Ain't life -- sorry, "women's lives" -- grand? This psychotic "spoken-word poetry" must be what the Post had in mind when it described the rally as being "aggressive and even occasionally, almost delightfully, profane." Or maybe it was its observation that "every obscene gesture or slogan or T-shirt comes with Magic-Markered flowers or bubbly lettering." All of which is to say, how aggressively occasional! How profanely almost delightful!
From Uterus the Menace (described above), to the T-shirt emblazoned "Cute Guys for Women's Lives" -- "and he was cute," gushed the Post -- to a banner of marching medical students proclaiming "We are tomorrow's abortion providers," what is most striking about the ghoulish March for Women's Lives is not that it was a heavily attended rally in favor of abortion rights. Rather, it is its massive "blue"-state-style effort to take abortion from the pitiful shadows of human history to a place in the cultural sun where it is meant to exist as a sacred right of enlightened womanhood -- something to celebrate. And this the Post style piece does with gusto, with its protest idyll of "happy, combative squeals," Powerpuff Girls, their "best boyfriends and husbands ever (with) perfect three-day stubble," and a Gloria Steinem who "practically glowed."
Maybe it is one thing to wrangle over the moral and spiritual price of abortion; it is very much another to elevate abortion into a cause for righteous glee as the March for Women's Lives did. "Carole King came on just as the wind picked up, and reminded the crowd, a capella, what it feels like when the earth moves under your feet," the Post wrote in closing, waxing dangerously lyrical. "Such an old chestnut, this endless abortion debate, yet it all sounded somehow renewed."
Whether this triggers a blue-state tingle, or a red-state chill, is there anyone who thinks the ultimate image of abortion is renewal?
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