To be strong, to be honest, never to back down.

Lately, there have been quite the goings-on at Mind on Fire. If you haven't been following, John has been threatened with excommunication from the Mormon church because of his blog--most likely because he spoke about his negative experiences in the temple, though he did not tell any of the specific things they warn you not to tell.

I'm upset that this is happening to John. I'm upset that the church, which claims to be welcoming and loving, is being threatening just because people (who have long left the church alone) want to share experiences that shaped their psyche. And they do all this in the name of love. The claim they are kicking people out of their church in the name of love. They claim they are fighting against gay marriage in the name of love. Back in the day, they fought against interracial marriage in the name of love. They withheld the priesthood from black men in the name of love. They currently withhold the priesthood from women and maintain a destructive patriarchal culture in the name of love. They are so fucking loving that they destroy people's lives! Excommunicating someone (basically telling them they aren't welcome in heaven, so they are going to hell) isn't loving. Jesus didn't leave the ninety and nine so he could kick the sheep that strayed out of the flock. It is no wonder people say Mormons aren't christian. This church has nothing to do with Christ.

So I'm wondering now, when do our experiences become our own? When are we allowed to write about the very things that have shaped us and made us ourselves? If we are punished every time we attempt to be fully honest in our communications, every time we try to tell the whole story, how will the world ever get at the truth. And it does seem that those of us who try to tell the truth are punished over and over and over again.

Example:
A bit over a year ago, I had another blog. On this blog I wrote all about my experiences leaving the church, which was troubling enough to some people. Even worse (to these people), I wrote about an episode of abuse from my childhood. When my family found it (even though I'd tried to keep the blog from their knowledge), they were furious. My name and links to this (angryyoungwomanblog) blog were deleted from their blogs, as were all of my comments. I was lectured over and over about what I'd done. My dad yelled at me and told me he could forgive the abuser because the abuse had happened "twenty years ago, but [I] wrote about it." I was accused of lying. I felt like my family had disowned me and embraced the person who had abused me. Just because I had decided to write, to tell the truth, to get the word out. As a commenter on Mind on Fire asked, "if I can't write about my own life, whose life can I write about?" When do my experiences become my own? When can I write about my life without fear of reprisal, without fear that everyone I know will go batshit insane?

I want to take a stand now. I am tired of hiding my words and my feelings. I am tired of not writing about what I can write about the very best because it may offend those whose consciences are guilty. I want to be strong, I want to be honest, I never want to back down.

NOW: Are Some Anti-Abortion Attacks Domestic Terrorism

I would like to especially point out the part where the doctor says he's never met a woman who just decided to have an abortion in her third trimester--it was always a medical necessity. I really wish the patriarchal, anti-choice fools would realize that women are intelligent enough to make their own decisions. I wish they (the patriarchal anti-choice fools) were intelligent enough to realize this is a life-saving procedure.

I hope someday I can do something to really make a difference, to really provide women with a voice. For now I'll continue making small donations to Planned Parenthood (I encourage you to as well) and writing about this stuff on my blog. We shall overcome, sisters, we shall overcome.

Warning: Poetry attempted ahead

So I attempted to write a poem for those of us who really don't fit in at BYU or Ricks (now BYUI-I) or any of those sweet, loving environments. Don't judge me to harshly, I was in Literary Studies, not Creative Writing.

NOT YOUR TYPE OF GIRL
We are the smart girls
We are the angry girls
We are the girls sleeping
in each other's beds
We are the girls singing
in each other's heads

We are the wise girls
We are the funny girls
We are the girls with scars
running up our wrists
We are the girls with hands
always clenched in fists

We are Buffy the Vampire Slayer girls
We are no hope and not-a-prayer girls
We are 5-inch platform girls
We are riot grrl uniform girls
We are not your type of girl.

And, yes, I did get in trouble at Ricks for watching Buffy. Apparently it made my roommates "uncomfortable," so they turned me into the dean about it and I was placed on probation.

Homegrown terrorism--the murder of Dr. George Tiller

Yesterday when I read the news about Dr. George Tiller, I was in a daze. I was simply shocked, as a person is always shocked following any terrorist act. The full force of his death has hit me now--and I feel heavy. Heavy heavy heavy heavy heavy.

This man who helped women when the situation was literally life or death has been killed because he helped women when the situation was life or death. Because he thought the lives of women were worth saving. This man who faced horrible slurs from the right-wing media (Bill O'Reilly and his ilk called him Tiller the Baby Killer, compared to his work to the work of the Nazis, and spread lies about what he did), faced constant harassment and threats from so-called "pro-life" groups (groups posted his name, address, and picture online, along with the names and addresses of anyone he did business with--from where he got his coffee to where he went to church. They put his picture on wanted posters along with a monetary "reward" if he was caught, dead or alive), had been shot twice in an attempted murder, and yesterday was finally killed. In his church. By a right-wing anti-choice terrorist.

