Open letter to a friend who must go nameless

It has recently come to my attention that another friend, a progressive blogger, has become the target of a cyberstalker. The culprit: you, her (former) collaborator.

Now, I should state in advance that I did not see the blog entries (she tells me there were two) in which you started blaming women and feminism for all your current problems. She deleted them because they were so ugly that she could have gotten into trouble with her supervisors at work.

But you, rather than understanding her legitimate concerns, decided to step up your attacks. Now, not content to blame women and feminists in general, you seem to have fixated on her in particular as the cause of all your woes. You have repeatedly blocked her on Twitter, only to harass her afresh under new handles, but with the same old bizarre accusations. I haven’t been on the tweeter myself that much lately, so I missed all that.

However, I have seen your latest entry on your own (formerly deleted, now resurrected) blog, in which you go on to trash her and claim that she’s the reason you’re mentally ill, you’ve gone through more than $100,000 of your savings, and you’re just a few thousand more away from landing on the street. You seem to think it’s her fault that you are sick, broke, and can’t get laid (your words). Or is it the fault of feminism? Either way, your barely coherent rant appalled me, and I will not link to it; in your shoes, I would delete it and refrain from blogging for the time being, as such defamatory rambling could only hurt you in your efforts to rebuild your life. That is why I am not addressing you here by name.

I don’t know what it’s like to lose $100,000 in savings, as I have never been able to accumulate anywhere near that much. I do, however, know what it’s like to be depressed. I’ve been lucky; thanks to good self-care and daily doses of Vitamin B complex, I haven’t had a relapse in nearly 20 years. If you cannot afford a shrink, at least spend a few dollars on vitamins; they can’t hurt you, and who knows how much they will help? All I know is that they lifted the pall from my own mind and enabled me to function fully as a human being again. Before that, I was much like you: paranoid, irrational, all too willing to blame everyone and everything else, and unable to take responsibility for myself. I couldn’t see past the end of my nose, and I was forever flailing about in a grey fog of pain and exhaustion. The things I did when I was sick still make me blanch with humiliation to this day, nearly 20 years after the fact. And I deeply regret the things I was not well enough to do, too.

That’s why I advise you, as your friend, to cease and desist from tweeting, blogging, and online ranting. Back when I was sick, I didn’t have recourse to any of those things, and it’s a good thing I didn’t; I could so easily have cyberstalked the former boyfriend who wronged me, too. I am grateful that it never came to that, because what with the ol’ Google Cache, those things could have come back forever to haunt me. Luckily, Google was not yet a “thing” back then.

You can ill afford to be sued for defamation of character, and should you find yourself in the position of applying for a job, the last thing you want is for your prospective employer to run an online search on you and find that you wrote all sorts of nasty, ugly things about a woman you wrongly blamed for all your woes while you were sick. I think you know that, since I’m told that you deleted your old blog, where you first started spewing these spurious accusations. In your shoes, I’d delete your new one too, since carrying on in the same vein is self-destructive and counter-productive.

If you are not seeing a psychologist already, start now. Write your thoughts in a paper journal, not a blog, so that there is no electronic record of your worst moments. Share this journal with your therapist if asked to do so. Use it to reorganize yourself and reorient yourself mentally, because if what our friend told me is true, you have gotten very badly disoriented.

As for what you said about feminism turning women into abusers, that is straight-up MRA bullshit and you ought to know it. You say you grew up as the only male in an otherwise all-female household; therefore, you have no excuses for spewing such a load of misogyny. Being the guy who grew up surrounded by women, and presumably more sensitive to their issues, does not excuse it. It means, on the contrary, that you, of all men, should know better than to go tarring women with a broad brush of blame.

So why did you do it, then? Because you had a bad female boss? Because you had a couple of them? Listen, my friend, so did I. I don’t blame feminism for them; I blame THEM for them. And I blame another ism, too: CAPITALISM, which rewards psychopathy in the ruling classes, particularly corporate bosses. Profit is not only unpaid wages that should accrue to the worker, it is the reward of corporate psychopathy; you know this, and I know this. I’ve also had some seriously dickish male bosses, for what this is worth. But you won’t hear me going off on a man-hating tangent because of them. I know that dickishness is a depressingly common trait of the boss class, not males in general. And dickishness, in this context, knows no gender.

Feminism is not your foe; it is your ally, and at this time, you are obviously in no fit state to realize it. After all, it is not about female supremacy, reverse sexism, or penis-bashing as you seem to think; it is plainly and simply about social equality, and human rights for all.

