Here, their way of life is more than geography. The Franklin County way is community, heritage, and a quiet resilience.

But now, this tranquil corner of the River Valley finds itself at the center of a political storm. Plans to build a 3,000-bed prison on an 815-acre site here have stirred something deep within the community: a determination to protect not just their land but their way of life. Residents who might ordinarily wave from across the way now stand shoulder to shoulder, united in a fight they never asked for but certainly cannot ignore.

A Plan Shrouded in Secrecy

The state’s decision to purchase land for the prison blindsided the people of Charleston, a small town of about 2500 people. Announced on a local radio station in late October, residents were shocked to learn the deal had been in the works for months, with no input from the people who would live in its shadow. By the time the public learned of the prison build, nearly $3 million in state money had already been spent to purchase the land. The wheels of big government were in motion.

Residents quickly organized in response. At a contentious town hall meeting, locals voiced their concerns to state officials they had invited to join. Among them was Charleston resident Jonathan Tedford, whose home sits adjacent to the proposed site. “At the very least, we have a prison we have to look at every day,” Tedford said after a recent legislative hearing. He spoke of his grandfather’s legacy, of land passed down through generations now threatened by a specter of towering fences and razor wire.

Other residents of Charleston have echoed his frustration. “A formal public hearing should have been held before the state committed millions of dollars to a project in Franklin County,” said resident Rosemary Underwood during the packed town hall in the town’s high school gym. The lack of transparency stings for folks in Charleston— not just because of what was done but because of how it was done— without the respect of local consultation or the dignity of inclusion. The state’s maneuvering was not the Franklin County way.

A United Franklin County Front

In response, the community rallied and formed the Franklin County and River Valley Coalition, which actively organizes on Facebook and other social media platforms. These neighbors, once bound by simple proximity, are now united by relentless purpose. They’ve held meetings, launched fundraising campaigns, and presented their case to state lawmakers. They’ve raised questions about the prison’s cost—estimated to balloon far beyond initial projections—and its environmental and economic impact on their community.

“This is one of the most un-American things I have heard since I’ve been down here,” said Sen. Gary Stubblefield, who represents the town in the state senate. Like many residents, Stubblefield expressed frustration over being excluded from the process. “The people of Franklin County, including myself, were cut out from even knowing about something this large happening in our county.”

But it’s clear this fight is about more than money or logistics. It’s about preserving the sanctity of place. Residents worry about what the prison represents: a departure from the values that define them. Hard work, family, faith, and community— they’re the threads that weave together the fabric of Franklin County, and its people are determined to keep them from unraveling.

The Power of People

There’s poetry in the way this small town has come together, a reminder of what it means to belong to a place and to one another. “We’ve been denied a voice,” said coalition member Natalie Cadena during her presentation to the Senate Children and Youth Committee. Through their determination, the people of Franklin County are reclaiming that voice, speaking up not just for themselves but for the values they hold dear.

From quiet conversations in living rooms to impassioned speeches in town halls, Franklin County is demonstrating the power of unity. “If it can happen to us, it can happen anywhere,” reads one coalition message on social media. The people of Franklin County aren’t just fighting against a prison—they’re standing for transparency, accountability, and the right to shape their own future.

A Shared Dream

Though the prison outcome is uncertain, one thing is clear: the people of Franklin County have already won something significant. They’ve reminded Arkansans that even in the face of top-down decisions and bureaucratic indifference, a united community is a force to be reckoned with.

If you believe in the power of community and the right to have a voice in decisions that shape our lives, stand with the people of Franklin County. As the sun sets over Mill Creek Mountain, the shadows grow longer, but so too does the resolve of the people who call this place home. They are Arkansas Strong. Tough, resilient, and deeply rooted.

And they remind us that no matter how steep the climb, there is power in standing together.

The post Franklin County’s righteous fight appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

We’ve all heard the phrase, “All politics is local.”

This idea highlights how home and family concerns are at the heart of most voters’ decisions, emphasizes the importance of grassroots organizing, and points to the isolation felt in small towns when national politics dominate conversations.

The “reach out and touch” nature of local politics drives change but sometimes, we lose that unique attribute by drawing connections between national leaders and the local choices that affect our everyday lives. In both Ouachita and Phillips counties, examples of community involvement abound alongside numerous challenges and barriers to political participation. As you read about the state of affairs in these two distinguished places, consider the role of local politics in shaping the future of rural Arkansas and the barriers, both legal and practical, that prevent many Arkansans from fully participating.

