Why Abortion Rights Matter to Me as a Latino Man

I still remember exactly where I was when I read the news that Roe v. Wade was overturned three years ago. I was sitting in my car with my partner, parked outside a grocery store in Los Angeles, scrolling through my phone. The words felt heavy, like lead in my chest: The constitutional right to abortion is no longer protected in the United States. I looked around at my partner and the people walking in and out of the store, wondering how many of them felt what I was feeling — this sinking realization that we had moved backward.

At first, I thought, Well, thank god I live in California. But that thought was quickly followed by the fact that this isn't just about where I live. This is about all of us. Because when reproductive rights are stripped away, it is always the most vulnerable who suffer the most. In this country, that means women of color, Latinas, immigrants, the poor, and those who already face countless barriers to healthcare, autonomy, and freedom.

Some might ask me: So, why does this matter to you? You're a man. And to that, I say: How could it not?

My partner is a Latina woman. I want to build a family with her. And I want that family to exist in a world where she, and every other woman, has the right to make choices about her own body. When a woman is forced to carry a pregnancy she does not want or cannot afford, the entire community suffers. Families struggle. Economic futures are derailed. And a child brought into the world under those circumstances often faces a harder life.

So this conversation is about fundamental rights. Like most things in this country, abortion bans do not affect all women equally. They hit Latinas and other women of color harder. Many Latinas already struggle with limited access to healthcare, economic disadvantages, and cultural stigmas that make it harder to seek reproductive services. Now, with 19 states either banning abortion outright or restricting it earlier than Roe v. Wade did, their options are even more limited.

The fight for reproductive justice for Latinas isn't new. They have been disregarded, experimented on, and violated for generations. In the 1950s, Puerto Rican women were used as test subjects in early birth control pill trials, often without being told they were part of an experiment. In the 1970s, Mexican American women in Los Angeles were sterilized without their knowledge or consent, a horror exposed in the Madrigal v. Quilligan case. The government has never protected the reproductive rights of Latinas — it has controlled, manipulated, and stripped them away systemically.

Whenever the topic of abortion comes up, I often think about a friend of mine, let's call her Ana. Ana grew up in a conservative Latine household where sex was never talked about, let alone abortion. When she got pregnant at 19, she was terrified. She wasn't ready. She had dreams of finishing college and making a life for herself that didn't revolve around struggling to survive. But because of where she lived — in a state where abortion access was already difficult — she had to jump through hoops to get the care she needed. She had to lie to her parents, borrow money she didn't have, and travel across state lines just to access a safe abortion. And she was lucky. Many others don't have the same resources or access.

And now, under an administration determined to harm anyone who isn't a straight white cis-gendered man, it has become even harder. More states are being pushed to ban abortion; policies are being put in place that make it harder for women — especially lower-income Latinas and undocumented women — to access safe abortions. This is not just about a medical procedure; it is about controlling bodies, narratives, and futures. It is about telling women, especially women of color, that they do not get to choose what is best for them.

Latino men need to care about this. We need to be in this fight. Too often, we leave these conversations to women as if this is only their burden to carry. But reproductive rights are human rights. And if we honestly believe in dignity, freedom, justice, and choice, then we must, as my mama always tells me, take action and speak up. We must speak up for the health of the community. We must challenge the cultural stigmas in our communities that keep these discussions in the shadows. We must support policies that ensure safe and equitable access to reproductive healthcare for all.

If we don't fight for abortion rights now, we risk losing even more. We risk letting an entire generation of women grow up with fewer rights than their mothers had. We risk letting the government continue to strip away bodily autonomy, targeting the most vulnerable among us first. We risk allowing fear and control to dictate the futures of our families and communities.

Abortion rights matter now more than ever. And as a Latino man, I refuse to be silent.

Christopher Rivas is the author of “Brown Enough,” an exploration of what it means to be Brown in a Black/white world. He also hosts two podcasts: “Brown Enough” and “Rubirosa.” On screen, Christopher is known for his work on the Fox series “Call Me Kat,” opposite Mayim Bialik. His latest book, “You're a Good Swimmer,” is about the enchanting journey of conception without gendered terms and inclusive of all family dynamics.