OPINION: I lost the choice over my body when I was raped. Give me the choice for an abortion.

Photo by Gayatri Malhotra

By Kat Sewon Oh (MIA ’23)

With the midterm elections coming up, abortion rights are a hot topic. Since Roe v. Wade was overturned in June, millions of Americans have fervently debated its reinstatement. Despite only 37% of U.S. adults saying abortion should be illegal in all or most circumstances, if the G.O.P. were to gain additional majorities in state legislatures, these states could easily repeal abortion protections or outlaw the procedure. 

Abortion is on the ballot for six states – California, Kansas, Kentucky, Michigan, Montana, and Vermont. Two weeks ago, President Biden promised that, with a Democratic majority in Congress, he would work to codify abortion rights protections that have been eliminated. With so much on the line in this election, the pro-choice vs. anti-abortion debate has been revived to an exponential level. 

Many people have written op-eds and letters to the editor detailing why abortion rights matter. Some point to the long-term trauma of those denied abortions. Others focus on the semantics of the debate, including one woman from New York writing, “Nobody I know is pro-abortion. The vital question is about choice.” 

My pro-choice stance stems from a specific background: I was raped multiple times by my ex-boyfriend. I could have been pregnant after each rape. 

Currently, the U.S. Department of Justice defines rape as “the penetration, no matter how slight, of the vagina or anus with any body part or object, or oral penetration by a sex organ of another person, without the consent of the victim.”

Back in 2015, however, rape was very misunderstood. The feelings of shame, humiliation, and violation only came years later. At the time, I was mostly confused. 

He was my boyfriend, so I rationalized that, despite my initial refusals and subsequent resigned silence, I must have consented to any and all sexual contact. I never reported him (and never will be able to, because he took his own life a few years later). 

I was not on birth control at the time. After every rape, he then forced me to take emergency contraception called Plan B, also known as the morning-after pill. It’s obvious why he had me take it. He didn’t want children nor the consequences. 

Every time I took Plan B, I still could have been pregnant. Taking Plan B can lower your chance of getting pregnant by 75 to 89%, but it is not the same as an abortion pill.

Imagine if I became pregnant, whether because I couldn’t access Plan B or the pill didn’t work. Imagine being a 19-year-old college student, struggling to keep up with rigorous classes and basic daily functions, but still full of so many ambitions. I couldn’t take care of myself yet; how could I take care of a child? 

Now imagine that terrifying scenario in a different situation – one where abortion is illegal. I would have raised an infant alone at 19. I would’ve been shunned for throwing away my education and career. Again, 2015 was a time when many people would question the legitimacy of my rapes. 

People would have condemned me for “ruining” my future, because by not actively saying no, and by not reporting him, I was allegedly “asking for it.”

I would have been powerless. My future was predetermined by my assaulter and the legal system. I lost all autonomy over my body, and I would lose it again to a system that would make me into an outcast.

That dystopian situation is no longer hypothetical. With what’s happening in the nation – states restricting or completely banning access to abortion, and some so-called “pro-lifers” assaulting and even killing abortion clinicians in the past – I am feeling that powerlessness right now.

Some anti-abortion politicians wish to compromise – how about we ban abortion, but with exceptions for rape or incest? These compromisers, however, are almost never the survivors themselves. Let me answer right now: No. That’s unfair. 

Making that type of exception is a gateway to more problems. Legal entities and lobbyists would then fight over what defines rape and incest, and who is entitled to abortion and who isn’t. Victims would be forced to go through arduous bureaucratic processes just to prove they were indeed victims. Many would be denied. Once restrictions are made, it is much easier to expand restrictions instead of exceptions. 

It’s not only unfair to everyone else who’s not a victim. It’s also unfair to victims. I’m tired of having to relive my trauma every day. It’s only worse if I have to prove myself to strangers holding my future in their hands. I’m tired of having no choice over my body.

If I had ended up pregnant after any of the rapes, would I have gone through with an abortion? The truth is, I don’t know. I fully support anyone else wanting abortions, but I don’t have the confidence to go through one myself. 

But do I at least want the choice? Absolutely. I know what it feels like to not have a choice over my own body, because I lost that choice when I was raped. The feeling is excruciating pain. 

So no, I don’t know if I, or other sexual assault victims, would have gotten an abortion. 

But at least give us the choice.

Kat Sewon Oh (MIA ’23) is studying Human Rights and Humanitarian Policy with specializations in Technology, Media, and Communications, as well as East Asia.