Birth control pioneer Margaret Sanger is back in the news this week
thanks to GOP presidential candidate and abortion rights opponent Herman
Cain, who
claimed on national television
that Planned Parenthood, the visionary global movement she founded
nearly a century ago, is really about one thing only: “preventing black
babies from being born.” Cain’s outrageous and false accusation is
actually an all too familiar canard -- a willful repetition of
scurrilous claims that have circulated for years despite detailed
refutation by scholars who have examined the evidence and unveiled the
distortions and misrepresentations on which they are based (for a recent
example,
see this rebuttal from
The Washington Post’s Glenn Kessler).
It’s an old tactic. Even in her own day, Sanger endured deliberate
character assassination by opponents who believed they would gain more
traction by impugning her character and her motives than by debating the
merits of her ideas. But when a presidential candidate from a major
U.S. political party is saying such things, a thoughtful response is
necessary.
So what is Sanger’s story?
Born Margaret Louisa Higgins in 1879, the middle child of a large
Irish Catholic family, Sanger grew into a follower of labor organizers,
free thinkers, and bohemians. Married to William Sanger, an itinerant
architect and painter, she helped support three young children by
working as a visiting nurse on New York’s Lower East Side. Following the
death of a patient from a then all-too-common illegal abortion, she
vowed to abandon palliative work and instead overturn obscenity laws
that prevented legal access to safe contraception.
Sanger’s fundamental heresy was in claiming every woman’s right to
experience her sexuality freely and bear only the number of children she
desires. Following a first generation of educated women who had proudly
forgone marriage in order to seek fulfillment outside the home, she
offered birth control as a necessary condition to the resolution of a
broad range of personal and professional frustrations.
The hardest challenge in introducing Sanger to modern audiences, who
take this idea for granted, is to explain how absolutely destabilizing
it seemed in her own time. As a result of largely private arrangements
and a healthy trade in condoms, douches, and various contraptions sold
under the subterfuge of feminine hygiene, birth rates had already begun
to decline. But contraception remained a clandestine and delicate
subject, legally banned under obscenity statutes, and women were still
largely denied identities or rights independent of their relationships
with men, including the right to vote.
By inventing the term “birth control,” Sanger brought the practice --
and by implication, women’s entitlement to sexual pleasure -- out into
the open and gave them essential currency. She went to jail in 1917 for
opening a clinic to distribute primitive diaphragms to immigrant women
in Brooklyn, New York, and appeal of her conviction led to a medical
exception that licensed doctors to prescribe contraception for reasons
of health. Under these constraints she built a network of independent
local women’s health centers that eventually came together under the
banner of Planned Parenthood. She also lobbied for the repeal of federal
obscenity statutes that prevented the legal transport of contraception
by physicians across state lines, which were struck down in federal
court in 1936.
Sanger sought and won scientific validation for various contraceptive
methods, including the birth control pill, whose development she
supported and found the money to fund. In so doing, she helped lift the
religious shroud that had long encased reproduction and secured the
endorsement of contraception by physicians and social scientists. From
this singular accomplishment, which some still consider heretical, a
continuing controversy has ensued.
Sanger always remained a wildly polarizing figure, which clarifies
the logic of her decision after World War I to jettison “birth control”
and adopt the more socially resonant term “family planning.” This move
was particularly inventive but in no way cynical, especially when the
Great Depression brought attention to collective needs and the New Deal
created a blueprint for bold public endeavors.
Some have falsely charged that Sanger defined family planning as a
right of the privileged but a duty or obligation of the poor. To the
contrary, she showed considerable foresight in lobbying to include
universal voluntary family planning programs among public investments in
social security. Had the New Deal incorporated basic public health and
access to contraception, as most European countries were then doing,
protracted conflicts over welfare and health care policy in the U.S.
might well have been avoided.
Having long enjoyed the friendship and support of Franklin and
Eleanor Roosevelt, Sanger also had ample reason to believe the New
Dealers would fully legalize and endorse contraception as a necessary
first step to her long-term goal of transferring responsibility and
accountability for voluntary clinics to the public health sector. What
she failed to anticipate was the force of opposition family planning
continued to generate from a coalition of religious conservatives,
including urban Catholics and rural fundamentalist Protestants, that
held Roosevelt Democrats captive much as today’s evangelicals have
captured the GOP.
The U.S. government would not overcome cultural and religious
objections to public support of family planning through its domestic
anti-poverty and international development programs until the late
1960s, after the Supreme Court protected contraceptive use under the
privacy doctrine created in
Griswold v. Connecticut. At
this time, Planned Parenthood clinics became major government
contractors, since there were few alternative primary health care
centers serving the poor. Today, one in four American women funds her
contraception through government programs, many of them still run by
Planned Parenthood -- a number likely to rise under the Affordable Care
Act.
Sanger’s eagerness to mainstream her movement explains her engagement
with eugenics, a then widely popular intellectual movement that
addressed the manner in which human intelligence and opportunity is
determined by biological as well as environmental factors. Hard as it is
to believe, eugenics was considered far more respectable than birth
control. Like many well-intentioned reformers of this era, Sanger took
away from Charles Darwin the essentially optimistic lesson that
humanity’s evolution within the animal kingdom makes us all capable of
improvement if only we apply the right tools. University presidents,
physicians, scientists, and public officials all embraced eugenics, in
part because it held the promise that merit would replace fate -- or
birthright and social status -- as the standard for mobility in a
democratic society.
