Who is 'Jane Roe'?
Anonymous no more, Norma McCorvey no longer supports abortion
rights
From CNN Interactive Writer Douglas S. Wood
(CNN) -- Norma McCorvey won't be celebrating the 25th
anniversary of the historic Roe vs. Wade decision that
legalized abortion.
McCorvey is "Jane Roe," the pseudonym she assumed to remain
anonymous as the lead plaintiff in the case that legalized
abortion in the United States.
"I'm very sad (about the anniversary)," she told CNN Interactive in a telephone interview. "But this year, I've got so much to do, I don't have time to sit down and be sad."
Once an abortion-rights supporter, the 50-year-old McCorvey
has switched sides: She's now a vocal anti-abortion activist.
She has started a ministry called Roe No More to fight
against abortion rights with the aim of creating a mobile
counseling center for pregnant women in Dallas.
'I am Roe'
She began her association with one of the United States' most
contentious and volatile sociopolitical issues in 1970, when
she became the lead plaintiff in the class-action lawsuit
filed to challenge the strict anti-abortion laws in Texas.
The case was appealed to the Supreme Court, which handed down
its controversial ruling on January 22, 1973. The decision
legalized the right to an abortion in all 50 states and
sparked a political debate that remains charged to this day.
However, McCorvey, who was 21 when the case was filed and was
on her third pregnancy, never had an abortion and gave birth
to a girl, who was given up for adoption.
McCorvey went public with her identity in the 1980s and wrote
a book about her life titled "I Am Roe: My Life, Roe v.
Wade, and Freedom of Choice."
In the book, McCorvey, a ninth-grade dropout, describes a
tough life, explaining that she suffered physical and
emotional abuse as a child, spent some time in reform school
in Gainesville, Texas, and was raped as a teen-ager. She was
later beaten by a husband whom she married at age 16. She
also tells of her alcohol and drug abuse, and experiences
with lovers of both sexes.
Her first child, Melissa, was raised by her mother; her
second child was raised by the father, and the couple agreed
that McCorvey would never contact her.
She drifted through a series of dead-end jobs, including work
as a bartender and a carnival barker. Once she went public
with her story, she worked in several clinics where abortions
were performed and did some public speaking, garnering
publicity and a little bit of celebrity.
But in 1995, it all changed.
Crossing the line
McCorvey was working at a Dallas women's clinic when the
anti-abortion group Operation Rescue moved its offices next
door. Initially, McCorvey hurled insults at the protesters.
The Rev. Phillip Benham, Operation Rescue's national
director, described her as being "super hard-core" in her
support of abortion rights. "She couldn't stand us. She hated
us."
But then she and Benham struck up a relationship across the
protest lines, when she would go outside to smoke, a habit
she still has.
"They couldn't understand this strange relationship with the
head of Operation Rescue and the poster child of the
pro-abortion movement," Benham said.
McCorvey on her change of heart
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Benham, an evangelical preacher, began discussing
Christianity with McCorvey. She became friendly with some of
Operation Rescue's office staff, and then she accepted an
invitation from the daughter of the group's office manager to
attend church. That night, she converted to Christianity.
She was baptized by Benham on August 8, 1995, in a swimming
pool at a Dallas home. The baptism was filmed for national
television.
Anti-abortion activists immediately heralded her conversion.
"She's like Harriet Beecher Stowe, who wrote that book about
slavery," Benham said, referring to the author of "Uncle
Tom's Cabin."
End result the same
McCorvey publicly committed her life to "serving the Lord and
helping women save babies." She took a job at Operation
Rescue as a computer operator and was welcomed into the anti-
abortion fold.
In a 1997 CNN interview, McCorvey blamed violence at
women's clinics on the abortion-rights camp.
"I personally think it's the pro-abortion people who are
doing this to collect on their insurance, so they can go out
and build bigger and better killing centers," she said.
A book McCorvey co-wrote about her religious conversion
titled "Won By Love" was published January 8. "I think
everyone should sit down and write a book," she said. "It's a
lot like therapy but a lot less expensive."
Abortion-rights advocates were not so happy about the change
of heart by the woman who symbolized a woman's right to have
an abortion.
Sarah Weddington, the attorney who along with Linda Coffee
represented the plaintiffs, now says she would have picked a
different plaintiff, who might have better represented the
case.
Coffee said she and Weddington met McCorvey via another
attorney who specialized in adoptions. Coffee doesn't
remember McCorvey having any hesitancy about wanting an
abortion.
"She didn't appear to be equivocal," she said. "At the time,
she preferred a safe and legal abortion."
Weddington says it is the result that matters because the
class-action case affected millions of women. McCorvey's
conversion was a "PR plus" for the anti-abortion camp.
"Frankly, no one ever said, 'I believe what Norma McCorvey
said, or I believe what Sarah Weddington said,'" the lawyer
explained. People, she said, make up their own minds about
abortion.
Asked why she thought McCorvey changed her mind, Weddington
said, "She's the only one who can answer that," then refused
to comment further about McCorvey.
But McCorvey says that attitude validates her belief that
abortion is wrong. "If they don't care about me, how can they
possibly care about anyone else?" she said.
'Norma's conversion gave us hope'
McCorvey has criticized Weddington in the past for not
helping her get an abortion, because the case needed a
pregnant plaintiff. "I had to be pregnant," she said.
McCorvey had made one trip to an illegal abortion clinic in
Dallas that had been shut down. But now, McCorvey says she
wouldn't have had an abortion, anyway, because she was too
far along in her pregnancy. "I can honestly say no, I
wouldn't have," she said.
When McCorvey announced her change of heart on the issue,
Kate Michelman, president of the National Abortion and
Reproductive Rights Action League, said in a statement:
The Roe vs. Wade decision "isn't about any single individual.
It is about the freedom of all women to make reproductive
decisions free from government intrusion."
Michelman, through a spokesman, declined to be interviewed
for this story.
Coffee said she last saw McCorvey when the television movie
about the case was made in the late 1980s.
"Perhaps she may have felt left out by some of the pro-choice
groups in connection with the ongoing debate," she said.
That is exactly what McCorvey says about the pro-choice
leaders. "They could have been nice to me instead of treating
me like an idiot," she said. She said she now prays for
pro-choice leaders.
"I don't hate them any more like I used to," she said. "I
just don't like them very much."
McCorvey also has faced charges that the anti-abortion
movement is using her to further its cause. But now with her
own ministry, McCorvey has a quick answer to that accusation.
"How can I use myself?" she asked.
Advocates of banning abortion point to McCorvey as a symbol
of hope.
"Norma's conversion gave us hope that the pro-life movement
can and will be successful," said the Rev. Robert Schenck,
general secretary of the National Clergy Council, a
multidenominational group of conservative ministers.
But no matter what either side says, 25 years after Roe vs.
Wade, Americans remain divided over the issue of abortion.
Norma McCorvey may have changed her mind, but the political
debate over abortion continues.