I read in the paper that the Supreme Court heard opening arguments yesterday in the case to on the Definition Of Marriage Act. Thousands of people protested outside the courthouse. Just around the corner, 350 Episcopalian ministers walked the DC streets in protest of our minimal gun regulations. The US Capital was hopping and bursting with issues, determination and history. So I tell KT, my houseguest, that we have to go to Washington to join in the dissent and be part of history.
We drive an hour to the train station, take a train, jump on the subway and then find our way to the Supreme Court. We find that Day Two of the hearing did not bring the same crowd. As a matter of fact, less than 20 protesters show up today. And they don’t seem very political to me.
There is a man dress as Jesus who is preaching the bible and intolerance of homosexuality. Young men taunt him. He keeps his temper so they lose interest in teasing him. Now, even this small crowd begins to thin out, leaving only tired reporters who are waiting patiently for any breaking news.
We wander over the Capital and don’t see any evidence of the 350 Episcopalian ministers. They seem to have all left town as well. But I do see a man with a large, hand painted sign. I read it quickly and do a double take.
“KT, I thought that man’s sign read ‘keep your hands off my penis’. That one,” I point, in complete disbelief, “keep your hands off my pension.” KT turns around and looks. “Holy shit, it does say penis.”
He stands there alone in the middle of the lawn, holding his battered sign. We are contemplating what to ask him when a woman comes up to us.
“Do you know today is international female circumcision day? Max comes out every year at this time to protest male circumcision. Do you know how dangerous a circumcision is? And we just do this to every boy in our country, without any thought. We are the only developed country that does this as a standard practice. Did you know that?
“No,” I honesty tell her. “I never thought about it.” And that is the truth.
“Do you know why foreskin is so important”?
“Nope, can’t say I do”. I tell her, a little ashamed of my ignorance.
“Have you ever seen a botched up surgery? It happens all of the time but doctors never tell you that. And then it’s too late. The little boys have damaged penises for life”. Her tone is a little sad. “Can you imagine that? Those poor little boys!”
“Why are you here today?” I ask her.
“I’m a nurse. I used to deliver babies and I have seen too many little boys become scarred for life. So now I come out every year to join Max. He’s from Vermont and I am from Illinois. We meet here to protest. But I lobby, all year long, on my own on behalf of young boys. We are so concerned about girls’ health and their circumcisions but no one ever thinks of what we are doing to boys. It has to stop.” She speaks with so much conviction that I feel some sort of moral obligation to take on this cause.
“It’s a violation of their civil rights. They can’t defend themselves and we are mutilating them without their consent. It’s shameful. It’s sinful. It has to stop.” She is working herself into a little bit of frenzy now that she has an audience.
KT has wandered off at this point and I am alone with this woman, who begins to drill me on my general knowledge about the history of circumcisions. Little does she know how limited this knowledge it.
“Did you know the foreskin protects the glans for irritation? It helps to keep foreign materials out of the penis. Did you know that?”
I hesitate but then answer, “No.”
She doesn’t really wait for an answer, she just continues. “Do you have any idea how important foreskin is for sex? It retains natural lubricants and makes sex more pleasurable for both men and woman. Did you know that? Are you aware of that?”
Nope.
“Men who are circumcised have different health problems than men who are not circumcised. They can suffer from meatal stenosis.” She raises her voice a little with this fact.
I don’t even know what meatal stenosis is but I don’t tell her that.
“And the foreskin is self-cleaning, every time a man urinates, the orifice is cleaned. It’s a hygiene issue.”
At this point, I interrupt her and tell her I have to leave. She insists I take a hand full of literature. And I do just to get her to stop. I tell her that I will spread the word and she thanks me profusely.
After a bit, KT and I head home. It is dark now. The train is crowded with working commuters. We have to stand and we are tired. KT is leaning against a pole and laughing a little bit.
“What is so funny?” I want to know.
“Yup, Kel, you really have your finger on the pulse of the nation. We really saw history being made today. Thanks for including me”,
Memoirs of an Ordinary Woman 