I was adopted nearly from birth. At 18, I learned that I was conceived out of a brutal rape at knife-point by a serial rapist. Like most people, I’d never considered that abortion applied to my life, but once I received this information, all of a sudden I realised that, not only does it apply to my life, but it has to do with my very existence. It was as if I could hear the echoes of all those people who, with the most sympathetic of tones, would say, “Well, except in cases of rape”, or who would rather fervently exclaim in disgust: “Especially in cases of rape!” All these people are out there who don’t even know me, but are standing in judgment of my life, so quick to dismiss it just because of how I was conceived. I felt like I was now going to have to justify my own existence, that I would have to prove myself to the world that I shouldn’t have been aborted and that I was worthy of living. …
Please understand that whenever you identify yourself as being “pro-choice,” or whenever you make that exception for rape, what that really translates into is you being able to stand before me, look me in the eye, and say to me, “I think your mother should have been able to abort you.” That’s a pretty powerful statement. I would never say anything like that to someone. I would never say to someone, “If I had my way, you’d be dead right now.” But that is the reality with which I live. I challenge anyone to describe for me how it’s not. It’s not like people say, “Oh well, I’m pro-choice except for that little window of opportunity in 1968/69, so that you, Rebecca, could have been born.” No—this is the ruthless reality of that position, and I can tell you that it hurts and it’s mean. But I know that most people don’t put a face to this issue. For them, it’s just a concept—a quick cliché, and they sweep it under the rug and forget about it. I do hope that, as a child of rape, I can help to put a face, a voice, and a story to this issue.
I’ve often experienced those who would confront me and try to dismiss me with quick quips like, “Oh well, you were lucky!” Be sure that my survival has nothing to do with luck. The fact that I’m alive today has to do with choices that were made by our society at large, people who fought to ensure abortion was illegal in Michigan at the time—even in cases of rape, people who argued to protect my life, and people who voted pro-life. I wasn’t lucky. I was protected. And would you really rationalise that our brothers and sisters who are being aborted every day are just somehow “unlucky”?
Although my birthmother was thrilled to meet me, she did tell me that she actually went to two back-alley abortionists and I was almost aborted. After the rape, the police referred her to a counsellor who basically told her that abortion was the thing to do. She said there were no crisis pregnancy centres back then, but my birthmother assured me that if there had been, she would have gone if at least for a little more guidance. The rape counsellor is the one who set her up with the back-alley abortionists. For the first, she said it was the typical back-alley conditions that you hear about as to why “she should have been able to safely and legally abort” me—blood and dirt all over the table and floor. Those back-alley conditions and the fact that it was illegal caused her to back out, as with most women.
Then she got hooked up with a more expensive abortionist. This time she was to meet someone at night by the Detroit Institute of Arts. Someone would approach her, say her name, blindfold her, put her in the backseat of a car, take her and then abort me, then blindfold her again and drop her back off. And do you know what I think is so pathetic? It’s that I know there are an awful lot of people out there who would hear me describe those conditions and their response would just be a pitiful shake of the head in disgust: “It’s just so awful that your birthmother should have had to have gone through that in order to have been able to abort you!” Like that’s compassionate! I fully realise that they think they are being compassionate, but that’s pretty cold-hearted from where I stand, don’t you think? That is my life that they are so callously talking about and there is nothing compassionate about that position. My birthmother is okay—her life went on and in fact, she’s doing great, but I would have been killed, my life would have been ended. I may not look the same as I did when I was four years old or four days old or yet unborn in my mother’s womb, but that was still undeniably me and I would have been killed through a brutal abortion.
According to the research of Dr. David Reardon, director of the Elliot Institute, co-editor of the book Victims and Victors: Speaking Out About Their Pregnancies, Abortions and Children Resulting From Sexual Assault, and author of the article “Rape, Incest and Abortion: Searching Beyond the Myths,” most women who become pregnant out of sexual assault do not want an abortion and are in fact worse-off after an abortion (see http://www. afterabortion.org).
So most people’s position on abortion in cases of rape is based upon faulty premises: (1) the rape victim would want an abortion, (2) she’d be better off with an abortion, and (3) that child’s life just isn’t worth having to put her through the pregnancy. I hope that my story … will be able to help dispel that last myth.