Community Action and Engagement

Through my professional work and interviews, I’ve met and listened to people deeply engaged in their communities. From the lush forests of South Arkansas to the rich Delta soil, Arkansans live in the present while confronting the ghosts of the past. Issues such as clean water, housing, and political access are the building blocks of a connected society. Unfortunately, these issues are still at the top of many Arkansans’ minds. Towns like Camden and Helena-West Helena face challenges shaped by race, class, and political access.

Neighbors in Helena-West Helena 

For years, residents of Helena-West Helena have dealt with unsafe water and the issues that come from unsafe water. Most recently, in the cold of winter, earlier this year, they were advised not to use the water running through their pipes due to a systematic water infrastructure failure. The water was no longer potable, requiring boiling before any use and making it unsuitable for cooking.

This wasn’t the first instance of such a crisis but merely the latest. Helena-West Helena residents, like anyone else, were distraught and disappointed. Since then, residents have continued to experience spotty water pressure and discoloration. In conversations with some residents, they mentioned this water crisis as one of the most memorable issues in recent years. One resident remarked, “We can’t trust the water, and we can’t trust the city to fix it.” Other participants nodded in agreement.

These failures significantly damaged the community’s trust. Another resident described the situation: “Years of neglect have piled up, and the lack of confidence in the city to fix it has really seeped into the public perception of what their actions can do.”

Despite the challenges, the community has shown resilience. Residents banded together to distribute bottled water, and local organizations stepped up to provide support, showcasing the strength and solidarity within the community. Some interviewees named other residents who stepped in and “had a big tank. He would fill it up from his house and he’d go around and, if you had buckets or pans, he’d fill it up for you. Plus, give you a case of water!” Even when they felt cast aside by elected officials, community leaders stepped up and helped when they could. 

Neighbors in Camden

When I spoke with residents of Ouachita County, housing and education were top concerns. These issues are quintessentially local politics.

A local pastor and self-described community advocate discussed the relationship between residents and the combined school district. He detailed the perceived results of the 1990 school district merger. From his and other’s accounts, there was an underlying racial current was not resolved by integrating the districts.

On one level, each district was competitive academically and athletically, after the merger, he says, “For example, when these two good schools, same classification, combined, people that saw that combination said, ‘Wow, this is going to be hard on the other schools in the district.’ It has taken over 20 years for state championships to show up, and it’s only been one, in football.”

This quote highlights the uphill battle of students and administrators to commit to and excel in the new normal. He says, “Our schools are the heart of the community. When they struggle, we all struggle. It’s up to us to ensure our children have the best possible education despite the challenges.”

Similarly, a community activist highlighted the housing issues, motivating residents in Camden and surrounding areas to get involved.” Affordable housing is scarce, and many homes are in disrepair. We need policies that support low-income families and improve living conditions,” she emphasized.

Another resident discussed a year-long effort to restore air conditioning to a 74 year old woman. These individual issues pile up on community members and make it difficult to see the bright side. However, there are individuals ready to take up the challenge! 

Challenges and Encouragement

Despite the passion for change, numerous barriers hinder political participation in these communities. A lack of information and resources, coupled with disillusionment and apathy, are significant obstacles.

One resident explained their hesitation: “I don’t deal with politics; they’re all liars. I don’t vote because nothing’s going to change.” Another added, “Nothing ever changes. Same revolving cycle. No matter who’s in office, no matter who’s on the council. Same revolving stool.”

These sentiments are common among residents who feel their voices are not heard, and their votes don’t make a difference. The cyclical nature of local politics, where the same issues persist regardless of leadership changes, fosters a sense of hopelessness.

However, some residents continue to participate, driven by the belief that local politics can bring about change. One resident expressed their cautious engagement: “Yeah, I do participate. I listen, and I vote because that is my voice for who’d be the leader in the community. Now, what do they do? What I want them to do, how I want them to do it, I know that’s not going to happen. But there’s certain people that you sure enough don’t want in the office.”

Civic participation is crucial for community development, especially in rural areas like Ouachita and Phillips counties. Local politics shapes the future of these communities, addressing critical issues like infrastructure, education, and housing.

While significant barriers to participation exist, stories of resilience and dedication demonstrate the power of grassroots efforts. It’s essential for residents to engage in local politics, voice their concerns, and work together to create positive change. By doing so, they can ensure a brighter future for their communities.

