"PRO-LIFE" IN SCARE QUOTES

by KTM/Guante | www.guante.info

And the counterprotestor shouts: what if your mother had decided to abort you? He’s wearing a bright green t-shirt that just says PRO-LIFE; no link or organization or anything, just PRO-LIFE. And in a split second, my brain cycles through all of the possible ways I could reply:

I could say… why is it that the loudest "pro-life" voices, are also, always, the loudest anti-social safety net, anti-access to childcare, anti-access to contraception, anti-living wage, anti-environment, anti-peace, anti-democracy, antisex ed, anti-education in general, anti-healthcare voices?

I could say... if you really believe abortion is murder, you should be on the front lines supporting comprehensive sex ed, universal healthcare, and yeah, Planned Parenthood too: the programs, services, and initiatives that reduce abortion rates more than outlawing it ever could.

I could say... the “pro-life” movement has never actually been about life; it has always been about control. It has always been about enforcing an extreme view of family, sexuality, and authority, and punishing women (and anyone who can get pregnant) for daring to think differently. It has always been about cynically using people’s deeplyheld beliefs as a way to get-out-the-vote to keep the most immoral, manipulative, hypocritical politicians we have in power.

I could respond with any variation on one or more of those points…

And would any of them change his mind?

Is changing his mind the point? How loud do you have to be to put out a house fire with just your voice? How wellconstructed must your argument be to convince the ocean not to take your drowning friend? Do we preach to the choir because it’s easy, or do we preach to the choir because they’re the people who might actually do something?

The counterprotestor asks: what if your mother had decided to abort you? He’s not actually concerned with my metaphysical well-being. He doesn’t care about my young, scared, single mother.

He’s trying to tell a story.

So my response is also a story. It’s just not a story for him.

Someday, we are going to live in a world that truly values life. Where people have not just the choice to have or not have children, but the right to raise them in a community with all the resources and opportunities and freedom and justice and joy they could ever need. Talk about “life” all you want, but I know who’s fighting for that world.

And I know who isn’t.

What They Say

Christina Drown

“Why is there blood in my underwear?” Am I dying? Am I going to be okay? I am 12 years old and I don’t know what a menstrual cycle is.

“Abstinence is your only option.” They don’t tell me what else I can do. They scare me with facts and figures. I am 14 years old and I don’t know what safe sex means.

“The pill is only for people who are having sex and that’s not you.” I feel ashamed for asking. I feel like I am doing something wrong. I am 16 years old and nobody will help me with birth control.

“There are many side effects, it's very dangerous.” They told me I could get birth control without a parent. They said that it would be easy. I am 17 years old and I can’t get access to contraceptives.

“Why don’t we just risk it.” I thought men wanted to wear condoms. I thought they would always be prepared. I am 18 years old and I don’t have any protection.

“This is a really terrible thing you are doing.” They didn’t tell me there would be fake clinics. They told me that everyone has access. I am 20 years old and I can’t get an abortion.

“Welcome to your first day of Women and Gender Sexuality Studies”. I know now I need to seek out my own information. I know that I have other options than what “they” said. I am 22 years old and I am finally learning about my own body.

“I got my period today.” There were tons of hygiene products in the bathroom so I wasn’t worried. I am 12 years old and I know how to handle my menstrual cycle.

“The most important thing you can do is practice safe sex.” I have everything I need in case I decide to engage in sexual activity. I am 14 years old and I am confident in how to have safe sex.

“There are many options for birth control and we will find the right option for you.” I feel empowered and confident. I am 16 years old and I can access contraception.

“You can ask me any questions you want about using birth control.” I have the knowledge I need to be safe. I am 17 years old and I know how to use birth control.

“I brought protection.” I am prepared, I feel ready to have sex. I am 18 years old and I have access to protection.

“Whatever you decide, we will support you through the process.” I know my options and I have the resources I need. I am 20 years old and it is my choice if I get an abortion.

“Welcome to your first day of Women and Gender Sexuality Studies”. I can’t wait to teach this class and empower others. I am 22 years old and I am making a difference.

Genesis 18: Chapter and Verse

Natan Paradise

Sarah laughed, though it was not funny, this decision on her behalf that she would become a mother.

