This article from the Washington Post: https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/answer-sheet/wp/2017/02/17/devos-critics-want-to-make-my-life-a-living-hell/?tid=sm_fb&utm_term=.e723c39b24a2
Poor, poor Betsy. All she wants to do is strip our public schools in favor of private, charter, virtual, and schools that haven't been invented yet. All she wants to do is use "education" as a means to indoctrinate children into "God's Kingdom"--a violation of the first fucking amendment of the Constitution. All she wants to do is empower teachers to teach instead of having them sit on their ass in classrooms eating potato chips and bonbons all day (or whatever the fuck it is she thinks they're doing?). Fuck, even Glenn McCoy, a political cartoonist, defiled a Norman Rockwell painting depicting Ruby Bridges, a fucking hero in the desegregation and Civil Rights movement. (I hate Norman Rockwell paintings, but there's an exception for that one.)
She's upset because there are people protesting all of that stuff? YOU"RE DAMN RIGHT WE ARE! The video in the article shows Betsy's reaction to the protesters that blocked her entrance to Jefferson Middle School shows us, the people, that she has absolutely zero fucks to give about our children, parents, or anyone that isn't Betsy DeVos. Betsy could have stood and faced the people protesting. She had an opportunity to listen, to find out why they were so upset, and to show some tact and diplomacy. Instead, she turned around and practically ran to the security of her government-issued SUV.
The disdain she shows for the people is astounding. Donations to a political party, no matter how big, are not an investment. Cabinet seats should not be up for sale. Plagiarizing answers to Congress, especially as part of the application for running the Department of Education, is hypocritical and disgraceful. Not being able to get enough votes to get approval, and relying on the VP to make a political statement by casting the tie-breaking vote reflects that you're not the right candidate for the job. Yet, for Betsy, how fucking dare us peons stand up for ourselves, stand up to her and her vision for everyone else's children.
Well, Ms. Betsy, you can get mad and throw some more money at the Republican party, but we the people aren't going away. We will continue to give you hell as long as you are at the Department of Education. Maybe you should read the Constitution--the right to protest is protected. The right to buy your fucking way all of the time like a spoiled little princess isn't mentioned.
Saturday, February 18, 2017
Thursday, February 16, 2017
Unknown Devils
A thing I'm not: Religious. I am a proud Atheist. I come by it honestly, and I did my homework to reach this point. I've read religious texts, philosophy books, essays and critiques. I've put in the time to come to the conclusion that there is no God. Things happen, good and bad, because that's life.
I grew up in a religious household. I describe it as psychotically religious. My parents are Baptist, the brand of Baptist that the Southern Baptists and the snake-handler Baptists think is nuts. When the folks who handle poisonous snakes as a test of religious faith call someone nuts, well, they might know what they're talking about. My mother has always been the more zealous of the parents. She dabbled in religion after I was born, but she really took the deep dive when my younger brother was born with encephalitis. When she got religious, he got better--nothing short of a miracle to her. I know there's more in her past that drove her so deeply into religion--guilt in missing her father's death, surviving an attempted rape, leaving her first husband who was physically and emotionally abusive, bouts of alcoholism and drug abuse. I don't think embracing her beliefs ever allowed her to let go of those feelings, but made her feel more guilty, guilty for having done so many things requiring atonement. I also think she took all of those bottled up feelings out on me, her daughter, guilty of her sins by proxy, by being her daughter.
My earliest memory was when I was probably 4 years old; I remember being in pre-school, in the Head Start program. Church was a very regular part of our lives--Sunday Morning, Sunday Evening, and Wednesday Evening services, all held in a moth-ball scented old storefront in a dying downtown. There were two preachers at the church, the one who glared at me when I shuffled in the pew, and the other one, the one who would sneak those chalky pink peppermint candies to the kids. The candy passer was a pedophile. He would touch kids inappropriately. He would always somehow end up having to hold me in his lap in the back of the car on the way to and from church. He smelled weird. He made my skin crawl. But until the Head Start teacher told us that adults should never touch your private areas, and if they did, tell your parents or a teacher or a police officer, I never had the words to describe what that man did. That day, as soon as I got home from school, I walked into the kitchen and told my mother what that preacher was doing to me and to the other kids. The next thing I remember is the cracking sound of a wooden spoon across my jaw and things going black. After that, I remember sitting on the edge of a metal folding chair at the front of the church, in front of the pulpit but not on the platform with the pulpit, where only the preachers were allowed to go. The preachers were both standing over me, the mean one touching my head and pouring oil on my hair; the other one praying for the demons to release me from their grasp. My mother wouldn't look at me. She was so disappointed in her daughter, a demon-possessed liar who refused to submit to Christ, to salvation. I don't remember crying, but I do remember the next day going up to Mrs. B, the teacher, and telling her what that bad pastor was doing to me and to the kids in the church. I remember having to talk to a police officer, having an exam by a doctor, and talking to a lady with a notebook (I later found out that was the school counselor). The police and doctor found evidence of sexual abuse. Only after that was presented to my mother did she apologize for calling me a liar. She asked for the preacher to resign. He did. He moved to Ohio, where I found out he was a foster parent. He continued his abuse of other children.