The post Beyond the Ballot: Local Challenges and Community Triumphs  appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

As a Hispanic small business owner myself, I can attest to the challenges faced by small businesses. In my role, I am devoted to ensuring that small business owners and entrepreneurs have the tools they need to succeed. I have come across many entrepreneurs whose journeys reflect my own.

The Hispanic community is one of the most entrepreneurial spirited groups in the nation. It lives in the dreams of those who have only just arrived here and in the legacy of families who have been here for centuries. 

The Biden-Harris administration and U.S. Small Business Administration Administrator Isabel Casillas Guzman are committed to the success of Latino communities. More Hispanic individuals than ever before are seizing the opportunity to create new businesses which improve their cities and neighborhoods.

Data shows that five million Hispanic-owned businesses contribute $800 billion each year to our economy. In the past decade, Hispanic entrepreneur growth rates have risen 10 times faster than non-Hispanic business rates. 

SBA Administrator Guzman, the highest-ranking Latino woman in the President’s Cabinet, has made strengthening our Hispanic-owned small businesses a priority. Over the last 44 months we have seen the fastest creation rate of Hispanic-owned businesses in over a decade, which was more than 20 percent faster than pre-pandemic levels. The Biden-Harris administration has also made a goal of increasing by 50 percent the amount of federal contracting dollars going to small, disadvantaged businesses by 2025—which would translate to an additional $100 billion for minority-owned and other underserved businesses. 

SBA is committed to empowering Hispanic businesses as they continue to break down barriers and achieve success in business. As we celebrate Hispanic Heritage Month, let us not only recognize the contributions of Hispanic entrepreneurs but also uplift the next generation of business leaders and build a prosperous business landscape for all. 

For more information about SBA’s programs and services visit www.sba.gov. 

The post OPINION: Hispanic entrepreneurship at the forefront of the American business boom  appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

I grew up here in The Natural State. From my earliest memories cruising in my pawpaw’s classic red and white Ford past cow pastures and waving neighbors to my college years on the hill in Fayetteville and my more recent professional journey through the Delta and other regions, I remain in awe of the way Arkansans take red dirt and make just about anything you can imagine. However, my unique place in our history and society compels me to recognize our complex shared history. No state is perfect, not even the only state (place in the world) where a woman off the street can dig for diamonds, call the Hogs with a rowdy crowd, and shop at one of the most globalized companies all in the same day! In this project, I’ve partnered with Arkansas Strong to shed a little light on some overlooked “gems” of our state.

Through a creative process of listening to Arkansans in two historic counties, Ouachita and Phillips, I heard voters share their stories about the barriers they face in accessing civic processes and engaging with their communities. I heard about the things that make residents proud and some things that rip up their souls. The perspectives shared in this short series will help readers begin a journey to a deeper understanding of life in the Arkansas Delta and South Arkansas and, in turn, validate some overlooked perspectives and generate the urge to learn more.  

On Ouachita and Phillips Counties

Both Ouachita and Phillips counties played crucial roles in making Arkansas the state it is today. Ouachita County, a southern Arkansas gem, boasts a history that stretches back to its establishment in 1842. Its county seat, Camden, was once a Spanish outpost in 1782 before being renamed by American settlers. Today, it stands as a testament to the resilience and innovation of its people, producing influential politicians and cutting-edge defense technology. As described on its website, Camden is a thriving community deeply rooted in agriculture and industry.

Phillips County, situated in the eastern part of the state along the Mississippi River, has been a crucial site in the history of Arkansas as an essential port for hardwood and cotton. Many of us remember Elaine and surrounding areas as sites of racial violence and redemption—namely, the Elaine Race Massacre and, now, the burgeoning grassroots political movements. Music, storytelling, and nearly two dozen National Register of Historic Places represent parts of the county that tell the tale better than more lucrative exports. The county seat, Helena-West Helena, has earned its place as a political hotspot in the Arkansas Delta over the past few years. 

The primary purpose of this project is to highlight the unique histories, politics, and cultures of Arkansans across the state. We chose to begin with residents of Ouachita and Phillips Counties because these two very different counties have similar stories to tell. Documenting and broadcasting narratives and personal perspectives not only sheds light on the specific challenges these communities face, such as failing infrastructure and diminished trust in local leaders and the resilience they demonstrate, but it also provides a starting point for addressing the systemic issues that hinder civic participation and engagement in these and other communities. 

