Archive by Author

Book Review: ‘One Kind Word: Women Share Their Abortion Stories’

22 Aug

I was so happy and excited to receonekindwordive a copy of One Kind Word in the mail. I had not heard much about it so was doubly excited to see the faces (and stories) of a few people I knew included in the collection. How lovely to see my wonderful friends’ choices validated – celebrated! – in such a beautiful collection.

One Kind Word is the product of arts4choice, an artistic project by Martha Solomon and Kathryn Palmateer in response to a 2007 Ottawa Citizen article about abortion wait times. The goal is to collect stories of people who access abortion in Canada as part of the ongoing efforts to share stories and in so doing, to combat stigma and normalize abortion as a healthcare choice.

Canada is viewed by much of the world as a progressive haven in regards to abortion access, because we do not have a law governing it and so are therefore seen as having ‘no limits’ on abortion. However, the reality is more complicated: healthcare is provincially mandated, so services are determined more by the political bent of the provincial government than by the lack of federal law. Added to the economic disparity of the provinces are additional barriers that limit access: regional disparity in services, long wait times, long travel times, and systemic inequality and indifference to issues of reproductive health. Canadians are subject to the same stigma and alienation around abortion as are Americans and others around the world; the work of making abortion accessible – and contextualizing it as healthcare – is still important here.

Arts4choice approached the project in an artistic way, illustrating each of the 30+ people’s stories with a black and white photograph of the story teller. The result is a bold, brave, unapologetic presentation similar to the attitude behind Each story teller has different feelings and ideas about her abortion, but even those with ambivalence look straight into the camera as if to say, I am not ashamed of this.

Palmateer’s photography is gorgeous, challenging, and definitely the highlight of the book and what sets it apart from other compilations of this nature. I believe this project would be a compelling visual art exhibit as well, which would perhaps make it accessible to a different demographic. Meanwhile, many of the portraits (and stories) are available to be viewed at

In the right context, abortion story-telling can be a powerful tool for activism. This book provides a space for that in a beautiful and stylish way that I greatly appreciated – and will be a great conversation starter on your coffee table!

You can buy the book from Three O’Clock Press.

Midwife-run Birth Centre Opening in Toronto

22 Jan

Inherent in the struggle for reproductive justice is that “choice” without access is no choice at all. This obviously applies to abortion, but is also true of the spectrum of reproductive and sexual health issues under the reproductive rights umbrella, including contraception, sterilization, sexuality, gender identity, childbirth and parenting, to name but a few.


That’s why it’s good to see small steps towards making a range of choices available, especially to people who are not rich or could otherwise not access those choices. This week, the Toronto Birth Centre announced the imminent opening of its brand new facility in Regent Park, a neighbourhood on the east side of the city with a history of poverty.


The Toronto Birth Centre is a pilot project by the Ontario Ministry of Health. It is aimed at people with low-risk pregnancies, and run entirely by midwives (although obviously there are strict safety protocols in place in the event of complications). What it means for Toronto residents is provincially-funded access to midwifery in a dedicated centre for birthing; they are estimating 450 births per year.


I recognize that midwife-only births are not everyone’s cup of tea, but for those who are trying to access them, this is huge. The parallels to abortion clinics cannot be ignored; funding, staffing and regulating lends legitimacy to the endeavour in the view of the public, and allows visible access to services that are otherwise difficult to find. And hosting the centre in the Regent Park neighbourhood is no accident; the ongoing “revitalization” of the area smacks of gentrification, but services that make childbirth easier and more accessible for folks living in poverty are probably good news.


Of course I do feel only cautiously optimistic about the endeavour. There is no indication of how access to the midwifery services are regulated, ie who gets to use the Centre? It is my hope that they will reach out to underserved populations and make an effort to move away from the stereotype of midwifery as something that only white middle-class crunchy-granola types want or can afford. I also hope that the focus of the centre will go beyond birth, and work with pregnant people to help access other services that they need.


A centre with just midwives is such a promising alternative for folks who – for whatever reason – cannot or do not want to deal with doctors throughout their pregnancy and childbirth. It is my hope that the TBC will take advantage of its location and the great need in marginalized communities to move that one small step towards access, and eventually, choice.

