Groundhog Day 2006

It was February second, Groundhog Day, the day when some poor groundhog named Phil in a place called Gobblers Knob comes out of his hole and then goes back in again, and in the process somehow foretells the weather for the rest of the winter. On this day, my metaphorical groundhog was coming out of the hole and it sure as fuck wasn't going back in again.

The first thing I noticed, once I got inside the Planned Parenthood on West 33^rd Street in Manhattan, was that every single woman in the waiting room wore a black jacket or coat, including me. I distracted myself by trying to think about our black coats in a post-structuralist context – are the black coats a symbol of mourning? Are we like shadows, trying to will ourselves to disappear? Are we simply in New York, where everyone wears black? I was probably over-thinking it.

In most abortion clinics, you feel like cattle as you are pushed from one waiting room to another for several hours. The procedure itself takes only minutes, so the majority of the 4 to 6 hours you're in the clinic is just spent waiting. The first waiting room is the big one, where the guilty looking partners shift in their seats uncomfortably. When each woman's name is called, she leaves him behind, gets checked in, and ventures into the bowels of the clinic to get blood drawn. All the waiting rooms from there on out are patient-only. There's no one to hold your hand, distract you, or comfort you. You wait some more. Then you are called in for an ultrasound. The lady who gave me my ultrasound was cranky because she couldn't get a good view of my uterus. She told me in an irritated voice that my pelvis was wonky – she didn't use that word exactly, but I got the point – and she was going to have to use the transvaginal wand to get a better look. Oh, the transvaginal wand. If only you actually had magical powers! But you are cold and covered in lube and the lady is pissed off because there are 40 patients outside waiting to get their ultrasounds too and my wonky uterus is holding up the queue.

Ushered into another waiting room, I received “counselling”, which really was just to make sure I understood the procedure, was doing it of my own volition, and didn't have any questions. Yes, yes, and no. I have already googled this shit to death. All my questions have been answered. Questions I didn't know I had have been answered. Let's do this thing.

You get a plastic bag to put your stuff in, and you are given a one-size-fits-all hospital gown to put on. I'll tell you right now, one size does not fit all. One woman declared, “This gown isn't big enough to cover my ass!”, but the medical assistant didn't respond or even look her way. You have to take off your socks and shoes, and you're given these paper slippers that are the colour and texture of dried out corn husks. My feet looked like big tamales as I shuffled from the bathroom to the next waiting room.

This next bit is where you wait the longest. This waiting room is the abortion version of Jean-Paul Sartre's existentialist play, No Exit. And you are so, so hungry. The ladies in the room started talking in great detail about what they wanted to eat: a nice, big, juicy steak with gravy; a plate of Fettuccine Alfredo; and a big red lobster with melted butter in a cup for dipping. I listened quietly to the conversation, but I didn't join in. Anyone who knows me will find that hard to believe, but it's true. I was the only white woman in the room and I felt out of place and timid, so I kept my mouth shut. On the topic of food, they talked about how produce and fish where black people live sucks compared to where white people live. “No disrespect,” a woman said to me. “None taken,” I said. They talked about how, “thank god everyone in this waiting room is clean, cuz my sister was here once and she said it stank to high heaven.” There were lots of nods and someone remarked that you gotta make sure you're clean down there whenever someone is going to be going down there. Then someone else said, “They make those portable wet wipes now so you don't have to go home from work to wash your ass.”

There were a few lulls in the conversation. We looked at the floor and our tamale slippers. My feet didn't touch the ground and I felt like a child. “They sure did a shitty paint job in this waiting room,” one woman observed. “Just look at the window panes. So sloppy! I guess they didn't know that Rhonda was gonna be sittin' here lookin' up at these walls.” They discussed which dollar store products are as good or not as good as some brand-name products. How some kids eat like crazy and don't gain weight because they have a fast metabolism. How it's ok if you want to sit on your ass and drink your forty-ounce bottle of malt liquor, but “go do it in the park so the kids can run around and climb a tree or something and get some exercise.”

