What Are, What Are Everywhere

Trigger warning, and other notes: I do mention rape in here, though I don't get at all graphic. Same with domestic abuse. As for other notes, this is going to be a long one, folks. Partly because it is NaNoWriMo, and I need to make up the words I missed yesterday. But mostly because tonight?

I have a lot to say.

I logged on to my Twitter account this morning, to find that I'd been given a 12 hour slap on the wrist by everyone's favorite moderators. Meh, whatever, it's not the first time I've been slapped with a timeout on a social media platform, and half a day really isn't going to bother me that much. But it got me thinking about what I do – which is basically try to correct the lies and distortions and exaggerations and half-truths that certain people try to pass off as facts. And it also got me thinking about what those people do, and why, and what makes them so prone to going into a full-on attack mode when they're called out.

I mean, I dunno... when I'm wrong, and I have been, believe me, my reaction tends to be to acknowledge that I screwed up, apologize, and move on, incorporating the new information into whatever subject I'm discussing. I've never once turned around and said, for example, “Why, he's right! The Berlin Wall surrounded West Berlin, not the other way around as I always thought! I will now double down, call him an idiot, tell him he's so ugly a sea bass would run the other way before engaging in any kind of relations, and I'm going to report every comment he's made on his own page for the last two months, hoping that at least one of them will trigger a ban!”

I've spent years doing this now – nearly a decade, online at least. More if you count the time I spent in face-to-face discussions before the internet came into my life, but fortunately, those conversations usually stay a bit more civil. There are exceptions, as any woman who's ever gone to a Planned Parenthood could attest to, but as a rule, there are expectations in those kinds of interactions that are entirely absent online.

For some.

As to why I do what I do, it's fairly simple – there are consequences to the misinformation and outright lies they spread, and some of those consequences can harm, or kill, other people.

When you've been told, over and over, that anyone who has anything other than heterosexual sex is a pervert, and that all perverts are chomping at the bit to grab the first child they see, lock it up, and turn it into a sex slave – and no one in your life has ever turned around and told you that that is utter bunk, that there is not one recorded instance of a trans woman sexually assaulting a child in a bathroom – it's very easy to see a trans woman, instantly register her as a danger to your child, and physically assault her, possibly even to the point of killing her. After all, she's a monster, not like a regular person.

When you've been told that women routinely lie about being raped – for attention, for money, for “fame”, to get revenge on someone who scorned her – it's easy to tell yourself that the sobbing wreck in front of you is making it all up, trying to get you to feel sorry for her, and turn your back on her. And now you have a trauma victim who isn't being helped – has, in fact, been damaged even more by your refusal to believe her – and whoever hurt her is free to go on and hurt the next woman who gets within their reach.

So my quest is to get out there and tell them that what they've been told was wrong. To point them in the direction of the resources that prove that their fears are groundless. Show them the stats that prove that trans women are far more likely to be the victims of assault than to perpetrate one. Point out that false reports of rape are no higher than false reports of other crimes. And elaborate on those, explain to them that letting trans women into the bathroom won't lead to a rise in sexual assaults – and that what they propose has the result of forcing trans men into the women's bathrooms, which would be a disaster of epic proportions – and the ones facing assault are those men trying to go into the wrong bathroom. That women know they are so likely to face, not support, but censure, if they dare tell anyone they were raped, that the net result is to prevent the majority of rapes from being reported at all.

There are plenty of zealots on both sides, for the record, I am aware of that. Anti-vaxxers are a particular annoyance to me (Sorry, Nic, you know I love you, lol), I'm not fond of those who feed obligate carnivores a vegan diet because they won't acknowledge biology. There are people out there who want all guns banished from the earth, there are those who do want open borders. But for the sake of brevity, I'm focusing on the issues I know best. This applies, okay? Just insert your personal red-line issue in where my description starts. Also, to be fair, one of those above describes me, and no, you will never know which one it is.

I'm aware that I can be crazy, too. Difference is, I'm still sane enough to be sure to keep it hidden. From the public, at least.

The majority of the time, it doesn't work. There are exceptions, of course – I've seen people finally hear something that makes sense to them, and have gone on to learn more. It's hit or miss, and to be honest, I do it more for the ones who will read through the arguments without commenting, hoping that they might find some information that helps them separate the facts from the lies.

But the ones that fascinate me, the ones that have been on my mind, are the ones who absolutely can't be reached. The ones that will look directly at evidence in front of their faces, facts that all point in the same direction – and baldly state that they're still right.

