Planned Parenthood has the reach, and Richards has the political grip, but there is a third element at play, which might be called "touch." How well Planned Parenthood clinics deliver their care has an effect on the community and its politics--and may be the one place that Richards is at a disadvantage. When advocates speak of a prochoice majority, they often include the millions of people who use Planned Parenthood's services, but these clients aren't necessarily activists or even prochoice. This is chalked up to either the women being ignorant and hypocritical or the right wing having gotten its hooks into them. Rarely does Planned Parenthood turn the question back on itself and ask what it could do to make a patient into an activist or at least a supporter.

The eight women I interviewed in South Dakota described abortion experiences that were far from something that would engage them politically on its behalf. Among the stories was a student who was shocked when her state-mandated counseling twenty-four hours before the procedure was a recording played over the phone (not lots of opportunities to ask questions there). The counseling is part of a twenty-four-hour waiting period--a restriction--but if the clinic has to do it, they should do it well. Another woman was very sad about her abortion, although she felt it was the right thing for her and her fiancé to do, and was at loose ends trying to find a counselor she could talk to afterward. Given their sometimes alienating language (such as "tissue" to refer to the fetus), and the fact that partners aren't allowed in the procedure room, many clinics don't meet women's needs, and it is into this breach that antiabortion activists have eagerly stepped. In fact, if you did need to talk after your abortion in South Dakota, the Alpha Center (right down the street) provides that resource. Unfortunately, the Alpha Center is run by Leslee Unruh, one of the architects of the abortion ban. Clinics have limited money and have to make hard choices, but making sure that clients know about Exhale--a nationwide after-abortion talk line--is inexpensive and increasingly necessary. The ban in South Dakota is based on a task force report that, while loaded with prolife activism, is nonetheless basing its case on abortion being bad for women first, and on fetal rights second. The report states, "Abortion hurts women physically, emotionally, and psychologically." In response, prochoicers must clearly demonstrate, with words and deeds, that they are the real advocates for women. "It's been really hard for the prochoice movement as a whole to deal with feelings about abortion, because back in the early days women didn't have forces making them feel guilty," Byllye Avery, the founder of the Black Women's Health Imperative, told me. "But it's been thirty years of people beating on us, and women now do feel guilty. If women need more [emotional resources], then the movement has to provide them."

The ballot initiative (and the coalition known as the South Dakota Campaign for Healthy Families) grew out of a legitimate citizen response to the abortion ban from activists and nonactivists alike. Taking the issue to the voters is a risky strategy, and not one that Planned Parenthood necessarily preferred. The established prochoice groups have always made a strong case that Roe is inalienable, that it isn't a right that can be figured out state by state, and thus Roe is correct in striking down all state laws banning abortion. Suing to uphold Roe--while expensive and not good for movement-building--has proved successful in overturning these laws in the past. Taking it to the people in South Dakota could fail, and it might be perceived as strengthening the notion that states themselves should have the right to decide whether to allow abortion.

In her constant travels since taking the job, though, Richards hasn't visited South Dakota. "The people who are going to go to vote in November are people who live and work every day in South Dakota," she told me when I asked why. "I really believe that and respect that and support that campaign, but this is not a national campaign." When I visited the Sioux Falls clinic, however, I got the impression that the staff there would have liked some direct contact and support from their new president, to go along with the fundraising pleas using South Dakota as a hook and the news reports that Richards's life was "South Dakota, all the time." When I suggested that a visit might provide insight to Richards about the state's particular issues and provide a shot in the arm to the prochoicers on the ground there, Sarah Stoesz, the Minneapolis-based affiliate leader, snapped, "Cecile's job is not to shore up the six people who work at the clinic."

At last look, the prochoice grassroots of South Dakota, while newly energized, may not be as large or willing to vote as the prolife grassroots. Kate Michelman, the former head of NARAL now fundraising in DC on behalf of the South Dakota Campaign for Healthy Families, thinks the ballot initiative is "the most unwatched political contest in 2006." "Everyone thinks the big organizations are taking it on," she told me. "They are helping, but they can't do the whole thing. We need ads, organizing and money." A September 20 Zogby poll of 531 likely South Dakota voters found that it's a toss-up: 47 percent of state residents oppose the abortion ban while 44 percent support it, an increase of five percentage points for the antiabortion position since July. Women are more likely than men to agree with the ban, and younger people--the ones Richards has been so impressed by in her travels--are the most likely to support it.

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