Slovakia – monument to unborn children
The demonstration that the 1968 ideology is still alive and that the 194 it was made not to be enforced. So the Government must observe the unworthy uproar that is taking place in Verona in recent days and proceed with the repeal process. (Christ the King)
Of Costanza Miriano
In Verona they choose to apply the 194, that is, to ensure that there are serious alternatives for women, and that the death of their son is the last possibility, if at all nothing else worked. So it provided for a law – bad, but law - brazenly disapplied and contravened in all Italian hospitals.
Thanks to the advisor Andrea Bacciga than to vote yes to the pro-life motion, cited this article.
Pulitzer Prize to those who discover why, Exactly, according to Corrierone these words are "particularly harsh".
There are an infinite number of arguments against abortion, but me, since I like to lose easy, I choose the most questionable, the most attackable, the least expendable in a public debate: abortion makes women unhappy. We could approach the topic on a philosophical level, like Bobbio (or Paola Belletti, my favorite philosopher, certainly the hottest), cultural, like Pasolini, of faith, as the Church does, or even economical, as does those who list names of prochoice financiers and figures (rivers of money: Why?). One could challenge the false numbers that have fueled myths and led to the passing of laws based on hoaxes (such as the Roe – Wade ruling in the USA or the radical campaign in Italy), and show how abortion has spared very few women's lives by avoiding clandestine abortion but has exterminated infinite numbers of children who without 194 they would be born.
One could tell the story of laws and lies, as Socci in the unmissable The Censored Genocide, or collect the voices of doctors who can no longer take it after thousands of mangled bodies, sometimes not even the most convinced abortionists, because they know that they are betraying the Hippocratic Oath, for which they promised to cure and not to cause death.
Instead, for me, the topic that inflames me – I know, “to me mi” is not said, but it serves to underline -, what makes me angry, which also takes away my sleep when I come across some story of a woman struggling with THE decision of her life (and not just his), it's that women are unhappy if they have an abortion, and I feel so sorry for them, and I get angry at the lies they have heard. I don't think it's even a matter of goodness, or of sensitivity or nobility of soul. Women suffer because our deepest and most ancestral bowels tremble when they kill the life that pulsates within them, and which asks to be accepted, it requires blood and cells and flesh and breath to resist. It is first and foremost an animal issue. A woman knows that she is doing something contrary to what her whole being tends towards. He knows that his body and brain are programmed for this. She knows she's killing her baby, and it is not scraping away the fruit of conception. He knows that all his life he will wonder who that child would have been, What flavor of ice cream would you have preferred?, whether he would be afraid of water or the dark or spiders. She will agonize over this little one that she let go away alone, in the cold, among the waste, betrayed by his mother.
Right, you can tell it for a while. For a while, Also. I know them directly, in person, names and faces. Some have reached the end of their lives without being able to admit to themselves what they had done. Because it was too painful and tiring and complicated to admit that I had done everything wrong. Then on their deathbed they invoked that child. I saw them with my own eyes. Women who a 80 years they were unable to forgive themselves for perhaps having had a clandestine abortion 60 years before. Women who had hardened and remained alone. Women who had brought neurosis into their family, making other children pay the price too. Women dependent on alcohol, from psychotropic drugs. Women who could no longer look at themselves in the mirror. Women who had lost all self-esteem, and therefore they were not esteemed by men. Women who did not report rapists because, due to an abortion done years earlier, they thought they deserved that evil.
Yet none of those women deserved any harm, much less violence. Those women deserved to be held by the hand, hug, contained in an embrace greater than doubt, of fear, of uncertainty. They had to be told that they would not be alone: a mother doesn't need much to say yes. All it takes is a push, because then a mother finds energy within herself that she didn't even suspect she had. A mother hits the walls with her shoulder, raise mountains, he sleeps three hours a night and always has more for everyone, to read The Travels of Giovannino Perdigiorno and prepare dinner and listen to a superhero story even if he hasn't sat down for nineteen hours.
And mothers who have had abortions, they are always mothers, today they deserve a hug, someone who lets them cry until their eyes dry and their mind goes blank, someone who allows them to look at the evil done, to forgive yourself and start again, reminding them that we are all sinners forgiven countless times a day. But to have forgiveness you need to ask for it, look once, a single, what has been done, because not even gifts can be received if we do not welcome them.
