The Price of Multiculturalism in Britain: Sovereignty

Great Britain has issued its response to Islamic savages beheading a British soldier on a London street in broad daylight 200 yards from the Royal Artillery Barracks:

Defence sources said the order had been given that uniform should not be worn by those travelling alone, or on public transport as a “common sense precaution” immediately after the killing.

That this order is intended to be temporary does not prevent it from making the clear point that Britain is no longer a sovereign country, but has been conquered by halfwit barbarians from the Dark Ages — with plenty of help from the liberal ruling class.

Who would have dared suggest to a British soldier during the Battle of Britain that he should not wear his uniform in his own capital city lest it invite an attack from Nazis?

If multiculturalism really has reduced Britain to the point that its soldiers are not safe on their own streets, the solution is obvious: allow them to carry weapons so as to be able to defend themselves until the threat has been deported. The same goes for law-abiding citizens.

Another Good Reason to Homeschool: School 'Crossdressing' Day

Moonbat social engineering in our schools once again:

MILWAUKEE – Deidri Hernandez’s seven-year-old son won’t be in school today, after officials at Tippecanoe School for the Arts and Humanities confirmed they’re still holding “Switch It Up Day” – a time for students to come dressed as members of the opposite sex.

Hernandez tells EAGnews the day was originally billed as “Gender Bender Day,” but Tippecanoe officials made the name change after she called Principal Jeffrey Krupar to complain.

The Milwaukee mother was not impressed.

“I didn’t have a problem with the title. I had a problem with the activity taking place,” Hernandez says.

She says it’s “ridiculous” and “creepy” to ask elementary boys to come to school dressed as girls, and vice versa, and predicts that having students dress as “transvestites” will distract from the learning process.

Hernandez knows of at least one other parent who shares her concerns and plans to hold her child out of class, too.

But it’s the motivation behind “Switch It Up Day” that has Hernandez most concerned.

She wonders if it is being done to promote the acceptance of homosexuality to students in school, which runs from pre-kindergarten through eighth grade. Hernandez thinks it’s inappropriate to expose young children to these issues, even in a light-hearted manner.

“They might as well call it ‘Transgender Day,’” she says.

gender bender day second flyer

According to Hernandez, when she called Krupar with her concerns, she was told the day was chosen by the school’s student council and is only meant to be fun.

Hernandez also complained to the superintendent’s office, but was told “by someone in the office” that the school wasn’t breaking any rules.

Hernandez says she’s “never stepped out like this” to challenge school policy, but decided somebody had to.

“Every time something’s bothering a liberal or an atheist, they come forward to complain. And somebody always has a problem with Easter or Christmas,” she explains.

Hernandez says her son won’t mind the day off from school, but she regrets that he’s going to miss a day of learning because of the controversy.

Boys in skirts at school: libtard approved. Just don't get caught praying there or putting up a nativity scene at Christmastime.

Happy Harvey Milk Day - Moonbats Celebrate Pedophile

Happy #HarveyMilkDay! Remembering a trailblazer, a bold fighter for #equality, and an inspiring organizer. "You gotta give 'em hope!"

— Cecile Richards (@CecileRichards) May 22, 2013

Planned Parenthood president lauding the celebration of serial child molestor Harvey Milk. Depraved. Only on planet moonbat is a child predator a 'visionary'. At least Cecile is consistent, throwing both born and unborn children under the bus.

Boy Scouts Cave to Degenerate Ruling Class

Nothing as wholesome and decent as the Boy Scouts could be allowed to exist unmolested by the degenerates comprising our ruling class. The BSA held out longer than most against the siege. Now it is giving in:

After lengthy and wrenching debate, local leaders of the Boy Scouts of America have voted to open their ranks to openly gay boys for the first time…

OnMyHonor.Net is a coalition of people who have the character to defend scouting’s values. From its statement in response:

The Boy Scouts of America has a logo that bears the phrase ‘Timeless Values.’ Today, the BSA can no longer use this phrase in good faith. It has demonstrated by its actions that the organization’s values are not timeless, and instead they are governed by changing tides of polls, politics and public opinion.

The saddest part of today’s decision is what the organization is teaching our children and young people in the program.

The BSA is teaching our kids that when your values become unpopular, just change them.

The BSA is teaching our kids that when your convictions are challenged, just cave to peer pressure.

The BSA is teaching our kids that public opinion polls are more important than principles.

Today, the BSA is teaching our kids that you should not stand up for what is right instead you should stand up for what is popular.

The mission of the Boy Scouts of America is to “prepare young people to make ethical and moral choices over their lifetimes by instilling in them the values of the Scout Oath and Scout Law.”

BSA is teaching our kids through its new mission that we don’t make ethical and moral choices through the values of the Scout Oath and Scout Law but we make them like an unprincipled politician does, by putting your finger in the air and seeing which way the wind is blowing or by looking at the latest polling results.

What kind of a message are we sending to young people about being brave when its top adult leaders don’t even have the courage to stand up to the pressure of a militant lobby when the bullies in Washington DC, Hollywood or even some of their own renegade councils start pressuring and harassing them?

Giving in to them is the last thing that will prevent militant homosexuals from pushing their agenda even further. The BSA has already abandoned its principles. The next step backward toward the edge of the cliff — allowing openly homosexual adult scout leaders — is only months away.

We know what comes next after that, because we watched what happened when homosexuals infiltrated the Catholic priesthood. Children will be raped by perverts. Their bodies will be damaged; their minds will be shattered. They will be infected with diseases. The BSA will then be sued out of existence, constituting another progressive step forward toward our glorious rainbow future.

Fortunately OnMyHonor.Net is already laying the groundwork for a new character development organization to replace the corrupted BSA.


The values are timeless, but the BSA’s time is running out.

Bonus Moronic Quote of the Day

Porn, like food & sex, is an inherent good, when deployed healthily.

— Jane Doe, MD (@DrJaneChi) May 23, 2013

Abortionists like this one count on the objectification of women in porn to further their careers. Feminists are frauds.

Woman Told to Abort or Leave Job Files Lawsuit

The California-based law firm Aiman-Smith & Marcy, representing iGate employee Araceli Roiz whose charges led to Phaneesh Murthy's exit, has said it is contemplating court action against Murthy and the company. The law firm said Roiz was pregnant with Murthy's child and accused him of exerting pressure on her to have an abortion.

In a response to an email query from FE, the law firm said, "As a result of Murthy's influence over Roiz, she continued the relationship with him and ultimately, Roiz became pregnant with Murthy's child. When he discovered this, Murthy pressured Roiz to have an abortion. When she refused, he told her to leave the company, quietly, to protect his position as CEO."

Reacting to the latest charges from Roiz's lawyers, Phaneesh Murthy said, "There are always two sides to the truth and now that the matter is definitely heading to court, I can't comment anymore."

The firm, which had previously represented Reka Maximovitch and Jennifer Griffith in sexual harassment law suits against Murthy while he was employed at Infosys, pointed out that since Murthy was an officer and director of iGate, "his actions were the actions of iGate, and iGate, too, is liable for the acts of Murthy," under California law.

"There remains the question of whether, given Murthy's history of predatory actions toward female employees, iGate did all that it should have done to oversee and control Murthy and to provide some method for women at iGate to report his actions. We have been in communication with iGate's attorneys and iGate has stated that it is continuing its investigation," the law firm statement noted.

In a response to an email query from FE on the latest developments, iGate said, "Roiz did not inform the company about the issue first. The company learned of the relationship, when Murthy disclosed the same to the board three weeks back. Immediately after being informed of the relationship, iGate's board of directors reacted swiftly and appropriately. iGate acted quickly and sought to ascertain the facts, protect shareholder value and ensure we identified and completed all appropriate actions. Following an independent investigation carried out by a third party, the board decided to terminate the employment of Murthy. The termination was for cause," adding that "iGate is committed to fully comply with the legal process for the logical conclusion of the matter ."

Lunch Hour Abortion!

What's so bad about idea of a "lunchtime abortion"? Sounds like a good idea to me--& a way to not risk your job. If only it could work.

— Steph Herold (@StephHerold) May 24, 2013

Right? Kill the inconvenient parasite with enough time left to drop off the dry cleaning and hit Starbucks. Today's modern woman excels at multitasking.

Moronic Quote of the Day

Paul Tudor Jones, hedge fund billionaire, told an audience of University of Virginia students, alumni and others that it is difficult for mothers to be successful traders because connecting with a child is a focus “killer.” As long as women continue having children, he said, the industry is likely to be dominated by men.

“As soon as that baby’s lips touched that girl’s bosom, forget it,” Jones said, motioning to his chest during an April symposium. He was talking about two women who worked with him at a stock brokerage in the late 1970s — two women who married, had children and, according to his account, no longer had the laser focus needed for the intense world of macro trading.

