Doire Musings

U. S. Department of Ethics

2011-09-02T18:37:00.000-07:00

I, Louise Doire propose the creation of The United States Department of Ethics, which may otherwise be known as “Doire’s Folly.” Arguably, the LAST thing this government needs is yet another office, another department, another bureaucratic quagmire staffed by stuffed shirts, stiff suits and partisan pettiness. But hear me out. I’m thinking in terms of a sort of Ethics Supreme Court, which would be formed in much the same way as the U.S. Supreme Court. An ethicist would be nominated by the President and would have to pass muster in the House and Senate. Qualified nominees would be those persons well-versed in philosophy with a specialization in ethics or logic, though I grant you that a philosopher of ethics is not necessarily ethical. This is worth noting because you see; I don’t really want them to make ethical decisions per se.
What I have in mind is a responsibility for judging whether or not an ethical argument (or any other kind of argument) put forward by a government office, official, candidate, or President is valid or invalid. So, whenever a department or official issues a statement on some controversial issue the Ethics Department will look it over and point out what justifications are valid or simply rhetorical BS. Also, a member of the Ethics Department would be present at all Congressional, Senatorial and Presidential debates armed with little game show buzzers. Whenever a candidate utters an argument that falls within the category of fallacy, the Ethics Department member will press the buzzer and explain why the statement under question is unacceptable. Because I swear, the stuff that’s passing as acceptable moral reasoning these days is laughable.
Take for example the nonsense that’s coming from State Department ‘spokespersons’ with regard to their stamp of approval of the Tar Sands Keystone XL Pipeline project (and if you don’t know what this is then you have not been paying attention to my facebook posts). Kerri-Ann Jones, Assistant Secretary of State for Oceans and International Environmental and Scientific Affairs recently offered, "The sense we have is that the oil sands would be developed and there is not going to be any change in greenhouse gas emissions with the pipeline or without the pipeline because these oil sands will be developed anyway.” This rationalization is eerily similar to the defense Adolf Eichmann offered at his trial in 1960. Eichmann, one of the architects of the Holocaust claimed that he was merely one of a cog in the wheel, that essentially if he hadn’t done it, someone else would have. About the notorious Nazi physicians, Darrell Fasching, Religious Studies scholar and author of Comparative Religious Ethics wrote, “The will of the bureaucracy was so massive and omnipresent that the Nazi physicians typically said they felt that their refusal to perform their duties would not change anything…If they didn’t do the selecting someone else would” (Wiley-Blackwell, 2011). A more juvenile example would be if a child pled that everyone else was going to do it anyway, so s/he did too. My mother didn’t buy that when I was thirteen and I don’t buy it from an Assistant Secretary of State. This is called the Bandwagon Fallacy.
Congressman Kevin Brady (R-Texas) offered, "It seems to me that it's far better to rely on a friendly neighbor in Canada than some unstable sources around the world.” This argument rests on the proposition that the virtue of the collaborator in the immoral act is more relevant than the act itself. It’s like making the point that since I have to buy a gun to shoot my neighbor anyway, it’s better to buy it from my cousin than from a stranger. This is called the Red Herring Fallacy, one which distracts the audience from the issue in question through the introduction of some irrelevancy.
Then there is the conclusion drawn by the State Department and issued in their report that the “plan to move tar sands oil across the U.S. by pipeline will not cause significant environmental problems.” Well, this one really doesn’t require a philosopher so much as a climate scientist or the directors of the Sierra Club, Greenpeace, the National Wildlife Federation, the Environmental Defense Fund, the Center for Biological Diversity or NASA climatologist Dr. James Hansen or a teacher of 8th grade environmental science or say, a professor of religious studies at a small liberal arts college. Really, all that’s needed here is for someone to point out to the State Department their delusion that the Emperor is not wearing new clothes; the Emperor is wearing no clothes. Read Hans Christian Andersen’s The Emperor’s New Clothes OR the State Department’s official report on the Keystone XL Pipeline project. Same story, different emperors.

http://www.mindfully.org/Reform/Emperors-New-Clothes.htm
http://www.keystonepipeline-xl.state.gov/clientsite/keystonexl.nsf?Open

Et tu, Barack?

2009-12-01T19:43:00.000-08:00

Anyone who has ever taken high school Brit Lit knows the symbolic utterance of my title question. It is, next to the “Judas Kiss,” the quintessential expression of betrayal. In Shakespeare’s play (and according to some, ‘true’ to history) when Julius Caesar mouthed the words, "Et tu, Brute?", as his friend Brutus stuck the knife in, it was followed by the line, “Then fall, Caesar.”

“Then fall, Caesar.”

And so it is with that remembrance of the knife that I ask, “Et tu, Barack?”

For we have been betrayed. You have been betrayed. You, who argued for his Presidency on the basis of his opposition to the war with Iraq. You, who told me to vote for him because his was a different vision for the future. You, who defended his Nobel Peace Prize by arguing from potential. You, who found in him a hope for a NEW way. YOU, who saw in him a different kind of humanity; a different kind of leadership; a different kind of HOPE; a new idea of peace. We have been betrayed.

His golden tongue is still mesmerizing.
He appeals to 9/11. He exploits the old wound. He appeals to the future of our children and grandchildren. He tugs at the heartstrings. He appeals to right and virtue and nobility and freedom. The rhetoric is astounding.

And then there are the 30,000. The 30,000.

And I am heart sick.

And all are silent. The only outrage I have heard has been from a dear friend of mine; a seasoned war protestor; a staunch Obama supporter who is prepared to protest and to march against her beloved Barack, because as she expressed it to me, “Right is right.”

In the past few days I have engaged in conversations with a few people about the escalation of the war (let me repeat that—the ESCALATION OF THE WAR) in Afghanistan and have been confronted with comments about how Hillary "would be doing the same thing." I am speechless and insulted. Why do they invoke her name? It seems somehow they think my criticism stems from my initial animosity towards Obama during the Democratic Presidential primaries. Huh?

They think I take pleasure in this? They could not be more wrong. It has always been my heart's desire that Obama BE who you thought he was and DO what he said he'd do. What kind of American would I be if I had not wanted that?

As an aside, I think it an absolutely stunning turn of events that those who tell me now that 'Hillary would be doing exactly the same thing,' are the same people who just a few short months ago were arguing against Hillary's candidacy in favor of Obama's on the basis of their radically (O, so radically) different positions on war. And now, they seem to defend him from some appeal to their standing on the same hawkish ground. Don't you just LOVE irony?

I listened to his speech and I am not moved.
His rhetoric was predictable and lackluster.
I could have been listening to LBJ or John McCain or George Bush.

I expected more. I expected audacity. I expected peace. And so did you.

And the hope is dashed.

Et tu, Barack? Then fall, the 30,000.

Giving Thanks: 2009

2009-11-26T05:53:00.001-08:00

Forgive my predictability here, but these are a few of the things for which I am grateful:

* for being old enough to be irreverent and young enough to wear cowboy boots, and get away with both.

* for my old Passat that keeps hangin’ in there.

* for kids I would be honored to know even if I wasn’t their mother.

* for friends who make me laugh until I cry.

* for big brothers who call me “Kid,” and “Sweethaht.”

* for classroom moments that take my breath away.

* for little boxes of paint that wait patiently in the closet.

* for my mom who teaches me how to grow old gracefully.

* for Sadie who tugs at my heart from 900 miles away.

* for coffee and chocolate.

* for my Bose Wave Radio/CD Player that I turn on even before I set down my keys.

* for books and exquisite sentences that must be read over and over again.

* for the Atlantic Ocean, four minutes away.

* for every day that brings one damn gift after another.

Fractured Fairy Tales

2009-11-06T16:01:00.000-08:00

Inspired by a feminist coloring book we saw online, a friend and I were playing with captions we'd like to see ourselves. So, as you read these, imagine black and white outlines (of the appropriate character), just waiting for that little girl to color (hopefully OUTSIDE the lines).

And for those of you who would point your finger and accuse me of "male-bashing," I must object. For in reality, what this is, is "Prince-MYTH bashing." It's a feminist deconstruction thing...

"Snow White left 7 little men who catered to her every whim, for a man who expected her to do the same for him. It didn't take her long to realize just how Dopey she had been."

"When Rapunzel first met the Prince, he pulled on her hair. After she married him, she pulled out her own."

"Sleeping Beauty didn't realize just how precious a nap was, until she married the Prince and had his kids."

"The Little Mermaid traded eternal life for a man. After she married him, she realized what eternity really felt like."

"Cinderella didn't know that she simply traded one dirty chimney for another."

"The Wicked Witch wasn't really wicked. She was just trying to keep Sleeping Beauty from making the same mistakes she had."

"Beauty was told that if she loved the Beast enough he would change. No one told her that what he would change into was a MAN."

"If your father introduces you to someone named 'The Beast,' run Sweetheart. Run like the freaking wind."

Feel free to offer your OWN 'Fractured Fairy Tales...'

For my Sadie

2009-10-31T06:37:00.000-07:00

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.
~~Forever Young, Bob Dylan

Home is Where They Have to Take You In

2009-10-07T05:20:00.000-07:00

Rhode Island. They have to take me in there. These are the people who have known me all my life; my mother and brothers. This trip, my first best friend ever will also be there. Her mother still lives across the street from my dad's bar. I've agreed to meet them there, for a drink. I haven't walked through the doors of the Arena Cafe since my father died 22 years ago. I grew up there. I know the smells, the light as it comes in through the transept windows; how the wood of the bar glows. It will be a tender re-entrance into a world in which I am forever six years old. My friend told me that if they are already inside when I get to the street, I should call her and she'll come outside and walk me through it.

Call It By Its True Name

2009-09-18T15:02:00.000-07:00

On Thursday, the New Haven Police Chief classified the murder of Yale graduate student Annie Le as ‘workplace violence.’ Several (feminist) voices have been raised in protest of such a classification, but not nearly enough. I now raise mine.

Annie Le was a victim of a hate crime and it has a name. Its name is gender-violence. Its name is misogyny. Annie Le was murdered because she was a woman.
She was murdered by a bully with a history of violence against women; a brute who cleaned mice cages for a living and who became enraged when a petite, brilliant young woman with a promising career did not heed his commands, was not intimidated by his text messages, did not submit to his male entitlement to authority.

The leadership and citizens of this country point their fingers at violence against women in other parts of the world. We denounce female infanticide in China, bride burnings in India, honor killings in Pakistan and Syria, sex/slave trafficking in women’s and children’s bodies in Thailand and Cambodia, female genital mutilation in Africa, but when the cultural evidence is laid at our door and within our own borders we deny, refute, contest, defend and mask its true nature under euphemisms. Or we appeal to pathologies and psychoses that are unique to the individual alone so that once again we can hide behind the veil of denial. We say, “What a sick man HE is,” rather than diagnosing the disease that is pandemic in our culture.

According to the United States Department of Justice:

Women are more likely to be victims of sexual violence than men: 78% of the victims of rape and sexual assault are women and 22% are men.

Most perpetrators of sexual violence are men. Among acts of sexual violence committed against women since the age of 18, 100% of rapes, 92% of physical assaults, and 97% of stalking acts were perpetrated by men. Sexual violence against men is also mainly male violence: 70% of rapes, 86% of physical assaults, and 65% of stalking acts were perpetrated by men.

In 8 out of 10 rape cases, the victim knows the perpetrator. Of people who report sexual violence, 64% of women and 16% of men were raped, physically assaulted, or stalked by an intimate partner. This includes a current or former spouse, cohabitating partner, boyfriend/girlfriend, or date.

In 2000, 1,247 women and 440 men were killed by an intimate partner. In recent years, an intimate partner killed approximately 33% of female murder victims and 4% of male murder victims.

Of the almost 3.5 million violent crimes committed against family members, 49% of these were crimes against spouses. 84% of spouse abuse victims were females, and 86% of victims of dating partner abuse were female.

Males were 83% of spouse murderers and 75% of dating partner murderers.

The number one killer of African-American women ages 15 to 34 is homicide at the hands of a current or former intimate partner.

50% of offenders in state prison for spousal abuse had killed their victims. Wives were more likely than husbands to be killed by their spouses: wives were about half of all spouses in the population in 2002, but 81% of all persons killed by their spouse.

The Violence Policy Center reports that of females killed with a firearm, almost two-thirds were killed by their intimate partners. The number of females shot and killed by their husband or intimate partner was more than three times higher than the total number murdered by male strangers using all weapons combined in single victim/single offender incidents in 2002.

You want euphemisms? I can come up with plenty; workplace violence, bedroom violence, barroom violence, back alley violence, living room violence, hotel violence, street violence, inside-the-car violence, in-the-shed violence, in-the-schoolhouse violence. But PLACES don’t commit violence. HANDS commit violence. And overwhelmingly those hands are raised against women.
Call it by its true name. Its name is misogyny.

For more information visit the American Bar Association’s web site: http://www.abanet.org/domviol/statistics.html#prevalence

The Things I Carry With Me

2009-09-07T12:37:00.000-07:00

The 2009 CofC Convocation Committee put out a 'call for essays' from faculty that would reflect the theme of this year's convocation, based on the book The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. This was mine:

THINGS I CARRY WITH ME

I Carry with me Generations of French, French-Canadian and Canadian Indian ancestors,
Who taught my grandfather his sacrilegious profanities,
Who taught my grandmother and mother to make tortieres
(French-Canadian Meat Pies).
Who taught The Lord’s Prayer and Hail Mary in Canuck French.
Who taught my father to sing ‘O! Canada!’ before he could speak.
And in so doing, taught me as well.

I Carry with me a Century of Stories told in French and spoken over tables that held,

Pinochle Cards and Cribbage Boards,
Bread and Beer,
Oatmeal and Crepes for breakfast.

I Carry with me a Remembrance of Catholicism; No more than a childhood memory now.

Of incense and swirling Vestments,
Of impossible Ave Marias wafting down from choir lofts as from Heaven.
Of simple faith like my grandmother’s who, if disappointed in a saint’s
response to her prayer, would turn their plastered, painted faces to
the Wall.

I Carry with me dozens of teachers whose classroom magic rivaled Houdini’s;

Miss Dalton who played Dylan for me,
Dr. Mellor who made a 16 year-old love Moby Dick (impossible),
Mr. Healey who made me write a story about a head of cabbage,
Richard Niebuhr who bared his great soul in every class,
Ralph Potter who placed Aristotle before me,
And Elisabeth who placed courage before me.

I Carry with me a thousands angers, betrayals and broken promises,

That came to me much too late, or at just the right time,
That became creative and enticing Questions.
OR, did the Questions come first and then the anger?

I Carry with me those Questions that never end,

Why does it rain equally upon the Just and the Unjust?
What Tenet, Law, Doctrine, Practice, Ritual?
And Whom do they Serve?
From what place and time and context?
From whose world view and what assumption?
On what turtle does that turtle rest?

But I Carry FROM this place also.

I Carry From this place, Gratitude,

Of which I cannot speak; of the sheer Luck or Gift to do in this place what
I love like no other thing.
Of the classroom, laboratory of experiment, of Ideas,
Of my best self, There.
Of those Questions that haunt my Dreams and Wakings,

I Carry From this place the many gifts my students present to me Every day,

Humor that stops me in mid-lecture and sets me laughing Out Loud.
Daring that poses the Questions too; more courageous than the bravest
of warriors.
Shared Learning that happens in stunning, crystallized moments of
sudden Knowing

I Carry From this place the Hope that they are, sitting there at their desks, Thinking.

~~ Louise M. Doire
July, 2009

Kitchen Bulletin Board

2009-09-07T05:56:00.000-07:00

these are a few of my favorite things...

2009-09-06T17:14:00.000-07:00

the 'cabana' in Maine--euphemism for 'outhouse' and 'spider's den.'

I'm Always Talkin,' Chicken Squawkin' (Joni)

2009-09-06T15:09:00.000-07:00

This week I participated in a public panel discussion on ‘women and religion.’ And in the course of an hour and a half, I pretty much said that I have absolutely no interest in ‘redeeming’ the Bible or Christianity, that I have become uninterested in religious questions of ‘truth’ and that Christianity, through its sacraments and priests has co-opted women’s biological functions and further, that priests ‘even wear dresses.’ I am sure that I scandalized some members of the audience.

This is what happens when one has been studying and reflecting upon such issues for years and years. In the course of five minute responses, what are expressed are the personal conclusions drawn from those years. Without introduction or foundational explanations, these conclusions come out of one’s mouth like perfunctory sound bites. And mine ‘have teeth.’

The issue of ‘truth’ came about when in response to a question about what I think is the greatest obstacle to women’s equality, I said fundamentalism and gave an explanation of why I thought so. I said that it begins with claims to sole possession of truth. When those claims are made the tendency is to view all those who think ‘like me’ as GOOD and all those who don’t as EVIL. This dualistic perspective radicalizes difference in such a way that commonalities get lost and traditional (read also: patriarchal) values become more entrenched. These become dearer and are embraced more fiercely. And if, in that schema, one finds oneself on the bottom of the totem pole of social status, THAT difference too becomes exacerbated. (Admittedly, this is a very brief summary of a very complex dynamic—another ‘sound bite’ in written form?).

A question came from the audience, “How then do we examine, determine, and make judgments about truth?” I responded that personally, I have become uninterested in questions of ‘truth.’ Is this true? Is the Bible true? Is that truth truer than this truth? I have abandoned the question, ‘What is true?’ (A question which frankly, will drive you a little nuts anyway) in deference to the question, ‘What is just?’

Another panelist responded, “Well, you know…truth and justice are both ‘fictive’ terms.” Fictive? That’s right. He meant ‘subjective, relative, fictional.’ I have to admit that when it comes to faith claims, I would not venture to advance any definitive ‘truths.’ But if claims to justice are also all relative and fictional, then the result is ethical paralysis. I would have said this, if the panel had not moved along so quickly that I didn’t have a chance. I would have said that there is a difference between cultural morality and ethical rationality. I would have said that when it comes to justice, I think we can make some claims. I think we can say that slavery is unjust. I think we can say that trafficking in women’s bodies is unjust. I think we can say that locking a new bride inside her house and then setting that house on fire is unjust. Are these mere fictives? Are there no ethical certainties or claims that we can make definitively? If not, then I quit. I quit teaching. I quit writing. I quit speaking. I quit getting out of bed in the morning.

I assured the audience that I have no interest in salvaging ‘the Tradition” in response to another member of the panel who said (something like), ‘the problem is that nobody wants to leave.” At which point I wanted to shout, “I did! I did!” He continued to say (something like), that no one wants to abandon the Bible, the ritual, the Tradition and so they scurry around trying to change the language, create a more friendly interpretation, etc., and all they end up doing is running around in circles. They are circular attempts and never end up any other place than where they started. This is when I said, “I assure you all that I have absolutely NO interest in redeeming the Text, the ritual, the Church or the Tradition. I engage in these dialogues (and in my teaching) with cultural and political concerns, in the interest of liberation. And when a student comes to my office and says to me, ‘I just want you to know that I broke up with my boyfriend last night. Because of your course I realized that he abuses me.’ THAT is not circular. THAT does not leave us in the same place. THAT is moving forward.’

It was the first and only time of the night that the audience erupted with a spattering of spontaneous applause.

I was not about to let someone tell me that the last 20 years of my life have been spent chasing my own tail. If what I do makes NO difference then, I quit. I quit teaching. I quit writing. I quit speaking. I quit getting out of bed in the morning.

The Road to Obama

2008-10-19T08:58:00.000-07:00

Recently, when I publicly declared (on Facebook) that I was supporting Barack Obama for President, a friend of mine wrote and said to me, “Louise! Your endorsement of Obama is bigger than Hillary’s endorsement of Obama!” I laughed, but on some level he understood that my commitment to Hillary Clinton’s campaign had been unwavering. I had been a staunch critic of Obama and of that portion of America that seemed infatuated with him. I wrote essays about it. I argued against him. I pouted with his every win. When Hillary finally lost her bid for the Democratic nomination, I wrote an essay cautioning others to cease and desist their Obama campaign in my direction. My emotional attachment to Hillary’s campaign had been stronger than any other political hope I’d ever had. I can only compare my experience to grief and I needed time. I went through all the responses of grief that anyone experiences. I experienced disbelief and denial. I experienced anger and finally, acceptance.

My disappointment and resentment were so palatable I flirted with the idea of actually voting for John McCain or not voting at all. I began to watch Barack Obama very carefully and tried to be open-minded. And then…John McCain named Sarah Palin as his running mate. And as I (and America) became familiar with her and her policies and positions on issues, I found myself utilizing Aristotle’s Principle of Proportionality, the process by which, when faced with a moral dilemma of conflicting values, one chooses the option that would bring about the greater good or the lesser evil. My first move towards Obama was less a move towards him than it was a move away from McCain/Palin. When the McCain campaign became the McCain/Palin campaign my walk away from John McCain created a fissure; a crevasse. I abhorred the dirty tactics, the subtle racist innuendo and the desperate (and false) character assassinations.

Once that move (more of a leap) occurred, I argued from that position. I attempted to persuade uncommitted voters towards Obama using the “lesser evil” argument. I think it was convincing. But then, the Presidential debates were held and I saw in Barack Obama an intelligent, genuine, classy guy. He is brilliantly articulate (a characteristic I long for in a President following eight years of numb-skullness). I sensed in him a commitment to ALL Americans; a concern for our concerns and a sincere desire to act upon the best motives for seeking public service, to serve the public. And I no longer wanted Obama as my President merely by default. I wanted Obama as my President, period. During the course of those Presidential debates there were two moments in particular in which Obama won, if not my heart, my political sensibilities and my resolve.

John McCain was defending his position on the war with Iraq. In a moment that was obviously scripted, he pointed to the bracelet that he wears in memory of a fallen American soldier. He invoked the words of that dead soldier’s mother who said to him that he (McCain) must ensure that her son not have died “in vain.” The implication seems that the only way her son will not have died in vain is for America to continue the war until some kind of “victory” or other nebulous goal has been reached. In a stunning moment that took my breath away, Obama turned the narrative on its head. He too brought attention to the bracelet that HE wears in memory of a dead American soldier. He too recalled the words of this dead soldier’s mother. The contrast was poignant. THIS mother told Barack Obama to make sure that no other mother experiences the loss that she has endured. I make no claim of interpretation or of understanding the grief of these mothers. I would not pretend to know their grief and how they deal with it. I will say something about what each of the candidate’s rhetorical narratives illustrated to me about them. I suspect that John McCain’s use of those mother’s words intended to evoke an emotional response imbedded in a desperate search for meaning in the midst of a cultural mythology of war that would attach to certain kinds of deaths the virtues of nobility and goodness. The conclusion he drew is that to make valorous that death, one must continue the conflict. The assumption he makes is that the sacrifice of the one is not meaningful unless the ultimate goal is reached. Barack Obama’s response represented the empathetic response of compassion and the realization that every death of a young American soldier is a grievous event and an appeal to a cause does not make it any less so. One cannot script a response like that. Either it is genuine, or it doesn’t happen.

The second moment occurred when Tom Brokaw asked the candidates if they thought health care was a right, a responsibility or a privilege. John McCain responded first with “responsibility.” Trying to glean through his incoherence, I never really heard him say WHOSE responsibility it is. Would it be his, as President? Is it the responsibility of government? Is it the responsibility of business owners and corporations, who would be expected to supply health care out of the goodness of their hearts and the motivation to “do the right thing?” Is it the responsibility of all Americans to get it for themselves? I held my breath. Then Obama responded to the question, definitively and without pause, he said it is a right.

With tentative steps I had been walking the road to Obama for a while now.
But these two debate moments steadied my steps.
The campaigns have solidified my resolve.
Obama is no longer my default candidate.
And after what seems a long and resistant journey, I took the road I had not yet travelled. In the end, Barack Obama finally, has become my hope too.

Mary Shelley Revisited

2008-10-12T06:13:00.000-07:00

Someone needs to give John McCain and Sarah Palin a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. They need to somehow understand that once they have created a monster, it is very difficult to control. On second thought, maybe Palin should see the movie. But certainly, before the violence accelerates into an expression other than mere words, McCain needs to reign in his Alaskan pit bull. She is more dangerous than I imagined.

