Written by Dorothy Cummings McLean,
Twenty years ago I went to a pro-life demonstration in Toronto’s Cabbagetown. Abortion advocates greeted us with jeers from the clinic steps, but some of the pro-life demonstrators chained themselves to the railings anyway. Others sat on the sidewalk before the clinic. Trapped behind a human barricade, the abortion rights people began to push and hit. It was an ugly, scary scene. The police arrived and started carting people away. And from my spot to the side, I saw police pick up a priest I liked and haul him to their van. A priest. Suddenly, I wiggled through the crowd and sat right down in his place. A police officer stared down at me.
“Are you gonna walk or are we gonna have to carry you?” he sighed.