As I write, about 9:30 on a Saturday morning, a clown with a megaphone speaks drivel. He’s addressing a small, rain-soaked crowd of religious zealots assembled across the street from a Planned Parenthood facility a half-block from my humble downtown abode. Before closing the windows and donning headphones, I heard the clown cite some statistics then the usual references to the Bible, a book that offers solace to both the merciful and the miscreant.
The assembled protest abortions, though but a small part of Planned Parenthood’s services. The zealots claim that they are “pro life.” On the opposite corner stands a homeless man with a sign, whom the faithful dozen ignore.
The Supreme Court ruled that the crazies have a “right” to shout nonsense. The justices afford me no protection from the inanity. There is no concomitant “right” not to hear. I have no freedom from the self-righteous.
In Congress the crazies’ fellow travelers threaten to shut down the federal government unless funding for Planned Parenthood is excised from the budget. They would also like to kill a lot more people and eliminate government programs that serve the less fortunate.
But, of course, they are pro life.