If you’d like more info on the centre, please see the following link:

#SolidarityIsForWhiteWomen Tweets and Posts to Help You Shut Up and Listen

16 Aug

The big news in online feminism this week is the #solidarityisforwhitewomen hashtag, created by Mikki Kendall (@Karnythia), by which the frustrations and righteous anger of women of color is being directed, with a side of (justified) snark, at Big White Feminism. The catalyst for this eruption may have been the latest Hugo Schwyzer flounce off the internet and subsequent fallout, but the wounds go much deeper, as 65,000+ tweets will attest.

Here at Abortion Gang we – white folks and people of color alike – are struggling to put words to our varied reactions. In the interest of being allies we wish to amplify the voices of women of color who have spoken out through this hashtag by highlighting some of their work on these topics in the past. Here are some #solidarityisforwhitewomen tweets with links to relevant writing on race and feminism by the tweeter:

Sydette @Blackamazon / My Machete Never Faltered








Lauren Chief Elk @ChiefElk / An Open Letter to Eve Ensler







Grace @graceishuman / 10 thoughts…on mental illness, abuse, and survivors









Flavia Dzodan @redlightvoices / Yes, this is about race









Rania Khalek @RaniaKhalek / 40% Of White Americans Have Zero Non-White Friends










Aura Bogado @aurabogado / A tale of two best friends










Angry Black Fangirl @TheAngryFangirl / On Hugo Schwyzer’s defenders










Shanelle Matthews @freedom_writer / On #SolidarityIsForWhiteWomen; Feminism Is Not Black And White










Child of Zora @EvetteDionne  / The Burdens of Black Motherhood










Ayesha A. Siddiqi @pushinghoops / You, Me, & Chris Brown










Feminista Jones @FeministaJones / While My Sisters Gently Weep

Feminista Jones








For brief background on the hashtag and on the history of racism in the feminist movement, see this great HuffPost Live segment with Mikki Kendall & Tara Conley. For more on the history of racism within online feminism, see brownfemipower’s tumblr.

Goodbye, Dr. Morgentaler

29 May

This morning Dr. Henry Morgentaler died of a heart attack in his Toronto home. He was 90 years old, in increasingly failing health these last few years, and with a lifetime – many lifetimes – of work behind him. May we one day win a world where all abortion providers can safely die of old age in their own homes. Thank goodness Dr. Morgentaler was allowed that.

I know that everyone will be talking about who Dr. Morgentaler was, what he did and why he was important. That information is easy to find. All I know is who he was to me – a very human hero, a real person who did a remarkable thing; after escaping with his life from a concentration camp, he willingly put that life at risk to make the world a better place for women.

Dr. Morgentaler exemplifies allyship. He was willing to sacrifice everything he earned – his reputation, his medical licence, his practice, his family, and his freedom – to improve the lot of a group he didn’t belong to. He saw injustice and saw his own power to make change and he did it.

In his early life, Dr. M. had the good fortune to escape darkness, but then he had the courage to spend the rest of his life attempting to bring others up into the light. His work in Canada literally saved lives – directly, for many of the women to whom he provided abortions (particularly when it was illegal), and indirectly for thousands of people, by being instrumental in striking down the abortion law.

The only time I ever met Dr. Morgentaler was two and a half years ago, at an end of year staff dinner when I worked at his clinic here in Toronto. For his toast he said a few humble words of gratitude, and then immediately turned the attention back to the roomful of people and insisted the true credit go to us. He was not a perfect person – nobody is – but as far as heroes go, we could have done a lot worse.

Though I didn’t know him, Dr. Morgentaler’s work changed my life for the better. Because of him, abortion is legal in this country and even though there’s a long way still to go, if I get pregnant that’s a pretty significant hurdle I don’t have to jump. Not to mention the two amazing jobs I’ve had because of him, and everything that brought me – spirited allies, lifelong friendships, life-changing experiences and a sense of purpose. His fight set this country on fire; he never set his torch down for a second, so damned if I will either.

In my mind I see Dr. Morgentaler as having given birth (ha!) to generations of feminist activists, I guess sort of springing fully formed from his head like Athena from the head of Zeus. In illegally performing abortions in defiance of an unjust law, he not only challenged the idea of the law as a standard of morality, he also freed us up to fight for justice in our own way. We pay tribute to Henry when we expand and push beyond abortion rights and into sexual and reproductive justice for all people, in every way. For all his great heroism, Dr. Morgentaler was just the spark. We are the powder keg.

