion providers face daily, and was a tipping point that led to better security measures for health centers.
In the wake of Dr. Tiller’s assassination, health centers across the country strengthened their security, determined to protect patients and staff from violence. Now that protection hangs by a thread. In March, the Trump administration announced that it would stop enforcing the Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances (FACE) Act, a federal law that prohibits the threat or use of force, obstruction, and property damage to reproductive health care centers and protects people like Dr. Tiller and clinic escorts who try to ensure patients’ access to care. Rolling back these protections in the name of political ideology puts lives at risk and undermines decades of work to keep patients and staff safe.
Let me tell you what this looks like in real life.
As we remember and honor Dr. Tiller's life, I urge Congress to uphold the FACE Act. Dismantling this critical legislation sends a message that condones political violence.
As a volunteer escort with Planned Parenthood of Greater Ohio, I try to help patients feel safe when they come to access healthcare. I do it because, regardless of the care patients are seeking, they are needlessly subjected to name-calling, shaming, and harassment. Sometimes I use a large umbrella to visually block protestors filming patients without consent. Sometimes I help someone park farther away, where it is quieter and feels safer. I do what I can to offer warmth and dignity during a moment that can feel vulnerable, stressful, and deeply personal.
In return, I have been screamed at, had my photo taken by strangers, and have been threatened. I am not alone.
Attacks against reproductive healthcare centers, staff, and clinic escorts are not an anomaly. In the United States between 2023 and 2024, there were 621 incidents of trespassing in reproductive health centers; 296 death threats or threats of harm to abortion providers, patients, and clinic escorts; and at least 37 incidents of stalking. Behind these numbers are providers and volunteers like me and Dr. Tiller, who put their lives on the line to ensure that patients receive the care they need.
Since the overturning of Roe v. Wade in 2022, states throughout the Southeast and Midwest have enacted extreme abortion bans. Patients drive to our Ohio health centers with license plates from all over the country for vital reproductive healthcare. I help them find secure parking spaces away from protestors so they can enter and exit their vehicles safely. My fellow volunteers and I distract patients from the vitriol that protestors throw their way as they walk from their cars to enter our health centers. We all show up because we believe everyone deserves access to compassionate, quality care without harassment.
The people shouting at our patients do not speak for the majority. In 2023, Ohioans voted decisively to protect reproductive rights in our state constitution. Voters sent a clear message: We believe in bodily autonomy, privacy, and access to healthcare. Yet the federal government is abandoning us at the doorway where we are most vulnerable.
The FACE Act matters. It protects patients and providers facing harassment and threats just for seeking or providing healthcare. This is not abstract policy—it is about our neighbors, friends, and family. Everyone should be able to access medical care without fear.
As we remember and honor Dr. Tiller's life, I urge Congress to uphold the FACE Act. Dismantling this critical legislation sends a message that condones political violence. Ensuring safety is the bare minimum we can offer to the doctors, nurses, and volunteers who make great sacrifices to keep our communities healthy. We cannot let personal feelings and political ideology override public health and safety.
We all deserve to feel safe when we seek medical care. And those of us who help make that care possible deserve to be protected, too.
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Abortion Pills Aren't Uncomfortable; Censorship Is
Here's my message to The Times-Picayune and every other institution that finds truth "uncomfortable": Get comfortable with discomfort. Because abortion pills aren't going anywhere.
May 22, 2025
So here's what happened.
We—Mayday Health, an abortion education nonprofit—tried to buy a newspaper ad in The Times-Picayune of New Orleans. The ad featured just a few words: "Abortion pills are more popular than ever. Thanks, Amy" with a photo of Amy Coney Barrett, who was born in New Orleans.
The Times-Picayune of New Orleans, Louisiana said… no. They refused to publish.
They sent us a rejection letter assuring us that they "support First Amendment free speech," of course. They just find our particular speech too "uncomfortable."
Uncomfortable.
Let me tell you about uncomfortable.
