(Psa 8:4-6) What is man, that thou art mindful of him? or the son of man, that thou visitest him? Thou hast made him a little less than the angels, thou hast crowned him with glory and honour: And hast set him over the works of thy hands.
SHOCKING: Doctors in China Have Performed 336 Million Abortions Since 1971
Official data from China’s health ministry has revealed just how pervasive abortions have been in China since it instituted its one-child policy. Since 1971, Chinese doctors have performed 336 million abortions in a country with a population of 1.35 billion. They have also performed 196 million sterilizations and inserted 403 million intrauterine devices, a birth control procedure that some have said are forced on women in China, reports the Financial Times. China has estimated that without the birth restrictions its population would now be around 30 percent larger.
In the United States, with about one-quarter of China’s population, an estimated 50 million abortions have been performed since the Roe v Wade decision legalized the practice in 1973. Even though many have been calling for a softening of the one-child rule, the number of procedures has remained steady since the late 1990s, with around 7 million abortions and 2 million sterilizations per year.
EXCERPT VIA Anne Lastman: Broken Branches Issue 92 (http://www.victimsofabortion.
How Did I Survive An Abortion? by Imre Teglasy (Hungary)
I begin my story with my family, and especially with my father, who was a major in Hungary till the end of the Second World War. As a professional soldier with his religious conviction (he was born in a Catholic family of eight children) he was declared a class-enemy of the new Communist regime and was sacked at once and removed with his wife and two sons from Budapest to the Great Hungarian Plain (puszta). They were ordered not to leave their dwelling place. He could hardly find the most basic job ... he and his family were starving.
In this sad plight my father's wife realized she was pregnant. My father tried to protect me, but my mother did not want to carry me to term. But it was not so simple to get rid of an unborn baby in the early '50s ... so she asked my grandfather staying in the capital to get a doctor who would be willing to perform the abortion. He found such a doctor in Budapest but class enemies were not allowed to leave the plain (puszta), so while my father was absent she tried to cause an abortion by jumping down from a kitchen table; when that failed she took very hot baths in a tub but they were not successful either. Then she got a lot of quinine pills from her brother. She took them but they were not sufficient to cause a miscarriage so I was born.
I heard the story of my birth accidentally when I was 11 years old and when my father and I were staying in Yugoslavia with relatives. It was late at night and I had gone to bed in the room in which my father and my relatives were talking. At that time my parents had already divorced and one of my relatives asked my father why. Thinking I was asleep, my father told him the story.
As I lay there in bed, neither a small child nor an adult, I cried, speechlessly, all night long into my pillow. I experienced an emotional earthquake. I felt good myself and I did not know why my mother had tried to kill me at all.
I am still looking for the answer which is perhaps blowing with the wind, since she died some years ago. There are two different expressions in our Hungarian language concerning "mother". One of them ("édesanya") is connected with "sweetness" meaning that the sweetness of a loving mother has a connection to the milk you get from her bosom. The other word ("anya") simply means that somebody has a mother but this term is very formal and has no special content of sentiment so one uses this term in every official form requiring the name of your parent. In fact my mother tried to kill me, terrorized by the economical pressure of the regime and when it was not successful she didn't give me suck, so I was neither able to enjoy her milk nor her love.
Later when I was two years old I was found by a very nice young lady who lifted me up to her heart from under the kitchen table. She bought me new clothes, shoes, brought me to the opera-house for performances (since she was a ballet-dancer) and to the photographer since she was proud of "her" nice godson ... my relatives told me that I had usually called her with this word: "mother" (édesanya).
My biological mother could not love me although I was begging or dancing for her approval and acceptance. I studied well, become a well-known writer by publishing several books, carried out scientific research and won academic honours but everything seemed to be in vain since I was not able to win her love. In my twenties I published a book of poems and one of these works reflects on my life story using the ancient Greek myth of Penelope. In this poem you can analyse the confused bonding of an abortion-survivor with his parent or with the abuser of her child.
PENELOPE, MY MOTHER
You sit on the stigma of silence with averted eyes
You would draw my face
onto your withered lap Spin it over weave it through with sea-blue veins
with scarlet reed
Spin me over weave me through with snake
with strand of hair Unravel me by night give birth to me by day only kill me by night
You would piece together my bones a stripped-down image
for the walls of your palace bind my skin and gut
as strings onto your harp.
Is it an axe that I am? Propped up in a corner is it a prince?
sewn inside a frog's skin.
(Translated by Eva Kovacs-Hicks, Toronto)
It took 50 years of pain and sorrow to overcome the situation of a deeply damaged (unborn) child and that of a post-abortive mother ... I always tried to love my mother ... meanwhile I realized that I hated those foods (cheese, beer, etc) which she liked whilst, on the contrary, I liked the kind of women who have black hair and eyes, slight face which reminded me of my god- mother. So many times I asked myself: where is my mother, how can I love her?
Before her death the Lord gave me the answer by His merciful forgiveness. After so many years of struggling, begging and dancing for her love I finally was able to
reconcile with her before her death. It happened by not accepting but rather understanding some of the elements of the kind of "internal" terrorism which pushed and pressured her to kill me. And finally I am going to die too and I badly need this forgiveness of the Lord for my own sins as well.
There is a picture in my bedroom above my bed. This photo was taken by the sculpture of the Pieta carved by Michelangelo in the middle of 16th century. The picture illustrates the Blessed Virgin who is a Patron Saint of Hungary and now she is perhaps my mother and hope and trust as well.
Against the civilization of death I am now working for the culture of life full time. From the special grace offered me by Almighty God, the Creator, I have a large family ... The smiles of my children and wife are my strongest weapons in doing my duty to protect life! Thanks to the Lord!
LINK TO ENTIRE ISSUE: Broken Branches Issue 92 for April/May, 2013
VIDEO: Personal Story: Imre Téglásy, Human Life International
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