Anyway, what I know is that Dr. Henry Morgentaler changed Canada for the better, and showed us who we truly could be in this country; he was an immigrant who, through hard work, became a respected doctor, and then refused to enjoy the rewards of a hard-won life when he could see that others still suffered. He represented the best of us.

Thank you Dr. Morgentaler, and goodbye – you have truly earned your rest.

The Permanence of Children and Tattoos

10 Apr

For a short period in the early days of my pro-choice activism, I had a nemesis. The fact that she didn’t know about it may have lessened the impact. My nemesis was a young woman who was heavily involved in a pro-life organization that did some protesting of the abortion clinic where I worked at the time; I found out her name and used to creep her on Facebook, but truth be told it wasn’t that interesting. She was a standard, young white Christian type, super involved in vanilla stuff like music or Sunday school or whatever, saving herself until marriage with some equally non-threatening young man.

The one thing that was edgy about my nemesis (at least as far as her peer group went) was that she had a tattoo – a Bible quote that could be interpreted as anti-abortion. I remember thinking smugly to myself how silly she was to get such a strong statement tattooed on her so young; what if later she figured out the complexities of the issue and changed her stance? Or what if it just became less of an issue for her?

I know now that I was being kind of an asshole, after a few years of being a woman and having my own permanent choices (including, but not limited to, tattoos) being questioned. It makes me think of the double standard around having children that I have been coming up against lately: folks who don’t ever want to have kids seem to face a lot more questioning and condescending “oh you’ll change your mind someday” bullshit than the people actually having kids, which is kind of ridiculous when you think about it. (Obviously this is based on my own experience and is probably different for folks of different colours/ages/culture backgrounds/sexual identities/etc.).

Anyway this is all coming up because I got a tattoo this week, and unlike my two previous tattoos it is a. political, and b. almost always visible. I have been thinking about this one for almost five years, and when I look at it I feel 100% awesome about it, but I know there’s a chance that won’t always be the case. But it’s the chance you take, just like my nemesis took a chance that she would always be against abortion and a Christian. You can’t really know how things are going to go in life, but it’s too short to hold back, I think. Peggy's tattoo

Next week I am getting my second IUD inserted, a five year placeholder on the road to whenever they finally let me be permanently sterilized. I’ve known I don’t want kids for way longer than I’ve known I wanted this tattoo, but I still hear this junk about maybe changing my mind – more than I’ve ever heard about maybe regretting that tattoo. I know it’s not really the same, but I feel like they’re bound together by the horrible kinship of policing women’s bodies, choices and lives. The only person who gets to give my new tat the side-eye is my mother, and that’s only really because it’s inevitable. And the only person who gets to question my decision to never be pregnant is exactly no one.

I am the expert on my own life. My body is part of that. Trust my decisions, because I’m the one who has to live with them; but more importantly, because it’s none of your damn business.

Abortion in a “civilized society”

19 Mar

Recently, because I am an idiot, I agreed to go on a Christian television talk show and “debate” a well-known national (Canadian) newspaper columnist on the relative merits of MP Mark Warawa’s proposed Motion 408, which would “condemn discrimination against females occurring through sex-selective pregnancy termination”.

One of the many things that really bugs me about this motion is that Warawa doesn’t even want a change in the law; he just wants the Government of Canada to condemn this particular choice. It’s unclear what form this official snubbing would take, but the idea that people would want to simply codify our disapproval, as a nation, of this choice is almost worse than just making it illegal (in principle, anyway).

The talk show experience was an absolute gong show, but that’s another story. What really surprised me was my debate opponent’s perfectly clear and confident assertion that sex-selective abortion was the immigrant community’s problem, and that it is our duty as Canadians to teach them Canadian values like gender equality. After I was done sputtering in shock at the explicit xenophobia, I managed to respond that we do not, in fact, value gender equality in Canadian society. Both my debate opponent and the host of the show seemed genuinely shocked that I would believe such a thing.

The whole exchange was so strange, so surreal. I felt very conscious that I had said something impolite – that it was uncivilized to talk about gender inequality in Western culture, just as it was uncivilized to engage in sex-selective abortion. We must greet such transgressions with the very strongest, WASPish disapproval we can muster. I am certain that the two very civilized ladies sitting on that set with me would not have opposed a motion to condemn speaking up out of turn to accuse one’s elders of obliviousness to inequality.

