"'OK,'" said Haskell, 'but I still don't think you're normal.'
'I ain't. Normal people go crazy in this place.'
-Richard Hooker, M*A*S*H
Good Lord...
Are we really creeping towards the ides of July? Has summer really gone by quite that fast? Or have I just drastically overslept after a ramping caffeine arc?
Forgive me. Instead of getting down to business and writing out a coherent introductory post for this fine new Expectant Mother Care blog, I am hammering out my own meanderings, still trying to get things organized in my own mind. But you must understand that time operates differently here. Throughout most of the United States, time passes at what we would call a "normal" rate - one second after another, sixty to a minute, thirty-six hundred per hour, and so on. But in New York City, time passes at least twice as fast. Hours mesh. Days charge past each other. Weeks will slip by while you're not looking. You are never sure, looking out a window over a busy New York street, if clocks go slower somewhere over the little bit of horizon visible in the gaps between the concrete canyons.
New Yorkers, being mostly common-sense human beings, have evolved to adapt to this harsh rapid atmosphere by the simple mechanism that they age twice as slowly as the rest of Americans. This compensation allows for a normal lifespan in a place where time travels twice as fast as normal, and in some cases can continue even when an individual leaves the City. It can be difficult for a non-New Yorker to develop this capability, and travelers - unless they stick to the tourist circuit - can get sent spinning, if they're not careful.
Which is why, despite what my calendar tells me, certain parts of my brain still insist that it cannot be any later than the third week of June. In retrospect, I suppose it makes sense; that's when time - at least, time as I have always known it - stopped. I first emerged from Port Authority into the streets of Manhattan at the end of May... and a month later, when I had just gotten used to NYC time, I flew out to Utah and then back to my home in Michigan. And now I find myself back in New York. Time moves here just as fast as it always did, but for the few weeks I was out of the city, back in normal currents of time, it didn't seem to move at all. Thus this weird feeling, this sense of linear displacement. It suspect it is something like flying a tiny two-seat airplane through a giant cyclone and suddenly being swept by an updraft above the eye of the storm, into brilliant sunlight and white clouds, before being sucked back into the whirling vortex.
So yes... back in the City now, swept along with its various rhythms... and if I'm going to have any hope at all of translating a meager handful of them, it seems important to lay out all the background, so that when I wind out, from time to time, on a high string of words and images and flashing sounds it is possible to reconstruct them from a solid vantage point. And perhaps understand them.... Or not. I do strive towards coherence most of the time, but I occasionally rediscover my yen for poetry, and kick back and let my fingers unwind on this fine black light-touch keyboard. Somewhere deep down I am a poet, but my eyes are too big for my fingers sometimes, and I try to grab on to everything at once, like a wide-eyed toddler in a candyshop. But toddlers, as a rule, are still rather deficient in the hand-eye coordination department, and they tend to make a mess of things. But as any good parent will tell you, a mess is still a mess, even if it is brightly colored. But those toddlers will grow, and my fingers will trip over other people's stories. So it goes.
The Scene:
New York City in the dawn of the New Millennium. Nobody really thinks in those terms anymore, because human beings can only contemplate vast stretches of time for a little while, before practical life and a general sense of unease come to bear. By 2007 America has already integrated “oh-seven” and “twenty-ten” into its vocabulary, and we are not living in the vaunted aftermath of the terrible “Y2K” disaster, in which all computer networks would suddenly experience a midlife crisis and, in the throes of a terrible despair, commit mass suicide at precisely 12:01 AM on 1-1-00. But the lights did not go down and the nukes did not fly, and so instead of an escapist dystopia we are stuck with the same lame 19th century problems, most of which we inherited in the first place.
One of the biggest of these was, is, and will continue to be Abortion. It is important to understand at this point that the abortion industry is not a disease but a symptom, and working to destroy abortion is only one-tenth of the real job of the troops on the front lines of the last Pope referred to as the Culture of Life. New York City is one of the hottest battlegrounds; pro-life street-activists do more work in one morning here than White Suburbia pro-lifers might do in a month, purely on volume alone. The cultural perspective on abortion, contraception, human rights, and Natural Law is radically different from so much of the metaphysical rhetoric that is argued back and forth in the classrooms and homes of the affluenza. Life-at-conception and inalienable-human-right-to-life is almost completely irrelevant in the day-to-day work that anti-abortion and crisis pregnancy workers perform here thirty-six hours per day.
