Ask Google

Sometimes people find my blog by asking Google a question that, sadly, I have not answered here. So this is the first in what will probably be an occasional series in which I attempt to rectify my remissness.

Q: What is the medical term for serial groper?
A: World-class asshole. Also, criminal. Turn his ass in.

Fellow Bostonians,

Remember, tomorrow evening in Cambridge is the Yes Means Yes reading and book release party hosted by the Center for New Words (the folks behind WAM!). Both events are free, but you must RSVP to get into the party: ally@centerfornewwords.org. You can look for me if you want (curly black hair; post-inaugural sniffles), but considering there are going to be some pretty fabulous, very prominent feminists there, my feelings won’t be hurt if you don’t.

While we’re on the topic of WAM!, registration is open, but prices go up after February 13, so sign up now. If you’re thinking, “I know WAM! is awesome, but I’m pretty broke right now,” consider this: An Evening with Sarah Haskins. Yeah, I thought so. See you there!

Quick hit: Even famous women are Mrs. Husband

I’m watching brainless television today because the cold I picked up at the inauguration has erected booger roadblocks in my neural pathways. (I have not forgotten my promise of an inauguration post! Coming soon, I swear.) Currently on is Trivial Pursuit: America Plays (warning: video with sound starts playing immediately), which is exactly as bad as you think it is. But what’s really annoying me—other than the fact that apparently Trivial Pursuit is now pop-culture-only rather than general knowledge—is this one question in particular:

Q: What is the better-known stage name of Mrs. Antonio Banderas?
A: Melanie Griffith

Not only was Melanie Griffith born Melanie Griffith, making that her real, legal name and not her stage name at all, but she has, so far as I can tell, never changed it, not for any of her three marriages.

So even if you’re famous in your own right, your identity will be subsumed by your husband’s immediately upon your marriage.

I give up. I’m off to make myself a tea-and-Sudafed cocktail.

CNN knows what’s important

ETA: Sadly, Mariana Bridi da Costa died just hours after this was originally posted.

A 20-year-old Brazilian woman is likely to die from a simple UTI. Mariana Bridi developed a urinary tract infection which went undiagnosed and has turned into septicemia. Doctors have removed her kidneys and part of her stomach, as well as her hands and feet. “They say her situation is very critical and that her chances (of survival) are not really significant, but she keeps on surprising everyone,” said a spokesman. “Two weeks ago the doctor gave her 24 hours to live and she’s been fighting and resisting—she’s quite amazing.”

What headline did CNN put on this story?

HOT WOMAN DISFIGURED!
Hotness in photographs undiminished

Silly me, I thought the story here was that something as simple as a UTI could turn into something highly deadly. I see this story and I wonder, What happened? Did her doctors ignore her symptoms? Did the traveling she does for her job keep her from seeing a doctor in time? The story mentions she was living with her boyfriend; was she reluctant to admit to sexual activity in a country where the Madonna/Whore complex reigns supreme? Clearly somewhere along the line, something went horribly wrong. But CNN only wants to tell me how hot she is, and how promising her modeling career was, as if the tragedy here is that if she somehow manages to survive she will no longer be asked to parade around in a swimsuit and have her picture taken. Even for Mariana, who we are repeatedly told always dreamt of being a model, the loss of her career will probably seem the smallest price she had to pay for life if she manages to hang onto it.

You keep it classy, CNN.

Great news!

Update: Paycheck Fairness Act and Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act pass House!

Blago impeached!

New “Target Women”!

And I think my writer’s block may finally be breaking up!

Adios, ’08

Shorter Dennis Prager: Sex is a job, ladeez. Stop abusing your sick days.

In order to end 2008 on an up note, I give you The Amazing Colossal Adventures of WordGirl. Female superhero! Non-tokenized characters of color! Vocabulary building! This goofy awesomeness was tailor-made for my feminist word nerd self. We’ll just conveniently overlook the fact that it’s aimed at 6-year-olds.