Right now you seem to feel that you have been denied a fair share of something; I’m not sure exactly what you expected, but you sound to me like you have jumped the rails of reason. I am not so much afraid OF you as FOR you. I worry that you might hurt yourself.

Assuming that one day you will be well enough to work again, and that the odds are roughly 50-50 that you will be working for a female employer, again, I advise you to delete that blog. It can only hurt your prospects, and it can only embarrass you when you are well enough to look back and regret the damage you have done. The fellow blogger at whom you have aimed your ire deserves better than that, and so do you.

Steubenville: It really IS Rapeville.

Traci Lords makes a connection that the media have by and large (and, in my opinion, quite willfully) missed. Actually, several connections. One, the connection between rape and prostitution (and porn, which is also tied to prostitution). She says the fact that she was raped in her hometown — Steubenville, Ohio, near the West Virginia border — is “absolutely the reason” she ended up on the streets, prostituted, and later, “starring” in porn while still under 18. The report doesn’t elaborate, but the reason isn’t hard to guess: Rape degrades, it inflicts a sense of being less of a person than those who raped you. When you’re already beaten down in mind, and constantly reminded of what happened by the fact that you have to see these same smug, hypocritical people every day, the only escape is often to run away to the big city streets. And those streets can be motherfucking MEAN. You do whatever you must to survive. And for many runaway girls, that’s spelled prostitution. Which, by its very nature, often repeats and reinforces the initial trauma of the rape.

Another connection: the fact that small towns where jocks enjoy a special, elevated status (especially in such heavily commercialized team sports as football) are NOT “great places to raise a kid”. They are actually places where bullying, beatings, sexual assaults, pedophilia, and even gang rapes happen all the time, but are rarely ever brought to the light of day. This is because the guys who commit the crime are lionized not merely in spite of, but sometimes BECAUSE of what they do to girls. It’s a sexist culture, where jocks are elevated and girls are relegated to second-place status. You get to bask in the reflected glory of the jocks if you’re a cheerleader and/or girlfriend of a jock, but that’s about it. It’s all about the guys, in the end. And the whole town, its authorities, its police, its lawyers and judges, will move heaven and earth to shield the perpetrators from anything that might damage their “bright futures” playing commercial football…and perpetuating the jock brand of rape culture.

And this is the Steubenville culture that has Traci Lords so angry and outraged still, so many years after what happened to her. In fact, this is the culture of small-town USA, period. All the old prejudices and hypocrisies are still firmly in place. The only thing that’s different here is that the “clean-cut” mask slipped, and someone got caught. That’s what bugged me about the sobby courtroom performance of those two guys. One of them expressed sorrow, not for what he had done, but for the fact that pictures got taken of it and circulated. He had no apparent remorse for the rape part, because rape is a jock’s entitlement; his regret was only for being indiscreet about it. His life won’t be ruined because he committed rape; it will be put on hold for a few short years because he was caught in the act by a camera.

The media, too, must bear a share of the blame for the perpetuation of this small-town jock rape culture. Aren’t they the ones constantly selling the wholesome image of the small town, the great place to raise kids, the golden jocks, the big fucking lie? Of course they are. And even now, those faithful crapaganda mills are churning out the rape apologia. On CNN, they’re all boo-hoo for the poor maligned boys, and not one word for the abused girl. FUX Snooze? Well, they did devote a few words to her; they divulged her identity, so she could be harassed and bullied still further. Maybe they’re hoping she’ll kill herself, to save the honor of the jocks. Blood expunges shit-stains, does it not?

Traci Lords has every right to be angry, because nothing’s really changed. Sure, two guys are going to jail and are going to be labelled sex offenders. Sure, their careers are going to be curtailed, at least where sports are concerned. Sure, they’re probably not going to get football scholarships; colleges will be passing them by for cleaner candidates, and they’re just going to have to work harder for an education, if they want one. They can’t rely on their jock passes anymore. In short, they’re just gonna have to live like all the rest of us unathletic commoners. But…cry me a fucking river! They are not going to end up on the streets, prostituted and acting in pornos, being degraded and subjugated for the delectation of other dudes. That’s for girls.

