What is Morality?

Like many of you, I’ve spent a lot of time with my head in my hands in the past several months, worried about the implications of Roe V. Wade. I’ve made some statements on Instagram, donated, and am working on re-electing an incumbent on the Montana Supreme Court (more on that below). But I’ve spent most of my energy trying to understand what it is about abortion that puts women, in particular, in a circular firing squad—and why it’s so hard for us to come together against an impingement on our rights and bodily autonomy.

Ultimately, I've come to believe it’s the slippery issue of “morality,” and the way that this is wielded as a cudgel. I used to conflate “morality” and “goodness,” thinking of them as synonyms. But the etymology of morality comes from social customs and mores—morality is about cultural codes of behavior, what an authority out there deems proper and correct. This is the key, actually, because we each have our own moral codes. What I deem right or good for myself is not necessarily what you would deem right and good for you. 

And yes, we can argue that we have a collective moral code—officially, we don’t kill, steal, etc.—and yet we violate and/or allow violations of that moral code all the time. In this country we still have capital punishment, i.e. we legally execute people for committing crimes (insane!). We condone citizens shooting home invaders or anyone who might possibly pose a threat to their safety or security. Police continue to use overwhelming force on innocent civilians (primarily people of color). We let people and companies off the hook for corporate fraud, etc. There are loopholes all over the place for those who have power—when this comes to our attention, many of us determine these loopholes to be horribly unjust. We don’t really have a collective moral code.

We all have personal moral codes, certainly—these are typically our beliefs, our faith, the way we govern our own lives. Often our moral code is private—that’s the beauty of living in the U.S. It’s really not anyone’s business how I live my life. Except now, that’s under our threat, and I cannot stress how scared that should make all of us: It’s a function of a free and democratic society that our beliefs are our own business.

When it comes to abortion, the conflation of morality and choice is a tactic, a distraction from what's actually at play. What's going down now is not about one side taking a "moral" stand—this is a systemic attack on RIGHTS. Everyone should be alarmed, including pro-life women. We are witnessing a government that feels empowered to destroy women's sovereignty over our bodies. That's what's happening. Under Roe, it was possible for me to decide that I personally could not abide having an abortion, that it felt wrong for me, or not; but regardless of my own decision, far be it for me to determine what is right or wrong for you. Now, the government will decide for us. I hope pro-life women understand that there are other implications of state-governed procreation: Imagine being forced to terminate a pregnancy you want because the fetus doesn't meet government standards on IQ, or is expected to be differently abled, neurodiverse, etc. Or being sterilized because you don't fit an "ideal" standard (oh wait, that already happens to marginalized women). This is the sort of dystopian future that's right around the corner. When women are legally equivalent to chattel, unable to make decisions about our own healthcare, expect darkness. NOT freedom or preservation of life. Abortion is healthcare. You govern your healthcare, I'll govern mine. 

I don’t think anyone speaks to this as well as philosopher Kate Manne in Entitled: 

"It’s one thing for someone who might get pregnant to oppose an abortion on a personal level—to be disinclined to have one herself, or even to feel that it would be wrong for anyone in such a position to do so, on the basis of religious views she doesn’t expect everyone to share, say. It’s another thing entirely to think—especially as someone who cannot get pregnant, as a cisgender man—that anyone who becomes pregnant should be forced to bear the pregnancy to term, using the coercive power of the state, regardless of their age, beliefs, life circumstances, the traumatic manner of their becoming pregnant, or the devastating outcomes if they are not allowed to end it. The former is a reasonable manifestation of individual differences; the latter is a deeply draconian, deeply troubling attitude. Remember, the state doesn’t regulate certain behaviors that most people think are immoral—lying to and cheating on one’s partner, say—or behaviors that some people think are tantamount to murder—eating meat, for example. The social costs of coercion here seem to radically outweigh those of the possibility that some people will choose to do things that others believe they should not do, given the kinds of freedom to which they are entitled. So, by all means, don’t have an abortion, if you’re personally opposed to them. But the state of policing of pregnant bodies is a form of misogynistic social control, one whose effects will be most deeply felt by the most vulnerable girls and women."

I wish, with my whole heart, that we could put personal morality aside to understand what’s actually at stake here—and the potential ramifications of this erosion of rights happening across the United States. And the world. My heart breaks for the women and girls of Iran—and yet, watching students strip off their hijabs and take to the street for freedom and bodily autonomy, despite the threat of "morality police" and potential death or imprisonment, should inspire us all with what exactly is on the line. We are all connected. None of us are free until all of us are free. And while women in the West are far less restricted, we exist on a patriarchal continuum and we must use all of our weight to resist, resist, resist. And stand up for our sisters.

I’ve been working with a small and powerful crew of childhood friends from Montana, along with some friends in Los Angeles, on safeguarding the state’s constitution, which includes a protection for access to abortion since the '90s. Naturally, the Montana constitution is now under threat, thanks to a wave of extremist far-right funding (and candidates) in the state. All of the states around Montana have abortion bans in place; it’s essential for the region’s women, particularly Indigenous women, that they have uninterrupted access to healthcare and can go to Montana. Montana is an important zone for all of us frankly, and not just because I’m from there. It’s important because it’s historically been deeply purple, with many strong Democratic governors, senators, and members of congress. Montana represents an essential window into the needs of rural voters, including how we steward and protect public lands. And the women in Montana are fierce—in fact, in 1916, Jeanette Rankin (Republican) was the first woman elected to the United States Congress, four years before (white) women secured the right to vote. Montana is interesting, too, because it’s not particularly religious—it is not an evangelical stronghold—Montanans largely think for themselves. Montana must stay purple. We are raising money to protect the incumbent Ingrid Gustafson, a well-liked state supreme court justice (across political lines). There is much at stake besides abortion, including LGBTQA+ rights, public land access, and more. If you’re able, please consider making a donation.

Thank you, as always, for reading.