Happy New Year, everyone. At least Bush will only be president for the first 20 days of this one.

Great news, food porn lovers!

My lovely new digital camera arrived today, replacing my terrible, horrible, no-good, for-grandmas-only old one. (Thanks, Mom and Dad!) What this means for you is more and better photos of the Christmas baking frenzy on which I will embark tomorrow. Rejoice!

Also, a quick hit. I saw the second half of Elf* on TV the other night. Although I’d seen the movie before, this time I was really struck by Buddy’s (second) interaction with his father’s secretary, Deborah. (Seen here. Fast forward to about 5:20.) Remember, Buddy acts like a 4-year-old, so most people treat him like one.

Buddy: (childlike) Hi!
Deb: (as if to a child) Hi!
Buddy: Do you remember me?
Deb: I do! I didn’t recognize you!
Buddy: I know! I’m in work clothes! (As opposed to his elf costume.)
Deb: brings Buddy and his father coffee
Buddy: (obsequiously) Thank you, Deborah!
Buddy’s father: (grunts) Thanks, Deb.
Buddy: Deb, you have such a pretty face, you should be on a Christmas card.
Deb: Well, you just made my day!

Notice what’s wrong with this exchange? Nothing! Buddy, misfit man-child who thinks he’s an elf, is perfectly adept at small-talking with women. Like most people, I find small talk obnoxious, but I guess I never realized how thoroughly infantilizing it is.

—————————————–
*For those who don’t know it, Will Ferrell is Buddy, a human adopted by elves and raised at the North Pole, who goes to New York in search of his biological father. His childlike delight and holiday spirit win everyone over and save the day. Normally this would cause me to projectile vomit, but because I love the holidays I allow myself to be charmed.

Hey, remember me?

I’m sorry for my long silence. Life is stressful for me right now, so I’ve been doing what I always do when I’m stressed: alternately baking and hiding under the bed. All this baking and consuming of ginger snaps (Pictured at right. Tip: Use them as biscotti!), lemon squares, lacy oatmeal sandwich cookies, snickerdoodles, and tiny soufflés, among other things, has left very little time for writing.

But even from under my bed, I cannot entirely escape blogging, as evidenced by the fact that I keep Taboo-ing blog fodder.

Like the story of this massive creepazoid, a serial groper of young girls on public transportation. One quick-thinking high schooler snapped a photo of him with her cell phone camera and, after learning from friends that she was far from his only victim, turned it over to the police. He was tracked down quickly and, even more amazingly, actually convicted. If only he’d been sentenced to more than 25 hours of community service and 2 years’ probation my joy would be complete.

And this story in Slate, wherein the openly Catholic author trumps up the danger of Catholic hospitals closing should President Obama do anything so radical as ratify the Freedom of Choice Act, thereby codifying Roe v. Wade and protecting it somewhat from the current sustained attacks by people who really don’t like it when women control their own internal organs. After noting that many Catholic hospitals are in low-income, under-served communities, she argues against the passage of FOCA as if it should be obvious to all readers that the group threatening to shut down hospitals for the needy—which, by the by, are staffed and run primarily by lay-people—so that no woman should receive complete medical care on their watch is indisputably in the right, and that the group attempting to protect the rights of half the population to decide upon their medical care without the help of the Nosy Nancy down the street are clearly the assholes.

And my deep ambivalence over Hillary Clinton’s acceptance of the Secretary of State position. I’m sure she’ll do a great job, but I was really looking forward to having her as Senate Majority Leader, and now I fear we may be stuck with several more years of Harry Reid’s asshattery.

Clearly there’s nothing for it but to attempt to post semi-regularly again, even if it’s only quick hits and food porn.

Thank you for your generous contribution

The email going around that urges people to donate to Planned Parenthood in Sarah Palin’s name is paying off: So far 31,313 people have donated $802,678.