I've gone rounds with these people, believe me. I have, at this point, seen every last tactic pulled out in an argument at least ten times. They say you said “X”, you show them screenshots to prove otherwise, they shift to another attack on a different front, and two responses later, they're accusing you of saying it again.

They'll take your Scenario A, and turn it into Scenario “The Rest of the Alphabet” – think, “Gay marriage will lead to legal pedophilia and beastiality!” 

There are those who will see Scenario A, and then tell you that you are asking for the rest of the alphabet. Think, the ones who insist that Hilary wants legal elective abortions up until the day of birth. Hell, I've been told my ultimate goal is to make it legal to kill newborns up to one year. And yes, he was serious.

And there we get to the deluded, versus the ones that tell outright lies. The man above was simply insane. Some of these people though – they know what they're saying isn't true. They deliberately make things up in order to make it appear as though they have an argument.

There are the ones who insist legal abortions kill more women a year than die in childbirth. It's so wrong as to be laughable – about a thousand women die every year in the US due to pregnancy and childbirth, about 11 from legal abortion. It's literally safer than a colonoscopy. Their own propaganda site states that number. This isn't even something their handlers tell them to say.

But they do anyway. They exaggerate the truth far past the point of rationality, in an effort to pretend that their concern is only for the “safety” of women. They only want to manipulate others... and sometimes even themselves... into believing that they have an acceptable reason to do exactly what they wanted to do from the very start.

And those are the ones that wind up going over the line. One of those was responsible for my pathetic little wrist-slap this morning. She simply couldn't deal with the fact that a group of us would not let her homophobic bigotry and lies stand, and kept coming back and calling her out. We didn't cave when she called us ugly, and we didn't get angry. We kept coming back. And eventually, she started stalking pages, leaving comments, and finally, actually checked to see the people who had liked our responses, and started visiting the pages of people who had never said a word to her... and harassing them, as well.

And when I logged in this morning to the punishment page? The first thing to cross my mind was my ex. Because all that stuff above, all the behaviors I described – I've lived with that kind of a world around me for most of my life.

The constant accusations of lying, even when you have proof, hell, even if you have witnesses. Telling you that you said X, even though you never said anything of the kind. Because if you can keep someone on the defensive, you make sure that they can't attack you – and as long as the accusation stands, insist that you're in the right.

The lashing out at anyone you're close to – friends, co-workers, your family. Hoping that they can keep you from reaching out, keep you from accessing help, or resources, or even simple human support. Because it keeps you trapped, and it keeps you from seeing the mirage they've built to convince you all of this is perfectly normal. And even if that doesn't work, they know that hurting them will hurt you. That you'll feel guilty. See the above paragraph. We're back there again, keep them on the defensive.

And then, finally, the slap-down. The, “you were so meeeeeaaaan, you hurt my feelings and made me have to punish you!” stage. And it's always what you did was so incredibly wrong, they have no choice but to punish you. It's always your fault. And they've spent the entire preceding interaction time making sure that you know that you are the one on trial here, that you are the bad person.

Fortunately, the worst thing they can do to me online is shut me up for a little while – and let's all be grownups here, we all know that those of us who have to deal with these people usually have at least one ghost account in their pocket. I had a little fun today, if not for long. Point is, their worst punishment is far better than what I used to face. I'll take a troll over an abuser any day of the week.

But I still find them fascinating. That the behavior is so close to identical, with the same ends in mind, to dominate and terrify someone not strong enough to face the punishment they'll get if they don't give in, shut up, do as they're told. And it fascinates me that so many people out there – men, women, online fakers, everyone – so easily slip into this description, and use these tactics.

They say when you buy a blue car, you see blue cars everywhere you go. And I definitely bought the blue car. I will freely acknowledge that. So I am truly hoping that what I'm seeing isn't really what it seems like, that I'm just... seeing blue cars.

But the truth is, I'm really afraid that it's not. Because the closer I look, the more obvious it seems to be. And there are just so... many. Sometimes, it seems pointless to even try.

Still not giving up, though. Because I learned something over the last year and a half. The only way to beat someone like that is to stand up, say that you've had enough, and back it up.

In the case of my ex, that meant finally doing the one thing I was absolutely forbidden to do – leave him. Online, it's going to be coming back. And coming back. And coming back. If no one stands up to them, they just keep doing whatever they want. It's time to back it up.

Because, like I said – they can't hurt me. The only weapons they have are words. I know what it's like to bleed. I'm not afraid of a few hurt feelings.

