The town hall meeting was held in what looks like a school auditorium. Congressman Reed sits on a folding chair behind a folding table on the stage. He wears trousers, but no jacket, just a dress shirt with the cuffs folded back to symbolize he’s a man of the people, ready to get to work.
The auditorium seats are about half filled with mostly white, mostly middle-aged and older folks. The clip begins with a trim older woman in a pantsuit coming to the mike set up at the front of the center aisle for constituents to make comments. She looks uncertain, glancing left and right. Congressman Reed looks solicitous, in a creepy, preacherly way.
The quality of the video is pretty good, not shaky like clips caught with someone’s iPhone. Somebody showed up with at least basic video equipment, like a stand. The auditorium lights are on, and Reed and his constituent, probably only a couple yards apart, are both clearly visible in the shot.
The woman doesn’t seem to realize it’s her turn to speak. She pats her halo of white hair and adjusts her glasses, nervously. Reed, beginning to look a little impatient, urges her along. “Yes, dear?”
The older lady starts and puts a hand to her chest. Then leans in close to the mike and, enunciating very clearly, says, “I’m Edna McCready. I taught biology at Grace M. Beyer High School for forty-three years. You, young man, may address me as Mrs. McCready.”
Those in the crowd paying attention like this a lot. They reward Mrs. McCready with a round of chuckles and low murmurs.
Congressman Reed, trying to catch the magic, adds his own stiff little chuckle. “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. McCready. What is on your mind today?”
“Abortion, Congressman Reed,” Mrs. McCready says sternly. “I am concerned about abortion.”
“Well, as I’m sure you’re aware, Mrs. McCready, I am proudly pro-life.”
“Yes, Congressman Reed. I am aware that you oppose abortion. I am also aware that you support the defunding of Planned Parenthood and that you support the Trump administration’s ruling that lets insurers and employers refuse to cover birth control. That is why I am here. Evidently, Congressman Reed, we need to have a talk about sex.”
Her precise, emphatic pronunciation of ‘sex’ gets everybody’s attention. The crowd is now fully engaged. Mrs. McCready is largely oblivious. Her lecture is directed at a single, recalcitrant student: Congressman Reed.
“Specifically, straight sex, and even more specifically, straight, vaginal sex. You are apparently ignorant of the fact that this type of sex can lead to pregnancy. That, Congressman Reed, is why we need to talk about sex.”
The crowd is seriously entertained, with folks sporting delighted oh-no-she-didn’t looks.
Congressman Reed is less than delighted. “Mrs. McCready, I don’t need a lesson about the birds and bees.”
“Apparently, you do, Congressman Reed. Apparently, you are promulgating the misinformation that the only way to prevent unintended pregnancy is to teach abstinence. You appear to be ignorant of the fact that to teach abstinence is not the same as achieving abstinence. The whole approach is also curious because, as an Evangelical, I understand that you believe your Lord and Savior was the product of a ‘virgin birth.’ So, evidently, you don’t believe abstinence is foolproof. I, myself, do believe that going cold turkey, 100 percent off vaginal sex pretty much prevents pregnancy. I also believe in the separation of church and state, but that is another story.”
The crowd is treating Mrs. McCready’s lecture like stand-up comedy. The virgin birth crack earns a couple whoo-eees.
“Mrs. McCready! I really don’t think—”
“Let her finish!” shouts a burly guy in the front row.
This being the Central Valley, and this being a Republican congressman’s constituent meeting, the crowd has to skew pro-life. But it doesn’t seem to matter; they will see to it Mrs. McCready has her say.
“Over the years, Congressman Reed, I’ve met a lot of people. Quite a few, actually, because I’m quite old. I’ve probably met thousands of people—not saints, mind you, just regular folks. And among the things I’ve observed about people is that they generally want to have sex. And, one way or another, they generally manage to have sex.
“Turns out this is not just my friends and acquaintances—it’s true of Americans, by and large. 70 percent of people between the ages of 15 and 44 reported having straight, vaginal sex in the last year.20 That’s 90 million people here in the U. S. of A. having straight vaginal sex. Not right this exact minute, but over the last year, and as sure as death and taxes, over the coming year too.”
