Authors: Abby Johnson,Cindy Lambert
Tags: #Non-Fiction, #Inspirational, #Biography, #Religion
Unplanned: The Dramatic True Story of a Former Planned Parenthood Leader's Eye-Opening Journey Across the Life Line (21 page)
“Yes.”
“And these would be their client files and patient records pertaining to the treatment that they received; right?”
“Right.”
Throughout her testimony, Cheryl kept her eyes on the attorneys. She didn’t look my way once.
“What evidence do you have that Abby Johnson took some of this patient record information?”
“I don’t have firsthand knowledge.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I don’t have firsthand knowledge. I was not there that day.”
“You don’t have any evidence or proof to give to Judge Langley today that Ms. Johnson took any of these patient records?”
“I do not personally have that.”
And so it went for the next several minutes. Jeff would mention each type of information that Planned Parenthood claimed I possessed that they considered confidential and ask Cheryl whether she had firsthand information that I had taken any such information off the premises of the Bryan clinic. Again and again, Cheryl was forced to answer that she did not.
It didn’t take Jeff long to get to the question of the identity of the doctor we had subpoenaed, who was of course sitting there in the courtroom with us. Everyone was careful not to mention his name, however. We felt we had a strong case here—Planned Parenthood was trying so hard to make it appear that the identity of those doctors who perform abortions for them is a big secret, and to tell the truth, some of the doctors did go to some lengths to obscure their identity, having themselves driven to the clinic by chauffeurs rather than driving their own cars, walking from car to clinic with a sheet over their heads, and so on. Some, but not all. Dr. A had been interviewed about abortions in the media. So if he was willing to “out” himself, how could my knowledge of what he did be a threat? Anyone who’d seen him interviewed on TV knew what he did for a living.
But for now, Jeff simply established through his questioning of Cheryl that all of that information concerning the doctors—which doctors served the clinic, which days they came, where they were picked up, and so on—changed on a regular basis, so any knowledge I had would be outdated and inaccurate.
Cheryl was dismissed, and Planned Parenthood called Taylor to the stand.
Poor Taylor—still a teenager and caught in such an ugly conflict. I was upset that she had to testify, and I felt sorry for her. I’d always felt protective of her, and today was no exception. As she came into the room, I could see how anxious she was. Bewildered by what the preliminary injunction had said, I watched her closely, trying to understand what could have happened between her late-night sessions at my home, when I’d helped her write her résumé and apply for jobs, and the day she’d disconnected her cell phone and allowed Planned Parenthood to cite falsehoods of those events in their petition and temporary restraining order.
From the beginning she had a hard time controlling her emotions. When she took the stand, she looked at me, and that, I believe, was her undoing. She looked right at me as she spoke; her voice trembled, and tears rolled down her face. It was heart-wrenching, and I found my anger building—not at her, but at Planned Parenthood for whatever they might have said or done to set her up for this. Her testimony took a very long time because she often had to work to get herself under control before she could answer the questions.
It seemed Deborah Milner’s questioning of Taylor was intended to establish that I had tried to influence Taylor to leave Planned Parenthood, that I had manipulated her résumé and employment applications without her permission, and that I had given her records relating to her employment that she was not supposed to have had, records that were kept locked up. This, of course, was not the way it had happened.
Taylor was struggling enough when Deborah was questioning her, but it became even harder for her when Jeff began his cross-examination, perhaps because his voice and tone with her were so gentle. I could see that Jeff intuitively understood that Taylor was as much a victim in all of this as I was. Sometimes she would be crying so hard that she couldn’t catch her breath. Still, he had to establish the contradiction between what she was saying now and what the court papers stated she’d said.
“You and Abby Johnson are friends, are you not?” Jeff asked.
“Yes.” Her eyes were on mine.
“At one time you wanted to leave [the] Planned Parenthood clinic and find another job—”
“All of the staff were confused after she left. We weren’t sure if we wanted to stay or not.”
“Okay.”
“We were being told different things.”