Highlighting Family and Community

Families are the backbone of any community. In our listening sessions, we dove into the rich tapestry of personal stories that comprise the fabric of Ouachita and Phillips counties. From tales of ancestors who fought for civil rights to modern-day struggles and triumphs, these narratives provide a deeper understanding of the community’s identity and resilience and color the current status of communities. 

Civic Engagement

Civic engagement is a critical component of a functioning democracy. However, marginalized communities often face significant barriers to participating in civic processes. Through our listening sessions, we uncovered some specific obstacles that residents of Ouachita and Phillips Counties encounter, such as voter suppression tactics like [specific tactics] and lack of access to information and resources like [specific resources]. By bringing these issues to light, we hope to advocate for meaningful changes that will enable greater participation in civic life.

Local Culture and Community Pride

The local culture of Ouachita and Phillips Counties is not just rich and diverse but a source of immense pride for its residents. Shaped by generations of contributors, this unique character is something to be celebrated. Our project will do just that by highlighting cultural aspects and high points that residents point out as vibrant examples of the place they call home. These high points foster a sense of pride and belonging among residents and showcase the vibrancy of rural Arkansas.

The Importance of Uplifting Rural Voices

We know that Arkansas is a rural state. After a statewide campaign, rural has a whole new meaning to me. Growing up in rural Southwest Arkansas, I know what it’s like to feel like your part of the state isn’t getting its fair share. I believe uplifting rural voices is not just important but essential for creating a more inclusive and representative society. Rural communities often feel disconnected from broader political and social conversations, leading to feelings of neglect and disenfranchisement. This project aims to change that, ensuring that their concerns and perspectives are heard and addressed.

Moreover, political malpractice or injustice that goes unchecked devastates morale. Providing a platform for these voices ensures their concerns and perspectives are heard and addressed. This project aims to bridge the gap between rural and urban areas, fostering greater understanding and solidarity as we briefly examine some less familiar experiences. 

What’s to come

In the upcoming three-part series, readers can expect to read powerful stories from the residents of Ouachita and Phillips Counties. We will share in-depth interviews, personal anecdotes, and reflections on these communities’ unique challenges and triumphs. I hope these entries bring attention to the often-overlooked struggles of these underserved communities and amplify their voices.

We hope you will join us on this journey as we amplify the voices of rural Arkansas and work towards a more inclusive and equitable society. Stay tuned for our first post, where we will dive into civic engagement and community involvement. We can make a difference by listening, understanding, and advocating for change.

The post Voices Across Counties: Amplifying Rural Arkansas appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

It was a very much wanted pregnancy. And a tragedy where we had few options. But the fact that we did have options–had some control about what happened–made a huge difference and lessened the suffering for our family.

The option we chose is now illegal in Arkansas. Today, Arkansas families in our situation have no options unless they leave the state. The Arkansas Abortion Amendment, if approved, will correct this situation and allow families like ours the options and medical support they deserve.

Here is our story.

via the Arkansas Democrat Gazette

A few years ago, Greg Adams shared the story of Baby Kerry with us at Arkansas Strong. Syd, Greg’s wife, was pregnant with their second child when the unthinkable happened: they learned their very wanted child would not survive due to a fatal fetal anomaly.

Syd’s had a hard first pregnancy and her second already jeopardized her health. Would she take the risk and carry the pregnancy to term or would they terminate the pregnancy and say goodbye to Kerry sooner rather than later?

The Adams’ story is heartbreaking, but it’s also empowering. Because they had options from which to choose, they were able to decide what was best for their family during that devastating time.

Options, you see, give grieving people a bit of control and stability during untenable circumstances. And agency during heartbreak can often save us from even more dire outcomes.

We encourage you to read their piece in the Dem-Gaz. We also welcome you to read the story he shared with us at Arkansas Strong (part I and part II). Yes, a tale of grief and loss, but also a story of hope and redemption.

The post Revisiting Baby Kerry appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

Like many Arkansans, we needed the help of a fertility specialist to get pregnant. When I got my first positive pregnancy test, I was so excited!

But my hopes were dashed a short while later when I learned through bloodwork that the pregnancy was not viable. There was nothing we could do but wait for my body to start to miscarry naturally. 

Those weeks of waiting were difficult.

My pastor came over, and we sat in our living room and prayed together.