After all, that’s what happened to Traci Lords. She got singled out, assaulted, branded with a scarlet letter in her teens. She is still living with her trauma after all these years. The girl in this case will have to live with the same. She will deal, day to day, with everything that happened to her against her will being called a “cognitive choice” on her part. Never mind that she couldn’t say no because she was too bombed to say anything. And that the reason she was bombed is that she was set up for it in advance, called a slut and a whore ahead of time and then drugged without her knowledge, by those same guys who are now trying to make like it was all just a moment of weakness and poor judgment and blah blah blah. It was not. It was planned and premeditated on THEIR part, and yet she is the one bearing the burden for it.

Meanwhile, these guys are still getting the tragic hero’s treatment in the media. They weren’t even tried in adult court. They’ll probably brag about their juvenile delinquency raps 20 years from now.

Poor misunderstood babies, how dare we slap them on the wrist?

Quotable: Julian Bond on the Keystone XL pipeline

julian-bond-on-keystone-xl

Yes, pipelines absolutely ARE a civil rights issue. Just ask anyone, native or or not, black or white, whose land is being expropriated by corporate interests without so much as a by-your-leave.

The elephant in the burned cabin

Today, a friend posted this article from Jacobin on his Facebook wall. It’s an analysis of the Christopher Dorner case that the media have been screaming about all week. I wanted to like it; it was well and gracefully written, and makes a number of good points. The essayist in me admired it. But there was something missing in it, or rather, something present in it that was going unaddressed, like the elephant in the proverbial living room.

No one seems to have seriously considered giving in to Dorner’s one demand: that the record be set straight by releasing all of the documents related to his disciplinary hearings, and clearing his name from the prior disciplinary actions against him. He pledged to end his warfare if the LAPD would do so. Considering his apparent death last night, one wonders if that life could have been saved at the price of the department’s momentary embarrassment. “A man is nothing without his name,” repeats Dorner.

Dorner’s reaction is partly rooted in a corrosive version of American masculinity — his response to institutional corruption is uniquely Jack Bauer and John Wayne. Gratuitous violence included. Dorner is a wholesale product of a society gone mad on racism and war, of a state that aggressively punishes dissent, of an intellectual milieu where telling the truth has become a dangerous act. There was no internal institutional outlet for him to address injustices against him: the blue line prevented that.

So I set off to ponder it — or rather, I futzed around and stewed. And while I was futzing around, I found this other article on Counterpunch that came a little closer to the elephant. But it, too, disappointed me. And I couldn’t figure out why.

In the years between the murder of Oscar Grant and Dorner’s last stand, March of 2009 to be specific, we were among those observing the case of Lovelle Mixon in Oakland, a parolee who decided he was not going to return to prison, opening fire on police at a traffic stop, killing two. Police went in to execute Mixon, not expecting that he would be holding an SKS. Two more cops died as a result. The logic of Dorner’s desperation, and the chain of events that led to his ultimate death, parallels Mixon’s; proud men without hope, cornered, deciding to go out fighting.

Neither man was a self-understood revolutionary and it would be inaccurate (or perhaps too accurate a reflection of the dearth of revolutionary activity in contemporary society) to try and declare otherwise. However, the material conditions that produced Dorner, as with Mixon, are not uncommon. The meaning and the effects of their actions speak volumes about the depth of racialization, criminalization and hopelessness in Obama’s supposed “post-racial” America.

It isn’t unique to the United States; Canada and the UK have had their share of such killers too, albeit fewer in proportion to the general population. It isn’t limited to whites; the Virginia Tech murders proved that much. Asian men are less likely to do it, but they are every bit as capable of “snapping” when societal prejudices and their own personal problems overwhelm them. The same is true of black men, like Christopher Dorner. The color lines are there, and they matter. They are not an insignificant factor in the social injustices that drive some men to become spree shooters, before committing suicide (or suicide by cop, as the case may be.) But the racial prejudice against non-whites was not the only factor.

And yeah, the cop shop is a brutally authoritarian place. Same old story just about everywhere. The nail that sticks up will get hammered down by a fist of blue. That, too, is significant, but it doesn’t tell the whole story. Conformity, especially in uniform, is a major problem of the so-called police state. But that, too, is not the thing that stood out for me.

Finally, it hit me: This rampage-killing thing is a man’s game. That’s the elephant. How many female spree killers have you heard of? Offhand, I only know of one, and her own father (who sexually abused her) gave her the gun that she used to take pot-shots at the school across the street. So the exception still proves the rule: Brenda Ann Spencer, though female (and gay), was very much the product of a male-dominated culture. Her father had no son, and undoubtedly saw his daughter as a weak vessel, a sex object by dint of merely owning a vagina, and so fair game for abuse. But at the same time, in his sick way, he tried to turn her into the son he did not have, so as to fulfill his masculine duty. And his way of doing so was to give her the phallic weapon, the ersatz penis, that the far right always simplistically holds up as the “great equalizer” of the sexes, not to mention of races, and of social classes: He gave her a gun.