(It is also be very important to note that I am not going to explain why abortion is dangerous and crude on a practical/human level and evil on a moral level. If that is what you’re looking for, I would suggest starting elsewhere. My hope is that this turns into a running commentary, not a series of persuasive essays. We’ll see what happens, though.)
Anyone can do pro-life work anywhere at any time. But you will not get closer to the front lines than the South Bronx. New York City is microcosm, crucible, catalyst, kaleidoscope test tube battleground. And it’s a hell of a place to be, if you don’t tire easily.
Dramatis Personae:
EMC FRONTLINE
Chris Slattery: founder and president of Expectant Mother Care (EMC), the first network of crisis pregnancy centers in New York City and the surrounding area. As president, Chris has taken it upon himself to be every facet of the administration as well as workaday employee. There is no power structure to the organization; Chris runs the operational, marketing, financial, human resources, and acquisition and distribution departments on his own. This system has worked so far with very real results, but over the long term it is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, Chris’ personal integrity, drive, and vision have rocketed EMC to where it is today: centers across New York offering services to thousands of girls each year, producing genuine life-saving results. On the other, however, this private “Triumph of the Will” approach means a great deal of personal stress, as well as a certain amount of friction with the lower ranks. The constant demand for daily necessities like paper, pregnancy kits, and telephone units, everything absolutely essential for the operation of his crisis centers, flows directly to Chris. The HR management, payflow, logistics, and a whole host of other concerns is entirely unreasonable to place on a single human being. But as Chris has said quite frankly on a number of occasions, he believes that few to none could do the work that he does, for as long as he has, with the results that he gets. And he might be right.
All the same, there is a measure of wisdom in the saying that the candle that burns brightest burns fastest. The pressures are tremendous, and sooner or later Chris will have to pass the reins of power - or at least delegate - to someone else, someone with the same drive and integrity and creativity and insanity that drives him. Chris is still rocketing forward, and we are all along for the ride - but for how long? Nobody, perhaps not even Chris, can tell how long his high-octane pace will last. At this point, results are the only thing that matter, and EMC is entirely results-oriented. If an idea works, it becomes a part of the system. If it doesn’t, no resources are wasted on it. I’ve seen him shut down thousand-dollar television ad campaigns because they were producing negligible results, and on the same day make a dash to the dollar store for an extension cord to power a fetal development DVD on our sidewalk information table from the generator in our mobile ultrasound clinic. In short, he gets the best cost-effective results he can. Chris has no use for theory or abstract stratagems. He doesn’t care if his sidewalk counselors pray in front of the clinic, so long as it doesn't get in the way. And some people feel the need to pray. Chris feels the need to see results.
This is a good thing, on principle. But after more than two decades of pro-life work, it is possible that the original vision can get squashed by the demigod of Results. Too many good pro-life causes have compromised their own integrity to achieve them. Efficiency is one thing, but Results can be a dangerous thing to pursue in this business. Even so, Chris has found ways to get them. Nobody can accuse him of thinking inside the box. He places his pregnancy centers square in the face of the enemy. One of the Bronx centers is right across the street from a Planned Parenthood office. The Brooklyn center is on the top floor of a building that also houses a Planned Parenthood office and an abortion clinic. In one of his most brilliant and unique plays, Chris remodeled a donated RV into a mobile ultrasound clinic, complete with cockpit for the driver, office space for counseling, and a complete ultrasound clinic. Working in tandem with sidewalk counselors, the turnaround rate has steadily increased wherever the RV goes, and other pro-life groups across the country have started to catch on. Chris is a devious enemy to have; he plays a very close game, exploiting every advantage he cane, worming his way into the cracks of the opposition. Chris alone cannot deliver the knockout blow to the abortion industry in this country, let alone the Culture of Death. But he can bleed them, and he does.
Nobody is being deluded here. No matter what kind of results we get, we are not going to change anything on a national scale. Chris himself has discussed the probability that Roe v. Wade will not be overturned in his lifetime, and that is a definite possibility. He has no interest in hope, because hope does not produce results. Action produces results. And that, I suppose, if they ever build the kind of monument to Chris Slattery that he deserves, should be engraved beneath it.
