A new perspective on a landmark case: the shocking revelation that may change the way we view Roe v. Wade forever.
Revisiting the Roe v. Wade Case
Jane Roe’s Deathbed Confession
by David Carlan
I am not taking sides in the abortion debate. Instead, I aim to uncover the truth.
After much reflection, I have come to the conclusion that both sides of the televised abortion debate are equally wrong, hypocritical, and irrational. Unfortunately, these are the only voices heard because anyone who tries to introduce new or nuanced perspectives is forcefully excluded from the discussion.
I suspect that this exclusion is deliberate, and that the Overton Window is constructed to prevent us from arriving at the truth and finding solutions. This has become a backdoor to our collective mentality.
The Truth
The legacy of Norma McCorvey, better known as “Jane Roe,” is further complicated with the release of a new documentary. Despite making a public religious and political conversion in the mid-1990s, declaring herself pro-life and crusading against the landmark 1973 case that legalized abortion, McCorvey’s shocking deathbed confession in “AKA Jane Roe” may upend everything we thought we knew about her.
During a scene filmed in 2017 for the new documentary “AKA Jane Roe,” Norma McCorvey, better known as “Jane Roe” from the landmark Roe v. Wade case, confesses to director Nick Sweeney that she never really supported the antiabortion movement. “I took their money and they put me out in front of the camera and told me what to say, and that’s what I’d say,” she reveals. The bombshell confession comes 60 minutes into the 80-minute documentary, and by minute 70, McCorvey has passed away, leaving both sides of the cultural abortion debate stunned.
Additionally, many people are not aware that McCorvey never had an abortion. At the time of the Supreme Court’s decision, she had already been forced to carry out her pregnancy, and the child had been adopted. This was McCorvey’s third time giving birth, with one daughter primarily raised by her mother and another placed for adoption. McCorvey struggled with low-paying jobs and substance abuse and was not prepared to become a parent. Her circumstances made her a suitable plaintiff for the Roe v. Wade case, as her lawyers argued that the state-by-state solution placed an impossible burden on her as an impoverished woman without means to travel to a location where abortion was legal.
So although “Roe” didn’t personally help McCorvey, it did benefit countless other women in similar situations. One day, while attending a public event at a Dallas abortion clinic, a woman approached Charlotte Taft, an abortion provider, and introduced herself as “Jane Roe.”
At the time, the abortion rights movement had already won the legal battle, so they didn’t necessarily need a public figurehead. But McCorvey put herself out there anyway, making herself known as the face of the movement. Taft reflects on this, saying in an interview, “But she put herself out here to say, here I am.”
McCorvey’s life was difficult from the start. Her mother abused her, and as a girl, she was sent to reform school for being caught kissing a female friend. She ran away from an abusive marriage and eventually found a long-term partner in Connie Gonzales. Despite the challenges she faced as a lesbian in the 1970s and ’80s, she became a hero of the abortion rights movement. She was known for her humor, vulgarity, and wry wit, reminiscent of Roseanne Barr. At one news conference, when a reporter asked how much money she made as a maid, McCorvey quipped, “Why? Anybody here need a good housecleaning?”
In the early 1990s, an antiabortion group called Operation Rescue moved in next door to the nonprofit where McCorvey volunteered. The group’s leader, a minister, took a special interest in McCorvey.
Taft reflects on McCorvey’s desire to be good and how being the face of the pro-choice movement allowed her to feel like a hero and receive recognition. However, Taft acknowledges that McCorvey’s life wasn’t that simple, and her desire to be good was much more complicated than that. The antiabortion movement viewed McCorvey’s conversion as a significant win for their cause, but Rob Schenck admits that he and others saw her as a trophy to be won. McCorvey’s story became a morality play, with her being portrayed as either bad then good, or good then bad, depending on one’s stance on abortion. Taft notes that the desire for tidy stories doesn’t reflect the messiness of real life, which certainly applies to McCorvey.
Anti-abortion activists were unaware of a surprising fact in the 1990s: while McCorvey was on their side, she privately supported a woman’s right to terminate her pregnancy in the first trimester, which makes up the majority of all abortions. They used the excuse that she was a new convert and needed time to mature in her faith to manage this discrepancy. Rob Schenck, then a leader in the antiabortion movement, admits in an interview, “We thought, just give her a little time and she’ll mature.” While they eventually got her to stop saying it publicly, they didn’t know whether she had genuinely changed her mind.
Those on both sides of the abortion debate who knew McCorvey found her both charming and infuriating. She had a habit of turning stories into fantasies and could be mercenary, always in need of money. Yet many concluded that the best word to describe her was “survivor.” After a difficult life, she was determined to do whatever it took to survive. She could be exactly what the movements needed at times, while at other times, she seemed determined to complicate an issue that they saw as simple and clear.
In the world of activism, movements often seek perfect figureheads to represent their cause. Yet, the issue of abortion is complex and messy, and Norma McCorvey embodied this reality in all its intricacies. She was both the perfect and difficult Jane Roe, as her life experiences and personal beliefs challenged the simplistic narratives of both sides of the debate.
When director Nick Sweeney approached McCorvey to participate in his documentary, he didn’t have an agenda to push. He simply wanted to know her as a person. This, along with the realization that her life was nearing its end, may have been why she agreed to participate. For years, she had turned down interview requests or demanded payment, but Sweeney approached her differently. He didn’t want to reduce her to a symbol or a trophy; he wanted to explore the real person behind the Jane Roe persona.
Sweeney affirms that McCorvey’s deathbed confession was true and that she had faked her anti-abortion stance. However, he also believes that McCorvey had a genuine religious conversion. In the documentary, Sweeney asked McCorvey if she regretted her choices over the past 20 years, to which she replied with a resounding “no.”
The scene where McCorvey’s confession is played back for the other participants is emotional. They all hear her say, “I took their money and they put me out in front of the camera and told me what to say,” and each of them gasps in shock. Robert Schenck, a former leader in the anti-abortion movement, reflects on how they used McCorvey’s image and story to promote their cause. He realizes that they had turned her into a perfect poster girl, forgetting that she was a person with her own complexities and struggles.
Schenck’s position on abortion has since softened, as he understands that life circumstances can make abortion the best option for some people. He has also grown disillusioned with the public debate around abortion. The documentary serves as a reminder that amidst the polarizing discourse, we must not forget the women at the center of the issue.
The legacy of Norma McCorvey, or Jane Roe, is a complicated one, mired in political exploitation and personal struggles. As depicted in the documentary “AKA Jane Roe,” McCorvey’s bombshell confession about her involvement with the antiabortion movement and her subsequent conversion to Christianity shocked and disappointed many of her former allies. However, director Nick Sweeney believes that McCorvey’s story represents a personal struggle to reconcile her own inner conflicts with her role in America’s morality play.
