As the United States’ largest public health insurance program, Medicaid has since 1965 played a crucial role in the struggle for equitable health care access. It has the potential to be a powerful instrument of reproductive justice, yet discriminatory policies that deny coverage for vital sexual, reproductive, or other health services, or exclude entire populations of people with low incomes from coverage altogether, constrain peoples’ health and reproductive futures. Resulting discrimination in Medicaid law and policy thwart the program’s ability to promote intergenerational health equity and reproductive justice for underserved communities.

This Article provides an account of why reproductive justice is a necessary framework for examining, reimagining, and reforming Medicaid coverage law and policy. Part I gives a brief history and overview of reproductive justice, which serves as “an open source code that people have used to pursue fresh critical thinking regarding power and powerlessness.” Part II argues that we should utilize that open source code in Medicaid coverage reform. Using some of the reproductive justice movement’s critiques as a starting point, it explores how reproductive oppression has shaped Medicaid coverage law, policy, and mainstream reproductive and health care reform movements’ proposals, and to what effect. It argues that examining Medicaid law, policy, and proposed reforms through this lens and in collaboration with the reproductive justice movement can enable health advocates and policymakers to more fully understand, disrupt, and dismantle reproductive injustices that drive health inequities. Ultimately, it can empower reformers to build a more equitable public health insurance safety net that brings us closer to reproductive justice for all.

Diet is the number one risk factor for deaths in the United States. Members of marginalized and impoverished communities particularly struggle to afford nutritious food. Poor diets result in health disparities along socio-economic, age, racial, ethnic, indigenous, rural, and urban lines. Despite the ever-growing social and financial burden of diet-related chronic diseases, the U.S. has failed to invest in health care-related dietary policy. This Article proposes produce prescriptions as a national dietary preventive medicine program through Medicare, Medicaid, and the Children’s Health Insurance Program (CHIP).

Recently, nonprofits, governments, and health care providers have designed innovative produce prescription programs to combat diet-related chronic diseases. In these programs, clinical providers can prescribe subsidized fruit and vegetables to patients. Produce prescriptions empower patients by making dietary change affordable and by motivating patients to improve their health. Numerous studies, pilot projects, and local programs demonstrate that produce prescriptions can improve health care outcomes for individuals from diverse communities. Most at-risk members of our society receive health coverage through Medicare, Medicaid, or CHIP. This Article analyzes how to scale up produce prescriptions within these programs using law and policy.

Far too many—if not most—of us in the legal profession who belong to both the disability and LGBTQ+ communities have known informally, through our own experiences and those of others like us, that workplace bias and discrimination on the basis of disability, sexuality, and gender identity is still widespread. The new study by Blanck et al. on diversity and inclusion in the U.S. legal profession provides empirical proof of this phenomenon, which might otherwise be dismissed as being based on anecdotal evidence.1 Its findings lend credibility to our position that the legal profession must make systemic changes to address workplace ableism, heterosexism, and transmisia.2 They also suggest possibilities as to where and how it might start to do so through providing information on who employers discriminate against most often and in what forms.3

Dennis Lindberg came into his aunt’s care when he was in the 4th grade because his parents struggled with drug addiction and could not provide for him. At thirteen, he was baptized in his aunt’s faith as a Jehovah’s Witness. Just days after he turned fourteen, on November 6, he was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia.

The prognosis was that Dennis had a 75% chance of cure with standard oncology treatment. Consistent with the requirements of his new faith, however, Dennis told his doctors, “I do not want to be treated if the requirement is that I would have to take a blood transfusion.” His aunt, whose custodial rights seem not to have included medical decisionmaking, was adamant that “[t]his is Dennis’s decision.”

The hospital social worker assigned to Dennis’s case assured his aunt that “having just turned 14, [he] could be considered mature enough to make his own decisions.” But hospital psychologists declined to evaluate Dennis’s maturity because they did “not have the tools for such an assessment.” Established hospital policy described the failure to provide a minor with necessary, life-saving care as medical neglect. Hospital ethicists advised that Dennis’s autonomy interests were outweighed by the benefits associated with treatment. And, standard oncology practice norms are that doctors should push back against minors’ lifesaving treatment refusals. Still, Dennis’s doctor agreed with his social worker and aunt, saying, “We owe respect to a 14-year-old[.]” In this view, he was supported by colleagues on staff and by hospital counsel.

A county judge got the case only at the eleventh hour, on an emergency motion filed by Dennis’s parents and Child Protective Services for a declaration of dependency and to compel the necessary transfusion. Although Dennis was degrading rapidly, his doctor testified that if a transfusion were ordered that day, Dennis still had a 70% chance of survival. The judge had no background in the applicable law and no time to research the issues; nevertheless, he denied the motion concluding, “It is time to do what Dennis has decided.” “Seven hours later, at 6 p.m., on Nov. 28, Dennis died.”1

The state is increasingly criminalizing reproduction. While prosecutions of pregnant people for prenatal drug use began occurring several decades ago,1 this type of prosecution remained relatively rare for many years.2 But such prosecutions have increased dramatically—thousands have now occurred across the United States.3 In addition, the criminalization of reproduction is not limited to instances of prenatal drug use,4 but extends to a wide array of prosecutions in the reproductive space—including the criminalization of stillbirth,5 miscarriage,6 breastfeeding,7 home births,8 and c-section refusals.9 And, of course, recent changes in the Supreme Court have resulted in an almost certain change in the criminal regulation of abortion, as well.10 The criminalization of reproduction often occurs at an initial point of access to the health care system – at the hospital, the doctor’s office, the lactation consultant appointment, or the addiction treatment clinic. In this way, health care settings become gateways into the criminal justice system, and it is the attempt to access reproductive health care that results in criminal prosecution.11

Recent advances in prenatal genetic testing have made testing for congenital disorders more accessible, with emerging technologies promising further expansion of available testing options. In particular, non-invasive prenatal testing (“NIPT”) has allowed women to identify more fetal disorders earlier in pregnancy than was possible only a decade ago. In addition to allowing women to prepare for the birth of a child with a disability, prenatal diagnoses give women the ability to terminate a pregnancy to avoid raising a child with a disability, a choice driven by myriad factors.