It is horrifying to me that people are so desperate that I and other women not have control of our bodies that they will kill. It is horrifying that someone who tries to identify his position with life would think he had the right to kill.

I donated to Planned Parenthood last night. Every time the anti-choicers decide to make a move against us, I will donate again. If I receive anti-choice or hateful comments here, I will donate again. Please donate or volunteer if you can.

Detainees raped at Abu Ghraib

Detainees at Abu Ghraib were raped and sexually abused. It shouldn't be a surprise. Rape is about power, and those guards had absolute power over the detainees. They were given permission to torture them--and look how far that torture went.

That's my problem with this whole torture thing. When I'd voice my opinion and say I disapproved of it, someone would always say, "I bet you'd torture someone if they kidnapped your niece and could tell you where she was." But studies have shown torture isn't that effective at getting accurate information--respectful dialogue is much more effective, and where does torture end? Am I going to waterboard him? Is that the end? What if it doesn't work? Am I going to break his fingers, his arms, his legs? Am I going to flay him? Am I going to become a rapist? Where does this end? Because it all depends on him being terrorized, thinking I will never stop. Am I going to destroy my own soul--and the souls of anyone working with me--and ruin the suspect's life just to get some information that may or may not be true?

They say that torture, under the title extreme interrogation saved us from further attacks. Possibly, I don't know. I also don't know whether good, non-torturous interrogation could have gotten the same or better information. I do know that horrible things were done in my name. Men and women were raped in my name. A fifteen year old boy was raped in my name. I am ashamed. I would rather the terrorists had killed me than my nation's own soldiers had raped people in my name.

The reputation of our nation is in ashes. We are not all rapists and torturers, but these detainees were raped and tortured in all of our names. The good people in our military have to suffer because some members of the military did rotten, horrible things. Why are we not prosecuting? Why is their no justice?

There are pictures up on the internet. I haven't looked at them. I'm not linking to them. You can Google them yourself if you're interested. I think I heard there were some at Salon. Please write your representatives and senators and ask that those who instigated torture be prosecuted.

Thank you

Dear Friends,

A few months ago I put a donate button on the blog and added advertising. It was a rough winter money-wise and I felt it was the best option available. A while ago I was paying for something with Paypal, and I noticed that someone had been donating!!!! And I just wanted to thank you so much. My heart is full of gratitude and goodwill right now. I have the best blog-friends ever!

Thank you. My blogging isn't worthy! Thank you! I love you! You are my favorite!

Love,
Angryyoungwoman

Attractive

We're at his house eating hamburger helper after he's won too much of my money playing cards. He finishes up and lies on the couch to watch a bit of TV. I follow a few minutes later. I let out a huge rootbeer-and-enchilada-hamburger-helper-burp.

"That's not very attractive."

Lately he's into telling me all the things I do that aren't very attractive.

"Sorry. I keep forgetting how it's my job to be attractive to you."

"It's not your job, it's just the burping and the farting aren't very attractive, and you should know."

When we were first together, I'd been at his house once lying on the couch with him, and he could hear my stomach rumbling, and he kept saying, "just fart, Hilary, don't be shy, just fart." It made me laugh. And I thought I'd finally met someone who didn't think women were magical fairy princesses with no bodily functions. For a while, we'd been like buddies: every day was a burping, farting free-for-all. Then suddenly he started with this "that's not attractive" thing. I don't wear makeup and I haven't bought a fashion magazine since I was a teenager. Does he really think I care about what's attractive? And for that matter, every time I see him, he's wearing sweats and smoking. I'm not all that sure he cares about being attractive, either.

We play a few more hands of cards. He wins. He gets tired and I want to go home anyway. We hug goodbye.

Last fall, my teacher

Last fall when I was in school, I had a lot of trouble with one of my teachers. I posted about it a little bit here, but I tried to keep details minimal because I was afraid of recourse. I feel a bit safer now so I think I can tell you the whole story.

I took a government class last fall from JC. The first day of class, I did what I did in all my classes, came a bit early, introduced myself to him, told him about my seizure disorder, then I asked him if there was anyway I could talk to the class and ask them if one of them could give me a ride home (the class ended at 7:00 and buses only ran until 5:00). No one volunteered to give me a ride home, so JC said he would give me a ride home. He seemed pretty normal. He was huge, though, very physically intimidating and he hated it when people wouldn't back down to him.

