- Joined
- Jan 11, 2007
- Messages
- 4,366
- Reaction score
- 3,445
- Gender
- Female
- Political Leaning
- Centrist
Is this the way to eliminate abortion? To Troy Newman it's just a game--winning or losing.
The Exorcists
"When Troy Newman would answer the phone at Central Women's Services in Wichita, Kansas, last summer, there was a lot he didn't mention. The priests who'd been arrested for blocking the abortion clinic's door. The "truth truck" parked nearby with its billboard of an aborted fetus. The pickets at employees' homes. He didn't talk about how all of this had caused the clinic to shut down, save for its still- functioning phone system. He would press the receiver to his ear and intone, "Women's clinic!" And when a nervous voice at the other end of the line would inquire about abortion services, he would furrow his brow and ask, "Don't you know that's a baby?"
The best place to preach against an abortion clinic, Newman has found, is from within one. The national president of Operation Rescue, he bought the clinic—shuttered last May after the pro-life outfit had laid siege to it for more than 15 years—through a front group; now he's turning it into his organization's headquarters, complete with a prayer garden and a memorial to the 50,000 unborn children he claims were murdered there.
As pro-lifers have winnowed the number of abortion providers in America by nearly 25 percent since the early 1990s—Wichita now has just one—Operation Rescue has joined several anti-abortion groups converting clinics to their own purposes. "What better way to show that we are winning and demoralize the enemy," Newman says, "than by shutting down an abortion mill, throwing out the tenants on their face, and taking it over as our headquarters? You lose, we win.""
The Exorcists
"When Troy Newman would answer the phone at Central Women's Services in Wichita, Kansas, last summer, there was a lot he didn't mention. The priests who'd been arrested for blocking the abortion clinic's door. The "truth truck" parked nearby with its billboard of an aborted fetus. The pickets at employees' homes. He didn't talk about how all of this had caused the clinic to shut down, save for its still- functioning phone system. He would press the receiver to his ear and intone, "Women's clinic!" And when a nervous voice at the other end of the line would inquire about abortion services, he would furrow his brow and ask, "Don't you know that's a baby?"
The best place to preach against an abortion clinic, Newman has found, is from within one. The national president of Operation Rescue, he bought the clinic—shuttered last May after the pro-life outfit had laid siege to it for more than 15 years—through a front group; now he's turning it into his organization's headquarters, complete with a prayer garden and a memorial to the 50,000 unborn children he claims were murdered there.
As pro-lifers have winnowed the number of abortion providers in America by nearly 25 percent since the early 1990s—Wichita now has just one—Operation Rescue has joined several anti-abortion groups converting clinics to their own purposes. "What better way to show that we are winning and demoralize the enemy," Newman says, "than by shutting down an abortion mill, throwing out the tenants on their face, and taking it over as our headquarters? You lose, we win.""