A South African Abortion clinic flushes aborted babies down drain

From an article in a South African newspaper:

“Pinetown metro police are investigating an abortion clinic suspected of being responsible for a drain blockage after a foetus was found in the drain on Friday.

Metro Superintendent Joyce Khuzwayo said yesterday that a cleaner was called to unblock the drain and found that a foetus had caused the blockage.”

Joyce Khuzwayo says:

“At this stage, we suspect that the foetus was flushed down the drain by the abortion clinic in one of the buildings in Hill Street….

It happened at least three times last week.”

Nompumelelo Magwaza “Foetus blocks drain” IOL 21 SEPTEMBER 2009

forced abortion
14 weeks
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Officials won’t let aborted babies be photographed

Pro-Life author William Brennan writes about how, when some bodies of aborted babies were found in California, public officials would not let anyone take photographs of them.

“In February 1982 officials from the Los Angeles Coroner’s Office and the Department of Health Services told press photographers and television crews that “no photographs” could be taken of aborted bodies found in a huge cargo container in Wilmington, California. “A lot are partially dismembered,” explained coroner office representative Mason Johnson. “You wouldn’t want to photograph that.”

Mary Dunn “500 Fetal Bodies Found” National Catholic Register February 21, 1982, P1

Quoted in William Brennan The Abortion Holocaust: Today’s Final Solution (St. Louis, Missouri, 1983) 165

Brennan suggests that authorities refused to let media outlets take pictures because they wanted to hide the reality of abortion.

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Pro-lifers pull aborted babies from dumpster

From Carole Novielli, Saynsmthn’s blog

We knew the abortion clinics could be throwing the aborted babies in the trash. So, how would we know which clinics were disposing the babies illegally? There was no way to know- we’d have to go to various ones and pull the trash to see.

That was a daunting task. But finally, our work paid off.

It was a Saturday afternoon when we approached a clinic located in a strip mall. The abortionist shared the dumpster with other business owners and we received permission to remove some discarded wood from the trash. Our real goal though, was the clinic’s trash- BINGO!

We grabbed several bags over a period of time, until, one day, we discovered that inside the bags were the containers that held babies aborted by suction abortion.

first hand 1

Then came the task of opening up each and every gauze sac. I stilled myself to open each one , knowing what I might see – not knowing how I’d react to it.

first hand 2Several did indeed look like ground meat.

To see their fragile little bodies so ground up that no distinguishable pieces remained was not entirely a surprise – after all – these were early abortions and babies that had been violently sucked out through a tube and into these jars.

[webmaster note; At six weeks and before the baby’s body is so small and delicate that it is ripped completely apart in an abortion, leaving no recognizable remains. The baby at this stage looks like this:

6WEEKS

Yet when hit with the powerful suction machine, it is torn apart and nothing recognizable is left.]

Then…after carefully slicing one gauze sac, there it was. The fully formed arm of an aborted child.

first hand 4

Then a leg, another leg, ribs, skull, etc

first ahnd 5

first hand 6

img_2931-e1421631557147

As we rummaged through the bags we could see the medical records of the women whose children lay torn in pieces.

The cold-hearted abortionist had discarded the bodies of these dead babies in the trash along with their mother’s medical records with no care or concern for either.

At the bottom of the bag, we found a large foot which a pathologist later confirmed was from an unborn baby approximately 5 months gestation. The remaining body parts of that child were not in the bags we had.

first hand 10

As we meticulously went through the bags from that abortion clinic, I found myself feeling detached- I was looking squarely at the tiny remains of babies who suffered a horrific death and yet I had little emotion. After all, I had to finish the job I set out to do, I had to continue looking through the bags and opening each and every sac. Was I heartless? Uncaring? Unfeeling? Or was I being scientific and doing a job that had to be done?

I wrestled with this for a few days. And then….

The day arrived for the funeral for these little babies. We told no one who found them. In reality, those who attended did not care about the details – they cared only about giving these precious unborn children a decent burial. They wanted them remembered – their lives must count !

I attended the funeral like a pro, covering it for a pro-life magazine I wrote for at the time. As a journalist, I stood on stage watching people tearfully come forward and lay a rose – the symbol of life- on the small casket we purchased to place the tiny pieces of their broken bodies in.

first hand 11

One moment I was snapping pictures and the next….the next moment I was sobbing uncontrollably in the arms of an usher who was standing beside me on the stage. He must have seen a look in my eyes because his large torso was a comfort as I completely lost it and wept like a mother who just received the news that her beloved child was dead.

The tears and groans continued for a while and took me by surprise. After all, I was a professional, I was detached, I was looking at this from a journalists point of view – I was HUMAN!

