This started as a Facebook post, so it is easiest to turn it into a blog post.
I was walking home past a heating and a/c repairman when I said I bet this is his off-season (it is open windows weather in NJ). He agreed and then said we are on ”Politics Row” — the Trump House (with its 5 flags, smaller signs, and warnings of surveillance cameras attached to a red home badly in need of a paint job and likely other repairs) is now surrounded by homes bearing small Harris and Harris/Walz lawn signs.
I pointed to the Harris homes and said, plus mine, too.
I don’t know why I replied since we had already passed each other and I was now smack dab in front of the Trump House’s security cameras, but I said “and I want reproductive freedom.”
He gave the usual extreme examples, and I replied with wanting friends to have the option when they have an ectopic pregnancy without facing the possibility of death, or of the doctor fearing prison.
He replied it was right to go to the states, that no judge should decide on our rights. And I replied no person should have that right to decide for someone else. That we are all Americans and should all have the same rights. I don’t want to decide who should and should not have an abortion. It is just not my place.
I could have gone on to my views on sensible gun laws, term limits, and allowing all US citizens to vote without fear, but he wants to stay friendly with his neighbors, and probably with potential customers.
In the early 20th century if women were quiet, I would not be allowed to vote today. I‘m not staying quiet now.
I've also been writing postcards, and encouraged Sylvia to come with me to write.
No comments:
Post a Comment