On
this date, May 31, 2009, Pro Choice Abortionist Doctor, George Tiller, was shot
dead by Scott Roeder in Wichita, Kansas. I will post information from
Wikipedia and other links.
 |
|
George Tiller gives a consultation in 1997 in
the setting of his clinic, Women's Health Care – Wichita, Kansas, which he
owned and operated from 1975 until his death.
|
Location
|
Foyer of Reformation
Lutheran Church 7601 East 13th Street Wichita, Kansas |
Date
|
May 31, 2009
c. 10 a.m. (UTC-6) |
Attack type
|
Anti-abortion violence
|
Weapons
|
Handgun
|
Deaths
|
George Tiller, M.D.
|
Assailant
|
Scott Philip Roeder
of Merriam, Kansas |
On
May 31, 2009, George Tiller, a physician from Wichita, Kansas, who was
nationally known for being one of the few doctors in the United States to
perform late-term abortions, was killed by Scott Roeder.
Tiller was killed during a Sunday morning service at his church, Reformation
Lutheran Church, where he was serving as an usher.
Roeder
was arrested within three hours of the shooting and charged with first-degree
murder and related crimes two days later. In November 2009, Roeder publicly
confessed to the killing, telling the Associated Press that he had shot Tiller
because "preborn children's lives were in imminent danger." Roeder
was found guilty of first-degree murder and two counts of aggravated assault on
January 29, 2010, and sentenced on April 1, 2010, to life imprisonment without
any chance for parole for 50 years.
For years
anti-abortionists tried to stop Doctor Tiller. Finally a bullet did
The
clinic is low-rise and cream coloured. There are no windows. Video cameras are
posted on all corners. The walls bear large "No trespassing" posters
warning violators they will be prosecuted. A police car idles at the entrance
day and night, and the back fence is patrolled by armed guards. As patients
enter the facility, they pass through a metal detector.
The
building is a medical centre in Wichita, Kansas, one of only three in America
that serve women seeking abortions in late stages of pregnancy. But it doesn't
look like that. It looks like a fortress, or a high-security prison. Inside, it
is designed to help patients. Outside, it is custom-built to thwart an ever
present threat.
But
its hi-tech security measures were not enough to save George Tiller. His name
is still printed above the front entrance of the clinic alongside the words
"Women's health care". But after 30 years of almost constant
harassment, intimidation and death threats, on Sunday he finally succumbed.
He
was gunned down at his place of worship a mile from the clinic. He was
attending morning service at Reformation Lutheran church, which had accepted
him as a member after he was expelled from his previous church.
At
10.03 am, Tiller was standing just inside the church. He was taking his turn to
be an usher, and was handing out leaflets on church events. The service had
just started inside where his wife, Jeanne, was sitting.
A
man, identified after his arrest as Scott Roeder, 51, allegedly walked up to
Tiller as he stood alongside three or four others and aimed a gun at his head.
He shot once. Worshippers described the sound as like a balloon popping.
Reverend
Lowell Michelson had begun to take the service when he heard the shot. He'd
known Tiller for many years and had come to respect his calm endurance. They
had talked about the dangers he faced, though Michelson declined to reveal the
details of their conversations on pastor confidentiality grounds. "He
endured so much. He was committed to women's health issues. He made that a priority
in his life even though he knew of the risks," Michelson said.
A
fellow congregant, who asked not to be named in order to protect his wife who
worked with Tiller at the abortion clinic, said people were shocked and
startled. "He believed in what he did. He really believed it, and that's
what gave him strength," he said, crying silently outside the church.
He
said those who attacked Tiller over the years had misunderstood his work.
"He saw many women who had tried so hard for children, but then suffered
the agony of having foetuses with terrible deformities. The picture the
anti-abortionists show is always of a perfect beautiful baby, but that's not
what he was dealing with. He did what he did out of love."
Sarah
Coe was one of the 250 to 300 women with late-stage pregnancies who seek help
every year at Tiller's fortress-clinic. Coe, who talked to the Guardian using a
pseudonym, had an abortion in Wichita two years ago this week. The confluence
of the anniversary of her baby's and Tiller's death was, she said, very hard to
bear.