I have been watching with dreaded fascination the execution and escalation of a dynamic in this Presidential campaign that can only be characterized as “enemy-making.” In the West this dynamic is as old as the Old Testament. When the Israelites identified all the other “ites” as the “Other,” and hence as their enemies, they set into motion a process that continues into the 21st century. Every child who has heard the stories of the warrior conquest for the Land of Milk and Honey knows who they are and how they were perceived, “Completely destroy them—the Hittites, Amorites, Canaanites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites—as the LORD your God has commanded you, (Deuteronomy 20:17), in other words, anyone who was NOT an Israelite.

The dynamic has been employed by human beings since ancient times and exploited by every military organization since history was first recorded. The strategy has been observed and researched and analyzed. The construction of the idea of an enemy begins first with fear; fear that life and livelihoods are in danger; fear that everything that is held as “sacred” is threatened. When the fear has been sufficiently mounted the next step is to dehumanize the other, to strip the other of their humanity. They are so different from us they cannot even be called human. They don’t have families. They don’t love. They don’t experience loss, or fear or pain. The next step is demonization. They become vermin, animals, not worthy even to live. Look at any military propaganda from the 20th century and you will see the pattern. The enemy is portrayed as rats, monkeys, insects and monsters.

The history is a long one. When Neolithic tribal societies shifted from a hunter-gatherer economy to an agricultural one, the rise of the cities engendered a confrontation with “the stranger,” a crisis of identity, an encounter with those who were not of the tribe, those who were not “like us.” Some of the greatest stories of human history narrate this encounter and suggest how it should go. In the Epic of Gilgamesh, the oldest recorded story in human history, Gilgamesh meets Enkidu the one like him but not like him. Enkidu is the one from the wilderness not of the cities, created by the gods to teach Gilgamesh how to be a kind ruler. They wrestle to exhaustion and in the wrestling they come to recognize each other as brothers. In the Old Testament, the lessons of Abraham and Jacob are eventually ignored, but the ideal is clear. Abraham encounters the strangers in the desert and offers them shelter, hospitality so unique among the nomadic tribes that the result is Isaac, the gift from God. In the story of Jacob’s wrestling with the angel of God we see a virtual re-enactment of Gilgamesh’s encounter with Enkidu. Jacob is so transformed by the encounter that his name is changed to Israel, the one who “wrestles with God.” When Jesus was asked, “Who is my neighbor?” he told the story of the Good Samaritan that I understood when I was eight. And when the disciples asked him, “When did we see you hungry, or thirsty, or naked or the stranger?” He told them that as they welcomed the stranger, they welcomed him. We are still telling stories like these because we have not yet learned the ethical response. Who are Han Solo and Luke Skywalker if not Gilgamesh and Enkidu? All too often we do not follow these stories’ lead and instead of embracing the stranger, we kill him.

At a recent rally in Florida, Palin said, “"I'm afraid this [Obama] is someone who sees America as imperfect enough to work with a former domestic terrorist who had targeted his own country." Enter the rhetoric of fear. The implication was that Obama is an enemy and if she is afraid, everyone else should be. The most effective propagandist ploy however, is to create the illusion that the targeted one is the “other.” Perhaps the single most effective strategy is to create the illusion that the opposition is so different from the subjective “us” as to be anathema and the effect is anger and hatred.

In the last century, except for two decades (in which it experienced The Great Depression), America has been at war with someone. We have lived within a mythology of war. In a narrative of war ethics become inverted. Killing, which would normally be considered bad becomes good. Not killing, normally considered good becomes bad, indeed it becomes unpatriotic. In every case in war the enemy is depicted as something other than ourselves, indeed, as less than human. The enemy has been portrayed as vermin, “Japs,” slant-eyes, towel-heads. Xenophobia, fear of the stranger, has been the guiding undercurrent of the violence of war. It is the quintessential propaganda of a dualistic view that cannot imagine a sophisticated appreciation of difference. But rather, pits difference within a dualistic paradigm and worldview of hate. At a recent rally in Florida, Palin said the following, “This [Obama] is not a man who sees America the way you and I see America.” The language couldn’t be clearer. She was creating not an electoral opponent, but an “other,” an enemy. And her America responded.

At a recent Republican rally in Minnesota, John McCain was confronted by a woman in the audience who expressed her fear of Obama. In a moment that took my breath away she said, “I am afraid of him. He is…an Arab.” And in that moment, I saw in John McCain’s eyes the recognition of a face he knows all too well. It is the face of hatred and fear. It is the face of terror and anger. And in that moment, John McCain himself became afraid, of what he himself had helped create; an atmosphere of venomous rhetoric that brought with it the potential of violence. And John McCain began to defend his opponent. I suspect that he is at the core a decent man and the last thing he would want is a volatile campaign that carries with it a potential for violence. In that moment, I believe whatever decency he has left took precedent over his desire for victory at any cost and he made a weak and inadequate attempt to turn the focus back to difference in policy and not a difference of humanity. He told her, "No ma'am, he is a decent man...a decent family man, citizen, that I just happen to have disagreements with on fundamental issues." And although he did not address the issue of anti-Arab AND anti-Arab-American sentiment at least he didn’t allow the comment to stand without objection.

I sense no such decency in Sarah Palin. In fact, she seems to revel in her audience’s frenzy. Recently she said, "One of his earliest supporters is a man named Bill Ayers.” ("Boooo!" said the crowd.) "And, according to the New York Times, he was a domestic terrorist and part of a group that, quote, 'launched a campaign of bombings that would target the Pentagon and our U.S. Capitol,' " she continued. ("Boooo!" the crowd repeated.) "Kill him!" proposed one man in the audience. And she said nothing in response; nothing to deter or discourage the violence.

The reality of course is that Barack Obama is not “the other.” He is not “that one.” He is not the stranger. But that is irrelevant to those who would find their political arguments wanting and instead exploit the heightened xenophobia in this country that has characterized the Bush administration’s response to 9/11. They resort to an ancient dynamic that constructs the illusion of the stranger; that emphasizes difference instead of sameness. They have had a lot of practice and they do it well. Those sent out to “warm-up” the crowds make a point of repeating Barack’s middle name, one not often found in America’s heartland.