I feel the historical context of the word “uncivilized” perfectly encompasses the mindset behind wishing to condemn a practice that is mostly carried out, in this country anyway, by women of Southeast Asian origin. Being civilized has been a cage both for women – in the way we are expected to behave – and for people of colour, in the way their cultures do or do not align with Western standards of order and propriety. A civilized society does not speak about vulgar things like sexuality or reproduction. A civilized person does not veer from the path prescribed to her based on her station in life.

I am thinking about this because in North Dakota, Republican Rep. Bette Grande – the prime sponsor of a bill banning abortion based on genetic defects and gender selection – said that such abortions have “no place in civilized society”.

I wonder about civilized society. Is a society civilized, that cedes control of women’s bodies to the government? To be civilized, must a society force women to carry to term pregnancies they do not want, of children whose needs they cannot afford to meet, without providing a sufficient social safety net to facilitate care for those children? Does a civilized society include poverty? If it does, does that mean it also excludes talking about it?

Can one even talk about what makes a civilized society without being, oneself, somewhat uncivilized?

The positive connotation of “civilization” to many of us is progress. Surely a civilized society would abhor the enslavement of its citizens, in body or spirit. Surely a civilized society demands forward movement.

Surely a civilized society can do better.

Childfree Reflections on Your Terrifying Choices (or, Best of Luck, Pregnant Friend!)

6 Mar

ast week I went to the doctor for an IUD consultation (my last one came out but I really want them to shove another one up there regardless). Two days later, at a small gathering at their house, friends of mine who have been married for a year told us they were expecting a baby.

It was then I realized that my first reaction to this news is always sheer, unadulterated terror. Sympathetic terror, you understand – I feel terrified on their behalf, because somebody needs to, because they are just sitting there smiling like idiots when A TINY HUMAN is about to be completely, vulnerably, irreversibly in their care. WHY AREN’T YOU TERRIFIED I want to yell, which is not only socially inappropriate but also somewhat unfair. Firstly because they may in fact be terrified, but just have the common courtesy not to show it (and/or it is outweighed by happiness and other positive emotions), and secondly because really it’s none of my business.

Why does this news always lead to vicarious terror? Really I am happy for my friends – not just happy, but that perfectly pleasant place where your love for someone, and them having something they want that you don’t at all, intersect; no jealousy, just pure vicarious excitement. But I think of that tiny uncontrollable human that will soon be in their care; that little beast with its feelings, at the mercy of other, perhaps more terrible humans out there in the world.

On the way home my friends and I talked about what extra challenges the child might face, being mixed race. But we live in a big urban centre, in 2013 – it couldn’t be so bad, could it? We peered cautiously at the question from behind our whiteness. How bad is it? Certainly not bad enough that our beautiful, happy friends, with their own middle class backgrounds, strong support networks, and blossoming careers would even have second thoughts, right? But those terrifying conversations happen behind bedroom doors, and sometimes not even there. I thought of that same couple’s trip to visit a mutual friend attending school in the southern USA; the kinds of things they had to consider, as an interracial couple, would never have crossed my mind – but then, that’s my privilege, to not have to consider those kinds of things if I don’t want to.

What positive thing can come from my vicarious (maybe?) terror? A supportive ear, a cautious eye. I could be the clingiest babysitter there ever was. I want to follow my friends’ kids around and yell at people who give them a hard time; defend with my oversensitive heart the bodies they inhabit. I guess this is what happens when you and your friends get old enough to look out for yourselves; suddenly a new generation springs up and your loyalty and fear spreads out to encompass them. If I wanted to be a mother, I think I would be a terrible one. My child would never be allowed to take a risk; my poor heart wouldn’t allow it.

So I’m going to go ahead and get that IUD as soon as I can, but for me that’s only half of being childfree; the other half is offering my support, love, and absolute awe – and, if needed, a surplus of pure terror – to my beautiful friends and their upcoming tiny human on this next great adventure.

My Clinic Home: A Love Story

26 Oct

Last month I went home to Fredericton, the city where I met my love, to marry him (my love, not the city). The following weekend we attended the wedding of two dear friends who also met in Fredericton – at the abortion clinic where I used to work.

You can read the story from Tania here – it’s really sweet, although of course I am biased (I’m the Peggy in the story! Confusingly age-inappropriate!). People who know me know that I love love, and it absolutely warms my heart to think that two people I care about not only met, but decided to marry, in the parking lot of a place that has been the site of so much drama and heartache. Love is often political, and I feel like proposing to Tania in that spot was a radical act on her partner’s behalf – like they were taking back that space for love.