Liz: Although nobody has official titles in the EMC organization, it is safe to call Liz the acting director of the 149th Street location in the South Bronx. The tiny flat-turned-pregnancy center sits beneath a huge neon-yellow sign which reads UNPLANNED PREGNANCY? And boy, does she get business. Very rarely does her office go quiet. Her appointment calendar is almost always jammed, but she does not turn away any walk-ins - which frequently leads to busy waiting rooms and even busier counselors. Unless any of the EMC summer interns are there with her, she is usually alone to stem the riptide of phone calls, doorbells, and the small host of everyday logistical crises. Her primary duty is to provide "abortion-alternatives counseling," but the services include free and confidential pregnancy tests, referrals for pre- and post-natal care, distribution of material donations (diapers, bottles, baby clothes, etc.) to mothers, STD and sexual health counseling, and more. Liz is a sounding board for the girls, many of whom have never faced a pregnancy before, and she provides one of the most important things a crisis pregnancy center can offer: a listening ear. While the kind of stress that goes along with her work is intense, the quality of care given to the girls does not diminish. She is caring and compassionate to each girl that walks through her door, although her maternal instincts do not rule out Tough Love. She does not coddle. She lays it out hard and fast, without nonsense or ambiguity on any level. She is the matriarch of her little haven on the second floor: grandmother, wise elder, sympathetic shoulder, disciplinarian, advisor - and all too often alone in her foxhole on the front lines of the culture war.
Linda: I have only had the pleasure of working with Linda briefly before my return west, but I look forward to returning to the EMC center on the top floor of 44 Court Street in Brooklyn. Linda's job description is much the same as Liz's: counseling, sexual health, information distribution, etc., and she works with the same kind of energy that is necessary in all the center workers. Her personal charism seems to be somewhat more religiously motivated than the rest of the EMC team, and while this might be a somewhat unfair assessment, very few girls leave the Brooklyn clinic without a rosary, holy card, scapular, or other small article of faith to keep as a token of God's - and/or Linda's - work in their lives. This kind of thing would never fly in White Suburbia; anybody pushing the God issue in pro-life work can be very detrimental from a marketing point of view - Jesus Freaks Need Not Apply. But here in New York, the opposite is true. The very strong religious fervor of this high-energy Italian Catholic woman gives her message that much more credibility to the women that come through her doors. Some people would call her a little bit crazy, but nobody in this business is entirely sane, or not for long; pro-lifers learned long ago that a little craziness is the perfect antidote for dealing with a daily stream of chaos and despair and brokenness. But Linda is resilient, and her office remains cheerful, no matter how frantic it gets.
There are, of course, more EMC staff than just Chris, Liz, and Linda, but my duties thus far have kept me on a pretty tight circuit. Over the next month I would like to meet the as much of the rest of the EMC staff as I can, and when I do I will make up for not including them in this first post.
THE FLEET
The EMC Fleet is one of the most unusual and unique - and effective - assets in Chris' arsenal. The flagship vehicle is a specially-converted Hurricane RV, the EMC Mobile-1. The front end serves as cockpit and command center; when the driver is not actually moving the vehicle, he or one of the crew can use the electrical hookups to run video and audio equipment, access the Internet through Chris' fine broadband-anywhere connection, do radio interviews, make cell calls, and more. The midsection of the RV has comfortable seating for eight, drawers full of pamphlets and free information, and a table where counselors can sit and talk with girls and couples in privacy. The rear of the RV has been totally converted into a fully functional ultrasound clinic. The beds have been removed entirely, and the platform now supports a red examination table. The electrical outlets, fed by the generator in the belly of the RV, provide power to the ultrasound machine and readout monitor, which are operated by our licensed ultrasound technician, Wadija. Thick blinds ensure privacy, and the whole area is curtained off from the rest of the vehicle. The bathroom and sink are operational as well, allowing for comfort as well as convenient pregnancy testing. The exterior of the RV is covered in a decorative decal and a brief list of the services available inside. The EMC Mobile-1 offers almost all of the free and confidential services that the regular centers do, and it has the grand advantage of total mobility. On any given day we can pull up to an abortion clinic, park right in front of its doors, and send a squad of sidewalk counselors to work as long as necessary. We run an information table with pamphlets and informational CDs, as well as a set of fetal models that any passersby can pick up and examine. On most days, we can run a flatscreen television out from the RV's generator to play whatever pro-life DVD we choose. With a crack team of sidewalk counselors and all the amenities of the Mobile-1, Chris has assembled some of the best and most innovative tools in the pro-life movement today. It's a good system; instead of bobbing after girls waving pamphlets at them, the counselors can now offer girls a place to sit and talk away from the heat or the cold and the pressure of the abortion clinic staff. Teams of counselors can be moved quickly, and all the necessary materials are stored in one place. And best of all, on a good day, you can park right in front of the abortion clinic doors and stare it square in the face, without that oppressive sense of underdog-activism. We're not putting clinics out of business - yet - and we average about two girls per day who will sit and listen to us. But even that can be a $200 - $600 drain on the clinic - not to mention saving the life of a boy or girl. We may never see our results, but to that boy or girl, that's all that matters.