And if you think I’m out of line bringing gender into the narrative, I’ll just leave this here:

bushmaster-man-card

I don’t think the gender connection could be any more explicit than that.

Now, back to the passages I excerpted from the two articles. I chose them so you could see the elephant, and how it was simultaneously hinted at and erased from the picture. The use of the words man, men, and masculinity should be the tip-off. Gun violence is a man’s game. To go out with a bang — or in the case of Christopher Dorner, a conflagration started by projectiles fired from a special gun — is a masculist death if ever there was one. Few women dream of going out in a blaze of “glory”, much less set out to actually accomplish it. (And those few who do, often end badly; think of Nancy Lanza, shot to death with her own gun, by her own son. Whom she had taught to shoot, perhaps in an effort to instill some semblance of socially acceptable masculinity into the slender, autistic young man.)

Little wonder, then, that the totality of the anti-authoritarian “Go Dorner” memes clogging my own Facebook feed were from male friends. And not just from any male friends, but specifically from those with left-libertarian/anarchist tendencies. My liberal, socialist and communist friends, male and female alike, refrained from posting such memes. None of them saw the sense in glorifying a troubled man, much less one who, to paraphrase Audre Lorde, reached for the master’s tools to destroy the master’s house and ironically ended up being burned to death in it himself. Interestingly, both of the articles I cited mentioned fire in the final line. The Jacobin article ends thus:

In Dorner’s case, the allegory of life to a furnace takes literal weight — he has died, consumed by fire. The police will celebrate, the chorus will quiet, the lives of his victims mourned. It is unlikely that the fire that burned away Dorner will burn away any illusion: this is unfortunate, and disturbing. His allegations will be dismissed as the rantings of a lunatic, things will return to normal. Until the fire, next time.

And the Counterpunch one, thus:

Dorner was not a radical, but his short war was not simply the story of broken man or of individualistic vengeance. The issues of brutality and racism perpetually covered up by a corrupt police department created the insurgent Dorner and resonated with many people who endure the reality of urban policing on a daily basis. The sympathy and the support Dorner received is a clear indicator of the very real and deep structural inequalities that helped forge the path of Dorner’s life and his fiery death. The great radical historian Mike Davis concluded a recent article on Dorner with a peculiar question: “Does anyone cheer Dorner?” What is peculiar is that, for better or worse, there’s no denying that the answer is “yes.”

There’s no telling what sort of a fire they could start tomorrow.

Interesting use of imagery, no? And that brings me to another aspect of the elephant.

There is a very specific kind of man who just wants to see the state burn. He isn’t confined to the right, although he’s easier to spot over there. He tends to look like a nutcase, talk like a nutcase, and act like one over there. He styles himself as a survivalist, a doomsday cultist, a “prepper”. To him, Waco and Ruby Ridge represent the ultimate evil of the democratic state. And if he’s a US-American, he talks a great deal about the Second Amendment and how it is the “solution” to that “socialist” black man in charge. Never mind that Barack Obama is obviously no socialist; whatever he actually stands for or does not, he represents all that is alien and threatening to the right-wing white man who thinks the world is his by right. The misapplied term is shorthand for anything and everything the right wing opposes. It is as laughably divorced from meaning as the right-winger is from reality.

But in the anarchist quadrant of the leftist spectrum, the “smash the state” guy looks a bit different. He’s generally more thoughtful than his right-wing nutjob cousin, and thus less apt to tote a gun, but he still has a taste for the Molotov cocktail. He’s cerebral, rather than overtly phallic-obsessive. And he can be just as much of a male chauvinist, too, in his own right. He’s a great one for theory, this guy. He reads voraciously; it’s not ironic, in his eyes, to decry the recent firebombing of an anarchist bookstore in London. If he’s conspiracy-minded (and a great many left-anarchists are), he may even see in that the effort of the all-powerful and all-evil state to smash the “little man”. (I use the term advisedly, as you may have guessed.) To him, the burning of Freedom Books has its obvious parallel to the incineration of Chris Dorner. Never mind the irony that the police and fire department were the ones to help salvage the burned bookstore.

