If you’ve ever tested any complex, mechanical device you get what are euphemistically referred to as those days. That sort of a day involves rushing to get everything ready, watching the device mechanically fail and being told to stand by because the delay will be over any minute. Everyone already knows the fix and it’s just a simple matter of turning the wrench. Several hours later, the fix will be complete in a matter of minutes. One guy I shared a data management shed with spent one of these interminable delays playing several CDs from HBO’s Band of Brothers series.

I was doing various admin tasks and cleaning up a db while I listened to CDs of my own with the phones on. I really only remember one episode well. It was set towards the end of the war. It was based on the story of how General Simpson’s soldiers discovered a Nazi Death Camp and freed the victims contained therein. What caught my attention was the reactions of the German civilians that lived almost in the shadow of the camp. They hated having to admit they knew this was going on. They pretended to be “Good Germans.” The scene where the villagers get made to dispose of piles of corpses from the camp is evocative because a man stands playing a violin and crying while other villagers work to dispose of the carnage.

Ruben Navarrette,Jr. has perhaps taken his tour of the sanitized, Upper-Middle Class American version of the death camp. You see he has sat down and watched the Center For Medical Progress video expose’ on Planned Parenthood’s Organ Trafficking enterprise. After claiming to have successfully avoided this particular outpost of Hell for over 2,000 columns as a professional opinion journalist, he has taken it on. Not only that, he has left an ideological safety-zone in a manner that could have deleterious effect on his personal income stream. He writes for The Daily Beast and is claiming to no longer be sure of remaining Pro-Choice.

I’ve avoided the topic like a root canal. But that is getting harder to do with the release of what are now five gruesome, albeit edited, undercover videos by The Center for Medical Progress depicting doctors and other top officials of Planned Parenthood discussing, and even laughing about, the harvesting of baby organs, as casually as some folks talk about the weather. It’s jarring to see doctors acting as negotiators as they dicker over the price of a fetal liver, heart, or brain, and then talk about how they meticulously go to the trouble of not crushing the most valuable body parts. This practice is perfectly legal, and for some people, it is just a business.

Sometimes it’s that vile smell of death that brings home the sick inhumanity. Planned Parenthood has succeeded in camouflaging that odor for decades. As more and more people smell the stink, the culture will change from underneath the specious legal doctrines that make it possible for the Post-modern American Death Camp industry rake in $120K per month in organ sales. Navarette gets sucked into an L-Shaped ambush when he tries to defend his Pro-Choice views as a form of deference to a uniquely feminine dilemma.

As I’ve only realized lately, to be a man, and to declare yourself pro-choice, is to proclaim your neutrality. And, as I’ve only recently been willing to admit, even to myself, that’s another name for “wimping out.” At least that’s how my wife sees it. She’s pro-life, and so she’s been tearing into me every time a new video is released. She’s not buying my argument that, as a man, I have to defer to women and trust them to make their own choices about what to do with their bodies. To her, that’s ridiculous—and cowardly.

So like the “Good Germans” who pointedly ignored the shadow of the death camp impeding the sunlight from their meticulously tended herbaceous borders, the deferential Pro-Choice position gets immolated as an argument from intellectually lazy cowardice. It happens at home where the MSNBC agitprop fades into insignificance. The political gets personal. It becomes an issue of courage and legitimacy. You can almost see the “Good German” playing his violin and crying. Dr. Mary Getter can forget about the Lamborghini.