Reed attempts to intervene again. “Mrs. McCready—”
“Do not interrupt, young man! It’s rude. Where was I? Oh, yes: because the abstinence approach does not appear to have impacted when or how many people have sex, Congressman Reed. According to the CDC, abstinence-only sex education doesn’t reduce teen pregnancy, it increases it, along with sexually transmitted diseases.21 Even priests in the Catholic church, who take vows of celibacy, only have a fifty-fifty chance of achieving celibacy at any given time.22, 23 Of course, some of those priests are having sex with folks younger than fifteen, but that’s another story.”
“Mrs. McCready! I find your comments about men of God offensive, and I strongly dispute those findings by the CDC.”
“Congressman Reed. Do not embarrass yourself by putting your junk science head-to-head with that of the CDC, one of the premier public health organizations on the planet. The data demonstrate that it’s pretty hard to stop people from having sex. It’s so hard to do, in fact, that it’s never been done.”
Mrs. McCready pauses and says, almost to herself, “If only there were a way to have sex without getting pregnant . . .”
She looks up, triumphant. “Oh, wait, there is! It’s called contraception.”
The crowd roars its appreciation. And, finally, she acknowledges them by nodding at them, as if they’ve all reached an important point of agreement.
Now she speaks to the crowd. “If you use it, contraception really works. If you don’t use it, well, the numbers speak for themselves: 95 percent of unintended pregnancies occur in the 32 percent of women who don’t use contraception consistently, resulting in roughly a million abortions a year.24 The truth is, contraception is the only demonstrated anti-abortion tool we have available.”
The crowd is still wholly engaged, but no one is joking anymore. They’re testing the validity of her words in their minds and they appear to be finding them not just factual, but sensible.
Mrs. McCready returns her gaze to the congressman, and her voice becomes stern again.
“Please pay attention here, Congressman Reed: Straight people have sex. Straight sex results in pregnancy. Abstinence-only sex ed does not lead to less sex, it leads to less safe sex, more pregnancy, with more sexually transmitted disease. Contraception prevents pregnancy and long-acting contraception does a better job than condoms or the pill. Universal access to long-acting contraception could reduce the number of abortions in the US by 95 percent, eliminating the need for over 900,000 abortions a year.
“But instead of helping that third of women get access to good birth control, you are making it harder for all women to get access to any birth control. You could have worked to eliminate 95 percent of abortions in this country. Instead, your actions will lead to an explosion in abortions. Potentially two million more abortions a year!”
Mrs. McCready falls silent, and the crowd turns from her to Congressman Reed.
He says, “I think you’re confused, Mrs. McCready. The issue isn’t birth control—it’s religious freedom.”
“Congressman Reed! You disappoint me. Anyone whose faith forbids them from using birth control may choose not to use it themselves. What you’ve done is make it possible for insurers and employers to make that decision for other people. Evidently, I was wrong to think the issue here is abortion. Evidently, the issue here is hypocrisy.”
Voices from a group of young women, yelling from the back of the hall, get
picked up on the video. “Stop your war on women, Congressman Reed.”
“Stop preventing hundreds of thousands of Pap smears, Congressman Reed.”
“Stop killing American women, Congressman Reed.”
Someone seated near the camera can be heard saying, “That’s enough of this,” in a distinctive, South Bronx accent.
He stands right in front of the camera as he gets up, and the bulk of his dark suit briefly blacks out the shot. He edges down his row and comes into focus. Even from behind, Corey is recognizable. I’m glad he’s leaving. We’re not supposed to coordinate with the Reed campaign, and although that doesn’t strictly prohibit attending a campaign event or constituency meeting, the optics aren’t great.
But instead of leaving, he attempts to take the microphone from the little old lady.
