Excuse Me, Ma’am. Could I Please Have Your Uterus Back?

About five minutes into watching the North Carolina General Assembly banter about House Bill 695, my stomach knots up.

As has become routine with women’s rights issues, old white men are debating over the same anatomical parts from whence their devoutly Christian, heteronormative family sprung. But in multiple ironic turns, they completely disrespect the women that have given them, and their lovely offspring, life and make misogynistic allusions to “our women” as chattel. And all to honor His name and the preservation of “real life”–that sweet imbalance of power grafted from the 1950’s and stitched into the lives of twenty-first century women.

Why has it become so necessary to toxify women’s health debates with illogical, fallacious assertions and statistics from conservative think tanks–the ultimate political oxymorons–and thus endanger them through unnecessarily heightened restrictions on life-sustaining care, all in the name of theocratic ideals that allegedly value life as a gift from God?

Do these egocentric, bumbling buffoons not return home every single day and forget how critically important the women in their lives are to them–how their spouse, mother, grandmother, daughter, sister, aunt, cousin, or friend has had their back, supported them, or taken one for the team to cover their stupid, ball-bearing self?

I, for one, have a litany of reasons why I owe the women in my life so incredibly much, and would never be so presumptuous as to think that I–a man!–possess some innate, superior knowledge to decide how and when and why my mother, sister, grandmother, aunts, cousins, or friends can seek medical treatment.

Methinks these politicians haven’t perused their family albums lately.

But I’ll never forget the hospital photos of me all blood-covered and cradled in my mother’s arms.

Mom, I've got your back!

Nor do I forget how my sister has always had my back.

My big sis has always been there for me!

How my grandmother was my right-hand gal during the tumultuous high school years and never once questioned why I preferred hanging out with her instead of other boys my age.

Mom Mau never judged.

How my gal pals have lifted me up over the years, and have talked me off the proverbial ledge on more than one occasion.

So, as culturally-insensitive remarks fly and conservatives wield religious beliefs like scalpels–excising another slew of women’s rights from established policies–I can only remind myself of why we left and how absurdly tragic North Carolina’s fall from grace has been under the current administration.

And how terribly self-loathing these men must be to disenfranchise the very people who will always be the reasons why we’re all here today.

North Carolina’s Body Politic: A Cadaverous Stump?

You know how everyone’s extended family has at least one raging drunk tucked into the mix? Who always totters around family gatherings, slurring their words, eating all the pinwheel sandwiches, and standing up and toasting at the most inopportune times, usually without their pants?

Well, I just saw mine on the news, and stared slack-jawed at the television screen.

And hung my head in shame, muttering, “Jesus. Get ahold of yourself!” as the newscast droned on about her latest antics.

But it’s not Aunt Patty making headlines tonight.

It’s my former home state: North Carolina.

***

Not only has North Carolina’s Republican majority routinely walked out of the Houses without their proverbial pants, but they seemed to have forgotten a little something else.

No, not the pantyhose tucked into their underwear. The Constitution.

With every slash the Republican majority makes to Medicaid, to voter rights, to LGBTQ rights, to women’s rights, to immigrant rights, to environmental protection, to religious freedom, North Carolina’s body politic is resembling a cadaverous stump.

Republican-authored legislation has been hemorrhaging minority rights at such alarming rates, it’s difficult to identify suitable tourniquets. But even when citizens apply pressure to quell the bleeding, they’re rewarded with handcuffs.

The most recent legislative lunacy evidences the callous disregard the Republican majority has for the rights of those “others” who don’t line their pockets with dirty money.

Who work and work and work for a better future, and are constantly feeling the swift breeze of so many doors slamming in their faces.

Who are just trying to get by.

Who just want a legal ID that reflects their gender identity.

Who just want to govern their own reproductive organs.

Who just want to marry the person they love.

Who just want to be acknowledged.

Who just want peace and balance, with a touch of order.

