One of the best Pro-Choice Essays I've read in a while

The Rights Of the Born
By Anne Lamott, ANNE LAMOTT is a novelist and essayist. Her most recent book is "Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith" (Riverhead, 2005).
February 10, 2006

EVERYTHING WAS going swimmingly on the panel. The subject was politics and faith, and I was on stage with two clergymen with progressive spiritual leanings, and a moderator who is liberal and Catholic. We were having a discussion with the audience of 1,300 people in Washington about many of the social justice topics on which we agree the immorality of the federal budget, the wrongness of the president's war in Iraq. Then an older man came to the mike and raised the issue of abortion, and everyone just lost his or her mind.

Or, at any rate, I did.

Maybe it was the way in which the man couched the question, which was about how we should reconcile our progressive stances on peace and justice with the "murder of a million babies every year in America." The man who asked the question was soft-spoken, neatly and casually dressed.

First Richard, a Franciscan priest, answered that this is indeed a painful issue but that it is not the only "pro-life" issue that progressives even Catholics should concern themselves with during elections. There are also the matters of capital punishment and the war in Iraq, and of HIV. Then Jim, an evangelical, spoke about the need to reduce the number of unwanted pregnancies, and the need to diffuse abortion as a political issue, by welcoming pro-choice and pro-life supporters to the discussion, with equal respect for their positions. He spoke gently about how "morally ambiguous" the issue is.

I sat there simmering, like a samovar; nice Jesusy me. The moderator turned to me and asked quietly if I would like to respond. I did: I wanted to respond by pushing over our table.

Instead, I shook my head. I love and respect the Franciscan and the evangelical, and agree with them 90-plus percent of the time. So I did not say anything, at first.

Then, when I was asked to answer the next question, I paused, and returned to the topic of abortion. There was a loud buzzing in my head, the voice of reason that says, "You have the right to remain silent," but the voice of my conscience was insistent. I wanted to express calmly, eloquently, that pro-choice people understand that there are two lives involved in an abortion one born (the pregnant woman) and one not (the fetus) but that the born person must be allowed to decide what is right.

Also, I wanted to wave a gun around, to show what a real murder looks like. This tipped me off that I should hold my tongue, until further notice. And I tried.

But then I announced that I needed to speak out on behalf of the many women present in the crowd, including myself, who had had abortions, and the women whose daughters might need one in the not-too-distant future people who must know that teenage girls will have abortions, whether in clinics or dirty backrooms. Women whose lives had been righted and redeemed by Roe vs. Wade. My answer was met with some applause but mostly a shocked silence.

Pall is a good word. And it did not feel good to be the cause of that pall. I knew what I was supposed to have said, as a progressive Christian: that it's all very complicated and painful, and that Jim was right in saying that the abortion rate in America is way too high for a caring and compassionate society.

But I did the only thing I could think to do: plunge on, and tell my truth. I said that this is the most intimate decision a woman makes, and she makes it all alone, in her deepest heart of hearts, sometimes with the man by whom she is pregnant, with her dearest friends or with her doctor but without the personal opinion of say, Tom DeLay or Karl Rove.

I said I could not believe that men committed to equality and civil rights were still challenging the basic rights of women. I thought about all the photo-ops at which President Bush had signed legislation limiting abortion rights, surrounded by 10 or so white, self-righteous married men, who have forced God knows how many girlfriends into doing God knows what. I thought of the time Bush appeared on stage with children born from frozen embryos, children he calls "snowflake babies," and of the embryos themselves, which he calls the youngest and most vulnerable Americans.

And somehow, as I was answering, I got louder and maybe even more emphatic than I actually felt, and said it was not a morally ambiguous issue for me at all. I said that fetuses are not babies yet; that there was actually a real difference between pro-abortion people, like me, and Klaus Barbie.

Then I said that a woman's right to choose was nobody else's goddamn business. This got their attention.

A cloud of misery fell over the room, and the stage. Finally, Jim said something unifying enough for us to proceed that liberals must not treat people with opposing opinions on abortion with contempt and exclusion, partly because it's tough material, and partly because it is so critical that we win these next big elections.

