Goodbye Auntie Cracker and Pappy O’Whitetrash
Social media is a boon, a blessing, a wonderful wonderland of positivity, connection, and conscious dialogue…until it isn’t.
As of this writing I am in the midst of an Illuminated Magdalene Mysteries weekend during which we discuss and commit to Social Activism in some large or small way. It is a firey weekend every time it is done with a group of women. Today, however, also happens to be the full moon in Scorpio.
We Priestesses are fired up, filled with compassion and fully embodied clarity… and the asshats? Well, they’re out in force. Especially on social media.
This is an copy of an actual conversation I had on Facebook yesterday with a man I’ve known for a very long time (I’m calling him Humdinger), who is a notorious right-winger, and one of his friends, who is a bully (I’m calling him Bully). (I have left all misspellings and typos intact.)
Just one more thing on Entitlements.
We should stop calling them all ‘Entitlements’.
Welfare, Food Stamps, WIC, ad nauseum are not entitlements. They are taxpayer-funded handouts, and shouldn’t be called entitlements at all.
Social Security and Veterans Benefits are Entitlements because the people receiving them are entitled to them. They were earned and paid for by the recipients.
So here’s the thing: I know that at least one of these men did not pay child support and that his kids received many of these ‘entitlements’ because they were in a low income, single working parent household. They had low cost school lunches and WIC. They were insured through Medicaid. There is no shame in it because those programs are there to support people who’s paychecks don’t actually provide enough income to support a family.
Social activism? This is part of it. Fighting the fight. Sitting tight while grown-ass men insult you, call you names, and support one another as this happens because the real reason they do this is because they don’t have a leg to stand on. Their arguments are based on quicksand and so they resort to insults and tossing their hairy chested weight around to try and back down anyone who speaks to their ignorance.
And honestly? I’ve fucking had it.
There are days when I think that I just can’t any longer. I can’t deal with the men who want to kill more things: animals; people; the plants; the planet. I can’t deal with one more mass text someone has added me to because I’m white and which I can’t escape because it’s not a FB group but a text thread, and in which people use the ‘N’ word like they’re talking about what’s for supper. In some cases I think they are…until I finally reply and explain that I will be calling the police and handing out telephone numbers.
I suppose the thing is this: we are so cruel. So hard hearted. Why? How has this happened?
There is one thing I know for sure: my body has been fodder for this war. From the time when I was 3 years old and was raped for the first time, my body has been fodder. And I am compelled, even half-a-century later, to continue to hurl my body directly into the line of fire. No longer to be raped or used sexually by men, but to allow their words to burn through the soft flesh that is me in hopes that at some point they will wake up and see what they’re doing and how incredibly heartless they have become. Is it possible that seeing the tears, the torn body of an aging woman could raise empathy in a grown white man? Is *anything* capable of raising empathy in a grown ass white man? I just don’t know. The anger in them flows out in ever increasing waves and the rest of us either learn to swim or float or fly, or we drown or are pummeled to death by them.
I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to heal the wounds of these men. But I do know that Eve Ensler had it right. My Revolution Lives in this Body. I am a woman, of course it does.