Thursday

Forgive Us Our Sins



And now we shred him.

Another way in which Barak Obama is the American Jesus: he is our sacrifice. He is going to pay dearly for all of our sins. He is a young man with an old soul; serious, but the champion of hope; brillant but not yet wise. Here is what wisdom looks like -- Lincoln at the beginning of his presidency, and at the end:

Hard times. Impossible choices. Law versus justice. War. Miserable mothers wrote letters, lamenting their dead sons lost in battle. The righteous path, ending slavery, required dismantling the economic foundation of half of our nation. A lawyer who suspended habeas corpus and tried civilians in military court. A father who lost his son. A husband whose wife drifted away from her sanity. And all the while, the sins of our people poisoned him from the inside. Our nation hemmoraged, blood saturated the landscape. We pleaded with him, our best surgeon, just to cut off the mangled limb and let us be free of this terrible pain. He risked our life to save us, and we shot him in the head.
Barak Obama. What a kind face. His family. Those sweet little girls, that smart pretty wife. These hard times will eat them, I fear. Unfathomable secrets have already been told to him, he's dragging the weight of them. The decisions he will make are ones no one should have to live with. The entire world, every breathing soul, will fail or prosper due to his judgment.

I know he can do it. I chose him to do it. He knows he can and therefore must.
But the price hurts my heart.
The deepest gift of this surrender -- he already knows what it will cost.

Monday

Lady Beware


Got an email from a coworker first thing this morning -- it was addressed to women in general to help us protect ourselves from rape. The premise was that someone had interviewed a group of “rapists and date-rapists” in prison about the techniques they’d used to prey on victims – it sounded like selected excerpts from Urban Legend Reader. The call is coming from inside the house, ladies, be more cautious!
Except wait, it’s not our work to stop ourselves from getting raped. Only rapists can stop rape. Sorry girls! Bummer about that!
It was lurid, really. There was a whole section on how serial killers often use a recording of a baby crying to try and get women to open the front door so that the baby won't get out onto the street and be run over. Hmmph.
Here is a conversation regarding this fervent warning with Pashmina over email.

The first time I got this email was about 10 years ago, it goes around from time to time. I appreciate the spirit in which Joan offered it, but ultimately I think it’s dangerous to put this stuff out there. Sure, stranger rapes definitely happen, but they are the tiny minority of sexual assaults and this kind of scary advice perpetuates the myth that you are vulnerable in public and safe at home.
I also think that, though of course it’s good to be cautious, warnings that just raise the general fear level are bad for our gun-loving culture. Makes me think of the part of Bowling for Columbine where he shows a montage of evening news clips and they are all about how you should be afraid, be afraid, be afraid. It’s a very sensational email, full of murky tension like a murder mystery. Read it again with an eye for the dramatic pacing and emphasis on painting a vivid picture of brutality.
The damage of this kind of fear-poke is that it acts as a social control mechanism for women. This is all about how you are always in danger when you step outside your door and should expect to be tracked and targeted. So many of us just decide it might be better not to go out at all. And it lends weight to the “rape PREVENTION” model rather than the “rape risk-reduction” model, which really puts the blame on the victim. Like for example:
The first thing men look for in a potential victim is hairstyle. They are most likely to go after a woman with a ponytail, bun, braid or other hairstyle that can easily be grabbed . They are also likely to go after a woman with long hair . Women with short hair are not common targets.

So if, heaven forefend, you are raped in the street by a stranger, it was probably because you were too stupid to cut your hair, you whore.
Do you dig me?

That’s an interesting point of view, I totally didn’t notice any of that, probably because I was getting so distracted by being scared. Except I did notice the stupid hair comment, that was just lame and similar to the whole “she was wearing a short skirt so she deserved it.” But I get what you mean about perpetuating fear in women and sort of “keeping them in the house” etc.

This is a clue that this email is sent to scintillate and scare you, and in turn to keep you safely and timidly at home: Even whole families of females on vacation without a man and very vulnerable to attack by some clever ruse. They just disappear.
Really? Really. Exactly how many whole families of women have disappeared on vacation? This is what really threatens us, what we really need to be focused on when we are trying to protect women from rape? Women in every single war end up in rape camps – American soldiers are not above the rest of the world in using rape as a tool to break down the morale of the nation they are trying to take over -- except those are third world women, they aren’t real people, and they don’t get an email.
What is the actual likelihood that if I travel with other women only we will all be abducted? Will bringing a dude along work like a magic charm to protect us? That kind of statement is itself a part of rape culture. The message is transparent: You need a man. If you don’t spend your life under male supervision you will probably be raped and killed. Your own fault, should have known better.
A lot more women are raped on vacation by their male supervision then by roving gangs of thugs.

