Unplanned: The Dramatic True Story of a Former Planned Parenthood Leader's Eye-Opening Journey Across the Life Line by Abby Johnson, Cindy Lambert Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Abby Johnson, Cindy Lambert
Marilisa wasn’t bothering me; I didn’t think she was being aggressive or out of line. In fact, I thought her genuinely kind. I understood now why our client had been drawn to talk with her through the fence.
Then Cheryl hollered again: “Go on and get in your car, Abby.”
I said good-bye and did as I was told.
That first day had been an eye-opener, and not a pleasant one. I left the clinic unsure whether I would be coming back. In fact, I didn’t go back the following Tuesday, and when I got a call from Planned Parenthood inviting me to return, I said, “No, not this time. Call me next time.” But I said the same thing the next time, too. There was a tug-of-war going on inside. Did I really want to do this? It wasn’t fun, it wasn’t comfortable, and it left me confused. Was I really committed to this cause in the face of how uneasy I’d been?
In the end, I decided that my comfort level didn’t matter. The thought I kept coming back to was my conversation with Jill at the volunteer fair, now combined with the creepy Grim Reaper and the red-lettered word MURDERERS thrust in the face of scared young women. If abortions weren’t legal and available, women in crisis would get them anyway, but they would have to settle for unsafe and unsanitary abortions from someone who in all likelihood wouldn’t be adequately trained. Women would die. Planned Parenthood was helping to prevent that.
And if women did decide to exercise their right, they needed a friendly voice to walk them past that wacky crowd. If all the people at the fence had been like Marilisa, escorts wouldn’t be needed, I reasoned. But some of the pro-lifers were just plain nuts as far as I was concerned.
I didn’t yet understand that the pro-lifers outside the clinic that day weren’t a unified, like-minded group; that many didn’t even know each other. To me, they looked together, all gathered on “their” side of the fence. So I wrongly assumed everyone was part of the same organization—this Coalition for Life a few of them had mentioned through the fence. And I didn’t approve of the mean-spirited approach of frightening, sickening images and accusatory, inflammatory signs. How could this be helpful or appealing to women who were scared and desperate? What were the pro-lifers trying to accomplish with such methods? I was grateful I hadn’t encountered such a demonstration on the day I’d gotten an abortion.
In the end I decided, All right. I’ll go. I’ll give it another shot.
Once I’d decided that, my thought processes changed. From that point on, those people on the other side of the fence—the pro-life protesters, the placard wavers, the shouters, the Grim Reaper—became the enemy. My cause—helping women in crisis—was just, I believed, and they were the ones opposing that just cause. So I had to oppose them. With conviction. I wouldn’t be rude, I wouldn’t shout—I would even try to be friendly to this obviously misguided group. I didn’t see any reason to be hostile with them. But I would be definite and direct and firm.
In the years to come, though I didn’t have a clue at this point, I would actually come to value some of these pro-lifers as friends. I would witness a careful and hard-won shift in the techniques, tone, and character of the pro-life advocates outside the Planned Parenthood fence. By my first shift at the fence in September 2001, the Bryan clinic had been providing abortions for about two years, and the pro-life movement of the area was in its infancy. Though I didn’t know it then, I’d already met one of the courageous and prayerful leaders who would go on to shape the Coalition for Life: Marilisa. And one of the young college-age guys praying that day, Shawn Carney, would soon marry Marilisa and assume leadership of the organization. Together with David Bereit, they would help transform the efforts here in Bryan into a powerfully positive pro-life force whose influence would reach across the
Then Cheryl hollered again: “Go on and get in your car, Abby.”
I said good-bye and did as I was told.
That first day had been an eye-opener, and not a pleasant one. I left the clinic unsure whether I would be coming back. In fact, I didn’t go back the following Tuesday, and when I got a call from Planned Parenthood inviting me to return, I said, “No, not this time. Call me next time.” But I said the same thing the next time, too. There was a tug-of-war going on inside. Did I really want to do this? It wasn’t fun, it wasn’t comfortable, and it left me confused. Was I really committed to this cause in the face of how uneasy I’d been?
In the end, I decided that my comfort level didn’t matter. The thought I kept coming back to was my conversation with Jill at the volunteer fair, now combined with the creepy Grim Reaper and the red-lettered word MURDERERS thrust in the face of scared young women. If abortions weren’t legal and available, women in crisis would get them anyway, but they would have to settle for unsafe and unsanitary abortions from someone who in all likelihood wouldn’t be adequately trained. Women would die. Planned Parenthood was helping to prevent that.
And if women did decide to exercise their right, they needed a friendly voice to walk them past that wacky crowd. If all the people at the fence had been like Marilisa, escorts wouldn’t be needed, I reasoned. But some of the pro-lifers were just plain nuts as far as I was concerned.
I didn’t yet understand that the pro-lifers outside the clinic that day weren’t a unified, like-minded group; that many didn’t even know each other. To me, they looked together, all gathered on “their” side of the fence. So I wrongly assumed everyone was part of the same organization—this Coalition for Life a few of them had mentioned through the fence. And I didn’t approve of the mean-spirited approach of frightening, sickening images and accusatory, inflammatory signs. How could this be helpful or appealing to women who were scared and desperate? What were the pro-lifers trying to accomplish with such methods? I was grateful I hadn’t encountered such a demonstration on the day I’d gotten an abortion.
In the end I decided, All right. I’ll go. I’ll give it another shot.
Once I’d decided that, my thought processes changed. From that point on, those people on the other side of the fence—the pro-life protesters, the placard wavers, the shouters, the Grim Reaper—became the enemy. My cause—helping women in crisis—was just, I believed, and they were the ones opposing that just cause. So I had to oppose them. With conviction. I wouldn’t be rude, I wouldn’t shout—I would even try to be friendly to this obviously misguided group. I didn’t see any reason to be hostile with them. But I would be definite and direct and firm.
In the years to come, though I didn’t have a clue at this point, I would actually come to value some of these pro-lifers as friends. I would witness a careful and hard-won shift in the techniques, tone, and character of the pro-life advocates outside the Planned Parenthood fence. By my first shift at the fence in September 2001, the Bryan clinic had been providing abortions for about two years, and the pro-life movement of the area was in its infancy. Though I didn’t know it then, I’d already met one of the courageous and prayerful leaders who would go on to shape the Coalition for Life: Marilisa. And one of the young college-age guys praying that day, Shawn Carney, would soon marry Marilisa and assume leadership of the organization. Together with David Bereit, they would help transform the efforts here in Bryan into a powerfully positive pro-life force whose influence would reach across the
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