NC CPCs Could Receive Funding Instead of Abortion Mills

If a new budget proposed by the state senate goes into effect, North Carolina’s Woman’s Health Fund would lose $250,000 in this year’s budget. The funding, which is usually used to provide medical care and contraceptive coverage for poor and uninsured women who do not qualify for Medicaid, would instead go to the Carolina Pregnancy Care Fellowship (CPCF), an umbrella group for about half of the state’s crisis pregnancy centers (CPCs).

CPCF representatives told the News Observer that the group’s CPCs “work hard to provide factual, impartial help to teenagers and women who are conflicted about their pregnancies.”

Winning.

Video: Weiner Stands for Women!

You just can't make this stuff up. Weiner the Peter Tweeter (now running for mayor of NYC). 'Discreet and downtrodden?' LMAO! We've seen how you 'stand' for women, Anthony-not impressed. He may be the ideal moonbat candidate. Rah rah sisterhood, yay abortion.

Abortion Counselor's Unexpected Grief

Trolled from VelaMag:

I had only a minute while I waited for the doctor to meet my patient. I grabbed a plastic cup and a pregnancy test from the lab and slipped into the bathroom. This is one of the perks of working at an abortion clinic – all the pregnancy tests you can take. My husband Jeff and I had been trying to get pregnant with our second child. But every month when I placed those two drops of urine into the reservoir, the results had been the same. One stripe. Negative. I steeled myself for the same.

I stood at the bathroom sink, watching. The two minutes it takes for the sample to travel from reservoir to top of the test seemed like hours. Finally, faintly, a second stripe shadowed the first. A thrill shot through me.

I did not shout. I did not run into the hallway to announce to my coworkers my news. I wanted to race to the phone to call Jeff, but I knew I wouldn’t have time before the next surgery, and besides, I wanted to tell him in person. Mostly, I wanted to let the idea sink in. I pressed my hand against my lower belly, as if to give my little zygote a welcoming hug. Still, as happy as I was, I was also afraid.

I was forty. I would be forty-one by the time the baby was born. I’d worked at the abortion clinic on and off for twelve years by that point and I knew the stats. For a woman my age, the risk of having a pregnancy with Down’s syndrome is 1 in 119. Compare my risk to that of the fifteen-year-old girl I’d counseled earlier that day: 1 in 1,663. For the twenty-year-old waiting for me in the surgery room the risk for Down’s is 1 in 1,627. If Jeff and I had waited even a year longer to get pregnant, the risks would be 1 in 91. Factor in that Jeff was also forty, and the risks increase by 50 percent.

I’d met the women my age, some younger, who had learned via amniocentesis or ultrasound that their fetus was malformed or had an anomaly that is “incompatible with life.” I’d been a counselor to these women, held their hands during their surgeries to remove their broken pregnancies, held them while they cried. I’d seen too many cases like this to be anything but cautious.

But I was hopeful, too. I thought of my friend Nancy who was forty-three when she had her baby Catherine. Jennifer was forty-two when she gave birth to her Elizabeth. Both babies were healthy. My friend Susan, a midwife, had delivered babies to women as old as forty-five.

“You have time,” she had said when I told her Jeff and I wanted another baby, “just not much.”

I cradled the test strip for a moment, staring at that tentative second stripe. I looked at myself in the mirror. I don’t look forty, I told myself, and hoped my affirmation made it all the way to my uterus. I checked my watch. I tucked the test into the trash, beneath paper towels, washed my hands, splashed cold water on my face, and walked back into the hall.

The doctor had already met my patient. That meant I had only a few minutes to get her set up and medicated before he got back to perform her procedure. I knocked softly, then opened the door.

“It’s time to get undressed,” I said, indicating the drape waiting for her on the surgery table. Her dark eyes shone with recent tears, but she seemed more relaxed than when I had first met her forty-five minutes ago in our counseling session.

I touched her shoulder.

“I’m okay,” she said.

I flipped one switch to dim the lights, another to turn on the meditative flute music, and stepped out of the room. Outside the door, I listened for the sound of crinkling paper to tell me she was sitting on the table before I reentered the room.

We chatted while I arranged the surgical instruments on the tray, her legs in the knee stirrups, and the mask for nitrous oxide on her nose, before I came to rest at the spot nearest her ear. Leaning on my elbows on the cushioned table, I began leading her into the relaxation she had chosen.

“Have you been to the ocean before?” I asked.

She nodded.

I asked her to think of her favorite time of year to be on the beach.

“Summer. No, early fall.” She smiled softly. “When everyone’s gone back to school.”

Molly, the nurse practitioner, came into the room, her small plastic basket filled with syringes and tourniquets. She introduced herself quietly before she began to administer the cocktail: 2 ccs of fentanyl, one of versed, one of atropine. She explained quietly how the woman would likely feel warm, heavy, and sleepy.

“Take a deep breath and imagine taking in the smell of the salty seaside air,” I began. “Try to feel the sensation of sand between your toes. Is it warm or cool?”

“Cool.”

I could see her features soften as the medication began to take hold.

“Is it morning, afternoon, or evening?” I asked

“Sunset,” she whispered.

As Molly left, Dr. Boyd came in. He sat in his chair at the foot of the table, touched the woman’s knees to let her know he was there, and said softly, “I will begin now.”

She nodded her acknowledgement, but otherwise did not respond.

I asked her to see the colors of the sky, make herself aware of the rhythm of the waves. Sometimes I watched her face. If she were in pain, I would have changed my tack; helped her focus on her breathing, reached for a heating pad. As it was, she was comfortable, and we could both relax. I closed my own eyes, trying to visualize what I was asking her to see – rolling waves, seagulls circling in the distance.

Looking back, it might seem odd, but I didn’t think of the irony that she, a young healthy woman, barely twenty, was choosing to abort her pregnancy, and I, a woman twice her age, was clinging to hope for mine. I was not my patient; she was not me, although, for the moment, we walked along the beach together, felt the same the wind in our hair, the same waves lapping our feet.

That night I waited until Katie, our three-and-a-half-year-old, was asleep. Jeff was sitting in the den, about to turn on the TV. “We have to talk,” I said, suppressing a smile. Those were the exact words I had used before I told him I was pregnant with Katie.

Jeff looked alarmed at first, but then saw my face.

“You’re kidding!” He leapt from the beige Lazy-Boy recliner and hugged me. “How far along?”

“Maybe four weeks,” I said. I brought out the “wheel,” the device we used at the clinic to calculate weeks of gestation based on the last menstrual period. According to the wheel, the baby would be born in early February. “Six months after my birthday,” I pointed out. Katie’s birthday was almost exactly six months after Jeff’s.

“Your opposite. It’ll be a boy,” he said, half joking. It was comforting to look for signs, evidence that this was meant to be.

“Would you like that?”

“Sure. But a girl would be great, too.” Jeff paced through the den, to the kitchen, and back, his hands on his head. He does this when he’s nervous, excited or agitated. I think he got this habit from his father, a Presbyterian minister, who used to manage his stage fright by pacing outside the sanctuary door.

“I’ll be eligible for my sabbatical in February,” he said. Jeff was approaching his seventh year working at Intel. “I can time it so I can be off right when the baby’s due. We can have eight weeks at home as a family,” he said.

“Stop pacing,” I said, “so I can kiss you.”

The next morning we called our midwife friend, Susan. She made an appointment for me to come to her office during what would be the twelfth week of my pregnancy.

“Remember to rest when you can,” she said. “I don’t want you to get worn out.”

That would be hard to do, I thought, working part time and caring for my daughter. I thought of Katie, so full of energy, and wondered how I would ever keep up with two kids. Still, I wanted her to have a sibling, someone close to her in age. I didn’t want her to be alone. I was alone in my family until I was almost six, when my parents adopted my little brother. Having a two-week-old baby arrive out of the blue was like having an alien land in the backyard. Growing up, my brother and I were so far apart in age and personality that we were like two only children in one household. Jeff and I had considered adoption at one point, but I had balked. I didn’t want to go through what my parents did – the wait, the false hopes, the disappointments when an adoption didn’t go through, and the worry that the baby they finally received would not be healthy.

I was pregnant now, and I counted my blessings.

Jeff and I agreed that, with the exception of his parents and my mom, we wouldn’t tell anyone until I was at least twelve weeks along. But I had to tell Joan, the clinic director. We met in one of the counseling rooms at the end of the surgery day. We sat facing each other – Joan in one of her flowing summer dresses and thick-soled Doc Martin sandals, and I in my pleated khakis and crew-necked Tee.

“What’s up?” she asked.

I couldn’t help grinning.

“What?” she demanded. Joan was the counselor I’d shadowed the day I interviewed for this job twelve years earlier. I observed her lead a counseling session and assist during a first-trimester procedure. I remember wondering how I – someone who had never had an abortion, never knew anyone intimately who had had one, and never had a strong opinion on the issue – could handle working at a place like this. I was a not-quite successful freelance writer with no medical training. Sitting in the surgery room, waiting for the procedure to begin, I wondered if I’d cry, or run retching from the room. I didn’t know then that I could tolerate the sight of blood. I’ve had to learn to tolerate a lot more since.

