Spare us your explanations.
It doesn't matter how we got here. What matters is that we're here.
In law school, I used to harp on the dissents of the case law I studied. Not because I am a contrarian, but because I am an explainer. Knowing both sides of a position felt like the best way to understand the truth as I believed it. I could step outside of my own echo chamber and preconceived notions to reach my own conclusions and be able to back them up. In real life, I practice this, too. Unpopular opinions deserve airtime in your life, because there’s usually a sliver of commonality in there somewhere, and that commonality can breed compromise, which can breed acceptance and change. Most of the time.
This is not one of those times. I’m questioning whether my amicability has been a defense mechanism. Maybe some issues have always been a battle between right and wrong, and hair splitting is just another means of explaining away the truth.
When the Supreme Court issued its decision in Dobbs last Friday, I didn’t want to read it again. I had already seen enough when the leaked draft came out in May. All I needed to know was what the alerts on my iPhone said: the protections afforded by Roe are gone. The Constitution no longer confers the right to an abortion, according to the six judicial evangelists controlling us now.
I’m not interested in the decision, because I’m too focused on the consequences. Pregnant people will die. Life—our lives and the lives they are hellbent on preserving—will suffer in medical, emotional, unfathomable ways. Poverty will intensify. There will be strain on the healthcare, foster care, and criminal justice systems. And of course, the truth we all know will continue to be true. Abortion bans and restrictions will have a disparate impact on underserved, marginalized, and minority communities, which historically lack access to resources that can help a pregnant person navigate their options in a timely, safe, and now, legal manner.
People reeling from the decision, including me, don’t care about the reasons why. Even as a lawyer, I don’t want to do what I do. I don’t need to study the legal nuances, or revisit the historic passings of power with Supreme Court analysts whose books I read in my Twenties. Enough analyzing. I don’t want to be reminded of the broken assurances from confirmation hearings or be subject to sound bytes from politicians who are suddenly aghast. Enough explaining. Throughout history, women have always stood on quicksand, our gains eroded even as we climb. But this is an avalanche deeper than religious pretext. It has always been about control—losing it, gaining it, and losing it again.
It doesn’t matter how we got here. What matters is that we’re here.
It also doesn’t matter what you think about abortion. I am watching this play out on social media with all the armchair reproductive experts who think they have struck a balance between saving the life of the mother, making limited exceptions for horrific acts of domestic violence, and protecting the fetus at a time they’ve unscientifically deemed fair. Your opinion about when choices are acceptable don’t matter anymore. There is no choice anymore. If one of us has lost it, we are all at risk of losing it, too.
We are in hard times. The emotional warfare of post-2016 politics has taken a toll on many of us. We are still on the comedown of voting like our lives depended on it and left questioning what good it did. Calls to vote feel empty. Every time a politician sends me an automated text asking for $10, I want to scream back into my phone, enough of you! I am sick of our worst news being hijacked and placed on their chessboard, another talking point for their next election. We deserve better. It makes sense to be too tired to care, but that isn’t an option. You can turn your back on the debate and the discourse, but you can’t turn your back on the fight.
The battle will now be forged at the state level, so local elections matter more than ever. Red states can get worse. Blue state’s legal infrastructure can be improved to better support out-of-state pregnant persons. Purple states are not safe, and we can’t assume they will be. Learn about your candidates and strive to care more about what happens in your own backyard. Your efforts will be felt and voice will be heard much more than when we spread our focus too wide.
Continue to donate money to organizations that support reproductive rights, as well as local independent clinics. While this may feel transactional, and like it’s not enough to subdue your rage, it’s actually the best way to support the build-out of current infrastructures. If you have the means, consider recurring monthly donations, even in small amounts.
Most of all, have some damn conviction. Care how this plays out. Watch for the people, corporations, and leaders who step up. Let’s see who they are and support them. Don’t allow yourself to be swallowed by the collective national despair. Use your voice to say what you’re thinking, because we’re past needing to be polite. Past the justifications. You don’t even need to hear both sides. Personally, I’ve heard enough.
Thank you for reading my rage writing. I could go on day and night: averagejoelle3@gmail.com.
What you can do:
A friend and fellow lawyer mom shared with me this comprehensive Google doc of resources and ways to get involved. I like it because it’s a living document that’s being updated in real time. Please give it a read and share.