Everyone is at Risk Because of SCOTUS Hobby Lobby Decision

Religiously affiliated or “closely held” corporations are now exempt from providing contraceptive coverage to their employees. The Supreme Court’s divided 5-4 decision has altered women’s health care coverage under the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act as well as changed how corporate powers are viewed by legislators. 

The Supreme Court just ruled in favor of Hobby Lobby Inc. and Conestoga Wood Specialties Corp. v. Sebelius. These are both for-profit companies that have federal group-shared healthcare plans. These plans offer contraceptive coverage for women, including FDA-approved birth control like pills, diaphragms, injections and implants, emergency contraceptive drugs, and intrauterine devices (IUDs). The CEOs believe these requirements are infringing on their right to exercise their religious beliefs, one being that life begins at the fertilization of an egg in the womb. 

As of February 2013, religiously affiliated nonprofits and faith based organizations of worship were exempt from providing contraceptive coverage in their healthcare plans to employees. The Hobby Lobby and Conestoga cases essentially asked the question of whether or not a for-profit corporation could take federal healthcare benefits away from it’s employees on the grounds of religious practices and beliefs. The companies used the Religious Freedom Restoration Act to make these claims. The Health and Human Services Department focused their argument on the fact that these companies are in the business to sell products to consumers. The Religious Freedom Restoration Act protects persons who are engaged in the “exercise of religion,” not people trying to make money (HL Writ Pg. 23, Pew Research Center). 

The major issue the court decided is if “personhood” could be applied to companies in this situation. Previously the Supreme Court ruled in Citizens United v. the Federal Election Committee that a company can act as a “person” and exercise their First Amendment right to freedom of speech in the political arena. Throughout the Hobby Lobby and Conestoga Wood Specialties Corp. cases, both companies argued that their employees should be viewed as “persons exercising religion” (HL Writ. Pg. 24A) and the requiring this specific healthcare coverage could also be inhibiting their freedom of speech (C Writ. Pg. 13). 

If the court had ruled in favor of the Department of Health and Human Services, it would have ended all “religious liberty-based” challenges to contraception coverage by companies and other claims made by businesses under the RFRA. 

So, what exactly does this decision mean for Americans?  

Allowing for-profit companies to pick and choose what their group federal healthcare plan offers to employees is detrimental to women’s health. By giving companies the right to decide if they want to cover contraception, a gap may form in women’s healthcare options. In a way, this could also allow companies to push a religion onto their employees since they are essentially deciding what treatments they can receive based on the CEO’s belief system. For-profit institutions are now essentially taking away treatment options from their female workers, which creates more tension and inequality for women in the workforce.  

This doesn’t only hurt women. Even though the Supreme Court ruled that ACA was constitutional a few years ago, this current decision may be used to take away other health benefits if shareholders’ fundamental beliefs don’t support certain treatments. The Supreme Court made it clear that companies could not use religion as reasoning for discrimination, but giving this type of liberty to the RFRA could backfire. This divided decision applies to 90 percent of all American businesses, since they are considered “closely held.” Now workers, such as people who are LGBTQ, single parents or pregnant women, at risk.

Religious people who do not agree with this ruling are also affected. Multiple amicus curiae briefs were sent to the court on behalf of religious organizations that were against the corporations’ stance on contraceptive coverage. The Hobby Lobby and Conestoga Wood Specialties Corp. decision is not a “win” for the pro-life or religious liberty movement. Instead some ideologies are clearly being favored over others and are being pushed onto millions of people, inevitably lessening the rights of approximately 52 percent of American employees.

It does not matter who you are or what your religious preference is. There is one thing that is certain: corporations now have religious rights like every other person in this country. Your right to take care of your own body, believe what you want and to freely seek employment are now entangled with shareholders’ ideologies. Everyone’s rights are in jeopardy.

Scratches deep within Marble: Wells Cathedral

I've seen cathedrals before - I was baptized in St. Patrick's in NYC. Let's say, I am used to seeing beautiful churches. But this took my breath away. I was on a high after climbing the Tor, but I didn't expect to feel all of the air taken out of me by walking through a holy place.

I wasn't going to take pictures originally, but I looked at Jamie and asked if I should. 

"You love taking them. Just look at the building and see if you want to." 

One glimpse and it. 

"I'm paying the three pounds. It's going to be worth it."  

