On Thursday morning, residents of yet another state woke to learn that their duly elected representatives had passed yet another bill to pare down their constitutional rights to, more or less, nothing. This time, the setting is not Georgia or Alabama but Missouri, where the state senate voted to ban abortion altogether after eight weeks of pregnancy. "Together we stand as one to defend the unborn, and it’s a subject we care deeply about," proclaimed State Senate Majority Leader Caleb Rowden, choking up as he spoke. The law contains no exceptions for victims of rape, human trafficking, or incest.

This marks the third time in a week in which a legislative body has passed a draconian anti-choice bill, and the third time in a week in which a chief executive has immediately issued a solemn proclamation of their duty to sign it. "Georgia is a state that values life," said Governor Brian Kemp on Tuesday. "This legislation stands as a powerful testament to Alabamians' deeply held belief that every life is precious and that every life is a sacred gift from God," echoed Governor Kay Ivey on Wednesday.

In Missouri, Governor Mike Parson is still waiting on the state house to act, but his signature is a formality. "My administration will execute the laws the legislature passes, and this pro-life administration will not back down," he told reporters late on Wednesday. It is Groundhog Day, but for state-sanctioned misogyny.

That this is all happening at once—that so many right-wing types are rushing to unveil their very own attacks on abortion rights, each one both paying tribute to its predecessors and inspiring the one that will follow—is not an accident. It is the product of a two-pronged, decades-long strategy of seizing control of state legislatures and installing conservative ideologues on the bench, all so that the men and women (mostly men) who pass laws will have their handiwork evaluated by men and women (again, mostly men) who share their worldview.

At last, with the confirmation of Republican justice Brett Kavanaugh, there exists for the first time since Roe v. Wade was decided in 1973 a five-justice majority inclined to overturn it. In some circles, the early celebrations are under way. "Now that President Donald Trump has supercharged the effort to remake the federal court system by appointing conservative jurists who will strictly interpret the Constitution," said Alabama lieutenant governor Will Ainsworth, "I feel confident that the U.S. Supreme Court will overturn Roe and finally correct its 46-year-old mistake."

For conservatives, the long-coveted jackpot is finally big enough. Each one of these laws is another lottery ticket bought to hasten the payoff.

In the meantime, there isn't a lot that people dreading these developments can do to intervene, because the anti-choice movement has captured each lever of power through which the country's pro-choice majority might otherwise exert its influence. The federal judges who decide abortion cases are tenured for life, protected by the Constitution from facing any kind of referendum on their job performance. The state legislatures in Republican hands will remain that way until the next election. Even then, voting out the bad ones is an uphill battle, because state legislatures in Republican hands have proven adept at suppressing votes and gerrymandering districts to preserve their party's stranglehold on power.

This, too, is part of the emerging pattern: Activists searching frantically for something sturdy to hold on to, alarmed to discover the extent of their own helplessness. Last Thursday, Republicans in the Alabama senate attempted, by a hasty voice vote, to remove from their bill any exceptions for rape and incest, igniting a fierce shouting match with incensed Democrats. "Heck no!" yelled Minority Leader Bobby Singleton as Ainsworth, presiding over the chamber, banged the gavel and called for order. It was a visceral reaction to an injustice so egregious that he couldn't believe it was happening in front of him. "No, no, no, no!"

Singleton objected fiercely to the bill's substance, yes. But in that moment, what he was actually demanding was a roll-call vote—a ceremonial delay that would first require each member of the chamber, one by one, to make public their positions on whether the state would require a rape victim to carry her rapist's child to term. After a few moments, his Democratic colleague Vivian Davis Figures stepped to the microphone and asked for calm. "You're going to get your way," she told Ainsworth. "But at least do it fairly. Do it the right way. That's all that I ask."

Putting an end to this cycle will require decades of hard work on the part of progressive groups: to expand voting rights, to fight gerrymandering, to win state judicial elections, to take back state houses that Democrats have ceded to their ultraconservative opponents. It will be a slow, messy, decentralized effort, proceeding in fits and starts. And even if they succeed, the promises of Roe may well be gone by then. Earning them back will become part of the struggle, too.

This headline of this post has been updated to more clearly reflect the anti-abortion movement's ideological nature.