FRANKLIN, Tenn. — Sweating in the sun, two dozen teenagers spread themselves across picnic blankets in a grassy park and prepared to discuss the facts of life they never learned in school.
Behind them on a folding table, bouquets of pamphlets offered information teachers at school would never share — on the difference between medical and surgical abortions, and how to get them. Beside the pamphlets sat items adults at school would never give: pregnancy tests and six-packs of My Way Emergency Contraceptive.
Emma Rose Smith, 17, rose from the blankets, tucked her pale-blonde hair behind her ears and turned off the music on a small, black speaker. She faced the assembled high-schoolers, all members of her newfound group, Teens for Reproductive Rights, and began talking about the nonprofit Abortion Care Tennessee. Her words hitched at first, then tumbled in a rush.
“A little bit about them,” Emma Rose said, “is they’re an organization that funds people’s abortions if they can’t afford it. Also, by the way, there’s another organization that we can also talk about later, when we give you guys, like, resources, that actually does free mail-in abortion pills.”
Twelve days after the teens’ picnic, abortion would become illegal in Tennessee, a measure made possible by the Supreme Court’s June decision, in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, overturning Roe v. Wade. The students wouldn’t hear anything about it in school: State law does not require sex education, and it holds that schools in areas with high pregnancy rates must offer “family life education” focused on abstinence.
Post-Roe, the teens in the park had decided, this lack of education was no longer acceptable. They are part of a burgeoning movement of high-schoolers nationwide who, after Roe’s fall, are stepping up to demand more comprehensive lessons on reproduction, contraception and abortion — and who, if the adults refuse, are teaching each other instead.
The story goes on and I did not see all that much convincing evidence that the movement is "burgeoning," but maybe it is. We can hope.
Tennessee is not unique among states that have enacted legislation essentially favoring ignorance over information. In Tennessee's case, the law is particularly cruel, banning even abortions in the case of rape or incest, but that cruelty is not my focus today.
If the state educational system will not step up, it makes great sense for high school students themselves to help one another out with information on contraception and what to do if contraception fails or is not used. I can imagine a popular TikTok account being maintained by students (and I am not excluding college-age or older from contributing), sharing practical information in a no-nonsense way with young people who simply want to know what all their options are.
What I will NOT be doing in Nashville in a few weeks is encouraging student journalists to make it a crusade to get sex education facts to readers. This is because Tennessee does not have a student freedom of expression law and instead allows each school and district to restrict or ban or edit student media.
Some principals may be free speech advocates, of course, but it's tough on administrators to try to protect student speech when the surrounding community is not on board and without any specific legal backing. No one needs some guy coming from far away, with very different state laws, coming in to lecture and demand.
What I like most about the fledgling grass roots education the students in the story above are doing is first, not waiting for some hero -- nearly always male -- to save the day, and second, make use of the skills we teach in public education, particularly when it is working well.
A major goal of public education is to prepare young people to take on the challenges of living in a democracy. We want them to grow up as informed citizens. We want them to be able to advocate for themselves and for those who, for whatever reason, are not able to do that.
Go, girls!
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