Young Americans from Generation Z who will vote for the first time in the presidential election face issues that affect them in very particular ways. The Duty met with them in several states to explore the issues that motivate them to go to the polls in November.
The arrival of a car shatters the quiet on the small, wooded Latrobe Street in Charlotte, North Carolina. On the side of the road, a sign reads: “Close your windows and ignore the protesters.” A few yards away, another shows a bloodied fetus.
As the vehicle approaches, two distinct groups come to life on the sidewalk.
“Please don’t do this! Have mercy on your baby! God doesn’t make mistakes!” shouts a woman in her thirties. Like a few others on the sidewalk, she is wearing a coral sweater that reads “ Hope is here » (Hope is there).
“No, go ahead! Don’t listen to him!” two women wearing rainbow bibs quickly intervene, making sure to shout louder than the protester. Armed with colorful signs that read “The clinic is here,” in English and Spanish, they gesture vigorously to guide the car.
“Please have mercy on your son or daughter. Come and get help,” the protester insists, holding up leaflets.
The car careens down the hill and finally comes to a stop in the parking lot of A Women’s Preferred Health Center, one of the largest abortion clinics in North Carolina.
It’s mission accomplished for the volunteers of Charlotte For Choice, a team dedicated to thwarting the daily presence of anti-abortion protesters outside the clinic — one of the most targeted by demonstrators in the southeastern United States.
Since the cancellation of Roe v. Wadetwo years ago, the clinic is one of the last places where it is still possible to obtain an abortion in the south of the country.
North Carolina bans the procedure after 12 weeks and 6 days of pregnancy, a less restrictive time limit than its neighbors to the south: In South Carolina and Georgia, abortion is banned after the sixth week, and in Florida and Tennessee, it is banned altogether.
Hundreds of protesters on Saturday
On weekdays, only a handful of members of Love Life, an organization whose goal is to end abortion rights, demonstrate outside the facility.
But since the Christian organization took over the neighboring lot two years ago, the place has been completely transformed every Saturday, when hundreds of anti-abortion protesters gather there.
Around 7 a.m., police officers were already on site to prevent any risk of conflict between the two groups.
Protesters erect tents and a performance stage at their site. At the far end of the vacant lot, a loudspeaker is strategically placed to directly face the clinic, located just a hundred meters away.
The words of Philip “Flip” Benham, one of the area’s best-known conservative activists, echo across the street. Bible in one hand, microphone in the other, the 76-year-old pastor, dressed in jeans and a salmon-pink shirt, delivers his lengthy sermon to the clinic’s clients.
“You are already a mother. An abortion does not make you a non-mother. You will simply be the mother of a dead little baby, rather than a living baby,” he proclaims loudly.
On the sidewalk, Shannon Bauerle, Charlotte for Choice’s team leader, pulls out her phone to measure the decibel level and make sure the sound stays below legal limits. She’s called the police many times in the past for rule violations.
“You’ve traveled so far to do something horrible. You want to solve a problem, but that solution only brings death,” Flip continues, facing the trees that separate the two fields.
It’s a daily struggle for Shannon, who says patients can often hear the protesters’ words from inside the clinic.
“That’s one of the reasons we’re here. They’ll often give false statistics, tell absolutely absurd stories to intimidate and scare patients,” she says.
Asked about his motivations, Flip claims to be there in the name of God. “I’m here because God is pro-choice. We give women a choice,” he says, referring to the clinic as “the gates of hell.”
Around 8:30 a.m., a group of Catholic Church members from South Carolina arrive. Lined up side by side in front of the clinic, they recite in unison the Hail Maryfor an hour, before leaving the premises.
Then it was the turn of the members of Love Life to begin their prayer walk. Wearing blue shirts with the words “We love life,” the members, many of whom had brought their children, followed each other along the street in a loop. They finally returned to their field, where a Christian music group began performing.
Change everything
At the entrance to the parking lot, Vivian Day holds a sign as protesters wait for a car to arrive.
The 35-year-old still remembers how she felt when she came to the clinic as a patient two years ago. It was the day after the cancellation of Roe v Wade.
“When I arrived for my appointment, it was chaos, a circus,” she recalls. At the time, protesters were allowed to hold religious music performances right in front of the clinic.
“People were yelling, ‘It’s not too late. You don’t have to do this.’ They were yelling at my car,” she says. She recalls that as she parked her car, her hands were shaking.
Vivian was quickly taken care of by the team of volunteers, who accompanied her from her car to the clinic. “It changed everything. Their presence was able to calm me down and reassure me. I knew right away that I wanted to be part of it.” [de cette équipe] after,” she said.
The feeling of making things better for women is what unites all the volunteers at the clinic, says Kim, a 33-year-old volunteer. “The people who come here are obviously exhausted from the road and overwhelmed. And every day, the patients thank us for being here,” she says, visibly moved.
An uncertain future
In Calla Hales’ office, a bulletproof vest on a chair sets the tone. As the director of an abortion clinic, security concerns are part of her daily life, especially in the current climate. In recent years, she says she has been the victim of harassment and death threats.
Ten years ago, Calla Hales took over the reins of the first clinic opened by her parents in 1998. She now runs four clinics across North Carolina and Georgia.
“My mother’s cousin took her own life because she had been raped, and she didn’t have access to abortion. So, it became a bit of my mother’s life project,” says the 34-year-old woman.
When she stops speaking for a brief moment, sermons can be heard coming from outside, even though her office doors are closed.
In the midst of a presidential campaign, the director can’t help but fear more nationwide restrictions after the November vote. “As dramatic as it may sound, many people’s rights are at stake in November,” she says.
Vice President and Democratic presidential candidate Kamala Harris has strongly pledged to call for the shutdown to be reinstated Roe v. Wadeguaranteeing the federal constitutional right to abortion.
Former President Donald Trump, for his part, has said he would not support a federal abortion ban if re-elected — but Calla Hales doesn’t believe that for a second.
More recently, during the presidential debate, the Republican candidate ultimately refused, on several occasions, to say whether he would veto a federal ban.
“No matter how much a politician may change his mind as an election approaches, it is their actions that speak louder than their words,” she concludes.