I warned you it was going to be long. If you made it this far, thank you... I really, truly mean that. I'm sorry, it's just been a tough few – lifetimes, heh – and I really needed to unload. Again, thank you for letting me do that.

Now GO TO BED! big grins

Snowflakes

So, I had a long day at work today, didn't get home until almost half past seven. It took me almost an hour to work up enough energy to go buy a dinner someone else cooked for me... and in that hour, I managed to discover #secondcivilwarletters on Twitter.

Between messaging my girl and laughing until I cried, there went the rest of the evening.

This is going to be a short one tonight, since I'm trying to get in under the deadline -- which looms less than an hour away. I nearly decided to simply double up tomorrow, but I've made a promise to myself that I will write every day this month, and I damned well intend to stick to that.

So here's what's been on my mind as I was procrastinating. If you happened to miss it, everyone's favorite conspiracy wingnut, Alex Jones, once again decided to make up a planned attack by the INCREDIBLY VIOLENT MURDEROUS LIBRUL SNOWFLAKES, claiming that there was a “Second Civil War” being planned, the date of this vicious and totally unprovoked sneak attack being the Fourth of July.

Those same vicious liberals saw this, and decided to run with it and make it the funniest thing to happen to the internet since the “Jade Helm”... errrr... attack.

I just want to point out here, by the way, that as funny as that was at the time, specifically the “captured Texans” frantically tweeting for help from their secret internment camp, it kind of lost all its humor when our current government apparently decided the joke was real, and started locking refugee kids in abandoned Wal-Marts. In Texas. In case anyone forgot.

Anyway. At the same time I was reading through the hilarity, one of those same MAGAfucks, who has spent the last three days spewing homophobic bullshit on the thread of a trans woman recently kicked out of a Washington, DC bar for daring to use the bathroom that she belongs in, took offense at one of my replies.

Okay, she's taken offense to every reply made to her on that thread. I'm not special. This chick hates anyone who dares imply that the words that fall from her anointed lips are anything but the sagest wisdom and sweetest honey.

No wonder she's on her knees for the Child Molester In Chief. They're truly soulmates.

But this time, I guess I really pissed her off, because she then proceeded to run off to my feed, and post passive-aggressive emojis on my tweets.

Now, understand, I'm not upset at all. In fact, I find it hilariously funny that I am THAT far under her skin. For a group that constantly complains about any heads-up warning about uncomfortable content, they seem to be the most easily triggered. And they're also the most likely to take it to the next level, to escalate the situation as much as they can.

We see this every time some MAGAfuck picks up the phone and calls the cops on a barbecue, or on little kids selling water. Or the guy I saw today, who jumped out of his car and stalked up to the car in front of him, screaming at the top of his lungs, because the man had an Afghan flag next to an American flag on his bumper sticker. Literally, that was his only reason for flipping his shit on camera, knowing he was being filmed – he saw a flag he didn't like.

ATTACK! ATTACK! Kill the interloper! Threaten him, tell him the only reason you're not ripping his throat out with your teeth is because he's filming you! Yep, what an amazing patriot you are! An example for little American kids everywhere! And so rational and civil!

You can insert the eyeroll here, if you'd like.

Point is, if you want to know where the difference lies between the MAGAfucks and those of us who still have possession of our souls, it's right there. We have hate thrown at us, and we laugh and turn it into a joke.

They have a joke thrown at them, and they turn it into hate, and are compelled to destroy the person laughing.

We enjoy life, we have as much fun as we possibly can, regardless of how crappy things may be for us. They see laughter and joy, and they just want it to stop. 

They want everyone to be as angry, as miserable, and as full of hate as they are themselves.

Sorry, MAGAfucks. We're not down with that. We're going to KEEP laughing, and when your heads explode, we'll laugh even harder.

You're a bunch of triggered little snowflakes who need a safe space, so you can hide from the scary world you detest so much, the one where people are having FUN.

And cupcakes?

You're fucking hilarious.

Joke's on you, blondie. And no, we're not laughing with you. We are laughing at you. And we're not going to stop.

This IS My Country, Damn it

My first memory, when it comes to politics, is of asking my parents what the bumper sticker on our car meant. It read, “Don't blame me, I'm from Massachusetts!” And Massachusetts was where we were, but I didn't understand why that would have anything to do with blame – why would the place you lived, the place you came from, have anything to do with what kind of person you are?

I'm re-reading that right now and realizing that even at all of six years old or so, I had a better grasp on that concept than a terrifyingly large portion of my fellow citizens do right now. Which is honestly heartrendingly sad. But I digress.

