The compassionate case for legal abortion

Abortion is society’s understanding that pregnancy isn’t always like a Pampers advert.

Yesterday marked a return to normality for BPAS in Bedford Square, London. For the past forty days, the abortion clinic has been the subject of a political furore thanks to the arrival of 40 Days for Life – a Christian group of anti-abortionists who have been picketing outside.

I actually temped as a receptionist for a company on Bedford Square last year, so I had the pleasure of seeing 40 Days for Life’s previous few excursions every single morning. Back then the group consisted of about five slightly forlorn-looking Christians, rather than the two hundred-plus throng that greeted the clinic last Friday. I remember dropping off some post at the clinic once, and as I left a protester blocked my way and attempted to hand me a photo of a dead foetus. I think I screamed some kind of profanity-laden disapproval at him (and inevitably, it was a him) and sashayed off. I probably advanced whatever terrible stereotype of feminists he already harboured, but I didn’t particularly care. The next day I returned and gave the staff at BPAS a box of biscuits, so they knew that some people did appreciate their existence.

It’s not surprising that the pro-choice reaction to groups like 40 Days of Life is often one of anger. As a single, precariously-employed young woman, the idea that I would have no choice over whether to continue a pregnancy horrifies me. It makes me feel as though something fundamental about myself is being violated. That’s why the dominant argument in favour of legal abortion rightfully focuses upon choice: because it seems barbaric to deny women autonomy over their bodies and lives when such a thing is medically and socially possible.

But I would like to offer another argument in favour of legal abortion. It’s an argument that, to me, is important because it is currently being employed as a reason to take abortion away. It is the argument of compassion.

The new wave of anti-abortion protests in this country are couching their motivations in the language of compassion: they argue that abortion is bad for women, and that it is for the sake of women that clinics like BPAS should be reined in. Take Nadine Dorries, who tells us she wants to help women by compassionately meddling with counselling services; or the campaigners at 40 Days for Life whose banners read ‘women deserve better than abortion,’ as though it is a degrading and unladylike process that we women somehow need saving from. Even the unannounced inspections of 250 clinics are predicated upon Andrew Lansley’s apparent interest in "safeguards for women."

So given compassion is the order of the day for anti-abortionists, I wonder whether they would extend any to Geraldine Santoro, who bled to death following an illegal abortion in 1964. After Santoro left her abusive husband, she became pregnant by another man. Afraid her husband would find out, she and her new partner attempted to perform an abortion themselves. After Santoro became ill, her partner fled the scene and she was found dead alone on the floor of a hotel bathroom. Perhaps anti-abortion campaigners could show compassion for Rosie Jimenez, who couldn’t afford an abortion after the USA decided it would no longer be funded by Medicaid in 1977. She visited a backstreet clinic and died in agony, aged 27.

Anti-abortion campaigners might hope to prevent abortions, but making them illegal is not the way to do it. According to the New York Times, the rate of abortion is the same in countries where the procedure is illegal as those where it is legal. Criminalising abortion will only add to the 68,000 women who die annually as a result of unsafe abortion, in what the World Health Organization calls "the preventable pandemic". Once abortion is made illegal, every person will know a woman like Geraldine Santoro or Rosie Jimenez; because despite the best efforts of 40 Days for Life et al, it is not possible to ban abortion. It is only possible to make abortion more unsanitary, more frightening, and more lethal.

Abortion is institutionalised compassion. It is society’s understanding that pregnancy isn’t always like a Pampers advert. Sometimes it’s traumatising, life-threatening and isolating. A society which legalises abortion is a society which acknowledges the difficulties of life and places the physical and mental wellbeing of women at the heart of the solution. A society that cares about women has no choice but to provide easily-accessible, well-funded abortion services. History has taught us that.

I’ve never had an abortion. I hope I never have to. But I’m glad that clinics like BPAS are there to help women like me. That’s why I indignantly delivered biscuits to BPAS that day. And it was a feeling that was only strengthened when I stepped out onto the cobbles of Bedford Square, squinting in the sunlight as an anti-abortionist waved a placard at me. What did it say? "We are here to help you."

Ellie Mae O'Hagan is a freelance writer living in North London, contributing mainly to the Guardian. You can follow her at @MissEllieMae

Abortion rights campaigners demonstrate in favour of the 24-week limit. Photograph: Getty Images.
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Inside Big Ben: why the world’s most famous clock will soon lose its bong

Every now and then, even the most famous of clocks need a bit of care.