But the state is not the real problem. It is not some ahuman, alien entity that will invariably crush the Little Man’s balls, regardless of how much the left-anarchist bomb-thrower may sing from the same facile hymnal as the right-libertarian gun nut on the issue.

All the state is, in the final analysis, is the sum of the people who comprise it. It is up to the people to decide how it operates, and what they will and will not allow it to do on their behalf. And while corruption goes with power-over, mere overthrow of those in charge will not result in freedom overnight. Did the recent uprisings in the Middle East and North Africa not prove as much? The same Egyptians who demonstrated agaist Mubarak are now mobilizing once more against Morsi. They do not want NO government; they want a democratic government that upholds human rights, equality and dignity for all.

If the arc of history is long, and bends toward justice, it stands to reason that a quick, violent revolution, resulting in a leaderless and stateless world, is not the answer to the current global malaise. The just society, in the end, looks much like the democratic socialist vision, in which women are equal to men, and color and nationality are not the caste-marks of an unwritten hierarchy either. The state’s job is to protect the just society. As long as that much is clear, and remembered, the rest will flow from it.

Here in Canada, we have our Charter of Rights and Freedoms; an organ of the state, yes, and one that enables women to agitate successfully for reproductive rights and pay equity, First Nations for the protection of their lands, gays for the right to marry and adopt children, and minorities to take racists before human-rights tribunals. All progressive movements here are grounded in it in one way or another, even if they don’t know it. While it takes a regular beating at the hands of election-stealing wingnuts, it’s still there, and it forms the basis of our laws, even though the right-wing gun nuts and “libertarians” here may gnash their teeth over how it keeps them from ruling the country in their own phallocentric, white, Christian male image. Their “freedom” is the privilege to oppress anyone they regard as inferior; our freedom (note the absence of quotes) is the constitutional right to throw off their hegemony.

And while racism and police brutality are the privileges of a few, gender oppression is the reality of half the human race. To erase it from analysis, to dismiss it as unimportant, to sneer at feminist analysis, is to alienate half of the potential revolutionary force that will remake society peacefully and progressively. That is the elephant in the burning cabin. One can be blind to all but the ear, or the trunk, or the tail that is in one’s immediate grasp, but if we are to confront the elephant properly, we have to take it all of a piece or not at all.

The truth about Attawapiskat

The People of the Kattawapiskak River by Alanis Obomsawin, National Film Board of Canada

A Cree filmmaker takes us inside the lives of her brothers and sisters in Attawapiskat, Ontario. If what you see here doesn’t leave you outraged at the lies in the right-wing media and the numbskulls in Ottawa who dare to put the town under “third party management” (euphemism for a bean-counting hack who tells the SupposiTories just what they want to hear), then you probably don’t have a pulse, and you’ve probably got shit where your brains ought to be.

Music for a Sunday: Bury me upside down

In honor of Chief Theresa Spence, now in the third week of her hunger strike. The kind of devotion it takes to live for your land and die for your people is as formidable as it is inspiring.

Sorry to Grinch you, but…

…this seasonal message just had to be said:

bethlehem-ghetto

And while we celebrate the birthday of Jesus, how about the death of irony?

Gaza militants violated laws of war by launching hundreds of rockets at Israeli civilians during last month’s fighting, Human Rights Watch said in a release Monday.

The Israeli military said 1,500 rockets were fired at Israel during the eight-day offensive against Gaza militants, including the first rockets from the Gaza Strip to strike the Tel Aviv and Jerusalem areas.

The rocket attacks killed three Israeli civilians and wounded dozens. Israeli assaults killed 169 Palestinians.

“Palestinian armed groups made clear in their statements that harming civilians was their aim,” said Sarah Leah Whitson, Middle East director at the New York-based rights group. “There is simply no legal justification for launching rockets at populated areas.”

Yeah? Tell that to Israel, Sarah…they started it. And what exactly did they launch at Gaza? Not only rockets, but ol’ Willie Peter. Which is also illegal, but hey.

Now, the real question is: Who would Baby Jesus bomb?

