I’ve just spent a few weeks in my homeland, Britain (I live in France). I was on a bus in the town where I grew up when a lady got on. She looked shorter than usual, seemed cheerful and calm, took out her fare from her purse in the usual way and gave it to the bus driver. Clutching her ticket, she then walked down the bus to find a seat and I saw her face more clearly. She had Down’s Syndrome. As I looked at her, I found myself immediately thinking how lucky – in some terrible lottery game – she was, and how few Down’s Syndrome babies are now born. Well over 90 per cent of Down’s Syndrome babies are now aborted, along of course with other handicapped babies.
As I gazed out of the window and contemplated the grassy banks with the spring flowers, I thought how sad and horrific, in a sense, that is. Of course these abortions are all taking place under the guise of compassion and I do not accuse the people involved of anything more than muddle-headed thinking and fear and not seeing another way through in the absence of support and solutions, but really when you look at it, it is all rather chilling. Nazi eugenics cannot help but spring to mind. What would this lady, with her independent living and sunny outlook on life, feel and think if you told her that her life should never have been lived, should have been cut down before it had even begun?
Do we not diminish ourselves and all grace and pity within us, when we seek to violently eradicate what is difficult or different?