Let’s see if we can’t get them to a million, eh? Quick math tells me that the average donation so far has been $25 per person, which means we’d need about another 8,000 donors giving at that rate to reach seven figures. I’ll start.

A case of Britney leading to actual empowerment

Holy crap, you guys. Latoya (of Racialicious) just made me care about Britney Spears a little bit. I didn’t care about her when she was huge and I was in her target demo; I didn’t care about her marriages or kids or breakdowns; I kind of care now. Latoya makes a great case for why Britney appeals to so many young girls, and also for why, in order to help an individual, even one certain to be harmed by our discriminatory socio-political system, it’s sometimes better to stop fighting the system for a moment. Go read.

Shocking announcement!

Ready for it? Sitting down? Paper bag at hand? Because here it is:

I DO NOT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT BRISTOL PALIN’S PREGNANCY.

No! I do not! You know why? It’s not that exciting.

Millions of 17-year-olds are fucking as I type this. Some of that fucking will result in pregnancies. Some of those pregnancies will result in live births. Bristol Palin, like thousands of others, hopes to be in that last category. I don’t care about all those other 17-year-old parents-to-be, so why should I care about this one?

It doesn’t matter one tiny bit that her mother is running for veep. Bristol’s actions are her own, and do not reflect on her mother. And even if we could somehow demonstrate that an independent, basically-adult person’s actions gave some indication of a relative’s character, there’s no reason that Bristol’s actions should indicate anything at all about her mother’s character, because they don’t even indicate anything about her own character. She fucked, which about half of 17-year-olds do, and became pregnant, a known side effect of fucking. That’s all normal—not good, not bad, not anything. Average, common, quotidian, bland, boring. Means nothing.

And anyone who claims to be progressive needs to stop talking about it immediately. Her pregnancy tells us nothing about abstinence-only education: We already knew that’s a failure, and furthermore we don’t know, nor should we ever find out, what kind of sex ed she received, what birth control she did or did not use and why she did or did not use it. Her pregnancy tells us nothing about the effects of fundy values: Plenty of children of non-fundy parents become or cause someone to become pregnant while teenagers, and furthermore we don’t know, nor should we ever find out, what factors led to her decision to continue the pregnancy. Her pregnancy tells us, in fact, nothing at all.

Which leaves only a few reasons that people could want to talk about it. One, they have a pervily intense interest in a minor’s sex life. Two, they think slut-shaming is a fun pastime. Three, they derive unseemly glee from watching a woman who has the gall to be openly and unapologetically ambitious encounter impediments to that ambition. Four, they don’t think all women have the right to decide what to do with their uteruses in private, without interference, unsolicited “advice,” and judgment.

But I’m sure those who want to discuss Bristol Palin won’t mind my asking them to first identify which flavor of misogynist asshat they are.

Still a dick

So McCain waited until the next morning to announce his veep, which is marginally less dicky than the other plan. However, even more dicky is the statement he’s making by choosing a woman who doesn’t believe in women’s rights. Allow me to interpret for you:

Hey, Hillary voters! You’re looking for a vadge, right? Well, now we got a vadge! You gotta vote for us! Stupid bitches’ll fall fer anything, amirite? What? What’s still on? Oh, fu— !

Smacking down Michelle

You know, I try not to be shy about using the word “patriarchy” around here even though I tend to be in real life. In real life, people hear you say “patriarchy” and what they think is “radical feminazi impervious to reason.” While I personally can’t muster a fly’s crap worth of caring what they think of me, I do hope to occasionally reach someone with my arguments, so I back off the big scary P word. When I think about how much I use it on the blog, I start to wonder if I throw it around too much. But dammit, when it’s the right word, I’m using it

Michelle Obama’s fame is providing dozens of lovely examples of the patriarchy in action.