We cried and asked God to be near to us in our pain.

I was swimming in grief, desperate to try again. I eventually started bleeding.

Later, after several attempts, I finally had a viable pregnancy that ended in the birth of my now 7 year-old son. 

When it was time to add another child to our family, I went into the process with a much more guarded heart. I knew another loss was possible, but I was not prepared for what came next.

Not once, but twice, I got pregnant. Not once, but twice, I went in for my first ultrasound, only to see an empty sack on the screen. Not once but twice, I heard nothing but silence as the tech scanned over and over again for a heartbeat. Not once but twice, I was experiencing a non-viable pregnancy.

Each time, my doctor explained the options: wait for my body to miscarry naturally, take a medication to cause my body to expel the non-pregnancy, or have a surgical procedure called a d&c.

I knew how the waiting felt, and it was awful. I was also afraid of the medication causing a painful miscarriage that I would have to manage at home alone.

So, after talking things over with my doctor, my spouse, and my pastor, I elected to have the d&c procedure both times.

Not once but twice, I woke up in the recovery room and cried onto the shoulder of a loving nurse who soothed my battered and broken heart. When I finally held my daughter in my arms 18 months later, I cried tears of joy. 

Today in Arkansas, doctors have to jump through many hoops to offer women in my shoes the medical care I received. Right now, our state has a near-total abortion ban. There are no exceptions for rape, incest, or fatal fetal abnormalities.

Abortion-related and abortion-adjacent procedures are under extreme scrutiny. While the procedure I had was not an abortion, the medical code contains the word “abortion.” As a result, doctors are spending precious time–time they could be treating other patients–meticulously defending their plan of care for women like me, and asking multiple physicians to sign off on their actions. 

These extra steps are not because the care I received is dangerous, controversial or unethical. These extra steps are to keep medical providers from going to prison or losing their medical licenses and being unable to treat patients at all. As a result, what used to be a non-controversial procedure for women experiencing pregnancy loss has become complicated and high-stakes. 

I want my doctor to be free to focus fully on my healthcare needs and the needs of other women like me facing pregnancy loss. I don’t want their judgment impaired with worry about how a judge or team of lawyers with no medical training will interpret their actions. But since doctors’ primary objective is to treat patients, not fight legal battles, their options are limited.

It pains me to know that in a time of immense pain, a provider can’t be wholly focused on their grieving patient, and must also worry about defending their treatment plan to outside parties. 

I am glad I had the option to surgically end my non-viable pregnancies without unnecessary red tape. The procedure allowed me the space to recover and heal, without worrying for weeks about when my miscarriages would start.

The compassionate healthcare I received helped me recover faster, and enabled me to hold my baby girl in my arms more quickly. I want other grieving women to have easy access to that closure, too. 

The current total abortion ban puts politicians between patients and their doctors. When I got devastating news in the ultrasound room–twice–our state’s legislators were not the ones holding my hand and handing me tissues. My healthcare providers and my pastor were. Healthcare providers need the freedom to offer patients expedient options in a tough situation like mine. They need the freedom to rely on their years of medical training and expertise, without worrying about a distant third party calling their care plan into question. They need the freedom to support their patients as they build families in life-giving ways. 

Every pregnancy deserves to be welcomed with tears of joy. Unfortunately, some pregnancies are met with tears of pain and sorrow instead. In those heart-breaking situations, Arkansas women and their doctors deserve access to a range of medical treatment options. We need to trust our doctors and their pregnant patients to make compassionate, loving, and wise choices in difficult times. By taking healthcare decisions out of the courtroom and putting them back where they belong–in the exam room and in the living room–patients and their doctors can work together to assess their particular circumstances, weigh the risks, and make the best of a bad situation. 

The post Navigating Loss: My Journey Through Miscarriage and the Fight for Compassionate Care appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

There’s just something about Arkansas’s rural landscapes, where the rhythm of life is measured by the seasons. Here, neighbors still greet each other with a warm smile and a firm handshake. Community is built from shared hardship and triumph. It is a place where the simple pleasures of life take precedence over the clamor of ambition.

Yet it is exactly a clamor that threatens our rural way of life. 

The threat is the insidious, unending hum of technology — crypto mining — which is encroaching upon the sanctity of the Arkansas countryside.

