Roberts and Roe

Recently, I appeared on O'Reilly to discuss the big flap about NARAL's ad opposing the confirmation of John Roberts. I went prepared to talk about the several areas of concern about Roberts' record on reproductive rights and access to reproductive health care. But because the ad centers on his role in one particular case involving violence against a clinic where abortions were performed, I was immediately transported to a memory that for me is a classic example of how the political very quickly becomes the personal.

It was 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning. The Phoenix weather report, as usual, predicted a sunny and hot day. You could already feel the heat rising, along with the electric energy of the people beginning to arrive and take their places.

Staff went into the health center to prepare for patients. The volunteers divided into two groups. Patient escorts donned bright orange vests and gathered near the entrance to the parking lot. The others grabbed their coffee from the office that had been turned into volunteer central and situated themselves around the perimeter of the building.

As CEO of the local Planned Parenthood affiliate at the time, I moved between all those places. Among the volunteers were board members, friends, family and activists who had answered the call, and an extraordinary number of individuals who had simply shown up offering to help. There were clergy who felt a moral obligation to be present wearing their collars, college students energized by the chance to defend their principles, men and women from all walks of life, and even a couple of burly guys who owned a security company and volunteered their services. Even my dentist came with his video camera to record the events of the day.

We all made a point of arriving early enough to form a circle of support for the women who would be coming for birth control or abortion that morning -- a circle that would form a human barrier to the Operation Rescue (OR) demonstration we anticipated. Though they called it a demonstration, they sometimes invaded health facilities to try to shut them down and terrorize the people within. They had been known to glue locks shut and otherwise block access. We had to be prepared for anything. By our presence, we said, "You will not deny services to the women who need them."

The Phoenix police had traditionally been less concerned about OR's disruption of services than about the possibility of physical confrontation. In fact, the chief of police once advised me to close the center when we knew there would be a demonstration -- advice that we not only didn't take, but enlisted the support of city fathers and mothers to overrule.

However, on this day, the police's fear of fighting worked in our favor. Owing to the huge pro-choice contingency staking out the sidewalk first, the officers made OR demonstrate across the street.

I can't remember the exact date of this particular Saturday because there were so many Saturdays like it -- some more fraught with violence and harassment than others. I do know that during this era, Bray v. Alexandria Women's Health Clinic was wending its way to the U.S. Supreme Court, where John Roberts, the most recent nominee for that esteemed and critically important body, would argue on behalf of his client, President George H. W. Bush's Department of Justice. He argued against the rights of women to access reproductive health care -- and thus on behalf of anti-abortion protesters, including Operation Rescue and Michael Bray, who was previously convicted for involvement in a string of 10 clinic bombings.

My colleagues and I often discussed the fact that we were civil libertarians who supported free speech rights to picket peacefully. But we knew in our hearts and guts that the gathering storm of anti-choice assaults was not free speech -- it was hate speech at best and domestic terrorism at worst.