They are wrestling for control of the mike. Folks in seats near the mike stand are getting out of the way. Because the mike is still live, their huffing and puffing and the scrabbling reverberates around the auditorium. The old lady is putting up a fight, but the result is a foregone conclusion. He gives the old lady a shove, which sends her flying, and comes up with the microphone.
A tall, lean, brown woman with corkscrew curls flies into the frame, trying to reclaim the mike. Whoever is manning the camera zooms in on the struggle for control of the microphone.
Corey and a woman who could be Imogen’s double wrestle for control of the mike, so the mike picks up Corey loud and clear.
“Gimme that, you fucking feminazi.”
There’s a whole lot of noise now, from the congressman, from Dave Grady, from other members of the audience. The old lady is back up and shouting, “Hypocrisy, Congressman Reed, stop your hypocrisy.”
Unfortunately, it’s not Imogen’s double, but Imogen herself. As usual, she has her own thoughts to share, and the mike picks them up loud and clear.
“Touch Edna McCready again, you racist, misogynist shit, and I’ll kill you—”
That’s where the video ends: frozen on Corey and Imogen’s faces contorted in screaming epithets at each other.
Still staring at the screen, Darryl says, “Well, I don’t think there was any call to shove the old lady—she kinda had a point. Maybe some folks will manage abstinence, but ultimately, less contraception is gonna mean more abortion, right?”
Is it possible that he doesn’t recognize Imogen? The corkscrews are pretty distinctive. Did she have her hair up at Dave’s BBQ? Of course, the rest of her is pretty distinctive too. Is he not looking at me on purpose? I really need to say something—I have to figure out a way to convince him not to tell Corey about Imogen.
“I’d just as soon Corey wasn’t aware of my friendship with Imogen.”
Darryl spins in his chair to look at me.
“Yeah, well. He won’t hear it from me. You know, it used to be a mixed marriage around here was marrying a cute Hispanic girl. Had to be careful with the seating arrangement at the wedding, with your grandparents and the asshole cousin who wouldn’t stop making spic and beaner jokes. Now with the Republican/Democrat stuff, you never know where things will flare up. I know a lot of folks, people in the same family, even husbands and wives, who practically aren’t talking since last year’s election. It’s really a shame.”
Huh. Darryl’s got my back.
28
Making America Great Again
Thursday, October 11th, 26 days until the midterms
Corey makes it back to the office within half an hour, looking more than a little wild.
“Did you see it? My run-in with the feminazis? I think it’s gonna make the late news.”
Corey hasn’t come down from his confrontation with Imogen and Mrs. McCready, not at all. He is vibrating.
“Yeah, it’s on YouTube,” says Darryl.
“Excellent, pull it up, pull it up. I was wondering how to make the most of DJT’s brilliant revocation of the Obama contraception mandate. This rancid old bitch showed up at Reed’s constituent meeting and served it up on a platter, better than any whine-fest from the liberal media. Here in our own little Stanislaus County, the old biddy did us a big favor. She came out attacking Christianity, questioning the virgin birth, suggesting priests are having sex, with children!”
Although I try to keep my voice flat, it gives me pleasure to say, “Priests were having sex with children. The Boston Globe broke the story, and then it turned out it was going on all over the world.”
Corey gives me an incredulous look.
While he works out a way to respond to me, Darryl joins the conversation.
“Anyway, wasn’t the old lady’s point just that it doesn’t make sense to limit contraception if you want to decrease abortions?”
Corey rounds on him. “You know what you sound like, Darryl? You sound like Kathy’s mouthpiece.”
If Corey is attacking Darryl for having a wife who works in obstetrics and gynecology, imagine what he’d say to me if he knew I live with one of the feminazis.
“The little woman starts making more money than you, and now you’re gonna let her do your thinking for you? Jesus, Darryl. I’m just gonna say this once: this is not about contraception, this is about religious freedom. It’s about attacks on Christianity.”
“Corey, making this personal is not gonna make it better,” I say in my ‘be-reasonable, c’mon now’ voice. Being reasonable demonstrates magnanimity, which is a big word for ‘we’re winning this argument.’ “I can’t find fault with the equation that less contraception equals more abortion.”