My mother never apologized for not believing me, for not listening, for putting me through an exorcism. Until she was told by the authorities that I was telling the truth, she had a demon-possessed daughter, an embarrassment and a trial to such a loyal Christian woman. The lesson that I learned from this: the only person I can count on is me. 4 year olds should never be so alone in the world.
Other lessons I learned growing up with such a religious mother confirmed her interpretations of the Bible: girls and women don't count, should be silent, should be submissive, and should be obedient. Doubts and questions are evil and of the devil. Secular education was an opportunity to learn the basic 3 R's (reading, writing, and arithmetic) and to convert the souls of others to Christ. While we were poor, we were rich in Christ and blessed, but never to a point where there was enough to share. Mom would get so angry when other kids came over after church and she had to provide lunch or snacks; she'd get so angry if I let other kids play with my toys or borrow my clothes.
Her God was vengeful, smiteful, and full of rage at the sinful nature of people. And yes, while Jesus saved and preached compassion and love, those lessons were lost on her. She's still a penny-pinching miser. Charity isn't in her dictionary. If she does you a favor, you know it and will be in her pocket until the debt is repaid. For all of my foul language, yelling, and diving straight for the offensive, she is the person I never want to be.
She's a hypocrite, pure and simple. While she wants to share the love of Christ with the world, she does not tolerate the slightest mistake, the smallest sin. She'd rather be righteous rather than be a loving parent. She would love to see children in schools praying, being taught about her specific brand and flavor of Baptist (anything else--blasphemy!). She watches Fox News and scours the web for articles that confirm her fears: the government is going to microchip us (the mark of the beast), Obama's a Kenyan Muslim and the Anti-Christ (nope: American, Christian, and I believe Revelations mentions that the Anti-Christ is an orange person, not a brown person--hard to say, because John of Patmos was tripping balls on some mushrooms), the Mexicans are stealing American jobs and Social Security and getting free healthcare and food, ISIS is going to kill us all unless we destroy all of the brown people first, etc. She scares the fuck out of me because she's so intolerant. She asks me why I'm so pro-immigration, so much more accepting of non-Christians than Christians, so generous to those who are so lazy and undeserving, and why I donate money to such awful organizations like the ACLU (a liberal conspiracy) and Planned Parenthood (baby murderers). The answer--I don't fear the devil I don't know. I approach new things with curiosity, with an open mind and generous heart, without fear because I have no reason to fear, only reasons to learn. When I hear someone talking about Christian values, God's kingdom, Jesus--I freeze in fear because I know that devil. I know the depth of evil behind those statements. I know how truly awful people can be when they are doing "good" things in the name of the Lord.
I will always prefer the unknown devils to the known ones.
I grew up in a religious household. I describe it as psychotically religious. My parents are Baptist, the brand of Baptist that the Southern Baptists and the snake-handler Baptists think is nuts. When the folks who handle poisonous snakes as a test of religious faith call someone nuts, well, they might know what they're talking about. My mother has always been the more zealous of the parents. She dabbled in religion after I was born, but she really took the deep dive when my younger brother was born with encephalitis. When she got religious, he got better--nothing short of a miracle to her. I know there's more in her past that drove her so deeply into religion--guilt in missing her father's death, surviving an attempted rape, leaving her first husband who was physically and emotionally abusive, bouts of alcoholism and drug abuse. I don't think embracing her beliefs ever allowed her to let go of those feelings, but made her feel more guilty, guilty for having done so many things requiring atonement. I also think she took all of those bottled up feelings out on me, her daughter, guilty of her sins by proxy, by being her daughter.
