For the second time in my life I found myself in front of such an image, the first time when I was 10, then at 23 years old, both of them incidental.
Past and present images and emotions, which I can hardly define, assault my mind: the places where those children were abandoned, the position they were in, the bags and the rags they were wrapped up in and carried, the nails, their physical development, the fact that I was in front of a human being, the physical and psychical feelings of the woman had while having an abortion, the guilt that we might carry because of our attitude and our mentality… the nerve I had to take a picture…
I didn't know what to do, bury it?
"Shall I call anybody?" I didn't want to repeat the mistake I made when I was a child.
When I was 10 years old I was playing football in a neighbourhood park with my neighbour friends when we discovered an aborted child next to our soccer field wrapped in some cloths; we've been told in school that if we discover something like this we should immediately call the "Militia" (Ceausescu's Police).
That's exactly what we have done. They came; they asked questions and took pictures, telling us that we did the best thing calling them.
Extremely proud of our patriotic decision I arrived at home telling my mom about that fact.
My mom lessened to me very carefully and said: "Why have you done this, do you know that if they catch that woman she can be imprisoned because of you? Do you know that I also did abortion numerous times?
That was my first contact with the Romania's tough reality that I will never forget.
(During the Ceausescu's regime it was illegal to have an abortion and contraceptive methods were not allowed therefore many women had empiric abortions performed by midwifes or untrained personal in non-hygienic places.
If they were caught they could face seven years of prison.
The Militia was allowed to seal the sorrowing area and perform gynecological exams, discovering the guilty woman.)
The next day, the baby was gone.
|
|
|
|