Anyway, my dad told me that the bumper sticker was kind of a sarcastic joke. He explained that President Nixon (who may or may not have still been in office at that point, this would have been right around the time he resigned) was a bad man who had done very bad things while he was in office, and broken a bunch of laws. And the bumper sticker was because, of all the states in the country, only Massachusetts hadn't voted for him.

That was my introduction to liberal politics.

I had a pair of hippies for parents, in a manner of speaking. I grew up in a house filled with Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd and the smell of marijuana. My parent's friends were the same – most of the men wore their hair long, as did most of the women, usually in embroidered blouses with tiny round mirrors sewn into them. And everyone shared basically the same world-view. War is bad, nuclear power is dangerous, clean water and clean air are things we have to have to survive and people who would pollute those resources must be stopped, every time. And most of all, above everything else, that we had an obligation to care for everyone, no matter where they came from, or who they loved, or how much money they did or didn't have.

All of this is to say that by the time I reached my not-quite teens, I was a budding, true-blue, East Coast Liberal all the way down to my bones. My Boston-bred dad taught me about the issues, and my British-born mother instilled in me an undying love for the documents that made up the basis for our government, the Declaration and the Constitution.

She adored those papers, and what they stood for, a country built on the premise that everyone should be equally able to direct their lives as they wish, with “rulers” who were chosen by, and beholden to, the people they ruled over. She, of course, had grown up in a country where birth was the factor that determined who would sit in the seats of power, and she made sure that her children knew how lucky we were to grow up in a place where anyone, even people like us, could one day sit in the highest seat in our government.

I grew up proud of the place I was born. Proud of its natural beauty, its incredible diversity, proud that we were the place that every other country looked to, where so many wanted to be. And they were welcomed. There was even a huge statue set to greet those dream-filled travelers, the woman who lifted her lamp beside the golden door. The first time I went to New York City and actually saw her for myself, I cried. I cry when I look at her today. But they are no longer tears of joy and wonder. Now they're tears of grief and sorrow.

Somewhere along the line, at some point between the time when we truly believed that the person occupying that highest seat of all should be a person with the highest standards, a person of good character... and now, when the person in that seat exemplifies the lowest, basest behavior of the most unprincipled among us... somewhere in there, something changed. My country changed. Where we once had empathy, we now glorify hatred. Where we once welcomed others, we now build walls. Where we one cherished children, we now use them as game pieces on a giant board. Where we once promised to lift everyone up to be on equal footing, we now tear people down. And, not satisfied with that, we then kick them, make them bleed, and when they cry out, we laugh cruelly and turn away.

This is not my country. Those are not my people.

Yes, they were always there. No, neither our government nor our citizens have fully lived up to those ideals I grew up living, and loving. But once, we fought those who didn't live up to those ideals. One, we had leaders who spoke up and said no more, we will not allow mistreatment to stand unopposed.

Now, our leaders encourage that behavior, model for an entire population. Our president picks fights on social media. Our official White House spokesperson spreads lies about sitting legislators. A full third of our country worship a man who would stomp their faces into the mud if there's another dollar in it for him, and far too many of those are not just willing, but chomping at the bit to gun down their neighbors if he gives them the nod.

We can fix this. We can. We've done it before, when people like this have gotten cocky, believed themselves to be so firmly in the right to have no compunctions about showing their hatred and contempt for others they consider “less than”. It won't be easy, and it will be messy, but it can be done.

But we can't go at it halfway, tentatively. People who hate like that, they don't respond to reason. They only respond to strength. That third of the country? They're bullies. And as every bullied child knows, the advice your parents probably gave you – just ignore them – doesn't work. Being kind to a bully doesn't work – ask any abused spouse. A bully won't stop until he's too afraid to continue.

We need to make them afraid again. We need to stand up and tell them, to their faces, that their behavior will not be tolerated. And then we need to back it up. The same way my parents backed it up the last time we had a bad man in the White House. 

Let's make this our country again. Let's just be people again.

We can do this.

On Civility

I've been seeing a lot of talk about “civility” over the last week or so, and I thought I might add my two cents to the discussion. It's an issue I've dealt with before, at length. My particular “trigger issue”, the one I have put the vast majority of my time, effort, research, and energy into, happens to be reproductive rights. And my specialty within that issue is late term abortion. This means that I've spent much of the last decade in one of the most contentious, ideological, intensely personal issues of our time, and most of that defending the procedures that send the opposition into mouth-foaming fits of “righteous” rage. There isn't enough space to even begin to list the things I've been called, or the acts I've been accused of – and frankly, you don't want to hear most of it.

