“Matters of conscience” is a phrase I loath. It seems to imply that there’s only one “side” voting or acting in accordance with their conscience and that those of us on the “other side” give nary a thought to our actions or words.
Well, I have a conscience too. It’s been in a state of flux, but as Marjorie says, a mind needs a fresh stream of ideas flowing through it pretty regularly or it’ll get pretty stagnant and that’s not a good thing.
My conscience won’t let me sit at home on a rainy Saturday having figured that there’ll be plenty of others to march on my behalf. My conscience is ashamed of itself for some of the views I held on how exactly the eighth amendment affects girls and women. My conscience won’t stay silent when I think of the girls and women heading abroad to access abortion while I’m writing this.
My conscience has sharpened my focus enormously. Saturday has been a pivotal moment for me. I’m not under any illusion that other people’s consciences will be taken out and aired regularly as a reason why I should remain equal to a zygote, probably delivered in a falsely sympathetic but poisonously patronising manner during the following months and, I dread to say, years.
No matter. Marching in the pouring rain, me and my conscience seemed to come to the sort of happy alignment that’s galvanised me and prompted me into taking a bit more action than simply writing blog posts.