In a hushed voice, I said, “I’m pregnant.”

Joan had been four months pregnant when I met her. I could still see her as she was then, her round belly straining against her red-and-white checkered shirt. I had asked her if being pregnant made her job more difficult.

She’d just shrugged. “Staying pregnant is a choice, too.”

Now she nearly jumped from her seat to congratulate me. I told her I wasn’t ready to make a general announcement, and I didn’t want to work with caustic chemicals. She said she’d find a way to ask another counselor to clean my surgery room without letting her know why.

“Anything else?” she asked. I knew what she was getting at. She wondered if I could continue to tolerate the hard cases – the fetal anomalies and demises, the second-trimester procedures.

I assured her I could handle anything.

“Just let me know,” she said. Late afternoon sun shone in stripes through the Venetian blinds, illuminating the silver in her long, dark hair. There would be silver in my hair, too, if I didn’t color it. Her smile was warm, and tender, but I could see the hesitation in her eyes: she wouldn’t risk a pregnancy at our age.

Joan was right: some days it was harder than I expected to assist with abortions. Some of it was physiological. As the pregnancy hormones kicked in, I became more sensitive, particularly to smells. The smells of blood, amniotic fluid, bleach, the autoclave as it vented after it finished sterilizing the instruments: all conspired to turn me green.

Most troubling, I was emotionally tender. Despite my assurances to Joan, there were days when the sight of a twelve-week pregnancy dancing on the ultrasound screen would bring tears to my eyes, not because I would wish for a woman to continue a pregnancy that she didn’t want, but because life is beautiful; death is hard. In an abortion clinic, there is no getting around either one.

I had to remind myself to focus on the patient. I was her witness, her advocate, her midwife with a twist. To be any good to her, I would have to be present, not wrapped up in my own hormonal whirlwind.

Some days were exhausting, both physically and emotionally. Between 8:00 and 5:00, I could meet a twenty-one-year-old mother of three who wanted to get off welfare and go back to school; a thirty-six-year-old new into recovery for substance abuse; or a ten-year-old, the victim of a rape, wearing fuzzy blue slippers and carrying a teddy bear. I could meet an upstanding member of her church who had had an affair, a prep school student who couldn’t bear to disappoint her mother, a homeless mother who couldn’t take care of another child.

I’d seen so much in the twelve years I’d worked at the clinic that I thought I had seen it all. More importantly, I thought that I could handle it all. But I hadn’t been pregnant on the job before. And I hadn’t had a case like this one.

I’ll call the woman Theresa. And beyond her name, I knew from the Post-It note Joan had attached to the chart that Theresa had cancelled other appointments over the last several weeks. Under this Joan had written a single word: “Conflicted.” From Theresa’s paperwork I learned that she had a four-year-old child already, that she was twenty-three, married, and identified as Catholic. I checked the ultrasound information. Theresa was sixteen weeks into the pregnancy. Involuntarily, I made a quick calculation: Theresa had been pregnant ten weeks longer than I had.

Since Theresa was into her second trimester, an abortion would be a two-day, two-step procedure. I checked to see how she answered the question “what doubts or fears do you have regarding this abortion?” She had written, “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.” I closed the chart, slipped the Post-It note into my pocket, and braced myself.

If I hadn’t already known that Theresa was twenty-three, I would have guessed she was at least thirty. Everything about her suggested exhaustion. Her shoulders slumped against the straight-backed chair. Her arms seemed too heavy for her, and her hands hung like limp gloves from her wrists. She wore ill-fitting black sweatpants speckled with what I would later learn was baby oatmeal, and a grey T-shirt with the words “BUM Equipment” arching across her chest. Blonde hair that had long ago outgrown its cut fell in front of her eyes. Around her neck she wore a gold crucifix.

“My name is Trish,” I said. “I’m a counselor here.”

“I don’t need counseling,” Theresa snapped.

I tried not to react. Sometimes when people need support the most they push it away. I know I can be like that.

“That’s fine,” I said. “You can use this time any way you like. Just let me know if you have any questions.”

Theresa looked at the floor. After a long pause, she said, “You probably think I’m a bad person.”

“Why would I think you’re a bad person?” I asked.

“I know this is wrong. But I wouldn’t be here if my baby was healthy.”

I reached for the chart. I must have missed something.

“I mean my four-year-old. He has Fragile X syndrome. He’s like a baby.”

I must have looked puzzled. I’d heard of many chromosomal birth defects, but this one new to me. I hadn’t yet begun my obsessive on-line searches to find out all I could about chromosomal abnormalities. That would come later. Then, I wondered if Fragile X were one more thing I should worry about regarding my own pregnancy.

Theresa explained that the weakened X chromosome can cause mild to severe retardation. In her son’s case, the retardation was severe.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That must be so difficult.”

She let out a sigh that told me I didn’t know the half of it. When she spoke again her tone was angry, like I was just one in a long line of people who just didn’t understand.

“He’s four years old, okay, and he’s just now learning how to walk. He doesn’t talk yet. He’s learning to feed himself but he sure as hell isn’t very good at it.” With her thumbnail, she scraped at a dried patch of oatmeal on her pant leg. “Developmentally, he’s about eighteen-months. Only, he’s big, and he throws these tantrums.” She showed me a pink horseshoe-shaped mark on her arm. “He bites.”

I wondered for a moment if she might bite back.

“Do you have help?” I asked.

“Not enough,” she said. Her husband was in the Air Force. The military paid for her son’s medical treatments, as well as for respite care a couple of times a month, but it had also transferred them several times, most recently to Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque, hundreds of miles from their families in Oklahoma. And now, Theresa said, her marriage was on the rocks.

The conversation was taking us into areas I wasn’t trained to address and I felt uncomfortable. I had to bring us back to why she was here.

“How did you feel when you first found out you were pregnant?” I asked.

“Angry,” she said. “How could God do this to me? I shouldn’t say it like that. God only gives you what you can handle, right? Only, I can’t handle this.” She pushed her hair behind one ear, revealing a row of gold hoops that spanned from lobe to crest – evidence of a wilder time in her life.

“You have more than your share to handle,” I said.

She nodded, and for the first time I thought that maybe she was softening a little.

“When did you first consider abortion?” I asked.

“It was the first thing I thought of.” She shook her head as if disgusted. “Can you believe that? That is so against everything I’ve been taught. I grew up Catholic, okay? People who have abortions go to hell. People like you go to hell. No offense.”

“None taken,” I said and smiled. Theresa smiled wanly in return. “Do you still believe that?” I asked.

Theresa didn’t answer. She seemed momentarily to be in another world. When she looked back at me there was fury in her eyes.

“I’m a carrier,” Theresa blurted. “Isn’t that fucked? I don’t have Fragile X, but I can pass it along to my babies. You know what? I always wanted to be a mother. I left home when I was seventeen. I wanted to get married and have babies, you know, to have the big, happy family I never had. It’s so fucked.”

She sobbed, then. I fought the urge to touch her hand or her shoulder, to offer comfort. Instead, I held out the box of tissues. She grabbed a handful, then, one by one, she rolled each new tissue into another useless ball.

“Have you spoken to a genetic counselor?”

“Yes. I know there’s some-percentage chance that any pregnancy I have will have the syndrome. I don’t remember the numbers.”

“That means there’s some-percentage chance it wouldn’t.”

“I know.”

I waited. Theresa stared into space.

“There are tests,” I offered. If Theresa wanted to be the mother of a healthy baby, then that was what I wanted for her. “You could have an amniocentesis performed and it would tell the genetic make up of this fetus.”

I didn’t say that it would take two weeks to get the results. By that time, she would be eighteen weeks into the pregnancy, when abortion is more complicated and risky. But if the fetus were healthy, she could continue the pregnancy with peace of mind. I felt a sudden hunger for that peace of mind for myself. It would be another eight weeks before I could have my own amnio. I tried not to think about what I would do if the results were bad. I might be sitting in Theresa’s chair.

Theresa squirmed, one leg crossing and uncrossing the other.

“I know. Okay? I had the test.” She threw her balls of tissues angrily into the trash.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” I began and felt deeply embarrassed. I still couldn’t understand why the results of Theresa’s amnio weren’t on the chart. Normally, in cases of fetal anomalies we have pages of documentation. I didn’t know where we dropped the ball.

“You don’t get it. It’s normal,” she said, beginning to sob. “There is nothing wrong with this baby.”

It was normal.

I wonder now if I hadn’t been pregnant myself if I would have reacted so strongly. I felt an almost overwhelming wave of emotions: shock, grief, sympathy, sadness, compassion, anger. I wasn’t angry with Theresa, although sometimes I felt frustrated by her. I felt rage at the cosmic cruelty of it all. If only the order of pregnancies were reversed, I thought. If the child at home had been healthy then she could have been here aborting a Fragile X fetus. But that was not the reality. Theresa felt helpless, overwhelmed, isolated and, no doubt, depressed, caring for her developmentally delayed child. Who was I to think she should take on the burden of another child at such a stressful time in her life? But I felt uncharacteristically outraged. Theresa was about to abort the baby she always wanted. Involuntarily, my hand went to my own belly. I wanted to stop her. I wanted to say to her, you may never have another chance at a healthy baby.

