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Women and Children First: Agreement Beyond Abortion | The Saturday Evening Post.The following is an abridged excerpt from Bill Newcott’s new book, Divided We Stand: A Road Trip in Search of the Ties That Bind Ordinary Americans No Matter What (Compass Rose Publishing, © Bill Newcott, All Rights Reserved) Do you confuse Michigan and Wisconsin?I am so, so ashamed to admit this, but even as my editor read this manuscript, he kept leaving me notes: “Don’t you mean Michigan?” “Aren’t you supposed to be in Wisconsin?” I could explain that both states are shaped like mittens, and that’s the source of my issue, but the reality is I suffer from a most common form of Coastal Dementia.For me, and for a long time, Michigan and Wisconsin — let alone Nebraska and Iowa — existed as fantasy lands akin to Narnia and Terabithia; vaguely familiar, somewhat undefined realms populated by a few notable characters behind whom milled vast, faceless, supporting casts of subjects and enablers.Well, I recently discovered that not only is Wisconsin right next door to Michigan, but like their mitten-y neighbors, Wisconsinites have a true heart for finding common ground, even in the face of intractable differences.Take what may well be the defining divisive issue of our time: abortion.Unavoidably, I’ve been told all my adult life, when you try to strike a balance on abortion you are foiled by the intransigent barrier of two discrete groups that not only hold fiercely felt personal convictions — but who also harbor similarly strident opinions about those who disagree with them.Abortion rights supporters, the culture at large tells us, insist they are protecting the health and rights of women…and that those who feel otherwise are primarily intent on subjugating women, rendering them little more than human incubators, à la The Handmaid’s Tale.Abortion opponents, on the other hand, are said to be adamant that their only concern is saving the lives of unborn children, who they hold are every bit as human at the moment of conception as they will be the day they get their driver’s licenses.Those who disagree, they generally believe, are selfishly sacrificing the lives of children for personal convenience.I must hasten to add we often hear of wide agreement between the two groups regarding abortion to save the life of a mother: President Ronald Reagan himself, whose “Abortion and the Conscience of a Nation” remains required reading among pro-life activists, cited the Biblical right to self-defense as a rationale for life-saving abortions.But many abortion abolitionists oppose even that level of latitude, and among those who accept it there remain disagreements when it comes to defining just when a mother’s life is endangered by a pregnancy.Overall, I was convinced, pro-life and pro-choice people have a difficult enough time living in the same country, much less sitting down in the same room.I’ve never been so glad to be proven wrong by two extraordinary young women who, according to most current cultural norms, should absolutely, positively hate each other.Ali Mudrow lives in Madison, Wisconsin’s state capital.She became pregnant as a teenager and, navigating the medical bureaucracy on her own, obtained an abortion — a decision she found empowering.Today she’s executive director of a women’s health foundation and treasurer of the Madison Board of Education.Kateri Klingele Pinell also grew up in Madison, one of eleven children.She became pregnant as a teen, kept the baby and married the father — and after having another child with him left the marriage under a cloud of domestic violence.A single mom through graduate school, she’s now happily remarried and a clinical mental health professional who believes people should live free of violence from the start of their lives, which she views as the moment of conception.(In keeping with that philosophy, she also opposes capital punishment.) The dominant present-day narrative — indeed, the narrative that had me despairing over ever being able to write a chapter about abortion — would pit these two women at each other’s throats.But on Mother’s Day 2025, the pair launched a joint campaign across the state of Wisconsin, calling for enhanced government-sponsored postpartum care for new mothers.They called the initiative “Medicaid for Mother’s Day.” The hashtag read: #betterthanabouquet.“This Mother’s Day,” Ali wrote on the local news site Madison360, “Mothers from the left, the right, and everywhere in between are coming together to call for an extension of post-partum Medicaid coverage.This display of collaboration across political differences is a reminder that — even in these polarized times — we must refuse to be enemies.” At the top of the article is a photo of Ali and Kateri, standing together on the state house steps, holding a cardboard sign reading “Medicaid for Mother’s Day.” Now the two are paired up in an intensive lobbying campaign, trying to get reluctant state representatives to extend Medicaid benefits for new mothers.On the day I catch up with Kateri and Ali via teleconferencing, Ali is at home in Madison and Kateri is visiting Washington, D.C., with her family.“Ali is fiery, just like me,” laughs Kateri.“We certainly have different views of things.But she’s a phenomenal woman who passionately cares about doing what she believes is good.” Ali is equally magnanimous toward her political opposite.“We’re both moms of multiple children, people who have lived in poverty and survived domestic violence,” she tells me.“The things we have in common are just as profound as the things that make us different.If you let yourself see someone holistically, you realize your lives intersect in a thousand ways.” It helps enormously that Ali and Kateri are the types of people who don’t mind plunging head-first into an encounter with an other-thinking individual — not with a chip on their shoulder, but in a spirit of possible collaboration.“I harbor no ill will for those who hold a different position than myself,” says Kateri.“I may believe they’re wrong.I may believe their position on abortion causes harm and violence.But they’re individuals who are loved, and who have inherent dignity and worth.And I hope I can work with people from all backgrounds.” Speaking with these two women, I am struck by their shared penumbra of serenity.How, I wonder, can people who hold such unshakably different positions on a life-and-death subject nevertheless collaborate on a project that flits dangerously close to the white-hot flame that separates them?The answer seems to come down to the pair’s inherent willingness — and perhaps irresistible impulse — to relate to others.Ali notes, for example, that even when others have a less-than-charitable attitude toward her, that’s no reason to write them off.“My favorite thing to do when someone insults me online,” she says, leaning forward, “is to ask them if they want to go get coffee together.” And so, if you happen to spot Ali huddled over java at Madison’s Lakeside Street Coffee House, it’s entirely likely she’s deep in conversation with someone who she was, just hours before, at odds with on social media.Take the Facebook guy who, one morning, called Ali “ignorant.” I, of course, would have responded with a paralyzing, Noel Coward-class riposte like, “Not as Ignorant as…your MAMA!” Ali, on the other hand, took the high road.“If you want me to learn more about the things you think I should learn more about,” she wrote, “then let’s get together.” At eleven a.m.that same morning, she recalls, “We were at Lakeside for coffee.We sat there for two hours talking about our views.And now he’s one of my dearest friends.” Significantly, neither participant in the impromptu coffee klatch won the other over to their perspective.“It wasn’t a kumbaya moment,” she says.“But he did come to understand that my perspective was valid, that my experiences were valid, that he had misunderstood where I was coming from.” When Ali’s new friend had called her “ignorant,” she came