When I tell you I found the old mushroom-colored sweatshirt which saw us through thick and thin you will know I am talking about the way the Romans used to have it done, long pole, wad of cloth, vinegar soaked as we raise it to the real hero, his naked pain, the way he eschews ordinary safety for a stretched-to-the-limits agony
I take the brush, add the cleanser, wipe it all down with an uneasy litany
It has been 30 years since I made the (not very complicated) decision not to vote for political candidates who support abortion.
Abortion on-demand–at-all-is and will be our generation’s genocide stain. The comparison to other genocidal impulses* is not that difficult to make–
Genocide systematically dehumanizes the victims
Genocide creates words and epithets to divide victims and devalue them from the rest of us
Genocide targets people who are legally exposed, minorities, female, from disenfranchised classes (often created through the repeated use of dehumanizing terms), the medically fragile, people whose basic human rights have been suspended or exempted
Genocide finds ways to stigmatize and blame the victims
Genocide labels victims as “unwanted”
Genocide institutionalizes, regularizes, industrializes, and monetizes mass murder
And many times genocide co-ops scientists and medical professionals by couching the process of mass killing as medically necessary or scientifically interesting
Genocide kills people.
Do you know the statistics for aborted people in your state, country or region? Do you know when it was legalized and who it targets?
We all should.
We will have to make an account for every one.
*for the purpose of cohesion I have not separated out gendercide, femicide, or the systemic killing of disabled people, all of which characterize abortion and have been components of genocide as well.
The lady in the picture is a fraction of her whole-a bit of glasses, hair like mine. Did she shape the assignment or was it the Wizard of Oz for freshman comp? I don’t know, but as with so many words shaped into injunctions it sticks in my craw–pick the one thing? Not a good thing? Not one among brothers? I suspect literary ambush, which then feels like literary paranoia, but I kick around/go into the weeds with this one thing-
You. You are the one thing. The voice in my head steadying my coward’s heart. My man, Jesus I tell Madeline about that universal division of time into before and after You.
Like if you believed in evolution it would be 50 billion, million zillion years BCE, and those sylphish, wispy 2000 after.