Spittin’ sisters show true colours

October 15, 2008

From Red Cardigan:

This opinion piece by Miranda Devine in the Sydney Morning Herald was quite an interesting read. I think she understands where so much of the Sarah Palin Hate comes from:

Judging by the opinion polls this week, the Alaskan Governor, Sarah Palin, probably will not get to be the US vice-president. But in her brief starring role on the global stage she has been a powerful psychic enema, flushing out the poison at the heart of establishment feminism for all to see.

No more sheathed claws or pretence about “tolerance” and “diversity”. From Madonna to Sandra Bernhard, Pamela Anderson, Naomi Wolf, Lindsay Lohan and Kathy Lette, a certain type of influential progressive woman has been driven to insane rage by Palin’s very existence. […]

Not that Palin is a favourite of males of the left-leaning entertainment establishment, with Matt Damon last week damning her as a “scary thing”.

But the intemperate reaction by women to Palin flags something beside ideological differences – a weird, visceral rage, with its roots in some entrenched psychic pain. There is an echo of bitchy high-school jealousy of the popular queen bee from the snarling, self-mutilating nerd and goths who vainly lusted after the cute boys she snared.

The consolation for the losers is that homecoming queens are meant to get married, get pregnant, get fat and lose their looks so the self-made strugglers such as Bernhard and Madonna can patronise them at school reunions. Palin, by having it all, has cheated. Not only was she Miss Wasilla 1984, but she married her childhood sweetheart, Todd Palin, kept her figure, had five attractive, seemingly well-adjusted children and was successful in her career. […]

There is much more than high school angst to Palin hatred. Her ideology is 180 degrees wrong – evangelical Christian, hunting, oil-drilling and, most important of all, anti-abortion.

There is even a bumper sticker, “Abort Sarah Palin”, and no diatribe against her fails to mention abortion.

Abortion is the emotional peg on which Palin-haters hang their hatreds and justify their intemperance. The touchstone issue which makes both sides hyperventilate has become such a bedrock article of faith for establishment feminists that they question it as little as their born-again Christian nemeses question the existence of God.

Even in light of medical advances in foetal surgery, premature baby medical care and prenatal imaging, it is unthinkable that progressive women would rethink abortion, even late-term abortion.

For them “choice” is not about choice at all, which is why Palin is such a threat.

Read the whole thing, if you can; it’s a well-written look at the hostility feminists harbor toward Palin. One of the most interesting quotes comes from a female MP who voted against a recent abortion bill in Australia; she says, in part: “Feminists like myself are just saying [this issue] is not about criminality, but what abortion does to the woman … It injures her deeply. [But] we continue to feed the denial.”

Americans are starting to notice the absolutist extremism that comes from pro-abortion politicians. Why, many Americans are starting to wonder, would anyone oppose a waiting period, or information being given to the woman, or parental notification? Why would anyone support grisly late-term abortions or abortions past viability? Why do “pro-choice” people refuse to support any choice other than the choice to kill the unborn human in his or her mother’s womb?

The more that question is asked, the more the mask of insane rage and hatred will be removed form the faces of the pro-aborts; and underneath it, in many cases, I suspect we will see pain: the pain of their own abortions that still haunts them, the pain of knowing that they did, indeed, kill a child they would love to have now, and to know, the pain of realizing that this one inhuman act they committed cut them off, in a way, from what is good and decent and noble in humanity–the pain of unexpressed remorse, and unresolved guilt and sorrow.

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