I wish I could say that my birthmother was with the majority of victims and that she didn’t want to abort me, but she had been convinced otherwise. However, the nasty disposition and foul mouth of this second back-alley abortionist, along with a fear for her own safety, caused her to back out. When she told him by phone that she wasn’t interested in this risky arrangement, this abortion doctor insulted her and called her names. To her surprise, he called again the next day to try to talk her into aborting me once again, and again she declined and was hurled insults. So that was it—after that she just couldn’t go through with it. My birthmother was then heading into her second trimester—far more dangerous, far more expensive to have me aborted.
I’m so thankful my life was spared, but a lot of well-meaning Christians would say things to me like, “Well you see, God really meant for you to be here!” Or others may say, “You were meant to be here.” But I know that God intends for every unborn child to be given the same opportunity to be born, and I can’t sit contentedly saying, “Well, at least my life was spared.” Or, “I deserved it. Look what I’ve done with my life.” And millions of others didn’t? I can’t do that. Can you? Can you just sit there and say, “At least I was wanted … at least I’m alive” or just, “Whatever!”? Is that really the kind of person who you want to be? Cold-hearted? A facade of compassion on the exterior, but stone-cold and vacated from within? Do you claim to care about women but couldn’t care less about me because I stand as a reminder of something you’d rather not face and that you’d hate for others to consider either? Do I not fit your agenda?
In law school, I’d also have classmates say things to me like, “Oh well! If you’d been aborted, you wouldn’t be here today, and you wouldn’t know the difference anyway, so what does it matter?” Believe it or not, some of the top pro-abortion philosophers use that same kind of argument: “The foetus never knows what hits him, so there’s no such foetus to miss his life.” So I guess as long as you stab someone in the back while he’s sleeping, then it’s okay, because he doesn’t know what hits him! I’d explain to my classmates how their same logic would justify me killing you today, because you wouldn’t be here tomorrow, and you wouldn’t know the difference anyway, so what does it matter? And they’d just stand there with their jaws dropped. It’s amazing what a little logic can do, when you really think this thing through—like we were supposed to be doing in law school—and consider what we’re really talking about: there are lives who are not here today because they were aborted. It’s like the old saying: “If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a noise?” Well, yeah! And if a baby is aborted, and no one else is around to know about it, does it matter? The answer is, yes! Their lives matter. My life matters. Your life matters and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise!
The world is a different place because it was illegal for my birthmother to abort me back then. Your life is different because she could not legally abort me because you are sitting here reading my words today! But you don’t have to have an impact on audiences for your life to matter. There is something we are all missing here today because of the generations now who have been aborted and it matters.
One of the greatest things I’ve learned is that the rapist is not my creator, as some people would have me believe. My value and identity are not established as a “product of rape,” but as a child of God. Psalm 68:5,6 declares: “A father to the fatherless . . . is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families.” And Psalm 27:10 tells us “Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me.” I know that there is no stigma in being adopted. We are told in the New Testament that it is in the spirit of adoption that we are called to be God’s children through Christ our Lord. So He must have thought pretty highly of adoption to use that as a picture of His love for us!
Most importantly, I’ve learned, I’ll be able to teach my children, and I teach others that your value is not based on the circumstances of your conception, your parents, your siblings, your mate, your house, your clothes, your looks, your IQ, your grades, your scores, your money, your occupation, your successes or failures, or your abilities or disabilities—these are the lies that are perpetuated in our society. In fact, most motivational speakers tell their audiences that if they could just make something of themselves and meet this certain societal standard, then they too could “be somebody.” But the fact is that no one could ever meet all of these ridiculous standards, and many people will fall incredibly short and so, does that mean that they’re not “somebody” or that they’re “nobody?” The truth is that you don’t have to prove your worth to anyone, and if you really want to know what your value is, all you have to do is look to the Cross—because that’s the price that was paid for your life! That’s the infinite value that God placed on your life! He thinks you are pretty valuable, and so do I. Won’t you join me in affirming others’ value as well, in word and in action?
Reprinted from Rebecca Kiessling’s website: http://www.rebeccakiessling.com
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