The abortion debate is personal. If you were around in 1973, as I was, a new hire in the English Department at Brooklyn College, you were privy to the harrowing stories of colleagues who had had unwanted pregnancies. This happened, not because they were reckless, but because of the prevailing notions that women could and would enjoy sex as much as men—a risky choice. Erica Jong’s catchphrase, “the zipless fuck,” was about to be coined. Our Bodies, Our Selves emboldened women to be adventurers. This was new, as women’s lives were expanding beyond their father’s/husband’s purview. Roe v. Wade enlarged those possibilities, eliminating the danger and stigma for sexually active women, “auctoritee,” as Chaucer’s Wife of Bath would have it—women would have self-rule. Agency. And maybe self-love. Implicit in the current reversal of Roe: women’s lives don’t matter.
Watching Battleground, Cynthia Lowen’s powerful, Zietgeist-hitting documentary featured at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival, I was struck by how intelligent the leadership of anti-abortion groups are, articulate and persuasive in their ideas about killing babies, Gen Z zealots in preventing this murder—and how young and clueless regarding the hard-fought struggles of pre-Roe women.
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