Her speech at the DNC a couple nights ago unsurprisingly moved a lot of assholes to express their discomfort with the fact that she was using her mouth for something other than… maintaining close-lipped smiles to pretty up the place while she stands three steps behind and slightly to the left of her husband. (What? Where did you think I was going with that?) Normally what they’d do in a such a situation is to dismiss her speech as badly written and delivered, her arguments as poorly supported, and her ideas as trivial. A lot of people would look at these criticisms of women and be willing to shout down anyone who pointed out the misogyny by saying, “It’s not about her, it’s about her speech. And you have to admit there were certain weaknesses.” But Michelle Obama is fucking with the templates of their anti-woman form letters because no one can deny that she rocked the house. So all of a sudden it is about her. Her and her uppitiness.

Which is why you get articles like this one, wherein some dude makes some completely incoherent argument about why Michelle Obama needs to start wearing burlap sacks so he can be less intimidated by her and her all-around awesomeness. After trying to make some kind of “Ma’am, you’re no Jackie Kennedy”-type statement he doesn’t even bother trying to support, he critiques everything from how her dress “appeared to follow the curve of her buttocks rather than dropping at the curve” to her “pointy eyebrows, which give her countenance a stern expression.” Then this fuckneck has the audacity to say,

No one is suggesting that Michelle Obama change who she is.

No one is suggesting that she wear flats instead of heels to make insecure people feel less intimidated by her height (nearly 6 feet).

No one is saying she should look dowdy, matronly, or even conservative to accommodate tradition or to fit in with what Washington has come to expect from a president’s wife.

YOU ARE, SIR! THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU ARE SAYING, YOU USELESS NUTS-FOR-BRAINS!

But the thing is, he must say it. He probably feels driven to say it without even really knowing why. He must say it because otherwise, some woman somewhere might think that it was OK to pick an outfit based on what she felt like wearing and what she felt good in, rather than what outfit properly accessorizes what her husband (who did not consult her on his wardrobe choices, natch) is wearing, and what provides the proper degree of titillation for any men who might happen to cross her path—enough to make them want to hit that without coming off slutty. (There is, for the record, no such thing. The patriarchy never lets you win, whether you play its game or not.) Women who have independent thoughts and openly don’t give a fuck whether doodz approve of those thoughts or not MUST BE STOPPED! They might give other women ideas.

This is also why you get articles like this one, passed along by helpful reader juldea, where random delegates talk about how happy they are that the tribute to Michelle and her speech focused so much on her family life instead of her, y’know, thoughts and ideas.

She allowed us to see her as a mother and as a wife, and not so strong-willed and independent.

“Uppity bitch,” this comment says, “the only thing I want your opinion on is which version of Tickle Me Elmo is the best value for my money.” And this is coming from a nominally progressive woman.

The patriarchy requires constant reinforcement. Whenever a woman steps out of line, someone must step in to deliver a smackdown and put her back in her place. Women are inculcated in the patriarchy too. Women can be policemen too.

You are cordially invited…

(This extra-cranky post brought to you by the frustration of terrible DNC coverage and a broken toe.)

So, let’s talk showers! Specifically, baby and bridal showers and how much I haaaaaaaaate them. I hate them so much… I— I— flames! Flames on the side of my face!

This is truly unfortunate, because I like the idea of showers. Absolutely, people should have gatherings to celebrate with loved ones when they enter a new stage of life. Great! Awesome! Excellent! And even the gift thing, I like. It says, “These two alone don’t have the means to prepare themselves for this new phase in their lives, but perhaps, all together, we can get them everything they need.” What a fabulous expression of collectivism, of community! Beautiful! Love it!

But then it all goes horribly, horribly wrong with the public opening of the gifts. Who came up with this idea? “To come to my party, you must bring me a gift, which I will then open in front of the assembled crowd in order that we may all judge affection for me as demonstrated by your economic investment in my life.” Was Miss Manners asleep on the job the day the shower was invented?