As I write this today, I feel a lump in my throat as the memory of what I saw wells up inside me. I often think about the idea that abortion does not affect those who participate in it – the mothers, doctors, nurses, and clinic staff and I have to conclude that it absolutely does affect them.

As a young girl, I used to watch documentaries about the Nazi Holocaust and the Jews they slaughtered mercilessly.

Most people watched those films with great interest in the stories and facts they document.

But, for me, when I watched them, I recalled asking in the midst of my outrage, “ Who took those pictures?”

I remember thinking that had those pictures never been taken, society would not be sitting here today in absolute horror of what took place.

I knew at that moment that I wanted to document the abortion holocaust, and by the guidance of God, in some small way, I have.

first hand 12

Source: Carole Novielli  The day I saw abortion first hand Saynsumthn’s Blog

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Child’s bloody remains found in garbage

Unborn baby’s legs at 12 weeks. Abortion is legal at this time in every US state

Monica Miller describes finding pieces of aborted babies in a garbage dumpster outside an abortion clinic:

“About the child’s head, pooled in dark blood, were his torn arms, legs, a hand, a foot, and part of his rib cage…”

Monica Migliorino Miller Abandoned: the Untold Story of the Abortion Wars (Charlotte, North Carolina: St. Benedict Press, 2012) 145

Read more here.

 

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Monica Miller finds the remains of a five month baby in the garbage

20 weeks

In Abandoned: the Untold Story of the Abortion Wars (Charlotte, North Carolina: St. Benedict Press, 2012) Monica Migliorino Miller describes babies she discovered in the trash outside an abortion clinic:

“One of the babies from the 30 South Michigan dumpster, a five-month-old child killed by the dilation and evacuation method…the one whose right eye and lower jaw was missing..

“About the child’s head, pooled in dark blood, were his torn arms, legs, a hand, a foot, and part of his rib cage…”

(145)

Read more about babies found in the trash here.

http://clinicquotes.com/category/articles/what-to-do-with-the-bodies/unborn-babies-found-in-trash/

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Pro-Life Activist Confronts the Reality of Abortion

In a book on pro-life activism, an author relates the following story:

A pro-life activist identified only as “Dylan” recounted how he found pieces of aborted babies in the trash outside the clinic. He said he:

“wasn’t even thinking about it [finding aborted babies] but one day, when I went there [to the clinic], there were these trash bags sitting right there outside their door. I took a deep breath and threw them in the trunk of my car, and went over to Elaine’s [another pro-lifers] house.”

According to the author:

“Together they carefully opened the gauze bags and probed the contents. They took the identifiable fetal parts to a pathologist at a nearby Children’s Hospital who photographed the remains. Dylan remembers that, “In pictures it was just incredible. You could see all the bones and the bone structure.” The pathologist “identified it as a 9 1/2 week-old unborn child.”…

9 to 10 week-old unborn baby

From Dylan:

“I was shocked, even though I knew up here [intellectually], seeing it knowing that was a baby who was alive that day, when I was at the mill, who had died that day at the mill was just devastating. And yet it was like, don’t anybody ever try and tell me, if they ever tried before, don’t ever try to tell me that’s not a baby.”

Carol JC Maxwell. Pro-Life Activists in America: Meaning Motivation and Direct Action. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002) 115 to 116

For more about aborted babies found in the trash, go here.

an article about babies dumped in the trash in Michigan

and in Oklahoma

and in Minnesota

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Unborn Babies Found in Trash

Many people have seen photographs of aborted babies. But where did they come from? The photographer of many of those pictures tells her story. This is the testimony of Monica Migliorino Miller from the Priests for Life website.

“Truth. What Does that Mean?” I think we are in rats’ alley where the dead men lost their bones.
(T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland)

When we pulled our cars slowly into the dark alley behind the Michigan Avenue Medical Center, rats scurried before our headlights, frightened by the noise of our intrusion. Our three-vehicle caravan parked in the alley off Monroe Street in downtown Chicago. We stopped in front of a loading dock upon which stood three garbage dumpsters and a filthy blue-colored trash barrel. The abortion clinic’s address, “30 So.,” was crudely painted on the barrel in white lettering. It had rained in the Loop earlier that day, causing the alley pavement to shine with a slimy oil. The filth and stench of rotting garbage nearly overwhelmed the eight of us, that included Tim Murphy, Peter Krump, Andy Scholberg, Jerry McCarthy, Joe Scheidler and a pathologist from Rush Presbyterian-St. Luke’s hospital.