London is soon going to lose one of its most familiar sounds when the world-famous Big Ben falls silent for repairs. The “bonging” chimes that have marked the passing of time for Londoners since 1859 will fall silent for months beginning in 2017 as part of a three-year £29m conservation project.

Of course, “Big Ben” is the nickname of the Great Bell and the bell itself is not in bad shape – even though it does have a huge crack in it.

The bell weighs nearly 14 tonnes and it cracked in 1859 when it was first bonged with a hammer that was way too heavy.

The crack was never repaired. Instead the bell was rotated one eighth of a turn and a lighter (200kg) hammer was installed. The cracked bell has a characteristic sound which we have all grown to love.

Big Ben strikes. UK Parliament.

Instead, it is the Elizabeth Tower (1859) and the clock mechanism (1854), designed by Denison and Airy, that need attention.

Any building or machine needs regular maintenance – we paint our doors and windows when they need it and we repair or replace our cars quite routinely. It is convenient to choose a day when we’re out of the house to paint the doors, or when we don’t need the car to repair the brakes. But a clock just doesn’t stop – especially not a clock as iconic as the Great Clock at the Palace of Westminster.

Repairs to the tower are long overdue. There is corrosion damage to the cast iron roof and to the belfry structure which keeps the bells in place. There is water damage to the masonry and condensation problems will be addressed, too. There are plumbing and electrical works to be done for a lift to be installed in one of the ventilation shafts, toilet facilities and the fitting of low-energy lighting.

Marvel of engineering

The clock mechanism itself is remarkable. In its 162-year history it has only had one major breakdown. In 1976 the speed regulator for the chimes broke and the mechanism sped up to destruction. The resulting damage took months to repair.

The weights that drive the clock are, like the bells and hammers, unimaginably huge. The “drive train” that keeps the pendulum swinging and that turns the hands is driven by a weight of about 100kg. Two other weights that ring the bells are each over a tonne. If any of these weights falls out of control (as in the 1976 incident), they could do a lot of damage.

The pendulum suspension spring is especially critical because it holds up the huge pendulum bob which weighs 321kg. The swinging pendulum releases the “escapement” every two seconds which then turns the hands on the clock’s four faces. If you look very closely, you will see that the minute hand doesn’t move smoothly but it sits still most of the time, only moving on each tick by 1.5cm.

The pendulum swings back and forth 21,600 times a day. That’s nearly 8m times a year, bending the pendulum spring. Like any metal, it has the potential to suffer from fatigue. The pendulum needs to be lifted out of the clock so that the spring can be closely inspected.

The clock derives its remarkable accuracy in part from the temperature compensation which is built into the construction of the pendulum. This was yet another of John Harrison’s genius ideas (you probably know him from longitude fame). He came up with the solution of using metals of differing temperature expansion coefficient so that the pendulum doesn’t change in length as the temperature changes with the seasons.

In the Westminster clock, the pendulum shaft is made of concentric tubes of steel and zinc. A similar construction is described for the clock in Trinity College Cambridge and near perfect temperature compensation can be achieved. But zinc is a ductile metal and the tube deforms with time under the heavy load of the 321kg pendulum bob. This “creeping” will cause the temperature compensation to jam up and become less effective.

So stopping the clock will also be a good opportunity to dismantle the pendulum completely and to check that the zinc tube is sliding freely. This in itself is a few days' work.

What makes it tick

But the truly clever bit of this clock is the escapement. All clocks have one - it’s what makes the clock tick, quite literally. Denison developed his new gravity escapement especially for the Westminster clock. It decouples the driving force of the falling weight from the periodic force that maintains the motion of the pendulum. To this day, the best tower clocks in England use the gravity escapement leading to remarkable accuracy – better even than that of your quartz crystal wrist watch.

In Denison’s gravity escapement, the “tick” is the impact of the “legs” of the escapement colliding with hardened steel seats. Each collision causes microscopic damage which, accumulated over millions of collisions per year, causes wear and tear affecting the accuracy of the clock. It is impossible to inspect the escapement without stopping the clock. Part of the maintenance proposed during this stoppage is a thorough overhaul of the escapement and the other workings of the clock.

The Westminster clock is a remarkable icon for London and for England. For more than 150 years it has reminded us of each hour, tirelessly. That’s what I love about clocks – they seem to carry on without a fuss. But every now and then even the most famous of clocks need a bit of care. After this period of pampering, “Big Ben” ought to be set for another 100 or so years of trouble-free running.

The Conversation

Hugh Hunt is a Reader in Engineering Dynamics and Vibration at the University of Cambridge.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.