Supporters of employer-funded contraception rally in front of the Supreme Court. Photo: Getty
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The knitting needle age: this US verdict shows our abortion rights are always under threat

If you are a woman of my generation, you were born into an era of extraordinary good fortune, where you have the right to decide what happens to your body. But we mistook a truce in the war on women for a victory.

You don’t see it so much on pro-choice placards. It doesn’t have the recognisable profile of the coat hanger, but it’s the knitting needle’s shape that made it useful to women desperate to end their pregnancies. A simple household object, easily available when women’s work routinely included the creation of sweaters and socks for the family, pulling loop over loop; a fine metal spear with a pointed end that could be inserted into the uterus, in the hope of destroying the unwanted foetus and inducing miscarriage.

Not that useful, of course. Few women had the skilled knowledge of their anatomy that would let them navigate their internal organs successfully. The result might be nothing, or it might be worse: a self-inflicted puncture wound, infection, bleeding, death. Before abortion and contraception were made legally and widely available, physicians reported women being brought into hospital with knitting needles or similar objects trapped in their wombs. This was something normal, the bleak and gory price of a society that gave women no safe recourse when dealing with a pregnancy they could not continue.

Fitting, then, that the most recent assault on American women’s right to decide whether or not they get pregnant comes from one of that country’s largest purveyors of knitting needles. On Monday, craft store chain Hobby Lobby won a Supreme Court decision protecting it from paying for insurance for employees under the Affordable Care Act that covers certain forms of contraception which the company considered to be “abortifacients”, including the Mirena coil. This requirement, according to the judgement, would impose a “substantial burden” on the “religious freedom” of the company.

The fact that these contraceptives, by definition, prevent rather than end a pregnancy was apparently unimportant to the five judges who supported the majority verdict (all three female justices dissented, as did one of their male colleagues). Similarly, there was little effort to address what it means for a company to have “religious freedom” – maybe the Hobby Lobby stores really are all engaged in constant silent observance of the Holy Spirit, although it’s hard to tell, what with them being inanimate brick shells.

And what about the other burden here, on women who find their reproductive options shaped, not by their own wishes and needs and their doctor’s advice, but by their employers’ scruples? The judgement seems far more concerned by how heavy a Mirena might weigh on an employer’s conscience, than by the weight of living flesh on a woman’s body as an unwanted foetus multiplies cell by cell, becomes an embryo, a baby, a child, all the time unwanted, all the time living on the woman who didn’t want to be a mother.

The idea that women have a right to be something other than a resource for other life to consume is something I’ve been able to grow up taking for granted, but in truth it’s a phenomenal novelty. The 1967 Abortion Act in the UK, Roe vs Wade in the USA in 1973 – these and the other watersheds like them are all firmly within living memory. In Spain, abortion was wholly criminalised until 1985, and now the governing People’s Party is on the verge of outlawing abortion in all cases other than rape or medically certified risk to the life of the pregnant woman. Similar efforts to amend UK law have had little effect so far, but make no mistake: if you are a woman of my generation, you were born into an era of extraordinary good fortune. We mistook a truce on our bodies for a victory.

While we enjoyed the luxury of choice, the forces against women were finding new ways to attack. Advice aimed at giving women trying for a baby the best chance of a healthy child has been turned into injunctions that treat all fertile women as “pre-pregnant”, valuing the potential life that could inhabit her over the woman’s own life and decisions – whether she wants to be pregnant or not. The right of women to seek the medical treatment they need, and to do so in private, has been placed at odds with the freedom of speech of those who picket clinics. Niggling disputes about the exact point at which a foetus becomes “viable” have consumed our attention, and barely anyone thinks to mention that the woman herself is not merely “viable” but living, conscious and competent to decide her own best interests.

Anti-abortion protesters think that the world needs to have its face rubbed in the unpleasant truth of what abortion is. As if women seeking abortions didn’t know that a baby is, precisely, the thing they don’t want; as if we didn’t know that abortion, induced or otherwise, is a mess. These are not the things we need to be reminded of. What we have forgotten is what the world looks like outside our blissful bubble of choice. It looks like unmarried mothers imprisoned, and their babies left to die and given no resting place. It looks like being sexually assaulted and ripped off by the backstreet quacks you’re driven to. It looks like poverty and pain. It looks like a knitting needle stabbed into a cervix. Perhaps it is too hard to believe that such a world existed: but all we need to do is let things continue as they are, and we will see it again soon.

Sarah Ditum is a journalist who writes regularly for the Guardian, New Statesman and others. Her website is here.

