The end of Roe will lead to baseless attacks on gay rights
Within hours of the Supreme Court decision to overturn Roe v. Wade, abortion was banned in 13 states when so-called trigger laws went into effect. The grim impact of criminalizing women's choices about their bodies will be stark and immediate, but predictable.
As a queer woman, I have struggled to conceptualize the full reach of this decision. Since the leaked draft opinion in Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization, the previously unimaginable recriminalization of gay sex and the loss of my right to marry felt chillingly possible.
I grew up in Oklahoma and came out just three years after Lawrence v. Texas. The 2003 Supreme Court decision meant that queer relationships could no longer be criminalized. But coming out has rarely come without cost.
Some of us lost jobs, families, military commissions. Rejection cost most of us a piece of our self-worth. As Justice Anthony Kennedy later articulated in Obergefell v. Hodges, Lawrence moved queer people from outlaws to outcasts. It was better, but still proved to be a compromised way to move through the world.
I never imagined that I would have the right to marry. Then United States v. Windsor and Obergefell provided my family with the security of legal and social recognition. Mundane activities are still points of pride — filing taxes, getting health insurance, buying a house together.
My wife and I brought our children into this post-marriage-equality world thousands of miles from my hometown. We have had the privilege to live boldly and unapologetically gay lives. After reading the leaked opinion in Dobbs, suddenly the dreams we had for ourselves and our children felt shaken. But then we went to Pride. Watching my kids dance in the Portland summer rain, I felt something else. As a mother I may be afraid. As a civil rights lawyer and professor, I am just indignant.
My constitutional right to have sex and to marry the person I love exists independently of my constitutional right to have a safe, legal abortion.
Follow me here.
In Roe, the Supreme Court recognized a fundamental right to abortion as an outgrowth of a broader right to privacy.
Roe held that the Bill of Rights protected the essence of privacy, which created a liberty interest under the 14th Amendment's due process clause. Yet the court has moved away from privacy as a means to recognizing fundamental rights.
Lawrence v. Texas reflected this trend — rejecting the privacy-based framework. Instead, Kennedy recognized the interlocking rights of both liberty and equality as the basis for the constitutional right to have gay sex without being branded a criminal. Kennedy concluded that “freedom extends beyond spatial bounds. Liberty presumes an autonomy of self that includes freedom of thought, belief, expression, and certain intimate conduct.”
Lawrence affirmed what queer people have always known: Sex is inherently private, but it is only one dimension of a queer life.
Liberty and equality offer the promise to be “let in” — the right to participate and to be seen. The self-definition articulated in Lawrence and recognized by Obergefell is simply unattainable in a vacuum defined only by privacy.
The denial of constitutional protections for abortion access will engender profound damage on individuals, families and communities. The fallout cannot be overstated.
Already, we see that Justice Clarence Thomas' concurring opinion is an unabashed invitation to bring new challenges to other fundamental rights, including attacks on the decriminalization of gay relationships, same-sex marriage and married couples use of contraception.
The interlocking liberty and equality foundation of Lawrence and Obergefell should survive the political activism that shaped the Dobbs decision. The willingness of the court to revisit these rights exposes a motivation of ideology, political gain and power — not constitutional fealty.
Perhaps more critically, it is bolstered by the moral arc of the universe, which will bend our way. We cannot accept a diminished and distorted version of equality. Instead, we must stand and meet the gaze of this moment with what it demands: indignant pride.