DEBANJANA
Executive Director at Women’s Global Network for Reproductive Rights, India
"My 11-year-old daughter knows what abortion is, what her rights are, and thinks anyone who tries to deny her agency is totally lame."
I was sitting in my lounge as a child watching a Bollywood movie with my family. An abortion storyline was playing out on screen and I asked my mother, what’s an abortion? She explained, and said something that probably changed the course of my life: if you’re ever faced with this one day, it’s your choice.
I would come to recognise that this conversation in my household was a type of resistance, a form of advocacy even. Because I grew up in India, in a patriarchy where reproductive healthcare was highly stigmatised, where talking about sex and abortion was taboo. I often think back to that conversation – from there, my future slowly unfurled to where I am today: a proud abortion activist campaigning for all women to have that choice.
Ten years after that conversation, I was in college and found myself accompanying a friend who was having an abortion. The nurse asked if she was married, making it clear that this was a prerequisite for the service. We lied and said I was her sister-in-law. My friend experienced so much unnecessary guilt and shame throughout the process because of the system and stigma around her. If she’d needed abdominal surgery, people would be helping her, visiting and checking on her.
Abortion is a health service too, but I realised it can be an isolating, even traumatic experience when there’s not proper care.
Eventually I decided to become an activist to expand access. I’ve since worked for global reproductive health organisations, joined grassroots abortion campaigns – and everything in between.
Not all days are equal. One day I’m connecting with passionate people, working with activist artists creating murals and music, and advising policymakers on positive law reform; and the next day a change in government could mean an entire policy we’ve worked on is trashed. Activism demands that you ride the ups and downs and sustain your fight over a lifetime.
Here in India, abortion is legal within certain parameters. The Indian Supreme Court has even declared abortion as a fundamental right – this was a huge win, and I was very proud to be part of the campaign that helped make this happen.
But if you stopped young people on the street today and asked them if they could legally get an abortion, most wouldn’t know. If you asked healthcare providers, many would still think they could be penalised for providing it.
Advocacy can’t end with laws and policies – people need to know and understand the law and their rights. Our fight continues every single day.
But it’s bigger than India. I’ve seen what’s happening in the US, in the Philippines, in Poland. Through abortion restrictions, they’re trying to control women, our bodies and life choices.
Without us – our network of powerful, smart, creative, pro-choice organisations and activists – they would try to strip our reproductive rights, one by one, country by country. But they won’t be able to do that. Every day, they’re up against a wall of solidarity. Collective passion, advocacy that spills across continents and time zones, fostered in our stories and humanity. This is precious, this is what sustains me.
The small act of resistance I found in my childhood home continues in my household today. My 11-year-old daughter knows what abortion is, what her rights are, and thinks anyone who tries to deny her agency is ‘totally lame’. Just today, she wore a t-shirt to school that says: Sex education empowers.
And I’m reminded that these puzzle pieces of resistance and action – conversations in our homes, t-shirts worn to school, accompanying friends to get abortion care, sharing our stories – are what is building our future. Where women have rights, dignity, safety and choices.
Abortion Anthology
Peruse the collection of short personal stories from people who have had, provided or supported abortions.
Sandra's story
A young mother struggling for money, Sandra fell pregnant. The man she was seeing offered her a 'way out' that would almost end her life.
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