Instead I asked, “If you could see into the future and knew that this would be the only healthy pregnancy you’d ever have, would that change your decision?”

Theresa looked out the window then back at me. “All I know is I can’t handle having a baby now.”

What about five or ten years from now, when you want to have a baby and you can’t because the next one has this syndrome, then what? Will you wish you would have kept this one? I didn’t say this.

“How do you think you’ll feel about this when it’s all over?” I asked.

Theresa picked again at the spot on her pant leg. “You’re probably going to think I’m a bad person,” she said.

“I won’t think you’re a bad person.” I promised, and I meant it.

With fresh tears, Theresa cried, “I think I’ll feel relieved.”

Theresa was stoic long enough to get through the first step in the surgical process – the insertion of laminaria into her cervix. Overnight, the thin, sterile strips of seaweed would absorb moisture from her body and expand, gradually dilating her cervix. Once this first five-minute procedure was over, Theresa seemed to crumble. As we walked to the recovery room, she asked again if I thought she was a bad person.

“Do you think you’re a bad person?” I asked.

“I think this is wrong,” she said.

Oh God, I thought. How could we have come this far if she still thought this was wrong? I must have misread her, missed something. I scrambled.

“Theresa, if you’re having second thoughts, let’s have Dr. Boyd remove the laminaria now. If you wait until the dilators have done their work, it will be too late.”

I guided her into the recovery room. It was empty of patients, but I knew that would change in a moment. I closed the door part way and showed Theresa to the couch. I sat down beside her. “Once we get to a certain point, you can’t unmake this decision,” I said. “If you’re not sure—”

She cut me off: “I’m sure I can’t handle another baby. But I’m afraid God won’t forgive me.” Church had always been her comfort, she explained. After an abortion, she was afraid she could never go to church again. God would know. Maybe the priest would know. And neither would forgive her.

This was an area I knew something about. My father’s side of the family was Catholic. My cousins by the dozens would be as likely to pray for me as damn me for the work I did. I didn’t tell Theresa that. Instead, I offered her referrals for spiritual counseling through the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Rights, Catholics for a Free Choice, The Samaritan Center. I rattled off statistics about how more than half of women who have abortions and are religiously affiliated are Catholic. I told her that the Catholic Church didn’t always condemn abortion. There was a time when they didn’t consider the fetus a life until quickening, about twenty weeks along. Then I offered her something else.

“You know, Dr. Boyd used to be a minister,” I said. She looked up at me with surprised eyes. “And he offers ceremonies for women who want them.”

Theresa stopped crying. “What kind of ceremonies?”

“Any kind you want.” In the time I’d worked at the clinic I had seen Dr. Boyd led ceremonies for Christians, Buddhists, and Native Americans.

“Could my husband be there?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Will you be with me?” she asked. She seemed so like a little girl, and my heart went out to her.

“If you want me to be,” I said. She nodded.

Theresa said she would think about it overnight.

After I walked Theresa to the door, I stood outside for a moment on the steps that lead to the back parking lot and tried to regain my own perspective. From this quiet spot on the hill I could see over the tops of Albuquerque’s tallest buildings, over the valley, to the volcanoes and Mount Taylor, a sacred site to the Navajo, in the distance. Theresa is one patient of many, I reminded myself. But I couldn’t shake her or the thought of the healthy baby she wouldn’t have. I quietly hoped she wouldn’t request me to be with her in the morning.

The next day, Theresa requested a ceremony. She asked me to be her counselor. I told her it would be my honor. I arranged time for Theresa and her husband to meet with Dr. Boyd to discuss their wishes before surgery. I stood in the hall, my head and back resting against the wall.

“Are you okay?” Molly asked. She was on her way to medicate another patient, but she stopped for a minute and looked hard into my eyes. “You don’t look like you feel very well.”

“I’m tired, I guess. And this case is sad.”

She nodded. “There’s something else, though. Are you really okay?”

Molly had been around enough pregnant women to know one at 20 paces. “Maybe I’ll tell you later,” I said.

“Maybe you better,” she said, as she turned to make her way down the hall, basket of medications in hand. “Go sit down for a minute. I’ll get you when he’s finished talking to your patient.”

I went around the corner and sat in the doctor’s chair in the lab. Surrounded by instruments and urine and blood samples, I dropped my head down to my chest and tried not to fall asleep.

Surgery was difficult for Theresa. No relaxation exercise I tried seemed to help. She couldn’t allow herself to relax, and the tighter her muscles, the more pain she felt. When it was over, we were both exhausted.

I carried the bottles and basin back to the lab, and Molly helped me gather bits of placenta and tissue for the doctor. It was hard to look, to see what might have become a perfectly normal baby in that small silver bowl. We draped it with the blue paper normally used to wrap instruments before they are sterilized in the autoclave, and taped it closed. Molly went to the waiting room to get Theresa’s husband, while I waited, bowl in hand.

I gave Theresa and her husband a few minutes alone before I returned to the surgery room. In the dim light, I could see Theresa half asleep on the table. It was the most peaceful she’d looked since I met her the day before. I placed the bowl on the freshly washed instrument tray and took my place at one side of the surgery table. I brushed Theresa’s hair from her cheek. Her eyes fluttered.

“Hey again,” I whispered. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, and I raised the head of the table slightly just as Dr. Boyd walked in. He took the small bowl from the surgery tray and held it in front of him. He guided Theresa’s right hand to the bowl, then placed her husband’s hand over hers. Over them both, Dr. Boyd rested his own large hand, like a blanket. He closed his eyes.

“We ask your blessing on this woman and her family. And we ask that we may honor her courage in making the best decision she could for herself, her family, and her future. We know this has been a difficult decision for her, and one she made with care.”

Theresa sobbed quietly.

“We ask now for your compassion and understanding. We ask that in your time and hers that she will know your deep and loving peace. Please bless Theresa, her family, her counselor, and this medical staff who witness her journey. In the spirit of love, we return this pregnancy to your care. Amen.”

Theresa and her husband held each other as Dr. Boyd and I quietly stepped out of the room. As he turned to go to another surgery room, I went to the front office.

“Joan,” I said, tears rising in my throat.

She looked up from the computer. Alarm registered on her face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Could someone else get my patient up? Room one. Her husband’s with her.”

I didn’t wait for her answer. I raced out the back door that leads to the back parking lot. I sat on the steps that overlooked the valley and cried.

Some days later, Molly stopped me in the hall.

“Well?” she said.

“Well,” I answered.

“Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?

There was no point in being evasive. Even though Jeff and I had agreed not to tell anyone until after the twelfth week, I had to come clean.

“I’m pregnant,” I said.

“I knew it. I knew it. Oh my God. Congratulations!” she said.

“Sh-sh. We’re not making a public announcement yet.”

“Okay. Okay. Oh my God!” she said. She had that look she gets when she’s going to do something naughty. I could just imagine her as a teenager growing up in Santa Fe, toilet-papering her principal’s house. Now she’s the mother of teenage boys, and a caregiver to horses, rabbits, bunnies and whatever else wanders onto her East Mountain property. She pulled her long, brown hair back in a scrunchie with an air that meant business.

“Come on,” she said, conspiratorially. “Let’s take a look.” She led me to the ultrasound room, shut the door, and dimmed the lights. “Assume the position,” she said, loading the end of the probe with sono gel and K-Y.

“Lock the door,” I said then hopped on the table.

Molly fiddled with the probe for what seemed like quite a while before something small, white and flickering appeared on the screen. I’ve seen hundreds of ultrasounds, but it is different when it’s your pregnancy and you want it with all your heart. To me, the almost imperceptible pulse flashing white on a black screen might as well have been Morse code, a greeting from within.

Thus began our weekly ritual. When the clinic was quiet, we’d dash into the ultrasound room, dim the lights, and take a look. Each week, it would be different.

“There’s your grub worm,” she said, when it was around seven weeks.

“It’s a Teddy Graham,” she said late in the ninth week, when the first buds of limbs became visible. We’d watch, as the little white figure jerked and bounced on the screen.

In the tenth week of my pregnancy Molly didn’t joke during the ultrasound. She frowned at the screen.

“What?” I asked. She turned the monitor so I could look, too. “I don’t know,” she said. “It doesn’t seem to have grown much since last week.”

“Is there cardiac activity?” I asked.

“Yes, yes,” she said almost tentatively. She pointed to a pulsing spot on the screen. I could see that it wasn’t beating as fast as usual.

“Now, don’t panic, little Mama,” she said. “You know it’s too small to get a good read. Let’s take another look tomorrow.”

I could barely sleep that night. I don’t think I told Jeff there was anything to worry about. I didn’t want to think there was.

The next morning, as soon as we could get a break, Molly and I went to the ultrasound room. Lying on the table, looking up at the dark ceiling, I can’t say I prayed, but I wished. I hoped.