Her voice was shaking, and tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Okay,” Jeff continued. “You wanted to leave Planned Parenthood because it was causing you a moral conflict, wasn’t it?”
“No.”
Jeff then introduced as evidence Taylor’s recent employment application. “Do you recognize that employment application?” he asked.
“Yes,” Taylor said.
“That’s your handwriting, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And this is an application for employment that you filled out over at Abby Johnson’s house; right?”
“Yes. This is the application that she gave me and the—under where it says reason for leaving, she had told me to write that.”
“Okay. You were wanting to have Abby help you find another job; right?”
“She offered to help other staff find other jobs also.”
“Okay.” Jeff sensed her fear and tried to probe its cause. “Are you scared about your employment there at Planned Parenthood, Taylor?”
“No.”
“Okay. I just want to make sure you don’t have any fear that if you leave Planned Parenthood the same thing that’s happened to Abby Johnson—this whole procedure and everything might happen to you.”
“No.” Her eyes were on mine, and I am sure she saw my own sadness, my disapproval, my pain. More tears rolled down her face.
“Okay. That hadn’t crossed your mind? You have no fear about that?”
“No.”
“Okay. You haven’t asked yourself, ‘How will I pay for an attorney?’ or anything like that?”
“No.”
Jeff and Shawn and I had discussed the possibility that, since Planned Parenthood didn’t really have a very strong case here, they may have initiated this action for some other reason than expecting to win it. Such as sending a message to other employees, like Taylor. Or putting Coalition for Life on the defensive and warning them off. But if Taylor
was
afraid that Planned Parenthood might come after her, she’d be unlikely to admit that with them sitting right there, oath or not. So Jeff moved on.
“You filled out this application over at Abby Johnson’s house?”
“Yes.”
“On page 2 it says, ‘reason for leaving Planned Parenthood’—correct me if I’m wrong, but you wrote—this is your writing, ‘I feel I can no longer work at this job due to moral conflict.’”
“Correct. She had told me to write that.”
After questioning Taylor about how much influence I could have had over her, considering that I was no longer her supervisor, he said, “Now, you say that Abby Johnson prepared your résumé.”
“Yes.”
“But you helped her prepare the résumé on Abby’s computer at her house?”
“No. She typed it up at her house.”
“Okay. She—”
“I was at my house when she was typing it.”
“Okay. And you were giving her the information over the phone on what to type?”
“The only information I gave was my employment at my grandparents’.”
I couldn’t believe it. I looked at Doug, and he just looked back at me while shaking his head. Taylor and I had stayed up until late into the night at my house working on that résumé—at her request! And now she was testifying, under oath, that she hadn’t even been there, that it had all been my idea? I had a pen in hand at the time and, without realizing it, was furiously clicking it open and closed. Shawn gently reached over and took it from me, and the sudden silence made me realize that the sound must have been echoing in the courtroom, and I had no idea for how long. I shrank down in my seat.
All in all, I thought Jeff’s handling of Taylor was gentle and kind. He told me later that he felt like she was just in a hurry to get it done and get out of here, and he thought,
If I let her do that, we’ll get done that much sooner
. He noted that she was shaking—looking at Cheryl, clearly afraid of something, and looking back at me tearfully. Despite what she said, he thought she was afraid for her job, and afraid this—the courtroom unpleasantness—could happen to her if she resigned. He didn’t think her testimony would do us much harm. And frankly, he wanted her to know that, if she ever did decide to leave Planned Parenthood, she would be treated kindly by the Coalition for Life.
Jeff continued to question her about the employment application, about the résumé and the resignation letter, about who typed what where, about whether she had been looking for another job—“No,” she said—and about what she claimed to have seen me printing out at Planned Parenthood that last day. It was lengthy testimony, made longer by her sobbing, and when Jeff concluded his cross-examination, she was allowed to leave the stand before Deborah’s redirect so she could collect herself.