Now, please understand something here: my interest in this subject is deeply personal, and I am no angel when it comes to a full-on argument. The fact of the matter is, I am furiously angry at what I was put through, all in the name of “saving babies” (even the ones who can't be saved). And when someone cavalierly states that “these situations are too rare to be of concern”, or tries to use the guilt-trip of, “a real mother would die for her child”, I will absolutely unload both barrels upon their unfortunate selves, and with a grin on my face.

But here's the thing. I have every right to do so. I was severely, permanently damaged by the policies they would impose on every woman in this country. I suffered physically, mentally, and emotionally, to a degree far more traumatizing than was even remotely necessary under the circumstances. And this was not done in an effort to “save” a life – her death was a foregone conclusion, the moment the ultrasound showed a blank space where the top of her head, and her brain, should have been. No, this was done for an idea, for a concept, for an opportunity to sanctimoniously stand up and state that one is willing to adhere to the letter of the command they have been given, regardless of the facts in the case.

Basically, I was tortured for two full months so that someone could piously declare that “at least the precious baby had a chance”. And if I had died along with her, if my children had attended a double funeral, instead of one for their lost sister... well, God's will. Unfortunate, but well worth it. Because a “chance” (in hell) is far more important than the actual, realized life of a woman.

Yes, I'm angry. I'm disgusted by those who would prioritize a potential life over a real, lived one. I'm horrified by a person who is willing to insist that others must die, not for any net gain, but so they can basically earn Brownie points, good for admission into their imagined afterlife Paradise. I find it vicious, deliberately cruel, and completely reprehensible. And I do not mince words.

And I have been called “uncivil”. Oh, you bet I have. I've been told I'm just “angry”, that I need to moderate my tone if I ever expect anyone to listen to what I have to say. And here's what I have to say to those calls for “civility”.

You can fuck right the fuck off.

I tried asking nicely. That I would even have to ask to be considered, that my life was of so little consequence that it would be ignored completely without my request to be heard, is “uncivil” enough. But even more, it was pointless. Because I was roundly ignored and thrown to the wolves anyway, “civil” request notwithstanding. My doctor asked, also nicely. He was also ignored. And that, right there, is where we get to the real meat of this piece.

Zealots do not respond to civility. They are, by definition, completely driven by the voices in their heads that tell them only their way, their ideas, their beliefs are right. Go before them and give them civility, and they will take it as weakness, an inability to truly commit to the action you are proposing – and they will run you down where you stand, gleefully stomping the accelerator to the floor.

The cries for “civility” you now hear from those on the right, the moaning and pearl-clutching and agonizing over poor, suffering liars-for-pay who are unable to eat a dinner out in peace? They are the tantrums of entitled ideologues who would prefer their opposition to be as ineffective and vulnerable as possible. They do not want those they oppress to fight back. They want them to file quietly into the shower rooms without protest, so those running the taps can get home in time for a good steak and a little “Fox And Friends” before bed.

The same people, the very same ones crying loudest for civility are the ones who called our last president a monkey. Who called his wife a slut for exposing her arms. They daily call refugees rapists, traffickers, drug dealers... people who are no different from me, who have families they love and care for, who work hard, every day, to make their children's lives better than their own. They scream at those who love a person of the “wrong” sex, refuse to serve them, refuse to treat them in their medical offices. Over love! I'm sorry, but when you can genuinely stand up and loudly proclaim that somehow, love is an unforgivable sin – you really need to reevaluate your value system, because buddy, it's screwed beyond repair.

And they kill. Never doubt it, never forget it. They absolutely kill. They have the blood of millions on their hands, victims of the insufferable demands they place upon the world at large. They put them in cages, real and metaphorical, and when those they imprison cry for help, yell out their anger, they berate them for not being “polite” enough.

And they turn up the gospel music to drown out the screams.

I will never stop being angry. I will never stop fighting them, tooth and nail, with every tool at my disposal. And make no mistake, my fury is a tool. My voice, my words, are a tool, and they will not take a single one of those words from me, whether they find them offensive or not.

I find it offensive to be considered to be disposable, of less concern than a nearly dead fetus. And when one compares human lives to a missed meal and some hurt feelings? If you side with the person whose feelings were hurt, over the bleeding body in front of you, you have picked the wrong side. Full stop.

Fuck you, and fuck your civility. I do not grovel before murderers and beg for mercy. You proved to me that doesn't work. You armed me, motherfuckers. Now you can reap what you've sown, and swallow every last bit of incivility I can muster up. And I hope you choke on it.