Would it help to recall Frankenstein’s monster to the McCain camp?
Could they see beyond the “doctor” to themselves?
Or when we send the book to them (or the movie), shall we also send a teacher?
One who can explain to them that Mary Shelley’s horror story is also an allegory?
It is a message for the ages; the construction of the enemy unleashes a hideous and ugly human face. Beware this monster you create.

~~~ with gratitude to Darrell Fasching- scholar, teacher, friend.

What DOES a Feminist Look Like Anyway?

2008-09-17T19:34:00.000-07:00

As I took my hot pink “This is what a feminist looks like,” t-shirt out of my drawer this morning, I had an impulse to alter it. I wanted to stick a picture of Sarah Palin on the back of it and add a caption in BIG, BLACK indelible ink, “NOT THIS.” But then I asked myself, “By what privilege or right do I make that assertion? How does one indeed decide or define what or who a feminist is? And who can lay claim to it? Does it take one to know one?”

I live and work in an environment in which simply saying something doesn’t make it so. One must mount an argument based on points of reason and evidential support. I knew that my intuitive t-shirt alteration must be backed up by more than simple assertion. ONE thing Palin’s nomination has done (among others) is that it has engendered yet another collective conversation about feminism and sexism and just what the heck these terms mean. These discussions are taking place everywhere. The following are just two examples of conversations experienced by two of my friends:

I have been bombarded by my friends here about the whole Sarah Palin thing. They keep asking me if I'm voting for her, and I look at them like they've lost their minds. "F*** NO!" is my response most of the time. The conversation usually continues with...

Them: "But I thought you were all about women's rights and stuff."
Me: "Exactly. That's why I'm not voting for Sarah Palin."
Them: "But, she's a woman."
Me: "Yes, a woman that reinforces the most oppressive patriarchal ideals and a woman who, if elected into office, would be detrimental to the rights and values that women in the past and present have worked so hard to achieve."
Them: "Oh, really? I guess I don't know that much about her, other than she's a woman."

And this from a friend who received this from a friend:

I just had to tell you about a conversation that I overheard table side tonight. I was making a Caesar at one of my tables and my other table to their left were talking about politics (there were two couples). The two women were talking about Palin. One of them in a loud voice said, "She is a real feminist. Not like Betty Freidan and Gloria Steinem, who made us feel bad for staying home and taking care of our children." They then went on to say that they cannot wait for the debates because she is going to make mince meat out of Obama because she is so much more intelligent than he is and a much better public speaker.

Obviously, a woman who thinks that Palin and Obama are going to engage in a debate cannot be taken seriously on any political commentary. And a woman who judges Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan not to be “real feminists” cannot be taken seriously on the issue of feminism. What is really disturbing about this conversation is the authority with which this woman made a judgment about what a “real feminist” is and that a real feminist is one who makes one feel good about oneself. Someone needs to tell this woman that saying something doesn’t make it so.

But then, a friend emailed an article written by Richard Baehr from a web site that supposedly has its finger on the pulse of American politics (realclearpolitics.com). This writer made the following statement:

“…(Palin) who offers a different version of feminism than the only one allowed to be respected in its pages.”

Riiiiight. And a vegetarian who eats calves’ livers offers a “new version” of vegetarianism. To see this claim about Palin actually in print by a supposedly respected political commentator offended me even more. It is additionally frustrating to hear people speak of Palin’s nomination as some kind of progressive feminist moment because she is a woman aspiring to high political office. This perception reflects a view that is in fact contradictory to a feminist history that argued against the notion that all women are alike, i.e., essentialism that sees one woman as just the same as another. No two women are the same, just as no two men are the same. And to assess an act as feminist simply because it is performed by a woman is as erroneous as assessing an act as patriarchal simply because it is performed by a man. Feminism does not have as its primary principle the ascendence of women (over men or otherwise). Rather, it is engaged in a confrontation with a system that would extend unequal protection, privilege, and rights under the law. Feminism is characterized by a struggle with unjust systems of domination and exploitation. Its progress is NOT measured primarily by the elevation of women within that system who agree to work for those systems of domination. In fact, this move is antithetical to its goals.

Ultimately, feminism HAS a history and a tradition. And although there is certainly room for variations on this tradition (and there have been many in its development as theory and movement) there are some fundamental elements of feminism that cannot be compromised and still be called feminism. When has the idea of a thing been so bastardized that the claim of identity ceases to be valid? Case in point: Christianity has undergone many changes and reformations and developments in its long history but some things remain constant. There ARE some fundamental criteria required in order for one to declare, “I am a Christian,” and maintain the validity of that statement. One cannot make this statement and follow up by stating, “But I don’t believe Jesus rose from the dead.” The speaker of such a statement would have fallen so outside the foundations of the claim that the claim itself ceases to be relevant and valid. The claimant has in fact become something else, but the thing that she is, is not a Christian. One could not claim, “I am a Marxist, but I believe that capitalism is good for people.” Or, “I am a vegetarian but..(already cited).” “I am a Muslim but I do not believe that Muhammad was the Prophet of God.” These statements are contradictions in terms. And the second qualifier of each statement invalidates the assertion of the first. “Sarah Palin is a feminist,” is one such statement.

Feminism does have foundations. They are theoretical. They are political. And they are ethical. Firstly, central to feminist theory is “the radical idea that women are human beings,” and (secondly) as such, are entitled to the same rights, protections, privileges and opportunities that are extended to other human beings. The feminist movement is a political revolution, which seeks to bring that equality to realization under the law; socially, politically and institutionally. Ethically, the feminist movement seeks justice, not only for women but for all living beings and creatures that would be exploited and abused by unjust systems of power. The feminist movement has a tradition of engagement in efforts to end violence against women and all other beings; to respect the earth; to protect the weak and the vulnerable.

Sarah Palin? A “new version of feminism?” This statement is a contradiction in terms so contradictory it is internally invalidated.

What kind of “feminist?” One that prohibits abortion even when the pregnancy is the result of rape or incest? One that would place the defense of a Book above the defense of human beings? Above justice? One that would perceive the earth and its animals as mere pawns for human exploitation? One that calls upon the name of God to justify war, which historically offers up innocent women and children as unwilling sacrifices? One that re-victimizes women who are victims of rape by making them pay for the State’s evidence against the rapist? One that would create those very circumstances in which abortions may be necessary because she opposes contraception and sex education? Shoot. That's not a new feminism. It's the old patriarchy. Sarah Palin is no feminist and saying that she is doesn’t make it so.

The Older I Get...

2008-09-09T06:52:00.000-07:00

…the more a conspiracy theorist I become.

But I am not alone. Read:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/adam-mckay/were-gonna-frickin-lose-t_b_124772.html

I wrote THIS in February:

This morning on a national network, there was a political statistic that made me realize how naïve I have been. It seems that in the most recent primaries there has been a “trend” among Republican voters that has not emerged until the Republican candidate had all but been signed, sealed and delivered. The trend consists of Republican voters eschewing their Republican primary booths and (in the states that allow it) voting in the Democratic ones. Republicans are deciding not to “waste” their vote in their own primaries. Why? Because they KNOW who their candidate will be in November. So instead, they are entering their polling booths and are casting their votes in their state’s Democratic primaries. And for whom are they voting? Barack Obama. But they are voting for him not because they have abandoned their Party. They are voting for him not because they want him to be President. They are voting for him because they believe him to be the Democratic candidate most “beatable” against John McCain.

And TODAY:

Again, pardon my conspiracy theory but I also believe that the media conglomerates mentioned in the article above have employed the same tactics. Barack was the media's darling until he beat Hillary. Then, like a psychotic lover it turned on him. I noticed it almost immediately (so did Elisabeth Schussler-Fiorenza with whom I had a conversation about this very thing in June). Barack was judged by these media moguls to be the beatable candidate making way for another four years of Republican tax breaks and "friendship." If you owned a multi-billion $$$ company, who would YOU want in the White House?

I want to scream.

How Sexist IS America? Really?

2008-09-03T18:36:00.000-07:00

I'm still trying to decide if John McCain’s choice of Sarah Palin as his Vice-Presidential running mate is impossibly stupid or brilliant. It seems a neat trick and the media fell for it. And now everyone else has. The American media (and many Americans) are focusing the discussion about women and politics in terms of wombs, babies and breasts that give milk. The message from the GOP is "It's OK for women to do all those OTHER things, as long as they continue to do what God intended for them to do." Get married. Have babies. Or...have babies; get married, whatever the order might be. Republicans have moved the political discussion back 40 years. And that's the point. Sarah Palin’s nomination represents a backlash--and you know what? They are also feeding on the misogyny displayed against Hillary. They had the fuel ready and waiting. All they had to do was light the flame.

Interestingly (and ironically) enough, the measure of America’s sexism will not be determined by Americans’ opposition to Sarah Palin, but by their embrace of her. Ultimately, sexism is not about sex, it is about gender roles. If America embraces Sarah Palin it would be an example of reversed feminism and covert sexism, exemplified not by whether or not they vote for a woman but by what KIND of woman they will vote for. And that determination just may be related to wombs, babies and breasts that give milk.

It has not escaped me that they have also managed to deflect the discussion away from the ISSUES; the war, economy, oil, Iraq. Everyone is talking about the freaking pregnancies and no one is asking questions about issues. Ultimately, John McCain's risk will prove to be an utter failure or a stroke of genius. And in the mix, we just might find out how sexist America really is.

"Take your sandals from your feet..."

2008-07-10T04:29:00.000-07:00

Now Moses was pasturing the flock of Jethro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian; and he led the flock to the west side of the wilderness and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. 2 The angel of the LORD appeared to him in a blazing fire from the midst of a bush; and he looked, and behold, the bush was burning with fire yet the bush was not consumed. 3 So Moses said, “I must turn aside now and see this marvelous sight, why the bush is not burned up.” 4 When the LORD saw that he turned aside to look, God called to him from the midst of the bush and said, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.” 5 Then He said, “Do not come near here; take your sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” Exodus 3: 1-5

I bet Moses would not have been so quick to remove his sandals if previously they had been taken from Station 20, at the end of the pathway that leads to the beach at Sullivan’s Island, SC.

On Monday evening, I went for a walk on the beach. And as I always do and as hundreds of people do, I left my sandals neatly placed on a dune near the station marker. I have done this dozens of times before and my sandals are always still there upon my return. It is an unwritten rule; do not take sandals from the beach. Someone is simply walking barefooted on the sand and will return to retrieve their sandals. But on Monday evening, when I returned, they were gone.

Now of course, the sandals themselves are not the issue. In a heartbeat I could buy another pair of tan Dr. Scholl’s exercise sandals, size 8. The issue of course, is the violation of what I considered to be “holy ground.” That the beach is holy ground may be argued, but for me it is. It is. I leave my sandals behind with a trust as solid as the childlike trust I once placed in the Church. And I am disheartened by the violation of this trust. I wonder what went through that person’s mind as they picked up my sandals and left with them. Were they ignorant of the unwritten rule? Did they think that the sandals had been lost and no one would return for them? Or did they knowingly and with intent, steal my sandals from the beach?

I know. It is a small thing. And yet, it is not. The thief took more from me than a pair of sandals. The loss was a loss of that childlike trust. It was a heartfelt disappointment.

And yet, yesterday I returned for my walk on the beach.

As I drove to Sullivan’s Island I determined to walk with my sandals in my hand.

I arrived at my station.

In absolute defiance of my own distrust, I left my sandals behind on the dune and began my walk.

Andwhen I returned…they were still there.

Reluctant Concession

2008-06-03T17:54:00.000-07:00

It is time to write what may perhaps be a final reflection on the Democratic campaign for the party nomination for President. And ultimately I am sad and disappointed. Now, to those of you who are Obama supporters, I would issue a hearty “Congratulations.” But also I would ask that if just for a moment, you walk a mile in my cowboy boots. For you, Obama represents a beacon of hope and the challenge of change in America. Well, for (almost) as many of us, Hillary represented the same things. Imagine your own emotions if the results had been the other way around. Imagine if your hopes had been dashed and crushed. I do not exaggerate when I say that I have not been this saddened and disappointed since the Red Sox lost to the Yankees in Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS. I have never cared more deeply about a baseball team winning the World Series and I have never cared more deeply about a potential Presidential candidate. You who look upon Hillary supporters with incredulity; those of you who cannot see from where we stand; those of you who look at us and wonder aloud, “What are they thinking?” must understand that we look at you and think the same.

And I am not alone. My mother was born in 1918. Those of you who know your history of women’s suffrage in this country realize that she was born before women even HAD the right to vote. I imagine that she was raised among women who championed the cause and who experienced amazement and pride as they approached their first voting booths. Months ago when I asked her who she would support in the Democratic primary (she is a lifelong Democrat), she replied, “Hillary. I love Hillary.” But she did not support Hillary simply on the basis of her sex. She supported Hillary because she trusts her, she knows who she is and she had faith that Hillary would do the right thing. My mother maintains no such trust in Obama. She doesn’t know who he is. He came “out of nowhere,” and she was not convinced by his goldentongue. And she is sad and disappointed.

My daughter holds a BA in political science (Magna Cum Laude, Phi Beta Kappa) and a Masters in Public Policy. Her political decisions are the result of sharp analysis and a working knowledge of political theory and history. She is a staunch supporter of Hillary Clinton. And she is sad and disappointed. Several weeks ago she said to me that she was desperate, desperate to find someone who could present to her an argument that would make her feel justified in voting for Obama in November, but she wants an argument NOT based on the rhetoric of “hope and change.” She lives in Obama territory, in a caucus state won by him and still, no one has been able to articulate to her an argument based on sound political reasoning and Obama’s proven history.

In this moment, I am contemplating something I never thought possible. For the first time since 1972, I am considering not casting a ballot in the election for President of the United States. Some of you may think this a product of sour grapes; the “sore loser,” or sulking and petulant stubbornness. I assure you it would be none of these. I was raised in a family that viewed the right to vote as something almost as sacred as the holy water in which we dipped our fingers. As a little girl, I remember a voting night when my parents came home and my brothers and I chirped, “Who did you vote for? Who did you vote for?” My mother said, “Ohhh. A person’s vote is a secret.” And it is a personal choice, not a collective one. It is a matter of conscience. I have never voted for a Presidential candidate on the basis of NOT wanting the “other guy.” In every Presidential election in which I have voted I have been able to cast my ballot with the conviction, “This is the person I want to be my President.” I cannot say this about either Barack Obama or John McCain. I am considering the possibility of showing up at the polls in November, presenting my voter registration card, signing my name so that I am recorded as “present and accounted for,” and then, turning on my heels and walking out. I figure, if Obama can be defended for voting “present” when he protested the choices available to him, then so can I.

Or, I may write-in Hillary’s name yet.

But November is many months away. Obama has time to convince me. Perhaps he will. I will be watching and listening closely. As will millions of others. But not today. Not today. Do not try me just yet. To do so would be comparable to extolling the virtues of the Yankees to a Red Sox fan in October, 2003. But I am never without hope. There is no one in this country more capable of hope than a Red Sox fan, and no one more loyal. And like watching the ball roll through Bill Buckner’s legs in 1986 or Aaron Boone’s homer in 2003, I cannot believe it has come to this. But with undying hope and faithfulness I will put away my Hillary campaign button for now and say what millions of Sox fans have said in the past, “just wait ‘til next year,” or in this case, “just wait ‘til 2012.”

And in the meantime, because I love my country, I hope that Barack Obama is the man he claims to be.

PAX Obama?

2008-02-29T19:50:00.000-08:00

In the same article written by Gary Kumiya, already cited in a previous blog post (see below), the author also wrote, “And, above all, I support him because he was opposed to the Iraq war.” Mr. Kumiya’s statement is not unusual. I only cite it as a springboard for this post. I have heard this from Obama supporters many times. Indeed, when listing Obama’s “credentials” for President they actually list his opposition to the Iraq War as second on the list of priorities after appeals to “hope, vision, inspiration and change.” Oh right, that would make it fifth. Mr. Kumiya places it at the top of his list.

I must say that I admire this apparent commitment to peace but I consider the appeal nothing more than a grasping at straws in an effort to add something to the list of arguments for Obama’s desirability as presidential candidate. In hindsight, his now-often cited speech given at a peace rally on October 2, 2002 at Federal Park in Chicago is lifted up and hailed as a sign of his character, his wisdom, his vision. You’d think he’d written John Lennon’s “Imagine,” or Cat Stevens’ “Peace Train” for Pete’s sake. You would think he invented the idea of opposition to war. You would think he had been the solo voice crying out of the wilderness or something, like some Old Testament prophet rising above a sea of naysayers (apologies for the mixed metaphors). Now, don’t get me wrong. Barack Obama did think the war was “a bad idea.” Big deal. So did I. So did my ninety year-old mother. So did my children. So did the sixteen year-old kid down the street. So did my local florist. And so did millions of other Americans. And hundreds of thousands of them attended peace rallies. And thousands of Americans spoke at them, myself included (Marion Square, Charleston, SC). On October 26, 2002, 100,000 Americans protested in Washington, D.C. On the same day 50,000 gathered in San Francisco to do the same. Outside of America’s borders, never before had there been so loud a collectively resounding global voice on any issue. It is estimated that between January 3 and April 12, 2003 over 36 million people on this planet participated in organized protests against the American invasion of Iraq. The impending U.S. military initiative in Iraq instigated the largest global peace protest before a war actually started, in the history of the world.

Whoa. Hey. Way to stick that neck out, Barack.

Opposition to the war with Iraq was hardly a unique position. I would be curious to know just how many state and local politicians in the months prior to March 20, 2003 stood in opposition to the invasion. I wonder how the Mayor of Winooski, Vermont felt about it, or the state senator from District 22 in Elmore, Idaho or representative of House District 47 in Pascoag, Rhode Island. I wish I could tell you how many local state politicians like Barack Obama were opposed to the war, but I can’t. No one has done the research for me to cite. No one cared. But I bet there were A LOT.

The Obama campaign is pressing the issue as an election categorical imperative. I am still trying to understand why. He was simply one of millions worldwide who opposed this war and yet he wears his opposition like a Badge of Honor. Like the freaking Nobel Peace Prize.

And his supporters appeal to it as if it represents some kind of moral distinction. In his opposition to the war, after all, he wasn’t so special. And Obama did not have to put his vote where his mouth was. He wasn’t even a U.S. Senator at the time and so did not carry the burden. He was not privy (or victim) to the “intelligence” that was being erroneously reported to the Senate. He admits this himself, "although I’m always careful to say that I was not in the Senate, so perhaps the reason I thought it was such a bad idea was that I didn't have the benefit of U.S. intelligence.” (05/17/07) Really Barack? Are you ALWAYS so careful to say this??

And since he has been a U.S. Senator? From ABCNews: Over the two years Obama has been in the Senate (uhhhh…I repeat, that would be TWO), the only Iraq-related vote on which Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton differed was the confirmation of General George Casey to be Chief of Staff of the Army, which Obama voted for and Clinton voted against. In an interview with ABC's George Stephanopoulos, Obama conceded that his position on the war is not the "polar opposite" of Clinton's.

In fact, in that speech that he gave at a peace rally in a park in Chicago as a state representative in 2002 he repeated three times like a mantra, “I am not opposed to all wars… I am not opposed to all wars… I am not opposed to all wars."

If opposition to the war with Iraq is a first, second or even fifth "qualification" for president then millions of us have a head start on our resumes. It just wasn't all that unique. And the only way I can understand how the issue has become such a cornerstone of the Obama campaign is that in his case, there just aren't that many qualifications to list.

The Bitch That Gets Stuff Done

2008-02-28T14:52:00.000-08:00

By now millions have probably seen the video (or the live telecast) of Tina Fey’s Saturday Night Live sketch entitled “Bitch Is the New Black,” in which she humorously capitalized on Hillary Clinton’s “bitch factor.” Fey made a case for perceiving this characterization as a plus, “She is (a bitch). So am I. Bitches get stuff done. That’s why Catholic schools use nuns as teachers instead of priests. At the end of the year you hated those bitches, but you knew the capital of Vermont.”

After viewing the segment, I thought how brilliant a move it would be to actually GO with the bitch thing instead of complaining about it; instead of analyzing it; instead of going against the tide. The analysis has been done after all, but not many are buying it. As a woman Hillary is a victim of thousands of years of misogynistic, patriarchal and dualistic constructions of “womanhood.” In the eyes of millions she will be perceived either as “likeable,” in which case she must be demure, “feminine” and passive. If Hillary was this kind of woman she could kiss her chances at the Presidency good-bye. On the contrary Hillary is tough, assertive, vocal and strong in which case she is characterized as The Bitch. I wish I had a nickel for every newspaper headline, television news broadcast and Internet feed that contains both the words “Clinton” and “attacks.” When she is critical of Obama, when Obama’s campaign plays dirty and she calls him out on it, when she casts doubt upon his policies and “eloquent” emptiness, she is the wicked stepmother poking the broom at Cinderella.

The collective, national reaction to the expression of emotion through quivering voice and misty eyes has also been analyzed by others more qualified than I, but I cannot help but comment. It is clear that the interpretation of quivering voice and misty eyes in Hillary is perceived much differently than when say, George Bush or Mitt Romney display such expressions of emotion . The men cry and the reaction is, “Awwwwww. See Mitt cry. Look how sensitive; how moved he is.” In Hillary it is interpreted as weakness or as a “typical” feminine ploy that when she’s not getting what she wants, she’ll cry (here’s to you, Maureen Dowd). Or it is interpreted as womanly emotion, surely evidence that a woman cannot be President. There are those I think, who actually imagine Hillary launching a nuclear weapon on a whim brought on by some post-menopausal hormonal imbalance. I suspect that all Barack need do to wrap this whole thing up is shed a few while in the passionate throes of one of his rhetorical speeches.

Tina Fey turned the image of Bitch on its head and in some sense forced us to look once again at America’s fear of female power steeped in sexism. Oh yes, I know. I will receive comments on this blog that will protest that sexism has anything to do with it. I will hear ad nauseum that the speaker does not oppose Hillary AS a woman but because she is HILLARY. And this may be true for a handful of you; as for the rest, save it. I wasn’t born yesterday. America’s collective psyche cannot escape the archetypal constructions, socially conditioned through thousands of years of patriarchy. The same mentality that maintains Clinton cannot be a good President by virtue of her sex is the same mentality that results in a Christian school's forbidding a woman to referee a boys’ basketball game. Administrators of the school recounted the ancient words of the First Letter to Timothy that echo back from the grave, “Let a woman learn in silence with full submission. I permit no woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she is to keep silent.”

When I debate Hillary’s struggle from the evidential argument of sexism, invariably I am presented with a comparable appeal to Obama’s obstacle of racism. But historically, America has always been more prepared to welcome African-American men before women into the halls of power and fame. In the passage of suffrage, African-American males were afforded the right to vote 50 years before women. In the elected offices of Governor, Senator and Congress, a pattern emerges and it is quite stunning. In all of these offices, the first African-American male was elected before the first woman by a span of 50-60 years. It may simply be Hillary’s misfortune to have been born too soon.

A friend of mine recently sent an article to me entitled, "It's OK to Vote for Obama Because He's Black," written by, Gary Kamiya, Executive Editor of Salon.com in which he wrote the following:

Obama's blackness is his indispensable asset. Without it, he would not have a snowball's chance in hell of being elected president.

Obama's charisma, which is his unique political strength, is real, but it cannot be separated from the fact that he's black. When Obama speaks of change and hope and healing divisions, his words carry an electric charge because of who he is: He embodies his own message, the very definition of charisma. As a black man offering reconciliation, he is making a deeply personal connection with whites, not merely a rhetorical one.

So white enthusiasm for Obama isdriven by his race. But there's nothing wrong with that fact. Those who criticize it are simultaneously too idealistic and too cynical: They assume that it's possible to simply ignore Obama's race, while also imputing unsavory motivations to those who are inspired by it…having a black president would give the country a deeper comfort level in talking about racial issues. It would help Americans…break out of the sterile guilt/victim dialogue…

I don’t know how a friend of mine could send this article to me as an appeal to consider Obama as my choice for Democratic nominee (or to understand his), without knowing that I would read Kamiya’s essay and turn the feminist hermeneutical eye upon it. Kamiya’s analysis was stunning to me for several reasons. For starters, he wasn’t afraid to write it. But what knocked me right between the eyes was his use of language; words like “reconciliation,” and “guilt/victim dialogue” and “healing.” Those who know me know also that one of my particular areas of interest is the study of the dynamics of forgiveness and reconciliation in culture and religion. The elements of reconciliation occur in stages. In order for reconciliation to occur there must first be acknowledgment of the injury by both parties. Secondly, the offending party must make a gesture of atonement or an expression of remorse and only then can the two be reconciled. If Kamiya is right and one of the key factors in America’s embrace of Obama is the attempt to reconcile its racist past, then it became crystal clear to me why Hillary Clinton as a woman (which is not possible to “simply ignore”) is not being extended the same conciliatory hand. America has not yet acknowledged its misogynist past. America has not yet struggled with, confronted nor admitted its pervasive sexism. America has not yet offered a gesture of atonement or an expression of remorse for its historical unjust treatment of women.

If nine years of experience teaching feminist critical analysis in a college classroom can serve as a microcosm of American attitudes towards gender critique, then my analysis is valid. There is no issue in my classroom more contentious, more likely to incite hostility and protest, or more denied,rejected and dismissed. The token month of March is set aside as “Women’s History Month, “ but in most treatments of these 31 days, American classrooms celebrate the achievements of the exceptions; those few women who were able to rise above an America characterized by impossibly unjust laws and institutions. Students do not learn of the ideological and practical heinous treatment of women both in the public and domestic spheres. They do not learn of laws denying women inheritance rights, property rights, jurisdiction over their own children and legal protection from violence and abuse. They do not learn of practices, which allowed a man to hire out his wife and keep her wages. They do not learn of fatal force feedings of women imprisoned and engaged in hunger strikes, demanding the right to be considered American citizens and to have a voice in choosing those who would legislate their futures. If I have 35 students in a classroom, two or three (in a good semester) have had previous exposure to feminist theory. Case in point: just a few weeks ago I presented an introductory lecture on feminist critical analysis. I described the critique of patriarchy (shoot, I had to define the word). I explained the consequences of a system in which men possess dominance in every area of public and private life; a system designed to keep women legally bound to men, dependent, uneducated, confined. And in a classroom moment that took my breath away, a young woman raised her hand and asked, “What’s wrong with that?” I cannot imagine an African-American student in response to a lesson on racism, slavery and segregation raising a hand and asking, “What’s wrong with that?”

Tina Fey’s little sketch may uncover more truth than even she might have guessed. Bitch is the new black. And America simply cannot reconcile it. I hope that it won’t take 50-60 years for America to elect its first woman president after it has elected an African-American male. I hope the same strides that have been made with respect to an analysis of racism in this country occur with respect to its analysis of sexism. I hope that every child in every classroom will not only celebrate the sheroes of March but will be taught a more accurate accounting of America’s dark sexist past, and of the American way of life experienced by the millions who are not named.

