Congress, foreswear violence in the fight. He proudly proclaimed that he led the “largest civil disobedience movement in American history… Operation Rescue’s peaceful sit-ins resulted in over 70,000 arrests.”
Years later, Terry would say he remembered little about James Charles Kopp, other than he had been on his staff, and that he was devout. No, Operation Rescue did not suit Jim’s needs. Terry and the rescuers were, thank the Lord, engaged in the same cause. But there wasn’t extra room in Jim Kopp’s personal spiritual foxhole. He was disappearing, turning within himself, and to God, for direction. Before long, Randall Terry heard little of Kopp, and then not at all.
The pro-life activists set up in front of Bart Slepian’s home in Amherst. Usually they wielded signs outside the clinic called Womenservices, where he worked in Buffalo. As an OB, he delivered babies and performed abortions at the clinic. But now they had taken the fight right in front of his home. They sang and jeered, called him a pig, a baby killer. Inside the house, Bart, his wife Lynne, and his young sons, Andrew, who was about five, Brian, three, were opening presents. Bart couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed a baseball bat and came out and smashed the window of a protester’s van. He was charged by police. He spoke to his old friend Rick on the phone later. Rick knew it would come to this, the harassment would escalate. They had talked about it before. It could get worse. Bart had to keep his cool.
“A baseball bat, Bart?” Rick said.
“This guy was on my property.”
“Bart, I totally understand why you did it. I don’t really blame you, but still, it’s stupid. You are the guy who got charged.”
“He was scaring my kids. It’s not going to happen.”
“Couldn’t you have found a little less dramatic way of dealing with it?”
“It’s not like I spent a lot of time thinking about it. It’s the only way I know how.”
The campaign against him reached bizarre proportions. Early one morning before dawn a white car with its lights off rolled down the Slepians’ street. Someone got out of the car, stole their garbage, and sped away. They were looking for billing records, phone numbers of women considering having an abortion. It turned out the trash thief in this case had been arrested four times for anti-abortion activities. He did it another morning. And another. Bart called the police, but he didn’t leave it at that. He waited inside the door one morning. At 6:15 a.m., he saw the car pull up. He sprinted towards it and got the licence number as it squealed away.
He talked to the media about it. “It’s kind of bizarre,” he said. “They must be looking for anything they can use against me. Hopefully they got the bag full of dirty diapers.”
In July 1988, the Democratic Party held its convention in Atlanta. Pro-life activists showed up to grab a share of the media attention. There were more than 350 people arrested and many spent several weeks in jail. Pro-lifers dubbed it “the siege of Atlanta.” Jim Kopp was among those arrested, for criminal trespassing at the Atlanta Surgi-Center. When police asked him his name, Jim, like others being arrested, repeatedly replied: “Baby Doe.”
While in jail, activists from around the country networked, gave themselves nicknames. Supporters of the Atlanta protests compared them to the civil rights movement in the 1960s, since pro-lifers believed they were spending time in the same jail where Martin Luther King was once held. It was here that the early pages of the Army of God Manual were drafted. The manual would become a bible for the radical fringe of the movement. It was never clear who authored the document, which underwent revisions after Atlanta. Some of the passages sounded like Jim’s voice: “Once an activist is married, and especially after having children, the constraints of parenthood are profound. Compassion for one’s own brood will curtail the level of covert activity—and a lot of other activity, as well!”
The manual offered advice on wreaking violence on clinics, blockading, acid attacks, arson, bomb making. When the siege ended, most protesters returned to their homes, and lives. Jim? The cause was his life, and he had no home. His lists of aliases continued to grow, a tactical move, but also, perhaps, a sign that his identity had ceased to rest on firm ground even in his own mind. He was a chameleon. He was John Doe, James Charles Copp, John Kapp, Clyde Swenson, Clyde Swanson, Jack Cotty, Jack Crotty, John Kopp, Jacob Koch, Charles Cooper, John Capp, Jim Cobb, James Cobb, Samuel E. Weinstein, Jacob I. Croninger, Enoch A. Guettler, Jonathan H. Henderson, Samuel E. Blanton, Soloman E. Aranburg, Aaron A. Bernstein, Eli A. Hochenleit, Dwight Hanson, K. Jawes Gavin, P. Anastation, and B. James Milton.
On January 28, 1989, Jim was arrested at a protest in Woodbridge, New Jersey. Later that year, he attempted to realize the destiny he had long pondered, converting to Catholicism. He turned to a priest, who was based at a reputable university, to oversee the process. But first Jim had some views he wanted to air with the priest. He wanted to talk about the notion of unjust laws in the eyes of God, and what the committed Catholic should do when an unjust law is forced upon the people. The priest listened and was concerned. He already knew that Jim Kopp had been rejected for conversion by another priest, due to his views on fighting abortion. This man, Kopp, was sounding like someone who wanted to be an avenger for the pro-life cause, perhaps use extreme violence towards that end.
“Jim,” said the priest, “the Catholic Church does not tolerate, nor does it condone, in any way, shape or form, deadly violence.”
Of course not. Jim knew that was the official position. The priest was obligated to tell him that. Jim understood perfectly. There was a concept that he thought about often. He called it “Romanita.” To him it meant a way of talking to another person strategically, using ambiguity, even deception, to further a just cause. A way to tell someone what they need to hear, for their own good, and for the good of the unborn. Jim used it himself all the time.
Yes, yes, certainly, the Catholic Church does not condone violence, ever. Romanita. And the U.S. government has a law forbidding foreign assassinations. There is the official position, and the practical necessities that flow beneath it. International law says you don’t injure or kill civilians in wartime, either. Right. Jim Kopp’s father had seen, firsthand, how that precept was applied when he was based in Hiroshima for the occupation after the atomic bombs were dropped. “Thou shalt not kill?” An official position of God, if you will, but if you could roll back history, and give a good Christian the opportunity to shoot and kill Hitler, and thus prevent the Holocaust, that Christian would in fact have been honoring the spirit of the Sixth Commandment by pulling the trigger—he would be saving lives, preventing murder. But no, of course, a Christian must never hurt, or kill, another person. Romanita. The priest supervised and oversaw James Charles Kopp’s conversion. He was now a Roman Catholic. Today, the priest asks that his name not be made public.
“Hail Mary, full of grace…” The group of pro-lifers sat outside the hospital singing the rosary as Italian police looked on. Jim Kopp knew the Latin version. “Ave Maria, gratia plena…” It was a big crowd, activists from 19 countries had made the trip. There was a group from Canada, including two men from British Columbia named Maurice Lewis and Barrie Norman. Barrie was 41 years old, from Vancouver. He noticed that Jimmy Kopp was there. The Dog! The next day the Italian papers ran with the news: “American anti-abortionist commandos invaded San Camillo Hospital with the precision of a military operation.” Commandos! Really? It hadn’t gone down quite like that, Barrie Norman reflected, nobody swung down on ropes and took machine guns to anybody. The Italians had quite a flair for embellishment!
The protesters had arrived at six in the morning. San Camillo was the closest abortion-performing hospital to the Vatican, so why not start there? Jim, Barrie and several others walked into the clinic without incident. A nurse came by. One of the protesters spoke Italian. “Dove effettuate gli aborti?” (Where do you do the abortions?) The nurse pointed down the hall. Wonderful, thought Barrie. The rescuers said thank you very much. They went down the hall. A few of them sat in the killing room, others in the hallway. Not exactly the Green Berets swinging into action, eh?