It was not until the reception that I finally realized part of the problem no one had told me that the crowd was made up largely of Catholics.

I had flown in at dawn on a red-eye, and, in my exhaustion, had somehow missed this one tiny bit of information. I was mortified: I had to eat my body weight in chocolate just to calm myself.

But then I asked myself: Would I, should I, have given a calmer answer? Wouldn't it have been more useful and harder to dismiss me if I had sounded more reasonable, less what is the word spewy?

Maybe I could have presented my position in a less strident, divisive manner. But the questioner's use of the words "murder" and "babies" had put me on the defensive. Plus I am so confused about why we are still having to argue with patriarchal sentimentality about teeny weenie so-called babies some microscopic, some no bigger than the sea monkeys we used to send away for when real, live, already born women, many of them desperately poor, get such short shrift from the current administration.

Most women like me would much rather use our time and energy fighting to make the world safe and just and fair for the children we do have, and do love and for the children of New Orleans and the children of Darfur. I am old and tired and menopausal and would mostly like to be left alone: I have had my abortions, and I have had a child.

But as a Christian and a feminist, the most important message I can carry and fight for is the sacredness of each human life, and reproductive rights for all women is a crucial part of that: It is a moral necessity that we not be forced to bring children into the world for whom we cannot be responsible and adoring and present. We must not inflict life on children who will be resented; we must not inflict unwanted children on society.

During the reception, an old woman came up to me, and said, "If you hadn't spoken out, I would have spit," and then she raised her fist in the power salute. We huddled together for awhile, and ate M&Ms to give us strength. It was a kind of communion, for those of us who still believe that civil rights and equality and even common sense will somehow be sovereign, some day

Where do you Splurge?

Everyone has things they like to splurge on. Most of the time I buy the cheapest thing I can find, but there are somethings that only one brand will do. Here are the things we like to spend the extra money on in our house. What things are worth the money to you?

~Thomas Bagels. They cost twice as much as other bagels, but they're huge and yummy and soft and oh yeah, yummy.

~The fastest cable internet connection I can find. Yeah, I know you can get dial-up for 10 bucks a month. I'm impatient. I like it fast. Plus I don't have a land line.

~New Balance Tennis Shoes. They're comfy. They last. They go with almost anything. 'Nuff said.

~Pamper's Swaddlers Diapers. They're the only ones I've found that don't leak. Plus I like the velcro tabs.

~Hair cuts/colors. Yeah, I spend $150 getting my hair done once in a while. But I feel soooo nice afterwards.

~DVR Service. Not home to watch Desperate Housewives? Baby crying in the middle of the Kentuky Derby? Pause. Rewind. Play. Awesome.

~Dyson Vacuum. You have not vacuumed your house till you've used one of these. Seriously. You'll be grossed out about how much stuff was actually in your carpet the first time you use it. If you have a pet, it's totally worth every penny.

~Britax Carseat. Mainly because I iked the color, but it's supposedly the safest one on the market. Because safety matters.

And then there are things I'm a cheap ass about. Where do you go cheap-o?

~My cell phone. I always get the free phone that comes with the plan. Because, really, do I need a camera when I'm on the phone?

~My car. I drive a cheap car and I probably always will. I would like to upgrade to something a little bigger in the future, but nothing expensive.

~ Bread. I buy the 88-cent-a-loaf white bread that will probably kill me someday.

~My silverware. Literally every piece of silverware we own has been stolen from a restaurant. I didn't do it. But someone I know very well, did, and he was kind enough to provide.

~Books. I used to buy books all time. Then I realized you can get the for free at the library. And yes, of course I take them back. What are you going to do with them after you read them, anyway?

So, what do you spend money on? What are you a cheap-o on?

My Hunny is so Sweet :o)

Friday morning I was kinda grumpy because we weren't going to be able to anything for my birthday. Donald had to work all weekend and couldn't get out of it, so I was feeling kind of lonely, I guess. Anyway, Friday afternoon there was a knock on my door and it was a guy holding a vase of flowers. Hunny sent me flowers! The first time, EVER, I might add. Donald hates flowers...he thinks they're a waste of money. I guess they are, really...I mean, they just die in a few days, but they're still pretty. When we lived in Wisconsin, there was a gas station that sold flowers for pretty cheap, so on my birthday and Valentine's Day I'd always get Kwik Trip flowers, but never any other kind. We used to always joke about that....

