Talking About Abortion

by Lauren Boyer

—

But the Lord came down to see the city and the tower the people were building. The Lord said, “If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them. Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other.”

So the Lord scattered them from there over all the earth, and they stopped building the city. That is why it was called Babel—because there the Lord confused the language of the whole world. From there the Lord scattered them over the face of the whole earth.

Genesis 11:5-9, NIV

I was sitting in the Virginia grass the summer of 2020 when my perception of the abortion debate was forever changed. Masked up, my church was meeting outside of D.C. in an effort to comply with pandemic laws. Stationed on Capitol Hill, the church was home to many working in politics. When it came to abortion, like most political matters, application was left to the conscience, though the church recognized the human fetus to be made in the image of God, in accordance with scripture. So you can imagine my surprise when a pro-life group picketed our service. They had a ghastly sign and a megaphone, and I was so angry. They used words like “murder” and “baby-killers,” and I wanted to tear my hair out thinking about how they were ruining the reputation of a cause I defended. My sole comfort was that they had chosen a pro-life church to irritate instead of terrorizing a pro-choice one. 

If I agreed with their stance, why wasn’t I clapping? Why didn’t I shake their hands? Because I know the power of language. 

Post-structuralist feminism would argue that gender is a behavior, an idea which whittles down perceived reality to social behavior. If talking like a woman makes you a woman, how powerful might language be in determining whether a fetus is a person?

In order to have productive conversations, we must listen. We must unwind to the experiences and assumptions that support our conclusions. We must knock our ideas down to their foundation with each conversation, and from there, build up together, leaving no stone left unturned — until all are cemented together, whether it be into the most beautiful castle (if we are so lucky) or the most hideous hut. 

But language is hardly avoidable. We cannot build so much as that hut if we sit our heavy stones on top of pebbles. The pebbles are to fill the cracks, not be the bedrock. And our stones can hardly be compatible when we speak such different languages as pro-lifers and pro-choicers often do. We resign ourselves as the builders of Babel once did: to no words and no tower. 

The discussion of rhetoric in the abortion debate has only grown in relevance since the Dobbs case and its implications, such as regarding the Texas Heartbeat Law. So how can we foster productive conversation instead of regressive debate?

We might ask ourselves: Does Biblical language help? What about terms that draw attention to the violent nature of abortion? What about abortion’s historical connection to women’s liberation? 

It is best to steer clear of violent language that is more likely to trigger an emotional response than an abstract one. And abstract is where we must begin: along with experience, it is the fuel to our feelings. I also believe it is unproductive to bring religion into the conversation without there first being a religious context. It is alright if a religious leader wants to instruct their congregation on the modern interpretation of a religious text, but those arguments which may be viable in the church are dead to the state. One last rule I live by is to remember the distinction between the woman and the fetus. They are closely related, but they are no more the same than my mother and I are now. While a pro-choicer sees the fetus as unalive and focuses on the mother, the pro-lifer sees the fetus as a human and (should) seek to preserve the wellbeing of both. Many other rhetorical choices hold assumptions and daggers that the speaker may not realize and it is important that we consider them carefully. 

Meanwhile, we ought to do our best to establish the bridge that is peace and understanding, so that we can reach our fellow humans and together build a concept of equality that rests on the nuance of all of our ideas and experiences. 

This summer, five years later, the picketers returned. They were sitting inside of our church building, easily recognizable by the t-shirts they wore. Those of us who remembered were on edge. But what they did was unexpected: they apologized. We could all do a little more of that, and a little more forgiving as well. They tried to bridge the gap they had broken all those years ago. They had not forgotten. We should do the same, especially for those on the other side of the mountain. We should be prudent and prioritize the people who disagree with us over the disagreement. That’s how you love.