Wait a second. I think I stopped reading the email before I got to that line. Now that is just PLAIN RIDICULOUS. Whole families of females LOL LOL LOL LOL.

Seriously! I feel like I’m being too strident, but I’m compelled. I wonder who wrote this and why. It’s always wise to question the source, right? This mythical group of “rapists in prison” has been talked about for years, was it like two guys or was it twenty? What kind of rapes did they commit? This whole serial killer summit set up sounds suspect to me.
Also wise? Look at who benefits from this information being passed around. Did this really ever save a life? I think that this sounds like a very clever dispatch from the Patriarchy to control our movement through fear.


I had a feminist weekend and I think it’s bleeding through my workday. But I’m also not wrong.

Wednesday

And the Day After

VAGINAL STATUS: Grateful
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes, into
Your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

-- Maya Angelou
North Carolina voters waiting

Oh, ooooh. Oh, America! Oh my people, my home, my shame and conceit and my heartbeat, AMERICA. Blessed be, my Love, blessed be.

I woke up today in a new America.
And I am a new American.

Yes we Can became yes we Will became yes we DID. And incredulous, blessed, cracked out and sanctified, bleary and jubilant, we rise. One people. We rise.

It’s not like it’s over, not even a little. I have much to say and process and analyze, don’t we all, doesn’t History? We have turmoil snapping at our next breath after this exhale, struggle like nothing this nation has seen before.

But PAUSE. Stop drop and marvel. Because, oh my countrymen, we don’t know from this moment. This is moment is NEW, fresh, immaculate. Because the world only spins forward. And life demands our lives.

With ludicrous, profound, unstoppable tears; with the swollen red heart of a patriot; with the earnest, radiant conviction of an apostle who lived among miracles;
I say
to you

(my people!)


Good Morning.

Tuesday

A New Dawn

VAGINAL STATUS: Blessed
The line at Central Library was around the block when I joined it at 7 a.m. and it looked like America. All kinda folks, Baltimore is indeed multi-layered and everyone represented. I felt like I was waiting in line for a ride at Kennywood I was so EXCITED. The girl in front of me was voting for the first time, she was 19. I tried to get her to bounce up and down about it like me, but she chose a dignified restraint.

I wanted to cackle and cry. Looking at those people, America – old folks and people in wheelchairs and gay boys and suits and young moms with kids in tow and lots of people in scrubs and middle aged women in a sensible hat for warmth. And wrinkled brown grandfathers who have seen Presidents come and gone since the Depression, grinning ear to ear at the chance to vote for a Black man for the very first time long overdue. And all of us, the urban heart of blue-state Maryland, had come to the altar from our warm beds, called to petition for this one very special man.

Yep, I think Barack Obama is pretty much an American Jesus.

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I’m sure he has personal flaws we’ll hear about in 30 years, and I know he can’t get his whole agenda accomplished. I think he will inevitably disappoint me. His platform does not measure itself by my radical agenda. He has assumed my vote, and can afford to take me for granted – Duh, I’m a queer feminist with most of my work history inside abortion clinics. If my people are not so far left that they see voting as playing into the government’s evil plan to placate us, we reliably vote Dems.

But every time I see him on TV I well up with the deep, dear promise of my patriotic childhood, old soldiers beaming and firetrucks tossing candy in the Memorial Day parade. He makes me dream and trust, two indulgent confections I swore I’d never fall for again after the terrible day when the Court chose Bush, the bitter anguish when we chose him again all on our own. I wasn’t right for more than a year after 2004, none of us were.

But he’s charmed me, I believe in him. Tears rolling down my cheeks while he tells me the story of America I’ve so longed to hear. The kernel of decency I believe is still aching to swell within us; he is the champion for it. He makes me think this time is History, this time is different, and this is THE MOMENT when we finally rise. I said a little spell to help him out when I pushed the button.

He HAS to win. It’s impossible that he won’t win. I know I said impossible before, and I was kicked in the stomach for it. But please, Please. Please, America, the Universe, the Goddess and all the ancestors, please Xenu and Jehovah and Allah and the first star I see tonight, please Electoral College and youth voters and poor country white folks and the wasted souls we have lost in this war, PLEASE.

Please let him win.