An important seasonal message for the (self-)righteous among nations

grinch-hanukkah

Ahem. Courtesy of my good friend, Brenda Lewis, on her Facebook page:

In recent weeks and days, I have once again noticed that ‘tis the season to be judgmental for some folks. Both on Facebook and even seeping into my private ‘regular’ email box via those supposedly well-meaning cc’s. Apparently, some folks who read the bible think that they are morally superior to those of us who don’t – and those of us who don’t … let’s see, that would be: Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Buddhists, Wiccans, North American Indigenous Peoples, Kwanzaa, Bahai, Agnostic, Humanist, Atheist, etc. I have seen posts of everything from “if children read the bible in school, they wouldn’t end up in prisons as adults”, to that annoying post claiming to quote Ben Stein (when half of the quote was made up by someone else. Google it), to having someone of similar ethnic background from me refuse to accept my Hanukah greetings because they did not fit this person’s rigid view of what that holiday might mean (ok, that was just plain rude). What I’m saying here is that instead of creating more divisions, how easy would it be to instead just accept our differences in beliefs – and give each other a pat on the back for the good things that we do for each other, our brother and sister humans – and all that lives on our tiny blue planet? Be good for goodness sake, people.

Okay, some backgrounder is in order. Brenda’s Hanukkah greeting was from a Humanistic Jewish viewpoint, and this offended someone who apparently believes that the only real Jews are the orthodox (or ultra-orthodox) kind. And it seems that this same offended party, in her haste to condemn “forced assimilation”, forgot the lesson of the miracle of the holy light that burned for eight days, outlasting a siege for long enough that fresh oil could come into the temple. This person seems to think that the real point of Hanukkah is not to celebrate the light of human brotherhood, but to curse the darkness of “forced assimilation” in strict Old Testament fashion.

Talk about missing the point.

Now, Brenda knows all about my being a Bad German. She knows about my grandpa who was drafted into the Waffen-SS. She also knows about my other grandpa, who openly complained about Hitler in the street, saying he didn’t vote for that Austrian bastard, and he didn’t know anyone else who did either, and how you couldn’t get proper shoes in Germany anymore since that little shit came to power. She knows about how my grandpa got called up on the carpet by the Gestapo for that, and how the fascist officer threatened him into silence with an unfinished sentence: “Herr Becker, Sie haben vier Kinder…” (Herr Becker, you have four children…) She probably knows, too, about how my grandma with the four children got a Mother’s Cross of the Reich for that glorious achievement; that sort of thing is public knowledge.

And I think she knows, too, about my mom’s 11-month-old baby sister, who died of malnutrition and dysentery in a refugee camp, and was buried under a swastika flag. Hitler’s war made refugees of my mother’s family, ethnic Germans from the Vojvodina province of Yugoslavia. They were “called back” to a “homeland” that treated them as second-class citizens because they were born abroad. And her father, my grandfather, was “offered” the “honor” of joining the SS, even though he was not a Nazi, not blond, not blue-eyed…and not the least bit warlike. But he was tall, and he had done mandatory service in the Yugoslavian army, and he spoke Serbo-Croatian and Hungarian, so he was deemed to be an asset. And besides, he had three daughters and a wife, and they were all refugees. As you can guess, the “honor” was no honor, and he had no choice but to accept it. (Well, okay, he did have SOME choice. It was either that, or be shot…and watch his family be shot first.)

So what has this to do with Brenda’s Hanukkah greeting? Oh, just this:

Hitler clearly thought some Germans were better than others. More German, if you will. And he was willing to wipe out those he deemed insufficiently German…to end “forced assimilation” of Germans by un-German unpersons. So much so that he declared war both within and outside Germany’s borders to exterminate them. Those who couldn’t flee in time, had to hide. Those who were found, were dragged off to camps where they either starved and were worked to death, or were gassed outright on arrival and cremated en masse. He also tried to set up a breeding program so that those whose looks and Germanic pedigree met his approval could be induced to churn out more of the same. (Hence that whole Mother’s Cross nonsense, where only some mothers get rewarded for doing what all mothers do.) It was a human-rights violation so atrocious that to this day, it is the gold standard of the evil that people are capable of when they decide that some of us are superior to the rest.

You would think that some people could draw a lesson from that.

Well, some of them can’t. And one of them kvetched out Brenda for her lack of ethno-ideological purity. Brenda is, it seems, not Jewish enough.

Since when are some Jews more Jewish than others?

I don’t know, but apparently it’s a thing. And Hanukkah is, apparently, the season when this particularly ironic brand of self-righteousness asserts itself.

Just as Christmas is when certain militantly orthodox Christians all decide to assert that theirs is the One True Way and Light. You know, those same that have been killing Jews for twenty centuries for the imaginary crime of killing Jesus?

Yeah. Those people.