Rural life is when humanity beats in harmony with the land. Despite modern technological advances in agriculture or the expansion of commercialism, rural life in Arkansas is still rooted in simplicity and connection to the earth. It is still a place where the land lives and breathes. 

But now our rural spaces are menaced by crypto mining, which interrupts the balance between humans and the land. 

Crypto mining, with its voracious appetite for energy and its relentless pursuit of profit, has set its sights on our rural spaces. Drawn by the promise of cheap electricity and vast expanses of available land, crypto mining operations — large swaths of computer farms —descend upon our communities like modern-day prospectors, seeking to extract digital gold from the blockchain.

As a result, Arkansas’s rural landscape is turned into fields of digital industrialization. And the noise, the relentless white noise of these computer farms… the tranquility that is rural life is shattered by the ceaseless hum of machinery, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.

But perhaps the greatest danger these crypto mines pose is not just the physical transformation of the land, but in the erosion of rural culture itself. In the rush to exploit the resources of Arkansas’s land, we risk losing something more precious — the intangible sanctity of rural space. 

Arkansans are deeply rooted in their rural communities. They understand that the beauty of these places lies not solely in their economic potential, but in their ability to nourish, to abide, and to connect us to something greater than ourselves. They remind us that rural Arkansas is not just a landscape to be exploited, but is rather made up of living, breathing spaces.

As we confront the threat of crypto mining in our rural communities, let us recognize the value of what we stand to lose. 

The post a clamor that threatens Arkansas’s rural life appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

My students can tell you the danger of answering a question I ask in class. I am known for trick questions, such as, “Tell me about a wedding in the Torah,” or “Where is a conversion ceremony in Tanach?”

The answer in both cases is that there isn’t one.

And an abortion in the Torah? There isn’t one.

This week, though, we read about a physical altercation that ends in unintentional assault of a pregnant person. That assault is a crime. If a miscarriage results, the offense is more severe. What comes next, though, makes the essential point: If the pregnant person were killed in that fight, the penalty would be infinitely harsher. Killing a fetus is not homicide. 

When our sages began to codify Jewish law in the Mishnah, published around 200 C.E., they taught that, if carrying the fetus endangers the pregnant person’s life, the fetus must be destroyed, right up to the moment of birth.

Arkansas lawmakers are apparently less concerned than the sages were about pregnant people’s welfare.

Yes, Arkansas law permits abortion to save the pregnant person’s life, but only in a medical emergency. Arkansas law puts pregnant people at risk.

The matter is not theoretical. For example, a person with cancer can become pregnant, and a pregnant person can be diagnosed with cancer. Many forms of cancer treatment endanger the welfare of a fetus. Physicians will not prescribe those treatments to pregnant patients, which would be malpractice. The patient’s life is in danger, which would be exacerbated by delaying treatment.

In a state with compassionate abortion laws, the pregnant person could choose: Endanger their health to sustain the fetus or terminate the pregnancy to pursue prompt cancer treatment. Absent a medical emergency, though, Arkansas law does not permit the pregnancy to be terminated. A doctor who performs that procedure could be imprisoned. A Jewish doctor who declined to perform the abortion—you know, to stay out of prison—would be violating the Jewish law that requires terminating a pregnancy that threatens the pregnant person’s life. 

In 2023, in the first session of the Arkansas General Assembly after the Supreme Court’s Dobbs ruling, overthrowing Roe v. Wade and permitting states to limit or prohibit abortion in ways they could not for a half-century, Arkansas lawmakers had an opportunity to consider exceptions to the state’s near-total abortion ban. However, they rejected a proposal that would have permitted terminating a pregnancy conceived through incest and another that would have empowered parents to end a pregnancy after the diagnosis of a fatal fetal anomaly. These concerns, too, are not merely theoretical. 

USA Today reports that, before Dobbs, approximately one percent of American abortions were for pregnancies conceived through rape, whereas one-half of one percent were to terminate pregnancies conceived through incest. Those are small percentages but they represent significant human suffering. The same newspaper reported the findings of a highly esteemed medical journal that “there may have been more than 64,500 pregnancies resulting from rape in the 14 states that have enacted near-total abortion bans since Roe v. Wade was overturned in 2022.” 

Meanwhile, a study published in the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology indicated that diagnosis of a fatal fetal anomaly is accurate more than ninety-nine percent of the time and that some two-thirds of people pregnant with these fetuses chose to terminate their pregnancies, mindful that the fetus was destined to die in utero or within the first four weeks after birth.

