The Abortion Clinic and the Slave Gallery
It's divided the state. The other side will have hell to pay. They have no idea what they've started.
These were the words we heard after the pink tennis shoes, after the protests, after the state troopers. Today, the bill has been signed and my Facebook feed is full of the news announced after the signing: our local Planned Parenthood will close its doors for good.
Division, controversy, protest: as a child of the deep south, specifically the Delta, these ideas are not new to me. They are the stuff of history at my doorstep and seen from the window of every drive we made in any direction from our Louisiana farm. They are the root of the scars, visible and invisible that still mark the land and people of my homeland. They are the root of the wounds which still flare at times.
In the Delta, slavery, segregation, desegregation, racism, race realtions are not distant history and they are not abstract theory. They are the stuff of daily life, even after the south has made so much progress--often ignored-- since the Civil War and the Civil Rights era. I graduated from high school in 1991. My freshman year was the first year we had only one Homecoming Queen instead of a black Queen and a white Queen, with one of each race also represented on the Court. At that time, there were still separate proms for white and black students, a private pool for whites only, and there were separate ball parks in town. The pool is now closed and there is one ballpark for all.
On our rural drives, I saw the history of the area in the plantation homes, some stately, some in crumbling remnants. I saw the Civil War battlegrounds and headstones in roadside cemeteries. Drives were never simple and they always resulted in some mental agitation as I contemplated the juxtaposition of beauty and ugliness in the same place.
For no destination was that more the case than a trip into Jackson, the town where I attended school. The Presbyterian Church is known in any guidebook for its ornately carved staircase which is clearly visible from a first floor window. I would sit and stare at it as we drove past and sometimes, as I sat in the car and waited for Mama as she went into the post office. I was not fascinated by the craftsmanship, but by the use of the staircase. It led to the slave gallery, where slaves were segregated from the congregation during church services. I would sit and think about that.
How could there be a slave gallery in a house of God? How could Christians own slaves? How could this separation, this treatment of others be seen as acceptable to anyone, anywhere?
How could one group of people decide that another group of human beings were less than human? All of my black classmates and friends would have been legally considered only 2/3 of a human being at one time?! How could anyone believe it was okay to treat others in this manner in order to continue in a lifestyle to which they had become accustomed or to attain that lifestyle? As if they had a right to use others, determine others' futures according to convenience? How could anyone not recognize basic humanity in his fellow man?
I pass the Planned Parenthood clinic in our own community and I think those same thoughts. The metal gates and architecturally disguised barred windows fascinate me in the same way as the slave gallery staircase I could see in the Presbyterian Church window. And now, that clinic is to be a part of our community's history, a reminder of what went on inside those walls as the most vulnerable human beings were treated as anything but human.
Just as the abolition of slavery was not the end of unjust treatment of all American citizens, just as we would not see the end of segregation for one hundred more years, the closing of three Texas Planned Parenthood is not the end of the effort to protect the most vulnerable of our society. Crisis pregnancy centers will still need volunteers and material support. Women facing crisis pregnancies will need to understand that the centers who stood ready to truly help them are still there. Women who had abortions will still need places to turn when they suffer with depression, anxiety, or physical damage. Prayer and physical support must be given to those communities still working to save the unborn. The work just takes a new direction, with protecting the dignity of all human beings still its focus.
The scars will still be here, invisible and visible. We can't hide them or brush them away, as if their effects can be banished forever. We can only let them be a reminder to us of what was once considered acceptable to many. A reminder to us when we may find ourselves slipping in what we will accept or tolerate. May the sight of abandoned clinics be as puzzling to future generations as that slave gallery staircase was to my young mind. Slavery existed as a culture of death, as does abortion. We must remain vigilant to recognize each form it takes in our world, so that it may be replaced with a Culture of Life. May the sight of abandoned abortion clinics, like that of the slave gallery, always prick our consciences and strengthen our resolve to never let such a thing happen again.