So, yeah...hunny sent me a dozen roses in a pretty vase. And, he got me the new Jewel CD and a CD of the London Theatre Orchestra performing songs from the Phantom of the Opera. AND a cross-stitch pattern of Van Gogh's Starry Night. AND (maybe the best of all) he stayed up with Lilo last night so I could get some sleep, even though he had to be to work early this morning. He's a good hunny....I think I'll keep him :o)

It's goona be a looong day....

Oh, it is not going to be a good day.

I didn't get to bed last night until 4:30 a.m. Donald worked at the bowling alley last night, and I can never get to sleep until he's home, and he got home reeeeaaally late last night. And, don't you know, the night I stay up late is the night Lilo sleeps for crap. She woke up three times between 4:30 and 7:30 wanting to nurse, two of those times crying. I think she might be going through a growth spurt, but she picked a real bad night to do it! So, 7:45 Lilo woke up again, but this time there was no putting her back to sleep because she was all sweaty and warm. Up we go, and on the way to her bedroom to change her diaper, she puked all over me. Puke on 3 hours of sleep is bad. Now she's playing on her blanket and is all smiles, but I can't wait for her morning nap. Mama needs a a nap, too.

If I don't get some sleep today I'm going to be forced to do some serious shopping therapy. And nobody wants to see that happen.

Updated to Add: She puked again. All over her play mat, all over herself. When I took her to the bedroom to clean her up, I discovered a dirty diaper straight from hades. This resulted in the crib sheets becoming infested with poo, even though I had put down a waterproof pad. 10 wet wipes and a new outfit later, I discovered she had puke in her hair too. Chunky puke. Ahhh.....too many bodily functions too early causes insanity.

Guess Jeans

I'm thinking of putting together a collection of short stories from my life, basically just so I have them written down. I was shopping the other day, and was reminded of an incident that took place was I was 12 or 13, and decided to start there. Here's the first installment:


When I was in middle school, all I wanted was a pair of Guess jeans. All of the cool kids had them, and even some of the not-so-cool kids. I begged my mom nearly every day. The only answer I got was, "We can't afford them."

My mom finally reached her breaking point one day while we were doing our annual fall school shopping. I think it was right before the start of 7th grade. We were at Sears, buying sensible clothing that she could afford, when I started in on the Guess jeans routine. Right in the middle of the store, she grabbed me by the arm, led me to Bergner's (the expensive store), and made me pick out a pair of Guess jeans. I didn't know what was going on, but I picked out my jeans and mom paid for them. I don't remember how much they cost, but I'm sure it was more than mom was planning on spending at Sears. After that, we went back to Sears to continue our shopping. Mom picked out some clothes for my brother and sister, and went to check out. I was confused. What about me? I asked mom when we were going to go buy the rest of my clothes for the year. She just looked at me, and then she said, "I could have bought you three pairs of jeans here for what I paid for the one pair that you so desperately needed. So this year, instead of having three pairs of jeans to wear to school, you'll have one. But I'm sure that's fine with you since they are the coolest pants around, right?" Suddenly my jeans weren't so cool.

The reality of having one nice pair of pants to wear to school finally set in around the second week of school, when kids were starting to notice that I kept wearing the same pants every day. I finally caved, and began wearing some of my too-short jeans from the previous year. My mom never said anything to me about it, but I'm sure inside she was shaking her head and saying, "I told you so."

I went to a big, suburban middle school in the best part of the city. We lived in a duplex right in the heart of the good part of town. In our backyard, literally, was the Saxer Mansion. I remember longingly looking out the window and wishing I lived there. Our house wasn't bad, but it wasnt ours. The duplex was the only rental unit on the block. Many of the kids I was so envious of lived just a block away, where the new subdivisions began. They would often ride their bikes past our house and I would wish that I could follow them home. It was as if I was always on the brink of something good, but couldn't quite reach it.