It was a sticky June day last summer in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and lifelong organizer and reproductive rights activist Cecile Richards was in her element. At an abortion storytelling event she had spearheaded in response to Louisiana’s near total abortion ban, she listened to, encouraged, and thanked woman after woman who shared their experiences.
Richards, who transformed Planned Parenthood during her 12-year tenure as president, also helped arrange snacks and move chairs. And when the daughter of a local activist arrived, Richards opened her arms and the girl sprinted into them, wrapping her arms around her legs.
Richards, who died on Monday at age 67, was a powerful champion for reproductive justice, a bestselling author and public thinker. She was one of the most powerful political figures in the US. But one of her greatest powers—one I got to witness over four days in New Orleans last year—was how she connected with people. She would sit chatting with a group of strangers like they were old friends, frequently talking about her three kids and beloved toddler grandson, Teddy. She and her husband, Kirk Adams, invited everyone involved in the storytelling project over to her house one night to eat cheese and drink wine.
I only knew Richards briefly, but I will never forget her easy presence, her optimism, and her belief that the world can be better if we all work together.
Back in June 2024, Glamour was invited to witness the beginning of the abortion storytelling project (now called Abortion in America) she created with her longtime collaborator, Lauren Peterson and local abortion activist Kaitlyn Joshua (who would be named a Glamour Woman of the Year in 2024. Richards herself was honored as a WOTY in 2015).
Richards embarked on the project shortly after learning, in 2023, that she had glioblastoma, an aggressive form of brain cancer that has a median survival rate of less than a year. After her diagnosis, Richards turned her attention to a battle with multiple fronts. She’d fly down to Louisiana for a few days to work on the abortion storytelling project, then fly home to New York for treatment. She was fighting for herself, and fighting for us. And she never stopped.
During my four days in Louisiana, I had a chance to sit down and speak with Cecile at length. Part of me wanted to pick her brain; to have a chance to receive some of her enthusiasm and hope by osmosis. But also to understand why, and how, in the face of a devastating diagnosis she continued to fight for the rights of others. No one would have blamed her if she retired from public life to focus on her illness, but she poured herself into the work with even more fervor. How did she do it? How did she keep going?
Richards’ answer was simple yet profound: how can we not?
“I feel so lucky,” she said on that sweltering June day in Baton Rouge. “I’m fortunate to be able to do anything at this point that helps build constituencies and encourages young women.”