My earliest memory was when I was probably 4 years old; I remember being in pre-school, in the Head Start program. Church was a very regular part of our lives--Sunday Morning, Sunday Evening, and Wednesday Evening services, all held in a moth-ball scented old storefront in a dying downtown. There were two preachers at the church, the one who glared at me when I shuffled in the pew, and the other one, the one who would sneak those chalky pink peppermint candies to the kids. The candy passer was a pedophile. He would touch kids inappropriately. He would always somehow end up having to hold me in his lap in the back of the car on the way to and from church. He smelled weird. He made my skin crawl. But until the Head Start teacher told us that adults should never touch your private areas, and if they did, tell your parents or a teacher or a police officer, I never had the words to describe what that man did. That day, as soon as I got home from school, I walked into the kitchen and told my mother what that preacher was doing to me and to the other kids. The next thing I remember is the cracking sound of a wooden spoon across my jaw and things going black. After that, I remember sitting on the edge of a metal folding chair at the front of the church, in front of the pulpit but not on the platform with the pulpit, where only the preachers were allowed to go. The preachers were both standing over me, the mean one touching my head and pouring oil on my hair; the other one praying for the demons to release me from their grasp. My mother wouldn't look at me. She was so disappointed in her daughter, a demon-possessed liar who refused to submit to Christ, to salvation. I don't remember crying, but I do remember the next day going up to Mrs. B, the teacher, and telling her what that bad pastor was doing to me and to the kids in the church. I remember having to talk to a police officer, having an exam by a doctor, and talking to a lady with a notebook (I later found out that was the school counselor). The police and doctor found evidence of sexual abuse. Only after that was presented to my mother did she apologize for calling me a liar. She asked for the preacher to resign. He did. He moved to Ohio, where I found out he was a foster parent. He continued his abuse of other children.
My mother never apologized for not believing me, for not listening, for putting me through an exorcism. Until she was told by the authorities that I was telling the truth, she had a demon-possessed daughter, an embarrassment and a trial to such a loyal Christian woman. The lesson that I learned from this: the only person I can count on is me. 4 year olds should never be so alone in the world.
Other lessons I learned growing up with such a religious mother confirmed her interpretations of the Bible: girls and women don't count, should be silent, should be submissive, and should be obedient. Doubts and questions are evil and of the devil. Secular education was an opportunity to learn the basic 3 R's (reading, writing, and arithmetic) and to convert the souls of others to Christ. While we were poor, we were rich in Christ and blessed, but never to a point where there was enough to share. Mom would get so angry when other kids came over after church and she had to provide lunch or snacks; she'd get so angry if I let other kids play with my toys or borrow my clothes.
Her God was vengeful, smiteful, and full of rage at the sinful nature of people. And yes, while Jesus saved and preached compassion and love, those lessons were lost on her. She's still a penny-pinching miser. Charity isn't in her dictionary. If she does you a favor, you know it and will be in her pocket until the debt is repaid. For all of my foul language, yelling, and diving straight for the offensive, she is the person I never want to be.
She's a hypocrite, pure and simple. While she wants to share the love of Christ with the world, she does not tolerate the slightest mistake, the smallest sin. She'd rather be righteous rather than be a loving parent. She would love to see children in schools praying, being taught about her specific brand and flavor of Baptist (anything else--blasphemy!). She watches Fox News and scours the web for articles that confirm her fears: the government is going to microchip us (the mark of the beast), Obama's a Kenyan Muslim and the Anti-Christ (nope: American, Christian, and I believe Revelations mentions that the Anti-Christ is an orange person, not a brown person--hard to say, because John of Patmos was tripping balls on some mushrooms), the Mexicans are stealing American jobs and Social Security and getting free healthcare and food, ISIS is going to kill us all unless we destroy all of the brown people first, etc. She scares the fuck out of me because she's so intolerant. She asks me why I'm so pro-immigration, so much more accepting of non-Christians than Christians, so generous to those who are so lazy and undeserving, and why I donate money to such awful organizations like the ACLU (a liberal conspiracy) and Planned Parenthood (baby murderers). The answer--I don't fear the devil I don't know. I approach new things with curiosity, with an open mind and generous heart, without fear because I have no reason to fear, only reasons to learn. When I hear someone talking about Christian values, God's kingdom, Jesus--I freeze in fear because I know that devil. I know the depth of evil behind those statements. I know how truly awful people can be when they are doing "good" things in the name of the Lord.
I will always prefer the unknown devils to the known ones.
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
First Thoughts: Republican Regime
I've kept this blog on a back burner for years now, never quite knowing what it should be. Recipes and cooking, while a passion, just weren't a great fit. But now that the political winds have shifted and we have our first Oompa Loompa as President, and a Republican-controlled Congress prepared to write over the will of the people, well, I think we have a winner.
I've been thinking quite a bit about who I am, how I'll react to the administration, and what I can do to fight so many fights that need fighting (without burning out). I am a woman, a feminist, an activist, smart, educated, informed, pro-choice, for birth control, for education, an atheist. I know that different people have different experiences, but that doesn't make those experiences any less valid or true than mine. I believe that Black Lives Matter, and we need to stop militarizing the police and stop systematically targeting people of color as criminals. I believe in indigenous people and their right to their lands and to sovereign government. I believe in protecting the planet, and am an environmentalist--fossil fuels are a dead-end fuel source that's killing the planet, climate change is a scientific fact, public lands belong in public hands. I believe in science.