But if there's one bit of advice I'll always remember from my time in the waiting room of Planned Parenthood, it's this: If you have a complaint about a restaurant OR abortion clinic staff, you should voice those concerns AFTER you receive either your food or your abortion, respectively. I have never sent food back since. As Rhonda said, "Cuz you don't wanna come in here with an STD you didn't walk in with, know what I'm sayin'? People will fuck with your shit -- spit in your food...you take care of 'em, but make sure you do it AFTER you get your food! I don't want nobody with a finger up my ass, fuck that shit."

My name was finally called for the procedure. I got IV sedation, which is stronger than local anaesthetic, but you aren’t completely knocked out...unless you're me and you are sensitive to anaesthetic. I woke up in a reclining chair, surrounded by other women like me in a line of chairs along the wall of the room. I've had a lot of anaesthesia in my life, and it always makes me cry. This time was no different. I was sobbing before I'd even properly woken up: dry, tearless, breathless sobs. “Now, now,” a medical assistant scolded me, “I thought you were tougher than THAT.” And I thought, you know what? I am fucking tougher than this. I pulled it together. I stopped crying and sat stoically, thinking about how happy I was that it was over. I didn't have to wish that this problem would be solved; it was solved and I could get my life back. I could go back to school on Monday and finally be the only one living in my body.

But there was still that queue of women behind me, waiting. I needed to make room for the next person. I was ordered to go into the bathroom with my plastic bag and change back into my clothes. I wasn't 100% out of the anaesthesia, but I wanted to get the hell out of there. I held myself up with the edge of the sink because I was still so dizzy, I nearly fell over. But I was ok. And when I stepped outside into the cold February air in my black coat, I left that clinic behind and I didn't look back.

Why You Should Be a Pro-Choice Activist, No Excuses

Being involved and caring about pro-choice activism sometimes feels gauche and illicit. It feels, ironically, unfeminine. It's demeaning and has often made me fear for my safety. As such, I don't generally put my activism, through which I've learned many desirable work skills, on my CV, to prevent possible discrimination. And while it's such a big part of my life -- how I spend my time, with whom I spend it, and how I think about the world in general -- I don't often mention it to people I've just met unless I'm sure that they are pro-choice.

This is all kind of incongruous because part of the work I do revolves around de-stigmatising abortion. You'd think I'd practice what I preach. And I do...but not always. To me, this illustrates the power of the patriarchal claim over women's bodies and behavior. Fighting for the most basic right, control over your own body, should be just one of those things we all agree is important.

Except, it's not one of those things.

And that's because some people do have control over their own bodies, and they don't really want to think about what it means that a great many others do not. Generally, if you are a man, or if you have enough money to take time off work and travel, if you have access to contraception, or if you have never been and never will be raped, never get cancer or another terminal illness while pregnant, or never have a pregnancy with a fatal foetal abnormality, then you should probably count your blessings and it's quite likely you are calmly chillin' and living your life feeling pretty (relatively) secure in your bodily autonomy. And you may not think you need to think about the indelicate issue of abortion.

Even just the word sounds so...harsh and impolite. Abortion. It's not pretty and soft like the word meadow.

So if you don't need to worry about access to abortion, for whatever reason, good for you. And maybe you aren't the kind of person who cares about the less fortunate. If that's the case, go ahead and stop reading right now. But if you care about the world and human rights, even a little bit, you'll start thinking about abortion a lot more. Because it turns out that fighting for abortions rights is about a LOT more than abortion, and if you think otherwise, it's time to get your head out of the sand and look around.

I was recently disturbed by a conversation I had with someone about the Miss Y case in Ireland. I was explaining that Miss Y was a woman who immigrated to Ireland after being raped in her previous country. After she arrived, she discovered she was pregnant from that rape. It's a long story, and I won't go into every detail here, but she was suicidal, as you can imagine. Despite the new law that supposedly allows suicidal women to access abortion, she was denied, despite going on hunger and thirst strike. In fact, she was force fed and strung along, made to believe she would be able to abort. Meanwhile, the foetus had a team of lawyers. Literally. Basically, they stalled her abortion access until her pregnancy was at just over 25 weeks, at which point they presented her with a supposed solution: cesarean section to deliver the baby. Imagine having to deliver the offspring of your rapist without your consent. They took the words "termination of pregnancy" and twisted them. Sure, they terminated the pregnancy. But not in the way that was best for the patient. She is permanently traumatised.