Corey’s face flushes; it’s as if the gin blossoms across the bridge of his nose and cheeks have spread to cover his face in a purpley, liver-toned hue. He looks like a heart attack waiting to happen. I pretend that I’m a big enough person not to enjoy this.
“Do I look like a guy who cares about abortion? Do I sound like a guy who spends time debating if life begins at conception?”
Like his hero, the Great DJT, Corey believes the best defense is a good offense.
“How many times do I got to say this to the two of you? Consider the symbol! Contraception is a symbol of the debauchery of once-good Christian women. It is the cause of the dissolution of the American family and a threat to Evangelical churches everywhere. A symbol of America’s slide into godlessness.” Corey’s eyes swing back and forth between us, looking for evidence that he’s gaining ground. Finding none, he plows on. “Smashing access to the pill? For Evangelicals, that’s like tearing down a statue of Robert E. Lee is for Black Lives Matter. That is Making America Great Again for families and for men. That’s what we elected the guy to do!”
“Corey, man, ease up,” I say, hoping to close this game out.
Corey barely gives me a glance. Instead, he leans in, getting way up in Darryl’s face.
“You know what, Darryl? You are a chicken shit. You shouldn’t let Kathy put words in your mouth if you don’t want to be Kathy’s bitch.”
Corey steps back and we both stare at him. He shakes his head in disgust and turns towards the door. He mutters, “Pussies” at a fully audible level before slamming the door behind himself.
Why is questioning a man’s manliness so effective?
“So now a sensible argument is unmanly?” Darryl asks.
“Supporting anything for women is evidently seriously unmanly,” I say.
But it doesn’t work. At least not for me.
Darryl says, “Why does anything short of beating the crap out of a guy who calls you a pussy leave you feeling unmanned?”
I guess it didn’t work for Darryl either.
29
Symbols vs Sense
Thursday, October 11th, 26 days until the midterms
“I can’t believe you hired that guy! He attacked a seventy-five-year-old woman!” Imogen is ranting before I even get the apartment door closed. Her voice rises higher and louder. “Who does that?! I mean, what a fucking asshole!!”
I dump my messenger bag on the couch and join her in the kitchen
. She appears to be assembling the makings of tea. She clearly doesn’t need any caffeine, so I hand her the tin of chamomile and say, “He is. Corey is seriously an asshole, Imogen. I’m really sorry.”
My agreement slows her down. Could she possibly have thought I was going to defend him? I consider suggesting a beer, or something stronger, but the electric kettle has come to a boil and she’s already filling her little cast-iron teapot.
“There is something seriously wrong with that guy, Iz.”
She’s still angry, but now her anger is focused on Corey.
“Yeah. I think Corey may suffer from a complete lack of moral compass.”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out. She rests her hands flat on the little kitchen island by the teapot.
“Why on earth did he tackle a seventy-five-year-old high school biology teacher? He knew it was being recorded. He had to know the optics were horrific.”
“I’ve been asking myself that question all evening.”
She peeks into the teapot, then pours us each a mug. We carry them to the couch.
“Here’s what I’ve come up with,” I say, grabbing my messenger bag to make room for her on the couch. “Corey couldn’t abide that Mrs. McCready’s commonsense argument against gutting access to contraception was actually working. She was winning the messaging battle, hands down. In Reed’s office, which has to lean pro-life, people were hearing her.”
The tea is a little too hot. We put our mugs back on the coffee table to let it cool a bit.
“Oh, I see that,” says Mo. “It wasn’t about reproductive rights, it was about winning. That bullshit, macho, winning thing?”
“Yes, it was about winning. But not just winning. It was also about a commonsense message working. In Corey’s world view, that’s not how it’s supposed to work. In Corey’s world, it’s supposed to be about symbols. If messaging isn’t about symbolism, but instead was about just trying to get to the bottom of things and find some commonsense solutions, then what is the point of Corey? For Corey, someone like Mrs. McCready is an existential threat.”
Rules of Resistance Page 11