And then perhaps, if history must repeat itself and IF Obama is the Democratic nominee and should be elected President of the United States of America in 2008, I may have the opportunity in 2012 to proudly wear on my lapel a political button that reads, “Hillary Clinton for President: The Bitch is Back.”

Wake Up and Smell the Republicans

2008-02-20T18:32:00.000-08:00

Just recently I wrote a criticism in this blog of those who would argue for Barack Obama as the Democratic nominee on the basis of his ability to garner the Clinton vote in November while maintaining that the reverse is not likely to occur. I criticized this way of thinking as petty and trivial. I judged it to be a blatant disregard for the (in my view) nobler concern of best candidate for President, rather than merely best candidate for the party’s nomination. But it appears that there are others who are preparing to elect the one they perceive as the best candidate for the Democratic nomination. This morning on a national network, there was a political statistic that made me realize how naïve I have been. It seems that in the most recent primaries there has been a “trend” among Republican voters that has not emerged until the Republican candidate had all but been signed, sealed and delivered. The trend consists of Republican voters eschewing their Republican primary booths and (in the states that allow it) voting in the Democratic ones. Republicans are deciding not to “waste” their vote in their own primaries. Why? Because they KNOW who their candidate will be in November. So instead, they are entering their polling booths and are casting their votes in their state’s Democratic primaries. And for whom are they voting? Barack Obama. But they are voting for him not because they have abandoned their Party. They are voting for him not because they want him to be President. They are voting for him because they believe him to be the Democratic candidate most “beatable” against John McCain.

I have to admit, this shook me up. I began to really analyze the implications of the “Obama cult.” Yes, cult. I have been a student of religion for too long not to recognize the characteristics of “religion” when I see it. You think I jest. I do not. The best scholars in the field have made analogy between religion and American sports; between religion and NASCAR. The seminal scholars in the field offer theories, which eerily reflect the Obama cult.

Sigmund Freud, in his psychological analysis of religion spoke about faith [in God] as “illusion.” And essential to Freud’s theory of religion is that its potency lies not in its quality of truth, but simply that one wishes it to be true. Applied to the Obama cult then, Obama’s popularity lies in the strength of the “fulfillments of the oldest, strongest and most urgent wishes of mankind. The secret of their strength lies in the strength of those wishes. (The Future of an Illusion).” Obama is America’s redeemer because some wish him to be. After eight years of despair, war, threat of recession, frightening foreign policy and stupidity beyond belief, “we would rather face things as we did in the sunnier days of our childhood. Then there was always a father to reassure us against the dangers of the storm and the darkness of the night. Then there was always a voice of strength to say that all would be well in the end.” (Eight Theories of Religion, Daniels L. Pals, 2006, p. 70). I have been saying all along that the power of the Obama phenomenon lies in the fact that Obama supporters HOPE that he is who he says he is; WISH that he can deliver on the impossible promises he has vowed.

Emile Durkheim in his sociological analysis of religion focused on “’the totemic principle,’ which stands at the center of all of the clan’s beliefs and rituals. Behind the totem is an impersonal force that possesses enormous power, both physical and moral, over the life of the clan. People respect it; they feel a moral obligation to observe its ceremonies; and through it they feel tightly bound to each other in deep and abiding loyalty.” (Pals, p. 99). I have experienced this as well, as one “outside” the sacred realm of the Obama cult. As a Clinton supporter I have been judged as one who is the “pessimist,” the one who does not believe; the one who cannot see. I do not belong to the ranks of those who possess “the hope,” and as such I have been found wanting, defective, blind. “Durkheim vividly describes the sentiments that ‘bubble up’ in the excitement of [the] group’s ceremonies. They are ritual times filled with energy, enthusiasm, joy, selfless commitment, and complete security.” (Pals, p. 101) And “it is in the midst of these effervescent social environments and out of this effervescence itself that the religious idea seems to be born, (Durkheim, emphasis mine)”. Does the analogy escape you? Have you not witnessed the evangelical quality of Obama rallies, with their frenzied energetic adoration?

Edward Evans-Pritchard in his anthropological analysis observed that a religious view sometimes inhibits the broader understanding of the believer to such an extent that they are unable to entertain or perceive the world through any other perspective, “their blindness is not due to stupidity, for they display great ingenuity in explaining away the failures and inequalities of the poison oracle [read:Obama], and experimental keenness in testing it. It is due rather to the fact that their intellectual ingenuity and experimental keenness are conditioned by patterns of ritual behavior and mystical belief. Within the limits set by these patterns they show great intelligence, but it cannot operate beyond these limits. Or, to put it another way; they reason excellently in the idiom of their beliefs, but they cannot reason outside or against their beliefs because they have no other idiom in which to express their thoughts.” Have you ever tried to argue with an Obamanite? It is impossible, because their position is directed by the idiom of their belief in “the oracle.”

And so, I return to the realityof the Republicans and their conviction, backed by strategy, that they can beat Obama in November (and NOT Clinton). I fear Jon Stewart’s prophesy that the Democratic Party will once again manage to elude the arrow of victory, because while the Republican Party is craftily strategizing its effort to defeat the Democrats in November, Democrats are arguing over what constitutes a proud American. While Republicans are planning their assault against a candidate of THEIR choosing, Democrats are still arguing over “hope” and “inspiration.” I fear that while John McCain is enjoying inauguration ceremonies in January and taking the oath of Office of President of the United States, Democrats will be sitting around campfires singing, “Kumbaya, Obama,” wondering as they did in 2004, “HOW could this have happened AGAIN?”

If Obama Was a Woman, Part II

2008-02-11T05:46:00.000-08:00

I have received some responses from Obama supporters to my initial blog post “IF Obama Was a Woman,” (see below) and would like to respond. I have a few comments to make with regards to recent developments in the campaign as well.

**One responder charged that I judged Obama unfairly regarding his statements on his willingness to invade Pakistan if the intelligence was “actionable.” The criticism alleged that I took Obama’s comments too seriously because they were made in reference to a “hypothetical.” Well, the way I see it, statements made by both candidates in an effort to present to voters what they might do, would do, will do, could do IF (“if” being the hypothetically operative word here) they become President are ALL “hypotheticals.” And should all be taken "seriously." Campaigns are built upon proposed promises, plans and objectives for the future. And the future of course, is by its very nature hypothetical. If all hypotheticals must be eliminated from the discussion, from the deliberation and the assessment of character, then what do we have left? Oh, that’s right…the PAST i.e. what the candidates HAVE done, HAVE accomplished, HAVE already proven. If that be the case, I’m sticking with Hillary.

**I have been hearing for quite some time now the rhetorical argument that Obama is “The Unifier” and that Clinton “polarizes.” Thank goodness they have not resorted to calling her “The Polarizer.” She might just have to start wearing Ray-Bans at every appearance and then those who spend their time commenting on her hair and clothes would have new material for their trivial, chauvinistic concerns. I would pose several questions to those who would accuse Clinton of polarizing and who, at the same time, continue to advance these polarized characterizations (anyone see the irony here?). To begin, I have no idea what this means. Just what groups does Senator Clinton “polarize?” Blacks and Whites? Republicans and Democrats? Men and Women? The poor and the wealthy? NY Yankees fans and Boston Red Sox fans? At least with regard to this last, Massachusetts AND New York unite behind Hillary. That’s some resounding chord of unity if you ask me. Would someone actually attempt to look me in the eye and seriously suggest that Hillary Clinton is responsible for the division that exists between these sets of groups? Unfortunately, those divisions and separations have been around for a long time, long before Hillary Clinton was ever born, some of them for many centuries.

** One argument for Obama that has emerged and surged in the days immediately following Super Tuesday insists that Obama is the best Democratic choice for the November election because he is able to carry Clinton voters, while Clinton will not be able to carry Obama supporters. I have several things to say about this.

1) The argument has now focused on who is the party’s best candidate for the November election, NOT the Presidency. This is comparable to sending in the Corporal to win the battle when only the General can win the war. I know. Please pardon the militaristic nature of the analogy. I’d be open to other suggestions. Perhaps, "sending in the rookie to end the inning even though he can’t deliver the game?”

2) Senator Obama himself has been exploiting this ploy in speeches made recently. He actually articulated the idea that he is the party’s best candidate for the election because he will carry Clinton supporters while the opposite is unlikely. Unbelievable. Does he not realize that by merely suggesting this strategy, he is sending a message to his supporters tojoin him in this line of argumentation? Does he not recognize that by utilizing this as a method of political strategizing he is encouraging his supporters to voice their resistance to electing Clinton if she becomes the party’s nominee? WHAT could possibly be more divisive than that? Essentially what he is doing is dividing the party from within, jeopardizing the potential for future party unity, particularly in November. Unifier, indeed. I know it would be just too naïve of me to suggest that Obama might instead encourage his supporters to give up their childish, petulant, “if I can’t win, I won’t play” mentality and support the party’s nomination for President no matter whom that happens to be. No, I don’t expect this. But, neither did I expect him to promote this “polarizing” idea by actually appealing to it.

I have met many Obama people who have told me that they’d be more than willing to vote for Clinton in November, so he misjudges (or misrepresents) his own supporters anyway. Does he really think that his voter base would abandon the party by voting for the Republican candidate instead of Hillary Clinton? Or does he think that they would relinquish the right to exercise their vote altogether and risk a Republican victory merely by their absence at the polls? In either case it would be unconscionable and not only does Obama misjudge them, he insults them. If it is an accurate presentation of the majority position then shame on them for what they might risk (but I have more faith in them apparently than he does). So, voting for Clinton's opponent or simply not showing up seem to be the only options available according to Obama. But no, wait. He might advise Obama-Democrats to simply show up at the polls in November and cast a vote of “present,” in protest of the choices...

Also, by way of post script to the original journal entry on the campaign, I would like to add that appeals to Obama's capacity to "inspire," and to provide "vision and hope," imply that Senator Clinton does not do these. Rest assured. As I speak and listen to her supporters; nothing could be further from the truth. Her inspiration, leadership, grace under fire, intelligence, diligence and tireless work represent indeed, a new hope for us all.

If Obama Was a Woman

2008-02-07T05:18:00.000-08:00

It’s true. I haven’t written a blog post since Christmas Eve. When a friend asked me about this I said, “I guess I just haven’t had anything to say.” He looked at me with that, “Yeah right,” look and said, “You might as well have told me, ‘Feminism? Not so much.’” That’s how much he believed me. But yesterday a young man asked me to build an argument for Hillary Clinton because he was deciding his vote. I have decided to post what I said to him.

Let's start with their respective health care proposals.

Read this: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/04/opinion/04krugman.html?em&ex=1202533200&en=dd6d5bc79c7f4fd9&ei=5087%0A

Secondly, make no mistake. That Hillary is not sweeping the Dems' primaries is a clear case of national misogyny. Imagine two lists of credentials; one list of Hillary's and one list of Obama's. Now at the top of the list identify each by switching their genders, so that Clinton's credentials would be identified as the male's and Obama's as the female's. Obama would not have a snowball's chance in hell as a woman, with his credentials. If Hillary was a man, her credentials, her record of work for the poor, bill sponsorship, public service, experience would make her the clear front runner.

Thirdly, many Americans are once again supporting a candidate with no experience, no substantive political WORK, no evidence of competence. Invariably when I ask an Obama supporter WHY they support him they stammer and stutter and start talking about "vision," "hope" and "inspiration." All this based on his ability as a great Orator. The man speaks well. It is the gift after all, that first propelled him into the national spotlight; a speech given on the floor of a Democratic Convention. Obama supporters are being swept away by their desperation for faith. It is emotional and irrational. We have had eight years of the result of people voting on the basis of, "I don't know. I just LIKE him."

Fourthly, Clinton has won the demographics of the poor, the disenfranchised. What does that tell you? It tells you that they know who fights for them. Just last month Hillary sponsored a bill to increase the minimum wage. Have you heard anything about this in the News? No. She is in the process of running this incredible, exhausting campaign and is STILL sponsoring bills in the Senate; STILL working at her JOB. Obama does well in caucus states because the poor and middle class cannot get to caucus. Why? Because they're busy working at THEIR jobs.

Fifth: The Media is soft on Obama, tough on Hillary. No one is asking him the hard questions. After Super Tuesday I heard analysts say that Obama won Minnesota and Connecticut because these states are traditionally "anti-war." Haven't the voters in Minnesota and Connecticut heard Obama say twice in the Democratic debates (once in SC) that he "would not hesitate" to "strike" Pakistan if the intelligence was "actionable?" When ABC News' Charlie Gibson responded by saying, "(this is) essentially the Bush doctrine: We can attack if we want to, no matter the sovereignty of the Pakistanis," it was GIBSON who was criticized. Frankly, Obama's

comments terrified me. HOW would he do this? Where would he get the money to engage the U.S. in a third war? Where would he get the personnel? The Draft?? When I ask Obama supporters about this, three have told me that "the Pakistan LINE" was said to show that he is "tough on defense." My response? "Look, either Obama meant what he said about Pakistan, or he didn't. If he did, it's terrifying. If he didn't, and said it only to create an image, then WHAT ELSE should I NOT believe he's said because he's busy creating an image?" They look at me like a deer in headlights. When Clinton begins to ask questions like this, she is accused of "attacking" Obama and of being a bitch.

Sixth: The Media is determining this nomination. Pay close attention to the choice of language, the ordering of words, the slant of the questions. Once you do, you cannot help but see it. Examples: The day after the New Hampshire primary, one of the anchors for Good Morning America asked the network's political analyst, “What is it about New Hampshire voters that allowed them to overlook Clinton’s emotional outburst?” WHAT?? “OVERLOOK Clinton’s outburst?” This was the first political question of the morning. He didn’t ask, “What is it about New Hampshire voters that led them to judge Clinton as Presidential?” A recent Yahoo web page headline, “Obama Closes in on Clinton’s Double Digit Lead,” NOT, “Clinton Maintains Lead Over Obama.” After Nevada, AOL’s web page, “Clinton Survives, Romney Crushes.” WHAT? Clinton “survives?” She had just won NH and she won Nevada with over 50 percent of the popular vote among three candidates. On Super Tuesday, AOL’s page featured this line, “Why Feminists Say Don’t Vote for Clinton,” and then led the reader to some obscure person’s BLOG! On the Monday before Super Tuesday, I timed Good Morning America’s coverage of each of the candidates. Obama was featured in a little over 12.5 minutes of the broadcast. Clinton, just under four. Same day: when Michelle Obama was about to be interviewed the trailer was, “What does Michelle Obama feel when Bill Clinton attacks her husband?” Attacks? NOT “criticizes,” or “challenges.” The word “attack” was deliberately chosen to present a subjective image. It is a word loaded with bias. And this morning, on NBC, "Clinton appears to have won more delegates, but Obama won more states." Clinton appears to have won more delegates?? No guys. She DID. I am no longer watching Network news reports. From now on I'm watching The Jim Lehrer Report on PBS.

(I don't have cable).

Want more? I got plenty.

Obama supporters, you are welcome to email me or comment below with an argument for your candidate. But be forewarned, I will NOT entertain an argument that has as its basis an appeal to “hope,” or “inspiration.” And yet, in the case of Obama, it just may be that faith and hope are the only grounds for argument. Perhaps because (and St.Paul may have described these best in the Letter to the Hebrews), "faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." And I want to see more than possibility and potential. I want REAL evidence. And, should Obama win the nomination and the Presidency, I’ll wait a couple of years, thank you very much, before I declare him America’s Redeemer.

Joyeux Noel

2007-12-24T04:47:00.000-08:00

**On Saturday, I made a tortiere. A tortiere is the traditional French-Canadian Christmas Eve meat pie. The filling is made with ground beef, onions, water, bread crumbs, oregano, cinnamon (yes!) and allspice. Some make their tortieres with ground pork or half pork/half beef. The tradition of the tortiere originates from Quebec. When I was a child, the family would go to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, go home and eat tortieres. (The adults would drink beer with it). After that, we went to bed and opened presents the next morning. I have been making them all my life.
Every single woman in my family knew how to make them. 15 aunts, two grandmothers and a mother!

When I was a kid, if it was a "lean" year, they would add a little mashed potato to stretch the meat. If it was a prosperous year, all meat!
And it MUST be served with ketchup. The smell of the cinnamon, oregano and onions is a comfort smell from childhood Christmases. I don’t even use a recipe anymore. I know by sight and taste when the filling is just right.

** I just saw a news story about the gift of “health cards.” It seems that one can now place a medical procedure under the tree. The story featured a woman who is giving each of her parents a colonoscopy for Christmas this year. I don’t even know what to say about that, except to say to my children, “Don’t even think about it.”

** I am relieved to report that all Christmas packages sent to Brooklyn, Minneapolis, Woonsocket and Newport, have been received. Every year at this time I experience Postal Anxiety, a condition exacerbated by previous experiences with lost packages and late packages. Last year, my Christmas package to my daughter took only three days to reach Minneapolis…where it then sat on a Minneapolis Post Office shelf for two weeks. She was never notified of its existence. In desperation (and probably in exasperation of hearing, “Did you get it yet? Did you get it yet?”) she went to the post office to check. And there it was. Now, my daughter calls immediately upon receiving notice that her package has arrived. She knows that I have inherited her grandmother’s postal paranoia. It is true though, that I am not as neurotic about it as my mother. She thinks that the post office has it out for her personally. I have to admit that I have never known anyone who has had so many cards, letters and packages lost in the mail. One year, many years ago, she sent banana bread to my son when he was in college. Three weeks later, he received a moldy, inedible thing in the mail. Keep in mind the banana bread had only to travel from Rhode Island to Massachusetts.

** Here’s wishing everyone who celebrates it, a Merry Christmas.

And if you’re thinking about giving a loved one a colonoscopy, think again.

Repeat of entry from 12/24/06

2007-12-24T04:09:00.000-08:00

Christmas Time is Near...

Happiness and cheer.

Fun for all that children call,

Their favorite time of year.

Snowflakes in the air,

Carols everywhere,

Olden times and ancient rhymes

Of love and dreams to share.

“Christmas Time is Here,” (Vince Guaraldi-Lee Mendelson)

I suppose everyone expects me to launch into a social analysis of Christmas capitalist consumerism, or to attempt to debunk the myth of a young Jewish virgin girl giving birth to a child, but the truth is… I love Christmas. I always have.

Friends and family back in Rhode Island used to (affectionately) call me “the Christmas slut.” It seems a harsh characterization I know, but all it means is that I have no Christmas morals. I shake packages, eat cookies and candy canes off the tree and open presents as they come in not waiting for the 25th to arrive. There are those who maintain strict Christmas ethics and will not, under any circumstances open presents before Christmas Day, and then there are the rest of us, the Christmas sluts. It’s just too exciting and tempting and we Christmas degenerates simply do not have the strength of will to observe such demanding Christmas commandments. When my children were little, I would be the first to awaken Christmas morning and if I grew too impatient waiting for them to arise, I would go into the kitchen and make noise to wake them. What kind of a mother disturbs her children’s sugarplum slumber to satisfy her unquenchable thirst for Christmas surprise? A Christmas slut of a mother, that’s what kind.

When I was a child, there was no separating the holiday from the Holy Day. I knew that Christmas was about Jesus and loving him and welcoming him was an integral part of my childhood Christmas ritual; midnight Mass or Christmas morning Mass after the presents had been opened always began with the processional song, “Veni, Veni Emmanuel” (O Come, O Come Emmanuel). It is still my favorite Christmas song. I learned early that “Emmanuel” means “God with us.”

And Christmas is ultimately an ancient celebration of the belief of a god who comes to earth, in spite of and despite the season’s modern bastardization. It is an observance of the universal myth of communion of the human with the divine; of earth and heaven joined. It is echoed in the myths of Olympus and Athens united; of Horus, the child of Isis and Osiris (one of the first divine families of three). Even the ancient rituals associated with Bacchus and Dionysus were exploited as justification for orgy and excessive drink. And the Romans complained in their missives to Saint Paul that when the new Christians arrived for the agape, the “feast of love,” some of them consumed too much wine and approached the table a bit too tipsy. My French-Canadian uncles were simply echoing the traditions of the ancient Christians when they went to midnight Mass after having consumed screwdrivers and a keg of beer amongst themselves, consequently singing “Joy to the World!” with a bit too much joy. There is nothing new under the sun.

I love Christmas trees that sparkle with lights. And Christmas carols that move me in tender remembrance of the child I once was who thought that the baby Jesus was just the sweetest present ever. I love sugar cookies and vintage glass Christmas balls that must be handled carefully lest they crash to the floor and splinter into shards so small one finds traces of them in July. I love wrapping presents while watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” for the umpteenth time. I always, always cry when Donna Reed is on the phone with Sam Wainwright and Jimmy Stewart is so close to her he can smell her hair and he grabs her, the phone crashing to the floor and they hug and kiss in tears and desperation (sigh).

Doire Christmas tangent: When analyzed theologically of course, the whole premise behind “It’s a Wonderful Life” is false. According to Catholic tradition God only made a certain amount of angels at the creation of the universe and that’s all there’s ever going to be. One cannot become an angel. There will never be any more angels, so the whole story line of Clarence and the bell ringing when an angel gets its wings is counter to doctrinal angelology. When one dies one can join the communion of saints, but not the heavenly host of angels.

Doire Christmas tangent II: In Catholic angelology there is a hierarchy of angels (of course there is) comprised of seven types of angels on a scale of most illustrious to least. At the top of the list are the Seraphim, those gigantic Amazonian angels with powers we cannot begin to imagine. Second, are the Cherubim who stand at the gates of Eden with "a sword flaming and turning to guard the tree of life." At the bottom of the list are “Ordinary Angels,” which to me frankly, seems an oxymoron.

I love Christmas cards and packages; Christmas fudge and candy canes.

I love funny little Santa figurines and golden snow globes.

I love to find surprising presents to give to the people I love.

I enter into the season with joy and good intention.

And now, if you'll excuse me, this little Christmas slut has presents to open early…

In a Different Voice

2007-12-17T04:28:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine recently purchased a brand new car. A few weeks ago, she walked out to her parking space to find a noticeable scratch and ding on her previously show-room perfect vehicle. There was no one in sight and no note under the windshield. Since I am ever fascinated by the ethical question, I wondered if there exists a fundamental difference between people who would leave a note and those who would not. The difference I suspect is moral maturity.

When my brother was in high school he hit a car in a parking lot. He left a brief note on the windshield of the dented car explaining what had happened and included his name and phone number. The owner of the vehicle called our house and reached my father, who wasn’t at all angry. When the phone call ended my father related to me how impressed the caller had been by both my brother’s actions and by how rare it is to find such a sense of right and responsibility in one so young. My father may have told me the story to teach me what to do in this situation, when I began to drive. But I suspect he told me because he was so proud. He was proud that in a moment when my brother could have driven off in secrecy, he chose to do the right thing. It is in these moments I think, when our moral character most reveals itself; in those moments when no one is watching. There is no threat of punishment if discovered. There is no risk of invoking moral judgment by others. These two motivations represent the first two stages of Lawrence Kohlberg’s stages of development in moral reasoning. The most elementary stage (pre-conventional) is represented by those who act according to fear of punishment or hope for reward. One might think of a three year old who will not eat the cookie simply to avoid being sent to the corner but there are many adults who never move past this stage. The second stage (conventional) involves acting rightly in order to win the approval and acceptance of peers exemplified perhaps by the adolescent dynamic of “peer pressure.” Some adults as well, never move beyond this stage. In the post-conventional stage moral judgments are made through the use of abstract moral reasoning based on universal principles.

Doire tangent: The operative word there being “universal.” Many live by moral principles that no one would wish to become universal. Just because a person lives by principles does not mean they are “good” ones. People construct all kinds of little moral precepts in their heads and judge themselves to be virtuous because they live by them. The Mafia code of ethics is a perfect example. The Mafia live principled lives based upon a particular code of morality and yet no one who is not Mafia would wish these to be held universally. Perhaps this is what Immanuel Kant observed (not the Mafia, but the dynamic) when he posited his categorical imperative, “Act only on those maxims that you would desire become universal law.” (Or something like that—I write it from memory).

I cannot write of Lawrence Kohlberg’s stages however, without adding that Kohlberg’s research involved only boys and men. Carol Gilligan’s groundbreaking book (published 25 years ago), In a Different Voice, noted that (generally) men and women are socialized to reason through moral problems differently (note: she never suggested that the difference is innate). In what she described as an “ethic of care” her research showed that women make moral decisions not on the basis of universal principles but on the basis of relationship, or on the basis of empathy for another’s injury. The difference can be illustrated by observing young children at play. Little girls when faced with a playmate’s elimination from a game will alter the rules so that she will not be excluded. Little boys will adhere to the rules and (tough luck) the child is “out.” It is this dynamic through which women have been historically rendered morally inferior. Men have noted that women “cave” in adherence to principle when potential damage to a relationship might be at risk and according to the male standard of moral reasoning, women have been perceived as weak. What you see depends upon where you stand and how you measure moral fortitude depends upon your yardstick. Neither of these modes of moral reasoning is superior to the other. Neither are they exclusively restricted by gender. When I read Gilligan’s book many years ago, so much became clear to me. I began to understand how certain moral acts committed by husbands and male friends, senators and Presidents would elicit incredulity from my women friends and me, “HOW could they ignore the human element of the thing, in deference to some law?” And male friends, “HOW could she abandon the rules because of someone’s feelings?” Strict adherence to one of the two modes may result either in the sacrifice of people to the principle, or conversely the sacrifice of principle in the interest of people. In my opinion, the mark of moral maturity is in the ability to appeal to both and to knowing when the “ethic of care” or the “ethic of principle” is most appropriate. I do not know what dynamic of moral reasoning my brother utilized when he left that note on the windshield years ago. He might have been adhering to a universal moral principle that when one damages another’s property, one fesses up. Or he might have considered how he would feel if someone hit his car and didn’t acknowledge it. Whatever the case, one thing I know: he did the right thing.

Apologies, and Stuff

2007-11-09T18:34:00.000-08:00

Has it really been over a month since I've written anything? In the past few days I've received two messages from people who have read my previous entry and thought I was still in the midst of that hopelessness. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to worry anyone. That hoplessness passed quickly. I'm fine.

** Since I last wrote the Red Sox won the World Series, Joni Mitchell released her first album of new songs in ten years and I had a birthday. Win some, lose some.

** It's a bad sign when, on the way back from work you think to yourself, "Jeez...I wish I'd bought gas this morning."

**I had a student today who made an argument that accuracy in accounts of "history" are related to how soon after the events the chronicler "reports" them. Jeez. He was trying to make a case for the Gospels being MORE "accurate" than all other religions stuff because the Gospel writers wrote within 100 years of Jesus' death. What crap. The freaking Buddha was still ALIVE when his disciples were remembering stuff; Muhammad presumably wrote his OWN stuff (from the mouth of God of course). The Gospel writers all wrote on the basis of stories that were told to them by "witnesses." All hearsay if you ask me. I argued against him but want to returnto the issue on Monday with this example: The war with Iraq is VERY recent "history," and yet, the accounts of the events, reasons, objectives, and outcomes of THAT historical event are all very different and disparate. Which of them is "historically accurate?" And this is an event that occurs NOW and began only four years ago and there is no agreement about the "history" of it!

Another example (though admittedly, over the top): The Nazis went to trial right after the Holocaust. They had a direct view of the "history" of that event and yet, would you judge that their perspective and accounts were "accurate" simply because they were offered soon after the event?