As I told the story, it wasn't until the part where she had the C-section against her will that my listener chimed in. "I mean, nevermind about the abortion, that's a real violation of human rights!" they said. I've rolled that response over and over in my mind. It never occurred to me that some people aren't making the connection between abortion access and human rights.

When the law or lack of access forces some people to be pregnant, but not other people, it's a violation of human rights. If some people are denied basic health care, but not others, it's a violation of human rights. When you get to a point where a person is having a baby cut out of her that she doesn't want to give birth to, a serious violation has already happened.

I want to have control over what happens to my body at all times. Don't you? I don't want to be punched, raped, stabbed, shot, operated on, or pregnant against my will. There are lots of reasons why people don't want to be pregnant. Too many to name. You might think none of them matter. You might think some of them matter. You might think only one or two of them matter. But that's your business. Personally, I would be overjoyed if smoking was magically eliminated across the world and I also think that smoking is morally wrong. But that's my business and my belief that I acknowledge shouldn't be pushed onto other people. Morality has nothing to do with abortion. It has to do with the fact that people who don't want to be pregnant become enslaved when they are forced to carry that pregnancy. Forced pregnancy is a human rights issue.

Women seek access to abortion. Women have always sought access to abortion. Women will always seek access to abortion. Whether you think it's morally right or wrong. And guess what happens when governments make it difficult to access abortion? Women die. Being denied the right to be pregnant or to not be pregnant forces women to terrible measures.

And while I'm here, I just want to state the obvious: abortion is not murder, and I feel sorry for you if you've been brainwashed by religious child abusers. You've obviously never actually read the Bible. (And p.s. foetuses do not feel pain.)

You know what, though? That's not even what I want to say.

If you don't care about your own rights, or the rights of people you don't know and will never know, and if you aren't willing to give up some of your spare time to fight for those rights, actually reading this may not make a bit of difference. It's just that abortion access is being etched away around the world, and fast. And I don't want to sound all paranoid and conspiracy theorist, but they're not just going for our abortion rights. They're going for complete control over women's bodies.

If you think I'm being hyperbolic, take this case from a few weeks ago in Ireland, where a brain dead woman was kept on life support because she was pregnant.  Or the many, many cases where women who've had miscarriages have been criminally charged.

The most important thing you need to understand is that even if you live in a country where abortion is "legal," unless it's available to everyone, no matter where they live, no matter how much extra cash they have, no matter what their age, then its legality is null and void. Legality without access is useless. According to an article in the Guttmacher Policy Review by Boonstra & Nash, in the United States, "more state abortion restrictions were enacted in 2011 - 2013 than in the entire previous decade." And they're not talking about a couple of laws. In those three years, a whopping 205 anti-abortion laws were passed. Considering there are only 50 states, that's kind of...staggering.

If you're in America and you feel all comfy with Roe vs. Wade, just take a look at Spain. Last year, they came dangerously close to outlawing abortion, hoping to model themselves after Irish law (which effectively and logistically outlaws abortion in all cases). According to Boonstra & Nash, "The majority of women now live in [US] states hostile to abortion rights: Between 2000 and 2013, the proportion of women living in restrictive states almost doubled from 31% to 56%." Yes, the "majority of women." (For more info on what this means, read this article by Katie Klabusich.) But the women most affected by anti-abortion laws are poor women (which includes those with residency or documentation issues), women in abusive situations, and women who are ill (physically or mentally). 