Just before I left for my three-week stint in Utah and Michigan, Chris was almost ready to put our second mobile clinic into circulation - the EMC Mobile-2, I expect. While not as large or powerful as the RV, the minibus clinic offers the same range of services, and its smaller size makes it easier to wedge into tight Bronx parking spaces. The large complement of summer interns allows EMC to spread its work out, so they can go with the mobile units, help at the clinics, or do whatever jack-of-all-trades business needs doing. It is still somewhat surprising to me, in the back of my mind, that any girl would come into the mobile clinics in the first place, but that is almost certainly White Suburbia ingrained-paranoia: the no-candy-from-strangers ethic. But in a city where insurance companies, dental offices, and health service workers have their own RV units, an ultrasound clinic does not seem so patently absurd. Other pro-life organizations are starting to take the hint and get creative in their outreach work, but it is safe to say that Chris is the pioneer on this one, and like anything else he does, it gets results.
THE INTERNS
Throughout the year, and particularly during the summertime, Chris welcomes volunteers willing to live and work in New York City as part of the EMC team. It's a good deal: transportation and lodging are arranged, and some meals are paid. Wrap it up with a $100 per week stipend, and it becomes a very attractive offer for the activism-minded person. There is always work to be done in the pro-life arena, but the chance to work in such a unique time and situation - on the front lines of the Culture of Life, as it were - is a rare opportunity. (Not to mention the fact that, as one of the interns so eloquently stressed, "It's freakin' New York.) Thus far Chris has attracted thirteen applicants for the summer of 2007; some will stay for a few weeks, and others will help out all summer. Most are young-adult/student types, looking to add to their experience-cache between semesters, and the common pro-life vision allows us to coexist in relative harmony. This year's crop of interns are lodged in two places: a modest private residence and a sizeable apartment, walking distance from each other in Woodlawn. The owners of the private residence are an overwhelmingly generous couple who were active in the pro-life movement for many years and now offer rooms (and more food than you can eat, if you let them) to some of Chris' interns. The other interns fill up the temporary apartment, which Chris has been given the use of until early August. As the interns cycle in and out throughout the summer, the logistics can get a bit complicated, but one way or another, Chris always manages to arrange a place to rest, regroup, and perhaps even reflect quietly on the events of the day.
***
Ok, so, yes.... right. This thing is winding out at around thirty-six hundred words, and is encroaching on Obscenely Long, even by my standards. The stage is set, and the characters have introduced themselves: we are ready to settle in for the next month and make some heavy notes on the acts soon to unfold in our neverending little play. Shakespeare was a hack - when he couldn't think up a word, he made one up - but his real genius was setting up high-powered personalities and letting them go spinning into each other, and he, like the audiences that packed his pasteboard Globe Theatre, was thrilled to sit back and watch it all happen. So here we are, on the verge, ready to observe.
So much happened during the last month I was here that it would take a year to begin to describe it all. But out of that blur of images and colors and sounds one reality is very clear. The pro-life movement is a war, and the Pope nailed it when he said that thing about the Culture of Life and the Culture of Death. It is vicious, and the parallels are stunning. We are dealing with human life, with carnage and death and broken lives and chaos, with the weird depths of human malice and stupidity, and it is just as hopeless and dramatic and miserable as any other war. I have even seen the body bags, and they are much smaller.
"War is hell." Maybe it was Patton that said that. But Patton was a conqueror, and he never cleaned his own boots. I am reminded of a another wisdom here. The only people in Hell are the ones that chose to be there. But our war is no different from any other war, and there are no innocent bystanders in Hell.
- Ultrasound Setup