Who just want a state that takes into account all of its constituents, not just the wealthiest or whitest.

***

Before long, the newscast shifts to the weather, and I stare back down at the stack of papers on the cafe table, and think about our Disunited States.

How absurd it is that, after crossing state lines, the stories of minorities retaining civil rights read like chapters from The Lord of the Flies.

How foolish it is for there not to be blanket protections for all citizens–that gender identity, socioeconomic class, sex, and ethnicity are still such divisive topics, and often limit the rights extended to a state’s constituents.

It’s a sad time in our country when the drunk relative becomes the role model.

When a raucous few are rewarded for pouring them another, and the cab called by a concerned majority leaves empty.

When I don’t regret leaving a state I once loved.

Dear North Carolina: It’s Not Us, It’s You.

Y’all know I love letters.

And love letters.

But this one is particularly apropos as I watch, horrified, as North Carolina backslides into history through daily leaps and bounds.

Dear North Carolina:

I have mixed feelings about leaving you.

Mostly because I held you so highly for so long.

You seemed like a place where a southern liberal could find compatriots and a bit of that southern-style flair and hospitality I so cherish.

And, for a while, I thought you provided exactly that.

I grew academically in Chapel Hill.

I did my share of wine-fueled porch-hopping in Sanford.

I met the love of my life in Raleigh.

But the short time since the Republican majority took hold of both the House and Senate–the first time in a 100 years–you’ve become a shade of that state I personally held as the Southeast’s liberal scion. 

Now, though, you’re being driven into the ground by nonsensical legislation and a hyper-conservative government that attacks me, my family, and chosen family; other minorities–women, people of color, immigrants; individuals’ religious rights; and the environment. Just to name a few.

You’re becoming the laughing stock among your Deep South cohort. And, as a native Alabamian, you should know that some folks in my home state are whispering to their Georgia and South Carolina relatives, “Wow, is that cray-cray transferred by osmosis?”

So, North Carolina, I have a question for you.

Are you worth the fight?

Because the past few years I’ve done nothing but fight, march for equality, speak out against bigoted legislation like Amendment One, and rail against an apathetic majority. And, sure, there have been victories. But the severe degree to which you’re backsliding into history makes me wonder what the future holds.

I’m tired.

I’m done fighting for rights that other states, and countries, recognize as they should.

A life spent fighting doesn’t seem like a life I want to lead.

I want to focus on living.

Every single day over the past few weeks, my partner and I have been reminded why we’re leaving you for California.

Sure, Cali has her own problems. But at least with her there’s probably less likelihood that we’ll be accosted and called “faggots” for merely holding hands in our car while stopped at a traffic light; that we’ll be shadowed and stalked on the road by pickup trucks plastered with Confederate flags; that we’ll hear our legislators repeatedly legitimize unconstitutional, institutional violence and bigotry against us and other minorities.

Maybe I’m just sensitive. Or maybe I’m a slighted Millennial who’s experienced the recession’s pitfalls since its inception, and constantly sees my fellow generational cohort continually screwed through economic and legislative (in)action.

But my partner and I can only defend you so long before we acknowledge that your base does not deserve our economic contributions nor our innovative spirits.

We’re tired of reinforcing Battered Citizen Syndrome. We’re not going to come running back, defending you every single time you punch us, expecting everything to be roses and rainbows afterward.

We’ll do what we can to support our good friends who continue to fight. But know that they, too, are getting tired of your repeated blows. And it’s only a matter of time before your tactics to regulate citizens’ social lives in lieu of effecting positive, beneficial political change backfire–when you find yourself quickly sliding down that “Most Desirable” list, being abandoned by progressive companies seeking a home base.

So, my partner and I will move gaily forward with our lives. In California. And we’ll hope you’ll soon find a brain like Dorothy’s scarecrow, and actually realize that you’re aligning yourself with the wrong side of history. And that, very soon, you’ll know what it feels like to be a minority.

Bless your heart.