Nadya Suleman and the absolute right of pregnancy

Nadya Suleman, a single, unemployed mother of six, recently gave birth to eight children (the pregnancy was by in-vitro fertilization). The total, of course, is now fourteen children. Her (only) home, a three bedroom house, is owned by her mother, who is about six months behind on mortgage payments. The births of the eight children and subsequent aftercare, supposedly, is likely to cost a total of one million dollars -- and which the state of California is going to have to pay.

Nadya -- who I think is still unemployed -- has given many, many television interviews. The media attention, also, has been frantic. Yesterday, Cher -- for whatever reason -- said that she finds Nadya repulsive and her new children should be seized by the state. Dr. Phil devoted yesterday's show to her. The result is a storm of media outrage -- and which Nadya seems to willingly feed with continuing to give interviews.

The purpose of this review is to analyze the outrage of the media (and which, admittedly, I also feel at Nadya) and the assumption that the right to children is absolute.

If the media -- and by "media" I mean those that I follow -- were interested in something other than sensationalism, I think it should be easy to recognize that, although Nadya did make the tragic decision to impregnante herself, the decision was made in the context of a system that, at the least, implictely supported her choice.

Consider, the doctor who did the procedure could have been prevented from doing so. If this weren't possible -- let's assume that there's an unregulated market for these procedures -- than a clear outline of action could have been provided of what was to happen afterwards. She would have been told that the state was going to seize the babies. In any case, Nadya's extreme case highlights a broken system of determining how one gets pregnant, who does, and the role of the state in these decisions.

Specifically -- for the sake of brevity -- I'd like to focus on the relationship between the state, technology, and the apparently clearly stated assumption that the state can't interfere in any pregnancy. For reasons that I assume are historical, the right to pregnancy I assume is absolute. That is, the state, for instance, can't force an abortion. The state, also, can't determine who has the right to have children and who doesn't. Because of technology, however, I think, at the least, there should be a discussion of the validity of this absolute position.

Because, now, a woman can, theoretically, have as many children as her body can bear, I think it's now fair to ask what the limit should be? That is, should a doctor (must a doctor) refuse in-vitro treatments for single mothers? Should employment be mandatory? If a single mother of six becomes pregnant, should the state force an abotion?

I don't have answers to these questions. I am sure, however, that an unemployed mother of 14 is as morally unacceptable as an extreme option, say, such as a forced abortion.

"Waltz with Bashir"

Set in present day Israel (and partly Holland), the animated film follows the main character, a former Israeli soldier during Israel's invasion of Lebanon in 1983, as he tries to understand the bad dreams that, more than 25 years after he served, have only recently started to haunt him.

This narrative trick (of shifting from present day conversations with fellow Israeli soldiers and past memories of the war) I assume is a metaphor of why (I presume) some Israelis only now are trying to understand the massacre of Palestinians (that happened during the war).

First, it should be strongly noted, this movie is brutal. The brutality, however, I think is enlightening. With two wars the US is presently fighting, this animated film provides what daily news reports can't: about the helplessness of terror that a 19 year old soldier must feel; about the randomly brutality of spraying an area wildly with bullets, just to feel safe; about the random happenings during bombings and shootings and snipers that, ultimately, determine who lives and dies. Mostly -- in my opinion -- the brutality of the film is from the injustice.

In 1983, Israel was removed 38 years from the liberation of the European death camps (and, yes, I know Israel was officially recognized by the UN in 1947). This film, however, portrays how Israel cooperated with a massacre that could have taken place in one of those death camps. This juxtaposition was a type of brutality that, several days after watching the film, still enrages as much as it does perplex. Why has Israel become so brutal? Why is no country, seemingly, immune from committing such horrors?

Also, a note about the animation. I like animated films. Of all genres, it's my favorite. This film was unlike any other animated one I've seen. It had splendid moments. That is, when it took fully advantage of the animated genre. During a battle scene, for instance, the soldiers, sky, and background were lit in a pale green -- and which I think would be impossible in a non-animated film. Unfortunately, the film makers seemed not to be aware of the limitations of the animation. The slower scenes, primarily the ones in Holland, in which two characters just talk, are awkward. The animation is jerky. The characters move stiffly. The backgrounds look unconvincing. Often, the film reminded me of a Saturday morning cartoon.

Finally, the reason I strongly recommend this film is of how the horrors are presented. The narrative technique of discovering has, seemingly, freed the film makers from judgment. The result is an exploration of memory. In doing so, the war is presented as a series of images of a 19 year old soldier: of naive wonder, extreme fear, horsing around with your friends, and doing something that you know that you just have to do.

The result is a film that strongly condemns, not only Israel's barbarity during the war, but all types of barbarism: of forgetting and not remembering, of war, ethnic hatred, and the barbaric types of justice that -- most likely -- occur during war.