YOU need to be advocating for those women, and all women. If you don't, who will? On top of abortion access, the right wing money machine is making more and more progress gaining control over women's access to sexual health care, birth control, domestic violence aid, supports in cases of rape, and more. Reproductive rights are human rights. Stop thinking that this problem isn't going to get much worse. The Catholic church and the rich white dudes in public office have money at hand that's probably inconceivable to most regular people. And with that money comes control over public opinion from the pulpit to the news stand. They throw us into the "good abortion/bad abortion" trap and try to distract us from demanding our rights by trying to put their hypocritical so-called morals on us. It's ridiculous but it's happening and they are winning.

STOP thinking that social media "activism" is going to stop anti-abortion laws. Find out who your lawmakers are and contact them, letting them know that bodily autonomy is important to you and that you're watching how they vote. Find out what pro-choice activist groups are in your area and give them money and time. Keep tabs on demonstrations happening in your area and attend them with signs that show your pro-choice spirit. Look up organisations that help fund women in areas with no access to abortion to travel, take time off work, and pay for child care and see if you can get involved or donate. Find out what the laws are in your state or country and then reach out to groups working to improve those laws and see if you can lend a hand. 

I'm just so tired of seeing that the majority of the people I know are pro-choice in some form or another, yet they do nothing but complain on facebook and twitter when these anti-abortion laws are passed. It's all well and good to be working towards personal success and happiness, but if you leave those less fortunate in the dust, how can you really feel good about it? 

Some resources to check out:

The Pro-Choice Public Education Project

Ipas

Womancare Global
 RH Reality Check
Abortion Rights Campaign

There's a lot rummaging around in my mind today, and I'm going to see if I can flesh it all out. I hope it engenders discussion, but more importantly I humbly hope it might be a jumping off point toward healing, understanding, and harmony within my community.

First, I want to think about anger. We need it; it's what motivates us to do the work that leads to change. Anger propels us forward sometimes. Anger can even bond people together. It is often completely justified, useful, and in fact holding it in can often be very damaging. Women are socialised to avoid expressing anger, and as a result, when they do they are seen as hysterical, overly emotional, irrational, and so on. I understand that anger can be a strong political act, and that, as someone has said, "Marginalized people often do not have the luxury of emotionally distancing themselves from discussions on their rights and experiences. "

So when I feel critical of people who are acting out of anger, I am wary of invalidating their feelings and silencing them. However, anger doesn't need to be put aside in order to feel compassion for other people and recognise their suffering.

Reflecting on times in my life when I was mean, ridiculed people, ostracised them, or acted out of insecurity and anger towards them, I honestly cannot think of one positive thing to come out of my actions. I'm sure I achieved my goal of making the other person feel awful, but I also made myself feel awful, and I cut myself off from the possibility of either of us learning anything from the situation. And believe me, I have life long enemies to prove it, which saddens me and is a mark on my character, no matter how justified most people would say that I was. I forgot about their humanity -- creating a tit-for-tat "they did this, so I'm going to do this" scenario. And now, no reconciliation is possible. The world was made worse for it, if only in a small way. I think about how easy it would have been to do things differently.

As activists seeking to create a more equitable society, I think it's important to hold onto our suffering and the suffering of the people we're campaigning for delicately. This suffering is our key motivation, but it is a very powerful weapon and shouldn't be used against each other, even when we don't agree.

I don't want to get all new agey or whatever, but in my search for a more peaceful and satisfying life with happy relationships, I roll this Thich Nhat Hahn quote around in my mind: "When you begin to see that your enemy is suffering, that is the beginning of insight." I look to this idea when I am feeling lost, sad, scared, angry, or even hopeless about awful injustices going on in the world. It doesn't make anything OK. The injustice is still there, and my anger is still there. But something in my mind opens just a little bit when I can see their humanity.

That's just what works for me. And I consider myself a pretty happy person, after years of trial and error (mostly error, and a few trials). There's definitely a difference between what I'm suggesting and the idea that people should police their tone to appear more nice to oppressors. Simply put, I'm suggesting that if someone disagrees with you about something political, you remember the other ways in which you are connected to them and remember that they might not be a worthless write-off. They might be doing their best to be a thoughtful ally, even if those efforts fall short in your book. I agree with the person who said, "True friends will speak their minds honestly with each other, especially if they think the other is in the wrong."