It's not that only women who have abortions have something to make up for, it is enough to be men to be poor men, as Mazzolari said. The point is that they are the ones who don't forgive themselves, because they continue to tell themselves that they have exercised a right, when they know very well, somewhere in the bowels, which is not so. I absolutely do not want in any way to fuel the mystique of the perfect heroic holy mother. It's not like being a mom is anything out of the ordinary, nor does the fact of giving birth make us particularly special in itself (animals do it too, I meant). It has happened billions of times and will happen again, while the rains continue to fall and the trams continue to go and the chips continue to be fried, it's not like the world will stop because someone has a child. Because there is also the opposite exaggeration, sometimes, at least among us Westerners. We have so lost the sense of the naturalness of motherhood that when it happens to one, it seems like the end of the world. Throngs of grandparents are mobilizing, we throw parties with gifts from friends, photo albums, equipment suitable for the landing of a small commando in Vietnam is purchased, analyzes and checks are carried out that NASA lacks before a mission to Mars. Being a mother is physiological, it's normal. We were born for this, just as we walk because we have two legs. Then you can walk elegantly like a model, maybe dance like an étoile, or march towards Olympic gold, or you can trudge along with shopping bags, like most of us, that is, being normal mothers, who sometimes get it wrong and sometimes get it right. There is no merit in being mothers, it's normal.
Nor do I want, on the contrary, to nourish the mystique of motherhood, all delights and angels fluttering around the hearth. I don't think any of us gets particular satisfaction from cleaning up vomit at three in the morning or from sweeping pieces of spread boiled potato off the floor.. That's not the point. And then you can be a mother in many ways, even horrible (I would be content with being a decent mother). On the contrary, I believe that almost all of us project our wounded inner world – never totally reconciled, always mindful of original sin – in the most visceral relationship we have. We can be unbearable, possessive, intrusive, fanatics. We can also be affected by a sort of delusion of omnipotence towards our children, of which we too often forget that they are not ours (we give a hand to God, we allow him to use us, but the children are his). We often risk being such mothers that we forget that we are first wives, and remove fathers from the relationship, depriving them of their fundamental role: cut the cord, not just meat, send children out of the house, protect them from their mother, represent the reality principle. We are all a bit like that mother of the grammar exercise that Franco Nembrini often talks about (task: analyze my mom loves me. La=definite article mia= adjective obsessive). Often we are not satisfied with being mothers, we want to be cubed mothers, and this is certainly not a good thing. But this is also somehow why I say that I am certain that by having an abortion a woman is doing something against her deepest nature..
Some people will object to me that none of this is true, that reducing women to mare bodies is from the Middle Ages and from Nazi-fascist-Islamic (Catholic-Islamic, now that I think about it, is worthy of the Nobel Prize for ignorance)blah blah blah, and that in any case women must be free to ruin their lives, if they wish. There would be many things to answer, first of all that there is also another life at stake, and I could go on for hours. But the point that makes my insides tingle as I was saying is that there is a cultural bombardment on these women that does not make them fully aware of what they are doing. It's not true that we are free. We are all also culturally conditioned in our choices. Paola Bonzi, just to name one, just hugging, containing, by offering financial help it managed to give birth to 18 thousand mothers and the same number of children. No mother should be left alone. Never again. A woman just needs someone to tell her how beautiful and strong she is, that she is not alone, that someone will help her provide for her baby, that helps her see the crazy and overflowing happiness to which she was miraculously called. I am a witness to it. There may be, very often there is, a moment of dismay when faced with the call: this is not the time, the work, there is no money, the house is small, he doesn't love me, I don't love him, he will be the right person, but how will the brothers take it, I will neglect them, now that I was thin again, I have an out of phase thyroid, It's the fourth caesarean section, the heart throws a tantrum, he is the sixth child, it was the first night I went out with this man, right now that they offered me the job in America/at university/study, I'm big and the baby could have problems. Dismay arrives, Often, but death is never the solution. Ask a mother who already has children to kill the seven-year-old, since there is no room in the house. She'll look at you as if you've asked her to bite her heart out. Ecco, it's just about telling all the women who are having abortions that they are biting their hearts out, only that he is not seven years old but a few days old.
source: The Daily Cross