We climbed onto the loading dock, opened the dumpsters, and began to search through the trash. I opened a red dumpster and yanked out one or two bags of garbage from the Michigan Avenue Medical Center. I peered into the bottom of the dumpster and saw a bag that was baby blue in color. As I hauled the bag out it was heavier than the others. I rested it on the loading dock and opened it. The top was stuffed with used and bloody surgical paper. At the very bottom was a small, heavy cardboard box. It was about the size of two shoe boxes and was sealed in silver duct tape. I carefully cradled the box in my arms and placed it in the back seat of one of the cars. Jerry, Tim and Peter put all of the other bags back into the dumpster, arranging them to look as though nothing had been disturbed. As we pulled out of the alley the rats again darted in front of our headlights.

I watched one scamper across the top of a dumpster as our car made its way down the wet and slimy path and out into the street.

We drove to Joe Scheidler’s garage to examine the contents of the box, first setting it on a table beneath a bright light. We all gathered around the table as Peter carefully peeled off the silver duct tape and opened the flaps of the box. Inside were small plastic “specimen” bags. Each bag contained the remains of an aborted baby with placenta and uterine tissue. We took the bags out and laid them on the table. There were forty-three of them in all which represented about three or four days worth of abortions at the Michigan Avenue Medical Center.

Several bags were marked with the name of the aborted baby’s mother, her age, the gestational age of the fetal child, the date of the abortion and a number. We thought the number represented the number of abortions performed at the center since January 1, 1987. On this Saturday night, March 14, 1987, the number was in the three thousands. The pathologist in our company, who had many years of experience in handling the bodies of aborted as well as miscarried fetal children, said that most of the forty-three were between six and fourteen weeks of gestation. Despite the small size of the fetal remains, their tiny arms, legs, hands, feet, rib cages, spinal columns, eyes (floating free out of their sockets) bits of skull tissue and sometimes even an intact face were plainly visible through the plastic windows of the specimen bags, looming up through their murky liquid world of formalin and blood like the inky prophecies of a Magic 8 Ball.

At the very bottom of the box lay a plastic bag that was different from the others. It was a clear plastic bag, much larger and heavier than the others. I took the oblong-shaped bag into my hands to examine it. It was stuffed full with a material I could not recognize. I turned the bag over and over in my hands, but I had no idea what my eyes gazed upon. I began to grow fearful and apprehensive about this mysterious parcel. At last my eyes made sense of a shape pressed against the plastic–a shape familiar to me yet completely unfamiliar. I saw an arm–a very large arm. Then I saw another arm and then a foot, a full inch in length.

I had looked at those arms all these many seconds but I did not see them as arms because I had no prior mental category by which my brain could recognize them. They were dismembered arms of a completely torn and mutilated body and, up until that day, my eye had never seen such a reality through which this eviscerated corpse could speak to me. It was as if an alien stranger spoke a word to me I did not at first understand until finally, after much straining to listen to the foreign tongue, I at last comprehended his message. But actually, in this case, I did not even know a language was being spoken–the silent language of this child who spoke to me the shocking word of his broken body–a language legal abortion meant to silence at the bottom of a trash container.

We took the remains out of the bag, separated the limbs that had become enmeshed in the placenta and assembled the body parts. The child, a boy, was at least six months gestational age, perhaps even older. He had been killed by the D and E (dilation and evacuation) abortion method. His body was well formed and muscular. His red and purple veins could be seen through his translucent skin. Regaldo S. Florendo, the clinic’s owner and abortionist, saw every body part as he literally tore the fetal child limb from limb and removed the parts from the womb. The clinic seemed to want to hide this child as he lay on the very bottom of the box buried beneath others who shared a similar fate. And, unlike his unwanted brothers and sisters, not a single piece of identifying information was scribbled on his plastic burial shroud. Not only was his life wiped out, but the clinic seemed intent upon wiping out his identity as well–as if, unlike the others, this one never had, a name, a mother, an age, a date of death–an existence. It is possible that Florendo felt he had blundered somehow in the performance of this abortion upon a late-term baby and in panic needed to cover it up. Perhaps he made a mistake in calculating the unborn child’s age, started the abortion, and once begun, believed he had no choice but to see, what was certainly for him, the more than usual grisly deed completed.

Andy Scholberg took photos of this fetal child. Joe Scheidler stared at the hideous corpse for a moment. He then turned around and went into his house. He said he could not look at him any more.

This was not the first night we had retrieved the bodies of aborted children from the garbage dumpster behind the Michigan Avenue Medical Center and it would not be the last. The retrieval efforts began on February 28, 1987 and lasted until April 25. In those two months we recovered about five hundred bodies. We probably missed some of the now familiar silver duct taped boxes. Tim Murphy sometimes went to the alley twice a week and came out with a box taken from the trash.