At
22 weeks of gestation it was discovered through ultrasound and other tests
that the foetus of her first child had hydrocephalus – an excess of fluid on
the brain. Its head was enlarged, and Coe and her husband were told that it
would be born without brain function and would have no conscious life.
"We
made a difficult decision that that wasn't the life we wanted for our
child," she said. No doctor on the entire east coast of the US would
accept her as the baby was beyond the 20 weeks needed for a foetus generally to
become viable outside the womb. They were referred to Wichita and to Tiller.
She
says the care they received at the clinic was exceptional. There was counselling
and support. "We were able to see our little boy after he was delivered,
no longer alive, and to touch him and say goodbye. They handled the cremation
for us and we have his ashes in our home. It was the worst experience in our
lives and they made it so much easier to bear."
The
process took four days. During that time Coe and her husband ran the gauntlet
of anti-abortion protesters. "We were mobbed. They were banging on our car
window. My husband wanted to explain and tried to talk to them but quickly
backed off. Just by winding down the car window he was putting himself at
jeopardy."
Tiller
knew intimately about that sense of jeopardy. His father had a medical practice
at the same spot the clinic now occupies, and George entered the family
business, studying at the University of Kansas school of medicine in the 1960s.
Graduating, he took up a medical internship in the US navy and served as a
flight surgeon in California. The training stuck with him: he retained the look
of a military man, with close cropped hair and rimless glasses, until his death
on Sunday aged 67.
It
was just as well: practising medicine for Tiller had many of the features of
combat. His clinic was bombed in June 1986. In 1991 anti-abortionists descended
on Wichita from all over the country to picket it. During the course of that
summer, some 2,700 protesters were arrested and federal troops were sent in to
keep the mob under control.
Two
years later, Tiller was leaving the clinic in his car when a woman, Rachelle Shannon,
shot at him. He was hit in both arms, but survived. As she walked away, Shannon
looked back and said: "Did I get him?" She is still in prison,
serving time for the shooting and for having fire-bombed other clinics across
the US. The next day Tiller was back at work. "I'm a healthcare provider,
we had patients to take care of. Really, I feel very good," was all he
would say of the incident.
In
1998, after a doctor in New York state was killed by a gunman in his home,
Tiller was told by the FBI that he was No 1 on the violent anti-abortionists'
hit-lists. That did not deter him either. His only concession was to wear a
flak jacket to and from work. He was wearing one such jacket on Sunday when he
was shot in the head.
Protesters
continued to gather outside the clinic every day, though from 1994 they were
forbidden by federal law from blocking the entrance. They would hurl
obscenities at anyone entering. Sometimes they would follow pregnant women and
nurses to their hotel rooms or homes and push leaflets under the door. The
leaflets showed gruesome pictures of aborted foetuses – their severed limbs
and heads prominently displayed.
Most
Sundays protesters would gather outside the Reformation Lutheran church,
heckling him and other worshippers as they assembled for prayer. Every day
large crowds would appear outside his abortion clinic, chanting "Killer
Tiller!" "Babies Killed Here!" and "Tiller's Slaughter House!"
On
top of all that, there were almost incessant prosecutions. In March this year
Tiller was put on trial in a case brought by anti-abortionists who claimed he
had broken Kansas state law that requires all terminations beyond 22 weeks to
be approved by two "independent" doctors. Tiller was charged with
having used an employee to provide the second opinion, but the jury rejected
the claims and he was acquitted on all charges. Within moments of the verdict,
the state's health board announced that it was launching its own prosecution –
a case still ongoing when Tiller was killed.
Over
the years, Tiller gave very little away. He would turn down requests for
interview, saying he did not want to inflame the situation. "He was a
quiet man," says Ruth, who lives around the corner from the clinic.
"He rarely talked about his problems." In March, he gave a tiny
insight into how he coped with such extraordinary pressure. He told the jury at
his trial that: "Quit is not something I like to do." He said his
wife, Jeanne, his three daughters – two of whom are doctors – a son and 10
grandchildren were all sources of comfort.
Then
he recounted to the jury one particular conversation that he said had given him
great succour. "My daughters came into my study. I was reading. And they
said: 'Daddy, if not now, when? If not you, who? Who is going to stand up for
women with unexpected and badly damaged babies?' I had the support of my
family, and we were able to proceed ahead."