** OnSunday I am giving a lecture at a Unitarian Church in Myrtle Beach. It's the third time I've been invited to do so. Since my best friend lives there, I'll drive up tomorrow morning, we'll hang out shopping and lunching and then we'll let her husband take us out for dinner. On Sunday morning, I'll go to the 11:00 service, do my thing and then some of the women in the group want to take me out for lunch. Not a bad gig.

I usually give them 5 or 6 topics from which to choose. This year they chose "Common Ethical Threads in the World's Religions." I thought this morning how appropriate the title I created for that topic... the world's religions' "ethical threads" sure seem to be unraveling. I'll examine the common ethical foundations in a few religions... and there ARE some believe it or not. Though you'd never think it to "look" at them, they include: an idea of the Oneness of (and interdependence of) all Being and, non-violence (hey, I said it lay in the "foundations," not necessarily the consequent construction), welcoming the stranger (ditto), alleviation of suffering and the protection of the weak and vulnerable.

Just Give Me a Moment

2007-09-27T13:16:00.000-07:00

I know. Just yesterday I wrote of hope. I live in hope. Hope is my mojo. And very, very rarely do I give in to despair. But right now, in this moment the sadness overwhelms me. The news gets worse every day; death, violence, disease, brutal governments, torture, oppression of the weak, suppression of truth, a f**king global war against women, Buddhist monks killed as they protest for justice, murder committed in sick appeals to a loving God. If there is a god, She should just come down right now, annihilate us all and proclaim the human race a "failed experiment."

Untitled

2007-09-26T18:07:00.000-07:00

In the past week:

* I have seen a story on a national news network about sexual trafficking in women’s and children’s bodies. This global “industry” is now the second largest illegal trade in the world. It used to be third.

* I read a story in the NY Times about a 13 year old Egyptian girl who died as a result of her female “circumcision.” The “clinic” where this mutilation was performed was closed down. The men in her village vowed that the practice would continue and that even though the clinic was shut down, the practice would not be. According to the article in the Times,

“For centuries Egyptian girls, usually between the ages of 7 and 13, have been taken to have the procedure done, sometimes by a doctor, sometimes by a barber or whoever else in the village would do it. As recently as 2005, a government health survey showed that 96 percent of the thousands of married, divorced or widowed women interviewed said they had undergone the procedure — a figure that astounds even many Egyptians. In the language of the survey, “The practice of female circumcision is virtually universal among women of reproductive age in Egypt…The challenge, however, rests in persuading people that their grandparents, parents and they themselves have harmed their daughters. Moreover, advocates must convince a skeptical public that men will marry a woman who has not undergone the procedure and that circumcision is not necessary to preserve family honor. It is a challenge to get men to give up some of their control over women.”

* I read a story, again in the Times, about a 16 year old young woman from Syria who was raped when she was 15. In order to protect HER honor, a beloved cousin offered to marry her. He loved her deeply. They were married. A month after their marriage, after her new husband had left the house for work, her brother went into her bedroom where she slept and brutally stabbed her five times. Her murder is traditionally considered an “honor killing.” It does not carry the charge of murder. Typically, the assailant in an honor killing is either acquitted or sentenced to a month in prison, at which point he is released to go home to family and friends who honor HIM for reconciling the family “shame.” The woman was raped by a man and then murdered by a man who presumably redeemed her; her shame and honor, determined by others than herself.

How much brutality have women endured throughout history in the name of “protection,” control and definition of their sexuality? It is too much to consider.

I can find hope only in the fact that at last there is outrage.

At last, sexual slavery and the “disappearance” of millions of women worldwide are being exposed.

At last, there is opposition to a practice that denies women sexual pleasure, autonomy and threatens their safety and their lives.

At last, there is intolerance for an absurd practice that counts a woman’s virginity as more valuable than her life.

The claim to moral relativity is not relevant here. A woman’s life is not negotiable. Murder cannot be defended by appealing to cultural differences or by a reluctance to make moral judgments. And know this: the feminist movement is about many things but at its core it is about liberation and ultimately, the protection of women’s lives from the men who would end them.

Dubyawood

2007-09-05T14:11:00.000-07:00

It occurred to me today that this country has a tradition of honoring its former Presidents with Presidential libraries. Somehow though, in George Dubya Bush’s case, a library just doesn’t seem right unless the books contained within it are those most often reserved for the level of reading found in The Children’s Room. I doubt that there are enough Sendaks, Steigs, Dr. Seusses and Shel Silversteins to fill a library worthy of the status of “Presidential.” Think however, how appropriate even this might be, though first we might have to find a way to resurrect these beloved authors to write sequels to some of their most cherished stories. For example:

Maurice Sendak would have to write Where the Crooked Things Are. The night George wore his flight suit, and made mischief of one kind, and another, his mother called him “AWOL,” and George said, “I’ll deport you!” so he was sent to bed without reading anything. That very night, in George’s room, an oil rig grew, and grew, and grew until his ceiling hung with money and the walls became the world all around.

And Dr. Seuss’ Dubya Hears a Who:

On the fifteenth of May, in the jungle of Nool,
In the heat of the day, in the cool of the pool,
He was splashing…enjoying the Texan great joys…
When Dubya the President heard a loud noise.

So Dubya stopped splashing. He looked towards the sound.
“That’s funny,” thought Dubya. “There’s no one around.”
Then he heard it again! Just a very great yelp
As if some great god were calling for help.
“I’ll help you,” said George. “But who are you? Where?”
He looked and he looked. He could see nothing there
But a small speck of dust blowing past though the air.

“I say!” murmured Dubya. “I’ve never heard tell
Of a small speck of dust that is able to yell.
So you know what I think? Why, I think that there must
Be a God on top of that small speck of dust!
The God of the Bible of very small size,
too small to be seen by a President’s eyes…

No, I think a Presidential Library is out of the question.

I suggest rather, a theme park, in the manner of Dollywood.

Dubyawood. The attractions of Dubyawood will pay tribute to the landmark moments that characterize the Bush Presidency:

*Pollution Park- This will represent Dubya’s progress on the issue of the environment. All the trees will be dead or cut down to the trunk. Park goers will picnic inside a specially designed dome. Inside the dome, the temperature will be regulated to reflect the effects of Global Warming. Heat indices will hover between 110 and 120 degrees Fahrenheit but all park personnel will deny what everyone else knows. Outside the dome, the picnickers will have a wonderful view of giant smokestacks, a memorial to the de-regulation of pollutant emissions. The stream that will run aside the dome will glisten with the sludge of toxic waste, oil slicks and dead fish.

* Liars’ Lake- Swimmers will be convinced that there is a lake there. Eye witnesses will swear up and down that there really is a lake there. Documents will be forged by engineers who will attest to actually having made the lake there. When swimmers pass through the gates there will be no lake to be seen for miles. But in order not to appear foolish, when they leave the area they too will tell others that there really is a lake there.

*The Spinning Wheel- You will only be allowed to play this game if you are a friend of Dubya’s. The player will step up to the wheel and have a chance to win 1) a juicy government contract 2) a Cabinet post 3) an ambassadorship in a sweet place 4) a Supreme Court appointment 5) a week in Kennebunkport, ME 6) a week in Crawford, Texas 7) a trip on an aircraft carrier 8) a suspended sentence for a conviction of a crime

* The Wheel of Fortune- Contestants will solve puzzles comprised of the many “Bushisms” that he has spoken over the past seven years such as:

“I can only speak to myself.”

“I’m the decider.”

“Jobs will begat houses.”

“Those who enter the country illegally violate the law.”

“Wow! Brazil is big!”

"Nucular war." "Nucular weapons." "Nucular threat." Nucular family." (Any phrase really, that refers to NUCLEAR anything).

“I’ve got eck-a-lec-tic (reading material).”

“I’m a commander guy.”

“You got to keep repeating things over and over and over again for the truth to sink in, to kind of catapult the propaganda.”

“Who could have possibly envisioned an erection, uh…an election in Iraq at this point in history?”

OK. Enough. Needless to say, Pat Sajak will not be wanting for material.

* Dunk the Clowns: This fairway game will place mannequins of Rumsfeld, Cheney, Wolfowitz, Condi Rice and Ashcroft in the “dunk the clown” seat. Anyone who dunks one of the clowns will win a talking Dubya doll who will repeat one of the Bushisms mentioned above when the string on his back is pulled.

So, that’s my suggestion. Dubyawood.

I’m open to other ideas for rides, attractions, concession stands and fairway games.

After all, we have a little bit of time before ground breaking needs to begin.

But not much.

Dark Night of the Soul?

2007-09-01T12:59:00.000-07:00

Last night, I finally read Time magazine’s recent cover story on Mother Teresa.

The principle subject of the piece is not Teresa’s canonization, life story, nor even her great work among the poor but rather, her doubt. Papers and letters recently made public, paint a portrait of a woman of faith who had none; a woman the world thought close to God whose God was abysmally and chronically absent. Teresa’s torment is evident in her writings and one is struck by the stunning irony of it all. She was the saint without faith.

One has to question the motivation (not to mention the morality) of the Church and of trusted advisors who against her expressed wish to destroy the papers upon her death have instead chosen to publish them. The papers are startling in their revelatory descriptions of the state of Mother Teresa’s interior castles; bereft, hollow and tortuously empty:

So many unanswered questions live within me afraid to uncover them — because of the blasphemy — If there be God — please forgive me — When I try to raise my thoughts to Heaven — there is such convicting emptiness that those very thoughts return like sharp knives & hurt my very soul. — I am told God loves me — and yet the reality of darkness & coldness & emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul. Did I make a mistake in surrendering blindly to the Call of the Sacred Heart?

In the Time article the previous passage is followed by a notation, which reads “addressed to Jesus, at the suggestion of a confessor, undated.” It seems less a prayer than a desperate experiment suggested by an advisor; that if she pretended God was there, He might actually appear.

In almost all of the world’s religions there is the acknowledgement of a phenomenon which affirms that emptiness and darkness may serve as vehicles to spiritual fulfillment. This phenomenon has many names in the many traditions; kenosis, sunyata, the Via Negativa. Simone Weil, the 20th century Christian mystic maintained that through affliction, the experience of abandonment by God may indeed work towards bringing God more sharply into focus; may in fact result in the experience of divine intimacy. Like the beloved who is on vacation and whose qualities become more vivid and more endearing in the memory of the lover, the memory of an absent God induces greater longing and invokes a more intimate divine presence. But ultimately, even for Weil, the beloved does return. For Saint John of the Cross who first used the phrase “dark night of the soul,” the “night” is a phase of spiritual growth, a phase that is marked by suffering, but a phase that passes. The experience of the absence of God in Teresa’s life spanned a period of almost 50 years and seems not to have changed even before death. Her Beloved never returned.

When does one concede that almost 50 years of spiritual desert, absence of faith, doubt in the existence of God, and the presence of Christ signify no longer a “dark night” but rather a perpetual condition of the soul? Night passes. Dawn comes. A fifty year night is hardly a night at all. It is an existential nightmare, particularly for one whose appearance in the world is in direct contradiction to her internal reality; the nightmare, which in Teresa’s own words was marked by the terrible realization of her own deceptive persona:

"The smile," she writes, is "a mask" or "a cloak that covers everything." Similarly, she wonders whether she is engaged in verbal deception. "I spoke as if my very heart was in love with God — tender, personal love," she remarks to an adviser. "If you were [there], you would have said, 'What hypocrisy.'" Time magazine

I am not without sympathy for Teresa’s spiritual torture. That she obviously suffered arouses pity and compassion. I am however, not sympathetic to, nor am I convinced by those who would nonetheless interpret Teresa’s spiritual emptiness as a further indication of her “holiness,” and “sanctity.” I am not convinced by those who would insist that the absence of God in her life is ironic evidence of the presence of God in her life. I am instead reminded of the post-Holocaust theologian who argued that God’s “hiddenness” at Auschwitz was proof of God’s existence. And of Karl Rahner’s famous (or infamous) “anonymous Christian,” the title given to his claim that everyone is a Christian, they just don’t know it yet. I am very much aware of the presence of paradox in the field of religion, but in order for a paradox to be accepted it must somehow have the capacity to clear the hurdle of absurdity. It must somehow fill in the space where the contradiction might be held in believable tension, if not suspension.

Neither would I deny that the continuation of her work in the midst of such spiritual destitution was heroic in its persistence and determination. But if one would argue that the absence of God, while yet ministering to the poor are indications of holiness and saintliness, then how different is she from the thousands of others who commit their lives to a cause, who sacrifice body and “soul” in the service of others and who do so in living conditions from which most of us would flee? How different is she from those who also do so without the presence of faith and the experience of God (and yet, who do not claim God as their inspiration)? If a life of service in the absence of faith is grounds for beatification and canonization, then the litany of saints must surely be increased a hundred-fold.

And if, in the final stages of canonization the requisite miracles needed forsainthood indeed be confirmed, upon whose faith did the miraculous events depend? Upon Teresa’s? Or upon those who had faith in Teresa?

I have never known of a saint whose principle spiritual characteristic was lack of faith. Perhaps it is time for one. Such a canonization might just crack the door open for the rest of us.

Kinda Got a Feeling, I'm Not in Brooklyn Anymore

2007-08-26T16:42:00.000-07:00

It’s been so long since I’ve written I don’t think anybody checks anymore.

My first two weeks of August were spent in Brooklyn. My son, who lives there was on vacation elsewhere, but he allowed me to camp out.

I discovered that the secret to surviving 12 days in NYC is to live them as if you live there. Tourists burn themselves out. So… like most working New Yorkers, I went out during the day and stayed home at night. I spent 5 days in NY by myself and then a friend from Charleston joined me for the remaining week. My reputaton as the meteorological kiss of death played itself out once more. I was not settled in Brooklyn for more than a few days when the first tornado touchdown in 113 years struck a Brooklyn neighborhood. Good thing I'd brought my red shoes... the Wicked Witch might have been lurking around any corner or subway stop.

We were really attracted to the Brooklyn Heights promenade. What a wonderful gift to the residents of Brooklyn. There’s an incredible view, which I've mentioned before; the Statue of Liberty to the left, the Manhattan skyline directly in front and the Brooklyn Bridge to the right. By the way… I LOVE the Brooklyn Bridge. It is my second most favorite architectural creation (Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, the first). Court Street and Montague Street in Brooklyn became my “hangout.” The promenade is a great place for people to congregate, walk, bring their dogs and children. One day my friend and I walked to DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass) and explored. We found the famous Grimaldi's Pizza house but it was a Saturday so the line to get in was thirty deep. We walked around the corner and went to another pizza place named after the street it's on. First Street Pizza, maybe? We started out at a restaurant I’d frequented before named “Rice” but I had forgotten they only take cash and we had cards (sigh). We walked some more through the Fulton Street Park and ended up with ice cream at the Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory.

One of my friend’s favorite things was to just sit outside at night in front of the Brooklyn brownstone and watch the foot traffic to the subway station and talk. I enjoyed it too. We drank vodka and told stories of our lives.

Another day we walked around Greenwich Village and SoHo and got cupcakes at Magnolia Bakery. There was a line there too! What's THAT about?

On Friday we went into Manhattan (one day in Manhattan, one day in Brooklyn was our routine) and it was 55 degrees and drizzling! We couldn't believe it. The day before it had been 85 and the day after as well. We were FREEZING! We shopped on Broadway and stopped into several Starbucks just to warm up a bit.

The last day of our stay we walked 5th Avenue. I'd never done that; the Plaza, Empire State Bldg., Central Park. It was a beautiful day. I walked so much during my stay in NY (not to mention the subway stairs) that I LOST three pounds!

On the flight home I sat next to an eight-year old girl named Rachel who was traveling alone. Across the aisle, a one and a half-year old baby boy. I would be entertained or entertain whether I wanted to or not. Rachel and I chatted on and off during the flight. Towards the end of our flight she said, “I’m so glad you don’t live in my neighborhood. This boy, Cameron _______ tortures me every day.” I said, “Well you should never let boys torture you.” She said, “I don’t. I have a restraining order out on him so that he can’t come into my yard.” In that moment I felt a little sad for Rachel. Given the short life story she'd shared with me, I knew that no eight year old child uses the words "restraining order" unless they'd had experience with the term. Then she said, “There are only two boys allowed to come into my yard.”

And in solidarity with her, I said, “That’s OK. There are only two boys allowed to come into my yard.” The old woman sitting in front of us turned her head, looked between the seats, caught my eye and laughed her head off.

All too soon, school has begun. But I’m ready and loving it, as usual.

A Spirit Grows in Brooklyn

2007-08-05T15:10:00.000-07:00

I had such a good day. The weather finally broke and I awoke to cool, dry breezes and a lovely summer day. I took my coffee in my son's and daughter-in-law's beautiful courtyard garden behind their brownstone. I called my Mom as is our usual Sunday morning routine. At 11:00 I walked the half block to the nearest subway station (they're lucky that way...or smart to have chosen this location) out to the Century 21 store deeper into Brooklyn. I took the subway to 86th Street. As I emerged from the underground, I took the wrong turn towards 3rd Ave when I should have turned towards 5th (what else is new?), but quickly noticed my mistake. I shopped for a while, spent $61 dollars. I got four articles. At the bottom of my receipt is printed the following, "You saved $421.61." Don't you just LOVE it? Then I wanted to head towards my "hangout" at Court and Montague so I entered the subway in the direction of Manhattan. The only glitch of the day occurred when the "voice of the subway" announced that the R line is under construction and would not stop at the Court Street station so I had to go as far as Canal Street into Manhattan, get out of the car and cross the platform back into Brooklyn for the Court Street stop. (I'm getting good at this.. OK, maybe not. But at least I don't panic anymore). By this time it was 3:00 so I went to Connecticut Muffin and got a Chicken Curry sandwich, crossed the street and ate half of it with my Starbucks iced coffee (purchased with my discount). I'll have the other half for dinner. I lingered there and read a while. When I left Starbucks, I ventured further down Montague and came upon a wondrous sight. I discovered what perhaps half of Brooklyn already knows; one of the features of Brooklyn Heights is "The Promenade," a walkway along the river that offers one of the best views of Manhattan I have ever seen. To my left was the Statue of Liberty, as close to her as I have ever been. Directly front and center, the island of Manhattan and off to the right, the incredible Brooklyn Bridge. I sat on a bench and soaked up the sun and the view. I came "home" and between the two of us, Time-Warner cable's robot telephone voice and I managed to get my son's cable picture back up on screen (it had been out for 24 hours. By the way, have I mentioned? They're not here. They are on vacation somewhere else.!). The cable is back. WhooWoo!! Today, I LOVED New York.

On Hiatus?

2007-08-04T18:43:00.000-07:00

I haven't written about my trip to Maine and Rhode Island. To do so would entail my writing about the members of my family, people I love very much. I respect their privacy too much to write about them in a public journal. I am now in NYC until the 13th, at which time there will be little less than a week and a half before school begins again. I find myself thinking, "Where did the summer go?"

The sounds of Brooklyn streets are so different from those of South Carolina. At home I hear no one rifling through the bottles left on the street for the recycling truck. There are no barking dogs where I live. Here, children cry and shout. Boom boxes play loud salsa, or rap as they pass the window on the way to the subway station. An ice cream truck parks in front of the house for fifteen minutes, its singsong, bell-like music repeats the same refrain. The many languages heard in the subway cars offer a rich cacophany of diversity. The sounds of traffic here in Brooklyn do not only come from the cars that pass before the window. The sound of traffic is an echo that fills the night; a groan that emerges from the depths of the city miles away. It is the sound of seven million people who create a constant drone, imperceptible to those who live here, but ever present to the visitor.

Since I arrived on Thursday the heat in NYC has been stifling, despite a surprising breeze that somehow manages to make its way between skyscrapers. The cool of the night promises to last through the day tomorrow.

For all my visits to NYC I have never had a celebrity sighting until yesterday. In a salad and sandwich place off Broadway, I stood in line behind Debra Messing as we told a white-aproned server what to include in our "create-your-own-salad" bowls. I ordered dried cranberries and feta and mushrooms. She passed on all three.

I have found a place to "hangout" in Brooklyn; the Court/Montague Street area. For the past three nights I have walked these streets, stopping into little restaurants for dinner, topping that off with espresso at Starbucks and making one last stop into Key Foods. I haul the little grocery bags underground to take back home on the subway.
It is an exhausting enterprise to live in NYC without a car. To actually drive one, I should think, would be stressful.

Life...One Damn Gift After Another

2007-07-12T06:03:00.000-07:00

* Just weeks ago in this journal, I was lamenting the lack of a personal washer/dryer, which necessitated many undesirable trips to the Laundromat. I am happy to report the delivery of my new washer/dryer on July 4th at approximately 2:35 in the afternoon. A friend of mine who moved on the Fourth of July had a set, only a year old that could not be accommodated in her new place. She offered them to me on a “payment plan.” Her two mover men brought them to my house, but of course there was a glitch. The dryer had a four-pronged plug. I have a three-pronged outlet. They offered to install the washer while I ran out to Lowe’s for a new cord. I paid them and gave them beer.

* Psssssst (she said, whispering). There are running water noises and hammering noises coming from the apartment next door. It’s been empty for a month. I wonder if it’s just a work crew or if someone’s moved in under my nose. It could happen. I’m so busy doing laundry.

* Several weeks ago when I was teaching the Religion and Feminism course, I went to “my” Starbucks before class to get my usual morning double tall soy latte and as I stood in line, dressed more professionally than usual, my co-workers and friends shouted from behind the coffee bar, “Hey Louise! Where you going all dressed up?”

And I responded, in a voice loud enough to hear across the five feet to the espresso bar, “I’m off to save the world…one feminist at a time.” The atmosphere changed- to a hush.

* I was at my hair salon the other day. It's a very intimate, small place. There was only one other woman there along with my hair stylist (who is also my friend). The other woman having her hair done was...uh, ok, I'll say it- she was as redneck as anyone I've ever seen. Her beloved daughter (about whom she is very possessive) has just gotten engaged to a Muslim man. Of course, the woman knows NOTHING about her own religion, let alone Islam. She just wants him to "believe in God and Jesus. They believe in them don't they?" I tried to explain in the simplest language I could about Islam. (I WANTED to say, "You know... there are BOOKS."). Anyway, I really do have tremendous patience and tolerance with ignorance, but THEN she said that sometimes she sneaks pork into her future son-in-law's food "to see if he'll notice." Yes, I can tolerate ignorance but NOT deceit and mean-spiritedness. I said to her, "Would you step on a Cross? Would you smash a Cross with your feet?" She said of course not. I said, "Well sneaking pork into that man's food is like someone sneaking a Cross under your rug to MAKE you step on it." And I THINK I saw a night-light size bulb go off. I think she understood. Like Nathan confronting King David (OK...not quite), she understood her actions when she was placed in the center of the story. When she left she touched my arm and thanked me saying, “There was a reason why we were here today.” Well, I don’t know about her, but I was there was for a trim and highlights. My friend needless to say, almost bust a gut trying not to laugh out loud.

* I went to the beach yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. I am drawn to it like iron to a magnet. It is my place of peace and calm. I walk and think. I think and sit. I write poetry here and ask questions. Odd, that someone who suffers from hypo-phobia should love the presence of the ocean so much. I don’t go in the water. I never go in the water. I will walk on the shore and feel the coolness of the water on my feet but that is not my greatest pleasure there. My greatest pleasure is the sound. There is no other place on earth that has quite that sound. And smell. And feel- the sand on the body and under the feet. The beach is a sensual place. I cannot wait to be back to the Rocky Coast of New England; to visit First Beach in Newport, so different from the South Carolina beaches.

* I can’t help it. I hate that the 7th inning stretch of Major League baseball games has become the “God Bless America moment,” instead of the “Take Me Out to the Ball Game moment.”

* I had a weird dream this morning. My daughter (she was a child again, not the age she is now) and I were in a two story, brown tenement house on the second floor. I don’t know why the color “brown” is important to mention except that I noticed it in the dream so it seems to be. We were awakened by a noise. The noise came from the complete collapse of HALF of the house; like someone took a knife and sliced it down the middle and one side of it began to fall. We found ourselves standing on the edge of the wide open, gaping hole of a second floor staring across at our kitty, still perched on the side about to crash down. Just before this significant part of the collapsing side finally went down, my daughter leaned precariously over the edge and grabbed the kitten to safety. My she-ro.

* This time next week I will be in Maine and three days later, in Rhode Island.

I cannot wait to see my family.

Note to Paulette and Roger: Fire up the hot tub and the blender!

Note to Ben and Sue: See you at Buddy’s!

Note to Bert and Liz: Don’t even TRY to get me on that golf course.

Postscript to "What's New About Terror?"

2007-07-06T04:26:00.000-07:00

I am forever a student, even in my own classroom. It is an “epistemological irony,” through which, if the teacher allows it, she learns as much or more than her students. These moments are sometimes joyful surprises, on-the-spot revelations of understanding, creative connections that occur as one speaks, or crystallized awareness of the relationship between culture and religion. Teaching this summer course on Religion and Feminism provided many such moments for me. I learned as my students learned. I grew as my students grew.

Through the course readings and class discussions I developed a greater understanding and appreciation of many things with these students but nothing can compare to the awakening I have experienced since exploring the historical reality of women’s terror. In the classroom, through my own reflection and in the words of this journal, I have begun to discover profound truths about how women and men experience the world and each other:

1) I am not alone. I am not hyper-paranoid, excessively anxious or fearful. My experience of terror has been affirmed repeatedly by my female students, by friends who have read my journal entries, by female co-workers with whom I discussed the issue, with relatives, and a young woman whom I consider to be fearless, who admitted to me that even she is not free of it. Over and over again the women in my life have confirmed it: they too walk about the world in terror of sexual assault and rape. It is ever near the surface of consciousness. It invades us, disturbs our peace and alters our behavior. One young woman, in her critical reflection wrote the following:

A large part of my life includes fear. I recognize that every decision

I make is informed by the understanding that I have to do everything

I can to avoid being a victim of violence or rape. It is horrifying that

as a strong woman who is relatively secure in herself, I have become

so used to living my life in fear, always watching out, keeping the lights

on, checking behind my shower curtains and in my closet before bed,

feeling that drop in my stomach as I open the door to my apartment

late at night, almost braced for the worst...

And another:

While I have never been attacked in a dark alleyway walking home

at night, I feel I am prepared for it. I put my keys in my hand and

ball up my fist, waiting for someone to step my way. I never realized

why I did it except that I was trying to protect myself… I have also

been told throughout my life that I must dress in such a way as to not

make men sin, by lust.

And another:

Yesterday in class, we began talking about how we adjust our

lifestyles to prevent or avoid any form of violent crime or victim-

ization. After class, I drove home thinking about how it affects my

life. I fear going to sleep at night because I have a horrible fear

of waking up to someone standing over my bed. I do not go to

the mall or grocery store at night by myself because of the horrific

stories one hears of abductions. The list goes on and on…

I am not alone. The experience of terror is a universal, female one. What is amazing too is that (to a greater or lesser degree) women walk around with this terror, but never speak of it.

2). Men have no idea we experience the world thusly. Men have no point of reference for this experience even IF we shared it with them (which we don’t). One incredulous young man in my class expressed it best when he asked, “Y’all really walk around like that?” My female students and I confirmed it, “Yes. Yes, we really do.” And perhaps this has been the most stunning element of exploring this issue in the classroom- that one half of the human beings in this country have a common experience that the other half of the human beings in this country knows nothing about. How does this affect our ability to know each other? To be relational? HOW can we possibly be loving, compassionate and understanding of each other if one half of humanity is ignorant of a fundamental way of being in the world experienced by the other half of humanity? How influential, important and crucial is the experience of chronic terror? And how does our silence contribute to the space between us?

