Let pictures of the aborted dead be evidence when evidence is required, not arguments when argument is required, for a picture of a dead person is a proper response to the question of whether there is a dead person — not to the question of whether there ought to be a dead person, and more importantly, whether the person is a person at all. For, in an objective view of things, nothing could convince me more that a thing is not a person than its dead body plastered on a sign with some sarcastic caption by the very ones demanding the recognition of its personhood. Where is the quietness? Where is the terrible silence? Where is the dirge, the pale, the seriousness, the funeral moan and the gut-wrench? Where is the solemnity? Where, for the love of all things, is the liturgy? Our brothers and sisters have been slaughtered, we’ve made them into signs, and we expect the stony-hearted world to relate to these signs as their brothers and sisters? Why not relate to them as signs held up among other signs, that is, precisely as we appear to be holding them?
Posted on: Tue, 19 Nov 2013 04:04:16 +0000
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