These were the words we heard after the pink tennis shoes, after the protests, after the state troopers. Today, the bill has been signed and my Facebook feed is full of the news announced after the signing: our local Planned Parenthood will close its doors for good.
Division, controversy, protest: as a child of the deep south, specifically the Delta, these ideas are not new to me. They are the stuff of history at my doorstep and seen from the window of every drive we made in any direction from our Louisiana farm. They are the root of the scars, visible and invisible that still mark the land and people of my homeland. They are the root of the wounds which still flare at times.
In the Delta, slavery, segregation, desegregation, racism, race realtions are not distant history and they are not abstract theory. They are the stuff of daily life, even after the south has made so much progress--often ignored-- since the Civil War and the Civil Rights era. I graduated from high school in 1991. My freshman year was the first year we had only one Homecoming Queen instead of a black Queen and a white Queen, with one of each race also represented on the Court. At that time, there were still separate proms for white and black students, a private pool for whites only, and there were separate ball parks in town. The pool is now closed and there is one ballpark for all.
On our rural drives, I saw the history of the area in the plantation homes, some stately, some in crumbling remnants. I saw the Civil War battlegrounds and headstones in roadside cemeteries. Drives were never simple and they always resulted in some mental agitation as I contemplated the juxtaposition of beauty and ugliness in the same place.
For no destination was that more the case than a trip into Jackson, the town where I attended school. The Presbyterian Church is known in any guidebook for its ornately carved staircase which is clearly visible from a first floor window. I would sit and stare at it as we drove past and sometimes, as I sat in the car and waited for Mama as she went into the post office. I was not fascinated by the craftsmanship, but by the use of the staircase. It led to the slave gallery, where slaves were segregated from the congregation during church services. I would sit and think about that.
How could there be a slave gallery in a house of God? How could Christians own slaves? How could this separation, this treatment of others be seen as acceptable to anyone, anywhere?
How could one group of people decide that another group of human beings were less than human? All of my black classmates and friends would have been legally considered only 2/3 of a human being at one time?! How could anyone believe it was okay to treat others in this manner in order to continue in a lifestyle to which they had become accustomed or to attain that lifestyle? As if they had a right to use others, determine others' futures according to convenience? How could anyone not recognize basic humanity in his fellow man?
I pass the Planned Parenthood clinic in our own community and I think those same thoughts. The metal gates and architecturally disguised barred windows fascinate me in the same way as the slave gallery staircase I could see in the Presbyterian Church window. And now, that clinic is to be a part of our community's history, a reminder of what went on inside those walls as the most vulnerable human beings were treated as anything but human.
Just as the abolition of slavery was not the end of unjust treatment of all American citizens, just as we would not see the end of segregation for one hundred more years, the closing of three Texas Planned Parenthood is not the end of the effort to protect the most vulnerable of our society. Crisis pregnancy centers will still need volunteers and material support. Women facing crisis pregnancies will need to understand that the centers who stood ready to truly help them are still there. Women who had abortions will still need places to turn when they suffer with depression, anxiety, or physical damage. Prayer and physical support must be given to those communities still working to save the unborn. The work just takes a new direction, with protecting the dignity of all human beings still its focus.
The scars will still be here, invisible and visible. We can't hide them or brush them away, as if their effects can be banished forever. We can only let them be a reminder to us of what was once considered acceptable to many. A reminder to us when we may find ourselves slipping in what we will accept or tolerate. May the sight of abandoned clinics be as puzzling to future generations as that slave gallery staircase was to my young mind. Slavery existed as a culture of death, as does abortion. We must remain vigilant to recognize each form it takes in our world, so that it may be replaced with a Culture of Life. May the sight of abandoned abortion clinics, like that of the slave gallery, always prick our consciences and strengthen our resolve to never let such a thing happen again.
Our Bryan one on 29th is closing???
ReplyDeleteYes: http://www.kbtx.com/news/facebookheadlines/Planned-Parenthood-Closing-Bryan-Huntsville-Centers-216029301.html?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=facebook
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