Every time students suggested debate topics in my English classes, I’d take a deep breath. Some were expected (legalizing marijuana—now a reality in Canada, so, there goes that topic!), lowering the drinking age (it’s 19 years old in Ontario; lower than 21 in the U.S.), raising the driving age (are teens too reckless to wield such a dangerous weapon?). Some were just fun (“Schools need paper towels in the bathrooms, not hand dryers!”). Others were topics I would never touch in class. Abortion was one of them.
Abortion is legal in Canada, and given classroom debate topics were about arguing against the status quo, I couldn’t do it. I have very strong pro-choice opinions. A woman’s body is her own. End. Of. Story. What’s happening in the U.S. with the revocation of Roe vs. Wade saddens me. (And makes me happy to live in Canada). Can I acknowledge there’s another side? Yes, I’ve heard their arguments. But at no time, in my class, could I be objective or dispassionate enough about this hot-button issue to clearly evaluate their debate or research skills—what I was actually supposed to be teaching them.
I am all about teaching social justice, diversity, equity and inclusion in the classroom, and I did it all the time. However, getting into a debate with students about the conception life and the meaning of death was not something I wanted to wade into.
So when I came across Dan Solomon’s The Fight for Midnight (Flux, 2023), I hesitated. The YA novel is based on real-life events. It’s set in Texas in 2013 during a fraught political filibuster where politician Wendy Davis was trying to stop restrictive and harmful pro-life legislation. Protagonist Alex Collins—whose had a rough year after losing is best friend, getting bullied and has been sentenced to community service—finds himself at the state legislature when a girl he’s been crushing on calls him for support. He’s never given much thought to abortion one way or another, and he honestly doesn’t even know what side he’s on.
This is what made me pause. Could I read a story where a character might be convinced of something so fundamentally opposed to my personal beliefs? Reading is supposed to open us up to new ideas, to allow us to see new possibilities. We see new life, new stories, new ways of thinking—shouldn’t I carry that optimism into this novel as well? But how could I enjoy being in the head of a teen whose ideas might be incompatible with mine?
Dan Solomon surprised me. He reminded me exactly what YA lit is supposed to do. Alex doesn’t know what to believe; he has to hear both sides to make up his own mind. And I had to let him. But why I was able to “let him”, was because Solomon wrote both sides with care and compassion. Solomon himself supports my point of view; he makes that clear in an Author’s Note. But he doesn’t demonize the other side. And that’s where the magic happens. We can disagree—even vehemently—with each other, but we can do so with empathy. I may not understand why old (white) men in power feel the need to control women’s bodies (are they funding social services for the children the women must bear even if they can’t afford them or properly look after them? Are they stepping up to adopt all those children whose “lives they’ve saved?”). But I don’t need to demonize them. They are not the devil. In my opinion, they are misguided, yes, but still human.
Teens need that perspective. Teens are often reactionary and idealistic, a combination that can lead to emotionally entrenched opinions. This isn’t necessarily wrong, but it doesn’t hurt to remind them that they could take a minute to stop and think.
Alex does that in Solomon’s book. Alex has a lot to think about, and Solomon shows us his thought process with so much compassion and understanding that it renewed my faith in tackling difficult topics with teens.
Life happens to all of us. Teens included. YA literature is a most amazing way of helping them (and us adults) figure it all out.