some clarity

This is not to be read really, but if you have the time and curiosity to see a rough rough fdraft of a memory then be my guest. I feel that with most of the things I do. I‍’m not satisfied with my writing, it’s not as sharp as I need it to be.

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I received a call to action by a writer. I feel the need to clarify my experience. I was reading today and I felt as if there was a bomb about to go off in the world and I needed to do my part to cut the wires and deactivate it. I felt in a way the bomb needed to feel closer, the bomb felt too far away what can I do in my part of the world if the bomb is going off in another part. I also felt what if the bomb was really close but I was just desensitized to bombs now. What if the bomb was right in front of me, would my nervous system be able to react appropriately now in a world where I feel like I have seen the worst of humanity close to my body everyday. Would I recognize a threat? And I know this is how people become paranoid but what the bomb was telling me was that I needed to say my truth. To deactivate a myth is to clarify reality and lived experiences. And I today I am writing to only get the memories down.

memories which I feel like I have written about a lot and I can’t remember how explicitly…. and still I write with caution and leave out people’s names and people who were around me at that time which I find incredibly significant. I don’t have their permission to include them at this time so I will write without mentioning them, even though they filled me with the courage to act as I did.

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I asked the old man why he was sitting there with the signs. He told me that their church gets together on a Sunday and decides who will take this shift and it was there turn to sit out with the signs on that day. I watched as an elantra pulled into the abortion clinic. I looked back at the old man. He was sitting with another old man. They looked like some grandpas watching a little league game in a small Florida town like the one I’m from. Straw hats, sunglasses, sitting under a tree with a big polar pop and one sign was a baby covered in blood. I nodded at their answer. I darted over to one of their signs with a loaded black sharpee, slightly fucking it up scribbling as fast as I could and stole the other. As I ran away I heard them yelling that they’d call the police, and I told them to do it. I threw the sign in the back on my car and cried.

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Later that day I passed nearby the crime scene and saw a Pentecostal teenager dressed in a full 3-piece suit holding a sign in high of 90 imperial degrees by the highway. The sign he held read “Repent, Ask the Lord for Forgiveness” and I quickly grabbed a piece of paper and my black sharpee and wrote my own sign which said “but you don’t have to…”. I stood behind him and he turned to me and said what are you doing and I responded I’m just standing here. He was just standing there too so there was nothing else to say. That’s all we did, just two people standing with signs that said things. We both stood in 90 imperial degrees of florida sun by the asphalt and cars passed us by and some honked, I don’t know why or if they read it, or any cared at all. The guy left after a while and so did I, I couldn’t be there unless he was there.

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That was about 8 years ago. I’m back in the city and I’ve been close by to where that clinic is/ was (I’m sure it’s still there*** update: it is no longer there).. The doctor who gave me the shot which terminated my pregnancy saw my reaction to needles, I don’t like needles, and he looked at me as if, suck it up girl what is wrong with you (he probably had a really long day but I could tell he was not expecting me to be so scared of needles, he may have been thinking thank god this is all she has to deal with now, imagine if she had to give birth, that’s what I was thinking anyways). I met with a support group, a brief support group in the clinic before and after we all received the abortion and we all had a chance to speak about our experience. I don’t remember saying anything, but I listened, there was about 10 of us in the room for that one session. I only had to visit the clinic twice and twice I was harassed by the people outside - asking me if i’ve spoken to anyone, that I didn’t have to do it, that I was a murderer. ‍

I searched for an article that looked into the violence at Pensacola abortion clinics. I’d like to note I was not looking for how peaceful the abortion clinic is… I am reminded that I also have a choice to not only look for the violence but for the peace (which I was not planning to do).

Before I shared the article I want to say for the record my experience at the clinic was easy and peaceful. I never felt scared, I just felt incredibly frustrated at the old men who harassed me outside of the clinic… but regardless of that I was interested to see how this city and those who occupy it who I assume are profoundly mentality ill, dehydrated/starved of knowledge… this only makes sense that I would find such an article and so fast…

the following is an excerpt from the article by Stassa Edwards,

It All Started in Pensacola

How the 1993 murder of Dr. David Gunn set off 30 years of violence toward abortion providers

BY STASSA EDWARDS
March 9, 2023

On March 10, 1993, 31-year-old Michael Griffin, a fundamentalist with a “bad temper,” pulled out a shotgun, yelled, “Don’t kill any more babies,” and shot Dr. David Gunn three times in the back, killing him. Dr. Gunn had been walking into the offices of the Pensacola Women’s Medical Services Clinic, one of the two abortion clinics in Pensacola, Florida, where he provided care. ……

the rest of the article by Stassa Edwards can be read here

I this exhibition by Carmen Winant at the South London Gallery in the UK in 2024… a link to Winant’s work is here

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