It truly was. Each step there was something new, something ornate, something that was so utterly holy and filled with God that I couldn't help but take a moment and just look at it. 

One thing though, stood out. I felt complete pain trying to take a photo of the grave of bishops. Not only was it their final resting place, with a sculpture of them laying on top of their burial site, but they were graffitied on. People scrawled their names into the marble. I put up my camera and felt a gut pain that I've never felt before - my conscience saying Should I really do this? Should I really take this picture? What story am I telling? 

The first bishop, I put the camera down and just stared. I walked around, seeing another and another bishop graffitied on. Then I decided to take his photo - this was something that should be shared. 

A holy burial juxtaposed to eternal scratchings. 

Snap. Refocus. Snap. 

I've read that cameramen and photographers, especially ones that cover crime and wars, go through this debate - to show or not to show. It's the truth, but how can I show it the best and most appropriately?

I moved on. Letting it sink in.

The Cathedral has a lot of special things, like a beautiful organ, a clock that jousted on every quarter of the hour, and little chapels. Statues around every corner.

Endless arches, the sunlight just creeping down the walls - shadows casted in every inch of the molding. All stopped. though, and the alter. Seeing Mary & Joseph looking at Jesus. From behind, the view was just as moving.

The whole time we were there I was alone taking photos, but I didn't feel alone. 

I felt like I was surrounded by endless love and history. 

I realized that I want to feel that at all times.

[By far, the best three pounds I've spent in Britain.]

The Climb

"We're almost there," I said heavily between deep breaths. 

"Wait, wait. Can we take a picture?" Kristina said quickly. 

We were both thinking the same thing: We have to prove that we did this - climbed the Tor. 

This was our first big excursion out of London, and this was probably my favorite part of the trip. We ventured on big coach buses to Glastonbury, just finishing up a few hours at Avebury and soon we would be off to Wells Cathedral and Bath. But this, I thought, is something I will never forget.

The air felt lighter as we went higher and higher, each breath although deep was invigorated by the freshness. My legs were in deep pain, but each inhalation recharged me and propelled me further up the mount.

Each time I peaked my head around, the landscape became more vast - it seemed almost endless.  Once Kristina and I made it to the top, we couldn't believe the view. The country side, the peaks of churches, the sheep!

We were greeted by friends at the top and waited for a few stragglers. We were so content that we actually accomplished this climb, that we forgot that we had to head back down. But, we just sat there. Enjoying the view. It felt like for hours even though it was just for about twenty minutes.

David with Bill, the Director of ICLC.

From left to right: Kristina, Dan, me and Jamie.

Flower Market

The sixteen of us were packed between stalls upon stalls of petals and shrubs, sardined in the tight street, each of our steps ever so small as we meandered through the flower market. Perfume from fresh cut plants filled the crisp afternoon air. 

The echoing chorus of the venders.

Men and women, sounding a like in a horse, worn out tone,

All yelling for the same thing - to sell the last plants of the day:

"Two plants for a fiver!"

"20 roses, 20 roses for a fiver!"

"Three plants for a fiver, they'll serve you well."

They looked tired. The market had opened at 6 a.m. and they were trying to sell off the last of their products. We had been walking around since 10 a.m., visiting six separate markets around the Liverpool Tube Station, the oldest being the flower market.

It happens only on Sundays during the summer. It has most likely ended by now.
The cool Autumn air has arrived and the potted plants we purchased that once filled out flat with life are now drying.

No Average Day

Twelve years ago today would have just been any average day. My Mom was driving me and my brother, Sean, to school. It was sunny, summer still felt very present. I was in the front seat, I just started third grade. She gasped and looked at me. The newscaster just spoke. I asked her, “Where are is that?” “That’s where your Dad works.”

My Dad, I now know, was a commodities broker on the floor of the Exchange – that’s how he called it. He sold coffee, coco he was in a bunch of the pits, screaming and selling commodities in a circle. He was one of the tallest men there, one of the loudest too probably. He worked there, near the Twin Towers. I knew the towers.

My parents had been divorced since I was three, I was used to driving over the Throgs Neck Bridge at that point in my life, it was ruitin for us. I would see them, and I knew every time that my Dad worked there.

I couldn't focus in class because I knew that. I stood there, saying the pledge of allegiance and I saw my Dad’s face. I just started to cry. I don’t know or remember how I got there, but I was moved to a room with other children whose parents worked in New York City. Other kids that were scared.

