First of all, this is not to offend anyone. Secondly, this isn’t exactly intended to be a Pro-Life piece, though that is the greatest example I have of seemingly futile shows of civil disobedience.
Earlier today I was on the phone with a gentleman who is a member of several Pro-Life organizations, in this part of the state. Apparently the anniversary of Roe V. Wade is coming soon, and they intend to protest across the street from the Womens’ Clinic, here in Fayetteville. Now, those of you who know me know that I am a very ardent Pro-Lifer who believes that life begins from the moment of conception. So you would probably assume that I’m totally in support of this action, but I’m not. I don’t see the point in it. I don’t see the point of any demonstration where protesters hold up signs with quippy little slogans that ask drivers by to “Honk For Life,” and so on. I don’t see what good it does other than waste time when you could actually be working to help those at whom you’re quite possibly yelling vulgar comments. It certainly does little to promote your cause, I think.
A certain church group up here has spent days on end protesting outside the clinic, and what did it do? Nothing. Women are still going in for abortions. I don’t know their reasons for doing so, I don’t really need to. I do think that we should work harder to provide and promote options other than abortion. We should not condemn these people, but help them with prayer and suppor; spiritual, emotional, physical, monetary, and whatever else. We should let them know that there are real choices other than abortion. I don’t know how many people there are who would love to raise babies but can’t have their own, but I’m fairly certain there are more than you would imagine. Possibly we should make it easier to adopt babies here, in the United States so those families don’t necessarily have to look elsewhere, like China.
I don’t have all the answers, but I would rather actually try to do something rather than just talk about it. A charity close to my heart are the Arkansas Baptist Children’s Homes. I will offer my money and my prayers there any day before I’ll make a show of protest. That’s all protesting really is, you know, a show. I have no use for empty shows, and it’s come to my attention over the past almost twenty-nine years that those who brag the most about things are those who are overcompensating for how things really are. Those who wear their faith or beliefs literally on their sleeves almost constantly often don’t carry that same faith or those beliefs truly in their hearts. How is that different than those who bomb abortion clinics supposedly in the name of Christ or that church whose members hold horrible signs at the funerals of fallen soldiers? I don’t understand that one at all
Beyond those who protest abortion, what good do any protesters do? What good does a group in Fayetteville Arkansas, holding signs against violence and war, do for the people who live in Israel, the Gaza Strip, Iraq, or anywhere else? How do those signs help anyone? Would it not be more prudent to send actual aid to those ravaged places? So you don’t like the President, does holding a sign outside the White House change his decisions? Does chaining yourself to a tree in North America save a tree in the rainforest?
I had a professor in college ask one of my classes, “Why doesn’t your generation protest things more?” I don’t know about everyone else, but I would rather work to change the things I do not like rather than just talk about it, waiting on others to do the changing for me. It just seems useless and fruitless to me. What do you think? Please vote in the poll and leave a comment.
Currently playing in iTunes: They Bring Me to You by Joshua Radin
I love Facebook, and to an extent, Myspace. They’re great ways to keep in touch with friends and family. I’m friends with people I went to high school with, college, church, old teachers, relatives, and even people I’ve never met but know and have known for years now through other online communities. I think that social networking sites are great tools for keeping in touch with people and such. However, I personally don’t like it when people use them more as a marketing or better yet, a campaigning tool.
Just in the past two days, I’ve had friend requests from the people who sold us our house in April of last year. In the past year and a half, we have had no contact with these people, but now they want to “friend” us. Bart, of course accepted them as friends. He’s a bit of a friend whore. I, on the other hand, have no desire to be used as a marketing tool, which is what will happen when these people gain access to my list of friends. I know, I’m being used all the time for marketing, but this is pretty blatant. It’s like when Dan Coody tried to friend me on Facebook when he was running for Fayetteville reelection. To me, that’s a form of endorsement, and I don’t like the man at all, not to mention I don’t live in Fayetteville.
Anyway, it seems that my safe haven of actual friendship is being bombarded by salesmen, and I don’t like it. The ads to the right and left of me are more than enough. Please don’t friend me just to gain my vote or sell me something, and really don’t friend me just to gain access to all of my friends so that you can harass them.
I love Facebook, and to an extent, Myspace. They’re great ways to keep in touch with friends and family. I’m friends with people I went to high school with, college, church, old teachers, relatives, and even people I’ve never met but know and have known for years now through other online communities. I think that social networking sites are great tools for keeping in touch with people and such. However, I personally don’t like it when people use them more as a marketing or better yet, a campaigning tool.
Just in the past two days, I’ve had friend requests from the people who sold us our house in April of last year. In the past year and a half, we have had no contact with these people, but now they want to “friend” us. Bart, of course accepted them as friends. He’s a bit of a friend whore. I, on the other hand, have no desire to be used as a marketing tool, which is what will happen when these people gain access to my list of friends. I know, I’m being used all the time for marketing, but this is pretty blatant. It’s like when Dan Coody tried to friend me on Facebook when he was running for Fayetteville reelection. To me, that’s a form of endorsement, and I don’t like the man at all, not to mention I don’t live in Fayetteville.
Anyway, it seems that my safe haven of actual friendship is being bombarded by salesmen, and I don’t like it. The ads to the right and left of me are more than enough. Please don’t friend me just to gain my vote or sell me something, and really don’t friend me just to gain access to all of my friends so that you can harass them.
Anyone who works in downtown Fayetteville must know the great cat and mouse game that we all play with the city parking management employees, or as I like to call them, “The Male Meter Maids.” Like Jerry trying to get to the cheese before Tom can trap him, we all attempt to put as little money as possible in each parking meter. Too often we’ve all lost money to malfunctioning machines or have been but a minute or two late and have found that irritating little, light green envelope expertly placed between our windshield and our driver’s side wiper.
It has become increasingly apparent that those who give the tickets enjoy playing the feline part in this game, so much so that a coworker was actually told, “I’ll get you next time!” when he managed to pull out of his spot just before a ticket was issued. We’ve all done it, and there’s a certain exhilaration that comes from beating the guys in the blue t-shirts before they get us. I personally have almost run over a male meter maid who was trying to get my tag number down before I could leave, even though I still had a minute left on the meter.
I think my greatest triumph over the male meter maids had to have not had anything to do with my own car though. I was walking back into the office after lunch when I noticed what had to be one of our vehicles in the process of getting a ticket. The red light on the meter was blinking and the aptly ugly city Honda Element was parked behind it. A male meter maid was banging his hand-held ticket machine against his leg. It was apparently jammed. So, I took that moment to grab a quarter out of my purse and slammed it into the meter, foiling the issuance of the ticket.
I felt somewhat like how Wellington must have felt after Waterloo. OK, maybe that’s taking it a bit far, but to quote Gilbert Blythe in Rilia of Ingleside, “by George, Anne-girl, it was satisfying.”
Busy Nothings
