After a sleepless night, Wood came to the realization that he would love his child and do his best to be a good father. Then, the phone rang: It was his girlfriend, saying that she had “talked to [her] mom” and had changed her mind about having the baby. They would “get it taken care of,” she said, and declined Wood’s offer to go with her to the clinic.
Wood, who writes that he “breathed a sigh of relief . . . and uncertainty,” sees this story today as both a “hopeful argument for choice” and a “tearful tale in favor of life.” He realizes that both he and his then-girlfriend might not have realized their dreams, of both work and family, if she had not had the abortion; he also wonders if they could have had their own family, and if he could have been “a better person . . . and sooner” if he had followed through on his vow to be a father to his child.
What struck me most, though, was the emotional rollercoaster of taking a cue from the woman’s choice and accepting fatherhood, only to have to switch off those feelings when her choice suddenly changes.
An attorney I interviewed for my 2000 article who was doing pro bono work on child custody and shared parenting issues and was sympathetic to men’s rights perspectives (admittedly, ones from a much saner time) told me that the expectation of such “switching” was “a fundamental denial of men’s humanity.” That strikes me as taking it a bit far—and besides, women, too, may have to switch their maternal feelings on and off when their circumstances change and their choice has to change accordingly. But very few people, pro-life or pro-choice, deny that abortion is often a wrenching experience for women. Men’s emotions are much more easily dismissed.
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For many pro-choice people I know, men and women alike, the abortion issue boils down entirely to the question of a woman’s control over her body, not just in the philosophical sense of bodily autonomy but in a much more practical sense: It’s the woman who has to put up with the physical discomforts and risks of pregnancy and childbirth. This inescapable fact is indeed central. However much an unwanted child can affect a man’s circumstances, we consider bodily autonomy and integrity far more essential than control over other aspects of one’s life. This is why “equal protection” arguments about abortion, from either the feminist or the men’s rights perspective, inevitably fail: Women and men are not similarly situated with regard to pregnancy, and there is no way to resolve the issue with full parity without being “unfair” to one or the other.
But that doesn’t mean men’s relationship to pregnancy and childbearing should be dismissed as entirely trivial and inconsequential—particularly in a culture that seeks to encourage men to be as involved in parenting as women. How do we tell men to have an equal emotional investment in a child while also telling them that they should have no say, not just legally but morally, in what happens before birth?
This is not an argument for banning abortion; it’s an argument for making it as rare as possible and prioritizing its avoidance. It’s also an argument for not losing sight of men’s fundamental humanity in the abortion debate, whether on the pro-life or the pro-choice side.
After the fall of Roe, it’s easy for pro-choicers to think that we are living in a moment of rampant misogyny when women’s basic human rights are being ripped away. (If you ask, Aren’t we?, my answer is no; I think the right to abortion at least early in the pregnancy is essential, but women’s rights are also not reducible to abortion, and some countries with near-total abortion bans fare well on other measures of gender equality.) It is also natural for pro-lifers to think that they should win women’s hearts and minds first and foremost. Thus, neither side is particularly interested in a “men are people, too” message. But that’s a mistake. The abortion debate is already polarizing enough along political and religious lines. We should not let it promote more polarization along gender lines as well.