As she stepped down, my heart was torn in two. On the one hand, I was so angry. I wanted to question her myself, to set the record straight. I knew that after a few words from me she’d break and tell the truth, and I was itching to have at it. But just as powerful was my feeling of deep sympathy for her. She looked, as she slumped her way out of the courtroom, like a whipped dog, beaten and wounded. I remembered her excitement at dinner just a few days before, talking about her future, nursing school, providing health care far away from abortion. I wanted the best for Taylor, and now I saw her as yet another victim of Planned Parenthood. I looked across the room at their board member and legal team, the supposed protectors of women in crisis. But they weren’t even watching her, as if she were invisible to them.
And I suspect she was.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Ruling
Deborah Milner called Megan to the stand.
The door at the back of the courtroom opened, and Megan
marched
to the front of the courtroom. Her demeanor was very different from Taylor’s. Whereas Taylor was very tearful the whole time, Megan seemed angry and, like Cheryl, did not look at me at all. Her manner was terse and her answers short, delivered in a clipped tone. She looked disgusted.
As the testimony went on, I was struck by the absurdity of the entire scenario. We were sitting in a court of law, using the valuable resources of our judicial system, two legal teams, even a security detail for the abortion doctor. Media reporters were taking notes, and outside cameras were waiting. We were all listening to testimony about, of all things, simple job descriptions and résumés that my friends had asked my help on—help I’d gladly given.
I thought back on the frightening words in the temporary restraining order:
Plaintiffs are entitled to a temporary restraining order because there is evidence that harm is imminent to Plaintiffs, and if the Court does not issue the temporary restraining order, Plaintiffs will be irreparably harmed by the disclosure of confidential information.
This was a circus, and I was angry.
Jeff’s line of questioning with Megan validated my feelings.
“Now, you don’t hide the fact from anybody that you are a nurse-practitioner at Planned Parenthood, do you?” Jeff asked.
“No.”
“In fact, you’ve got a MySpace page which I can pull up—or anyone can pull up. And on there you state ‘Planned Parenthood of Houston and Southeast Texas, Bryan, Texas, nurse-practitioner’?”
“Yes.”
“You asked Abby Johnson, ‘Where can I find my job description,’ she found it for you, printed it off, and gave it to you so that you could update your résumé, right?”
“Yes. Uh-huh.”
After verifying with her that there was nothing secret or confidential about the job description, he asked, “At one time you and Abby Johnson and Taylor were all planning to leave your employment at Planned Parenthood; isn’t that right?”
I looked directly at her face, holding my breath for her response.
“Yes.”
“And you updated your résumé, you emailed it to Abby Johnson—”
“Yes.”
“—and said, ‘Here you go. Good luck to me’?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Right?” Jeff asked again, driving the point home for the court.
“Yes.”
Whew! She admitted that she was the one who mailed it to me, not that I’d taken it without her permission!
Jeff pressed forward. “Abby Johnson went through with it and left her employment; you changed your mind and decided to stay?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s as simple as it is, correct?”
“Yes.”
It felt good to hear those words. For the most part, her testimony covered about the same ground as Cheryl’s and Taylor’s, except for one thing.
One night after I’d left Planned Parenthood, a friend had come by whose pierced ear had become infected. I wanted to help her, but her ear was so painful and tender that everything I did hurt her. I called Megan and asked if she had any lidocaine cream at home.
“No,” she said. “I have some at the clinic, but I don’t have the new security code there.” They’d changed all the codes after I resigned.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I can use something else.” And that was the end of it.
But in Megan’s testimony, it sounded completely different. She made it sound as if I’d been after not the lidocaine but the security code. Planned Parenthood was clearly hoping that my phone call to Megan that night would incriminate me in some way, or at least reflect poorly on me. But in his cross-examination, Jeff dismissed these concerns pretty easily, pointing out that lidocaine is commonly available and is not an industrial secret for Planned Parenthood. Furthermore, even if the security code for the clinic had been compromised, it could have been immediately changed, as they already had done after I resigned. The whole subject was silly, of course. I hadn’t even asked Megan for the code, merely asked if she had some lidocaine cream.
One thing in Jeff’s cross-examination of Megan hurt. When he asked if she was a friend of mine, she answered, “Until recently, yes.” And I thought,
When did that change? And how? What did I do?
