Summary

An eleven-year-old girl expresses her fears and concerns about moving to Alabama amidst the state's controversial abortion ban and its implications for her and her friends' future.

Abstract

The article presents a poignant narrative from the perspective of an eleven-year-old girl who has recently moved to Alabama shortly after the state's stringent abortion ban was enacted. She grapples with the reality of living in a place where the rights of women and girls are severely restricted, and she reflects on the potential impact on her life and that of her peers. Her anxieties range from the personal, such as fitting in at a new school, to broader societal issues, including the possibility of the ban leading to a challenge of Roe v. Wade at the Supreme Court. Through her eyes, we see the absurdity of politicians, particularly men, making decisions about women's bodies, and the contradiction of being considered too young to handle certain responsibilities while being subjected to laws that could force motherhood at an early age. The girl's narrative is juxtaposed with her mother's activism and the political climate, highlighting the generational impact of such legislation.

Opinions

The girl feels scared and uncertain about her future in Alabama due to the abortion ban, fearing the implications for her and her friends.
She is bewildered by the inconsistency of being considered too young for certain rights and responsibilities, yet old enough to be potentially forced into parenthood.
There is a sense of anger and frustration towards the predominantly male politicians who passed the law, with criticism directed at their lack of understanding of women's experiences and reproductive health.
The girl's mother is depicted as politically active and concerned about the future of women's reproductive rights, reflecting a shared anxiety between generations.
The narrative suggests a critical view of the political and social environment in Alabama, particularly concerning the prioritization of a fetus's rights over those of women and girls.
The mention of the ACLU's legal battle against the law indicates support for organizations fighting against the abortion ban and emphasizes the lengthy and costly nature of such legal challenges.
The girl's direct appeals to God underscore her feelings of helplessness and the desire for divine intervention in a situation where human institutions seem to have failed her and others like her.

Are You There God?: It’s Me, an Eleven-Year-Old Girl in Alabama

Eleven-Year-Old Girl, to God:

Are you there God? It’s me, an eleven-year-old girl moving to Alabama after the abortion ban goes into effect. I’m so scared God. I’ve never lived in a state where twenty-five white men sworn to represent the interests of their constituents pass a law that criminalizes a basic medical procedure. What if I get homesick? What if no one wants to dance with me at the end-of-year square dance because I’m new? What if the ban goes to the Supreme Court and challenges Roe v. Wade? Please help me God. Don’t let Alabama be too horrible. Thank you.

Eleven-Year-Old Girl:

We moved on the Tuesday before Labor Day. I knew what the political climate was like the second I got up. I knew because I caught my mother tweeting about how scared she was for women’s reproductive future. She always does that when a governmental body disenfranchises half of the population, to make sure people know that there’s some real Handmaid’s-Tale-style fuckery going on around here.

I don’t think people can be legally forced to carry a pregnancy to term until they’re at least at childbearing age. So I’ve still got a few months to go.

If you ask me, being a teenager sounds pretty rotten — between pimples and worrying about how you smell and having your body regulated by Senator Clyde Chambliss, sponsor of the abortion ban bill and human male who once defended his position by saying, “I don’t know if I’m smart enough to be pregnant.”

Eleven-Year-Old Girl, to God:

Are you there God? It’s me, an eleven-year-old girl whose bodily autonomy is somehow nonexistent because a bunch of old dudes care more about a clump of cells than literally any woman or child alive today. Things are getting worse every day.

Gretchen, my friend, got her period today, which means that even if she is the victim of rape or incest and becomes pregnant, no doctor could provide her with an abortion without facing between ten and ninety-nine years in prison.

Janie’s sure she’s going to get hers soon, too.

Nancy says that if I flick the bathroom lights on and off at night and say the words “steadfast commitment to protect the lives of the unborn” ten times fast, the ghost of Alabama Governor Kay Ivey appears and puts a curse on you that makes you get your period, but Mom says Nancy is just trying to scare me.

Let’s hope I never get mine!

Eleven-Year-Old Girl:

“Honey — you’ve got a letter,” my mother called from the studio. “It’s on the front table.”

I just about never get any letters. Probably because I am only eleven. Mom says eleven-year-olds are not mature enough to walk to the post office without parents supervising, and yet somehow, Alabama lawmakers think we should be mature enough to be forced to become parents ourselves.

I wondered who sent the letter. Maybe it was Norman Fishbein inviting me to a supper party. Norman is a total drip, but a party is a party!

I opened the letter very slowly so I wouldn’t rip the envelope. Inside was a letter from the ACLU asking for donations because the legal battles and court appeals to challenge the law could take months or even years of work. I would have donated, but I have no money. As a child, labor laws protect me from working too young and jeopardizing my health, well-being, or educational opportunities. As a female-bodied individual in America today, healthcare laws don’t protect me from jack shit.

Eleven-Year-Old Girl, to God:

Are you there God? It’s me, an eleven-year-old girl living in a state that purports to care about children even though its education system is ranked the eighth worst in the entire country. I like long hair, tuna fish, and things that are pink. I hate pimples, baked potatoes, when my mother’s mad, and The Alabama Human Life Protection Act.

Seriously, God, we need you down here. Are you there?

God, to Eleven-Year-Old Girl:

[silence]