Disabled by the court

 

   I recently read an article in the Los Angeles Times about more women deciding to be sterilized in the wake of the Supreme Court’s decision doing away with the nation-wide right to abortion.  With many states – not California – enacting stricter and stricter laws against abortions, a notable number of women are taking the dramatic, irreversible step and not taking any chance of getting pregnant and then not able to get an abortion. 

   One woman quoted said she’s “pissed” about having to get this done because of “losing bodily autonomy.” Being sterilized, as drastic as it is, at least gives a sense of control over one’s own body. 

   I finally get it. 

   I have always been for a woman’s right to an abortion.  But it was always somewhat abstract, a lofty ideal of freedom.  It was just about being able to choose. 

   I say “just,” because now I see that it is about so much more. 

   It’s about bodily autonomy, about having that control over one’s own body.  These women, women who are now unable to get an abortion, are now helpless, trapped, without control – so much so that some are doing away with the ability to get pregnant. 

   They have been rendered disabled.

   As someone who has been significantly disabled all my life and then suddenly quite a bit more disabled later in life, I can relate to feeling helpless, trapped, reliant on others, with little control, especially with this being all the more the case in the last several years.  I know what it’s like to be robbed of ability and to have to depend on others (not so much what they decide, in my case of disability).

   What’s more, after reading this article, I, as also a gay man, am all the more concerned that, based on the reasoning in this ruling and comments by Judge Clarence Thomas, the federal right to gay marriage and even gay sex may be in question, on the line. That may seem far-fetched now, but that’s what we thought about the right to abortion not too long ago.  Yikes, indeed! 

A beautiful, civil mess

   Following is my column published in Friday’s Claremont Courier with another title , “Not all bad, not bad at all, on the Fourth,” which isn’t bad. 

                ANOTHER START ON THE FOURTH

                           by John Pixley

   It was a new day. 

   I wasn’t sure if it would be a good one.  At least not at first. 

   When I first read a few months ago that the Fourth of July parade would be at 10:00 in the morning, I felt something at a loss.  It was bad enough, weird enough, that the parade was canceled for the last two years due to COVID.  I knew it wasn’t a mistake, but I all but wish it was a mistake.  Or that I wasn’t reading it, that this wasn’t really happening. 

   The parade down Indian Hill, pass Memorial Park and over Harrison to Larkin Park, was always at 4 in the afternoon.  It had always been at 4. For as long as I could remember.  Since I was a child growing up in Claremont.  How could it now, suddenly, be a 10?  In the morning? 

   It didn’t make sense.  And this was one of a few major changes to Claremont’s famed Independence Day celebration – the run scheduled for another morning, the festival in Memorial Park ending a 2 instead of 4 – announced in that small notice.  But, for me, it was the biggest.  (This was before it was announced that the fireworks were canceled due to water concerns and that there’d be a special concert by the Ravellers in Memorial Park – a consolation prize of sorts – instead.)

   Later, in another notice in these pages about the July 4 schedule, there was mention of accommodations made for city staff.  So at least some of these changes were made so that staff wouldn’t have to work so much on the holiday.  This was, it seems, another, yet another, change coming out of COVID, including employees being more selective about what they will and will not do. As one who employs people to assist me, I can attest to this. 

   What would all this change be like? What would it be like having the parade at 10, in the morning light, instead of at the end of the afternoon, when the bright light of a bright summer day was beginning to languish?  What would it be like to have this long-time tradition so altered? 

   I set off at 9:30 that morning with a let’s-do-this frame of mind, wanting to be more open to whatever was coming, a kind of exciting adventure, rather than having a grim determination facing a forced, if not unwanted, change. 

   I was headed for Mallows Park, right where the parade turns onto Harrison Avenue from Indian Hill Boulevard.  I actually discovered this to be a pleasant spot for viewing the parade a few years ago after watching the parade from across the street from Memorial Park for literally decades.  As I was about to again discover, sometimes change is good, perhaps for the better. 

   As I got closer, there were the usual fellow parade watchers, a few with chairs and blankets, coming along.  But I noticed some were carrying handmade signs, and I heard yelling or, yes, it was chanting,  coming from the park.  I couldn’t quite see what the signs were saying or hear what was being chanted, but it was quickly clear that the parade wasn’t all that was up this morning.  I just didn’t know what it was and, as with everything else, how it would work, what it would be like. 

   Before I went up into the park, I took a look at what the signs held up along the sidewalk were saying.  I wasn’t surprised that they were signs of protest and that they were pro-choice, protesting the recent Supreme Court ruling nixing the 1973 Roe vs. Wade ruling declaring a nation-wide right to abortion.

   I found a nice spot overlooking the parade route with my back to the gently warming morning sun and close to the rallying protesters. It was striking to me that there were a number of men involved and that most of the protesters were young, some quite young.  The future is in good, caring hands, I thought.

   I was wondering how the protest would go along with the parade, but I sensed that it was nothing to worry about.  I wasn’t alarmed or anything like that.  I was also comfortable with a person across the street having a sign protesting the court’s recent decision relaxing gun control. 

   After all, I figured, those in the parade, or a number of them, like the Pilgrim Place residents with their signs advocating peace and justice or the children riding their decorated bikes and scooters, were expressing certain views or just expressing themselves.  These folks were just joining in. 

   Then the parade started heading down the street in the fresh, new day sun.  The parade at this new time, greeting the morning, kicking off the day, along with the bright-eyed protesters and the heart-felt, personalized signs, suddenly made beautiful, exquisite sense. 

   Morning had broken, indeed.  Like the first morning. 

   As the marching bands and the floating musicians and music-makers passed by the impassioned chanting protesters (“My body! My choice!”), as the sequined drill teams and the festooned cars and trucks and bicycles and strollers passed by the colorful, bobbing signs, it was a lovely thing to behold. It was a new day in these days of disturbing polarization and ugly, all-too-often violent confrontations.  Unlike the destructive, sometimes deadly uprisings and insurrections we have seen in recent years, this was all a hearty, jubilant, if not joyful noise, a peaceable, civil, if not exactly civilized, cacophony.

   When the parade had passed, I made my way towards the protesters, who were also departing, also having made their expressions, their proclamations heard and seen.  I noticed a few of the signs were a bit shocking, featuring profanity that may be considered inappropriate in this setting. I imagined that if the group was from a church, as I suspected, the pastor wouldn’t have been amused and that also some passerby would have been offended. Perhaps a few were turned off to the cause. 

   Then again, I thought, they were just words and a few among many. Sticks and stones… No one got really hurt.  No one was maimed or even killed, as has happened too many times in recent years, including, tragically, as I learned a few hours later, at another small-town parade that morning.  

   Yes, the day overall and even the parade may have been somewhat subdued, especially with the surprisingly small crowd at the Ravellers concert in the evening.  It may be best to eventually return to the usual Claremont Fourth of July line-up.  But on that morning, on that corner, I saw a new beginning, another start, with us gathering, safely and in peace, expressing ourselves despite our differences.  A beautiful, civil mess, indeed.