Being a pagan myself, I can only smile wryly and shake my head at all that. And being a humanist, socialist, feminist, and all that, I reject those attitudes that say I must define myself by condemning all the things I am not. I reject racism, sexism, xenophobia, and religious bigotry. I may be a Bad German, but for that very reason, I am determined not to repeat the stupidities that nearly killed my ancestors.

The fact that either branch of my family survived that genocidal war is a bit of lucky-unlucky irony that would make Kurt Vonnegut smile wryly if he knew. I think about it every time I read Slaughterhouse-Five. (I hereby resolve also to think of it the next time I have one of my 3 a.m. existential crises, when I wake up in the middle of the night for no reason, only to wonder why I am here and what the hell my purpose in life is.)

My friends accept the awful history that went into the making of me. And they love me in spite of the things my parents and grandparents had to do to survive and bring me into this world. That’s the best gift I could have, at this time of year or any other.

And if I have to “celebrate” this season by reaffirming some kind of imaginary superiority over those-who-are-not-just-like-me, I say FUCK IT.

Heathen’s greetings to all, and to all a good night.

Why women go back to shitty men

Robin “Rihanna” Fenty, making the mistake of her life. Let’s hope it doesn’t actually COST her her life.

Okay. So lots of people are asking why women who seem to otherwise have everything going for them keep going back to shitty men who only abuse them, put them down, and take advantage of them. Recently, one of them became yet another sad statistic in the annals of domestic violence. You’d think that these women could learn to stay the fuck away from these Bhad Nhews Boyz, and yet they keep going back. And the body count just keeps on growing.

So why IS that?

Well, I’m not an expert of any kind, so take this with the obligatory heaping teaspoonful of salt. But I’ve been one of those women, and so have several others near and dear to me. And so I’ve gleaned a bit of insight into what keeps us going back to guys we ought to put behind us for good. I’ve listed ten reasons — some rational, some not, and some just plain fucked up, but all powerful and compelling:

1. Traditional family values. You married him, for better or for worse. And it turns out you got “worse”. He drinks, he’s mentally unstable, he beats the shit out of you. But since divorce is either verboten or extremely difficult to get, or considered shameful, you strive to love, honor, obey, and stick it out until death does you part. And if death comes by his hand, so be it. You are property of your husband and there is not a damn thing you can do about that. You were raised to believe this, and you do, devoutly, even to your own detriment. If your religion values female martyrdom, you might even go to your grave this way…and gladly. Your deeply held values leave you no other choice.

2. You are a Nice Girl. I suffered badly from this one myself. Couldn’t say no, couldn’t say boo to a goose, couldn’t say shit if I had a mouthful. And when my drunken on/off boyfriend of five years got too deep into his beer, which he did every time I went out with him, he wound up the evening not with sex or kisses or a promise to see me again soon, but with ugly insults. I was a “candy-ass”. For being a Nice Girl. And I took it, because if someone I cared about told me so when he was drunk and his inhibitions were down, it must be true. In vina veritas, etc. I sat there and took it until he passed out. Then I would walk home, holding back my tears all the way. And sometimes, NOT holding back. And wondering why I could never work up the nerve to at least tell him to sober the fuck up. Why not? Because Nice Girls never tell guys what to do. And because if they try, they get shouted down and told to stop being such a fucking cunt. Which is the absolute worst thing anyone can call a Nice Girl. And short of actual physical violence (which, mercifully, I was spared), it is the most painful thing in the world to have the very good thing you are trying to be thrown back in your face.

3. You’re afraid to be alone. You’d rather be with the wrong man than no man at all. You’ve totally internalized the idea that a woman without a man is nothing. And, so as not to be a loser yourself, you put up with one instead. And you put up with whatever he dishes out to you, too.

4. You are codependent. He’s hooked on booze, drugs, or some combination of the two, and you are hooked on him. Sober, he’s the nicest guy you ever met; loaded, he’s a goddamn motherfucking piece of shit. But since you see the good side of him as well as the bad, you think that the one MUST eventually win out over the other. So you keep hanging on, trying to get him to detox and get into recovery. Even if he doesn’t want to go. You haven’t yet realized that until HE realizes he’s got a problem and needs to do something about it, all your pleas are falling on chemically deaf ears.

