The only road
*
Columnist urges Dr. Winston Crabb to change apparent hypocrisy
J.J. HARDER is a senior
political science and broad
casting major and a Daily
Nebraskan columnist.
Dear Dr. Crabb,
So I guess it’s almost over. That is,
this disease called public scrutiny that
has afflicted you for so long. The
judge said protesters can’t picket at
your home. The organized activists
that have clung to your church’s side
walk like leeches have gone back to
Omaha. And the media seem to be
relatively disenchanted with this
entire situation. You’re probably sit
ting back and thinking to yourself,
“Finally.” Well, Winston, if I can call
you Winston, even if everything
appears as if it’s died down, I think
there’s more to the story. Basically I
think we’re all missing the point.
From the beginning, we’ve tried
to make this an issue. Don’t get me
wrong, it’s definitely an issue, but not
the huge, convoluted, complex one
the media has made it out to be. Too
many sides and debates and contro
versies have come up for this to look
as simple as it really is.
I guess it dates back to 1996 when
you first had to get a protection order.
Three pesky anti-abortion activists
plus one perturbed doctor equaled
your first 15 minutes of fame. The
issue was old faithful - pro-life or
pro-choice. No minds changed, just a
few signs, prayers and an eventual
injunction. A few news spots and the
protesters ascended to news heaven.
You got your first starring role, then
seemed to quietly make your niche in
the community. Winston Crabb, your
friendly neighborhood abortionist.
So you went on with your prac
tice, trying to live a normal life. And
then one day you made what you
probably thought was a small step in
your personal life that turned out to
be a huge leap. You became a deacon
at your church.
Come February 1997, the media
frenzy hit with issue No. 2: freedom
of religion. The parishioners at
Westminster Presbyterian Church
have the right to worship on Sundays
without walking through a forest of
bloody fetus posters. And issue No. 3
came hand in hand: freedom of
assembly. The Rescue the Heartland
picketers have the constitutional right
to protest your regular practice of
“baby killing.” I was here, Winston.
Through all the ups and downs, twists
and turns, I was here watching. I saw
church against church, mayor against
city council, freedom against law.
And we never thought the TV-con
suming incessantly obtrusive snow
balling saga could ever stop. And then
you ended the unendable.
You quit performing abortions in
Omaha.
Right away, Larry Donlan took
home his troops as promised. A
smaller, less vocal group took its
place. Before we knew it, Sunday
mornings at Westminster just weren’t
the same. On top of that Judge Urbom
held up the ordinance that keeps
prayer warriors away from your
house. Not to mention the fact that an
Oregon judge shut down the anti
abortion Web site with your name tar
geted on it. In a matter of a few
months, your issue left the spotlight
completely.
You and probably half of the state
are breathing a collective sigh of
relief, ready to forget about all of the
issues that have been played up and
over-hyped. I bet everyone wants to
take a break from the pro this or free
dom of that madness for awhile. Dr.
Crabb, I want to forget about the
issues, too. But I want to remember
what’s at the heart of this ordeal. You.
Winston, you’ve done some great
things. Graduating from Northwest
ern med school is no easy feat. And
serving in the military is to be
respected - I’m sure you did a great
honor to our nation as a Navy officer.
As for Lincoln, you have given our
community 26 solid years of service.
And not a single complaint ever filed
with the county’s medical society.
Impressive to say the least.
You have a beautiful home in a
great part of town. I can only assume
you have a nice family, too. You’ve
done a stellar job of keeping your
wife and children off the 10 o’clock
news. I admit, it had to have been dif
ficult to do. But perhaps your biggest
accomplishment has been what
you’ve done with all of us. With a lit
tle help from a sensational media and
by adopting a no-interview policy,
you’ve pulled the wool over all of our
eyes. You ducked out the back door
when this news party started. It was
your ball and you chose not to show
up. Well, Wince, it’s time you made
your appearance.
When you became a church dea
con, you told the world that you are a
Christian. You proclaim to follow the
Son of God on Sunday, and then you
perform abortions during the week.
You say you follow Jesus Christ, then
kill his children like it was your job.
Because it is your job. Winston, this is
so hypocritical it’s making me nau
seous just thinking about it. Really,
how do you honestly live with your
self? For an atheist to perform abor
tions is one thing. But to look the
truth in its eyes and spit in its face is
another.
As for your church, I don’t know
what it’s thinking. How can it be a
church of God and stand by you?
They publicly demean the picketers’
cause and support your abortions. It’s
like a battered woman bailing her
wife-beating husband out of jail. It
just doesn’t make sense.
And I know we’re all sinners, but
as Christians we’re supposed to at
least try not to sin. I’m not being
judgmental here, I’m being account
able as one Christian to another.
Dr. Crabb, the Bible blatantly
sanctifies the process of live-giving
as well as conceiving. You and your
church both know that abortion stains
this pure, precious gift like cigarettes
blacken a lung.
Come to think of it, I bet that’s
what you feel like inside. Once a
healthy soul made clean by accepting
Jesus, now filthy and charred.
Society’s excuses for abortion have
penetrated your mind and overtaken
your faith in God. You sold your
beliefs for an unrighteous cause. And
you’ve got to be hurting.
Winston, I’m here to tell you it
can all come to an end. The Sunday
morning headlines and the 6 o’clock
live shots in front of your house. The
blood parade outside of Westminster
and the prayer chains next to your
office. And most importantly the pain
inside from the contradictory life
you’re living. With one simple deci
sion, to do what God wants you to do,
it can all come to an end. It’s all up to
you, Winston.