Uncomfortable is 900,000 Louisiana women of childbearing age waking up in a state that treats their uteruses like crime scenes. Uncomfortable is pregnant Kaitlyn Joshua bleeding through her jeans in a Louisiana hospital parking lot because doctors were too scared of criminal repercussions. Uncomfortable is driving five hours across state lines for healthcare that used to be 10 minutes away. Uncomfortable is a group of Louisiana Republicans investigating a New York-based doctor for legally shipping pills to patients in the state—prosecutors hunting doctors for simply providing care.
In trying to end abortion access, Barrett accidentally revealed just how determined Americans are to control their own bodies. (Thanks for nothing, Amy.)
Louisiana already had one of the highest maternal mortality rates in the nation before this medieval abortion ban. Black and Native American women die here at rates that would make developing countries blush. And now? Doctors turn away women with pregnancy complications because providing necessary care might land them in a state prison.
So yes, Amy Coney Barrett voted to overturn Roe v. Wade. Yes, clinics shuttered overnight from coast to coast. But here's what nobody saw coming: When you eliminate physical access to abortion care, people don't simply accept defeat. They fight for their reproductive freedom. Today, more Americans are ending pregnancies with pills delivered to their mailboxes than ever before—not because it's ideal, but because it's necessary. The data is unequivocal; Abortion rates have actually risen since Roe fell in 2022, though countless people still face dangerous barriers to care. In trying to end abortion access, Barrett accidentally revealed just how determined Americans are to control their own bodies. (Thanks for nothing, Amy.)
But The Times-Picayune finds our ad uncomfortable. The Times-Picayune chose comfort over truth. They chose to protect their readers from reality, rather than prepare them for it.
Here are the facts The Times-Picayune doesn't want you to read: Abortion pills work. They're Food and Drug Administration-approved. They're safe. And—here's the kicker—they're available by mail in all 50 states, including Louisiana. Right now, as you read this, about 8,000 women per month in abortion-banned states are getting these pills delivered to their doorsteps.
I run Mayday Health. We're the people who put up billboards and buy ads and generally make powerful people squirm by stating the obvious. Like the time we put up three billboards in Jackson, Mississippi that read "Pregnant? You still have a choice." When Mississippi's attorney general tried to intimidate us with subpoenas, we didn't blink. We bought 20 more billboards and ran a state-wide TV ad. We turned their threats into a marketing campaign about abortion pills.
When Spotify rejected our audio ads about abortion pills, claiming we violated their policies, we posted a Tweet thread called the "Spotify Rapist Playlist," a list of convicted felons whose music is still available to stream. A week later, Spotify admitted their "ad reviewer made an error." (Spotify ultimately rejected our ads, and we ended up going on Pandora).
We've danced this dance before. The powerful get nervous when they think they have something to lose.
Here's what kills me: The same people who spread complete bullshit about abortion—that it causes breast cancer, that fetuses feel pain at six weeks, that women regularly use it as birth control—these people get full-page spreads. But a few words of truth about FDA-approved pills? Too spicy for the newspaper of record in the Big Easy.
Amy Coney Barrett and her robed colleagues said they were giving the power back to the states, back to the people. Noble, right? Except how are people supposed to make informed decisions when newspapers won't even print basic medical facts?
The truth is simple: Abortion bans don't stop abortions. They stop safe abortions. Women have been ending pregnancies since before we figured out how to make fire, and they're not stopping anytime soon. The only question is whether they'll have accurate information to aid them in the process.
We're not backing down. Mayday Health will keep taking out ads, conducting undercover investigations into fake crisis centers, flying airplane banners over MLB games, driving digital billboard trucks to fake crisis pregnancy centers, building pop-up abortion stores in Texas, and spreading information to rape crisis pregnancy centers. Because while The Times-Picayune worries about its comfort level, Louisiana women are out here living in the real world—a world where information isn't just power, it's survival.
So here's my message to The Times-Picayune and every other institution that finds truth "uncomfortable:" Get comfortable with discomfort. Because we're not going anywhere, and neither are abortion pills.
How's that for uncomfortable?
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Republicans Are Trying, But They Can’t Stop Abortion Pills
Despite RFK Jr.’s review of mifepristone, two things will remain true: Abortions pills will still be extremely safe, and abortion pills will still be available—everywhere.
