I Was a Leader of the Anti-Abortion Movement — Until I Engaged With the Other Side

To the Editor:

The Chronicle of Philanthropy took a risk by publishing Megan Rose’s opinion piece, “Philanthropy Should Focus on Building Stronger Families — Not Supporting Abortion Advocacy” (June 27, 2022). As a regretful and former national leader of the political movement that helped bring down Roe. v. Wade, I understand the outrage many feel over giving a platform to any antichoice advocate. Still, if we are to repair the damage created by the Dobbs v. Jackson opinion, we must understand what motivates and animates a substantial part of the American electorate.

I am a pro-choice evangelical, but for 35 years I railed against abortion and Roe. As a leader in the most aggressive wing of the pro-life movement, I organized abortion clinic blockades, sued reproductive health care providers, and strenuously lobbied state and federal legislators to criminalize abortion. I even paid the real Jane Roe, Norma McCorvey, to publicly represent herself as an anti-Roe convert, even though I knew she harbored great doubts about changing her position. Shortly before her death, she confessed to the world that her short-lived pro-life activism was a ruse.

I eventually spent 10 years as the unofficial chaplain to the conservative U.S. Supreme Court justices, using my position to bolster their anti-abortion sentiments.

It wasn’t until pro-choice activist, philanthropist, and documentary film producer Abigail Disney challenged me to look critically at my position and its harmful effects on vulnerable women that I began the complicated journey toward change.

While working together on a documentary film project critical of my evangelical tribe, Abby, as I now affectionately know her, deigned to listen to me hold forth on why I disagreed with her views on abortion. My soliloquies would sometimes last hours. Still, this fierce, longstanding, unwaveringly progressive women’s-rights icon waited for me to finish each time. Only then would she ask the kinds of probing questions that indicated she wanted to both know — and understand — why I opposed a woman’s right to choose, assigned full human rights to a fetus, and called for laws compelling women to give birth and raise children.

During those lengthy exchanges, I began to see inconsistencies in my arguments. These discourses also forced me to get to know my ideological opponent as a person, not simply a villainous actor on the imaginary culture-war stage. Abby was a real person with a great love for her husband and passionate devotion to her four children. Over time, I learned she genuinely loved people and respected sincerity, even if she thought you were sincerely wrong.

Abby’s patience, humble curiosity about the people on the so-called other side, and willingness to listen to words that ran counter to everything she believed eventually relaxed my defenses and allowed me to ask her similar questions and reciprocate the deep listening. Had Abby been unwilling to engage in this intentional, albeit sometimes painful exercise, I’m not sure I would have ever changed my opinion about abortion.

Doing so cost me many friends, colleagues, and even a career of three decades. Still, it was worth it all. Not only is my conscience free, but more important, I am now working in an informed way to repair the damage I and others did during those years. Unlike many of my fellow pro-choice advocates, I know precisely why and how the other side operates because I was one of its significant operatives. That gives me an advantage, and I am using it.

There is nothing to be gained by closing down dialogue, refusing to listen, or denying each other opportunities to share sincerely held opinions. When it comes to the common spaces of ordinary life and social intercourse, we must respect one another enough to endure discomfort at the conversation table — literally or figuratively — for the sake of the greater good.

Learning to trust those with whom we disagree, respecting their sincerity, and checking our own certitude is crucial to understanding one another and healing our nation’s dangerous polarization — arguably more important now than at any time since the Civil War. Trust is among the most persuasive tools available to us.

Rev. Rob Schenck
President
The Dietrich Bonhoeffer Institute