Spaces hold meaning, and in small communities they hold many memories and associations. When the abortion clinic opened in Fredericton, the adjacent middle school was closed for the day out of fear of violence. Friends of mine who went to that school remember this vividly; for many, it was the only reason they knew there was an abortion clinic in our city before I started volunteering there. And still when the school (which is downtown and doesn’t have any outdoor exercise space) has outdoor gym classes or safety drills, the kids are often running by protesters holding up giant gory anti-abortion signs.

During their annual March for Life, anti-choice protesters reach over the back fence that divides our clinic from their crisis pregnancy centre (yeah, it’s next door) and rub holy water in the shape of the cross on to the building. The small fences create a boundary where the protesters are not allowed to walk on clinic days. A safe zone.

When my partner had a summer job painting dumpsters (so glamorous!), before my association with the clinic, he started on the abortion clinic dumpster when the clinic manager – now a dear friend of ours – came out and eyed him suspiciously, asking what he was doing messing around with their garbage. The dumpster is kept locked. Anti-choice people will dig through it to find medical records and waste – things that would never be thrown out with the regular garbage, but never mind.

At the clinic I have seen people crying, screaming, hugging, sleeping, barfing and fighting. I have gently urged people out of their cars through an onslaught of protesters. I helped one woman climb over the fence when she realized she had accidentally parked at the crisis pregnancy centre. I have played with patients’ children, soothed their mothers, hugged their friends. I have refused entry to countless aggressive men, and hung up on many more. I have frozen my ass off in the parking lot, and had some of the funniest, deepest and most engaging conversations of my life with the other volunteers, and with the patients’ friends. Before I worked in the clinic, I volunteered outside – I spent hours patrolling those fragile boundaries. There’s no physical space in my life that I have protected so vehemently. I huddled there with a mass of strangers, holding candles, when Dr. Tiller died. I sat inside at my desk ignoring the stares of protesters through the window, willing myself to keep the blind open.

I thought of that space as my friends enjoyed their first dance together at their wedding. How truly lovely that a space that held (and holds) the hopes and fears of so many of the people that I care about should give birth to this moment. How strange the evolution of the places we call home.

The Real Abortion Caravan

12 Jun

In May of 1970, three dozen women entered the House of Commons in Ottawa and chained themselves to their seats. They interrupted debate on the floor by reciting a prepared speech and chanting for free abortion on demand. They were forcibly removed from the building, and their interruption caused the first ever adjournment of Canadian Parliament in 103 years.

This act of civil disobedience was the culmination of the Abortion Caravan, a group of pro-choice activists who drove from Vancouver to Ottawa, stopping in cities and towns along the way to build support and educate the people about the state of abortion access in Canada. At the time, eighteen years before the groundbreaking Morgentaler decision, abortion was only available to women who stood successfully before a Therapeutic Abortion Committee consisting of three (overwhelmingly male) doctors who would deem her suitably unfit – in mind or body – to carry a pregnancy to term.

When the Abortion Caravan arrived in Ottawa it was five hundred strong and fierce as all get-out; they dressed in mourning clothes and carried a black coffin bedecked with coat hangers, which they left at the front door of Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau’s official residence.

The Abortion Caravan was instrumental in galvanizing public support for abortion rights in Canada, and the grassroots, collective action of the Vancouver Women’s Caucus (the group who planned the caravan) laid the foundation for Dr. Henry Morgentaler’s struggle with – and eventual triumph over – abortion laws in this country. Most people with a vague understanding of the history of abortion in Canada know about R v. Morgentaler. But Dr. Morgentaler, although a courageous man and a determined fighter, did not legalize abortion in this country on his own. Not only was he surrounded and supported by fierce pro-choice activists – most of whom were women – his work was built on an existing, established movement of equally courageous activists; women who not only chained themselves to chairs in Parliament, but who also risked their freedom, jobs, and sometimes their lives to help others access safe and necessary medical care.

It is so important to remember the history of the Abortion Caravan, not least of all because it happened so relatively recently. But it is also important to remember and honour this history because we should never confuse the Abortion Caravan with the “New Abortion Caravan”, an initiative of the Canadian Centre for Bio-Ethical Reform, a truly loathesome group of people who wish to kick women right back to 1970 (or earlier if they can!). Please be on the lookout for these assholes and their big truck decorated with fetus gorn; they have yet to stop in Winnipeg, Thunder Bay, Sudbury, Brampton, London, Toronto and Ottawa. If you are in one of these cities, please join a counter-protest if you can. Let’s defend our history from a bunch of misogynist control freaks trying to take a big steaming dump all over it, shall we?

