The Lincoln Walks at Midnight Statue sits in front of the West Virginia state Capitol building in Charleston, W.Va. (Lexi Browning | West Virginia Watch)
Until we make it personal, empathy vanishes.
After reading that state GOP lawmakers are seeking to remove rape and incest exemption from West Virginia’s near total abortion ban, I was reminded of a conversation I had a number of years ago with a colleague about West Virginia’s Catholic bishop facing charges of inappropriate sexual behavior. And recently, another diocesan priest was accused of inappropriate behavior.
I will never be judge and jury, yet even as I made attempts to hear the charges from the priest himself, I was accused of passing judgment. I recognized that movement on his part as clear deflection.
In discussions with a co-worker, who is the father of young boys, I mentioned that the bishop had apologized for any hurt/pain he may have caused, even as he maintained his innocence, as countless Catholic clergy before him had done. My colleague remarked that maybe the bishop was sorry. It was at that moment that divine intervention slipped in and I said, “Would you be that forgiving, that accepting, that dismissive if a member of the clergy had acted like that to one of your sons?” His expression turned ashen. That was answer enough for me; and then he said, “I hadn’t thought about that.”
When will we think about the laws that are being enacted on a personal level? When will we put ourselves in the situation that’s up for debate? When will we move beyond the stark black letters on a stark white background and excavate what lies beneath the surface?
As our state lawmakers hold tight to a black and white world, we need to find a way to make certain that they consider the issues by asking themselves, “What if this situation were to happen to someone I hold dear, to someone I love?” Empathy is on a much too lengthy hiatus. It must be resurrected if we are to have any modicum of decency to combat the starkness of black and white. Very little is that simple.
In the summer of 2022, I wrote a commentary for the Charleston Gazette-Mail after the reversal of Roe v. Wade. It is crystal clear to all who know me that I am against abortion. Pay attention to the bold pronoun. That’s me. I also firmly believe that every woman has the right to make that choice for herself, along with her physician.
My commentary stated that when the reversal was announced, “I cried in a way that was closer to a howl.” And later that day, I received an email from a co-worker who is fanatically against abortion who wrote, “Now those women who have been protected as they chose abortion, will die by their own hand, as we take those measures from them, like they have taken the life of a child, and sacrifice their own life. Read the Old Testament.” Read those two sentences again. Almost three years later, those words frighten me even more than when I first read them. They will always frighten me.
Let’s bury the potential cruelty and judgement and destruction that would most assuredly accompany these proposed laws, if they should be adopted. How did we get here? To reiterate my earlier plea, ask yourself, “Would I feel differently if a loved one were to be raped or became a victim to incest and a pregnancy resulted?” Make. It. Personal. Because in the end, it’s nothing but personal.
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