On a crisp autumn morning in Chicago’s Oz Park, a DePaul University student deftly handed off a paper bag filled with condoms and Plan B emergency contraception—an act that, on her campus, is both necessary and forbidden. This quiet exchange, captured in a photograph on September 28, 2025, exemplifies the lengths to which students at Catholic colleges are going to ensure access to sexual health resources in an era of mounting restrictions. But DePaul’s story is only one thread in a tapestry of reproductive health battles being waged across the United States, from the White House to rural Maine, and in the very heart of college campuses.
Just days ago, President Donald Trump ignited a fresh wave of controversy by publicly linking acetaminophen (Tylenol) use during pregnancy to autism. “Taking Tylenol is not good. Don’t take it,” Trump warned, according to The Contrarian. The statement, delivered on October 2, 2025, was swiftly rebuked by leading medical organizations. The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, the American Academy of Family Physicians, and the Society for Maternal-Fetal Medicine all reaffirmed that acetaminophen remains safe for pregnant women. Even the Food and Drug Administration, while initiating a process to update warning labels, made clear: “while an association between acetaminophen and autism has been described in many studies, a causal relationship has not been established and there are contrary studies in the scientific literature.”
For many, the president’s remarks felt like yet another example of misinformation fueling fear and stigma. “We really have a long history of blaming mothers in this country, and we’re seeing that reinforced through the narratives around autism’s causes right now,” Martine Lappé, a sociology professor, told NPR. One mother of an autistic daughter described the experience as “like living in The Twilight Zone,” while another called it “a little heartbreaking.” Dana Sussman, senior vice president of the nonprofit Pregnancy Justice, offered a sobering perspective: “Americans have become totally comfortable with needless pain in maternal health. We have to move away from the comfort this nation seems to have in the concept that while pregnant, people must suffer and sacrifice.”
Such rhetoric does more than stoke anxiety. It risks fueling what advocates describe as the ongoing weaponization of pregnancy. According to new data released by Pregnancy Justice this week, at least 412 people have been charged with pregnancy-related crimes in the two years since the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade. The cases, spread across 16 states—including Alabama, Oklahoma, and South Carolina, which accounted for the majority—often involve charges of child neglect, endangerment, or abuse. Some individuals have even faced accusations as severe as murder or manslaughter. Notably, only nine of these cases involved abortion allegations; far more frequently, prosecutors have targeted those who suffered pregnancy loss, treating miscarriages and stillbirths as suspicious events rather than personal tragedies.
“Every one of these 412 cases represents a woman who faced investigation, arrest, and trauma, often after seeking health care. Instead of investing in maternal and reproductive health, prosecutors are weaponizing the law, especially in states already facing maternal mortality and infant health crises,” Lourdes A. Rivera, president of Pregnancy Justice, told The Contrarian. The chilling effect on both patients and providers is palpable, as OB-GYNs and emergency doctors across the country scramble to reassure frightened patients in the wake of the president’s comments and the broader climate of fear.
Meanwhile, the consequences of federal policy changes are being felt far from the national spotlight. On October 2, 2025, Maine Family Planning announced it would shutter its primary care operations at the end of the month, citing the loss of $2 million in Medicaid reimbursements due to the Trump administration’s “Big, Beautiful Bill.” The legislation, which blocks Medicaid funding to organizations that provide abortions—including Planned Parenthood and Maine Family Planning—has forced the Maine network to inform nearly 1,000 primary care patients that their services will cease on October 31. “We were caught in this net because we provide abortion care as part of a full range of sexual and reproductive health care at 18 sites. We are proud to provide that care,” said George Hill, president and CEO of Maine Family Planning, according to the Associated Press.
The ripple effects are national. Planned Parenthood has warned that up to 200 clinics might close because of the policy, with some already shutting down or altering services. In Wisconsin, the affiliate stopped providing abortion, while in Arizona, Medicaid-funded services were halted. Even organizations not primarily focused on reproductive health, like Health Imperatives in Massachusetts, face millions in lost funding. While some groups scramble to secure alternative funding, many fear patients’ access to essential care—ranging from cancer screenings to routine OBGYN visits—will be permanently diminished.
Back on college campuses, the fight for reproductive autonomy is taking on new urgency. At DePaul University, students like Maya Roman have built a covert network to deliver contraception, after the university—citing its Catholic mission and Planned Parenthood affiliation—revoked the group’s status in June 2025. “I was in disbelief. It was a flood of disappointment,” Roman told the AP. The group, now operating off campus under the banner of Students United for Reproductive Justice, fulfills 15 to 25 orders for contraception each week and hosts sex education seminars. Similar student-led efforts are underway at Loyola University and the University of Notre Dame, where activists distribute condoms, pregnancy tests, and emergency contraception just outside campus boundaries, often in defiance of school policies.
These efforts are not isolated. Across the U.S., Republican-led states have introduced bills to restrict access to contraception, remove birth control from Medicaid programs, and require parental consent for minors. The Trump administration has frozen funding to family planning clinics and removed Centers for Disease Control and Prevention guidance on birth control from government websites. In contrast, Illinois Governor JB Pritzker signed legislation in August 2025 requiring public colleges to offer contraception and abortion medication on campus—a move that does not extend to private Catholic institutions like DePaul.
The stakes could hardly be higher. “What’s at stake for these students is their bodily autonomy—the direction of the rest of their lives, their ability to pursue their goals, get a degree, have a career or start a family at the time it suits them,” said Jill Delston, associate professor at the University of Missouri-St. Louis. For many, the struggle is about more than access to pills or devices; it’s about the right to make decisions about one’s own body, free from stigma, criminalization, or political interference.
In a landscape where science is sometimes sidelined by politics and where reproductive health is increasingly a battleground, students, advocates, and medical professionals alike are pushing back—sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly, but always with determination. The future of reproductive rights in America remains uncertain, but one thing is clear: the fight is far from over, and those on the front lines are not backing down.
