I found out I was pregnant in my 20s. I wasn’t ready to be a parent and I knew I needed an abortion. Ironically, as a young public health student working at a local health clinic, I had no idea how I could navigate the health system or where I could safely request an abortion. I was unfamiliar with abortion funds, had no health insurance, and almost no money. But I was too afraid to ask for help because of the stigma, judgment and isolation I feared would follow. Honestly, I also didn’t know who to ask.
When I needed an abortion, I felt trapped, confused, and alone. Today, as it was for me growing up, it is rare to see South Asians represented among those performing abortions. I did not see myself or my community represented in any of the stories I read. I didn’t even see them on the research pages I studied for school. How was I supposed to get the abortion I needed?
As the days passed, seven weeks of pregnancy became nine weeks and nine became 11 weeks. I was getting more and more scared. I can say firsthand that not having the abortion you want, when you want, is terrifying.
Finally, secretly and alone, I managed my abortion safely with misoprostol from the clinic where I worked. Having an abortion was the best decision for me. However, for years, I shrouded my story in silence. I didn’t talk about the stigma I felt or the obstacles I faced when I sought my abortion. But through conversations and in my work as a researcher, I continued to notice the absence of my group and other Asian groups in abortion data, conversations, and stories. It was as if the economic and logistical barriers to abortion that were so well documented for other groups did not exist for Asian Americans. I knew that wasn’t true. Inequalities in access to care are deepening in these communities.
As young women, mothers and seniors, many had their abortions as I did: silently and alone. I often wonder if I would feel so alone in my own story if I knew that others, around me and before me, had followed similar paths.
Asian Americans continue to be mischaracterized as a group lacking health challenges in large part due to a public discourse that stereotypes Asians as a “model minority.” This context suggests that Asians are a uniformly successful and healthy monolith. However, this myth, rooted in American histories of racism and xenophobia, has long obscured the heterogeneity of this population and the barriers many Asian Americans face when seeking abortion and other health care.
Although treated as a monolith in mainstream discourse, Asians are the most diverse racial group in the US, comprising more than 50 ethnicities from more than 20 countries of origin. Each group has very different immigration histories, cultures, languages, and health systems that inform their health care behaviors, access, and outcomes. Nearly 60 percent of the population is foreign-born, and many face anti-Asian xenophobia and a patchwork of U.S. policies and practices that condition (and limit) access to health care on factors such as immigration status, English proficiency, and income. Racial stereotyping, cultural stereotyping, and discrimination also make certain Asian groups the target of state-level “sex-selective” abortion bans, which invoke harmful patterns of Asian families’ preference for sons and impose undue scrutiny on their reasons for doing so. abortions. In addition, language barriers, cultural stigma, and low rates of health insurance coverage compound the challenges of accessing abortion care for many Asian American groups. This broader context existed long before the Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization decision; Asian American women and people have long known the consequences of abortion restrictions and other barriers to health care.
Now, with abortion in the hands of state legislators across the country, nearly a third of low-income Asian American women live in states that enacted abortion restrictions after Dobbs decision. Coupled with existing systemic barriers to care, including cultural stigma and stereotyping, rising xenophobia, and exclusionary immigration policies, the current restrictive environment will further jeopardize timely abortion care, rights, and justice for many Asian American groups. We should never have ignored or undermined the health care and abortion needs of Asian communities, and we can no longer do so now. The consequences in a meta-Roe environment—both persistent and new barriers that delay or outright deny abortion access—are more dangerous than ever.
Moving forward in the fight to keep abortion accessible to all, we must commit to focus and make visible the abortion needs and rights of Asian communities. We must ensure that the intersection between immigration policy, health care, and abortion rights is addressed with the goal of maintaining access for all, including immigrants from Asia. Reproductive health research must consistently include and analyze Asian populations in the study of abortion. It is not an optional subgroup that can be ignored or added on request. My story and the stories of others show the harms of ignoring barriers to access that people from communities like mine and many others face. Thoughtful work exploring the needs of Asian Americans and immigrants can bring to light the spectrum of abortion experiences among these groups, dispel harmful racial and cultural myths, and shape just abortion policies and programs.
We must also work to elevate the stories and collective expertise of Asian Americans, especially those who have had abortions and those most affected by a post-Roe climate. Many have long paved paths of resistance, fighting to dispel the harmful myth of the minority, challenge anti-immigrant policies and xenophobia, and destigmatize abortion in their communities and beyond. Focusing such efforts helps ensure that the needs, priorities, and experiences of those traditionally isolated and systematically excluded from the abortion discourse inform and underpin any vision for change moving forward, whether it is promoted by communities, activists, or researchers.
Over the past few years, as I’ve begun to share my abortion story, I’ve learned the stories of others. Stories shared quietly and across generations. Stories that I share in my community, in my family, even among my ancestors. As young women, mothers and the elderly, many had their abortions as I did: silently and alone. I often wonder if I would feel so alone in my own story if I knew that others, around me and before me, had followed similar paths. These days I share my abortion story, in part, to disrupt the cultural stigma and stereotypes that shaped my experience, but also to dispel the myth that Asian Americans and immigrants don’t have or need abortions. Doing. I share my story so that people in my community, my loved ones, the generations that follow and everyone else knows that we too have abortions. We also need support as we overcome barriers to access, and we deserve not to feel alone as we do so. Above all, we must see ourselves and be seen in the fight for abortion rights and reproductive justice. Our lives and communities depend on it.
Excerpt from Fighting Mad: Resisting the End of Roe v. Wade edited by Krystale E. Littlejohn and Rickie Solinger, published by the University of California Press. © 2024 by Krystale E. Littlejohn and Rickie Solinger.