I still don’t understand that.
After a brief redirect and cross-examination of Taylor, once she’d regained control of her emotions, Planned Parenthood concluded its case. We had, of course, prepared a case of our own in defense, but Jeff had another tactic to try first.
Judge Langley asked Jeff, “Are you planning on putting on any testimony?”
“Well, Your Honor,” Jeff replied, “it depends. I’d like to move at this time for a directed verdict and a request that the temporary injunction be denied; and if you would hear me for a minute, Judge, I’ll give you the reasons for my request.”
Jeff went on to argue that none of their three witnesses had offered any evidence that I had taken any confidential information from Planned Parenthood. In any event, the material Planned Parenthood described as confidential was not, in fact, confidential at all, as for instance the formula for Coca-Cola would be. All of it was readily available elsewhere or, as in the case of the building security code, could easily be changed.
“On that basis, Judge, I would ask . . . that their request be denied and that the temporary restraining order be dissolved.”
Deborah Milner offered a response on the part of Planned Parenthood, but it didn’t alter the basic truths of Jeff’s argument.
Judge Langley’s response: “I don’t find enough information here to indicate that Ms. Johnson has broken her agreement. Temporary injunction denied. Temporary restraining order dissolved immediately. We’re adjourned.”
We had won.
As soon as the judge announced his decision, Shawn and I jumped up and hugged. Then there were hugs all around. Someone yelled, “Yes!” and I laughed.
About an hour and a half. That’s how long the whole thing had taken. After all that anxiety, all that concern about how things might end up—an hour and a half, and now it was done. I stood there, watching what was happening around me. That was it? We were done? Had I misunderstood what the judge had said?
This was what we had hoped for, of course—that the judge would deny the preliminary injunction—but I felt a twinge of a letdown and realized how much I’d wanted to get up on the stand, tell what I knew to be true, and defend myself! I had wanted to set the record straight.
But God knew what He was doing by not giving me that opportunity. And by this point in my new journey of trusting God, I understood. I was so fired up, I’m afraid I’d have gone on the attack. I would probably have said something that I would have regretted later. I’m hoping—praying—that my relationship with some of those friends and coworkers can be repaired and reestablished at some point. If I’d testified that day, I might have unintentionally closed those doors.
Jeff gathered up his papers and packed them away. “I feel like we just won the Super Bowl,” Shawn said, still grinning. I did too—and I didn’t.
I watched the Planned Parenthood team—their lawyers, their New York PR team, the abortion doctor’s lawyer, the board member and his wife. They moved quickly to pack everything away, and then they began shuffling out through a side door. Clearly they had no desire to speak to me or the media. In fact, they looked as if they were in shock. I didn’t see an angry face among them. It was more as if they couldn’t fathom what had just happened. I thought about how much I’d loved this organization, how I’d wanted to serve and please them. Now they looked like a sad and sorry lot to me.
Shawn watched them file out. “Well,” he said, “the truth won out!”
We pushed open the courtroom doors to head out and I couldn’t believe it. Journalists and broadcasters who’d sat through the hearing had gathered—now
with
their cameras. Immediately there were microphones in my face. Cameras flashed, reporters were vying for position to get close to me, asking me questions. As director of a Planned Parenthood clinic, I was no stranger to the media or to having to make public statements. But this felt completely different. I felt like I’d fallen into some made-for-TV movie. It seemed surreal.
“Ms. Johnson,” one reporter said, “now that the gag order has been lifted, what do you have to say? What can you tell us that you weren’t able to before?”
And it was the strangest thing. How could I explain that my story was still exactly the same? I had already told the story of the ultrasound-guided abortion on the local news, of my sudden desperate conviction that I had believed a lie, and that I had to now reject that lie and follow the truth, which meant leaving Planned Parenthood and, instead, working on behalf of women
and
the unborn. All of that I had already said—it was my story, just my story, and that’s all I had to say from the first, and it’s all I had to say the day of the hearing.