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In focusing on the famous few, we risk doing a disservice to all victims of child sexual abuse

There is a danger that we make it harder, not easier, for victims to come forward in future. 

Back in the 1970s when relations between journalists and police were somewhat different to today a simple ritual would be carried out around the country at various times throughout the week.

Reporters, eager for information for their regional newspaper, would take a trip to the local station and there would be met by a desk sergeant who would helpfully skim through details in the crime Incident Book.

Among the entries about petty thefts, burglaries and road accidents there would occasionally be a reference to an allegation of incest. And at this point the sergeant and journalist might well screw-up their faces, shake their heads and swiftly move on to the next log. The subject was basically taboo, seen as something ‘a bit mucky,’ not what was wanted in a family newspaper.

And that’s really the way things stayed until 1986 when ChildLine was set up by Dame Esther Rantzen in the wake of a BBC programme about child abuse. For the first time children felt able to speak out about being sexually assaulted by the very adults whose role in life was to protect them.

And for the first time the picture became clear about what incest really meant in many cases. It wasn’t simply a low level crime to be swept under the carpet in case it scratched people’s sensitivities. It frequently involved children being abused by members of their close family, repeatedly, over many years.

Slowly but surely as the years rolled on the NSPCC continued to press the message about the prevalence of child sexual abuse, while encouraging victims to come forward. During this time the corrosive effects of this most insidious crime have been painfully detailed by many of those whose lives have been derailed by it. And of course the details of the hundreds of opportunistic sexual assaults committed by Jimmy Savile have been indelibly branded onto the nation’s consciousness.

It’s been a long road - particularly for those who were raped or otherwise abused as children and are now well into their later years - to bring society around to accepting that this is not to be treated as a dark secret that we really don’t want to expose to daylight. Many of those who called our helpline during the early days of the Savile investigation had never told anyone about the traumatic events of their childhoods despite the fact they had reached retirement age.

So, having buried the taboo, we seem to be in danger of giving it the kiss of life with the way some cases of alleged abuse are now being perceived.

It’s quite right that all claims of sexual assault should be investigated, tested and, where there is a case, pursued through the judicial system. No one is above the law, whether a ‘celebrity’ or a lord.

But we seem to have lost a sense of perspective when it comes to these crimes with vast resources being allocated to a handful of cases while many thousands of reported incidents are virtually on hold.

The police should never have to apologise for investigating crimes and following leads. However, if allegations are false or cannot be substantiated they should say so. This would be a strength not a weakness.

It is, of course, difficult that in many of the high-profile cases of recent times the identities of those under investigation have not been officially released by the police but have come to light through other means. Yet we have to deal with the world as it is not as we wish it would be and once names are common knowledge the results of the investigations centring on them should be made public.

When it emerges that someone in the public eye is being investigated for non-recent child abuse it obviously stirs the interest of the media whose appetite can be insatiable. This puts pressure on the police who don’t want to repeat the mistakes of the past by allowing offenders to slip through their hands.  And so there is a danger, as has been seen in recent cases, that officers lack confidence in declaring there is a lack of evidence or the allegations are not true. 

The disproportionate weight of media attention given to say, Sir Edward Heath, as opposed to the Bradford grooming gang sentenced this week, shows there is a danger the pendulum is swinging too far the other way. This threatens the painstaking work invested in ensuring the public and our institutions recognise child abuse as a very real danger. 

Whilst high profile cases have helped the cause there is now a real risk that the all-encompassing focus on them does both victims of abuse and those advocating on their behalf a fundamental disservice.

As the public watches high -profile cases collapsing amidst a media fanfare genuine convictions made across the country week in week out go virtually unannounced. If this trend continues they may start to believe that child sexual abuse isn’t the prolific problem we know it to be.

So, while detectives peer into the mists of time, searching for long lost clues, we have to face the unpalatable possibility that offences being committed today will in turn only be investigated fully in years or decades' time because there is not the manpower to deal with them right now.

So, now the Goddard Inquiry is in full swing, taking evidence about allegations of child sex crimes involving ‘well known people’ as well as institutional abuse, how do we ensure we don’t fail today’s victims?

If they start to think their stories are going to be diminished by the continuing furore over how some senior public figures have been treated by the police they will stay silent. Therefore we have to continue to encourage them to come forward, to give them the confidence of knowing they will be listened to.

If we don’t we will find ourselves back in those incestuous days where people conspired to say and do nothing to prevent child abuse.

Peter Wanless is Chief Executive of the NSPCC.