But eugenics also has some damning and today unfathomable legacies,
such as a series of state laws upheld in 1927 by an eight-to-one
progressive majority of the U.S. Supreme Court, including Justices
Oliver Wendell Holmes and Louis Brandeis. Their landmark decision in
Buck v. Bell
authorized the compulsory sterilization of a poor young white woman
with an illegitimate child on grounds of feeble mindedness that were
never clearly established. This decision, incidentally, was endorsed by
civil libertarians such as Roger Baldwin of the ACLU and W.E.B. Dubois
of the NAACP, both of whom Sanger counted among her supporters and
friends.
For Sanger, eugenics was meant to begin with the voluntary use of
birth control, which many still opposed on the grounds that the middle
class should be encouraged to have more babies. She countered by
disdaining what she called a “cradle competition” of class, race, or
ethnicity. She publicly opposed immigration restrictions and framed
poverty as a matter of differential access to resources like birth
control, not as the immutable consequence of low inherent ability or
character.
As a nurse, Sanger also understood the adverse impacts of poor
nutrition, drugs, and alcohol on fetal development and encouraged
government support of maternal and infant health. She argued for broad
social safety nets and proudly marshaled clinical data to demonstrate
that most women, even among the poorest and least educated populations,
eagerly embraced and used birth control successfully when it is was
provided.
At the same time, Sanger did on many occasions engage in shrill
rhetoric about the growing burden of large families of low intelligence
and defective heredity — language with no intended racial or ethnic
content. She always argued that all women are better off with fewer
children, but unfortunate language about “creating a race of
thoroughbreds” and other such phrases have in recent years been lifted
out of context and used to sully her reputation. Moreover, in endorsing
Buck v. Bell
and on several occasions the payment of pensions or bonuses to poor
women who agreed to limit their childbearing (many of whom enjoyed no
other health care coverage), Sanger quite clearly failed to consider
fundamental human rights questions raised by such practices. Living in
an era indifferent to the obligation to respect and protect individuals
whose behaviors do not always conform to prevailing mores, she did not
always fulfill it.
The challenge as Sanger’s biographer has been to reconcile apparent
contradictions in her beliefs. She actually held unusually advanced
views on race relations for her day and on many occasions condemned
discrimination and encouraged reconciliation between blacks and whites.
Though most birth control facilities conformed to the segregation mores
of the day, she opened an integrated clinic in Harlem in the early
1930s. Later, she facilitated birth control and maternal health programs
for rural black women in the south, when local white health officials
there denied them access to any New Deal-funded services.
Sanger worked on this last project with the behind-the-scenes support
of Eleanor Roosevelt and Mary McLeod Bethune, founder of the National
Council for Negro Women and then a Roosevelt administration official.
Their progressive views on race were well known, if controversial, but
their support for birth control was silenced by Franklin’s political
handlers — at least until he was safely ensconced in the White House for
a third term, when the government rushed to provide condoms to World
War II soldiers.
Sanger’s so-called Negro Project has been a source of controversy
first raised by black nationalists and some feminist scholars in the
1970s and later by anti-abortion foes. Respecting the importance of
self-determination among users of contraception, she recruited prominent
black leaders to endorse the goal, especially ministers who held sway
over the faithful. In that context, she wrote an unfortunate sentence in
a private letter about needing to clarify the ideals and goals of the
birth control movement because “we do not want the word to go out that
we want to exterminate the Negro population.” The sentence may have
been thoughtlessly composed, but it is perfectly clear that she was not
endorsing genocide.
America’s intensely complicated politics of race and gender has long
ensnarled Sanger and all others who have sought to discipline
reproduction. As many scholars of the subject in recent years have
observed, much of the controversy proceeds from the plain fact that
reproduction is by its very nature experienced individually and socially
at the same time. In claiming women’s fundamental right to control
their own bodies, Sanger remained mindful of the dense fabric of
cultural, political, and economic relationships in which those rights
are exercised.
In most instances the policies Sanger advocated were intended to
observe the necessary obligation of social policy to balance individual
rights of self-expression with the sometimes contrary desire to
promulgate and enforce common mores and laws. She may have failed to get
the balance quite right, but there is nothing in the record to poison
her reputation or discredit her noble cause. Quite the contrary.
The Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. may have put it best in 1966,
when he accepted Planned Parenthood’s prestigious Margaret Sanger Award
and spoke eloquently of the “kinship” between the civil rights and
family planning movements.
Here is what he said, since it bears repeating:
There is a striking kinship between our movement and Margaret
Sanger’s early efforts. She, like we, saw the horrifying conditions of
ghetto life. Like we, she knew that all of society is poisoned by
cancerous slums. Like we, she was a direct actionist; a nonviolent
resister. She launched a movement which is obeying a higher law to
preserve human life under humane conditions. Margaret Sanger had to
commit what was then called a crime in order to enrich humanity, and
today we honor her courage and vision; for without them there would have
been no beginning.