Phill Casaus: On the eastern plains, settled law roils with new legislation

Oct. 30—And now, the debate on abortion rolls — from the piñon-dotted hills near the Roundhouse, across New Mexico's endless, craggy llano and landing almost imperceptibly onto the hardpan of the state's eastern plains.

The issue many in Santa Fe believe is settled law (remember that term?) is now creating a storm in cities and towns that on maps and in mentality are closer to Texas than New Mexico.

Without much notice to those of us who live in the thin, north-south urban ribbon, the place we sometimes like to think is the state's starting point, the national abortion debate has taken a hard left — or is it a hard right? — into Clovis.

It has poured itself into Ryan Denton's small church on Thornton Avenue.

Only one problem with that word picture, he says.

In a place like Clovis, abortion isn't really much of a debate. Despite what may be the prevailing sentiment in places like Santa Fe, Albuquerque or Las Cruces, the winds along the state line with Texas blow against the procedure. Hard.

And now, harder.

"It's definitely a movement," says Denton, the pastor of Clovis' Grace Covenant Reformed Presbyterian Church. "OK, it's definitely a movement. Now, it doesn't mean we're all tied together you know, as far as like the same group and stuff, but it really is ... it's tapping into convictions that the vast majority of Eastern New Mexicans share."

Denton, 37, hit my radar last week in an Eastern New Mexico News story about a measure going before Clovis' City Commission later this week. In essence, it's an ordinance that would make abortion illegal in the city. The bill would make it virtually impossible for abortion clinics to obtain a business license — triggering a complex legal mechanism that at the end of the day would render them unable to operate.

Similar legislation is moving along in Hobbs, Clovis Mayor Mike Morris says. Other towns on the plains are on deck — part of a coordinated push to keep abortion providers from creating a more convenient option in New Mexico for women from nearby Texas, where the procedure is illegal.

For his part, Denton belies any stereotype you might have about a myopic, small-town preacher: He has a degree from the University of New Mexico and a graduate degree from St. John's College in Santa Fe; neither are breeding grounds for conservatives. He's worked in the Navajo Nation. His parents live near the state's capital city.

But in Clovis, he says, abortion is a non-negotiable item, and one that got a renewed momentum once the Supreme Court eviscerated Roe v. Wade. He notes the movement did not start from the pulpit, but from the pews.

"We had two guys at our church that kind of spearheaded all of this," he says. "And then me being the pastor, we just kind of found ourselves in the middle of all of it where, we're using our church — not on, not during worship and stuff, but you know, like on a Tuesday night or something. People are coming in and talking about this stuff and so, it kind of just went in that direction."

Proponents of the measure will have local opposition — likely spirited, almost certainly outnumbered. And yes, there almost certainly will be legal challenges from outside the area as well; an attorney for the American Civil Liberties Union-New Mexico recently told Reuters the organization is interested.

Even the courtly, thoughtful Morris, who says he is strongly pro-life, expects a court date if the measure passes.

"As it's tested, because it will be, what will the outcome of that be?" he says.

Even before a legal challenge, he acknowledges the difficulty and emotion that swirls. Long before October, he's been talking to legislators and lawyers and constituents, both in town and around the state. Abortion might be a black-and-white issue to some, but that doesn't mean it's easy.

"They [some supporters of the measure] have this assumption that because Mr. Denton and the activists that came from Texas have told them that we possess a silver bullet and this solves all the problems or all the problems from a pro-life standpoint ... why wouldn't we just pass it? Well, that's not the case. We don't have the silver bullet. We have something that maybe ... maybe we have the space to operate in to do this. But it'll be tested."

Nevertheless, Denton says he's confident the mood of the city will carry the day and carry the vote.

"It's not like it's 50-50 over here," he says of the public mood. "It's what, 75-25, maybe 80-20 ... people who are pro-life."

Not long ago, Raúl Torrez, the Albuquerque Democrat who's a heavy favorite to become the state's next attorney general, was in The New Mexican's offices. He spoke at length about how the ripple effect of the Roe knockdown will end up at the AG's doorstep — sooner rather than later.

He almost certainly is right.

Denton also is correct when he says "momentum is infectious" — in large part because he's seen what's happened as it moved across a small city and attached to other small cities.

Which begets the question: Is the debate on abortion spinning from Santa Fe and Albuquerque to the eastern plains? Or is it the other way around? As we've already learned, settled law is never that settled.

Phill Casaus is editor of The New Mexican.