5. He is a master manipulator. This is the kind of dude who could teach the MRA/PUA “community” a thing or two about fucking with a woman’s head and yoinking her around like a yo-yo. He knows exactly where all her weak spots are, and he exploits them callously and without shame. He undermines her self-esteem until there’s nothing left. Then, when she’s just a hollow shell and sucked dry, he leaves her, forcing her to chase after him, and ignores her…at least until he finds something new that he can suck out of her. Then, suddenly, he just yoinks that ol’ yo-yo string, and boom, she’s back in his clutches. Some guys do this to several ladies at once. All of them notably lacking in self-esteem and the wherewithal to say no to him. Strong, assertive women don’t interest this guy, except maybe for the perverse thrill of bringing down an especially bitchy “high-value target” and turning her into a terminal Nice Girl. Low-hanging fruit is more his style. Pimps usually fall under this rubric.

6. DRAMA. Love and suffering, writ large! One or both of them may thrive on it, and consider a relationship “dull” unless it’s constantly on the rocks. This is especially true of basically insecure people who are only mildly to moderately talented, and whose careers therefore depend on keeping their names in the headlines as much as possible (hello, young lovers!). Normal sex isn’t thrilling enough; it has to be angry and violent, or else it has to be the make-up kind. Adrenaline rushes take precedence over feelings of warmth and security. Other chemical (co)dependencies may also feed into this.

7. You take a tremendous pride in your own “strength”. You are an awesome woman, with talent to spare and a résumé to prove it. Instead of using all that to help you get away from him, though, you tolerate and conceal his abuses. Running away from him spells failure and weakness on your part. Besides, what would others think if they knew that you, a strong woman immersed in a good career, were abused? Better just to daub an extra layer of makeup on those bruises and hope nobody notices.

8. He is so violent that you don’t dare try to escape. When he threatens to hunt you down and kill you, you know he means to make good on that. So you don’t call the cops; you don’t report it; you don’t press charges; you don’t do anything that you fear might set him off. It is a perverse sense of self-preservation that keeps you hanging on. Or that sends you back to him, rather than staying in the women’s shelter and filing for divorce.

9. Economic dependency. This one is blindingly obvious. When you’re paid only 70 cents to every dollar he makes, or are not allowed by Mr. Macho (or your #1 or #2 upbringing) to work for a living at all, you have every reason to go home to him and stay there, and none at all to strike out on your own. And if he’s a pimp-type (refer back to #5), chances are he’s taking every buck you make for himself, and beating you if you don’t hand over enough money to him at the end of a working day. Again, self-preservation takes a perverse turn here.

10. Love. Or rather, “love”. Note the quotation marks! If you are in love with him, or at least are convinced that you are, and have no better frame of reference to tell you differently, you’ll put up with just about anything…and go back to it, too.

I’m sure there are more reasons; these are just the ones that occurred to me off the top of my head. (Please feel free to fill me in on anything I may have missed in the comments!)

Bear in mind, too, that usually it’s not just one reason or another, but several at once, that keep women ensnared. The more often she goes back to Mr. Shitty, the more complex the brangle of causes. In addition to #2, I fell victim to #3, #4, and #10. Luckily, I was able to overcome them all; it took me five years to sort myself out and find the wherewithal, but when I dumped the drunk, I dumped him definitively. That was 20 years ago. I’ve been in sporadic contact with him since then, but never once did I look him up; it was always him contacting me, not the other way around. And when I did see him, it only reminded me of how much better my life is without him.

Today, I’d rather have no man than the wrong man. I still dream of falling in love — who doesn’t? — but I have no intention of landing under anyone’s thumb ever again. That’s not love, that’s misogyny.

And there is no greater hindrance to real love than that.

Estelle, before the pirate attack

Smuggled footage from the deck of the humanitarian aid vessel Estelle shows what happened right before the Israeli military forced the ship (illegally!) out of international waters and into the Israeli port of Ashdod, diverting it from its mission to Gaza. As you can see, they look very thuggy and strangely unsure of themselves. (They don’t have much to say; a man on board the Estelle is doing all the talking.) The freedom sailors on the boat, however, aren’t wearing masks, and have nothing to hide; their potted olive trees and peace doves, symbolic gifts for the people of Gaza, are in plain sight.

Meanwhile, Jim Manly is expected home sometime tomorrow, and it’s likely his tale will be a harrowing one. It is already known that the Israeli army beat and abused the Estelle’s crew members, and it wouldn’t surprise me to hear that they targeted certain passengers for special attention too. (If you don’t believe me, read Midnight on the Mavi Marmara. It will tell you all you need to know about the Israeli armed forces’ oh-so-humanitarian motivations and methods.)