3). The irony of this reality is that men are the source of this terror and they have no idea. And we have no idea that they have no idea. They know that they are fearful for sisters, girlfriends, mothers and women friends; they know the dangers to them, but they do not have intimate knowledge of the pervasive, internal terror itself. It was appalling to the young men in my class (gentle spirits all) that they might be the source of such terror as they sit at a bar or appear unexpectedly on a street corner. That, I would imagine might be a source of consternation to any decent man who is aware of women’s terror, i.e., that they might trigger it. One young man, in a remarkable moment of clarity asked, “What can I do to alter my behavior so as to appear less threatening, less fearsome?” And his question took my breath away with its potential and its compassion.

I am fond of quoting the ancient Chinese proverb, “When the student is ready the teacher will come.” As a result of this summer course, I am inclined to reverse the order. And so, the course officially ends, but I will continue to reflect upon its lessons. Its impact will continue to affect the person I am and the person I will become. And for this, I have one more thing to say to that bright and delightful group of young men and women: Thank you. Thank you for being my fellow and sister students. Thank you for “hearing me into speech.”

What's New About Terror? Part III

2007-07-01T17:47:00.000-07:00

We are instructed at airports to report “any suspicious behavior” and to be on the alert for any suitcase that is left alone. That is terrifying, isn’t it? A suitcase, left in the middle of the airport terminal, or on a seat in a subway car? A woman is taught to be on the alert when she is alone. And for many of us, this is often. We are taught to be suspicious of a man alone, or men in groups. The anxiety is particularly heightened on a secluded street, a park, a bar, a parking garage, a freaking Laundromat. We are taught not to GO OUT in the dark alone. NO place is “safe,” because every place has men in it and every man who is a stranger is a potential threat. And in many ways, for many days and nights, these cultural lessons curtail our activities.

But our activities are not the only things that get “altered.” Two young men recently moved into my apartment development. They sit on their stoop to smoke. Before reading Margaret Miles’ essay and before reflecting on this female condition of terror I didn’t realize how much I alter my behavior when they are outside. It is only through analytical hindsight that I see what I do; how differently I behave when they are there from when they are not there. And the alteration in my behavior is based on two facts; they know where I live and I do not know what kind of men they are. I find that as soon as I turn my car into my parking space I look to see if they are there. When they are not, I am glad. When they are, I walk like a “schoolteacher,” or how I imagine one to walk. The joyous lilt in my stride is gone lest it be interpreted as flirtatious. My walk is purposeful, with determined direction. I do not toss my hair, even if it is in my eyes, lest it be interpreted as provocative invitation. I say a quick “Hello,” but my eyes do not linger upon theirs, lest it be interpreted as interest. I must walk a tightrope between not-too-friendly, and cordial, lest I piss them off and they think me stuck-up and haughty. After all, if they turn out to be harmful, it will be my fault. When my door is closed and locked behind me, I breathe. I understand the risk of the confessional nature of these words; that there are those of you who will yet think I am paranoid. I exaggerate. I am nuts. But I assure you, this anxiety and these behavioral modifications are enacted by women in countless apartment complexes, in countless neighborhoods throughout this country (throughout the world) every day. As I think back to my interactions with female students and former students I cannot list all the reports shared with me of sexual harassment by male employers, of physical violence by building maintenance workers, fathers of childhood friends and boyfriends; of rape, physical brutality and intimidation. Failure to report is based in the same terror; that there will be violent retaliation.

And just in case we forget to fear; just in case we forget that international terrorists may lurk behind every bus stop or subway station or airport terminal, Homeland Security or the media will remind us. All of a sudden, without evidence for the need made known to us, National Security Alert will be elevated to “orange,” and the terror is in front of us again. Just in case we women forget that we live in an insecure and threatening environment, we are reminded. The majority of victims of the top rated cop/forensic/FBI television shows in this country are female. They are raped, mutilated and murdered every night in our living rooms. There is one program entirely devoted to “Special Victims,’ a euphemism for victims of sexual assault. Just in case we forget, we receive emails that contain in graphic detail the latest ploys and tactics of kidnappers and rapists who now lie under our cars, like mechanics performing oil changes. They wait until we approach and grab our legs from beneath. They lie in wait between cars. They stalk in “unmarked” police cars, sirens ever ready to stop a woman driving alone. These emails invariably end with a plea, “Send this to all the women you know and love. It could save their life!” And the message is clear: you need only send this to the WOMEN in your life. Whether these emails contain the stuff of urban legend or not, they perform the cultural service of inducing yet more internal anxiety and fear, if not for yourself than for your mother or daughter or sister. The fear might only present itself on the surface for just that moment, but it has done its job. And then there are the real stories, the ones that are not urban legend, but truth; of young women who are abducted in full daylight in Target parking lots and found days later in shallow graves; of pregnant wives who disappear, also found days or weeks later. The legends, the fear, the terror have their basis in fact. These all contribute to a culture of violence against women that Margaret Miles has called, “foundational in that they are built into the assumptions and institutional structures of American culture.” And they serve to ensure that I remember my vulnerability and so remember, “My place.”

And yet, we deny. We delude ourselves into thinking that these crimes are committed by individual men with abnormal psychological pathologies. We never see the violence as rooted in a systemic, institutionalized, cultural evil grounded in an ideology of national and global misogyny. But we must awaken from our sleep, like Snow White from the poison apple. My future and my daughter’s and the futures of any granddaughters I might have, depend on it.

So the man seized his concubine and put her out to them; and they raped and abused her all night until the morning. And as the dawn began to break, they let her go. As the morning appeared, the woman came and fell down at the door of the man’s house where her master was, till it was light. In the morning her master got up, opened the doors of the house, and when he went out to go on his way, there was his concubine lying at the door of the house, with her hands on the threshold. “Get up.” he said to her, “We are going.” But there was no answer. Then he put her upon the ass and the man set out for his home. When he had entered his house, he took a knife and grasping his concubine he cut her into twelve pieces, limb by limb and sent her throughout all the territory of Israel. Judges 19:25-29

And he sent her throughout Israel in outrage, that the men had been so disrespectful to him and to his property. He dismembered this body that had served him and sent the pieces throughout Israel because he had been insulted. Had he loved her, he would have bathed her body in oils and wrapped her in a shroud of linen. Had he loved her, he would have buried her in the tradition of his elders. Had he loved her, he would have wept. Of course, had he loved her, had he even considered her a human being, he would not have handed her over to be gang-raped and murdered.

I do not know how this woman felt as she was betrayed by her master. I do not know how the women of the enemies of Moses felt when they became the spoils of war. I do not know how it felt to be a virgin of Shiloh, abducted and raped as strangers in a strange land. I do not know the terror of the captive woman who mourned the death of mother and father wrought by the hands of her captor who became her rapist. But I do know what it is to be a woman living among a people who consider the treatment of these women to be a part of their glorious and holy inheritance.

So what’s new about terror?

Ask any woman and she’ll tell you-absolutely nothing.

What's New About Terror? Part II

2007-07-01T11:08:00.000-07:00

In 1985, Elayne Boosler recorded a stand-up comedy routine entitled “Party of One.” I didn’t remember the year (I looked that up), but I remembered her and I remembered the title of the TV special, because I have never forgotten a joke she told that night. Of course, I don’t remember the joke verbatim, but it went something like this. She and her live-in boyfriend were living in New York City. Very late one night, he suggested they go for a walk in Central Park. She asked, “Are you crazy? Don’t you know how dangerous that is?” He said, “Don’t worry. Don’t bring your purse. Leave your wallet and keys here. If you don’t have anything valuable with you, you’ll be safe.” She paused dramatically, looked to her audience as if to her boyfriend and shouted, “But I have a vagina!”

Jokes “work” best when there is an element of truth to them. In Elayne Boosler’s Central Park joke there is a truth that the women in the audience understood in a New York second. It is a truth that her boyfriend had not even considered; a truth that probably took the men in the audience longer to “get.”

It is a truth conveyed in Margaret Miles’ statement, already cited in this journal’s pages, that “the threat of assault and rape is enough to make us rearrange our lives, reflecting our constant state of terror.”

Margaret Miles did not exaggerate. As I reflected on her statement and her particular choice of the word “terror,” I could not help but find analogy in the atmosphere of rhetoric and control that has gripped this nation (indeed, the world) since September 11, 2001. What the men of this nation have just begun to experience, women have always known; lives characterized by the vulnerability to unexpected assault; lives subtly haunted by terror.

It is a difficult analogy to express out loud. I discovered this when I began in my classroom to explore and articulate women’s experience of terror. I was very hesitant to describe this rearrangement of life; the things we will or will not do; the places we will go and not go, and the psychological rearrangement as well. I was hesitant because no one speaks of it. I was hesitant because although I suspected my own interior experiences are common, I did not know that they are. I was hesitant because I feared that the way I experience the world is unusual and unique, and that I would be judged hyper-paranoid, or neurotically anxious and suspicious. And yet, I know that I am not any of these. The experience of terror from the threat of rape and sexual assault does not consume or obsess me. I do not walk around in the world in a heightened state of panic or fear. The suspicion and anxiety surface only when I receive certain signals from the world around me. As I tentatively began to express this experience, slowly the young women in my class began to nod; one by one they each affirmed what I suspected- that we do indeed walk about the world in a constant state of terror, women alone, in a hostile environment. And to echo Nelle Morton’s oft-quoted dynamic, they “heard me into speech.”

In the aftermath of 9/11 this country’s government invested manpower and monetary resources in the cause of internal security as never before. The number of casualties was a little less than three thousand. The fatalities were human, but the targets were symbolic; the symbols of American culture, economic and political. Need I supply here the national statistics of domestic and sexual assault against women? According to the FBI, every day 4 women are murdered in this country by partners or spouses. The total number is higher than the number of soldiers killed in Vietnam. In 2005, there were 93,934 reported forcible rapes, not counting those unreported, not counting unsuccessful, attempted rapes and not counting consentual sex with a minor, or statutory rape. One in five women will experience attempted or completed rape in their lifetime. Twenty years ago, when Miles wrote her essay, a woman was raped every 6 minutes in this country. Today, rape occurs every 4 minutes. And yet, rape crisis centers and shelters for women and children must beg, borrow, write grants for funding, sell purses at auction and hold fundraisers to stay in business.

The behavioral tactics of international terrorists are unpredictable and often arbitrary. There is no discernible, attainable goal. The acts are fueled by hatred and rage and self-righteous rationalization. Rapists are unpredictable, though often their victims are not arbitrary. Most occurrences of domestic and sexual violence against women are committed by someone they know. The goal of rape is not sexual, though its weapon is. Rape is fueled by hatred and rage and self-righteous rationalizing of entitlement.

The Department of Homeland Security instills a false sense of security. Airport searches, clearly visible to the public, allow us to feel that diligence is in charge, that the terrorist is being weeded out and identified. We hand over our Bic lighters and shaving creams and hair gels and buy into the illusion that we are “safe.” When in reality, there is no such thing as security against terrorism and we are already its victims, because its purpose is fear. And we as Americans are willing to sacrifice more and more of our civil liberties in the face of that fear. Women and men set up a false sense of security against the potential occurrence of rape. We make ourselves believe that rape happens only to certain types of women, in certain places, at certain times of day. And we think that if we don’t dress “that way,” or go to bars alone at night, or walk in the dark, or in stairwells, or enter elevators that contain only one man, or lock our car doors from the inside, etc., etc., etc., then we will be “safe.” Unfortunately this misconception is a double-edged sword because when a woman does get raped, we jump to the conclusion that it was her fault because after all, she didn’t follow the rules. Women give up liberties and freedom of movement, living captive in a “free” society. And when a two year old baby or 90 year old woman is raped we console ourselves by thinking they are the exceptions.

We prepare for travel in an airport, or train station and we are asked, “Have you been in sole possession of your luggage since you left your house this morning?” Who will say “no?” One knows that the result of answering this question negatively will only bring delays and extended searches. Unfortunately for us, women are always in possession of our vaginas. Much to Elayne Boosler’s chagrin, we cannot remove them and place them on the dresser when we leave the house.

We are instructed repeatedly over loud speakers bellowing throughout the terminal, “Do not leave your luggage unattended.” I suppose the fear is that some terrorist will slip something into my bag that will be detonated in the air. The science and technology of terrorism has become more and more advanced; tiny detonators hidden in cell phones, bombs no bigger than a hip purse, plastics that avoid metal detection. Women are instructed not to leave our drinks unattended. Let me say that again- we are instructed not to leave our DRINKS unattended. The rapist too has concocted new ways to make his task easier. And what he will slip into our drinks has a name; it is called “the rape drug.”

What's New About Terror?

2007-06-30T09:36:00.000-07:00

Bear with me until I get to the point of this blog post, because first I must quote some passages from the Holy Bible:

And they found among the inhabitants of Jabesh-gilead four hundred young virgins who had never slept with a man and brought them to the camp at Shiloh…And they instructed the Benjaminites, saying, “Go and lie in wait in the vineyards, and watch; when the young women of Shiloh come out to dance, then come out of the vineyards and each of you carry off a wife for himself…The Benjaminites did so; they took wives for each of them from the dancers whom they abducted. Judges 21:12, 20, 23

Then Moses and Eleazar the priest did as the Lord had commanded Moses: The booty remaining from the spoil that the troops had taken totaled six hundred seventy-five thousand sheep, seventy-two thousand oxen, sixty-one thousand donkeys, and thirty-two thousand persons in all; women who had not known a man by sleeping with him. Numbers 31:31-35

When you draw near to a town to fight against it, offer it terms of peace. If it accepts your terms of peace and surrenders to you, then all the people in it shall serve you at forced labor. If it does not submit to you peacefully, but makes war against you, then you shall besiege it; and when the Lord your God gives it into your hand you shall put all its males to the sword. You may however, take as your booty the women, the children, livestock and everything else in the town, all its spoil. You may enjoythe spoil of your enemies, which the Lord your God has given you.

Deut. 20:10-14

When you go out to war against your enemies, and the Lord your God hands them over to you and you take them captive, suppose you see among the captives a beautiful woman whom you desire and want to marry, and so you bring her home to your house; she shall shave her head, pare her nails, discard her captive’s garb, and shall remain in your house a full month, mourning for her father and mother; after that you may go into her and be her husband and she shall be your wife. But if you are not satisfied with her, you shall let her go free and not sell her for money.

Deut. 21:10-14

In an essay entitled, “Violence against Women in the Historical Christian West and in North American Secular Culture: The Visual and Textual Evidence,” theologian Margaret R. Miles wrote,

Women who are fortunate enough never to have been

sexually assaulted, often do not realize how much we

adjust our lifestyle to avoid victimization. These “precautions”

constitute an implicit recognition of the danger; the threat of

assault and rape is enough to make us rearrange our lives,

reflecting our constant state of terror.

Women who have been sexually assaulted realize only too well how much their entire lives have been altered. Their recognition of danger is not “implicit,” but rather, quite explicit.

Margaret Miles wrote this essay in 1987, fourteen years before the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center, fifteen years before the creation of the Homeland Security Act, which created the Department of Homeland Security, and years before the words terror and terrorism became a part of the daily lexicon of American language and rhetoric. When I read that word, I realized that in her description of the daily experiences of women throughout history, Margaret Miles chose exactly the right word; terror.

In the past few days, my students and I struggled with Miles’ analysis of the “visual and textual evidence” of Christianity’s contribution (yes, contribution), to “conditions that promote violence against women in our society.” We struggled not because Miles’ essay was intellectually difficult reading. We struggled because the evidence is so overwhelmingly clear. We struggled because her argument was so stunningly valid. And in the midst of the realization; in the midst of the clarity, the air in the classroom became tinged with sadness, silence and just a hint of despair.

In this first blog post on this theme, I will briefly present some of Dr. Miles’ argument, with a bit of commentary of my own. Her argument begins with an examination of American secular culture. She exposes the myths of the universality of rape and its biological, “hormonal” cause, beliefs which serve to leave us with a sense of helplessness in the face of sexual violence. 1.) Rape is not a universal phenomenon. Rape is a learned response influenced by the ways in which societies organize. 2.) The widely held notion that men “can’t help themselves” is without basis in fact. There are cultures in which rape occurs rarely or not at all. That rape is so prevalent in western culture leads to the misconception that men are victims of their own actions.

The Biblical and theological foundations for the promotion and defense of violence against women include:

**A patriarchal history that groups women together with cattle and donkeys as male possessions engenders a sense of male entitlement. After all, one can do whatever one likes with one’s property, right? The American legal system reflects this view. That many states, including South Carolina do not recognize spousal rape as a crime is grounded in the belief that when “the two become one," the one they become is the husband.

**A pervasive androcentric world view that judges women to be “naturally” inferior, weak and carnal and therefore in dire need of control. What shall be done if the only way in which one can control one’s woman is to beat her, or kill her?

**That women are perceived in connection with body, biology and nature with a proclivity to lust has led to the prevailing view that women are responsible for male arousal. Tertullian wrote in the second century, “Such eyes will wish that a virgin be seen as has the virgin who shall wish to be seen. The same kinds of eyes reciprocally crave after each other. Seeing and being seen belong to the self-same lust.” In other words, if a man is aroused by the sight of a woman, she means to arouse him. I suspect that Church Father and theologian Tertullian might have been the first to ask, when told of a woman’s rape, “What was she wearing?” How ridiculous would it appear to someone if he were told that it was up to him to ensure that no one desire his car?

**Miles argues that , “Although patriarchal religious ideas and visual images are still strong in their religious settings in large sectors of the American public, their translation in the secular media has insured both their continuing influence and their constant availability to Americans (emphasis mine).” That a Biblical misogynistic inheritance is a part of American culture is something I have always recognized and maintained. It is perpetuated in religious settings daily, but this inheritance continues also through a secularization of the religious ideology.

**The eroticization of violence against women has a long textual and visual Christian history. Pornography, video games, music videos and market advertising that conflate sex and women’s bodies with violence is not a modern perversion, but one that stretches far back into the Christian past. Christian art graphically depicts the virgin martyrs’ gruesome deaths; St. Agatha and St. Barbara shown naked, their breasts being sliced off or pulled off by giant pincers held by a threatening executioner as they are whipped by another. Eroticized violence exists too in the written descriptions of virgins’ martyrdoms, as in the account of the martyrdom of Saints Felicitas and Perpetua. A leopard is prepared for them in the Roman amphitheater and the chronicler interjects, “But for the women the devil had made ready a most savage cow, prepared for this purpose against all custom; for even in this beast he would mock their sex. They were stripped therefore and made to put on nets; and so they were brought forth. The people shuddered, seeing one a tender girl, the other her breasts yet dropping from her late childbearing. So they were called back and clothed in loose robes. Perpetua was first thrown, and fell upon her loins. And when she had sat upright, her robe being rent at the side, she drew it over to cover her thigh, mindful rather of modesty than of pain.” The first time I read the Martyrdom of Felicitas and Perpetua, I thought to myself about the author, “What a sick freak.” There are those who maintain that this particular account was written by Tertullian.

Doire tangent: The unholy, unhealthy suppression of sexuality (particularly female sexuality) in the Christian west is further exemplified by the neurotic veneration, elevation and cult-like status given to virginity. The Virgin stands as its most noted victim, but the point here is not that a woman has been elevated, but that virginity itself, as a state and condition of being is what is so prized. Historically men seek to penetrate and impregnate women, “but the woman they value is the untouched, untouchable” one. (Miles) Andrea Dworkin in her book Woman Hating wrote that one of the results of identifying women with body, nature and sin is the exaggerated esteem of female virginity, which she calls, “a real sexual perversion.”

** And finally, something that I have been arguing for years; that the traditional Christian interpretation of suffering renders it beneficial, and the path to transcendence and salvation, especially for women. Women could not imitate Christ on the altar, on the “battlefield” as Christian soldiers or in power, so for women, suffering provided the “surest route to participation in religious [and spiritual] power.” The Biblical foundations for this noble view of suffering, coupled with female submission are lain in scripture, in the deutero-Pauline letters to the Ephesians and to Peter:

Wives be subject to your husbands as you are to the Lord. For the husband is the head of his wife just as Christ is the head of the Church, the body of which he is the Savior. Just as the Church is subject to Christ, so also wives ought to be in everything, to their husbands. Eph. 5:22-24

Slaves, accept the authority of your masters with all deference, not only those who are kind and gentle but also those who are harsh. For it is a credit to you if, being aware of God, you endure pain while suffering unjustly. If you endure when you are beaten for doing wrong, what credit is that? But if you endure when you do right and suffer for it, you have God's approval.

Peter 2:18-20

The man has been made the master of the wife. He has been given rule over her. And the wife has been made subject and if she suffers at the hands of her husband, she glorifies God. For the abuser, it is a match made in heaven. For the abused, a match made in hell.

The evidence is indeed sobering and has been only partially reproduced here. Part II of this blog entry will be my own examination and analysis of the historical experience of women, who for centuries have known only too well what it is to live within a culture of terror. To be continued...

What I Wouldn't Give...

2007-06-21T20:16:00.000-07:00

When a Gospel woman exhibits assertiveness or aggressiveness, or when she appears to pose a challenge to Jesus, as long as Jesus remains at the center of the story as the “hero,” the events must be interpreted from his point of view. Add to this the tradition’s insistence that Jesus was “without sin,” and no matter the apparent problems the story might pose, Jesus’ perfection, sinlessness and unquestioned virtue must be defended. And all other characters are viewed through this lens. Take for example the story of the Syrophoenician woman (Mark 7:24-30 and again in Matthew 15:21-28 as the Canaanite woman). This is the story in which a Gentile woman shouts at Jesus in the street to heal her daughter, “Have mercy on me, Lord.” He responds by saying that he “was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.” She approaches again and falls at his feet pleading, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” What does one do with this story? My students know. When I ask them how this has been interpreted for them invariably one will answer, “He was testing her.” Indeed, I too have been given this explanation ad nauseum. How many times must she prove her faith in him? She has already begged twice. Does Jesus stand there in the midst of this suffering as she begs at his feet and intentionally insist that she beg again? If Jesus remains the hero of the story, if his actions must be defended at all costs, somehow this response seems to satisfy people because evidently it is Jesus’ right to manipulate people however he likes and it is justifiable. So in a traditional reading the woman must be humbled, tested and subdued. I suggest another reading of the story. Place the woman in the center of the story. View the events from her point of view and take seriously the tradition’s claim that Jesus was fully human and “increased in wisdom” (Luke 2:52). In the story, Jesus is quite clear about why he will not help her. She is not a Jew, not one of the “lost sheep of Israel.” He understands his mission to be exclusively to the Jews. But then, the woman challenges this prejudicial refusal to help her, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the masters’ table.” It is SHE who instructs Jesus; it is SHE who expands his view of his own ministry. It is SHE who is teacher in this encounter. The light bulb goes on. Jesus understands his ministry as an inclusive one. In the Markan account he tells the woman, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.”

This view of the story is very difficult for many people to swallow. Personally, I find that the traditional interpretation gets stuck in my throat. Ethically, a Jesus who is willing to change his mind when prejudice and exclusivity have been pointed out to him is preferable to a Jesus who would intentionally allow a woman’s torment to continue so that he may teach her or someone else a lesson or, to test her faith.

It is the case that in the Gospel stories the male disciples are no prize. They are portrayed as dense and slow in their understanding of the Jesus movement. They are impetuous, brash, disloyal and cowardly. And yet, despite their weakness and numerous flaws it is upon their rocks that Jesus “builds” his Church. He calls them into discipleship at the shore of the Sea of Galilee. He transfigures before them.

It is also the case that there is not one story in the Gospels of a man who is healed of sexual sin. What I wouldn’t give if only one Gospel story presented such an account. There isn’t a one. Can you imagine the power of such a story? Is this because men in the first century were not guilty of sexual sin? Or because Jesus never encountered a man who had committed adultery or who was sleeping around? Ha! I doubt it. It is because sexual sin, in an ancient patriarchal culture belonged to women. There is the account of the woman caught in adultery, the woman at the well who has had five husbands and her present man is not her husband. The woman who anoints the feet of Jesus and who is simply identified as a sinner has been assumed in the tradition to have been guilty of sexual sin. Mary Magdalene, for whom there is no scriptural evidence of sexual sin, is accused of it anyway. Women, even in the first century are guilty of sexual sin whereas the boys were probably “just being boys.”

What I wouldn’t give for there to be a Gospel story that begins, “And Jesus came upon a man who was beating his wife and He said to him…”

What I wouldn’t give for a Gospel story that begins, “And they brought to Jesus a man who was accused of raping a woman…”

What I wouldn't give for a Gospel story that begins, "And in the Temple there was a priest who had violated a child and Jesus said to him..."

What I wouldn’t give for a Gospel story that ends with, “and the man was healed and went into the kitchen and served Him.”

What I wouldn’t give. I wonder how differently the 21st century would look if such stories had been included.

I want to make it clear that this critique of the Gospels is not leveled at Jesus of Nazareth himself. The earliest Gospel (Mark) was written around 70 CE. Jesus can hardly be held responsible for the way in which the stories about him were transmitted orally and then written. He is not responsible for the selection or omission of stories, nor how they would be chronicled. Indeed, in the Passion account of Matthew there is the story of the woman who anoints him. Just days before the crucifixion Jesus himself foretells his own death. In the Gospel of Matthew, just before the account of the betrayal of Judas and the Last Supper, he is at the house of Simon the leper in Bethany. A woman enters the house “with an alabaster jar of very costly perfume and she poured it on his head.” The disciples object. Jesus makes it very clear how he wants the event remembered, “Truly I tell you wherever this good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.” And yet, we don’t even know her name.

Dismantling the Castle (Part III)

2007-06-21T03:48:00.000-07:00

When I teach the Religion and Society course I tell my students that the title of the course would seem to imply that we can separate the two and determine what in society has been influenced by religion, and what about religion has been influenced by society. This is like trying to determine where one ocean wave begins and another ends. This is like understanding that jazz has its roots in Black spirituals, ragtime, and the Blues, and then listening to Louis Armstrong and trying to determine which of the three influenced a particular note or riff.

