Dr. Willie Parker Reflects on Faith, Race, and the Future of Reproductive Justice
Once a rising national voice in abortion rights, Dr. Parker discusses his path to providing care in the Deep South, the movement’s blind spots on race and religion.
Dr. Willie Parker’s path to becoming one of the most prominent abortion providers in the country was neither direct nor easy. A devout Christian raised in Birmingham, Alabama, Parker initially hesitated to offer abortion care—not out of moral opposition, but because he had yet to reconcile his faith with the stigmatized role of an abortion provider. That changed in 2003, when a “values clarification” led him to prioritize what would happen to women denied care over any potential judgment he might face for offering it.
Over the next two decades, Parker became a familiar face on the frontlines—traveling from Mississippi to Alabama and beyond, providing abortion services in communities where they were often hardest to access. The women who came to his clinics were primarily poor and disproportionately women of color. These patients couldn't afford the privacy of discreet procedures from doctors willing to perform abortions quietly.
“Women who lacked healthcare, women who lacked medically accurate sex education, and things of this sort, were the ones who ended up with unintended pregnancies,” Parker said. “And unintended pregnancies result in abortions.”
As Parker’s visibility rose, so too did the backlash. He faced persistent harassment from anti-abortion protesters, especially in the South, and what he called “psycho-terrorism”—an effort to instill fear through surveillance, intimidation, and shaming. Often, these tactics were cloaked in religious language, a dynamic Parker found both unsettling and deeply revealing.”
Parker is critical of how both political parties have handled abortion rights. He accuses Democrats of triangulating, especially during the Clinton and Obama years, when phrases like “safe, legal, and rare” and “common ground” took center stage. That framing, he said, reinforced stigma and ignored the complexity of reproductive health.
“It really created this notion of this space for people to be ambivalent or inert,” Parker said.
“It gave more heft to the people who were verbal and explicit about their displeasure with abortion. And then people who weren't opposed to abortion would give socially desirable answers, because they didn't want to be thought poorly of.”
He also recalls how policies like the Hyde and Stupak Amendments stratified access along lines of race and class, forcing abortion providers to interrogate women of color about their motives. These policies, he believes, reduced women’s autonomy under the guise of protecting fetuses.
Although Parker’s role in national advocacy diminished in 2019, after an allegation of sexual misconduct—something he maintains was a misrepresentation of a consensual encounter—he has continued his work. Today, he provides care in Nevada and Washington and focuses on international consulting. The fallout, he said, cost him visibility but not his commitment.
“Even after that, I never stopped providing care,” he said.
Looking forward, Parker believes the movement must embrace reproductive justice fully, expanding beyond the narrow focus on abortion access to include safe childbirth, contraception, and male contraception.
“The future will look like a model that is more inclusive and more holistic, but that's got to come in the context of a human rights framework,” Parker said. “Because what's been demonstrated is that when we allow it to be a gender specific issue for women or females, we've proven its vulnerability.
“Because the degree to which women and females have political power is the degree to which abortion and reproductive rights are safe.”