It just started with him saying some weird stuff. For example, the class was talking about terrorism and he said, "if my god told me to, I'd come in that door and kill all of you." It was a bit frightening. He was also extremely reactive. He was once talking to the class and said "my wives" (referring to both his first wife--from whom he was divorced--and his current wife). I jokingly said, "You'd better not talk about having two wives if your mormon. People will think you're a polygamist." He freaked out. He accused me of being anti-mormon. He could barely control himself.

He would tell stories about his life. He'd been kicked out of the army for beating up a superior officer really, really badly. He'd committed a felony. He hated his father. He hated his ex-wife. Mostly he talked about people he hated. He hated a lot of people.

One day when the stocks were low and the banks were failing, he decided to talk about the market and the government and whose fault all of this was. We had a pretty lively discussion, but he was extremely combative. He kept blaming the failing market on over-regulation and Barney Frank. Everything was Barney Frank's fault. Finally, he just screamed, "Barney Frank is a faggot." I couldn't just sit there, so I opened my mouth and said, "you don't use that word!" He was just shocked for a second, so I repeated, "you just don't use that word!" I guess I was used to all the "closet homophobes" in the area who say they love gays then try to destroy their rights, because it shocked the hell out of me to see one being so open.

I don't know if I should have kept my mouth shut because from that day on, I was his target. There were a few of us who had written to the head of his department about his behavior. I actually put off my letter for a few days to see what would happen. A friend who talked to JC often said he blamed me for the letter that was sent in immediately after his big blowup (which I didn't send). I finally sent my letter after JC "apologized" by saying he shouldn't have blown up, but Barney Frank was a horrible person, it was all his fault the markets were a mess, he was disgusting, he ran a prostitution ring (this isn't true--check wikipedia for the truth about it)--he basically offered the standard non-apology apology--"I shouldn't have done it, but it was the other person's fault." That's when I sent my letter.

Of course it was election season this whole time, so JC was on a right-wing nutcase roll. Every class was filled with reasons Barack Obama was the worst person in the world, electing him would destroy the country, he was just a socialist fascist terrorist, etc. We had lively class debates about this, but every time I opened my mouth, he spoke to me like I was an idiot. When I would correct his facts (which he frequently got wrong) in these debates, he would explode with anger. He was getting more and more angry every day. Almost no class time was spent on what we were supposed to be studying. He spent most of the time talking about the election and the inevitable end-of-the-world that would come if Barack Obama were elected. He was seriously starting to freak me out. I was to learn later that a few of my classmates were writing letters to the head of the department about him and his erratic behavior. Of course, as he told my friend, he believed I was behind these letters (after I stood up to him, he became paranoid that I was plotting to get him fired).

So one day I had a seizure and couldn't come to class. A few people afterward told me that on that day he'd told the entire class how much he didn't like me, what a pain I was, how I reminded him of his ex-wife, whom he'd said on repeated occasions he wished was dead. Now I was freaked out. This is the point where I started having panic attacks and not being able to sleep. (I also wrote to the head of the department at this point).

He was still deriding all my comments in class, he was still ranting about the government. He was still angry, angry, angry all the time. At one point he compared Barack Obama to Hitler. I was scared. This man obviously hated me, he had compared me to his ex-wife and he'd said he wanted her dead. He was really, very obviously unbalanced. He had shown he was capable of violence by telling the story about beating up his superior officer in the army. He knew where I lived. I was terrified.

After a few sleepless nights and endless panic attacks, I went to the public safety officer at the college. She was great, she listened to all the details I could offer and reassured me that I wasn't going crazy, this was scary stuff. She took everything very seriously. She had me write everything down for her. I wrote all I could think of, but I was so scared and still afraid people would think I was just being silly and hysterical. A few others from the class filed reports, too. I didn't file a report with the police as well, which was an option. Now I wish I had, in a way. I think I may have been taken more seriously.

That day I went to class. JC freaked out and exploded over a very minor disagreement. He then let us out about 45 minutes early. After class several students came to me and told me they supported me and thought JC was unreasonable or ill.

Our next class was canceled. The next one was the class where I was presenting an oral report with a group. I've done drama and speech all my life and I have never been afraid to get in front of an audience. I was afraid this time. From the moment I entered the room, he was glaring at me. While the other students presented he glared at me. The entire time I presented he glared at me. I just wanted to say, "oh, fuck it!" and run out of that room. After our group presented, we handed in the grades we had given each other, which were to be a major part of the grade for the project. We'd all agreed to give each other A's (who wouldn't?). The next time class met, he said he had lost our grades and we'd need to turn them in again. I knew then that he was going to mess with my grades (I have a high GPA and I intend to keep it high). I decided then to forget it. There was no more point. I was putting myself through torture for a class I didn't even need to graduate. I was compromising my health (I was having a lot of seizures at this point, plus the panic attacks and the horrible insomnia). I was utterly unhappy. And this asshole was going to screw over my grades. I withdrew from school.