In the Biblical traditions, the domination of male over female is proposed as a fulfillment of the divine order of creation and further, that it exists “naturally.” Men dominate over women because God wants it to be so. The curse given to Eve includes the divine mandate, “Yet your desire shall be for your husband and he shall rule over you.” What is often forgotten when this verse is cited as support for the subordination of women is that in the myth, this relationship of inequality comes about as a result of sin. The inequality of the sexes, the domination of one over the other exists as sin. In the myth, the original intent, apparent in Chapter 1, is mutuality and equality. (I must add here however, not according to Augustine. He maintained that woman was subject to man even before sin entered the world). The creation stories in Genesis are a perfect example of social and political custom affecting religious mythology. At the time of the construction of the creation stories the Israelites were already living in a patriarchal society and already confining the sexual and public lives of women. They had already attached taboos and restrictions with regard to women’s bodies, and so these were inscribed into the myth. In the myth, there is no mistaking the culturally gendered world view: when women are allowed freedom, when women are not controlled, all hell breaks loose, literally and figuratively. The myth confirms the cultural “common sense.” The hierarchical order that already existed relationally on earth was projected into the cosmos as reflective of divine intent and so, all could rest easy. Life was as it should be. God was in His heaven and all was right with the world.

In addition, the tradition of exclusive male language for God affects the political, because male language for God is attached to male authority. Not only is God “Father,” but God is also King, Lord, Master. For women these images are relational, not identifications. Because God is male, maleness itself is associated with mastery and authority and as such, proscribes behavior in women in relation to men as in relation to God. In the words of Mary Daly, “God is man writ large, man is God writ small.” The intimate association of maleness with God and maleness with authority superimposes onto women a posturing towards men that imitates their status in relation to God.

Elisabeth Schussler-Fiorenza pushes the analysis further in her reading of the Gospel texts in which Jesus of Nazareth encounters women and the analysis engenders a shattering, crackling, popping, mind explosion. The first time I heard Elisabeth speak of this in class, I almost fell off my chair. And then I wanted to jump up and down and twirl all around and shout, “Yes! Yes! Oh my freaking Goddess. Yes!”

It is an adroit and profoundly insightful proposal. The analysis first acknowledges that the New Testament is an androcentric text. It was written and constructed within the cultural world view that men constitute ideal human being and occupy the center of human life and reality. When women are presented in the Gospels, they are not described as they are but are inscribed with “feminine” traits and characteristics assumed by first century attitudes, biases and customs. Consequently, the Gospels themselves serve to perpetuate a Western sex-gender dualistic system of being and relationality. Further, Fiorenza maintains that throughout the Christian centuries, the Gospel stories of women have operated as teaching models for women’s behavior towards men. Yes, it is true, that Jesus of Nazareth (in the tradition) is uniquely Son of God, Redeemer and hero. But he was also male. The maleness of Jesus instills within the text subtle but powerful messages of how women must posture themselves not only before Jesus but before all men.

When I read many of the Gospel stories in which Jesus encountered women, this dynamic screams out at me. Women serve. Women cook. Case in point: In the story in which Jesus heals Peter’s mother-in-law (Matt. 8:14-15) the text reads, “…he touched her hand, and the fever left her and she got up and began to serve him.” In the story of the raising of Lazarus (John 11), Lazarus performs no such function after he is resuscitated. Indeed some days later Jesus returns to the home of Lazarus where the two men sit at table while Martha “served.” And of course, this is what the women would do. It’s first century Palestine for cripes sake. And that is the point. The Gospels are not "value-neutral," gender-neutral, culturally-neutral, politically-neutral or in any other way neutral. ALL of the sexist, patriarchal assumptions and biases of the first century shaped sacred scripture and were transmitted within the texts, so for two thousand years they have acted to reinforce, defend and justify ancient restrictions and expectations for women’s lives.

Women sit at the feet of the master. Women fawn. Women anoint feet with oil. I know what some of you are thinking. “Ah! But in the scriptures Jesus too washed feet.” As recorded in the Gospel of John, he certainly did. I want to point out that John 13:5 reads, “Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet.” (NRSV) Just to prove my freaking point about our androcentric ways of thinking, how many of you while reading that sentence imagined Jesus washing the feet of a woman? My guess would be too few. And yet, Jesus’ disciples were both men and women. As such, every time we read a Gospel account in which the word “disciples” appears it must be read as inclusive of men and women. If I were to say the following sentence, “The teachers went to the conference,” it must be understood that the word “teachers” does not automatically exclude the presence of women. In fact, the opposite must be insisted upon. The word “teachers” must be read as inclusive of women unless it is made specifically clear that there were none present. In the first century Gospel texts the word “disciples” must operate in the same way. The word “disciples” must not be read as an indication of males only. And yet that is the collective, interpretive image that the tradition has transmitted for centuries; that Jesus only washed the feet of men. How does the dynamic of that moment change when one imagines Jesus washing the feet of Mary Magdalene?

Yes. Precisely.

to be continued...

Dismantling the Castle (and the Cathedral) Part II

2007-06-17T05:56:00.000-07:00

For women, the spiritual consequences of exclusive male language and imagery for God should be obvious. Whereas men are able to identify with the divine being and enjoy the full experience of truly having been “created in the image and likeness of God,” women cannot. Women’s interior lives offer a spirituality that is always characterized in relation to, but not through identification with the divine being. No matter how hard one tries, the interior experience of God is always relational/separated/distant. For women, God is always the absolute “Other.” Now it may be argued (with a nod to Martin Buber) that God should always be experienced as “Other,” but men experience this “Otherness” only by degree. God is more powerful than men, but men still share in that power. God is more perfect than men, but men still reflect the divine image. There is no passage perhaps more disturbing to the Christian feminist theologian than St. Augustine’s thoughts on the ability or inability of man and woman, respectively, to reflect the divine:

How then did the apostle [Paul] tell us that the man is the image of God and therefore he is forbidden to cover his head; but that the woman is not so, and therefore is commanded to cover hers? Unless, forsooth, according to that which I have said already… that the woman together with her own husband is the image of God, so that the whole substance may be one image; but when she is referred separately to her quality of help-meet, which regards the woman herself alone, then she is not the image of God; but as regards the man alone, he is the image of God as fully and completely as when the woman is joined with him in one. -- On the Trinity

Augustine hit the proverbial covering on the head. A male God is reflective of males, a mirror in which there is no room for the female.

The veneration of Mary in Catholicism does little to help because the Biblical stories in which Mary appears are “read” and interpreted in such a way as to elevate carefully selected “feminine” characteristics. Mary, as human woman is portrayed in direct contrast to fallen Eve. Whereas Eve was disobedient, Mary is dutiful, obedient, passive vessel. Whereas Eve was tempting seductress, Mary is perpetually, untainted Virgin. Whereas Eve bears the mark of rebellious ingrate, Mary’s soul “magnifies the Lord.” Whereas Eve bears the son who commits fratricide, Mary bears the son of God. A feminist reading of the Gospel stories in which Mary appears would however render a different interpretation for modeling behavior. These would include audacity, assertiveness, authority and courage.

In the story of the Annunciation, when the angel Gabriel announces to Mary that she will conceive and bear a son, traditional Mariology has focused attention on Mary’s acceptance of the will of God as expressed in her Magnificat, at the end of the story. Ignored are the first words Mary speaks to the angel, “How can this be, since I do not know man?” Mary stands before the freaking angel Gabriel and challenges him with audacity.

In the story of the wedding at Cana, Jesus is a reluctant miracle worker. In fact, he outright refuses to act after his mother has informed him that the hosts have run out of wine. Mary does not argue, nor does she prod or plead. She turns away from her son and speaks to the servants, “Do what he tells you to do.” And contained within that simple instruction to the servants, is a command for her son to get off his butt and act.

When Jesus is lost in the Temple and is finally found, Mary and not Joseph is the voice of discipline, “Did you not know we would be looking for you?” Jesus responds like an arrogant teenager, “Did you not know I would be about my Father’s business?” I can imagine Mary pulling him home by the ear and grounding him for a week.

And of course, at the Cross when all the male disciples have fled in fear and cowardice, there she is.

Mary, as a woman of flesh might have served as a female identifier if the Church had not made her so unique. Mary as Virgin and Mother possesses an ontology that is physically impossible for women to emulate and yet, I have never attended a Mother’s Day Mass and sermon in which Mary has not been lifted up as the model for women. I have been told by some that the Church “loves” women because it has such a history of adoration for Mary. I respond by paraphrasing Gloria Steinem, “A pedestal is as confining a space as a cage.”

Mary, as Mother of God is another thing. I suspect, in fact I know, that in popular piety faithful women simply ignored the Church, which cautioned not to worship Mary as divine. Despite the Church’s doctrinal statements, Mary functioned as goddess in power and in majesty in women’s prayer and ritual lives. That Mary in her humanity was unattainable did not dissuade women in their identification with Mary as female power. This piety however lacked an ecclesiastical tradition, authority and validation. I suspect that the elevation of female power in Mary was the only thing that made a patriarchal, exclusively male god palatable and possible.

Movements in women’s spirituality including neo-pagan goddess worshipping traditions have revived female images for the divine being. These divine images take many forms. Some resurrect the ancient Paleolithic and Neolithic Mother Goddess, some are constructive of completely new associations and some simply replace the male language for the God of the Bible with female metaphors and images. There is scriptural foundation for the latter. A plethora of female images for God already exist in the Bible, though they have been suppressed. God is described as Mother Bear, Mother Eagle. The God who dwells among humankind, the Shekinah is female. The Wisdom of God, Sophia is female.

From everlasting I was firmly set,

From the beginning before the earth came into being.

The deep was not, when I was born,

There were no springs to gush with water.

Before the mountains were settled,

Before the hills, I cameto birth.

Proverbs 8: 23-25

She deploys her strength from one end of the earth to the other,

Ordering all things for good…

If in this life wealth is a desirable possession,

What is more wealthy than Wisdom whose work is everywhere?

Or, if it be the intellect that is at work,

Where is there a greater intellect than Wisdom, designer of all?

Or, if it be virtue you love, why virtues are the fruits of Her labors

Since it is She who teaches temperance and prudence,

Justice and fortitude;

Nothing in life is more helpful to people than these…

She knows how to turn maxims and riddles,

She has knowledge of signs and wonders,

Of the unfolding of the ages and of times…

Immortality is found in being kin to Wisdom.

Wisdom 8

But the process of rendering female imagery and language for God must proceed with caution. I have strong reservations about some of the modern movements for the “divine feminine,” because despite good intentions it is all too often the case that female imagery for God is attached to “feminine” qualities. The female is cast in the role of nurturer, sensitive and compassionate sufferer, mother, kind healer, etc. This does not serve us (or Her) well. The result is the reinforcement and further propagation of the traditional (and patriarchal) Western sex-gender system which attributes to the female “feminine” characteristics and to the male, “masculine” ones. What must occur is NOT the attachment of “feminine” qualities to God, but rather the attachment of divine act and power to the female. The Biblical tradition of Divine Wisdom can serve as guide.

The female is Creatrix, Eternal, Just, Intelligent.

She Orders Chaos, Instructs in Virtue, Deploys Her Strength.

Wisdom calls aloud in the streets,

She raises her voice in the public squares,

She calls out at the street corners,

She delivers her message at the city gates…

On the hilltops, on the road, at the crossways,

She takes her stand;

Beside the gates of the city, at the approaches to the gates

She cries aloud:

O people, I am calling to you:

My cry goes out to all humanity.

Proverbs 1:20-21, 8:2-4

Rock on.

Dismantling the Castle (and the Cathedral)

2007-06-16T13:33:00.000-07:00

I haven’t written in a while, perhaps because I feared that if I started, I wouldn’t stop. My students and I have just completed the second week of a four week summer course and I am having the professorial time of my life. It is a course that has never before been offered at the college so as such it appears (now) as a Religious Studies “Special Topics Course.” Two offerings of the course and the department can petition the curriculum committee to make it a permanent addition to our regular course offerings. The course? Religion and Feminism. When my department chair and I began to talk about my offering such a course, he said to me, “You can do as much feminist theology as you like and it can be as Christocentric as you want.” I knew exactly, from the moment of that conversation, what I would do. I have distributed the four weeks into four themes. In the first week, we did a very basic treatment of the feminist critique of patriarchal religion; week two, feminist theology; week three, feminist Biblical interpretation and the fourth week will deal with religion and feminist ethics.

I am having a blast.

We have been reading many of the classic and seminal (I LOVE using that word in reference to feminist theologians) thinkers in the field, the mothers of feminist theology; Mary Daly, whose Beyond God the Father, published almost 35 years ago still seems radical and “edgy” to my students; the methodical and logical argumentation of Rosemary Radford-Ruether; the brilliantly articulated analyses of Elisabeth Schussler-Fiorenza; the passion of Carol Christ; the thealogy of Nelle Morton, the creative outrage of Judith Plaskow. We are also reading a few essays that describe personal accounts of the transformation of women, who have been re-awakened through feminist awareness to the betrayal and misogyny of the Biblical traditions, my own story included. As I lecture and as we discuss the issues of feminist theology I am captivated once again by the implications of this discipline, which propelled me to divinity school to begin with. I went to divinity school to study feminist theology because it was my own salvation, my truth and my hope. The other day in the classroom, as my students and I sat in a circle and discussed yet another profound implication of the analysis I blurted out to them with absolute delight, “Thanks for being here with me, Man!” Nothing impassions me more, nothing resonates more deeply and nothing brings me more intellectual excitement.

This week’s theme of feminist theology had to begin with Mary Daly and the fundamental critique of a tradition which has elevated male imagery for God to the exclusion of all others, a practice which merits the charge of idolatry. The awareness that exclusive male imagery for God operates on spiritual, psychological and political levels was made imminently conscious in me once more and the affirmation was stunning. On the psychological level, exclusive male images for God communicate messages (to women) that make clear and superimpose a dualistic ideology that by virtue of being female one is an inferior creature, so inferior in fact, that the divine being cannot by any means be imaged in female form. Go ahead. Just try it. Simply suggest in familial or casual company a female referent for God and one will either be met with laughter (surely this is a joke), or with breathtaking hostility. I have already suggested elsewhere in this blog that this hostility conveys nothing of theology; it expresses nothing really of what people believe about God, but rather it demonstrates how people really feel about femaleness. How dare one suggest that the Almighty, the Wondrous, the Powerful be rendered through the image of so weak and inferior a creature as woman? It is unthinkable. Add to this the historical reality that with the exception of very early Christianity and very recent Christianity, women have been judged as unfit to mediate between the human and the divine, unfit even to enter sacred space, unfit by virtue of their bodies to enact the blessings and rituals of the community of faith and one has in place a religious construct that creates within women what Mary Daly calls a condition of “non-being.”

In Beyond God the Father, Mary Daly quotes a passage from Gregory Baum’s Man Becoming:

To believe that God is Father is to become aware of oneself not as a stranger, not as an outsider or an alienated person, but as a son who belongs or a person appointed to a marvelous destiny, which he shares with the whole community. To believe that God is Father means to be able to say “we” in regard to all men. (emphasis mine).

Mary Daly comments: “A woman whose consciousness has been aroused can say that such language makes her aware of herself as a stranger, as an outsider, as an alienated person, not as a daughter who belongs or who is appointed to a marvelous destiny. She cannot belong to this without assenting to her own lobotomy.” (bold emphasis mine).

How to articulate this condition of non-being to young men and women who (hopefully) have been affirmed as persons with independence and agency and strong senses of self? I stumbled in the attempt. A young man in class was filled with disbelief at the idea that a human being could be so lacking of a sense of being. I share no such disbelief, for I have lived it.

As I tried to respond to that student, I looked at the floor and took myself back to when I was 22 years old and stood in that four room tenement apartment kitchen with nothing to look forward to tomorrow but more diapers and home made baby food. And I tried to describe the emptiness and the despair of having been taught all my life that THIS was supposed to make me happy. But it didn't. I described a young woman whose thoughts, truths, and LIFE had been defined for her; a young woman who had been taught that her acceptance of these “truths” for her life determined whether or not she was going to be loved or accepted, sinful or good. I looked into the being of my 22 year-old self and discovered fear and emptiness. Motherhood is taught as the culminating event in a woman’s life; the event that fulfills her destiny; her opportunity for self-sacrifice. Self-sacrifice always implies a death of some kind but in order for sacrifice to truly be characterized as enacted by a self, one must make it a choice, one must first BE a self. To define a person’s worth and dignity only insofar as they are in relation to another person is to place the other at the center of one’s meaning. I loved my son more than life itself, but caring for him was not an act of self-development. It was an act of other-development. An empty self, no matter the love, cannot engage in other-development happily. I was starving for intellectual, creative and spiritual stimulation. So empty was I that in an attempt to fill myself with anything that felt like comfort, or satisfaction or agency I ate my way to a whopping 215 pounds. This was no one’s fault, not even my own. I learned my societal and cultural lessons well. But I delight in my own history too, because I unlearned them. And I unlearned them well. And somehow, despite myself and even in the midst of those years of non-being and in the years of unlearning, I (and their father) managed to raise two incredible human beings

And those who don’t? Those who define themselves forever in terms of mother or wife? Those whose sense of self-worth is defined only in terms of their relation to others (or more exactly, in terms of other’s relation to them) and not in a sense of their own personhood? You know them. They are the women who become bitter and nasty and envious or play the martyr. I asked my students that day, when I so clumsily attempted to describe non-being, if they had read Kate Chopin's The Awakening. Have you read it? Then I told them that the end of that story is about non-being. The character has come to the realization that she is a non-being and the despair she feels is only matched by the inability to even begin to know how to create one.

I fear that I have just risked being enormously misunderstood. How DARE I debunk the myth and mystique of motherhood by suggesting that it alone is not enough for any woman? How dare I demythologize the fabled “happily ever after” that is promised with the kiss of the Prince? I do so only in the firmest conviction, grounded in experience, that no one; no child and/or no man can “make” another happy or fulfilled. These are only to be found within a free human being who seeks after them for herself.

(Is it any wonder then, that in the Age of Patriarchy the wise old woman of ancient times has been morphed into the witch or wicked stepmother? Ha! And WHY is the mother always dead? Is it any wonder that the wise woman's knowledge has been rendered evil (as in a poison apple)? Is it any wonder that the wisdom of the crone has been rendered threatening to the maiden lest she destroy the maiden’s blind desire for the Castle?)

To be continued….

Volkswagen Saga

2007-06-09T09:45:00.000-07:00

In addition to having had strep throat last week while trying to finish up my Maymester course, I have been experiencing car trouble. It actually started a month ago when I got into my car to attend a former student’s graduation for her Master’s degree. I got into my car and it wouldn’t start. The following morning however, it did so I rushed it down to my mechanic who put in a $140 thingamajig. (By the way, as I type this, SpellCheck underlined “Maymester” in red, but not thingamajig). There has been another problem with my car as well- it has been idling funny (that’s a technical term). When I started it “cold” in the morning, the idle would skip and make sounds like the engine was going to die, but then, like a sprinter who gets a second wind, something would be bypassed and the engine ran smoothly. My mechanic Chris, didn’t want to commit to what he suspected was the problem, so he told me to take the car until it gets worse and then we’d have a better idea of what the problem is. So, what does a woman do when she finds a man who won’t commit? She finds another one. I took the car to a Tire and Service Center near my home. The service manager there is my Starbuck’s manager’s boyfriend. Last Friday, he and another of his mechanics attempted to diagnose my car for six hours and couldn’t find the problem. On Saturday he said I should take the car home and bring it back on Tuesday when the Dr. House of automotive diagnostics would be back from vacation. He was confident that this guy would find the problem. As I pulled out of the service center driveway, the car started sputtering and skipping. Acceleration produced nothing. I immediately made a left turn to bring the car back at which point my car almost stalled in front of oncoming traffic. It would just have to stay there until Tuesday. In the meantime, I rented a car from the local Rent-A-Wreck.

On Tuesday I received a call from Dr. House who also did not want to commit to what he thought was the problem. He recommended I bring the car to the local Volkswagen dealership. Now, how to get my beautiful, sleek, black Volkswagen Passat to the dealership? I called my car insurance company and added “emergency roadside service” to my plan, for six dollars and fifty-six cents. It took effect at one minute past midnight on Wednesday morning. On Wednesday I called Geico who arranged a tow truck to pick up my car and haul it to the VW dealer, free of charge.

In the meantime, a good friend and colleague, leaving for a ten day vacation offered me the use of his car so I could return the rental. On Tuesday evening, HIS car broke down. Wednesday morning when I went to school to teach my class, another good friend and colleague who had heard about all this from Friend #1 offered me one of HIS cars since he was leaving for China for a month. Friend #1 and I picked up Friend #2’s car and returned the rental to Rent-A-Wreck. Then we decided to have lunch. As we drove to the restaurant I began to talk about a concert I had attended on Sunday evening as part of the Spoleto Festival, an annual performing arts festival held here in Charleston. Featured player was legendary jazz pianist Ahmad Jamal. Seventy-seven year old Jamal took the stage with a bassist and a drummer and the trio performed incredible music. Jazz-pure and simple. As I spoke about the beauty of the music, I began to cry- not sobbing or wailing or anything-just tears, streaming down my face. I suspect that the tears had nothing to do with Ahmad Jamal but were simply the release of exhaustion and stress from having been so sick the week before and from the car issues of the weekend. Poor Friend #1.

On Thursday I received the call from Russ at the VW dealership. He recommended the 40K mile super-duper tune-up, new spark plugs and a new throttle- total cost $610. Later that day I received another call from Russ. Oh oh. I also need an “O2 Sensor.” Additional cost, $190. I vowed that if Russ called again, I would not pick up the phone. Last night, the phone rang and I picked it up. Russ wanted me to know that there were other things my car would need in the near future. Total cost of these repairs, which could “wait a LITTLE while,” $500. Funny thing is, I actually believe him. I have not had a mechanic for quite some time who has looked at the WHOLE car and has anticipated problems. Usually, he has done what I have brought the car in for, and nothing further.

As an aside here, I want to say that for the past two summers I have had hopes that some of the extra money I earn through taking on summer courses could be used to purchase a new washer/dryer combo. Since moving to my new place almost two years ago I have had to haul my laundry to a local Laundromat. Now, hauling laundry to the Laundromat in itself isn’t so bad, IF only I could just pop in, do my laundry and then get the hell out. But I also have to dodge the advances of men who seem to think it is a good idea that while waiting for their rinse cycle to finish, they might as well hit upon women in the Laundromat. In the past two years I have been approached in various ways. These are just a few:

** One man wanted me to have a beer with him at the pizza joint next door to the Laundromat. It was 11 o’clock in the morning. Now, as a rule I am not opposed to pizza and beer at 11:00 in the morning but I don't share these with just anyone.

** One guy asked if he could “borrow” a fabric softener dryer sheet. What? Did he intend to GIVE IT BACK when he was finished with it? I gave one to him if only with the hope that the next time he went out drinking with his buddies, they’d detect the scent of vanilla-lavender on his t-shirt and jeans.

** In the space of the drying time one gets for a quarter, one man walked by me and commented on my cowboy boots THREE times. “I like your cowboy boots.” “Those boots look good on you.” “May I take your boots out for a beer?”

** One guy asked if I needed help bringing my laundry bags out to my car. Uhhh… I got them IN here OK, didn’t I? Besides, I feared I might have been the one ending up in my trunk.

** Then there are those times when I am asked what it is I am reading.

I admit that there have been times when I have chosen my Laundromat reading material in anticipation of this very inquiry. I look forward to seeing their reactions when I respond to this question by saying, for example,

“The Malleus Maleficarum. You know. It’s the Inquisition's medieval manual on witchcraft.” OR,

“Quintessence:A Radical Elemental Feminist Manifesto,” by Mary Daly, OR,

Any book really, with the word "feminist" in the title.

Any number of books in my possession with the word “evil” in the title:

“The Flowers of Evil,” by Charles Baudelaire, or “Encountering Evil.”

Anything by Aristotle or Plato or Nietzsche.

So it seems that the dream of a washer/dryer must be on hold a little while longer. In the meantime, I am considering making a t-shirt to be worn only on laundry days. The lettering on the t-shirt will convey the following: “THE MAN OF MY DREAMS HAS HIS OWN WASHER/DRYER.”

All Screwed Up

2007-05-29T15:56:00.000-07:00

My quarantine is over. I am no longer contagious (see blog post below). I lectured for three hours this morning. I never thought I’d last that long, but once I’m in the first century of Christianity I cannot be stopped, not even by myself.

I found it hilarious (and very touching too) that in separate phone calls yesterday both my best friend and my son found it necessary to provide me with instructions on how to be sick. They know that I don’t know how; to rest, to be still, to be sick. My son said that when he read my email about the strep he thought to himself, “Oh wow. This is serious. She doesn’t know how to do this.” His instructions were to take out three or four CDs that haven’t received a close listen and to lie down and just listen. My best friend recommended that I take out a novel (“do you have any novels?”—as opposed to all those head books I usually read) lie down and read, presumably until I fall asleep. She also reminded me about five times that I am sick (to help me understand that it was a reality I should not try to ignore). I rummaged in a box in an upstairs closet and actually found a novel! I didn’t exactly strictly follow their advice, but I did for some of the day. I made a popsicle run to the store too.

I continued to paint my little iron table, which wasn’t really work at all. It was a relaxing joy. And then, as I sat outside on my newly decorated patio/courtyard/corralled enclosure thing I noticed that indeed there is another board on which I could have hung my flower pot because the gate swings outward! I couldn’t wait. I unscrewed the screws and started to screw the hanger into the newly chosen board. That was my mistake. As I began to screw the screws into the new board the threads of the Philips heads began to wear, disintegrate, down to nothing. The screws stopped screwing.

Sometimes, in this blog, I write about big things and sometimes, little things. This blog post is about a little thing and it includes an admission or a confession; that for most of my adult life I have been screwdriver challenged.

I am not entirely incompetent around the house. In Rhode Island my ex-husband and I owned an eight-room, two-story house, with attic and basement. One summer, he and I stripped and re-painted the entire exterior of that huge house by ourselves (the children helped a little, but they were little, so…). One day as I was precariously perched on the peak of the second-story, front porch roof, attempting to scrape the paint off the attic eave my neighbor across the street shouted, “Louise that looks a little dangerous up there.” I said, “Well, Mr. Lanoie, if anything happens just be ready to call 911.” Mr. Lanoie was retired. He wasn’t a nosy neighbor at all, but if he sat on his front porch, how could he avoid seeing me up there? Besides, he let us borrow his ladders, so as far as I was concerned he could watch all he liked. He had some kick-ass ladders that man. Another summer my daughter and I decided that she had outgrown her “baby” wallpaper. We chose paint this time with a Toile wallpaper border. I started to scrape the old wallpaper off. I wanted to get the wall down to the stucco. I discovered to my horror that under our layer of wallpaper, which we had put up over the painted wall when we moved in, was the layer of paint over another layer of wallpaper. I went to the hardware store, rented a steamer and for one, long, hot July I worked in that room with steam until the walls were down to their pristine bareness. Then I painted and applied the wallpaper border. I swear, that summer there were suspicions that the owner of the hardware store and I were having an affair. I painted a huge living room and dining room with ten foot ceilings (all the time avoiding getting paint on the crown moldings) with a paintbrush, not a roller. My brother-in-law, who was a carpenter, remarked as he inspected the walls that he couldn’t even find a brush stroke. I’ve fixed the guts inside toilet tanks, spackled holes in the wall, cut and hung wallpaper, pulled up carpeting. (I know. It’s hard to believe. I’m such a delicate flower).

