Posted on 11/13/2026 2:34:29 AM PST by Morgana
Ninety minutes. That was the length of the United Nations webinar I participated in last week. For ninety minutes, I listened to people discuss how to better expand abortion around the world.
Not once did I hear the kind of urgency one might expect when discussing women living in some of the poorest, most medically neglected regions of the world. No serious discussion of the woman hemorrhaging in a village without electricity. No anguished concern for the frightened teenager facing complications miles from the nearest hospital.
Instead, I heard about “indicators, implementation strategies, reporting systems, and expanded access.” And how to better increase access to the product.
No one in that virtual room considered that they were talking about human beings and how to better kill them.
On November 2, 2026, the World Health Organization (WHO) hosted a ninety-minute virtual webinar to launch its Measuring Abortion Care Framework and Indicators (MACFI). The WHO’s Human Reproduction Program created this framework to help governments and abortion providers measure and monitor what they call “quality abortion care.”
Like the care Tonya Reaves, who died in 2012 after a second-trimester abortion at a Chicago Planned Parenthood, received?
The framework contains 93 standardized indicators. Basically, ninety-three ways to measure progress, identify deficiencies, establish priorities, and determine where governments need to do more. And what constitutes progress? Expanding abortion access.
I listened as presenters from Pakistan and Ghana described their plans with the detached enthusiasm of executives discussing improvements to an international distribution network.
Pakistan’s representatives described their country as “fertile and mature ground” for implementing the framework. They discussed anonymous reporting, identifying priority guides, and eventually incorporating their findings into a national health-information system.
Big Brother on steroids.
Of course they were “extremely enthusiastic.” In Ghana, the discussion centered on regional inequalities, and replacing older surgical techniques with manual vacuum aspiration and chemical abortion. Speakers recommended establishing baselines, setting targets, and measuring progress.
But I kept wondering about something considerably less complicated than their elaborate measurement systems.
What happens to the woman living in a rural African village where clean drinking water is still a luxury? What happens when she takes abortion pills, experiences excessive bleeding, and discovers that the nearest medical professional is a two-day walk away?
There is no 911. There may be no telephone, no ambulance, no functioning road, and certainly no emergency department waiting around the corner.
Who helps her?
Who recognizes an ectopic pregnancy, which abortion pills cannot treat? Who responds when an incomplete abortion causes prolonged bleeding or infection? Who provides emergency treatment when complications threaten her life?
These questions were not asked, nor were these concerns addressed. These women did not warrant the attention that the speakers devoted to reporting “requirements and implementation schedules.”
To be clear, even if we take their claim that chemical abortion has a documented medical safety record at face value, there are complications. 1 in 19 women who take the poison pills require emergency care. The truth is that serious complications can occur. And when emergency medical services are inaccessible, even an uncommon complication can become catastrophic.
These scenarios should have dominated any discussion about expanding chemical abortion in medically underserved communities. Instead, we heard about making the abortion pill distribution system more efficient.
It tracks with this group, considering the principal presenter was a representative from Ipas, an acronym for International Pregnancy Advocacy Services.
Anyone familiar with the international abortion movement knows this organization. Ipas participated in developing the WHO framework, and its involvement should surprise absolutely no one. Founded in 1973, Ipas built its international presence around the Manual Vacuum Aspiration machine.
A do-it-yourself three-foot-long plastic monstrosity that uses a handheld syringe, a cannula, and a manual hand pump to perform abortions. What could go wrong?
During the early 1970s, American foreign-aid programs supported the development, the manufacturing, and the international distribution of these home abortion kits labeled as “menstrual regulation kits.” Following the Helms Amendment’s protections on American funding for abortion overseas, responsibility for manufacturing and distributing the “technology” shifted to Ipas.
Think about that. A portable aspiration machine that operates without electricity in the hands of untrained clinicians. That is what the UN promoted in order to expand abortions in countries with limited to no real medical infrastructure.
Now chemical abortion offers another means of extending abortion access outside of traditional clinical facilities. The WHO framework includes indicators concerning mifepristone and misoprostol, protocols for self-managed abortion, telemedicine, and additional distribution channels.
The technology changes. The objective is consistent. Expand access. Track results. Identify obstacles. Expand again.
I picture a young mother in rural Africa, physically weakened by poverty and inadequate nutrition, sitting alone after taking abortion pills. She begins bleeding. The pain intensifies. She cannot determine whether what she is experiencing is expected or whether something has gone terribly wrong. And the nearest clinic is unbelievably far away.
That is a hypothetical scenario, not a documented case from this webinar. But it illustrates the very question these international planners should confront before congratulating themselves on expanding access. And there is another life their calculations never acknowledge.
The baby.
Not once in this webinar’s report did the child emerge as someone whose life mattered. No one expected it to. The discussion treated abortion as a service, an intervention, a measurable healthcare output. Ninety-three indicators, yet no recognition of the human being whose developing life abortion deliberately ends.
The speakers concluded with expressions of satisfaction, plans for continued collaboration, and invitations to join a community of practice. I sat there incredulous.
The World Health Organization has every reason to examine maternal health outcomes and improve emergency care. Yet the priorities evident in this discussion left fundamental moral and practical questions unanswered.
How much safer would childbirth become if governments devoted comparable effort to emergency obstetric services, reliable transportation, prenatal nutrition, clean water, and accessible hospitals? Why should expanding the availability of abortion pills take precedence over making certain that women can obtain lifesaving medical treatment?
I listened for ninety minutes to people discussing indicators and targets as though the greatest challenge facing vulnerable women was inadequate access to abortion. For millions of women, the greatest challenge remains access to competent medical care of any kind.
The webinar ended. The experts thanked one another. The work would continue.
And somewhere in a remote village, a woman is still struggling to find clean water, basic medicine, or someone qualified to help her through a medical emergency. What she doesn’t need is another abortion distribution strategy.
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