The One About Abortion

When I was sixteen or seventeen, I was part of a group called Junior State of America. We held little debates at school, we traveled to a convention, lots of kids got drunk and felt up and danced to terrible music. It was a hoot.

During said convention, I was asked to take place in a number of debates, some scheduled (I prepared for my strict constructionist constitutional debate for three weeks) and some were discussions where ad hoc statements of support for one position or another. After obliterating the diminutive Indian student in the constitutional thing (he was actually tough, though, but I got under his skin, funny story, ask me some day), I saw everybody and their mom rushing for this huge ball room in a larger section of the hotel holding the conference, so I followed the pack squeezed my way in.

Inside were probably three hundred teenagers. At the front of the room was a raised dais, with two long tables draped with white cloth, each having five seats separated by a mic-wielding podium between them. The debate taking place was one about abortion, and it'd just started moments before I got there. Notepad in hand, I listened and jotted down notes, cautiously working my way near the line for people to speak after the main debaters got done. I should note now that this is all the preparation I had, as I'd not thought about the topic beforehand.

To be fair, the pro-lifers were kicking a lot of behind in the debate, looking to be probably four points ahead on most scorecards. Weaving biblical references with biographical tidbits about founding fathers, they presented a much better show and story than their opponents, three girls and two guys, all of whom looked shaken like they'd eaten some bad shellfish. After the main arguments and rebuttals were presented, I was called up as the first audience speaker.

I stood behind the podium, my lips near the mic, wearing a baseball cap tilted to a 45 degree angle off my forehead, a bolo tie, a gray cardigan sweater and gray cargo pants (What do you want, it was 1990, Chubb Rock was jumping on the scene?). I held my words for a moment, letting the tension build in the room as people murmured, all eyes on this weird Black teenager on stage, before I finally spoke.
"It is my studied opinion that the government should keep its damned hands off of women's bodies," I said simply. Letting it hang, I was only slightly surprised when the cheers and clapping and standing and what not began. I wasn't able to continue for probably fifty seconds as people yelled back and forth and the applause finally died down.

"I am not a woman," I continued. "I would hope this comes as no surprise to any of you." (I glanced at a girl who was standing in the back of the room. I'd made out with her at the dance the night before and she giggled at my regard, her hands flying up to cover her mouth) "I don't know much more than the basics any teenaged boy would know about a woman's body, but I am absolutely certain that I don't want any woman making decisions for things that happen to my body. Therefore, with all due respect to the distinguished panelists here ..." (there I gestured to the pro-lifers, all but one of whom were male) "neither I nor any of these guys deserve any opinion in this discussion."

More standing, more applause, blood everywhere. The pro-choice team looked relieved, I actually heard one whisper "thank you."

"So let's start with that," I said. "I'm all in favor of considered and contemplative debate. I believe this is an important issue and respect that many people have strong feelings about it. However, in the same way none of us can vote due to disqualifications of age, I believe that nobody with my gender assignment gets to weigh in on this topic. Unlike voting, I will never grow the requisite experience to have a say here, and neither will most of these guys ..." Again I gestured to the pro-lifers, and the laughs from the crowd were loud and lengthy.

"Now, once we have the people who will be actually affected by the outcome of this discussion as the sole participants, maybe they can come up with something reasonable. My mother always tells me girls are smarter anyway. But for me, or most of the presenters to my right, or most elected officials, or most members of the Supreme Court, to have the unmitigated gall to even believe they deserve to debate this ... well, I don't know about you, ladies, but I find that pretty damned insulting. So, to that end, I'll yield the rest of my time, and hope only people who deserve to discuss this can find their voice. Thank you."

I walked off the stage to thunderous applause. The stairs were rushed by dozens -- mostly girls (yes, I planned a lot of this as I was approaching the stage) -- as the moderator (another guy) struggled to retain control. To be honest, I didn't even stay for the rest of the debate. I left with a group of people -- six girls (including the one from the night before), a guy I knew who came with my team and another guy we met who we thought was cool -- and we all went to get something to eat together and discuss politics and policy.

I was told the original debaters got closing statements. When I read the report on who won what the next day, pro-life went down by a margin of two points.

In my mind, all was as it should be.

So, in case you're asking, here's my position on abortion: women should be able to do whatever the heck they want. Anything I might believe they should or should not do, anything I feel about when life begins, anything I think about what is or isn't murder ... sophistry. None of that matters. It's a woman's body. It's a woman's decision. End of argument.

As with all things, your mileage may vary.

Playing (Music): "La Vie Boheme" from Rent