May 20, 2025
In a disturbing advancement of the Project 2025 playbook for eradicating abortion, Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. is using the release of a new pseudo-study as a pretense for the Food and Drug Administration to review mifepristone’s safety and efficacy. The use of this widely discredited self-published report is a clear political maneuver by the Trump administration and anti-abortion extremists to curb access to telehealth abortion and end access to mifepristone more widely, against the scientific evidence and the will of the American public.
I am a public health researcher and abortion access advocate and have been tracking access to the abortion pill since it was first approved in France in 1988. I feel confident that, regardless of the outcome of this illegitimate review, two things will remain true: Abortions pills will still be extremely safe, and abortion pills will still be available—everywhere.
Abortion pills are safe. Period. The fact that Secretary Kennedy has asked the FDA to reevaluate the medications based on a single, unpublished junk science report is absurd. We have mountains of data and decades of clinical experience documenting their safety, whether provided through an in-person visit at a clinic or, since 2020, via telehealth. The World Health Organization has also said that abortion pills are safe even when taken without medical supervision, also known as self-managed abortion. Data support the safety of all of these forms of access.
As activists and clinicians expand these new routes of access to abortion pills, we are providing an immediate, practical solution for people who need abortion access, and thereby reducing the harm that abortion bans create.
Abortion pills are everywhere. As courts and legislatures have been systematically blocking access to abortion across the country, clinicians and activists—myself included—have been setting up and illuminating innovative routes of access that reach people where they are with safe abortion access, including in states with restrictions. As a result of our collective efforts, abortion pills are now readily available by mail for $150 or less—and free for those who can’t afford any amount—in all 50 states, even states with bans. Access routes currently include telehealth from U.S. providers operating from states with laws that shield them from prosecution, international telehealth services that mail pills to the U.S., community networks that send pills by mail for free, and e-commerce vendors that mail pills to all states.
An organization I co-founded, Plan C, tracks these different services to learn about their offerings, including whether they do a medical screening, what type of pills they offer, and how much they cost. Our ongoing investigations—which include mystery shopping and laboratory testing to verify that the pills are real—document a rich ecosystem of abortion pill access. These are real services providing practical, affordable, medically-safe abortion access, even in states with bans. They are all discoverable online. We index and share this information through our Guide to Pills so that people can learn about this ecosystem, and those who are seeking abortions know that they still have options.
These routes of access, combined with the clinic-based care options that exist in states that still allow it, have been so successful in reaching people that there are now even more abortions occurring in the United States than prior to the Supreme Court decision that overturned Roe v. Wade. Guttmacher, a leading abortion research organization, reports that clinician-provided abortions in the United States rose by more than 100,000 between 2020 and 2024, and that figure does not even include self-managed abortions or abortions facilitated by telehealth shield providers prescribing across state lines into states with bans. The Society of Family Planning also has been documenting abortion post-Roe and reports that these shield providers are serving approximately 10,000 people per month in states that totally or partially ban access to care.
As activists and clinicians expand these new routes of access to abortion pills, we are providing an immediate, practical solution for people who need abortion access, and thereby reducing the harm that abortion bans create, particularly for populations underserved by healthcare systems. We are also showing a new way forward for modern abortion access and laying the groundwork for eventual policy change (which will likely only be possible after our U.S. democracy is restored).
This scenario has already played out in other countries, with resulting improvements in abortion access. For instance, it was largely based on the experiences of patients in Ireland who received abortion pills by mail from Women on Web to safely terminate their pregnancies that parliament liberalized abortion access. In Mexico, the widespread grassroots sharing of information about how to use misoprostol—a widely available ulcer medication—for abortion, ultimately paved the way to policy reform, with abortion pills now officially registered in the country.
For decades, abortion pills have been so severely restricted by politics and overregulation that envisioning a radically different future in which the pills are universally available by mail—or even over the counter—is difficult for most. But this future is coming. Many would say it is largely already here. And, what is particularly notable, given the current FDA safety review based on fabricated claims about the “dangers” of abortion pills, is that these new, modern routes of access are possible precisely because abortion pills are so safe. They are safer than Tylenol, safer than Viagra, and research has demonstrated time and again that they are absolutely safe enough to put directly in the hands of the person who needs them.
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