Personally speaking, one of the magical joys of being human is the exchange of ideas and the fulfilling and deep relationships we can form through language. Listening to one another. Seeing the ways in which we are trying desperately to understand each other and be understood, despite the fact that it often doesn't happen. That's the absolute best and most amazing thing about life. That through it all, people find ways to love one another. Despite disagreeing on issues big and small. Despite hurtful things that happened in the past. Despite wars. And despite the knowledge that the future is uncertain.

I'm humbled by a lot of things I've learned over the past five years since I started getting involved with activism. I am embarrassed by a lot of beliefs I've since jettisoned, and by some that I have yet to give up. But I am so grateful that people were patient and kind enough to stand with me while I educated myself and allowed my ideas to evolve. I think gosh, if I'd been written off back then, or at any point along the way, for having those beliefs, I wouldn't be who I am today, and I wouldn't be part of such a caring, supportive community.

So really I guess I want to thank my friends and comrades who have taken the time to get to know me, to love me for who I am, and for teaching me so so so much about respect, compassion, courage, perseverance, self-care, and hard work. You've inspired me, encouraged me, and made me laugh. You make the world a place I like living in.

They say you can never go home again.

Gee so it's been over two months since I posted. In that time, I visited my family in the US! Originally, I hadn't planned to visit because, well, first off, it's really frickin' expensive. Secondly, I knew I had a bit of other travel scheduled throughout the year, and wasn't really sure it was financially responsible to do all that plus a big US trip. But as the spring turned into summer (Irish summer, that is) I started to wonder if I wouldn't regret not making at least one visit home this year. Since July, August, and September travel plans were already made, I started to look for June deals. I thought, if I can find a flight for less than €500 round-trip, I'll do it! And as luck would have it, I found such a deal and our plans were hatched!

I thought while I was at it, I'd have a little fun, so I managed to keep our trip a secret and surprised everyone in my entire family by showing up unannounced! That part of the trip was fun and exciting, and it was so wonderful to see the looks on their faces when they realised they were looking at me and Mark in the flesh.

Unfortunately, a week before we left for the US, we received the terrible news that my Uncle Joe had passed away. It was obviously a huge blow to the entire family. However I felt blessed to be able to attend Joe's wake and funeral and pay my respects in person. That's the one thing that's most difficult when you move far away: you can't always physically be there during important moments. Joe had a nice send-off, and one of the most heartfelt eulogies I've ever heard by my cousin Joey, and I have to admit that it was nice to see my father's side of the family, many of whom I wouldn't have gotten to see.

Despite the fact that I was in New Hampshire for two weeks, of course I didn't get to see everyone that I wanted to see, especially my 92 year-old Aunt Mary, who lives in Cape Cod. We didn't spend any time in Boston, so there wasn't much carousing with Boston friends either. But I did get to spend some time with a few people who very kindly made the trip north!

It's strange, though. I have been wanting to write about my visit ever since I got back, but I'm not sure how to put it. I've been living in Ireland since the last few days of 2008. That's four and a half years. A lot happens in that time. Some of my 7 nieces and nephews, who were kids when I left, are now adults. People I saw all the time in my life back home only know about my new life through Facebook. When I think about it, I feel as though I've become rather obsolete! And the thing about Facebook is that it doesn't really paint a complete picture. Sure, you can post three times in a day, and people think they're keeping up with your life when it actuality you've just posted about waiting for the bus, the weather, and what you ate for lunch. And it works both ways.

When email was invented, I mourned the loss of real letters. Then it took the place of phone calls. But now I actually mourn the loss of emails! Because of Facebook, I hardly ever keep in touch with people by giving or receiving personalised messages. Sure, there's Skype. But I've got friends I've been saying, "Let's Skype soon!" to for literally years.