Molly was silent. She changed probes. She searched. Finally, she said, “I can’t find a heartbeat.”

She turned the monitor again so I could see. I watched as she moved the probe, the image appearing and disappearing with her movements. No matter what angle she chose, no matter how hard we both looked, we couldn’t make it move. We couldn’t make its heart beat.

That night I cried. Jeff paced. We talked. Eventually, we had to make a plan. I knew I had a choice: I could either wait two weeks or more for nature to take its course, at which time I would bleed and cramp for as long as it would take to pass the pregnancy, or I could have a dilation and curettage procedure at the clinic, or D&C – the same procedure as a first trimester abortion, only there’s no life to abort.

Joan made the arrangements. Jeff and I came to the clinic after the last patient of the day had gone. Most of the staff had gone home as well. Only Molly and Dr. Boyd remained.

Dr. Boyd met with Jeff and me in a counseling room. He assured me I had done nothing wrong. The ultrasounds, the sleepless nights, the missed prenatal vitamins – none of these was likely to have had an effect.

“When pregnancies die around ten weeks, we generally assume the problem is chromosomal,” he explained. And chromosomal complications are more common with older mothers.

“That doesn’t mean your next pregnancy would have an anomaly,” Dr. Boyd reassured us, using words not unlike those I had used when talking with Theresa. He smiled shyly, a funny thing for a man in his line of work. “At your age, the trick is getting pregnant in the first place, and you already proved you can do that.”

Dr. Boyd excused himself, and Jeff and I went into the first surgery room. I could tell Jeff was uncomfortable, not knowing whether to stand or sit on the chair near the wall.

“Relax,” I said. “You aren’t having surgery.”

“Yeah, well I’m not getting drugs, either,” he said. Our attempts at humor were feeble, but they helped keep me from sobbing.

I undressed from the waist down and sat on the table, as I’ve instructed other women to do. Molly entered. She guided my legs into the knee stirrups. She put the nitrous oxide mask on my nose. She dimmed the lights, turned on the music. I knew everything she was doing, but it all felt foreign from my position on the table.

“Make a fist,” Molly instructed me, while she wrapped the tourniquet around my upper arm. Before I knew it, she had injected my veins with fentanyl, atropine and versed. All these years I’d told women what to expect from these drugs without ever having experienced them. Now, I thought, I can give them an accurate report. Within seconds of receiving the injection, I felt the warmth we all talk about, the heaviness, the sleepiness. I was dimly aware of Dr. Boyd in the room, his hands on my knees letting me know he was about to begin.

Jeff stood by my side, holding my hand, as he did when I gave birth. Molly stood on my other side. I felt a twinge, pressure, a small cramp. It was over. I felt Molly release my hand as I drifted off to sleep.

Next, I felt someone touch my cheek. I opened my eyes. Dr. Boyd was standing at the foot of the table, a stainless steel bowl wrapped in blue paper in his hand.

Someone raised the head of the table, so that I could sit up. Dr. Boyd took my hand in his then laid it over the bowl. He took Jeff’s hand and placed it over mine. Dr. Boyd’s hand–big, strong, yet soft–covered ours both.

Molly joined us as Dr. Boyd began, “We gather to honor…” Molly put one arm around me, the other around the Doctor. I held on to Jeff. We were a circle, surrounding the contents of the little silver bowl.

Dr Boyd’s voice felt smooth and soothing to my ear, though much of what he said slipped by me in my altered state. What mattered most to me was this circle, the arms around our shoulders, the hands holding ours. “Receive the spirit of this pregnancy with love,” he said. I felt the arms tighten around us.

A sob of grief mixed with gratitude rose in my chest. “Thank you,” I whispered, as the tears came. Molly kissed my forehead. Dr. Boyd held my hand. “We love you,” they said in turns, before walking quietly from the room, while I pressed my face into Jeff’s chest and cried.

Five days after my procedure, I returned to work. I continued to work at the clinic part time for another three years. I did my job. But I was changed. I don’t think anyone noticed. I did not comment upon it, nor did I understand it at first, but ultimately I believe I became a better counselor.

Unlike the women we see at the clinic, I had never been pregnant unexpectedly. Every pregnancy I had – and there were only two – I wanted. Occasionally, I’d meet a patient who would ask if I had ever had an abortion. I knew she wasn’t really curious about my life experience; she just didn’t want to feel alone. My answer was always the same: I had witnessed hundreds of abortions and I could report that it was generally simple and safe and women came through just fine.

Most women don’t talk about their abortions and miscarriages. Virtually none go through the experience with a loved one at their side. The greatest gift an abortion counselor can give is to bear witness, to be with a woman as she goes through this private journey, to witness her strength and weakness, her grief, her relief, her pain. For the first time I understood what a tremendous gift it is, because for the first and only time in my life, I had been in a position to receive. I am grateful.

And sad: we were never able to conceive again.

I was changed in another way, too. The protective shield I so carefully constructed around myself, that kept me a safe distance from my patients, was compromised. Most of the time, I could retain my professionalism, but there were those rare days when I’d meet another Theresa, or, perhaps more difficult for me, a woman my age who, for what ever compelling reason, chose to abort a health pregnancy.

My job was to support a woman in whatever decision she felt was best for her, and I did. And there were times when I would go to the back parking lot, sit on the crumbling concrete steps, stare out at the extinct volcanoes, and bear quiet witness to all that has been lost.

Amazing how it was a 'baby' until it was time to abort it, then it immediately became a 'health pregnancy'. Also amazing how women assume they'll have unlimited chances to conceive again after aborting. This is an interesting look at the mask abortion zealots struggle so hard to maintain - they can't see how very obvious it is to those of us who refuse to euphemize abortion. Clearly proaborts wouldn't survive without the self-made bubble they live inside, the mental womb that protects them from the truth.

Oppressed Feminazi Sniveling Whiner of the Day

Looks familiar: Every lawmaker at today's hearing on nationwide 20-wk #abortion ban is a man. twitter.com/LEBassett/stat… via @lebassett

— Planned Parenthood (@PPact) May 23, 2013

So was every lawmaker the day Roe V. Wade was decided. Don't hear any feminist hags bitching about that.

Unions Now Rejecting Obamacare

Unions played a key role in helping the Moonbat Messiah to power. But that doesn’t mean they are crazy enough to want to live under Obamacare:

The United Food and Commercial Workers International Union (UFCW) said it is worried that its members will actually lose healthcare coverage they have now once the Affordable Care Act is fully implemented early next year.

Joe Hansen, president of the UFCW, a 1.3 million-member group that endorsed Barack Obama in the 2008 and 2012 presidential elections, wrote in an editorial published in The Hill that Obama’s claim at the 2009 AFL-CIO convention that union members could keep their current insurance under the new law “is simply not true for millions of workers.”

Hansen’s concerns are shared by other labor groups. Last month, the president of the United Union of Roofers, Waterproofers and Allied Workers issued a statement calling “for repeal or complete reform of the Affordable Care Act.”

Unite Here, a prominent hotel workers’ union, and the International brotherhood of Teamsters are also calling for changes, according to The Hill.

No need for them to get so worked up. Hope & Change means only those who can’t afford a seat at the table get screwed. Major unions are sure to get exemptions.

The same goes for the National Treasury Employees Union, which does not want to be subjected to Obamacare, and which represents the IRS employees who have been so helpful in repressing the Tea Party (and who incidentally will become vastly more powerful as a result of the Orwellian Affordable Care Act).

It’s when the rest of the public wakes up to what Obamacare will do to us that there could be a problem for our Community Organizer in Chief.

Sexual Assault in the Military Only Counts if You're Female

"Enough is enough" - @sengillibrand introduces bill on military sexual assault on.msnbc.com/10W7Q05 #fem2 #VAW

— Planned Parenthood (@PPact) May 17, 2013

One of the latest feminazi memes concerns sexual assault in the military. Sexual assault against women, that is. Gay men, as always, get a pass. If you didn’t see this coming as a result of the Obama Regime attempting to homosexualize the military, head to LensCrafters at once:

The Defense Department survey of sexual assault in the military during fiscal 2012 estimated 26,000 assaults took place in the armed forces. [An estimated] 14,000 of the assaults in the Pentagon study happened to men.

Women are identified as the attacker in just two percent of all assaults, meaning most men who suffer assault are targeted by other men.

Good thing the Armed Forces are no longer expected to win wars, as the Commander in Chief is “not interested in victory.” They have enough on their hands dealing with the fallout of our twisted moonbat rulers’ social engineering schemes. Expect feminists to continue ignoring this.


Obama’s idea of a drill instructor.

Wife of Moonbat Judges Hatches Abortion Plan for His Mistress

Embattled Wayne County Circuit Judge Wade McCree took the witness stand in his own defense Tuesday and animatedly described details of an extramarital affair and its consequences that could derail his judicial career.

The 56-year-old married judge, who freely admitted to having an affair with a litigant who had a child support case before him, testified she came on to him after an appearance in his courtroom.

