“I AM THE PRO-LIFE GENERATION!”
I had taken to holding my that particular sign in transportation stops, while I waited for the bus or the train to come pick me up to go home.
It’s fun, or else interesting, to see the reactions of people passing by. I have ended up doing this as a social experiment - which gives me knowledge of the people of Boston, and their beliefs.
“You’re trash,” one mid-twenties man said. Another gave me the finger. The girls were quieter. I saw them whisper with their friends, as they pointed at me, a disgusted look on their faces. Some are bolder.
“No one wants to see your sign,” one women said.
“You have no right over my body.” This girl sparked a greater conversation, with others who had been staring joining in to say quotes such as:
“What about rape and incest? Do you actually believe in abortion in that case?”
“As a woman, you should believe in our freedom to choose,”
“The ‘pro-life generation’ is stupid.” It was ridiculous, and a more extreme reaction then I had assumed I'd see.
“Did you ever consider that, as a woman, you have the 50% chance of aborting a girl? Female genocide? Is that really what you are fighting for?” I tried to say this over the roar of the bus coming.
“Number 57, to Kenmore,” the microphone on the vehicle intoned. I got lost in the crowd, finally reserving myself a seat. A woman sat down next to me.
“Is it scary?” she asked, “To hold that sign like that?”
I shrugged.
“I find it empowering,” I said, “There’s no protest--just spreading the message that we’re out there, that other pro-life young adults aren’t alone.”
She nodded.
“I’d be nervous,” she said, shifting in her seat, “You’re brave.”
“Are you pro-life?” I asked. She shook her head.
“No.”
I hesitated for a second. I haven’t been doing this for very long at all, and I’d never come across someone who disagreed with me.
“Why?” I asked.
“I guess I just don’t want a women to suffer with a fetus they don’t want.”
“What about the baby?” I question, “Don’t they matter too?” She tilted her head.
“I guess. But rape and incest? You have to believe it’s the mother’s choice.”
“Why would you put a women who has been through extreme trauma, into another traumatic situation? Getting an abortion isn’t comfortable, not to mention that fact that regardless of ‘what’ is being removed, you are still taking away something. I would call that a double invasion of the body.”
“What about babies born with extreme disabilities?” I took out my phone, and scrolled through my camera roll.
“This is my brother,” I said, showing her the picture of Alex, using his cane (for the blind,) walking across a parking lot, jumping up and down. A slight smile twitched on her face.
“They said he was going to be a ‘vegetable,’” I told her, “Doctors didn’t believe in him. But my parents did.” He’s human too. I shoved my backpack under my seat. “It is not up to us to decide who lives and dies. We don’t have the right to dictate someone’s life.” The bus came to a halt.
“This is my stop,” she said. Standing, she met my eyes and said, “Keep doing what you’re doing.”
I sat there for a few seconds...and then pulled out my earbuds. Keep doing what I’m doing? Hell yeah.
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