But here's where it gets difficult to explain. All of that is to be expected, and while it bums me out a little, I understand that it's a natural result of living far away from where I grew up. But what's a little more nuanced is how I feel about interacting with people in America who don't understand the culture where I have been living for the past four and a half years. To put it briefly: it's weird. I relate to life in America in a completely different way than before I left, for a multitude of reasons.

When I embarked on my move to Ireland, I naively thought it would kind of be like moving to a different part of North America -- that people would talk in a funny accent, the food would be a little different, and the big chain stores would be called something else. It's funny to think of it now, but I actually hadn't considered that Ireland has a completely different culture (and language, actually) which I am still learning more about every single day. It's not just the way people speak, or what time the shops close, or the practicalities of the weather, or the way people dress. It's so many things that I can't actually even describe it properly. Just like in America, Ireland's particular history, one filled with a lot of conflict, calamity, and colonialism, has informed the way people think and act. But the differences in those histories mean that there are huge differences in the culture. And I don't mean superficial differences, but deep ones that I've grown to appreciate. I've gotten used to the way things are done here. While I still get caught out and can feel like a foreigner, I also feel very comfortable here in the ways that matter most.

But going back to the US brings a bit of a culture shock. I don't really want to criticise or America-bash, or be all like, "I'm so cultured since I moved to Europe," because that's not it. It's that I'm not entirely comfortable there anymore. When I visit, it's not a comforting, "Ahhh...home!" feeling that I wish it were. Part of that stems from the fact that my childhood home is no longer in the family, and no one in my family lives in the town where I grew up, so the places I visit are literally not my home, and therefore I am slightly displaced. However, it's more than that. During my more recent visits to the US, I feel unsure of myself and how to relate to people, especially when they do things that I find culturally different to what I am used to here in Ireland.

So in a way, it feels a little like being caught between two worlds. I feel nearly as foreign in America as I do in Ireland. That's the ex-pat's lot, I suppose! The problem is describing how it feels, and what's more, describing it in specific scenarios to someone who has never been to Ireland, let alone lived here, and may not understand what I'm even talking about. Some things you actually have to see with your own eyes to believe or comprehend, whether that's in Ireland or in America. But at least my Irish friends have seen enough American television, movies, and news to have some inkling of cultural references, which makes it a little easier.

I'm happy I went, and Mark and I particularly loved being able to stay with my mother for the first time ever. She lives in a gorgeous part of the country, and we appreciated her hospitality, especially at the last minute! But next year, I hope friends and family visit Ireland and understand when I visit Norway instead of spending thousands of euros visiting "home".

Open Letter to Regina Doherty, TD and member of Oireachtas Health Committee

Today's letter in the "Tell a Fine Gael TD" campaign is to Regina Doherty. She is a TD from Meath East and is also on the Oireachtas Committee for Health and Children.

Dear Ms. Doherty,

You've stated publicly that “the State should act” to legislate for abortion in cases where a woman's life is at risk and that you are “95% ready” to support a bill. I understand that there has been a lot of pressure coming at you from your party and from other interest groups to keep the status quo, and therefore I appreciate the courage it takes to oppose that pressure and do what you feel is right for women in Ireland.

As a member of the Oireachtas Committee on Health and Children, you are in a particularly influential position to ensure that the Heads of Bill achieves its objectives. In order for that to happen, some important changes need to be made.

First of all, we can all agree that “the unborn” is not a medical term and should not be used in legislation meant to supply guidance for medical intervention. Secondly, the Heads of Bill requires an excessive number of medical opinions in every single case. The time and logistics involved in obtaining so many medical professionals' verdicts will prohibit women from receiving timely medical care. In the case of risk to life from self-destruction, you have to be lucky enough to be somewhere registered by the Mental Health Commission where there happens to be an Ob/Gyn who can perform an abortion in addition to two psychiatrists. Do we even know how many such clinics exist in Ireland? The suicidal woman with mental illness is then faced with the degrading task of convincing three people of her suicidality. If one of them doesn't believe her, she will be forced to endure the appeals process of repeating the experience, and will have to wait two weeks. The process is designed to force these women into suicide or travel. If the woman doesn't have the means to travel, suicide it will likely be.