Life, death, and hypotheticals

Let’s do a thought experiment. Let’s say you have a spouse. Let’s say your spouse gets into a terrible, terrible car accident that causes severe brain damage. Your spouse is in a coma. Machines breathe and eat for them. All the best modern medical technology indicates that the only activity in your spouse’s brain is reflexive and not a sign of any ability to think or feel.

So now you have a heart-rendingly difficult decision to make, right? Do you leave them on life support or not? You may feel strongly that one of these answers is right and the other is wrong, but you accept my premise that you are the one with a decision to make. Of course you do. When a person is unable make his or her own medical decisions, the authority to do so devolves to their next-of-kin. The medical proxy is even allowed, in certain situations, to make decisions that can only lead to the patient’s death. Although the question which is the correct choice to make is up for debate, the fact that someone other than the patient must make it is uncontroversial.

Now another experiment. You have terminal leukemia and need a bone marrow transplant soon to save your life. Unfortunately for you, all the potential matches the doctors have found refuse to donate to you for whatever reason. You may disagree, loudly and vehemently, with their decision, but do you have the right to strap them to a table and take their bone marrow? No, of course not.

So we’ve established that those who cannot make their own medical decisions must have someone else make them, that the person who makes those decisions may in some circumstances knowingly cause the patient’s death, and that no one has the right to force someone else to give of their body to contribute to their own health, even if it’s a matter of life and death. In other words, though our Constitution grants us all a right to life, there are acknowledged limits on that right, just as there are acknowledged limits on our right to free speech.

Then I ask you: What difference does it make when a fetus acquires human rights? If it has none until birth, abortion does not violate human rights because there are none to be violated. If it has them at the moment of conception, or at 6 months’ gestation, or when lung development suggests viability, or at any other point in utero, its mother is still its medical proxy and its rights do not extend to forcing her to use her body to maintain its life, so she may decide to abort without violating those rights. In fact, the only potential violation of human rights is to force the pregnant woman to carry the fetus to term. She is the life-support system; she is the potential bone-marrow donor. Not even actual, born people have unconditional rights to these things. Why would a fetus?

Happy happy, joy joy!

Rachel Maddow is getting her own show!

This calls for a celebration.

Hmm, which stilettos go with running for my life?

I was never much bothered by the horror/monster/disaster movie trope of women fleeing from the danger du jour only to be tripped up by their pathetically impractical shoes. I chose instead to take it as an object lesson in why heels are bad for you: Not only do they damage ankles and knees, they also dramatically increase a person’s chances of being stomped flat by a giant dinosaur. Frankly, that’s just not a risk I’m willing to take.

What always really bothered me was that women who started the movie in dangerously unstable stilettos always ended the movie in dangerously unstable stilettos, no matter how many opportunities they’d had to take them off or swap them for something more comfortable. I almost got kicked out of Cloverfield for hissing to my heartily embarassed boyfriend (who, by the way, would be too busy saving his own ass if Godzilla attacked to worry about whether me and my strappy platform sandals were keeping up), “Seriously, they are in a department store! Why don’t those those poor women take some sneakers?” Ever since, I’ve been carrying around a pocketful of brownie points for the first movie to actually show a woman grabbing some walking shoes at first opportunity.

That movie, apparently, is the Sci-Fi Channel original Basilisk: The Serpent King. It is exactly as terrible as you think it is, and the villain is basically a sexed-up version of the Power Rangers bad gal Rita Repulso, but, dagnabbit, after a showdown in the mall, that woman ditches her heels, snags herself a pair of running shoes, and high-tails it for less reptiley climes, as any sensible person would do.

So congratulations, Sci-Fi Channel, your brownie points should arrive in 4-6 weeks. Also, please find enclosed $5 to double your special effects budget.

Friday fluff

Via Broadsheet, here’s a great story about a woman who served as a British spy in World War II and helped lead the French Resistance, in part by posing as a cosmetics salesperson and hiding secret messages in the hem of her skirt.