In Republican terms, I'm a libtard traitor whore. That's great. I'll wear that title proudly, because it means I'm pissing off the right people. I am not a Republican. I do not believe in trickle-down economics, gerrymandering out those who disagree, that poor people aren't worthy of being treated with dignity and respect because they're lazy, that women who want to control over their reproductive systems are sluts, that women who are sexually assaulted or raped or abused were somehow asking for it or otherwise deserving of blame. I don't believe in "America First" when our planet is too small for that sort of small-mindedness. I'm not afraid of immigrants.
As far as how I'll fight and react, well, I think there's a place here for reaction and fighting. This gives me space to explain my beliefs, my positions, my reasons for those beliefs. Yes, I'll keep signal-boosting on Facebook and Twitter. Yes, I'll keep trolling the Republicans on Twitter through 140 character snarky comments. I'll keep monitoring Congress.gov and writing/emailing/calling my Congress critters to let them know where I stand. But we have to go further than that. I will march--for women, for science, for the release of Trump's tax returns, for Standing Rock and against the Keystone Pipeline and Dakota Access pipeline, for Planned Parenthood. I'm donating--the ACLU, Planned Parenthood, NARAL, Earth Justice, Freedom From Religion Foundation, and the local animal shelter for now, but more as I'm able. I'm voting in 2018 to clear the House, and to vote out the Republican Senators up for reelection--hopefully, in Wyoming, it's bye-bye Cheney and Barrasso, and a Democrat governor (current Governor Mead (R) maxes out term limits in 2018). I will campaign for whoever the opponent is, however I can: door knocking, phone banking, lawn signs, bumper stickers, etc. Desperate times call for action, big and small.
If I feel I'm burning out, I will reach out to my allies, to my friends, for support. Take a break if I need to. Travel. But I'm in this fight for the long haul. Welcome to Hippieland, bitches. We're in for a long ride.
I've been thinking quite a bit about who I am, how I'll react to the administration, and what I can do to fight so many fights that need fighting (without burning out). I am a woman, a feminist, an activist, smart, educated, informed, pro-choice, for birth control, for education, an atheist. I know that different people have different experiences, but that doesn't make those experiences any less valid or true than mine. I believe that Black Lives Matter, and we need to stop militarizing the police and stop systematically targeting people of color as criminals. I believe in indigenous people and their right to their lands and to sovereign government. I believe in protecting the planet, and am an environmentalist--fossil fuels are a dead-end fuel source that's killing the planet, climate change is a scientific fact, public lands belong in public hands. I believe in science.
In Republican terms, I'm a libtard traitor whore. That's great. I'll wear that title proudly, because it means I'm pissing off the right people. I am not a Republican. I do not believe in trickle-down economics, gerrymandering out those who disagree, that poor people aren't worthy of being treated with dignity and respect because they're lazy, that women who want to control over their reproductive systems are sluts, that women who are sexually assaulted or raped or abused were somehow asking for it or otherwise deserving of blame. I don't believe in "America First" when our planet is too small for that sort of small-mindedness. I'm not afraid of immigrants.
As far as how I'll fight and react, well, I think there's a place here for reaction and fighting. This gives me space to explain my beliefs, my positions, my reasons for those beliefs. Yes, I'll keep signal-boosting on Facebook and Twitter. Yes, I'll keep trolling the Republicans on Twitter through 140 character snarky comments. I'll keep monitoring Congress.gov and writing/emailing/calling my Congress critters to let them know where I stand. But we have to go further than that. I will march--for women, for science, for the release of Trump's tax returns, for Standing Rock and against the Keystone Pipeline and Dakota Access pipeline, for Planned Parenthood. I'm donating--the ACLU, Planned Parenthood, NARAL, Earth Justice, Freedom From Religion Foundation, and the local animal shelter for now, but more as I'm able. I'm voting in 2018 to clear the House, and to vote out the Republican Senators up for reelection--hopefully, in Wyoming, it's bye-bye Cheney and Barrasso, and a Democrat governor (current Governor Mead (R) maxes out term limits in 2018). I will campaign for whoever the opponent is, however I can: door knocking, phone banking, lawn signs, bumper stickers, etc. Desperate times call for action, big and small.
If I feel I'm burning out, I will reach out to my allies, to my friends, for support. Take a break if I need to. Travel. But I'm in this fight for the long haul. Welcome to Hippieland, bitches. We're in for a long ride.
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