He said Geniene La'Shay Mott's overtures "surprised me and thrilled me" as he testified for 45 minutes before the hearing recessed for lunch.

"I lusted after this woman," he said. "I'm in my middle 50s and she's a double dozen years my junior."

The judge said Mott required more maintenance as the affair progressed.

"Miss Mott is passionate," he said. "She would be at the apex of euphoria and the abyss of homicidal anger."

He said when he met Mott he was going through a difficult time coping with the deaths of his mother, Dores McCree, and his sister, Kathleen McCree Lewis, a prominent lawyer.

He said he finally broke off the affair when he could no longer meet Mott's demands.

"She wanted to become Mrs. McCree," he said. She said 'Wade, I've made up my mind that you are the man for me."

Earlier Tuesday, the judge's wife, LaVerne McCree, testified that her husband told her about the affair and also informed her that LaMott said she was pregnant.

She said she and her husband hatched a plan to get Mott to terminate a pregnancy she really wasn't convinced existed.

LaVerne McCree, who has been married to the judge for 25 years, said her husband filed for divorce to appease Mott, who was threatening to go public with their affair. LaVerne McCree said her husband told her that Mott was refusing to terminate the pregnancy unless he filed for divorce.

There were also concerns, she said, that if Mott did not have abortion, the judge could be liable for child support and the child could have a claim on the inheritance his mother left him.

Wade McCree withdrew his divorce petition a few weeks later.

On Monday, Mott testified for three hours, describing her affair with the judge over a six-month period.

She said she was pregnant but refused to say if McCree was the father.

Also Monday, an investigator in the case said McCree complained "Wade got played" when the judge came to the Wayne County Prosecutor's Office seeking to have stalking charges pressed against Mott.

At the heart of the complaint by the tenure commission's case against McCree is his handling of a child support case in which Mott was the litigant.

In February, the tenure commission filed a formal complaint against McCree, charging him with professional misconduct for having a sexual relationship with Mott while she had the child support case before him.

There are also text messages exchanged between McCree and Mott in which the judge discussed the case with her and discussions between the pair of putting the father of Mott's young daughter in jail if he didn't pay back child support.

McCree has said the affair did not influence his decision in her case. McCree has said he asked another judge to take her case once they became involved.

But he has admitted to sending the text messages, which he said were meant to flatter Mott. He said he did not send the text messages while court was in session.

Charles Nelson, a retired Jackson County Circuit judge, is presiding over the hearing and will act as the fact finder. If he concludes McCree was guilty of judicial misconduct, the judge could face censure, suspension or removal from the bench by the Michigan Supreme Court.

McCree's troubles began last year with a widely publicized complaint made by the husband of a courthouse staffer who said his wife received an email from the judge with a photo showing him shirtless. When asked about the photo by a TV reporter, the judge delivered his now-infamous retort "No shame in my game."

McCree was publicly scolded by the Michigan Judicial Tenure Commission for the incident.

How many careers has abortion 'saved' in situations like this?

Moronic Prochoice Video of the Day

B-list proggie celebs chanting the 'forward' mantra (where have we heard that before?) because real progress means more killing. Forward to medieval values, comrade.

Prochoice Bachelor of the Day

If a girl says she pregnant and u don't got abortion money take her to the club and jus get her OD fucked up the WHOLE weekend

— TOMB$ (@Jkidd_954) May 23, 2013

Why interrupt your good time when you can kill two birds with one stone?

Bonus Moronic Quote of the Day

What do you call a black girl that gets an abortion?A crime stopper

— Casey Shaw (@shaw_shawca) May 23, 2013

Liberal humor is so funny, amirite? Barf.

Double the Stupid from Planned Parenthood

These are comedy gold:

"When members of Congress attempt to play doctor, it's bad medicine for women." - @repjohnconyers #truth #stopthebans #NoHR1797

— Planned Parenthood (@PPact) May 23, 2013

But when the federal government does it by taking over your healthcare? No problem.

#facepalm MT @huffpostpol: Oklahoma hit by tornado, so state senate defunds Planned Parenthood 2 days later huff.to/185yjLT

— Planned Parenthood (@PPact) May 23, 2013

Not like they need the funds to help the survivors rebuild-why let a devastating tornado interrupt regularly scheduled deaths?

Worth 1000

Found on a liberal rag claiming the IRS scandal is just so much manufactured Republican hysteria. Unprecedented government overreach targeting conservative groups is really just paperwork shortcuts. Who knew?

Moroniic Quote of the Day

"What #gosnell did had nothing to do with abortion...it was murder, plain and simple." Rep. Nadler #prochoice #HR1797 #fem2

— Heather Parker (@heatherr_parker) May 23, 2013

Yep, those babies would have died on their own with severed spinal cords. Gosnell was just helping speed the process. It's not like their mothers paid to have them killed or anything.

Video: Gosnell Attorney - 'Ban Abortion After 16 Weeks'

Babies? Oopsie.

Feminazi Conspiracy Theory of the Day

SBA List president: "Contraception causes abortions." And they'd like to be the antichoice NRA! ow.ly/i/2alDf#stopSBA #fem2 #p2

— Strident Feminist (@stridentfemnst) May 22, 2013

Shriek! A prolife organization that supports *gasp* prolife candidates. Scandalous. Abortion zealots are nervous. SBA List must be doing something right.

Obama Uses the U.N. to Attack the Second Amendment

As we relax after the failure of the gun-grabbing bill in the Senate, America’s enemies are attacking our fundamental freedom by more deviant means — with help from their fellow authoritarian socialists at the United Nations. Comrade Obama will sign the UN’s “Small Arms Treaty” early next month. Forbes has listed a few things this treaty would do to Americans:

1. Enact tougher licensing requirements, creating additional bureaucratic red tape for legal firearms ownership.

2. Confiscate and destroy all “unauthorized” civilian firearms (exempting those owned by our government of course).

3. Ban the trade, sale and private ownership of all semi-automatic weapons (any that have magazines even though they still operate in the same one trigger pull – one single “bang” manner as revolvers, a simple fact the ant-gun media never seem to grasp).

4. Create an international gun registry, clearly setting the stage for full-scale gun confiscation.

5. In short, overriding our national sovereignty, and in the process, providing license for the federal government to assert preemptive powers over state regulatory powers guaranteed by the Tenth Amendment in addition to our Second Amendment rights.

Aligning himself with a hostile power against the USA by signing this clearly unconstitutional treaty would dwarf the many other scandals for which Obama should be removed from office.

Cloward-Piven Traitors - Amnesty and the Welfare State

Our hostile rulers don’t even pretend that the beneficiaries of the Gang of Eight Quislings’ amnesty bill will not immediately create a massive drain on the welfare system:

The Senate Judiciary Committee voted Monday to allow illegal immigrants who get legal status to begin collecting tax-welfare payments, as the panel spent a fourth day working through amendments to the massive immigration bill and party-line splits began to emerge.

In one vote, Sen. Jeff Sessions, Alabama Republican, tried to prevent anyone but citizens and green-card holders from being able to claim the Earned Income Tax Credit, which uses the tax code to transfer money to the poor.

But Sen. Charles E. Schumer, New York Democrat, said that would deny the tax credit not only to legalized immigrants but also refugees, asylum-seekers and other legal workers.

In case it isn’t yet obvious to everyone, what these Cloward-Piven traitors are doing is putting the entire planet on the American welfare system. All you have to do is cross a border that Republican Gang of Eighters Lindsey Graham and Jeff Flake voted to leave undefended, and you won’t have to work again until after the USA collapses.

Unfortunately for the tens of millions of Third World freeloaders who will flood our country after amnesty is rammed through, that won’t be more than a few years.

Obama Gave Benghazi Terrorists a Pass

The Obama Regime did nothing to prevent the terrorist attack on the consulate in Benghazi, despite many warnings and pleas for help. As the attack took place, it continued to do nothing, despite still more desperate pleas. What has it been doing regarding Obama’s promises to punish the terrorists? You guessed it: nothing.

U.S. military sources serving in North Africa are challenging the latest White House claim that the administration is applying “all the resources” at its disposal to bring the Benghazi attackers to justice, charging instead that the Obama administration knows who is responsible but is not acting.

According to a US special operator, the Obama Regime “dropped the ball.”

The source, speaking on condition of anonymity, confirms that U.S. forces have tracked the alleged attackers since October but have since lost the trail of some of them, as no one up the chain of command would authorize them to capture or kill the targeted militia members.

A recent briefing by Obama’s spokesliar Jay Carney has those in the know rolling their eyes.

“Carney just said they want to bring those responsible to justice — that’s a big ole negative,” said one special operator who watched the press conference with part of his team and disputed Carney’s characterization of the administration’s efforts in the wake of the attack.

According to well-placed sources, the administration has known where some of the perpetrators are, based on information given to the Pentagon back in January, but no action has been taken to capture or kill them.

Further, sources said they are being restricted from any reconnaissance or advanced force operations to go after those responsible in the eastern part of Libya.