And suddenly the utter ridiculousness of what Planned Parenthood had done with their restraining order hit home. They had tried to keep me from saying—what, exactly? All I wanted to do was tell my own story, the story of my own change of heart, and they had never been able to stop me from doing that. For the rest of it—never in a million years would I have even considered violating the privacy of the clinic’s patients by releasing information about them. I still care about those women and families. Not past tense—I didn’t care about them only when I worked at Planned Parenthood. Present tense: I cared about them the morning of the hearing, and I still care about them now. And in a way, I care even more now that I understand all the more the deep harm abortion does to a woman. I wouldn’t have released private information about them when I worked at the clinic, and I won’t do it now.
All of this media attention, the microphones in front of my face that morning, the reporters asking me to tell them my story—none of that had come about because I had asked for it. It had come about because Planned Parenthood had filed for an injunction, supposedly to keep me quiet, but instead it meant that thousands would hear me talk about the work that God had done in my heart on a day when I hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t expected it, and frankly, hadn’t wanted it—on a day when a doctor had needed someone to hold an ultrasound wand. If they didn’t like what I was saying, if they don’t like that you’re reading these words now in this book—well, in my view, they’ve done it to themselves. None of it would have happened if not for the media storm they unleashed with their petition and their press release to publicize it.
Planned Parenthood made no statement to the press immediately after the hearing, but they did release a statement picked up in our local paper: “Today’s judgment is a blow to medical privacy and client confidentiality.”
20
I knew only too well the tactics their words demonstrated; tactics I myself had been taught to use—word choices that gave the impression that Coalition for Life was a threat to the safety of patients and clinic workers. The irony of their claim struck me. I’d just seen what they had done to my own friends in the courtroom, their own clinic workers. And I knew of the boardroom conversations and mandates to increase the number of abortions to increase their revenue. As a result, I agreed that there
was
a threat to the safety of patients and clinic workers—but in my opinion that threat came from within Planned Parenthood itself. I was now part of the movement to truly protect patients and clinic workers, and I’d be doing so from the right side of the fence.
There was still the small matter of the lawsuit Planned Parenthood had filed against me, saying I’d violated my employment contract by breaking the confidentiality agreement with patients. Jeff wasn’t worried. He sent them a letter the day after the hearing, saying that in light of the way the hearing had turned out, they had no chance of prevailing in the lawsuit. If they didn’t drop it, he added, he would ask the court to have Planned Parenthood pay all of my attorney fees. The lawsuit was officially dropped on November 17. And believe it or not, that’s the last thing I’ve heard from Planned Parenthood. No more legal action, and in fact no more communication at their initiation of any kind. I occasionally see some of my former colleagues, however, as I stand and pray at the fence outside the clinic. I still care about them and pray for them daily, and I know from my own story that the answer to prayer can take a very long time.
Shawn told me later that after Doug and I headed out to lunch with my mom, he took Jeff for a victory lunch at a grungy place in downtown Bryan. Jeff had pulled his tie loose and unbuttoned his collar by that time, and the two of them just sat, staring at each other and saying nothing, emotionally exhausted. A waitress came and took their order, then brought their drinks.
Shawn took a sip. “Jeff, my friend, I know better than anybody how hard you worked on all this. And you know what? Right now you look as tapped out as I feel. I got nothing left, man.”
Jeff nodded. “My exhaustion is exceeded only by my excitement that we won.”
“There’s a problem,” Shawn said.
Jeff cocked an eyebrow. “How can there be a problem?”
“The problem is, you’ve given this so much, and there isn’t any way we can repay you. You won’t make a penny off this. And that’s not fair. How many other cases do you have going on right now?”
Jeff chuckled. “Sixty-seven.”
Shawn shook his head. “Sixty-seven other cases, and you gave us all your time? Listen, I can go to some of our donors, see if I can shake loose some money to cover some of your time. . . .”
Jeff said, “No, don’t bother. Truth is, I’ve missed so many of my stand-and-pray hours at the clinic—maybe this makes up for it. Can we just be even?”
Shawn laughed. “Tell you what. I’ll pay for lunch.”