My Mom came and picked me up. There was no way I could stay in 
school, but I shouldn't have gone home. I remember the coverage. I sat there and watched in my living room. The second
 plane had already hit. I remember it falling. There was one
 video shot from the ground in the Financial District. It plummeted to the ground, the ash and debris was
 everywhere. It hit like
 a giant wave, a wave of gray, and people were running. You couldn't see the color of
 their shirts, the ash completely covered them and they sprinted in front of
 the camera in horror.

 Fearing death. There were thousands of papers on the ground. Papers from inside the building, work papers. People’s papers.

My Mom had tried calling him all day. Even though they didn’t get along, she was panicking. She was calling everyone: my Dad,
 Grandpa and Grandma - just everyone. It's hard to explain, exactly, how it felt. I just remember hugging my best friend, Christina, and not letting go. She came over right after school with her mom, who was holding mine. Christina crying and holding me. Her face all scrunched up. We had just found out that he was alive. My
 Mom told me that Dad was okay, that she talked to Grandpa,
 that he been in contact with him.

My Dad; He missed his subway by a few minutes and never made it to the
 Exchange. He ended up walking across the Brooklyn Bridge that day with
 thousands of other people. Thousands of people who survived. He knows so many who didn’t my step-mom, Michelle,  recently told me. They both do.

That weekend, I went to my Dad’s. The lingering smoke was eerie and painful. They were so much bigger than everything else in the skyline, and now I see this low, low arch. That’s where they were – that’s where they belonged.

Last year, I was in a class and I had flash backs to these moments. We watched the coverage, the moments that literally changed my industry forever. For good and bad. Those images scared me, deeply and I didn’t know how badly until last year. I was
 very uncomfortable in class because I started to see and feel everything,
 but I stayed present because I honestly had not seen many of those
 videos. It’s important to see them, to know, to remember and to deal with the pain. It's odd that I journalism and that all of media 
has changed because of the single most horrific event in my life.


It's not the media's fault, though. The anchors had no way of controlling it when they saw the plane go into the second tower. They could not control the live feed, they could not warn viewers about anything because they could not explain for themselves what was happening. Now, when they can, you can hear anchors and reporters say, "viewer discretion is advised" to potentially prevent post-traumatic stress syndrome according to one of my psychology professors.

This has greatly effected how I see news and how I am comfortable covering it. I am very conservative with the way I judge and display images because of this, because seeing these images at nine in the morning can be debilitating, can haunt you like they have stayed with so many.

Over the summer, I went with a cameraman who I became very close with to a pier near One World Trade. He and many other cameramen remember this day very clearly. I could tell that it still haunts many.

That day, my cameraman was off work and was called into work. The only way anyone could get into NYC that week was if they had a press credentials. The Fox 5 newsroom set up cots, every newsroom did. People worked non-stop, no one took a break.

Another cameraman who I was very close to was there, at ground zero and captured some of the most terrifying images of people, people jumping because they saw no other choice. No hope.

After my experiences, I feel so fortunate to have met these men, these cameramen who I respect greatly. Who saw this day like so many others, who hid behind their lens and ran away from the horrors. I hide behind my lens covering events today, trying to desensitize myself to pain so I can tell people what’s happening. We can't push these feelings aside, though. We have to address them, talk about it and get help. Try to recover. Many still are trying. 

I looked at One World Trade a few months ago, with my cameraman, and remembered the low arch, now filled with new hopes and dreams for our country. My Dad came home that day when so many children and families were waiting, waiting when their loved one didn’t. Waited in front of TV screens, hoping they’d see their loved one there, running – alive. I know I did. 

This day would have been an average day for all of us, but now we will never forget. Nor should we. 

Day One: The One

Although my hair was slightly damp, beginning to curl naturally – uncontrollably. I pulled, trying to loosen the tight sheets while surfing the channels trying to find BBC news, but I didn’t really care. My eyes drifted in and out as I laid there, my pillow becoming cool from my hair. All of the tension easing from me.

Our flat mates, minus one, walked through the neighborhood. Homes all white or brick, making me feel as though I was near brownstones in Brooklyn except fancier. Learning to look down at the signs on the ground, directing unknowing travelers of which direction to actually look to see the small speedy European cars.

