Forty-five years after Roe v. Wade was decided, the right to abortion that the Supreme Court discerned remains controversial and disputed.
The expectation of legal abortion is deeply embedded in American law and practice. Many states were lifting restrictions on the procedure even before Roe. Justice Harry Blackmun’s landmark decision seized upon a social trend.
According to a 2017 Gallup poll, 79 percent of Americans think abortion should be legal in some or all circumstances. A constitutional amendment against abortion — favored by many social conservatives — is a practical impossibility.
But the Supreme Court created a legal regime more extreme than the general consensus.
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The dogged anti-abortion activists who return to Washington, D.C., each year to protest Roe during the March for Life are not alone. In the same Gallup poll, 49 percent of Americans agreed that abortion is “morally wrong” (compared with 43 percent who find it “morally acceptable”).
Just 29 percent believe abortion should be legal in every circumstance. Some states have moved to restrict abortion at the edges — requiring abortion clinics to meet the standards for ambulatory surgical centers, ensuring that abortion providers have visiting privileges at local hospitals, restricting the procedure after the fetus can feel pain.
Why does this issue refuse to fade from our politics? One reason concerns Roe itself, which was (as Justice Byron White put it in his dissent) “an exercise in raw judicial power.”
Blackmun’s ruling does not hold up well on rereading. His system of trimesters and viability was (and is) arbitrary and medically rootless — a fig leaf covering an almost limitless abortion right.
Blackmun’s weak argument largely substituted for democratic process in 50 states. It was a recipe for resentment and reaction.
But judicial fiat can’t be a sufficient explanation. The Obergefell decision legalizing gay marriage in every state was also sweeping. It has produced almost no political reaction.
The contrast to Roe could hardly be starker. And the explanation is rather simple.
All the great civil rights movements have been movements of inclusion. The first modern civil rights campaign — militating for the end of the British slave trade — set the pattern with its slogan: “Am I not a man and a brother?”
Susan B. Anthony asked: “Are women persons?” The most rapidly successful civil rights movement of our time — the gay rights movement — revealed gay people as friends and family members. All these efforts expanded the circle of social welcome and protection.
The pro-abortion rights movement, in contrast, is a movement of autonomy. Its primary appeal is to individual choice, not social inclusion. And the choice it elevates seems (to some people) in tension with the principle of inclusion.
A fetus is genetically distinct from the mother, biologically human and has the inherent capacity to develop into a child. This makes it different from a hangnail or a tumor.
At what point does this developing human life deserve our sympathy and protection? When neurological activity develops? When the fetus can feel pain? When a child is born? When an infant can think and reason?
All these “achievements” are, in fact, scientifically and ethically arbitrary. They don’t mark the start of a new life, just the development of an existing life.
It is the anti-abortion movement that appeals to inclusion. It argues for a more expansive definition of the human community. It opposes ending or exploiting one human life for the benefit of another.
There are heart-rending stories that prevent the simplistic application of this approach. But most of the anti-abortion men and women I know have the genuine and selfless motivation of trying to save innocent lives.
An appeal to choice is undeniably powerful in our time. It seems to be the age of autonomy on both left and right, from right-to-die laws to marijuana legalization.
But there is an ethical and political alternative, emphasizing an inclusive concern for the common good and solidarity with the most vulnerable members of the human family. Martin Luther King Jr. called this “the beloved community.”
It emerges not through the assertion of autonomy, but through the acceptance of our shared humanity and of the loyalty we owe each other.
Both of these priorities — autonomy and inclusion — are strongly present in American history. The abortion debate falls along this enduring divide, producing a social conflict that will only be managed, not settled.
Michael Gerson is a Washington Post columnist and former speechwriter for President George W. Bush. Reach him by email at email@example.com.