Different rabbinic authorities, studying the same sources, have come to different conclusions about the conditions under which Jewish law permits abortion. All agree, though, that the welfare of the pregnant person is the determining factor. A person who has been sexually abused should not be forced to carry their abuser’s crime with them for a lifetime. After receiving the diagnosis that a lovingly planned pregnancy has resulted in a fatal fetal anomaly, Arkansas law would compel the pregnant person to carry the pregnancy to term and then watch the baby die days later. Many would call that torture.

To be clear, pregnant people in a wide variety of circumstances—not all of them as horrifying as rape, incest, or a fatal fetal anomaly—need abortion care. Even though Jewish law permits only some abortions, American Jews do not expect that our religious requirements should be codified as laws of the United States or any state. With the First Amendment, we also oppose the imposition of abortion bans driven by other religious traditions, as is indisputably the case in Arkansas. Abortion bans are, quite literally, against our religion.

Now, Arkansans have the opportunity to sign petitions to place the Arkansas Abortion Amendment on the November ballot. That amendment would not reimpose Roe v. Wade on Arkansas in its purest form. It would “only” forbid the General Assembly from enacting any restriction on abortion in the first eighteen weeks of pregnancy and would require the state to permit later abortions in cases of threat to the pregnant person’s life, even absent an emergency, and also in cases of threat their physical health or subsequent to the diagnosis of a fatal fetal anomaly.

Arkansans for Limited Government, which has organized this effort, points to polling indicating that fifty-one percent of Arkansans support this return of limited abortion rights in Arkansas. The campaign will be hard-fought. Polling also indicated that an attempt to do even more would have little chance at success.

The Trustees of Congregation B’nai Israel have endorsed the Arkansas Abortion Amendment. Our congregation will be supporting this effort with petition drives and get-out-the-vote efforts.

We will not be alone. In my decades of advocacy for reproductive healthcare, I have learned that clergy and congregations can change the conversation from one in which religious groups uniformly oppose abortion to one that more accurately demonstrates that religious people are divided on the issue. To that end, I have invited local clergy to begin organizing a faith effort in support of the ballot initiative. The response is almost overwhelming, so many Presbyterian, Episcopal, Methodist, Lutheran, and Unitarian ministers are eager to be included. 

The Arkansas Abortion Amendment would legalize some ninety-nine percent of the abortions that were taking place in Arkansas before the Dobbs ruling. Moreover, the amendment would expand abortion access for people in parts of all six states that border Arkansas. Some say that it’s not enough. We will have to make a lot of compromises in this campaign. 

And, we must acknowledge, we will engage in this sacred endeavor to save lives and protect people’s dignity with the full knowledge that we may not win.

Our rabbis teach: Lo alecha ham’lacha ligmor. We cannot be required to complete the task, v’lo atah l’hibateil mimeina, but that is no excuse to desist from it.

We must not be lazy. God is knocking at our doors, urging us to act, for the welfare of every pregnant person who desperately needs abortion care in Arkansas.

Amen. 

The post Abortion in Torah and in Arkansas appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

My Papaw is no longer living, may God rest his soul. But if he were, I am certain he would be ashamed of what has become of the Grand Old Party. Papaw was a hardworking business man with stories for days of growing up on a Louisiana farm with dozens of cousins. He always spoke to me and my cousin about hard work, individual responsibility, and the value of a dollar.

My papaw fostered within me a sense of accomplishment and pride in any work I was doing. When I grew up and became a voter, these values, to me, reflected the heart of the GOP.

So what changed?

If you pressed me for an answer to that question, I’d have to say it was Donald Trump.

At some point in the last eight years I started to realize that my family members were deviating from the conservatism that raised us. With each new story of a disgusting joke, sexual assault allegation, or racist soundbite I would watch for a shift — Would they take their Trump flag down? Might they stop sharing Trump’s outlandish messages on social media? Could they be trusted to talk about social issues without parroting his deceitful talking points?

For some – too many – of them, the answers were no, no, and no. And that is the heartbreaking place we find ourselves in 2024.

Donald Trump has amassed a following of millions who believe everything he tells them, will do anything he asks, and even cause harm and distress to their own families for the sake of his mission.

There is no word for that besides “cult,” and that’s exactly what it is.

Donald Trump is going to be the Presidential nominee for the Republican Party. His influence will only grow, and the impact on our families will continue to be traumatic. Here in Arkansas, it’s especially difficult to confront the loss.