We made it. We were early for our appointment, but we crept up the tight stairs and entered into a small office with a man, Alan, and his wife. Both of whom were the nicest Londoners I’ve met outside of ICLC.

His office had plaques with sand-script, pictures of loved ones, and a small espresso maker. It was tight, the size of a walk in closet. 

“First, before we get started," he said, "Would you like candy?” He handed me a box of chocolates, we each took one. Very old school, I thought.

He's worked with ICLC before. He knew the deal, we were cheap and needed everything fully furnished. Silver ware, everything. We wouldn't break anything. We wanted to be in a safe neighborhood, near the school. 

“I will show you one flat for now. If you love it, you will get it. If you like it, we can lower price. For now, we will look at just this one.”

It was just down the road, less than a five minute walk away. It was the only building with scaffolding, the outside was just being repainted, but it would soon look like the other homes along the small street that I envied earlier.

We decided this was the one. Four girls to one room, two guys to the other. Large living room, an eat-in kitchen. Wifi and washer/dryer. Balcony (after the scaffolding is taken down). What more could we ask for? After negotiations, we were set to pay the deposit later that week. 

My eyes drifted. I had been awake for longer than I expected. I peered over at the clock. It was in military time. At that point, it wasn’t worth doing the math. It was clearly time to finally rest. The worst part was over and the fun was just about to begin.

This was the fourth piece in a four part series. For the beginning of the story, click here. 

Day One: Finding Flat Mates

“Oh shoot.” I realized my toe was not only blistered, but that the nail on my pinky toe punctured it. Time to get the nail clippers out. My feet still aching, blistered and now wrinkly were about to be in for a treat – sitting. More like lying in a twin mattress to watch BBC.  Either way, there would be no more pressure on the souls.

We had walked all over Kensington with Bill, the Director of the London Center, to find the bank and the phone store. A long line formed immediately at the store, so a few friends and I decided not to go in. We were outside with Bill, when he point out a small glass door quickly with gold letters spelling out a realtor’s name. I would later find out that this man, Alan, would give me one of the best deals any student could have.

A new friend Dan, old friend Kristina and myself meandered back to the ICLC. Yes. Meandered meaning we got lost and then found our way. At the point, I realized the bad shape my feet were in. I looked at my right heel briefly after going at a NYC pace for about an hour, and saw complete irritation. Screw it. I just kept going.

The three of us arrived back and went to the computer room to message our families. Groups were there, forming. My heart just dropped. We actually had to find a place that day. We had a list of realtors from our orientation, but the mixture of jet lag, housing and finding flat mates amplified the situation. (Not to mention: I am in a foreign country.)  

These were the most terrifying 15 minutes of my time in London. My best friend Jamie was not at the orientation and I could not call her since I didn’t have a UK phone. I hopped onto Facebook, thank God she was online. I proceeded to ask her a series of frantic questions. Many people came to London with a set group of people they wanted to live with. All I knew was that I wanted to live with Jamie, that was it. We wanted to meet new people. And we did.

In the long and short of it, my old friend Kristina, new friend Dan, my friend from Spanish class, David, and Jamie all agreed to live together (Jamie didn't know who we were living with, but trusted me). We needed one more though. Kristina and I had asked around for other girls who needed a flat, and one girl seemed interested but didn’t commit. She was frantic too, but she couldn’t make up her mind.

Kristina was still talking to this girl when I saw Anna. Anna was sitting in the computer room, quite literally about to burst into tears. She didn’t come with housing plans. I hugged her, telling her it’s going to be okay and if I find out anything that I would tell her as soon as possible.

Kristina and I ran to the hotel to check in, and decided that if the girl who couldn’t commit, well, wasn’t going to commit, then we should move on. We didn’t have all day. We saw her in the elevator as we went down and told her that we were going to find someone else to live with us if she couldn’t confirm that she would be with our group. It was fine, no hard feelings. Kristina and I wanted Anna. We had no idea who she was but there was something about her that we both liked. Also, we had no time. Then saw Anna in the lobby. We ran to her.

“Do you want to live with us?” I said.

She hugged me immediately. It was honestly one of the best hugs I’d ever had. We sighed with relief. 

“Yes,” she grinned.

We all gathered 30 minutes later and made the phone call that would solidify our new home in London. The biggest stress of the day was over. 

For the last piece of this four part series on click here for "Day One: The One."