Searching for Savita

Abortion bans are killing women. Where are their stories?

A woman kneels in front of a mural of Savita Halappanavar in Dublin, as votes were counted in the referendum on Ireland’s 8th Amendment

When Savita Halappanavar died in 2012, it was a turning point for abortion rights in Ireland. The 31 year-old Indian dentist was hospitalized when she was seventeen weeks pregnant and miscarrying. Over the course of three days, Savita begged for help again and again and was refused—even as her health rapidly deteriorated.

At the time, Irish law only allowed abortion when a woman’s life was imminently at risk. And even though there was no hope for her fetus, it still had a heartbeat.

Savita died of septic shock, in pain and surrounded by medical professionals who could have saved her life, but didn’t.

Her death sparked renewed outrage in Ireland, fury that led to the repeal of the anti-abortion Eighth Amendment a few years later. In the lead-up to that vote, there were pictures of Savita everywhere, from protest signs to murals. Her face became the image of Ireland’s shame. 

I’ve been thinking about Savita a lot these days. Her face crosses my mind anytime I hear about someone who’s died since Roe was overturned, killed by an abortion ban. A teenager with an ectopic pregnancy who died en route to an out-of-state hospital after being denied care. The young mother of a disabled toddler who slipped into a coma after trying to end her own pregnancy, never waking up.

I’ve heard those stories from abortion fund volunteers, reproductive rights lawyers, hospital workers and everyday citizens. I know I’m not alone: I think you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who works in abortion rights who doesn’t have at least one story of a death since Dobbs. 

Women and girls are dying—abortion bans are killing them. So why aren’t we hearing about it?

In part, it’s because Republican lawmakers and leaders have made it near-impossible for doctors to go public. For physicians, nurses and other healthcare workers, coming forward with a patient’s story means risking your job and any future employment. (Maybe even your freedom.)

Look at what happened to Dr. Caitlin Bernard, the Indiana abortion provider who revealed she treated a 10 year-old rape victim from Ohio. Even though Dr. Bernard didn’t disclose any identifying or personal information about the girl, Republican officials targeted her with the full power of the state. Indiana Attorney General Todd Rokita launched a year-long harassment campaign against Dr. Bernard, going after her license and attacking her professional reputation.

Republicans were sending a very clear message to any medical professional thinking about coming forward: Do so at your own risk.

The other reason these stories aren’t making it to the press is one we should be proud of: the abortion rights movement is deeply protective of those who’ve been hurt or killed by bans. Caring about this issue means being honest with those who trust you with their stories. They need to know—and activists tell them—that their lives could be forever changed by going public.

Coming forward about a post-Roe death means not only that a loved one’s name will be forever attached to this issue, but also—more likely than not—that it will be dragged through the mud. That’s especially true for those who were women of color, immigrants, poor, or part of any other marginalized community—people who are more likely to be killed by a ban to begin with are also more likely to be scapegoated. Anti-abortion activists and lawmakers are eager to shirk responsibility, and they’re not above blaming someone for their own death.

We’ve seen it happen already. When The New Yorker reported on the death of Yeniifer Alvarez-Estrada Glick, anti-abortion groups wasted no time faulting the doctors and hospital in charge of her care. It’s a tactic they’ve been laying the groundwork for since Dobbs, and one that I’ve warned about.

They even blamed the young Texas woman herself, pointing to Yeni’s weight and pre-existing health issues—as if those weren’t just more reasons she should have had access to care!

Editors at The New Yorker also did these ghouls a favor by refusing to explicitly say that Texas’ abortion ban killed Yeni. And that’s the last and perhaps most important thing that’s stopping post-Roe deaths from being shared: media cowardice.

The New Yorker piece is a perfect example. Reporter Stephania Taladrid did an amazing job meticulously piecing together what happened to Yeni, telling her story with expertise and care. Taladrid’s reporting also made very, very clear that Texas’ abortion ban killed Yeni. Yet editors refused to say this outright, posing what Taladrid proved as a question in the headline: “Did An Abortion Ban Cost a Young Texas Woman Her Life?”

Anyone who works in journalism can see what probably happened here. At some point in the process of putting this article out into the world—maybe in editing or fact-checking, but most likely when the lawyers weighed in—someone made the decision that The New Yorker wouldn’t conclusively blame Texas’ ban for Yeni’s death.

They had the biggest story in the country—the first reported post-Roe death—and buried it in equivocation.

As I’ve said before, I’m sympathetic to the position that publications are in: Abortion ban deaths don’t happen in a straight or straightforward line. You’re dealing with everything from health care costs and racism to abortion stigma, maternal health deserts and more. For mainstream outlets eager for an ‘objective’ unambiguous story, those intersecting factors can be a challenge. 

I’m sure that by posing a question in their headline, The New Yorker leadership believed they were declining to take a particular stand on abortion rights. But here’s the thing: By neglecting to say plainly that Texas’ ban killed someone, the magazine was taking a position—one that says women’s deaths will only be accounted for if they’re perfect victims.

It’s a dangerous precedent. Even Savita’s death was fought over in Irish media and politics—anti-abortion groups and doctors claimed it wasn’t the law that killed her, for example, but lack of early intervention.

If American media is waiting for an obvious “perfect” story, we’re going to be waiting forever. Anti-abortion legislators and activists are counting on traditional media outlets being too timid to say exactly what bans are doing to women.

And if The New Yorker, of all places, won’t take a brave and principled stand on women’s deaths—despite all of their power, credibility, exceptional reporting and access to legal protection—what hope can we possible have for any other publications?

Savita’s story tipped the scales of power in Ireland, her face on everyone’s mind as they restored abortion rights and women’s freedom in the country. Americans will never have that moment unless we can protect the people courageous enough to come forward, and unless trusted and influential publications get very brave very fast.