“We know exactly where the mastermind lives,” one U.S. official said.

The greatest military in the world is useless when it has to await orders from people who do not mean the country well.

Back when it wasn’t called for, Obama was aggressive in Libya. He violated the War Powers Resolution to help bring down Gaddafi, who no longer posed a threat to us. The outcome:

“The place is becoming a safe haven for Al Qaeda, and terrorists are being indoctrinated and trained. There are also known foreigners who are now traveling to Libya in the eastern mountainous regions, that are training to conduct attacks in Europe and throughout the region,” one source said. “If nothing is done you will see fallout of terrorist attacks on westerners on a scale unlike we’ve never seen.”

Obama did let us know in advance which side he would take should the political winds continue to blow in an ugly direction. Those who voted for him anyway deserve all of this. The rest of us deserve none of it.

Mother Wonders if Gosnell Snipped Her Baby's Neck

Philadelphia (CNN) -- It's late afternoon on a recent Friday when Shree McKinley walks past the Women's Medical Society.

Making her way toward a large picture window, she peers inside the shuttered medical clinic, cupping her hand on the glass to block the glaring sun.

Backing away, she gasps at a series of petite baby hands made of plaster fastened to the windowsill.

"That is sad," she said. "But I guess it's the memory of the little kids that never made it."

McKinley said she was a patient of Kermit Gosnell, a Philadelphia physician who was accused of killing babies born after attempted abortions in the sixth, seventh, and eighth months of their mothers' pregnancies at his Pennsylvania clinic, while operating in dangerous, deplorable conditions.

Shree McKinley said she was about six months pregnant when Dr. Kermit Gosnell performed her abortion.

Gosnell carried out those killings in a particularly brutal manner: using scissors to cut the babies' spinal cords. He also was charged in the death of a 41-year-old woman during an abortion procedure.

He was found guilty Monday of three counts of first-degree murder for the deaths of the babies, and involuntary manslaughter for the woman's death.

The grisly allegations in the case -- dirty procedure rooms, blood-stained and weathered equipment, babies born alive, breathing and crying, and unlicensed staff administering anesthesia -- shocked the nation and prompted McKinley to rethink what she went through six years ago.

The 36-year-old now wonders if maybe her child was born alive and had its neck snipped.

"I try not to think about it. But I think about it, and it's sad. I wish I never did it," she said. "If I would have known what I know now, I never would have had an abortion."

McKinley, now a mother, said she was approximately six months pregnant at the time Gosnell performed her abortion, which was not part of the criminal case against him.

It's illegal to perform an abortion after 24 weeks of pregnancy in the state of Pennsylvania. Generally, most doctors will not perform abortions after 20 weeks, Philadelphia district attorney Seth Williams said following Gosnell's arrest in January 2011. Prosecutors say Gosnell, who is not certified to perform abortions, falsified gestational ages on records.

"This doctor gained the reputation far and wide that he'd perform abortions at any time," Williams said.

Struggling with the idea of having a child, McKinley ultimately decided to terminate her pregnancy. So one evening, her father escorted her to Gosnell's crowded and unkempt clinic in West Philadelphia for the procedure.

"He seemed like he was a helpful person," she said of Gosnell, adding that her abortion cost $1,600. "I didn't have (all) the money up front. So I was able to give him partial money and come back and pay the rest off in payment plans."

Although unaware of the salacious allegations that later surfaced during the investigation of the clinic, McKinley said she felt "uncomfortable" and "scared" at the doctor's office.

"All the equipment was old, it was rusty. It looked like stuff from back in the 70s. And it was dirty," she said. "But I had to, you know, at the time, I had to do what I had to do."
All the equipment was old, it was rusty. But ...at the time, I had to do what I had to do.
Shree McKinley

During the trial, prosecutors accused Gosnell of reusing unsanitary instruments; performing procedures in filthy rooms, including some having litter boxes and animals present during operations; and allowing unlicensed employees -- including a teenage high school student -- to perform operations and administer anesthesia.

Gosnell's defense attorney Jack McMahon maintained that none of the infants was killed; rather, he said, they were already deceased as a result of Gosnell previously administering the drug Digoxin, which can cause abortion.

The conviction on three counts of first-degree murder mean Gosnell, who is not a board-certified obstetrician or gynecologist, could be sentenced to death.

"He deserves to die," McKinley said.

Six years ago Shree McKinley was 30 years old and six months pregnant. Her father drove her to the “house of horrors” to procure the $1,600 abortion. Gosnell 'deserves to die', but no word on whether her baby deserved to die. He was a terrible murderer, but she was just doin' what she had to do.

Moronic Quote of the Day

Yes, that is what #ShamingIs. MT@notmuchelse: Excluding or punishing students for being pregnant = discrimination. Period.

— Leah Torres, MD (@LeahNTorres) May 22, 2013

This kind of crap gets a pass from proabort moonbats:

The Student Government Association at Johns Hopkins University has denied a pro-life group official club status at the Baltimore school for fear the group will make students feel uncomfortable.

“They were denied status because the students on the student council felt being pro-life violates their harassment policy,” Kristan Hawkins, president of Students for Life of America, told Fox News.

The SGA at Johns Hopkins voted March 12 to deny the group, called Voice for Life, the right to become an official student club. The vote was affirmed on March 24 by the SGA's Senate, Fox News reports.

According to emails obtained by Fox News, members of the SGA compared the pro-life students to white supremacists, which Ms. Hawkins said was deeply offensive to the group’s black members.

“To compare pro-lifers with white supremacists — it’s unreal,” she told Fox News.

Another SGA member said that allowing pro-life demonstrations made her feel “personally violated, targeted and attacked at a place where we previously felt safe and free to live our lives.”

An SGA senator said: “We have the right to protect our students from things that are uncomfortable. Why should people have to defend their beliefs on their way to class?”

Liberal tolerance: selective harassment and equal opportunity hatespeech.

Oh Noez! CPC Moves in Next Door to Abortion Mill!

Trolled from NWLC.Org:

The Women's Health Center of West Virginia, a full service health clinic and abortion provider just got a new neighbor, the Women's Choice Pregnancy Resource Center. Women's Choice isn't a health clinic and it doesn't provide (cough: abortions) medical services. Instead, it offers counseling to try to persuade women not to have an abortion and provides free pregnancy tests, some diapers and some baby clothes. But, would you know the difference just from the names? Imagine how easy it would be for a woman looking for Women's Health Center to walk into Women's Choice instead, thinking, perhaps, that it is an affiliated clinic offering pregnancy and abortion care. It is called Women's Choice, after all, suggesting that it supports choice rather than an ideological anti-abortion agenda. In fact, it used to be called Lifeline of Charleston but changed its name in 2002. Referring to the name change, Sharon Lewis, the executive director of Women's Health Center, noted, "[M]y only conclusion is that that's part of a deceptive practice to get women in there because they're confused, thinking that they're going to a reproductive-health center."

Shriek! You mean there are other choices than abortion? And yeah, there's nothing ambiguous at all about calling an abortion mill 'The Women's Health Center.' No doubt there's a big neon sign out front advertising that they do abortions. Right?

Two Women Charged in DIY Abortion

Naturally, the mean old antis are to blame for this, because the Planned Parenthood mobile unit didn't show up at their door offering Obamacare funded abortion. Trolled from Raw Story:

Two Virginia women are being charged with inducing an abortion using herbs they purchased at a local supplement store, according to Norfolk-based WTKR-TV.

The women are Jessica Carpenter, 20, and Rachel Lowe, 27. Court documents allege that Lowe, a former employee of the Tidewater Women’s Clinic in Norfolk, helped Carpenter induce a miscarriage at six months into her pregnancy using a combination of herbs.

Lea Smith, one of their mutual friends, told WTKR-TV that she heard them discussing an induced miscarriage. She contacted police when the infant died after being born prematurely.

Tidewater Women’s Clinic owner Dr. David Peters told the station that Lowe was never involved in any medical procedures, insisting that she was hired to do clerical work and occasionally comfort nervous patients.

He added that inducing a miscarriage with herbal supplements, a practice that goes back hundreds of years, is extremely dangerous and could have killed Carpenter. Peters also noted that the survival rate for babies born after just six months of gestation is “at best 50 percent, maybe 60 percent.” WTKR-TV did not obtain the baby’s autopsy results, and the two accused women refused to comment.

Virginia law considers self-inducing an abortion a Class 4 felony, carrying a jail sentence of no less than two years and no more than 10, along with a fine of up to $100,000.

Virginia is one of the states on the front lines of the anti-abortion movement, passing laws in recent years to require women undergo a medically unnecessary ultrasound before having an abortion and implementing targeted regulations designed to force every last clinic in the state to shut down.

It’s not clear whether these policies affected Carpenter’s situation, but many pro-choice activists believe the prevalence of homespun herbal abortions will increase as women lose access to clinics that perform safe, medically supervised abortions and dispense clinically pure drugs that cause miscarriage.