“She is of average intelligence and fairly practical, but rather slow in picking up new ideas. She has, however, a good memory and does not forget what she had learnt,” a review of her training says. “Outstanding shot with pistol and other weapons. Probably the best shot (male or female) we have had yet.” [...]

She interrupted the Paris-Bordeaux railway line more than 800 times and attacked convoys in June 1944, the month of the D-Day invasion. All told, she led 3,000 French Resistance fighters in a host of guerrilla warfare missions. [...]

The records also detail Cornioley’s struggles with what she considered prejudices against women. She refused a British government award for extraordinary service to the country because the honor was for civilians rather than military personnel. She alleged the government refused women military honors on the basis of sex discrimination.

That’s one badass lady.

I feel empowerfulized*!

Last night I was somehow tricked into reading part of Slate’s women’s blog, the XX Factor, a decision I always come to regret. There, I came across this paragraph, written by one Nayeli Rodriguez, in the middle of a discussion of the evils of Victoria’s Secret’s advertising techniques:

I’m well aware that buying into the whole “I can’t live without this bra” line is completely offensive in a few very obvious ways. But honestly, I do enjoy spending money on and wearing underwear that I find appealing. And I don’t think I’m being duped by advertisers. I’m a smart, successful, and informed woman who has managed to secure a disposable income, which I’ll spend as I choose. I happen to enjoy knowing, privately, that beneath my day-old jeans and college sweatshirt are garments about which I’m more enthusiastic.

*Sigh* As a minor point, I love how she thinks that it’s accepting the logic of bad advertising that’s offensive and not the pornified, sexuality-defining, body-shaming advertising itself. Second, allow me to rephrase this paragraph slightly:

Although I’m doing exactly what advertisers want me to do, it’s not because of all the advertising pushing me to do it.

Seems a bit unlikely, no?

It’s not her choices that bother me, because whatever helps a person survive another day under the patriarchy is fine by me, it’s her excuses, because they’re so common. “Doing X patriarchy-approved thing makes me feel good about myself! I’m doing it for me, not some dude!” But have the women who say these things ever stopped to consider why they’re, in this example, enthusiastic about uncomfortable, unhealthy, shoddily made, overpriced lingerie but unenthusiastic about affordable, durable, comfortable clothes? I thought this was Feminism 101, but in case anyone was out sick that day, here it is: Women get thousands of messages every day, many of them in the form of ads, that say that they must be sexxxay at all times. Culturally-defined sexiness is all about making a pretty package, the more impractical the better, for men to appreciate. You do not become sexxxay by being an intelligent, well-adjusted person who is happy with your body. You become sexxxay by prostrating yourself before the altar of dudedom, as signaled by making as many choices as possible that are antithetical to your happiness. You spend your money on useless underthings rather than saving or getting yourself something you can enjoy. You wear ankle-destroying, mobility-hindering shoes. You waste your time and ruin your hair dying it and straightening it and curling it and blowing it out for body and slathering it in chemicals for smoothness and getting costly extensions for difficult-to-maintain length. You go perpetually hungry. You spend hours and hours at the gym rather than trying to get that promotion or relaxing to preserve your mental health. And if you’ve properly internalized all these messages, you may find that you, like Rodgriguez, actually enjoy doing these things. You too may get a little frisson of excitement from being able to say to yourself, “It may look like I’m not submitting to the patriarchy, but I totally am!“

