Guilt over the recognition of my near two decades of ambivalence toward such a critical issue. Guilt over the realization that I was way off about those terms. Guilt over the fact that at some point I saw this in such stark terms. The story belongs to Amanda (and she is a far superior storyteller) so I will just encourage you to listen to “ Voicemail for Jill” and find whatever you can on Amanda talking about abortion.Īmanda Palmer’s impassioned, intimate performance engulfed me in guilt which was closely followed by resolve. The idea that a legislature would have the power to tell my love what she could or could not do with her body was an overwhelming and painful realization. Sitting next to my partner-in-life, a woman I love more than anything on this planet, and hearing Amanda sing about then describe her own experience, opened a window in my conscience that should never have been closed in the first place. (38!) We were in Atlanta just after the legislature of Georgia passed a law banning most abortions. Then Amanda Palmer performed her one woman show There Will Be No Intermission. I came to say I was pro-choice, mostly because I recognized my own ignorance and, as a man who could not get pregnant, it was not my place to say much of anything. It seemed like the impossible debate so I.didn’t. Healthcare, foreign policy, taxes- we could list dozens of issues that deserve a robust discussion. There are reasonable arguments to be had about a lot of policy issues facing American society. For much of my twenties the good versus evil approach to most hot button political and moral questions was replaced by a both-sides, hands-off bent. Even today I have to step back and ask how my attitudes about certain issues are influenced by the brainwashing I suffered in church. Seedling ideas about the world were upended with little resistance but the granite faces of well-established beliefs would not go down so easy. The education and exposure to disparate viewpoints brought on by university life were a glacier carving new paradigms into this young man’s life. It was in college - in a fraternity of all places - that my own worldview expanded beyond the black and white moral dichotomy of a Baptist upbringing. Things are either right or wrong, and in that case the choice must be clear.
Moral questions are easy to answer in such a state. White kids growing up in mid-sized Southern towns often have a hefty dose of entitled rebelliousness, but lack a critical eye about the nuances of resistance and which battles are worth fighting. We listened to conservative talk show hosts on the way to Wednesday night service as they railed against the killers of defenseless children. We attended vigils for “the unborn” where women from the church told stories of regret from ending pregnancies in their teens. Knights in shining armor charged with doing everything in our power - paying for billboards, picketing women’s health clinics, voting for old man Republicans - to stop the nefarious Democrats and their murderous agenda. Across salvation’s battlefield sat us Christians. On one side The Democrats and their treacherous, diabolical desire to kill babies sat on their black horses, empowered by Satan to do his bidding. Growing up in a conservative, evangelical household in the 1980s and 90s, the abortion discussion was framed as a battle between good and evil. Reasonable minds should not differ on that fact. It is far from me or any other man whose biology prevents the necessity of such a decision to tell any woman what she should do with her body. I will never have an abortion because I cannot get pregnant.
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