In this Article, I explore how nearly continuous public rhetorical challenges to abortion in the political realm first led the public and the courts to turn away from a particular abortion procedure (intact dilation and extraction, also known as partial-birth abortion) which political agitators labeled as “barbaric” and then to view physicians who performed abortions not as legitimate professionals, but simply as “abortionists,” and sometimes as evil “Frankensteins.” “Abortionists” use no “medical judgment” and are unworthy of deference by state legislatures, Congress, or the courts when deciding how or when to perform an abortion. The concentration on the welfare of fetuses and the actions of physicians permitted the abortion debate to bypass discussion of both the rights and welfare of pregnant patients, including their right to health, and to virtually never mention that abortion restrictions primarily affect people in poverty who cannot afford to seek reproductive health care, including an abortion, by traveling to a nonrestrictive state. Understanding the power of extreme rhetoric, including the use of social media in political campaigns and the use and misuse of concrete terms such as murder, infanticide, brutality, and dismemberment, and abstract concepts such as “human dignity,” can help us plot a post-Dobbs way forward. Perhaps the demise of Roe can lead to a birth of a new rhetoric on abortion, one that concentrates on the right to health of everyone, including the right to make reproductive decisions, and requires moving abortion back into the realm of contemporary medicine, complete with a meaningful doctor-patient relationship protected by privacy and financed in a way that is accessible to all pregnant patients.

As the coronavirus pandemic intensified, many communities in the United States experienced shortages of ventilators, intensive care beds, and other medical supplies and treatments. Currently, there is no single national response to provide guidance on allocation of scarce health care resources. Accordingly, states have formulated various “triage protocols” to prioritize those who will receive care and those who may not have the same access to health care services when the population demand exceeds the supply. Triage protocols address general concepts of “fairness” under accepted medical ethics rules and the consensus is that limited medical resources “should be allocated to do the greatest good for the greatest number of people.”1 The actual utility of this utilitarian ethics approach is questionable, however, leaving many questions about what is “fair” unanswered. Saving as many people as possible during a health care crisis is a laudable goal but not at the expense of ignoring patients’s legal rights, which are not suspended during the crisis. This Article examines the triage protocols from six states to determine whose rights are being recognized and whose rights are being denied, answering the pivotal question: If there is potential for disparate impact of facially neutral state triage protocols against Black Americans and other ethnic groups, is this legally actionable discrimination? This may be a case of first impression for the courts to resolve.

“[B]lack Americans are 3.5 times more likely to die of COVID-19 than [W]hite Americans … . Latinx people are almost twice as likely to die of the disease, compared with [W]hite people.” 2

“Our civil rights laws protect the equal dignity of every human life from ruthless utilitarianism … . HHS is committed to leaving no one behind during an emergency, and this guidance is designed to help health care providers meet that goal.” — Roger Severino, Office of Civil Rights Director, U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. 3

In an effort to contain the spread of COVID-19, many states and countries have adopted public health restrictions on activities previously considered commonplace: crossing state borders, eating indoors, gathering together, and even leaving one’s home. These policies often focus on specific activities or groups, rather than imposing the same limits across the board. In this Article, I consider the law and ethics of these policies, which I call tailored policies.

In Part II, I identify two types of tailored policies: activity-based and group-based. Activity-based restrictions respond to differences in the risks and benefits of specific activities, such as walking outdoors and dining indoors. Group-based restrictions consider differences between groups with respect to risk and benefit. Examples are policies that treat children or senior citizens differently, policies that require travelers to quarantine when traveling to a new destination, and policies that treat individuals differently based on whether they have COVID-19 symptoms, have tested positive for COVID-19, have previous COVID-19 infection, or have been vaccinated against COVID-19.

In Part III, I consider the public health law grounding of tailored policies in the principles of “least restrictive means” and “well-targeting.” I also examine how courts have analyzed tailored policies that have been challenged on fundamental rights or equal protection grounds. I argue that fundamental rights analyses typically favor tailored policies and that equal protection does not preclude the use of tailored policies even when imperfectly crafted.

In Part IV, I consider three critiques of tailored policies, centering on the claims that they produce inequity, cause harm, or unacceptably limit liberty. I argue that we must evaluate restrictions comparatively: the question is not whether tailored policies are perfectly equitable, wholly prevent harm, or completely protect liberty, but whether they are better than untailored ones at realizing these goals in a pandemic. I also argue that evaluation must consider indirect harms and benefits as well as direct and apparent ones.

In early June 2021, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (“FDA”) granted Accelerated Approval to Aducanumab (“Aduhelm”) for treating Alzheimer’s disease. The decision was immediately engulfed in controversy because the agency ignored the Scientific Drugs Advisory Committee’s unanimous recommendation not to approve the drug. The FDA granted the approval based on Aduhelm’s ability to lower beta-amyloid levels. However, the agency had not previously indicated this as a surrogate clinical end for the trial, and its own scientific analysis failed to show that amyloid changes correlate with cognitive or functional changes for Alzheimer’s patients. This decision sets dangerous precedent and has the potential to transform the approval process for new drugs including, but not limited to, those meant to treat Alzheimer’s.