Hearing things like this always makes me sad for the women saying them, but what scares me is the explanation Rodriguez and others give for why their submission to the intense pressure from society to properly perform their gender roles actually has nothing to do with the intense pressure from society to properly perform their gender roles. “I’m a smart, successful, and informed woman…”. How often have I heard that before? “I’m a smart, successful, and informed woman, and I’ll uphold and defend the woman-hating status quo if I want! It has nothing to do with the limited compensation I get for conforming as much as possible to the male fantasy of helpless womanhood or the severe penalties I’d be subject to if I refused to do so. I am independent! I am strong! All my choices are automatically feminist!” I have no idea how to approach women like this. Because many of them already suspect they’re on shaky ground, they tend to be quick to get defensive and can be very hard to reach. Maybe I’ll get some cards printed up that I can hand over and walk away, with my number at the bottom so they can call me if what I’m saying starts to make sense. My cards will say something like this: “It’s great that you’re a successful, confident woman, and I support any choices you made or make to help yourself get ahead in a world that does so much to hinder women’s advancement. However, assuming that all choices you make are optimally feminist because you are female or because you defy anti-woman stereotypes in other ways is naive. Although we must all make concessions to the patriarchy to survive in it, it is better to do so with a clear-eyed understanding of why we make certain choices and what costs they might have, both for us and for other women. You may not wish to change what you’re doing, but I would ask you to carefully evaluate whether your reasons for doing so are as irreproachable as you seem to believe, and whether your actions might have unintended consequences.”

It’s probably a great way to get crumpled-up cards thrown at my head.

—————————
*Term stolen shamelessly from the peerless Twisty Faster.

The hidden costs of redefining pregnancy

I’m sure everyone has heard about installment #356,274,615,304,229 in the Pro-Lifers Don’t Really Care About Babies, Just Want to Oppress Women series: the Bush administration’s attempt to define pregnancy as beginning at fertilization. This would semantically turn every sexually active woman in America a serial abortionist and all hormonal contraceptives into abortifacients. Of course, that would make the preferred methods birth control for 40% of Americans exponentially harder to get and, as a result, cause a huge jump in the number of actual abortions. But that’s A-OK by pro-lifers, as long as it makes women rethink their uppity ideas about choosing their own partners, making plans for their lives, and not being at the mercy of their husbands.

But there’s another aspect to this. The proposal would protect medical professionals who refuse to refuse to perform any action that they personally believe constitutes abortion, whether scientific evidence backs them up or not. So I wonder, would some doctors, nurses, and pharmacists also refuse to give any woman of child-bearing age drugs known to increase the risk of miscarriage? After all, there’s no way to know if a woman is currently harboring a fertilized egg, or if she might do so at some point during the course of her prescription. Would general practitioners deny women antibiotics because some of them may cause miscarriage? Would dermatologists deny women Accutane or Retin-A even if they took all the required precautions? Would psychiatrists deny women antidepressants, since they can cause birth defects and high blood pressure, increasing the risk of fetal death or dangerously premature labor?

This last particularly bothers me. Women are already twice as likely as men to suffer a depressive episode at some point in their lives, and making it more difficult for them to get access to antidepressants would have wide-ranging but difficult-to-measure effects. Depressed women may feel unmotivated at work, leading to their not fighting for promotions and raises or even dropping out of the workforce, increasing both the wage gap and the number of women and children living in poverty. Because women are still usually the primary caregivers for dependents, their depression would also negatively affect the lives of children and the elderly, probably also causing higher rates of depression among those groups. Depressed people are less likely to take care of their health, and depression can make preexisting conditions worse, which is especially dangerous for women, who are already significantly less likely than men to be covered by an employer’s health insurance, a gap that would only increase as women who could no longer successfully control their own fertility left the workforce to bear and raise children. Furthermore, most employees of the service sector, which makes up about 80% of our economy, are women, so as mental and physical illness, and unexpected pregnancy and parenthood reduce their presence in the workforce, our economy would deteriorate even further. And a worsening American economy means less foreign aid to countries that rely on it, which, like all poverty issues, would disproportionately impact women and children. Extremely poor women or depressed women, both here and abroad, may be forced to engage in or be more easily coerced into risky sexual practices, which help spread HIV/AIDS.

I could probably go on forever. My point, obviously, is that women’s issues—even those involving uteruses—are never “just” about women. Everyone pays the hidden costs of women’s oppression.