I became involved in the retrievals after receiving a call from Jerry McCarthy, who had gone on the first retrieval mission. Joe Scheidler found out about the trash dumpster babies in a most unexpected way. A man who did the advertising layouts for the abortion clinic, such as the one that appeared in the Chicago Yellow Pages, had a falling-out with the clinic management. He knew the clinic disposed of the fetal remains in the dumpster behind the building. To get back at the management, the disgruntled employee first contacted Tom Bressler, who operated a crisis pregnancy center three doors north of the abortion clinic. The clinic’s advertising man thought pro-lifers might wish to retrieve the fetal remains and do some advertising of their own–advertising that would bring negative publicity to the clinic. Tom Bressler called Joe and told him where he could find the bodies.

Week after week, I trekked from Milwaukee to the alley off Monroe Street in the dead of night to find the bodies of aborted babies. My good friend Edmund and I often went together. He and I spent hours painstakingly photographing the broken bodies with our makeshift photography studio set up either in his small apartment or mine. The powerful closeup lenses we learned to use revealed the beauty and poignancy of these fetal humans that no amount of crushing or dismemberment could entirely erase. My eyes could still behold the glory of the human being even in their crushed bodies, a glory traced within them by the creative hand of God. All of those involved with the retrieval believed it was utterly imperative that a photographic record of the aborted babies be made. We literally had in our hands the victims of a holocaust. Millions of preborn human beings had perished already since 1973, and the vast majority would never be seen. We meant for our photos to be a testimony to the humanity of the unborn killed by legalized abortion. We hoped that if we showed the photos to the public or to women headed toward the door of an abortion center, these children might save others. The photographs also were important because they proved that these children actually did live, however briefly, and were killed by a horrendous violence that literally trampled their humanity. The photos documented the brutality they had endured.

Finding the babies in the trash was like coming upon a secret. Most Americans know abortions are legal and that they occur. But for the vast majority, the fetus is a non-entity, something not real. As long as the victims are hidden, abortion remains separate from actual killing. Our photos are meant to shake people into the reality of abortion.

I was now living an unusual life, digging through trash dumpsters on a Chicago loading dock and picking the bodies of human beings out of the trash. I kept boxes of aborted children in my closet draped with a rosary. My mind was now forever etched with the memory of hundreds of torn, crushed, broken bodies–with blood, intestines, and torn skin. I came to know some of those bodies very well since I spent so much time trying to get the photographs just right. I named some of the children. David was the largest whom Andy had photographed in Joe’s garage. I had a five-month-old who, from skin tones and facial features, appeared to be black. He or she was killed by the dilation and evacuation method. Unlike most of the fetal children, the face of this baby was almost entirely intact. The baby’s lower jaw was missing; but except for one eyeball missing from the socket, this was a most beautiful, well-formed face. The eye was missing as the result of the force of the skull being crushed, something the abortionist had to do to remove the head from the womb. The back of the fetal baby’s head was totally caved in. I called this one “Baby Face.”

Perhaps more than the sight of the bodies, the smell of formalin remained in my memory. The aborted babies were packed in a twenty percent formalin solution. The odor was sharp and penetrating; it made my eyes water and irritated my nostrils. Because I often exposed myself to the bodies to photograph them, after a time the inside of my nostrils and sinuses became dry and burnt.

Tim Murphy, Peter Krump, Edmund and I would rendezvous at nine or ten o’clock on a Saturday night at Blackie’s, a bar on the south end of the Loop–a bar popular with young singles. Sometimes earlier in the week Tim would have gone by himself to the Michigan Avenue Medical Center trash dumpster and retrieved a box of babies. One night Edmund, Peter and I sat at a table at Blackies waiting for Tim to arrive. When he did, he walked into the bar carrying a large paper bag concealing the smallish, duct-taped cardboard box that contained the bodies of aborted babies.

He had found the box in the dumpster on Wednesday and brought it to the bar to give it to Edmund and me to photograph the remains.

At first we were humored by Tim’s brazenness. But then, to say the least, we all felt ill at ease with the box sitting on the table in the hip singles bar. I was also struck by something else. Young, attractive men and women professionals drank beer and Screwdrivers, played pin ball, watched sports programs, talked and laughed while in their very midst lay the hidden remains of aborted children. The tragedy of what the box contained clashed so completely with the noisy, rock music-filled, worldly gaiety of this place. The box of aborted babies thrust into the swanky bar was a kind of silent indictment of the sort of world the bar represented–the world so completely oblivious to the rejection of the aborted child

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