Did they consult her, these men claiming to speak for God, before informing Abraham, “Your wife Sarah shall have a son”?

A rhetorical question, of course: once again, used to being talked about, Sarah learned this eavesdropping at the entrance of the tent, staring down no doubt at her dried, chapped hands, dried from decades of kneading cakes at his command, feeling the weight of breasts also dry, and withered. Ninety years is old enough, she must have thought, to know what you want.

Maybe I wanted a child once, the thought even now suggests some little joy, but forty years past my last period I think I can say I made a life for myself without motherhood, a life of value.

If Sarah laughed in disbelief, it was not that God could do such a thing, wondrous or whatever, knowing from long experience it was the way of women to be told their role–that part had never stopped.

Maybe it was disbelief that once again, after all these years, Abraham would decide her fate for her, without consultation, or informed consent, this man who let Pharoah take her, thinking her just a sister (and though she does not know it yet, Abraham will betray her again with Abimelech).

Have a child with this imperfect hero of a man? Maybe she wanted to laugh in his face but feared to, but still laughed, quietly, sardonically perhaps–but somebody snitched on her, so she lied, and said, No dear, I did not laugh. It must have been somebody else.

And when Sarah heard her husband that very day rebuke God himself, “Shall not the Judge of all the earth deal justly?” was she reassured? Or did she fear a man so filled with self-righteous zeal, fear that man who might one day sacrifice her child on some mistaken altar not of life, but of duty.

Forces Against Scarcity

Kristen Reynolds

1 bed, a hot plate, a window for hazy light. A small sink where she can brush her teeth or clean her dishes. She shares the bathroom at the end of the hall with 6 flatmates. This is affordable luxury.

Today she will visit her family. She pulls at her loose clothes, anticipating her father’s comments.

“You’re not eating” he’ll admonish from the stove. “I’m eating,” she’ll reply, taking a too-hot plate in one hand and passing off rations with the other. Today will be a mix of root vegetables and dried meat, ingredients he’ll be eager for.

Nonetheless, he’ll refuse them. “Take it home, Che.”

She’ll ignore him. He’ll acquiesce.

Her sisters will squeal and Che will take the opportunity to join their games. She’ll tell them how much they’ve grown, how pretty they are. They’ll be delighted, she’ll revel in their joy – a reminder that she can be happy here, too. This is her ritual. Without it, she would be incomplete. Her yearning to have her own children uncoils in her womb. Her fear of what this hostile world will do to them curdles the desire. She wonders how her parents confronted this fear.

She lifts her barcoded wrist to the biometric scanner securing her flat. She is also tracked by this code – her pulse, temperature, hormones. How much she eats, drinks. How frequently she evacuates waste. Noted. She exchanges her labor for this surveillance.

Formerly known as Forces Against Scarcity, FAS promised to blend the power of the imagination with automation to provide jobs and housing for anyone suffering from wage exploitation. It worked. The country became a pock-marked cornucopia of FAS company towns. With expansion came new business interests and as quickly as human suffering became profitable, FAS became VidaTech: Tech for humanity, tech for life.

VidaTech intervenes if their assets seem “unwell.” Her last encounter with their doctors left her curled in the fetal position for days and made clumps of her hair fall out. The hair was normal, they said. The horrific cramps she still experienced–those were a curious development.

The scanner beeps. A gruff voice barks at her through the device. “Medical’s approaching.”

“Please. I was just going to see my family.” Static crackles. Her door clicks open. A mousy man enters. She stares. “I am not ill.”

“I’m aware” he says, skimming a digital file. “But we’re exploring declining birth rates this quarter and you still get periods.”

She recoils. “Being child-free was a condition of my enrollment.”

“Currently, you are.”

“Then I’ll go.” Other options for work were grim. But that was tomorrow’s problem

“Unfortunately, you won’t be able to request disenrollment for 6 months.”

He turns toward the open door, “shall we?”

She seizes the opportunity. He’s unprepared for her to rush him, push him to the ground. She steps on, then over him, running out of the building. Running towards home—the last place that honored her choices. The sound of her sisters’ laughter peals in her ears.