Save Roe

Palin/McCain take over the white house in 09.

Fascinating article on the construct of marriage on the NYT today, taking marriage private. Reading it made me wonder about the time and context shaping the experience of motherhood prior to the public sanctioning of the union known today as marriage.

I’ll come back to this topic later when I’m not so sleepy. For now I keep thinking about the idiotic reason used by a man I dated to justify and pressure the decision not to have the child we “accidentally” procreated. Complex sure, but I dare to say that our ability to exercise our right ends with our ability to exercise our most powerful muscle, our brain.

Watching Love in the Time Cholera, which disappointed almost every expectation hiding lazily in some corner, Red and I stopped by Clair de Lune for a lot of girl talk. Reg comes from the majestically beautiful Panama and has the most beautiful forest green eyes I’ve ever seen. Despite our friendship spanning only for a few months, if not weeks, we meet like old friends do, with a deep sense of warmth and gratitude for who we each are and share. In the spirit of this sense of sisterhood we each shared glimmers of our paths, talked about politics, love and all that rises and falls in between.

Reg talks about the big and small things shifting around in her heart and mind. And so do I. The story of my abortion comes back to my mind like a good reliable friend. With the attentive and caring listening of Reg and of course the nurturing I provide I realize soon that not only am I talking about it more openly, but in so doing I also visit specifics of the abortion that had up until now remained hidden from my awareness. Coming to mind are the faces of the women in the reception room upon arriving. I think I also remember what my companion was wearing, a red t-shirt displaying the British flag and opaque corduroy jacket. I however don’t remember what I was wearing. Forgotten are also the faces of the other male companions, some holding their partner’s hand, some looking more like shadows of bodies they had left somewhere else.

I think too I was a shadow of the woman I had given up somewhere between the first date and the first &*^{%$$ Both happened in the same 42 hour period.}

The next memory has me on the cold table, legs wide open and my head feeling so so large I feel I’m floating like a big yellow balloon. Before my consciousness goes with the balloon, I glimpse over the monitor, which the nurse quickly turns away from me. I don’t know how many hours after; I again step into the reception area, which moves under my feet like a big puddle of sticky stuff. From there the companion and I drive to the cheap hotel where we had stayed.

And from the next image is that of the two of us *&&^% yet again, just 12 hours after the surgery that removed the embryo I had carried for no more than 4 weeks. As I sit there with Reg the insides of my lower abdomen shake. It is then I realize this memory summons as much rage and pain as the actual abortion itself. If there was ever a doubt in my mind of what I represented for the man beside, or on top of me that evening, this memory and the raw emotions it awakens serve as loud reminders. I was a premium pussy. And yet I know I served myself, the self I was back then on a silver platter, pussy and all. I gave my body over the pain, over a weak plea for rest. And there last night I realize the hurt, the violation and the perpetrator sit inside finally coming together. Like Reg and I came together as old friends, the pieces of the story in me also gathered for once.

Noam Chomsky appears in the film, Lake of Fire. Yet, the NYT articles points out, aside from the voice of one or two females the film mostly “has a lot of men about what women should do and not do with their bodies”. I’m interested not so much in what the other men’s stand on the topic, much as I’m intrigued by listening to Mr. Chomsky’s take. The other men’s argument looks like old dust.

The fact that even this documentary, made by a man, primarily I’d say for a male audience, does not include women does not surprise me the least bit. As a matter of fact since following this issue I’ve only come across one book, peace after abortion, that renders the stories of women, some poignantly painful, pivotal. In the very own words of the author of this small, yet uniquely and refreshingly important book, believing ardently in the right of women to make choices about pregnancy does not exclude that at the end of it all, choices imply consequences, including the tremendous suffering associated with abortion.

Like the author of the book I too strongly and passionately support our right to make our very own decisions regarding pregnancy. Yet I also know personally that the decision I made came with life changing suffering. Two years into the abortion I wonder for instance if the decision against my pregnancy would hurt less, had the man in my life at that moment being more of a man to let me decide. But then again, as this man said, it was his sperm that got me pregnant. And if I believe in my right to make my own choice, should I then believe in his right to half of the product of the pregnancy? What happens when each of us claims right to the product of conception from very different perspective? These are the questions, things, the many feelings, and issues that abortion unearths in the lives of the women that have them. Yet these too are the questions that we don’t explore because we get too caught up in the current debate.

More later of course…

Abortion as a Frontline in the Culture Wars. Perhaps too painful to see, judging by the graphic depiction in the article.

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/27/us/27verizon.html?hp

I think it is when the personal merges with the political that we are moved into action. Yet in the case of abortion the political and social overshadows and distorts the personal. Women’s very intimate stories and therefore lives become the casualties in the field of politics when it comes to the issue of abortion. The personal histories of the struggles for real self determination that precedes and follows an abortion disappear in the curtain of smoke of the political war and heavy social stigma. As both sides use the lives and stories of women as weapon in their arsenal for battle, our very intimate stories of pain but also of wisdom are sacrificed.

I want my own story to come to light, but I don’t want my story as arsenal in a war that sacrifices some very elemental truths. The truth is that I was not using contraception and therefore was unquestionably irresponsible. The truth is that I wanted the pregnancy and the baby. The truth is that I was not a full participant in the final decision. The truth is that I am still struggling to let go of the anger. But again, I don’t want truth distorted and used to substantiate and or justify no ones political propaganda. And certainly I don’t want the complexity of my story to signal a weakness of character, at least not mine.

As I write about this I think it is in recounting the intimacy of our stories, without the shadow of shame or stigma, that important lessons are revealed. These lessons in my mind point to the need to raise the bar for personal choice in so far as making both men and women responsible and accountable at equal levels for the capacity of our bodies to reproduce!!!

I am taking small steps to make my story known and the need to make this shift towards shared responsibility and social investment by pushing for better contraceptives for women and start with a few good ones for men!!!