Everyone Knows That!

[Denise]

Everyone Knows That!

December 2008
By Raymond W. Belair

Raymond W. Belair, senior founding partner of the law firm of Belair & Evans, LLP, has practiced law in New York City for over 30 years. He is a doctoral candidate at the Graduate Theological Foundation in South Bend, Indiana.

On a mild Sunday in early October, I was reminded at Mass that it was Respect Life Sunday. On this day, "life chains" are organized as people stand along the sides of roadways, typically near their local churches, holding placards proclaiming the sanctity of human life to oncoming motorists. In one formulation or another, the message is conveyed that since life is worth living it is also worth saving. Our parish is not situated on a roadway appropriate for this exercise, so I chose to attend a life chain at a neighboring parish situated on the main thoroughfare in the area.

Arriving slightly late, I found a full selection of placards still available and selected one with the most direct message: "Abortion Kills Children!" I then took up position at one end of the line, 50 yards away from the nearest colleague. Some young children, who apparently came with their parents, were riding around on their bikes, offering us donuts.

Things were uneventful. As the traffic light changed at the corner by the church, cars would drive toward us and our signs would go up. After they passed, the opposite lane of traffic was given a view.

After a while, a friend of mine pulled his car over and got out to chat. As he was doing so, I noticed a woman peering over the top of my sign. She snapped a picture of me with a camera. My friend speculated that she was from the local newspaper, but the woman (I will call her "Abby") made it clear that she was not. Rather, she said she wanted to get a picture "of an a- -hole who's stupid enough to hold such a sign," so she could share it on the Internet with her buddies. She took our presence as a personal harassment, since she was the regional director of the Northeast Abortion Polycentric Institute (a pseudonym) and lived close by. She concluded that we were there because of her. In any event, I was stupid, my sign was stupid, my bow tie was stupid, anyone involved in the life chain was stupid, and we were doing this in her "backyard," she informed me.

My friend noted that the effort would last only one hour, and that another life chain would then begin at the Church of the Immaculate Conception, a few miles away. "Immaculate Conception!" Abby roared. "Isn't that another f- - - -d-up bulls- -t myth? I'll tell you about conception," she continued. "Conception ruins lives. That's why terminations have saved so many young women from miserable lives."

Essentially silent until then, as she turned to leave, I could not help pointing out that she was very fortunate that her mother had not shared her view on abortion. As I said this, I began to think I had made a terrible mistake. Her eyes seemed to change from whatever color they had been into the deep black orbs of a shark. "My mother had no reproductive choice in Massachusetts in 1966!" she screamed, thus announcing her age to be 42.

Things got worse from there, as my friend made a point I cannot recall, which unleashed another obscenity-laden verbal barrage. The point that she owed her existence to a mother who was — at least at that moment — prolife was lost on her. Her vitriol rose along with her volume. "I hate you people, you miserable, f- - -ing bastards. Why don't you go somewhere else and f- - - yourselves and stop f- - -ing up other peoples' lives with your lies? I hate you!" She repeated all this, again concluding, "I hate you!"

Here was an opening. "I love you," I said. "What did you say?" she demanded. I repeated, "I love you. And I will pray for you." The obscenities now flooded forth from her mouth. "I don't want your f- - -ing prayers, you f- - - up!"

All of this had taken place at the edge of the street, not on the sidewalk. And as Abby backed up, she came dangerously close to the oncoming traffic. My friend saw this and intervened, warning her of the danger as he put his hand on her shoulder to guide her toward the safety of the sidewalk. "You f- - - head! Take your f- - -ing hands off me! I'm going to have you arrested!" Abby blurted out. As she reached for her cell phone, my friend indicated it was time to defuse the situation, and he drove off.

Abby continued to rail at me for another minute or so, but then she calmed a bit and began to leave. Just then, three of the young children rode over. They stopped next to me, saying little. One of them had a sign; I don't remember what it said. When Abby saw them, the fearsome intensity flared up in those black eyes again. "What are you kids doing here?" she demanded. "Why don't you go home and watch a movie or something? Why did you let these people bring you here?"

My heart began to pound. I had to help these defenseless youngsters, who couldn't have been more than ten years old. I was afraid for them, but more afraid that if I got in front of her she would erupt in obscenities again. Maybe she would just go away and leave the kids alone.

I was afraid, but the children were not. If they could see her black eyes, they did not recognize the hate in them. They were not familiar with it. It had no effect on them. "You know," she continued, "you could be in a spot when you grow up where you or a friend might need an abortion. You don't belong here. You should go home. Why don't you think about that?"

At last, I thought, here is their chance to get away from her. Just get away. But the children were made of sterner stuff than I was. It was the little girl who answered Abby. She was maybe nine years old. In a calm, matter-of-fact voice, as if she was turning down chocolate ice cream in favor of vanilla, she said, "No. I've thought about it. I'll stay." Abby was visibly deflated. She silently stalked off.

The kids were completely unruffled by the whole thing. How could they be so calm? Part of the reason had to have been that the face of hate was unfamiliar to them, and it had no power over them. But that was only a part of it. The answer lay in their equally matter-of-fact conversation after Abby left. One of the young boys asked no one in particular, "What's the matter with her? Everyone knows that abortion is murder." It was just that simple. They knew the truth and it was self-evident. They were never in fear because they were never in doubt.

I will probably never see those youngsters again. But I will certainly never forget them.

[Johnna]

I am as baffled as those kids at the end of the story. I, too can't see how people don't recognize abortion as murder. What else could it be?