During the early Seventies when I was a college student living in a small rural community
in the middle of Iowa, the region's illusion of a simpler lifestyle was everything
that an 18-year-old refugee from New Jersey might hope for. Most of the time, the
pungent, black Iowa soil and the untrammeled view of the stars were enough to quell
any homesick memories of such things as how easy it was to belch through the Holland
Tunnel and into the heart-revving land of Oz. Sometimes, however, my college friends
and I would be overcome by the desire for things or experiences that could not be
found in our pastoral paradise - for example, the craving to wander aimlessly through
the aisles of a big bookstore or to shop someplace other than the Sears catalogue.
Such things could only be satisfied by an hour-long drive to Des Moines or Iowa City,
sometimes even Chicago. The same was true for medical care. The town had some general
practitioners, but if you wanted to see a specialist - be it a dermatologist, psychiatrist,
or gynecologist - the office visit involved a trip out of county. And if you wanted
an abortion, well, finding access to that was a whole other ball of wax.
Abortion was illegal in those years, but then so were a lot of things. Yet in
my little world it was easier to get a lead on where to score something like psilocybin
than a safe, affordable abortion. Information about willing providers was passed
from person to person. Even though some organized grassroots information networks
began operating (not unlike a modern-day Underground Railroad), the dissemination
of specific names and addresses was still very much a covert, one-on-one passage
of information from one person's lips to another person's ears. One name that came
up frequently was Jane.
JANE was the code name of a women-run abortion service in Chicago. It began in
the Sixties as a self-help phone referral service maintained by women within the
University of Chicago community. By the time it disbanded in the wake of the Supreme
Court's Roe v. Wade decision in January 1973, JANE had grown into an collective
of abortion practitioners, who had performed over 12,000 safe, sliding-scale-fee
procedures on women who came seeking their services from all over the Midwest.
JANE: An Abortion Service is a documentary by Kate Kirtz and Nell Lundy
that finally sheds some long-deserved light on this clandestine organization. The
film is being screened Thursday, April 30, 7:30pm, at the Dobie Theatre as a benefit
for the nonprofit Texas Abortion and Reproductive Rights Action League (TARAL) Education
Fund, which works to educate the public on reproductive rights issues, provide training
in grassroots organizing, and administer the Rosie Jiménez Fund, which provides
grants for abortion services to women in need.
The film, which was selected for competition at the 1996 Sundance Film Festival,
supplements oral history with well-chosen and often ironic archival footage to provide
a moving history not only of JANE, but of what conditions were like during the years
of illegality. The disdain and disregard of the medical establishment, the real terror
of risking one's life on the uncertainties of back-alley abortions, the cloak-and-dagger
negotiations, and the financial burdens - all are bracing reminders of a time that
is now a full generation in the past. What are still vivid memories for women of
a certain age must seem like ancient history to those who have now grown up with
the guarantees of choice, but the examples also illustrate why constant vigilance
is the price of freedom.
The descriptions also serve to demonstrate JANE's roots as a self-help organization.
The service grew from a desire to share information and help other women. Several
participants had been politicized through their involvement in other civil disobedience
actions and social causes of the Sixties. Also, their willingness to take the next
step and learn how to perform the procedures themselves, and their real commitment
to universal affordability remain hallmarks of the service.
Hidden from view for so long, it's nice to see the members of JANE testifying
here on their own behalf. The individuals have faces - and names - and all have moved
on to new phone numbers and occupations. Since most of the group's physical records
were understandably destroyed, the history is related by editing together individual
interviews. The effect is a rousing and cohesive story of bravery, "can do"
fervor, and social analysis.
I think again of my pastoral Iowa paradise and wonder to what extent local access
to abortion has changed there since legalization. Sure, information would be easier
to come by, given phonebook advertising, 24/7 Web service, and the like. But this
film also reports that as of 1995, 84% of all U.S. counties had no abortion provider.
My guess is that the situation might still be Hello, Des Moines.