"Ma'am, excuse me, would you mind telling everyone why
you're here today?" a young man, probably no older than 16, asked me. It
was a question I had already answered two times earlier in the day as bright
lights from local Austin news cameras were shoved in my face. This boy was not
with a T.V. station though. He was wearing a blue shirt with a swatch of red
tape stuck to it. I recognized him from a group called "Bound 4 Life"
out of Austin. They're the ones who wear the tape over their mouths emblazoned
with the word "LIFE," symbolizing how they stand in solidarity with
the unborn, whose voices are silenced everyday. While normally, I love their
peaceful, prayerful message, today I came to Austin to be heard. I came to
Austin so that Wendy Davis, who just one week prior stood for over eleven hours
filibustering the Senate, would know that while I admired her greatly, she does
not speak for me. So even though the last thing I wanted to do was hop up on a
flimsy, plastic step stool in the middle of a courtyard rotunda, I agreed and
was quickly shuffled over to the microphone.
As I carefully hopped up onto the rudimentary 12x10 inch stage,
and rose above the small crowd of blue, my eyes met two young women, dressed in
all orange to represent their opposition of House Bill 2 (formerly HB5).
They were draping a black sheet over the balcony with the words, "You
Oppress We Resist" scrawled across it in silver spray paint. I began to
speak about how my mother, at the age of 19, became pregnant with me just down the
street at the University of Texas, and they started shouting pro-choice
slogans. Out of necessity I found my voice growing louder and bolder while
recalling how years later, now married and in her 20's, she had her IUD taken
out, a fairly common procedure done in most clinics and doctor's offices. I
told of how the doctor slipped and punctured her uterus, an injury that
could've sterilized her had her physician not had access to the proper medical
facilities, and still they heckled. By the time I finished giving my testimony,
which I’d originally written just in case I was one of the lucky few chosen
from the 2,200 people who had signed up to address the State Affairs Committee,
my throat was aching and dry. What was originally intended to be a somber and
powerful explanation for why I supported the more rigorous women's healthcare
regulations proposed in HB2, had somehow morphed into an impassioned battle
cry, and left me cleaving to my water bottle as my heart pounded within my
chest.
As the day wore on I watched more and more orange shirts show up
in the courtyard. At first they congregated around the perimeter, then they
began packing in on the second floor balcony with signs reading, "F***
Rick Perry" & "If the child you save is gay, then what?"
Suddenly this rather meager pro-life rally being held solely for the benefit of
an at-home audience, who was live streaming it, became a highly volatile form
of agitation to those opposing the bill. What had started as a few catch-phases
being blurted from the balcony was now a low steady hum of civil unrest. People
in blue continued to crawl up on the step stool, however their voices were
becoming harder and harder to hear.
By the time night fell on the courtyard, the rotunda was an even
mix of both blue and orange. The pro-lifers were huddled tightly together in
the center, as pro-choicers marched around them in a swift moving circle. I
stood back against a pillar, just watching, very curious how this social
experiment would play out, all the while silently praying it wouldn't escalate
beyond the chanting that now rang through the night.
By 11pm, emotions were running high. The rotunda had become
a proverbial furnace within our state's capitol building, its heat and energy
now spreading into the halls. All the while testimonies from those chosen few
(in the end less than 100 constituents) were taking place in a orderly chamber
room.
As I stood amidst the chaos, barely able to hear my own
thoughts, I realized where the true power laid in my first amendment right. My
freedom to speak hinges on others willingness to listen.
There will always be someone trying to shut me up, or shout over
my thoughts. There will always be red tape, whether it’s meant for good or ill,
literally or bureaucratically, there to silence me. It’s no longer enough to
merely vote, and call or write your elected officials. Pandemonium is breaking
out in the heart of our state, and sadly our elected officials are struggling
to represent the majority that put them in office.
We
are at a pivotal time in Texas right now. The minority is being presented to
the world as the oppressed, frustrated revolutionaries our country was founded
upon. Elected officials are encouraging civil unrest because by votes alone,
they know they will lose. I encourage everyone in the state of Texas to take
heed to what is happening in Austin right now. I saw it with my own two eyes.
And whether you would be donning a blue shirt or an orange, I really do not
care, I just beg you to get down there during this Special Session, to
represent your side with honor. The unborn are no longer the only ones being
silenced in our great state. A mob has moved in and they will be determining
how our government is run from now on if we do not stand up and make our voices
heard.
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