You seem to have compassion for X, Ms. Doherty, a girl who was impregnated by her rapist. Thousands of women are raped every year in Ireland, and approximately 7% of them become pregnant as a result. Women in these traumatic situations who become suicidal shouldn't have to beg for mercy from up to six doctors to be treated in Ireland. They deserve to be listened to, respected, and cared for.

The proposal that women who are found guilty of self-aborting in the country (as opposed to traveling) will result in nothing short of a witch hunt. Furthermore, a 14 year jail sentence reflects a serious anti-woman agenda considering that male rapists in Ireland are convicted at the rate of 1% and generally spend less than 7 years in jail. I understand that anti-abortion lawmakers want to send a clear message that they don't want abortion in Ireland, but at what cost? Many women, having self-induced a medical abortion (aka the “abortion pill”), will not pursue the necessary follow-up care for fear of prosecution. Incomplete abortions are rare, but they do occur. In those instances, lack of medical treatment can result in infertility and death.

In today's Irish Independent, Enda Kenny is reported to have said that “the bill affirms, rather than weakens, Ireland's general ban on abortion.” As it stands, he is correct. There are so many impediments in the bill that it will surely fail to protect the lives and rights of pregnant women. But that is surely not the intention set forth by the Oireachtas Health Committee and the rest of the Dail. At least, I hope not. The 92% of Irish people who want legislation on the X case ruling and the EU Court of Human Rights ruling are trusting you to act on our behalf. We hope you have the courage to stand against political pressure from your party and stand up for women in Ireland.

Sincerely,
Angela Coraccio

Open Letter to Jerry Buttimer, TD

I was overwhelmed by the positive attention I received from yesterday's post, An Open Letter to Lucinda Creighton. Honestly I don't think I've ever received so much praise for anything I've written.

The letter was inspired by the Abortion Rights Campaign's "Tell a Fine Gael TD" campaign. Feel free to play along! All you have to do is write, email, tweet, ring, or stop by the office of the Fine Gael TD of the day and let them know your thoughts on why they should legislate for abortion.

Here's the latest installment in the series.


Open letter to Jerry Buttimer, TD and member of Oireachtas Committee on Health and Children

Dear Mr. Buttimer,

In your election video from 2011, you state that you would like to be part of a “government that will bring reform, that will create a more equitable, fairer, just Ireland.” I have to admit, it's refreshing to hear a politician to speak in terms of equity, and I think your life experiences have likely led you towards a deeper understanding of its importance in society.

You also seem to understand the need to recognise the ruling of the European Court of Human Rights in 2010 as a message to Ireland that its abortion laws are not in line with the European Convention on Human Rights. But more than that, you seem to understand why it matters, not just for Ireland's international image, but for its people. Forty-four of forty-seven EU countries have laws in place to provide legal abortion when a pregnant woman or girl's life or health is at risk. According to the Irish FamilyPlanning Association, “This approach is consistent with the key human right standard of proportionality which requires that laws and policies applied to regulate access to abortion cannot excessively interfere with women's rights to life, health, privacy, freedom from cruel and inhumane treatment and non-discrimination.”

In order for Ireland's people to enjoy your vision of “a fairer, just, equitable society where people matter and where everybody counts, and where the dignity and the importance of people is recognised,” the state must remove the obvious barriers to pregnant women's health that exist. After Savita Halappanavar's death, an elderly Irish woman was heard to say, “Sure, women have been dying that way for years and no one took any notice before.” Don't you think it's time we started caring about the many women who have died quietly without the publicity, who never got an inquest, because they didn't have access to abortion as medical treatment to save them?

I don't live in Cork, but I believe you when you say you feel you've “worked, listened, and acted” on the people's behalf. So I hope you continue to do so. The most recent Red C research poll reported that only 8% of the electorate were against legislating for abortion. If politics “is about representation,” as you claim, then I think you know what you need to do. The majority of the people have demanded legislation, and it's your duty to represent them in your endeavors.