More info here.

Motion 312: It’s Not NOT About Abortion!

27 Apr

Last night while on my ride home from work, I turned on my phone and began to devour the #M312 hashtag.

If you haven’t been keeping up with Canadian politics (come on! Why not?), Motion 312 is a motion introduced by Conservative MP (Member of Parliament) Stephen Woodworth, calling for a Parliamentary Committee to examine whether the Criminal Code definition of “human being” should be expanded to include fetuses. I can’t even tell you with a straight face that Woodworth is pretending this isn’t about abortion. The motion was accepted for debate, and said debate happened yesterday, in the House of Commons.

When I was fifteen and far too naive to understand it, I read a book of Sartre’s that I found on my sister’s bookshelf. Several years later, in my third year of university, I took a 20th century existentialism course because I had a crush on the professor. I got very little from either of these experiences; but riding home on the streetcar yesterday I finally realized what the “nausea” was that Sartre was talking about. I felt a lurch in my stomach that was somehow both physical and existential; I turned off my phone and stared out the window. “Is this really real?” I asked myself. 

Is it really happening that today, twenty-four years after the abortion law was struck down in this country, four years after the man for whom that Supreme Court decision was named won an Order of Canada, our elected (ha!) representatives are standing up in the House of fucking Commons, for goodness sake, and having a serious debate about – let’s face it – abortion? Is this really happening? Outside Parliament yesterday, a crowd of women dressed in handmaid costumes from Margaret Atwood’s dystopian novel The Handmaid’s Tale stood and protested the gradual but inevitable regression of women’s rights in this country. “The Handmaid’s Tale is not an instruction manual,” they said.

Margaret Atwood must be shaking her head. Our mothers and grandmothers must be shaking their heads.

Anyway, the debate. Once I had sufficiently recovered from my existential malaise, I tuned back into the debate – livestream from the House of Commons, and in another tab, Twitter, and in a third, Kady O’Malley’s liveblog.

Woodworth opened with fifteen minutes of speechifying, during which time he managed to fire off an impressive array of anti-choice cliches, paying particular loving attention to the “slippery slope” argument. If we can abort fetuses, who’s next! he cries, forgetting that one of the original arguments he brought forward for amending the Criminal Code was that the definition of “human being” therein was based on 400-year-old science; surely if something was “next”, it would have it would have happened by now?

Woodworth proceeded to mangle and take out of context quotes from various sources, from Martin Luther King, Jr. to former Supreme Court Justice Bertha Wilson (who was a member of the court presiding over the R v. Morgentaler decision). The outrage from Twitter – and the exasperation from the New Democrat MPs in the House – was palpable, even from behind the tiny screen of my smartphone. Who is this jackass, and why is he allowed an audience for his nonsense?

Predictably, when the floor was opened for other MPs to speak their piece(s?), Woodworth was eviscerated. First up was NDP MP Francoise Boivin, who correctly characterized M312 as a “full frontal attack” on women’s rights. Liberal MP Hedy Fry called out Woodworth on his attempt to introduce “back door” legislation on fetal rights (as opposed to abortion rights) – a strategy that is not new to this government (remember Bill C-484?).

One by one our MPs lined up to cut Woodworth down, and to put a cherry on top, Conservative Whip Gordon O’Connor gave a strong and unwavering speech in support of a woman’s right to choose. Not even his own party could stand behind this gong show of a Motion – Prime Minister Stephen Harper himself will vote against it.

To be clear, nobody ever thought this would go anywhere, or that Woodworth would succeed in making any changes to the law, let alone changing the legal status of abortion. It is the fact that we are having this conversation that is such a slap in the face to Canadian women. It is terrifying that our rights are so fragile, we can “open the conversation” on a whim, even under a government whose leader promised he would not reopen the debate. Whoops, Harper, looks like that one got away from you!

The next debate on the motion will not happen before June, and most likely will actually occur in the fall. Don’t put away those handmaid costumes yet, ladies – you’re gonna need them, one way or the other.

For a full recap, watch the webcast on ParlVU (debate on Motion 312 started at 5pm), or read the Hansard, and for commentary check out the #M312 hashtagon Twitter.