In the wake of the U.S. Supreme Court’s Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization decision in June 2022, which overturned the federal right to abortion, the battleground over reproductive rights has shifted dramatically—especially in states like Louisiana. As of October 8, 2025, Louisiana stands out for having implemented one of the most restrictive abortion bans in the nation, allowing only minimal exceptions for the life of the pregnant person or fatal fetal anomalies. This legal landscape has forced abortion rights advocates and opponents alike to rethink their strategies, rhetoric, and even their definitions of success in a deeply polarized environment.
Louisiana’s position on abortion is particularly notable given its troubling maternal health statistics. For years, the state has ranked among the most dangerous places in the U.S. to give birth, with persistently high rates of infant and maternal morbidity and mortality, as well as stark racial disparities. Research conducted both within and outside Louisiana has documented how abortion bans can exacerbate these problems, linking restricted access to abortion with poorer birth outcomes for women and their babies. According to a recent study highlighted by The Conversation, the relationship between abortion access and healthy birth outcomes has only become clearer in the post-Dobbs era.
Yet, despite mounting scientific evidence, advocates on both sides of the abortion debate in Louisiana agree on one thing: science alone isn’t swaying anti-abortion legislators. As researchers Clare Daniel, Anna Mitchell Mahoney, and Grace Riley found through interviews with local advocates, the data showing the deleterious effects of abortion bans on birth outcomes has thus far failed to move policymakers. Even references to Louisiana’s poor maternal health outcomes, which can be persuasive in debates about expanding access to doulas or midwifery care, have not made a dent when it comes to abortion policy.
Instead, the advocacy playbook has shifted toward personal storytelling—a tried-and-true strategy in reproductive rights circles dating back at least to 1972, when Ms. magazine’s “We Have Had Abortions” petition helped mainstream the push for abortion rights. Today, such storytelling projects focus on the lived experiences of people navigating abortion bans in the post-Dobbs United States. The goal? To influence public opinion, destigmatize abortion, and demonstrate its importance to women’s equality and societal health. However, as The Conversation reports, even the most harrowing personal stories often fail to convince anti-abortion legislators to reconsider or relax the ban. One legislator, for instance, reportedly dismissed testimony from those suffering under the ban by remarking, “Suffering is an important part of life.”
Nevertheless, advocates aren’t giving up on the power of testimony—they’re refining it. Some suggest that who tells the story matters as much as the story itself. Recruiting physicians from rural Louisiana districts, for example, may have a greater impact than testimony from urban doctors. Previous research has shown that the gender and racial identity of the storyteller can also influence how legislators perceive the legitimacy of their perspectives, suggesting that diversifying voices could be key to making headway.
But even as abortion rights advocates experiment with new strategies, many are wary of relying too heavily on the argument that “abortion is healthcare.” Some argue that this framing, while pragmatic in the current political climate, risks sidelining broader discussions about gender equity, social justice, and bodily autonomy. It may also reinforce the stigma surrounding certain abortion seekers and the reasons they seek care. As one advocate noted, focusing solely on healthcare exceptions can be “shortsighted,” potentially ceding important linguistic and moral ground in the fight for reproductive rights.
Given these constraints, Louisiana advocates have had to redefine what counts as a win. Passing a bill may be out of reach, but having a civil conversation, making eye contact, or simply persuading a legislator to stay in the room during testimony is now considered progress. As The Conversation’s research highlights, even these small victories lay the groundwork for potential change in the future. It’s a sobering shift, but one that reflects the realities of working in an increasingly hostile political environment.
Meanwhile, the national conversation over abortion and maternal health has grown more complex since the Dobbs decision. According to LifeNews, maternal mortality in the United States has actually dropped by 17% following the wave of state abortion bans enacted after June 2022. Provisional CDC data for early 2024 show maternal mortality rates hovering near 17.9 per 100,000—levels comparable to those seen before the COVID-19 pandemic. This decline is attributed primarily to the receding impacts of COVID-19, with maternal deaths attributed to the virus dropping from hundreds in 2021 to just eight in 2023.
Raimundo Rojas, Outreach Director for the National Right to Life Committee, argues that the dire predictions made by abortion rights advocates and public health officials—that pro-life laws would devastate women’s health—have not come to pass. “Maternal deaths did not rise once protective pro-life laws were enacted,” Rojas writes for LifeNews. “The fact is, they fell.” He acknowledges that no one attributes the decline solely to the Dobbs ruling or pro-life laws, but he insists that the leading causes of maternal deaths—cardiovascular conditions, hypertension, mental health crises, hemorrhage, and infection—are largely preventable and best addressed through improved maternal health systems, not expanded abortion access.
Indeed, the most effective tools for lowering maternal mortality, according to the CDC and echoed by LifeNews, are rooted in access to quality care before, during, and after childbirth. This includes timely prenatal visits, risk assessments, postpartum follow-ups, emergency obstetric care, Medicaid expansion, extended postpartum coverage, and perinatal quality initiatives. Special attention is needed for Black and Indigenous mothers, who continue to die at rates two to three times higher than their White peers. Rojas contends that none of these solutions require “ending life in the womb,” but rather demand a serious commitment to life outside of it.
Critics of the pro-life movement’s claims point to states where maternal mortality has reportedly increased following abortion bans. However, LifeNews and others argue that such increases are often confounded by factors like hospital closures, delayed care, and lingering aftershocks from the pandemic. Even the Gender Equity Policy Institute, which reported a 56% increase in Texas’s maternal mortality rate in 2022, admitted that their results were “not statistically significant.”
The debate, then, is less about the existence of a maternal health crisis and more about its causes and solutions. Abortion rights advocates in Louisiana and elsewhere continue to fight for broader reproductive autonomy, even as they navigate a political landscape where scientific evidence and personal stories struggle to gain traction. On the other hand, pro-life advocates urge a focus on strengthening maternal health systems and supporting women throughout pregnancy and childbirth, arguing that these measures—not abortion access—offer the best hope for reducing preventable deaths.
As the dust settles from the Dobbs decision, both sides find themselves grappling with new realities and hard choices. In Louisiana, where the stakes for women’s health are especially high, the search for common ground—and effective advocacy—continues, even as the path forward remains uncertain.