You've also said that you hope for a debate where “all sides can have their voices heard.” So I trust that you will read the Abortion Rights Campaign's recommendations for changes to the proposed Bill that were submitted for your consideration. If your goal is truly to save women's lives and save them from cruel and inhumane treatment and non-discrimination, these changes are necessary.

Finally, you've remarked on the value of a sense of place and “how important home is.” But for thousands of women in Ireland, the laws of their home put them into terrible danger. It's up to you to follow through on your commitment to the people of Ireland by protecting pregnant women's health under the laws of the land.

Sincerely,

Angela Coraccio

Dublin

An Open Letter to Lucinda Creighton

Open Letter to Lucida Creighton:

Dear Ms. Creighton,

As a non-national resident of Ireland, I do, as you recommend, reflect on the privilege I enjoy every day in this country, particularly as an educated caucasian woman with a loving husband. But when you use that collective "we," you assume that every woman in Ireland is like you. A short walk around Dublin will prove otherwise. Women in poverty, migrant women, asylum seekers, women in abusive relationships being controlled by their partners, and women too ill to travel live here too. Is it not the duty of us privileged people to ensure that they have the same access to their rights as we do?

You mention that we live in a "free" society here in Ireland while simultaneously trying to argue that women shouldn't be allowed to have bodily autonomy, which in my opinion is the most basic human right there is.

Furthermore, I am disappointed that you felt the need to claim you have "no respect" for the "hysterical" opinions of Olivia O'Leary in such a public manner, claiming her arguments are not rational. These are the exact ways in which patriarchy has been characterising women's opinions as invalid for centuries. To accuse another woman of hysteria rings of self-hatred and serves to give the world permission to dismiss vocal women, including yourself. How can you "respect the right of everyone to speak freely and honestly" immediately after you've just said you have no respect for someone else's honest opinion?

I myself have been trying to conceive a child for nearly two years. However, I would never allow my experiences with infertility colour my views on how other women view their pregnancies. Your implication that because some women can't become pregnant, women who are pregnant need to carry those pregnancies to term is slightly outrageous, particularly since adoption laws in Ireland are so restrictive. If a disabled person can't run, she doesn't demand that all able people should take up running.

But perhaps the most alarming statements in your blog are about late term abortions. You and I both know that the overwhelming number abortions happen in very early stages. I believe your misleading comment comparing late term abortions to premature births was meant to whip up people's emotions. I suppose that's what politicians do. But it doesn't reflect the rationality you claim to own. We're supposed to be talking about the current proposed bill, which is supposed to put into place measures to save a pregnant woman's life. Conjuring up images of baby killing helps no one. It only makes you look like you don't understand the issues. Have you even bothered to read the Heads of Bill?

Women should be guaranteed effective acces to their right to termination when there is a risk to their lives. Suicide is a real risk to a person's life. I don't know if you have ever suffered from mental health issues, or if you have ever known someone who has committed suicide, but I do, and I feel strongly that a suicidal woman would not survive the scrutiny outlined in this proposed Bill. If a woman, to avoid this exploitive evaluation process, doesn't have the "privilege" of traveling for an abortion, she effectively hasn't been guaranteed her right.

Furthermore, criminalising women who self-induce abortions is unacceptable because it would result in women in medical crisis being afraid of seeking medical attention for fear of prison time. Did you know that the average prison sentence for a rapist is 5 years? A woman who is impregnated by her rapist who takes the abortion pill (which, by the way, can only be taken in the earliest stages of pregnancy) could spend more than twice the time in jail as her rapist. So instead of "protecting life," the Bill puts the health and lives of women who have self-induced abortions dangerously at risk.

We all get the privilege you feel, Ms. Creighton. You have shouted it from the rooftops. But to claim that Ireland is serving all its population to the best of its ability is frankly a false claim and makes you sound like you don't recognise others' experiences of living here which are vastly different to your own. I wonder, how can you be a representative of the people if you don't even acknowledge their realities?

Sincerely,
Angela Coraccio
Dublin