Guess these women 'lost access' to those $4 packs of condoms at Rite-Aid. Damn those antis.

Where is the ' Live-Tweeing Abortion' Hero Now?

Every once in a while I like to update readers on everyone's (least) favorite prochoice hero, Angie - you remember her and her fifteen minutes of fame for live-tweeting her chemical abortion, right? It seems Angie has resumed e-begging, and hasn't tweeted in months. Looks like her fifteen minutes are finally up. Abortion really improved her life, didn't it?

Ebegging cause I'm running out of medicine. Please help if you can. angieantitheist.chipin.com/blog-site-fees…

— ajackson (@antitheistangie) November 29, 2012

Update: Mentally Ill British Woman Granted Late Term Sex Selective Abortion

Update to this post. From the Irish Times:

A mentally ill British woman, who insists that she will take her own life if forced to continue with a pregnancy, cannot be barred from having an abortion, a judge in London has ruled.

The judgment was given shortly after 9pm last night because a decision had to be made quickly to comply with legislation that bars abortions in Britain after the 24th week of pregnancy.

In his ruling, Mr Justice Holman said it had to be established that the woman, who suffers from bipolar disorder, lacks mental capacity before she could be stopped by the courts, even though he accepted that she is “mentally unwell”.

Alex White, the minister of State at the Department of Health, says the Government will look at Section 19 of the proposed Bill. Photograph: Alan BetsonGovernment will examine penalties for illegal terminations, says White.

Under the law, the woman is entitled to make a decision “which may be unwise”, or with which others would disagree “including myself” if she is shown to have enough capacity to know her own mind, he said.

Psychiatrists argued that the woman does not have the mental capacity to decide because of her mental problems, which have affected her on and off for eight years, leading to paranoia and other problems.

The judge said doctors believe the woman “is not thinking straight and would, in time, come to regret having an abortion”.

Experts and family had argued that the woman began to seek an abortion only after she had stopped taking her medication and because a foetal scan at 20 weeks indicated that she would give birth to a girl.

She accepted that she had wanted to have a child before she became pregnant but she said she had changed her mind because she believed her husband was not interested in having a child.

In addition, she feared that if the child was a girl her husband would send her to live abroad, where she would be at risk of female genital mutilation — claims strongly denied by her husband.

Hospital staff had told her, he said, that she could have the baby adopted if she did not want to keep it.

Questioned by the judge, the woman, who cannot be identified, insisted her demand for an abortion remained unchanged.

“I want it more than ever. In the situation that I am in, the idea of me having a baby is crazy,” she said, before insisting she wanted to part from her husband and from her mother and “start a new life”.

Saying that no woman opted for an abortion with pleasure, she said that “it isn’t a lovely experience”. She said she had never regretted having an abortion 18 months ago, though she regretted becoming pregnant.

However, counsel for the health authority that sanctioned her committal said some of her rational grounds for wanting a second abortion are now “intermingled’ with grounds that are not rational.

She had had an abortion 18 months ago abroad because she believed that particular foetus had been damaged by the drugs she had been prescribed to treat bipolar disorder.

Her husband had not been the father on that occasion and she told the court that she was not sure who was, though the judge interjected at this point saying he did not want her questioned on her sex life.

In April she went to an abortion referral centre where she was approved for an abortion by two doctors, but she refused an offer of a surgical abortion in a clinic in the north of England.

She said she turned it down because she wanted to end the pregnancy by using drugs, rather than by surgery in which, she said, the foetus is “torn limb from limb”.

She failed to turn up later for a second appointment for a surgical abortion, telling the judge that she had ordered drugs on the internet to end the pregnancy herself.

However, the woman did not have time to take them, because she was committed to a psychiatric hospital on the orders of doctors who believed she was suffering “a manic episode with psychotic symptoms”.

Appalling. Too bad someone isn't collecting stats on how many women have claimed to be suicidal in order to procure abortion.

Disaster in OK Brings Out Liberal 'Compassion'

(click to enlarge)

Winstead deleted her tweet after conservatives turned up the heat. Too little, too late.

Feminazi Hypocrite of the Day

$2 million could've helped a LOT of people MT @naral SBA List spent ~$2 million on antichoice candidates nar.al/ju #StopSBA

— Steph Herold (@StephHerold) May 21, 2013

The $1 million PER DAY Planned Parenthood receives in Title X funds from hardworking taxpayers could help a whole lot of people too. So could the BILLION DOLLAR war chest Obama started his second campaign with, before campaigning in earnest even began. Haven't seen a single moonbat whining about either.

Worth 1000

Gosnell does the perp walk.

Feminazi Whine: Crack Babies Part of the 'War on Women'

Feminazi waxes poetic about New York Slimes documentary. Trolled from Feministing:

The New York Times has a short documentary up exploring the construction of the “crack baby” epidemic – an epidemic that was largely built on racist media hype and flimsy science.

This week’s Retro Report video on “crack babies” (infants born to addicted mothers) lays out how limited scientific studies in the 1980s led to predictions that a generation of children would be damaged for life. Those predictions turned out to be wrong. This supposed epidemic — one television reporter talks of a 500 percent increase in damaged babies — was kicked off by a study of just 23 infants that the lead researcher now says was blown out of proportion. And the shocking symptoms — like tremors and low birth weight — are not particular to cocaine-exposed babies, pediatric researchers say; they can be seen in many premature newborns.

What was just a very preliminary observational study turned into a widespread social panic about “crack babies,” children who would supposedly suffer extreme physical and cognitive deficiencies as a direct result of the use of crack cocaine. Ultimately, this was found not to be the case at all – rather, other issues correlated with drug use (such as lack of access to healthy foods, for example) were the main culprit in the health complications these babies faced. But the story fed into the racialized narrative of the war on drugs, and because crack use was most prevalent in urban communities of color, the media, legislators, and the general public quickly demonized low-income mothers of color struggling with substance abuse. Legislators enacted some of the harshest penalties for low-level drug offenses for crack, and to this day there is a huge disparity between sentencing for crack vs. powder cocaine – a drug much more prevalent with wealthy white users. Though the Fair Sentencing Act reduced this disparity and eliminated the five-year mandatory minimum sentence for possession of crack in 2010, the fact that there is a disparity at all is indicative of the ways that class and race play out in the drug sentencing and the criminal justice system.

Today, the legacy of these policies remains. Recent studies reveal the ways that these narratives, along with anti-choice policies such as fetal personhood initiatives, have resulted in widespread arrests and forced interventions among pregnant women – disproportionately low-income women, women in the South, and black women. Drug use still largely remains in the public imagination as an issue to be treated with punishment rather than health care, and harm reduction policies are controversial despite clear clinical evidence of their success as public health initiatives.

Go take a look at the ten-minute documentary, and stay updated on the work of organizations like National Advocates for Pregnant Women, who are working on the issues faced by drug-addicted pregnant women.

As per usual, the feminazi wastes no time in shifting victimhood from babies born to addicted mothers to the drug-using women themselves. Naturally, she flips the race card almost immediately. LMAO at the sniveling about 'antichoice' policies given Planned Parenthood's racist past and strategic targeting of minorities. As always, women are above the law and should be allowed to abuse their unborn children in any manner they choose without consequences.

Shriek! Abortion Images in Girl's Bathroom!

Someone stuck graphic anti-abortion pictures in a girl's restroom at a high school because pro life. kens5.com/news/Graphic-a…

— robinmarty (@robinmarty) May 21, 2013

Planned Parenthood in the schools distributing their kiddie porn? No problem.

Moonbat Senator Whines About Aid for Tornado Victims

After the repugnant shamelessness with which Democrats exploited the Newtown shootings to advance their anti-liberty agenda, you had to see this coming:

While many Americans were tuned into news coverage of the massive damage from tornadoes ravaging the state of Oklahoma, Rhode Island Democratic Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse took to the Senate floor to rail against his Republican colleagues for denying the theory of anthropogenic global warming.

Normally leftists like Whitehouse can never spend enough government money. Yet he resents the idea of aid being sent to Oklahoma, which as Daily Show co-creator Lizz Winstead so viciously observed is largely populated by countermoonbats.

“So, you may have a question for me,” Whitehouse said. “Why do you care? Why do you, Sheldon Whitehouse, Democrat of Rhode Island, care if we Republicans run off the climate cliff like a bunch of proverbial lemmings and disgrace ourselves? I’ll tell you why. We’re stuck in this together. We are stuck in this together. When cyclones tear up Oklahoma and hurricanes swamp Alabama and wildfires scorch Texas, you come to us, the rest of the country, for billions of dollars to recover. And the damage that your polluters and deniers are doing doesn’t just hit Oklahoma and Alabama and Texas.”

That is, he actually accused Oklahomans of bringing the tragedy on themselves by refusing to pretend that tornadoes are caused by insufficient federal regulation.

Meanwhile, at least 24 people are dead in Oklahoma. They were not killed by global warming, since there hasn’t been any for 16 years now.

There truly is no lower life form than a left-wing politician.