In March 2005, Aronson started to research the status quo of the abortion debate. The research would determine whether Frontline decided to move forward with the documentary or not. “Part of the job of the producer is not just getting a green light from David [Fanning], but is actually vetting the story idea,” explains Aronson. She chose as her associate producer Amy Baxt , who had joined Little Rain in 2002.

The two women criss-crossed the country in search of experts, background, and a compelling story. They identified and talked to activists on both the pro-life and pro-choice sides of the debate. They interviewed academics and authors on abortion politics. They also talked to lawyers and judges. While they did not have a camera with them, they were gathering material and would return later to get it on film. Clarifies Aronson:

It’s a combination of reporting and pre-production… The minute that you have the cameras involved, it’s very expensive.

What Aronson and Baxt discovered was that the 1992 Casey v. Planned Parenthood of Pennsylvania case had changed the political landscape more profoundly than generally appreciated. Pro-choice advocates at the time had celebrated the Casey decision because the Supreme Court had not overturned Roe v. Wade . But pro-life advocates had taken full advantage of what Casey provided: greater state-level control over restrictions on abortion so long as they served a “legitimate state interest.” This latitude had led to wide differences among states in the availability of abortions.

Which story? Knowing this, Aronson conferred with Fanning and Wiley about the direction the film could take. It was their first tough editorial call. As they explored the topic, they debated where to focus. One possibility was to chronicle the evolution of the legal environment since Roe v. Wade . A serious look at the legislative history of abortion would be praiseworthy, but inevitably present the filmmaker with a nuanced conceptual story difficult to tell in pictures. Another option was to create a human interest film more along the lines of the earlier “Abortion Clinic” about individual women’s experiences. That would have great emotional impact and was almost guaranteed to make for compelling footage. Or conceivably the documentary could try to do both, which ran the risk of doing neither particularly well.

Fanning worried, he says, “that we were going to end up with a big, ‘everything you probably are tired of hearing about abortion’ film. It’s all very worthy but I’m just not sure it’s something you necessarily would want to watch.” To avoid that, he envisioned a film “about tactics and about a campaign.”

I thought that being able to tell the story of how the organized pro-life movement had laid out templates for shifting the ground locally was a very, very good story and, at the time we went at it, a relatively untold story.

Aronson wanted to elect the third—and arguably riskier—option. Wiley was not so sure. “I believe there is an inherent contradiction in trying to tell a good history of the political battle and a current affairs, on-the-ground-now approach,” he said in an April 20 email. ^[8] He suggested instead a two-part film, with the first on history and the second focused on a state.

In the end, they opted for the ambitious goal of telling the legislative story, but enlivening it with personal scenes from the frontlines of the abortion debate. They also agreed to focus on one state, which could illustrate just how effective the pro-life movement had been. Persuaded by the discussion and Aronson’s research, Wiley supported the decision. “You have to be very careful not to let a preconceived notion take hold about what a film might be about,” says Wiley. “You have to trust your reporter. That’s basically the bottom line.” The next question was: Which state?

Which state? How far could a state go to regulate abortion without any change at all in existing federal law? Where had the pro-life movement scored its greatest success? Aronson’s quest for answers to those questions led her to consider several states, including Pennsylvania, North Dakota, Alabama, California, and Mississippi. In two states, she and Baxt discovered, there remained only a single abortion clinic: South Dakota and Mississippi. Expands Aronson:

If you look at the landscape of America, where is it hardest to get an abortion? That’s where I wanted to go, because I was looking at states which had been very activist in a pro-life kind of way. I was deliberately looking at how the states had been taking action to pass laws around abortion.

Aronson actively researched both states. At first, she favored a focus on South Dakota. “There were all sorts of stereotypes about Mississippi being conservative, and you would just assume it would be pro-life. South Dakota was a little bit more of an unknown,” recalls Aronson. But no one from the lone South Dakota abortion clinic would agree to meet with her. In fact, it was very difficult to find anyone to speak on the record about abortion at all. Moreover, the state was so sparsely populated that even absent strict abortion laws, it could likely have supported only a couple of abortion clinics.

Mississippi, by contrast, offered a complex and intriguing situation. It was hard to get an abortion. Abortions were relatively expensive, there was only one clinic, and there was a social stigma attached to the procedure. The state had taken full advantage of Casey , passing a 2003 law which allowed health-care providers to refuse any abortion-related service, including referrals. It also was one of only two states which required the consent of both parents for a minor to get an abortion. The state’s governor, lieutenant governor, and attorney general were all pro-life. After discussions with Fanning and Wiley, Aronson by late April decided to focus on Mississippi.

Terminology. As she narrowed her focus, Aronson was also making key decisions. “Basically, you’re doing an awful lot of editorial decision-making every step of the way,” she observes. For example, what should she call each side in the debate? Many of those she hoped to interview wanted to know what she intended to do. The pro-life movement termed its opponents pro-abortion; the pro-choice movement referred to its opponents as anti-choice; and “each movement has a very strong opinion about the terminologies,” she says. “A pro-life person would say, ‘you’re not pro-choice, you are pro-abortion, so you are pro death of the fetus.’” After consulting with Executive Editor Wiley, Aronson decided to call the two movements what they called themselves.

On June 3, 2005, as she left the office to get married the next day and go on a honeymoon, Aronson submitted her research report . The topic, as she defined it, was “to explore abortion politics today by looking at both the national and the state level.” She thought she had successfully found a focus for the film, as well as lined up key interviews. The one looming exception, however, was also a potential deal breaker. Aronson still had not found an abortion clinic in Mississippi or nearby which would let her film crew in the door.