I wasn't wrong about the grades. He gave lower grades to the people who spoke up against him, and one of my friends has been protesting his grade in that class. In the end, JC kept his job. I don't know why. I was told by the school that he would probably be fired. He wasn't a professor, only a Masters student. He's still teaching. I haven't gone back to school. I'm not sure when I will. I'm sort of afraid about it. It was really scary.

Interjection #6: What You Sometimes Feel On Your Face At Night

Time for another favorite poem, again it is a Robert Penn Warren poem, and again it is from Or Else. I was browsing through my copy today and came upon this poem, which I hadn't read in so long I'd forgotten about it.

Interjection #6: What You Sometimes Feel On Your Face At Night
Out of the mist, God's
Blind hand gropes to find
Your face. The fingers
Want to memorize your face. The fingers
Will be wet with the tears of your eyes. God

Wants only to love you, perhaps.

Last time I read this I believed in God. I used to find this poem so soothing--God wanting only to love me, not to judge me or punish me. I still think it is a beautiful poem and the idea is lovely. I think it would be nice to believe that the universe cares, the universe knows us, the universe loves us. It may even be essential to the psyche to believe that the universe responds to you the way you respond to it--at least to some degree. But we don't do much of universal consequence. We can poison ourselves and our planet, we can blow up nuclear bombs, we can kill kill kill and we can save save save, we can fight for or against human rights, we can try to destroy others or we can try to help them. Our planet will end and the universe will go on completely impervious to the loss. This is not doomsday, this is not melodrama, this is simply the way it is.

Meet Alaska's new attorney general, Wayne Anthony Ross

"If a guy can't rape his wife...who's he gonna rape?"

"There wouldn't be an issue with domestic violence if women would learn to keep their mouths shut."

--Wayne Anthony Ross, Sarah Palin's pick for Attorny General of Alaska. Remember how all the conservatives kept saying Sarah Palin would be a good VP because she'd understand women's issues? Umm, I think there's a little cognitive dissonance going on here. She may be a woman, but she's not a friend to women.

HT: Shakesville

Yoko Ono - Woman Power

I'm finding myself quite enchanted with Yoko Ono lately. I love this song (of course, who wouldn't?). I think it is my latest anthem. I'm amazed that it was written over thirty-five years ago, and yet it seems so modern still.

Gronstal blocks amendment to reverse Iowa marriage equality

A great post

A wonderful friend of mine wrote this great post in honor of Women's History Month. I'd urge everyone to read it.

Sometimes I want to send the people I know who are seriously homophobic or misogynistic or simply narrow-minded about religion to the blogs that I read so they can get a sense of where people who are different from them are coming from (and maybe in the very vain hope that they might understand me). I want the words that have touched me and resonated with me to touch them and expand their horizons. I want them to learn to love these people that I have loved so much just reading their words and journeying with them.

Many times I have wanted to give my parents a link to Cog so they might see that gay relationships aren't about sex, but about love; so they can read the words of a sweet man doing his best to raise his family and suffering because of the thoughtless actions of those who have voted against equality for him and his husband and children again and again and again. But I know that they would discount his words, not just because he is gay, but because he has spelling and grammatical errors. He is not "perfect" enough for them to listen to him, to take into account his experience. I've seen them laugh time and time again at minor mistakes. I'm not going to risk sending them to a blog I love only to have them laugh at it and discount it because of something so trivial as a misspelling.

Other blogs I love, I can't send my family to because there might be swearing or things they disagree with. They'll discount the entirety of the blog on account of one "damn." I had a sibling who was offended because I linked to Feminist Mormon Housewives(because, you know, it is totally offensive for a Mormon woman to be a feminist).

I find it almost impossible to share many of my beliefs with my family, mostly because they either laugh or call me crazy or become horribly offended. Yet they feel free to share their beliefs with me and expect me to simply sit and listen to them.

The New Deal

I am so sick and tired of the new conservative meme that the New Deal made the depression worse and FDR was one of the worst presidents ever. I certainly don't agree with everything FDR did (his attempt to create multiple supreme courts was way out of line), but if he was so bad for the country, why was he re-elected so many times? If he was destroying the economy, why did the American people keep voting him in?

In the following clip, Jonathan Chait clears up some of the myths that the conservatives have been spreading:

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
The New Deal - Jonathan Chait
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