Trump’s face is on billboards across the state and the gospel of his elusive plan to make America great is preached in many of our churches. “Do you believe the 2020 election was stolen?” is a litmus test when political conversations arise. Answer a definitive, “no,” and you might lose another friend, or miss your chance to make a new one.

I know I am not alone in the complex grief of losing a loved one to the cult of Trump. There are thousands of us in states like Arkansas. We aren’t trying to change anyone’s mind— we just want our people back.

The post Losing Loved Ones to the Cult of Trump appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

Come to Arkansas and find seemingly contradictory values represented: hospitality and rugged individualism, grit and obedience, candor and a hefty dose of minding your own business. We are a beautiful collection of perspectives, wouldn’t you agree?

Arkansans are also stubbornly proud, especially in their mistrust of government. Rural Southerners have an especially unique skepticism of government intervention, which is as ingrained in us as the right to bear arms and looking out for your neighbors.  

But despite our diverse opinions and our indignation with nosy government, we have a problem standing up to overreach with one specific issue. Why? Well, it’s simply impolite to talk about certain things.

Chief among the “impolite” topics is the issue of reproductive freedom. In other words: abortion. Or women’s healthcare. Or murdering babies. Or the right to choose… depending on who you’re asking. 

Earlier this week, I read that the Arkansas Abortion Amendment was certified by the Attorney General. According to Arkansans for Limited Government, the group behind the Amendment’s effort to restore some abortion access in the state, politicians make for bad doctors. Regardless of how one feels about abortion, the group argues, we don’t need politicians regulating reproductive decisions. We don’t need government in the exam room, so to speak, regulating things as personal as pregnancy.

I cannot help but agree.

Regulating people’s healthcare, especially a woman’s organs, is not only a divergence from our cherished values of personal freedom and individual liberty but a stark example of burdensome—even deadly—government overreach. 

The notion of limited government has been etched into our consciousness and our traditions, but the regulation of reproductive healthcare challenges this ethos. It forces us to question whether a government that we already view with suspicion should extend its reach into the most private corners of our lives. 

Personal independence is not just a value, but a way of life in Arkansas, and interference should be seen as an affront to the principles that make us who we are—people in control of our own lives. Personal liberty means we alone decide our destiny. And we alone know what is best for ourselves and our families. 

The regulation of abortion is a logical paradox, even outside of a morality paradigm, because of its relevance to government overreach. And I’d like you to bear with me for a minute. I know it’s a polarizing issue; I’m not trying to change anyone’s mind about how they morally feel about abortion. What I’m aiming to do is reinvigorate a healthy skepticism of government.

I would never presume to know what is best for another person’s health or for the choices their family must make.

Now extend this to the Arkansas state government, which has proven that it  cannot be trusted on matters of the collective or individual good. When the government regulates our healthcare and steps into our doctors’ offices, the government undermines our trust, implying that the entity of the state knows better than we do when it comes to decisions about our own lives. This is antithetical to what it means to be an Arkansan—a self-reliant, responsible individual.

And speaking of responsibility: government overreach, well-intentioned as it may be, often brings about its own unintended consequences. In Arkansas, regulations disproportionately affect our rural communities. It is our duty to ensure that any policy reflects a commitment to fairness and justice for our rural communities rather than perpetuating already awful health disparities between urban dwellers and rural folk.

I’m not here to change minds on how people feel about abortion. Your judgment of the issue is yours, and yours alone. You are entitled to your opinion, and oftentimes, those opinions are rooted in compelling and valid experiences. 

No, this is not about changing minds. But it’s about keeping the government out of our homes and hospital rooms, out of conversations with our families and our doctors.

It’s not my business, or the government’s, to know the myriad of factors going into a person’s decision regarding the trajectory of their life. I don’t know if a person was raped. I don’t know if a person suffered a miscarriage. I don’t know if a family got a terrible diagnosis. 

The point is, I don’t know what’s best for you. 

The government doesn’t know either and it sure as hell doesn’t have any business telling people what’s good or right. That’s between them, their doctor, and the Good Lord above. 

Let’s get back to our Arkansas roots and keep government where it should be: out of our doctor’s office and back in the business of governing policy, not people’s lives. 

The post Mind your Biscuits: The Case Against Government Overreach in Arkansas appeared first on Arkansas Strong.