I don’t know you, Winston Crabb,
but I love you as a brother in Christ.
And I want you to live your life with
out hurting others, and without hurt
ing yourself. Put it to an end,
Winston. Jesus will thank you for it
later.
In Christ,
Macho pride
Girls can defy feminine stereotypes - and love it
ERIN REITZ is a senior
theater performance
major and a Daily
Nebraskan columnist.
“Hey honey, get your butt into
the kitchen and grab me a Bud.
While you’re at it, pass me the
remote and bring me some Doritos.
Nacho cheese.”
You’re wondering what guy said
this to me, right? You’re thinking that
I’m about to go into a male-bashing
session longer than the Big Red
Welcome convocation.
You’re thinking, “Yee haw.
Another frickin’ feminist column.
Just don’t start lecturing me on the
ERA or I’ll stop reading right now. I
mean it.”
I know you mean it. That’s
why you should also know
that I’m the jerk who said that
thing up there about the beer
and chips. Well, not really, but
I’ve always wanted to. I’ll
have my chance someday.
. And I’ll love every sec
ond of it, by God. (Insert
manly grunt here.)
Even though I’ve already
proclaimed myself to be a
“girly-girl,” (and everyone
knows that I am) I think I
enjoy things that I’m not
really supposed to. You
know, as a female.
You males should know
that we can’t always fit into
the squeaky-clean June
Cleaver image that we’re
supposed to, though. And
we usually don’t want to.
Case in point: me.
Now, I’ll be the first to admit that
I’m high-maintenance. I do all of
that chick crap, and I’m not ashamed
to admit it. I wear makeup, l paint
my toenails, I shave my legs.
I also like to defy all that from
time to time.
Because, man, do I love things
such as camping. In the great out
doors. I’m not talking campers, I’m
talking tents. I love not having run
ning water, cooking over a campfire
and just generally getting all grubby
like in the wild. There’s nothing like
connecting with nature.
Speaking of connecting with
nature, I really dig going hunting
with my dad, too. Sure, I’m usually
one to advocate animal rights, but I
respect the premise behind hunting. I
get it.
Thank God, because I get such a
kick out of watching our dog do
her thing sc
kill whatevi
he’s going £
father
daughter
bond
ing, all
right?
After watching my dad kill stuff,
I’d love to go home and have a beer
with him. Geez, would that be great.
(Side note: I haven’t yet, because
1. My dad doesn’t drink beer. It’s too
bad, I know, but it gives the poor guy
a wicked headache. 2.1 haven’t gone
hunting with my dad since I was 18
or so. 3. I’m home only on major
holidays, and I’d feel too weird about
supporting the harming of little
birdies when I’m wishing goodwill
towaramy fellow man.)
I’m not supposed to like beer,
though, because I’m a girl. I’m sup
posed to suck up chick drinks. (In
case you’re wondering, anything big,
magenta or blue - with umbrellas or
fruit stuck in it - qualifies.)
I just can’t stand the idea that
men get to bond over beer and
women are supposed to bond
overshop
ping (while sipping their Diet Cokes
through red and white-striped straws,
of course).
Not me. As long as I keep loving
Newcastle and Killian’s, I’m going
to use it for whatever bonding pur
poses I like. There’s nothing like a
cold one after a rough day. Or a great
day. There’s always room for beer.
While I’m consuming my frosty
brew, I might smoke a cigar and have
a raunchy locker room-style conver
sation with my girlfriends. Oh, by
the way, I like to belch after I’ve had
my beer. I’d probably scare you (or
blow out one of your eardrums) if
you heard me at my full potential.
And hey, on my walk home from the
bars, I may just spit! How do ya like
that, huh?
(That is, I’d
spit in the , ,r
grass, because
spitting in the
street was
illegal
last time I checked, and I just don’t
have the time to go to jail right now.)
Oh, hey, I’m sorry. Does any/all
of that bother you?
Does it bug you a little to know
that I like mowing the lawn and
going on calving calls with my vet
erinarian dad? Does it surprise you
that I pride myself on how hard I can
throw my beloved softball, that I’d
rather go hiking in the Colorado
Rockies than work on my tan on the
beach, or that I’d rather have the
steak than the salad?
If it does, maybe you should re
evaluate the things you think when
you look at women.
Maybe that gal in the sassy little
skirt and heels would rather be taken
to a hockey game than the latest
knock-off romantic comedy at the
Starship. -
Yeah, really.
Just because some of us have the
girly-girl lifestyle down doesn’t
mean we don’t have a need to
break out of it. Women get such
B a kick out of acting the way
H we’re not supposed to.
V And you know what? We
V have every right to.
V Doing what’s expected is
W much too boring, anyway. And
■ you usually don’t get dirty when
■ you follow all of the rules.
Fellow females, don’t live your
■ life in fear of breaking a nail.
Take a chance, do things the
togf way you want to, not the way
II everyone says you should.
There’s no time like now to
break free of our society’s
;> jyp favorite female restric
tions. Do what your gut
tells you, and don’t be
fJz: afraid to ask for what you
want.
is By the way, in case you
q . foigot, I’m still waiting for
j| that beer. And, Babe? You
jg really do make a better
w door than a window.
£ Thanks for understanding.