Great, I'm thinking as I make my way to Main and Jefferson prepping myself for the drama that inevitably comes with the mere mention of the word abortion.
Cue the whackadoodles.
I figure it's a scare and I'll likely only find a bunch of people screaming about baby killers, waving graphic signs of baby parts, and making the lives of women already grappling with an agonizing decision even harder.
But when I arrive, things are quiet.
Just a few reporters waiting to hear from police who have blocked off the area near Hartford Hospital after suspicious packages were found outside a clinic that performs abortions.
And three men holding signs that read, "Pray to End Abortion."
OK, here we go, I think as I approach the trio, one of whom is on his knees loudly praying the rosary in a somewhat off-putting public display of religion.
Bill Dobbs, who stands upright, explains that they are there as part of a nationwide "40 Days for Life" vigil aimed at bringing attention to the pro-life belief that all life is precious.
Here's what I don't get, I tell him. I can appreciate someone else's view on abortion, even if I don't happen to share it. I can understand people being so impassioned about an issue that they feel the need to stand on a Hartford street corner when it's cold and barely light outside. Certainly, the pro-choice crew has its share of overheated supporters.
But what I don't get is how people who espouse the sanctity of life reconcile the intense anger and violence associated with their cause: the bomb scares, the assassination of doctors who perform abortions, the hateful messages directed at those on the other side.
Wait a second, say Dobbs and Steve Krok, who by now is off his knees and on his feet: Not all of those who oppose abortion are extremists and they say they have no sympathy for those who use violence to oppose abortion. The media may choose to lump both camps together and focus on the screaming radicals, but they assure me there are plenty more moderate voices than the headlines would suggest.
The way they tell it, they don't scream at the young women headed into the clinic. They never hold graphic signs. "We'd never label any young woman a baby killer," insists Krok.
At most, they tell me, they plead with the women to discuss alternatives.
Fine, I say, putting aside my feeling that pleading with a distraught woman is just as invasive. But for all the talk of alternatives, I suggest, this isn't always as simple as it sounds.
It's one thing to tell these young women that there are options. But really offering those options is something else especially when social services are getting whacked all over the place.
We could have gone on like that all day, but it suddenly hit me: Sure, they spewed their share of familiar rhetoric. And for all their talk of prayer and compassion, the movement's website states the campaign's mission is to draw attention to the "evil" of abortion. Not exactly the stuff that kick-starts a productive discussion.
And yet, there we were having a civil conversation. And about an incredibly divisive issue.
It's exactly what's been missing from this and so many other debates these days.
And while the men didn't change my mind, and I certainly didn't change theirs, it was refreshing to be able to share opposing views without someone going apoplectic.
No explosives were found in the cardboard boxes Thursday. No big headlines, either, so reporters went on their way.
Just a rare dose of civility.
-- Helen Ubinas' column appears on Thursdays and Sundays. Read her blog at courant.com/helen.
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