On Civility

I've been seeing a lot of talk about “civility” over the last week or so, and I thought I might add my two cents to the discussion. It's an issue I've dealt with before, at length. My particular “trigger issue”, the one I have put the vast majority of my time, effort, research, and energy into, happens to be reproductive rights. And my specialty within that issue is late term abortion. This means that I've spent much of the last decade in one of the most contentious, ideological, intensely personal issues of our time, and most of that defending the procedures that send the opposition into mouth-foaming fits of “righteous” rage. There isn't enough space to even begin to list the things I've been called, or the acts I've been accused of – and frankly, you don't want to hear most of it.

Now, please understand something here: my interest in this subject is deeply personal, and I am no angel when it comes to a full-on argument. The fact of the matter is, I am furiously angry at what I was put through, all in the name of “saving babies” (even the ones who can't be saved). And when someone cavalierly states that “these situations are too rare to be of concern”, or tries to use the guilt-trip of, “a real mother would die for her child”, I will absolutely unload both barrels upon their unfortunate selves, and with a grin on my face.

But here's the thing. I have every right to do so. I was severely, permanently damaged by the policies they would impose on every woman in this country. I suffered physically, mentally, and emotionally, to a degree far more traumatizing than was even remotely necessary under the circumstances. And this was not done in an effort to “save” a life – her death was a foregone conclusion, the moment the ultrasound showed a blank space where the top of her head, and her brain, should have been. No, this was done for an idea, for a concept, for an opportunity to sanctimoniously stand up and state that one is willing to adhere to the letter of the command they have been given, regardless of the facts in the case.

Basically, I was tortured for two full months so that someone could piously declare that “at least the precious baby had a chance”. And if I had died along with her, if my children had attended a double funeral, instead of one for their lost sister... well, God's will. Unfortunate, but well worth it. Because a “chance” (in hell) is far more important than the actual, realized life of a woman.

Yes, I'm angry. I'm disgusted by those who would prioritize a potential life over a real, lived one. I'm horrified by a person who is willing to insist that others must die, not for any net gain, but so they can basically earn Brownie points, good for admission into their imagined afterlife Paradise. I find it vicious, deliberately cruel, and completely reprehensible. And I do not mince words.

And I have been called “uncivil”. Oh, you bet I have. I've been told I'm just “angry”, that I need to moderate my tone if I ever expect anyone to listen to what I have to say. And here's what I have to say to those calls for “civility”.

You can fuck right the fuck off.

I tried asking nicely. That I would even have to ask to be considered, that my life was of so little consequence that it would be ignored completely without my request to be heard, is “uncivil” enough. But even more, it was pointless. Because I was roundly ignored and thrown to the wolves anyway, “civil” request notwithstanding. My doctor asked, also nicely. He was also ignored. And that, right there, is where we get to the real meat of this piece.

Zealots do not respond to civility. They are, by definition, completely driven by the voices in their heads that tell them only their way, their ideas, their beliefs are right. Go before them and give them civility, and they will take it as weakness, an inability to truly commit to the action you are proposing – and they will run you down where you stand, gleefully stomping the accelerator to the floor.

The cries for “civility” you now hear from those on the right, the moaning and pearl-clutching and agonizing over poor, suffering liars-for-pay who are unable to eat a dinner out in peace? They are the tantrums of entitled ideologues who would prefer their opposition to be as ineffective and vulnerable as possible. They do not want those they oppress to fight back. They want them to file quietly into the shower rooms without protest, so those running the taps can get home in time for a good steak and a little “Fox And Friends” before bed.

The same people, the very same ones crying loudest for civility are the ones who called our last president a monkey. Who called his wife a slut for exposing her arms. They daily call refugees rapists, traffickers, drug dealers... people who are no different from me, who have families they love and care for, who work hard, every day, to make their children's lives better than their own. They scream at those who love a person of the “wrong” sex, refuse to serve them, refuse to treat them in their medical offices. Over love! I'm sorry, but when you can genuinely stand up and loudly proclaim that somehow, love is an unforgivable sin – you really need to reevaluate your value system, because buddy, it's screwed beyond repair.

And they kill. Never doubt it, never forget it. They absolutely kill. They have the blood of millions on their hands, victims of the insufferable demands they place upon the world at large. They put them in cages, real and metaphorical, and when those they imprison cry for help, yell out their anger, they berate them for not being “polite” enough.

And they turn up the gospel music to drown out the screams.

I will never stop being angry. I will never stop fighting them, tooth and nail, with every tool at my disposal. And make no mistake, my fury is a tool. My voice, my words, are a tool, and they will not take a single one of those words from me, whether they find them offensive or not.

I find it offensive to be considered to be disposable, of less concern than a nearly dead fetus. And when one compares human lives to a missed meal and some hurt feelings? If you side with the person whose feelings were hurt, over the bleeding body in front of you, you have picked the wrong side. Full stop.

Fuck you, and fuck your civility. I do not grovel before murderers and beg for mercy. You proved to me that doesn't work. You armed me, motherfuckers. Now you can reap what you've sown, and swallow every last bit of incivility I can muster up. And I hope you choke on it.