Why Men Should Be Included in Abortion Discussion

When I was in high school, one of my friends got a secret abortion. Though I wasn't raised in a religious household, I remember taking a sheet of white, clean paper and writing a series of haphazard prayers that I then hid in my sock drawer.

One of them was for Cody,* my friend's bewildered boyfriend. She wanted nothing to do with him, though he was trying his 17-year-old-teenage-boy best to be supportive; she said it felt like Cody had done this to her. I understood, but I also knew that he must be -- as she was -- holding it together all day, crying alone at night, utterly confused. Though raised Catholic, he too thought an abortion was the right decision, but had no role in the ritual of that choice.

I think of Cody from time to time and wonder what he's doing now. I recently heard a rumor that he's gone on to study theology. I can't help but wonder if that decision was in some way informed by the conversation he was never able to have -- with her, with friends, with mentors, with his version of god -- about his experience of abortion.

After all, where is a pro-choice man who wants guidance, community or counseling around his experience of abortion to turn?

In the public sphere, the most vocal mention of men and abortion comes in virulently unsympathetic forms: government officials' ethically indefensible, not to mention totally impractical, attempt to chip away at Roe v. Wade with consent laws (see the recent Ohio bill), or pro-life propaganda dressed up as counseling for men. It is no surprise that our pathetic excuse for sex education in this country makes little mention of abortion and/or the ways in which men might be affected by it.

In the clinical sphere, already spread-too-thin therapists and medical staff pay little attention to men's involvement. Ninety-eight percent of clinic counselors are female, so a man hoping to discuss his feelings with a peer is largely out of luck.

In the most comprehensive study of men and abortion to date, Arthur Shostak, a professor of sociology at Drexel University, who describes himself as "unswervingly pro-choice," found that men's single greatest concern was the well-being of their sex partner and, further, that a majority of men would like to accompany their partners throughout the procedure. Most clinics don't allow men beyond the waiting room, something Shostak says is evidence that many think of men as "coat holders and drivers."

And in the private sphere, men struggle to reach out to one another about their experiences for a variety of reasons. A stigma against abortion overall remains (more oppressive in some geographies than others, of course), often keeping both women and their partners silent with even the closest of friends and family. In the same way that contemporary men are still groping for ways to be honest with one another about all things sexual -- abuse, orientation, dysfunction -- they just don't seem to have the language to talk about their abortion experiences.

Few young men have fathers or mentors who have authentically modeled opening up about the very common experience of unexpected pregnancy. Wisecracks and silence are still the norm, despite the fact that, according to the Guttmacher Institute, about half of American couples have experienced an unintended pregnancy, and at current rates, more than one-third (35 percent) of women will have had an abortion by age 45.

The pro-choice movement, and feminists in general, seem to have historically shied away from the difficult but imperative task of involving men in conversations about abortion. It is understandable that the movement has been weary; no hot-button issue brings out more manipulation than this one. But it is time that feminists' commitment to equality, as well as the quality of both women and men's lives, trumps their fear that acknowledging men's hardships will only serve as fodder for pro-life spin doctors. There must be a way to talk about men's perspectives and experiences without compromising women's bodies.