In Rhode Island I had an electric screwdriver. I cannot tell you the gift this was. I could actually screw in a screw without breaking something (in the house or in me) or letting out a string of profanities worthy of the sailors in Newport. But I don’t have one here. So, after school today I went to the hardware store (with my screw in my little hand) and said to the cute boy, “I want one this size but I don’t want a Philips.” He said, “YOU DON’T WANT A PHILIPS?” He asked this question with the same incredulity one might expect if I had just said, “I don’t want to go to heaven.”

“YOU DON’T WANT TO GO TO HEAVEN?”

I said, “No. I don’t want a Philips head.”

He said, “Well, most companies don’t make the straight heads anymore.”

(Oh for Pete’s sake).

“The threads on these Philips screws are all worn down and they’re brand new.”

“Did you get them here?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s your problem then. Hehehehe.”

(Yah. That’s funny, Pal).

“Oh all right. But maybe I should get a new screwdriver too. From here. The one I have only cost a dollar.”

(More laughter from the cute boy).

So, two new screws in hand, I arrived proudly at my home.

I mounted the plant hanger up against the board and started driving the screw. (Oh pleeease don’t tell my son or my best friend. I’m supposed to be reading, or listening to music). About halfway in, it stopped dead. “Ok, just leave that one hanging there for a while and try the other one.” Now, I know the trick of hitting a nail into the intended hole to make way for the screw, but I didn’t HAVE a nail. But then I saw one sticking slightly out of the fence, so I pulled it out. I used it to make my entry hole but I’d driven that sucker so deeply into the wood I could not get it back out! So I pulled and pulled and finally the whole board started coming with it. Whoooooooooooaaa! I positioned the pronged end of my hammer in the opposite direction and pulled with all my might until it finally gave. I stuck the screw in and twisted the driver. The result is that now, my pot hanger is listlessly swaying back and forth on the screws, which are each about a quarter of an inch from being firmly embedded. So every hour or so this afternoon I have gone out there with the screwdriver and tried again—to move the bloody screws a millimeter at a time. The last time I went out, I came inside and noticed a huge blister sitting right in the middle of my right hand. There will be no more screwing today.

I cannot express my frustration. Why does driving a screw have to be so hard?

All I want to do is hang a flowerpot. (pouting).

Now some of you might think that all of this is funny and maybe someday I will too, but this is what is really funny…

The little iron table-- I didn’t just paint it one solid color. I painted it in green and pale yellow stripes and then on top of the stripes I painted huge, brilliantly colored flowers and vines. Then I sprayed the protective acrylic coating on it (outside, well ventilated) where it now sits. This afternoon as I sat near my new table, I noticed that little flying insects began to visit it. Evidently the flowers look so real that real insects are alighting! And this of course is a table on which I plan to EAT. I guess I’ll have to go back to see cute hardware store boy and purchase a Citronella candle…

Master of Denial

2007-05-27T15:52:00.000-07:00

Many years ago, a therapist named Donna (to be said with the same tone of voice with which Seinfeld said, “Newman”) told me that I was a “master of denial.” I ditched her quick. She was on to me and I wasn’t ready anyway. I was always fiercely outraged at others’ suffering and eerily attuned to someone else who was in pain. When a student walks into my classroom and they are in pain, I can smell it. The denial about which Donna spoke pertained only to my own pain. My best friend would ask me how I “felt” about something and if the response required that I touch something painful inside, she said that a veil would come down across my eyes like a curtain. I’d shut down. Refuse to feel. She could actually see it happening. The students of my evil and suffering course would be surprised at this. I am such an advocate of lamentation, of telling the stories of suffering, of the need to express pain in order to heal it. It is the second stage of Dorothee Soelle’s “new language of suffering.” Breaking the silence is crucial to breaking the power of abuse, oppression and suffering. But, this is now and that was then.

It wasn’t even so much as a refusal to feel pain as it was that I didn’t know how. I could feel other things profoundly; love, compassion, anger, but when the pain was mine, when someone had hurt me, I simply didn’t know how. I’d stare abuse in the face and wouldn’t even know what it was when it was happening. I have a history that explains it. It is all quite explainable. Not feeling one’s pain can become quite destructive after a time and so one year, when the not-feeling got to be too much to bear, I went to another therapist, Peggy, who led me gently to my pain. She never told me what to do, never told me what I was feeling and she certainly didn’t call me names. She simply, always, infuriatingly asked the right questions. And the tears would come tumbling down. I hated crying. I never cried. But Peggy led me to the place where instead of walking away from the pain, I walked through it, tears and all. I hated therapy. Therapy sucks. Therapy hurts. Therapy is hard. There were days when I walked through Peggy’s front door (her office was on the third floor of her house) and brushed past her with a perfunctory, “hi,” and marched upstairs ahead of her. She laughed a gentle laugh and said, “Well, I can tell you’re happy to be here today.” I was never happy to be there. I’d watch the clock like a hawk and when it struck the 60 minute mark, I’d say, “Time’s up. Time to go.” She’d smile again and say, “ok, Louise.”

Learning how to feel my own pain took a long time and will continue to take a lifetime. I still don’t always know what I’m feeling, but now at least, I know when I’ve been kicked in the stomach, or insulted, or degraded (well, most of the time but even now sometimes it takes days). Still, at least now I know something doesn’t feel right. I swear there were days when I was new at this feeling stuff that I would sit on my sofa with my eyes closed, face all scrunched up and fists tight like a five-year old who’s thinking really hard. I’d ask myself the same questions over and over again. “What are you feeling? What is this? What is this feeling?” That’s how much effort it took.

Physical pain is something else. I have a high tolerance for physical pain that probably goes back to when I was 13 and had gum surgery and a root canal at the same time without any anesthesia. I had a dentist a few years ago who called me her “masochistic patient,” because I underwent below-the-gum deep cleaning without benefit of Novocain. No big deal. There are times though when I deny physical pain as well. I trace this history directly back to my father and all the men on the Duguay (my maiden name) side of the family. This denial is probably true of many groups, but it seems to me that the men of French-Canadian descent raised pain-denial to an art form. My father would actually tell his friends at his bar, “You’re not sick until you go to the doctor.” And they’d try not to go to the doctor, even when they were vomiting blood, even when they had chest pain, even when they couldn’t breathe.

To those who know me then it will come as no surprise that on Friday when I started with a sore throat and a few chills in my classroom I just figured it would go away. I am very rarely sick. I haven’t had a fever in such a long time I didn’t even recognize it when I had it. I am rarely without a thermometer in the house (some throwback to motherhood no doubt), but I couldn’t find it. Saturday I got up at 6:00, worked a four hour shift at Starbucks (chills and sore throat continuing). I have a little corralled courtyard in back of my townhouse and after the Starbucks shift I went to get some flowers and some cheap resin chairs. I already own a discarded Starbucks’ round, iron table so I started painting that. I swept out the courtyard, re-potted the plants and cleaned out my laundry room that leads to the courtyard. It looks so pretty. I hung a pot from one of the wood panels on the fence but the main joist, the only board to which I could attach the hanger, is positioned slightly over the air conditioning unit so the plant gets a little blown when the AC comes on. I'll probably kill it. Last night I painted more on my little table; all this with strep throat and a fever. Of course I didn’t know this then. I was still in denial.

My father may have raised a stubborn girl but he didn’t raise an idiot. When I awoke at 2:00 this morning with shaking chills and throat on fire I knew I couldn’t wait until Tuesday. I went to the emergency room at daybreak. My temp was 102. The doctor took one look at my throat and my swollen lymph nodes and didn’t even need to do a throat swab. Strep. Funny how when there was an actual diagnosis; the thing had a name to validate it; I was suddenly very, very tired. I asked the doctor if I was contagious. He said once I take the amoxicillin I’ll only be contagious for one day. As he was giving me final instructions and just before I left the ER he asked if I wanted a steroid shot for the pain. I bit back the urge to ask, “What pain?”

Student Bloopers

2007-05-19T19:35:00.000-07:00

The following are actual statements written or spoken by my former students:

“Saint Thomas Aquinas was born in the Dominican Republic.” (Thomas was a Dominican monk, a religious Order of the Catholic Church).

“Job was a riotous man.” (Job was a righteous man).

“Aristotle believed that all children came from seamen.” (Aristotle believed that human life was generated and constituted by semen). When I read this in an exam I imagined Jason and the Argonauts sailing on the Aegean Sea to Athens …prepared to have a really, really good time.

“The Dalai Lama is the spiritual and political leader of Budapest.” (I am not making this up).

“Jewish men wear Yamahas on their heads to remind them that they are below God.” (With the exception of American Jews of course, who wear Harleys).

“A bodhisattva is an Enlightened Being who doesn’t go all the way.” (Bodhisattvas are Enlightened Beings who experience nirvana but who are not liberated from the chain of rebirths in order to teach others to reach nirvana).

As I taught the history of the Crusades in The Christian Tradition course, a student raised his hand and asked, “Where were the Protestants when all this was going on?” (Uhhhhhh… they were waiting for Martin Luther to come along in the sixteenth century.)

“How could Adam and Eve have lived in a patriarchal society if it was just the two of them?” (My immediate response to this question was to think, “Oh Man, am I going to have to explain this again?”).

“Catholics believe that Mary was always a virgin, which means that Joseph didn’t get any sex either.” (No comment).

“The ancient Akkadian women would pull men off the streets to participate in their sacred sexual rituals. The men probably didn’t mind this…”

“Joan of Arc was captured by the Burgers.” (Joan was captured by the Burgundians).

“Joan of Arc was burned at the steak.” (It seems that for my students, Joan of Arc is intimately connected to beef).

“I was always taught that the snake in the Garden represented Jesus.” (I think I just stared at this kid for about 4 minutes… waiting for my head to explode while I tried to figure out what the hell this could mean).

“Professor Doire, whatever must you be like, stoned?”

“Even if God wasn’t omniscient, World War II would be kind of hard for a god to miss.” (Indeed.)

“Mary Magdalene wasn’t really a whore. She had some good qualities too.” (Ah, yes… the kind-hearted prostitute, in the tradition of Belle from “Gone with the Wind”).

“Voltaire questions God because of the suffrage of children.” (Voltaire had a problem with children voting?) The misuse of the word “suffrage” for “suffering” occurs more times than I care to think about, even though at the beginning of my “evil and suffering” course I make a point of telling my students that “suffrage” refers to the right to vote.

“Jesus was the Carnation of God.” (According to the tradition, Jesus was of course, the Incarnation of God… hard to imagine God wearing a pink Jesus on His lapel).

“Socrates was a Christ-like figure.” (I wrote in the margin of this student’s paper, “Considering that Socrates lived about 500 years before Jesus, perhaps Jesus was a Socrates-like figure.”)

“Martin Luther King, Jr., was a Christ-like figure.”

“Joan of Arc was a Christ-like figure.”

“Gandhi was a Christ-like figure.”

“Father Gabriel in ‘The Mission’ was a Christ-like figure.”

(Why is it that everybody who dies is a Christ-like figure?)

“Saul changed his name to Paul? That doesn’t seem like a very big change to me.” (I responded, “No, but he still had to change the monogram on his towels.” It took the class about 10 seconds to realize I was kidding.)

“Professor Doire, is there something you do everyday to be the way you are?”

“For the first few weeks of class I would go home to my roommates and say, ‘I have this professor who went to Harvard… and I think she drops acid.'”

“Socrates argued before his Athenian jurors utilizing the Socratic Method.” (That’s like saying Darwin was Darwinian, Carl Jung was a Jungian and Franz Kafka was Kafka-esque).

“During Ramadan, Muslims can’t have sex during the day. But they can do it at night.” (Thank goodness for sundown).

And I will conclude this blog post with perhaps the funniest thing that has ever been said in my classroom… I began to tell a story and realized halfway through that the end of the story required that I say a word that might bother some students. I stopped midway and said to my class, “OK, now I have to say a word that may offend some of you. If it does, I apologize. But wait, we’ve been together almost three months. You know me and I know you. I think we’re quite comfortable with each other at this point and can say anything to each other, right?”

And James, sweet baby James, piped up from the back of the room without skipping a beat, “F**K yeah.”

P.S. to My Year of Activism

2007-05-18T03:19:00.000-07:00

P.S. There were a few more “activities” in which I took part, but after a year I came to the personal conclusion that activism aimed at the Church was energy I could put to better use. In terms of the Church, the activism was unproductive. In terms of myself it was very productive. The action allowed me to confront the experience of betrayal, to channel my anger through creative engagement, to lift up my voice from a silent past and in lifting that voice I began the initial, tentative steps towards the creation of one. It allowed for the liberating experience of doubt. I will never forget those women; Kay and Pat and Annie, who gave birth within me to an intellectual confidence and a spiritual bravery, I never knew I had.

My Year of Activism: Part II

2007-05-16T17:30:00.000-07:00

The second outrageous act of protest came that same year, during the Feast Day of the Pentecost. Pentecost commemorates the “birth of the Church,” which is traditionally identified as the day recorded in Acts:2 when the disciples were hiding, presumably in fear that what happened to Jesus would happen to them. They were gathered together in the “upper room” and were visited by the Holy Spirit, which descended upon them as of “tongues of fire.” According to Scripture, after this miraculous event they went out from the upper room and the Tower of Babel came tumbling down; they were able to preach to all who were present, of whatever nationality or language and they were understood. Pentecost is celebrated 50 days after Easter.

The Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul in Providence, Rhode Island is an interesting piece of real estate. It is an imposing edifice constructed of red stone in the Gothic style; high nave, wide center aisle, narrower side aisles, tall stained-glass windows. A proud feature of the Cathedral is a magnificent pipe organ. The stone steps that descend from the entrance are as wide as the Cathedral itself. They open to a huge stone courtyard known as Cathedral Square. Though none of this is unusual as cathedrals go, what is unusual about the cathedral in Providence is that “Cathedral Square” into which the faithful flow is not the property of the Diocese of Providence but of the City of Providence. So, all one need do to assemble lawfully, right in front of the Cathedral steps is to get a permit to do so from the City of Providence. Hehehehehe.

Spirited Women of Rhode Island could assemble and conduct protests in front of the Cathedral’s massive wooden doors without fear of eviction for trespassing. On the Feast Day of Pentecost, 1991, there we were again, the bane of our Bishop’s existence. We planned a May Day ceremony that included a “sermon,” to be delivered by… you guessed it. Me.

My sermon entailed a critique (and a rejection) of the Church’s claim that the birth of the Church began in the “upper room.” It was my contention that the birth of the Church occurred much sooner than that, at the tomb. Some of you recall that according to the Gospel tradition (and this story is included in all four canonical Gospels and so, is considered “authentic” to the Apostolic tradition), several days after the death of Jesus, Mary Magdalene visited the tomb, which she found empty. In one account, Jesus appeared to her. She mistook him for “the gardener” but then he spoke to her and in her recognition she advanced to embrace him. He said, “Do not touch me for I have not yet ascended to the Father…but go tell the others.” In the story, Mary runs to Peter and declares, “I have seen the Lord.” Peter races to the tomb to see. It is Mary, not the disciples of the upper room who is the first to believe and the first to proclaim. She is recognized by the author of the Gospel of John as “apostola apostolorum,” apostle to the apostles. The first moment of declaration, the spreading of the “Good News,” the commission to “go tell the others,” the birth of the Church, began with Mary.

The Pentecost action was a combination of protest and ritual. We held placards and signs, prayed the prayers of dissent, sang the songs of solidarity and held hands.

One other moment I will recount occurred when Annie (a recent MTS graduate from Harvard Divinity School) invited me to appear with her on a 30 minute local television program on the role of women in religion and feminist theology. I arrived at the television station where I met Annie. As she introduced me to the director of the program, Annie said, “Here’s the other theologian who will be on tonight’s program.” After I shook hands with the director and she walked away to attend to production details, I leaned in and whispered to Annie, “I’m not a theologian.” She whispered back, “Yes, you are.”

My Year of Activism

2007-05-14T15:05:00.000-07:00

I came across a sheet of paper while attempting to clear up some office clutter the other day. I didn’t even think it still existed. It was tucked away with a bunch of academic papers I’d brought with me from Rhode Island. And so I was reminded...

My year of activism began in the spring before entering the first year of my divinity program. I can’t believe I fit that in too, with everything else I was doing that year. Through one of my feminist mentors, Annie, I was introduced to a group of Rhode Island Catholic women who called themselves “Spirited Women of Rhode Island.” We gathered twice a month, created rituals, held discussions, read feminist theology and, we protested.

My involvement with Spirited Women came at a time when I was experiencing the tension many faithful women experience when they are confronted with the truth of a misogynist Church. This tension is often experienced as a choice; reject or reform.

There are feminist theologians who stand on either side; those who claim that the Biblical traditions are hopelessly patriarchal and must be abandoned, and those who claim that they can be redeemed through revisionist readings of the texts, reconstruction of women’s history and re-evaluation of ritual language.

But before I faced that decision, I had to face the anger and sense of betrayal. In a sense, this process for me involved something like the grief stages identified by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. First, there is denial. For me that was a good fit. I spent ten years or so in that stage. The next stage is anger, which I experienced during my year with Spirited Women. And it was wonderful. Yes, my anger was wonder-filled, because I did something with it that was creative and healing.

I was never really convinced that active protest would change the Church. I never really thought that my little voice would change a 2000 year history. But that wasn’t the point anyway. The point was that my activism changed me. Protesting the Church’s past was intimately connected to protesting my past and to raising my voice.

The first act of protest in which I was engaged took place on Holy Thursday, 1991. Holy Thursday is traditionally the day on which the Church celebrates the priesthood, which in the Catholic Church is forbidden to women. The Church interprets Jesus’ words during his Last Supper as instituting a priesthood, a suspicious and spurious interpretation at best. In the Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul in Providence, RI, this commemoration takes place during morning Mass. Every priest and every Catholic school child in Rhode Island is in attendance. The place was packed. Twelve of us Spirited Women attended as well. During the entire Mass we stood. We stood, twelve across a single pew in the back of the Cathedral, feminist texts in hand and we faced the Bishop who was also forced to face us. We were quiet. We were as respectful as protestors can be, but we stood. We stood in contradiction. We stood in defiance of our exclusion. We stood in solidarity with each other. And we stood as if our feet could demand justice and make it a reality.

When it came time for Communion, because we were at the back of church, we were the last to approach the altar for its reception. As the first few women received communion something happened as if inspired. In a spontaneous act, they remained where they were and waited until all twelve of us had received the wafer that still meant something to us. And then, as if by instinct, we turned as one and returned to the back of the Cathedral (a long walk). We created what can only be described as a procession, unplanned to be sure, but a procession nonetheless. We raised the texts of our truths high; the words of the likes of Elisabeth Schussler-Fiorenza, Rosemary Radford-Ruether and Mary Daly. We walked, I think, more slowly than required. Every single priest who had been a priest of my childhood, my adolescence and my young womanhood was in attendance and they saw me. O, they saw me. They saw that I was there in spite of them, despite them, because of them. And I was scared shitless. But it was liberating in a way I never thought possible. Fear and courage experienced in the same moment is not rare I think, but one requires the other if one is going to act, doesn’t it?

Later that day, when The Providence Journal evening edition hit the newsstands, there was a story about the protest which included the reaction of the Bishop. He was incensed. He declared that Spirited Women of Rhode Island owed the worshippers an apology for their behavior that morning and for “disturbing the peace” of the congregation. And so we issued one.

One of the amazing things I learned through this entire experience was that if one calls a “press conference,” the press shows up! I couldn’t believe it. Spirited Women called a press conference to be held at Cathedral Square and there they were; newspaper reporters, local television mini-vans, cameras and all. I was elected to prepare and deliver the response, since the form of the "apology" was my idea. This is the text that I prepared and delivered that day (the piece of paper I found in my office this week), microphones shoved into my face:

Spirited Women of Rhode Island has made several unsuccessful attempts to meet with Bishop Gelineau to discuss the role of women in the Church and the issue of sexism within the Diocese of Providence. In his most recent correspondence, Bishop Gelineau once again refused to enter into such

dialogue. In addition, he suggested that Spirited Women issue an apology

for disrupting the “peace and tranquility” of the congregation present at

the recent Holy Thursday celebration of Holy Chrism at which Spirited

Women engaged in a silent protest within the Cathedral. Today, we would

like to respond:

We are sorry that our Church continues to insist that women remain silent, invisible and marginalized.

We are sorry that our Church leadership values “peace and tranquility”

over justice and equality.

We are sorry that our Church measures the quality of ordained ministry

on the basis of sex rather than individual gifts, intelligence, compassion

and call to service.

We are sorry that for centuries, women’s experience of the divine has not

been lifted up as equal in value to that of men’s experience.

We are sorry that the hierarchy of the Church is so threatened by a perceived sense of loss of control and power, that it has lost the ability for leadership within a discipleship of equals.

We are sorry that the Church esteems the maleness of Christ above the spirit of Christ; a spirit of inclusive grace.

We are saddened by the refusal of our Bishop to even consider altering

those elements of oppression and inequality, which fall within the scope

of the local Church; the incorporation of women into the Diocese of

Providence hierarchy; the education of clergy on the concerns of women

and the encouragement of gender inclusive language in parish worship.

It is with deep sorrow that we watch our children and grandchildren continue

to experience the pain, exclusion and sexism of a patriarchal Church.

In lifting our voices in sorrow, Spirited Women of Rhode Island join the

Bishop in praying and hoping for reconciliation borne truly from the teachings

of Jesus Christ.

Whew. Needless to say, we received no further correspondence from the Bishop of Providence.

To be continued….

Inquisitive Minds...Get Silenced

2007-05-11T10:18:00.000-07:00

A few nights ago, I watched a PBS program on the Inquisition and its effects on a small medieval town in Southern France (I know. What can I say? It’s a geek thing). Anyway, these were the effects: the entire town was wiped out. Everybody knows that there were actually three Inquisitions (ok, not everybody). The Papal Inquisition, begun in the thirteenth century in an effort to “educate” heretics, the Spanish Inquisition, when the “Catholic Monarchs” Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand of Spain were given jurisdiction over their own inquisition and the Papal Inquisition, which claimed Galileo as a victim and which eventually resulted in the famous (or infamous) Catholic Index of banned books.

Doire Tangent #1: The list of banned authors includes Victor Hugo, who almost single-handedly saved Notre Dame Cathedral from certain ruin in the 19th century, Jean-Paul Sartre, Voltaire, Kierkegaard, Daniel Defoe (why?), Nikos Kazantzakis (author of The Last Temptation of Christ. No surprise there.) and by the way, the movie of the same name is viewed in my Religion and Film class. Also on the list, Jonathan Swift, Emile Zola, Graham Greene (surely they jest), Gustave Flaubert (of The Parrot??), Immanuel Kant, Nietzsche (again, no surprise) and Alexandre Dumas (oh yes, The Three Musketeers is surely a threat to Catholic orthodoxy). In 1966, the faithful were officially released from doctrinal obligations against reading the banned books but not from its moral obligation. Never to be accused of falling behind modernity, the Church has now added movies to the list. End of tangent.

Doire Tangent #2: The Spanish Inquisition of the 15th century resulted in the expulsion of all Jews from Spain. They had a choice-- receive baptism, leave Spanish soil, or die. Of the estimated 500,000 Jews in Spain at the time, half of them underwent the mock baptism and half of them migrated to Portugal, which didn’t help them much because within a few short years Jews were expelled from Portugal too. The deadline year when Jews had to make this choice? 1492. There are historians who are working on the thesis that Christopher Columbus may have been Jewish and left Spain with his famous fleet just in time.

Ha! Wouldn’t THAT be rich? If “Christian America” had, in reality been “discovered” by a Jew! Only time and scholarship will tell. Of course, it seems to me that any historian attempting to definitively pinpoint Columbus' religious lineage need look no further than his first name. I've never met a Jew with that name. Unless... it's Columbus' mock baptismal name!! End of tangent.

Back to PBS…Before the program began, the director found it relevant to include screen text, which informed the audience that in 2004, Pope John Paul II issued an apology for the “wounds” inflicted by the Inquisition. Oh really? I didn’t know that it was over.

I have joked on occasion that it is my goal to be silenced by the Church. I am not important or influential enough for them to pay attention, but I take comfort in the fact that if they knew about me, I probably would be.

Many of the theologians I most admire have been. Very important to the development of my own theological voice, Dominican Father Matthew Fox (the“father of Creation-Centered spirituality”) who once wrote, "What is it about patriarchy that makes it so stupid?" Fox was “asked” not to teach or publish for a year while his work was examined for heresy by the Vatican. They never found any but in the meantime Fox, refusing to be silenced, left the Catholic priesthood and was welcomed into ordination by the Episcopal Church. Edward Schillebeeckx, whose book on Church was the first theological work I’d ever read. Then, there is Hans Kung, who took the Council of Vatican II seriously and fashioned a theology that was broad and open and well, just plain cool; Charlie Curran who lost his license to teach theology at Catholic University in 1986 for questioning the Church’s teaching on birth control in his classroom. Karl Rahner, the most brilliant modern, male (ha!) theologian I’ve ever read (certified by the fact that some of his sentences are three pages long) was silenced by Pope John XXIII (stick the knife in and twist). In 2004 the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (headed by Joseph card. Ratzinger) declared his writings orthodox.

Doire Tangent #3: When the Office of the Inquisition was dissolved the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith took its place. For much of the latter half of the 20th century its Prefect was Joseph card. Ratzinger, now Pope Benedict XVI. A 2004 Pastoral Letter sent to Bishops around the world, written by Ratzinger and signed by Pope JPII, dealt with the role of women in the Church and the world. In it, Ratzinger called feminism “lethal to Church and society.” End of tangent.

And then, there are the Liberation theologians, Gustavo Gutierrez often called “the father of Liberation Theology,” was investigated and issued “complaints” but was never officially silenced; Leonardo Boff silenced both in 1985 and 1991. He left the priesthood in 1992, so is now free to say what he wills. Most recently Jon Sobrino, not officially silenced but as recently as October, 2006 was “admonished,” and denounced. When I teach my Religion and Film course and we watch “The Mission,” Liberation Theology is the focus of the study. Selections from Sobrino’s Christology at the Crossroads are required reading.

The Latin American Liberation theologians changed the world. I am not kidding. They are for me, the quintessential example of how the power of an idea can begin a revolution. A handful of Jesuit priests living and working amongst the poorest of the poor of Central America and informed (perhaps) by the work of Jurgen Moltmann and his suffering God, began to do theology from the ground up. Theology had classically been a project that speculated about the nature of God and then reflected upon humanity from God’s presumed point of view. The Liberation theologians turned traditional theology on its head. They reflected upon the human experience and then “did theology” in light of that experience. The result was a theology that placed God on the side of the poor and oppressed, rather than the privileged and triumphant. Suffering became the epistemological locus. Latin American Liberation Theology opened the door for all other theologies of liberation; feminist, African-American, Mujerista, womanist; all are the children of these Jesuit priests who had the radical notion that if theology is not concerned about justice, then theology has become absurd and obscene. Their theology began a movement that called for change in the unjust and corrupt political systems of Latin America. Bishop Oscar Romero, one of its spokesmen, was assassinated while at his altar celebrating Mass.

Doire Tangent #4: In the 1980s, Ratzinger led the Vatican's campaign to wipe out the movement, which he said replaced the church's spiritual role with misplaced social and economic activism. And now the Pope is visiting Latin America, a region of the world in which millions suffer relentlessly from poverty, violence, the spread of HIV and other diseases and unjust and corrupt governments. So, what is the Pope addressing in Latin America? Abortion, as he issues the threat of excommunication to all Catholics (especially U.S. politicians) who support a woman’s right to choose. What color is the freaking SKY in his world?

Wow. Have I written so much? I could write so much more. I cannot imagine that any of you have stayed with this blog post to the end, which mercifully will occur here and which will conclude with a quote from Jon Sobrino’s Christology at the Crossroads.

Christian hope is hope in the fulfillment of the universe, but it is

not naïve either. Rather than directing its gaze above and beyond

injustice and death, Christian hope takes a stand against injustice

and death; it is a hope against hope (emphasis mine).

May there be more theologians to come who are courageous enough to challenge a complacent Church and a dead theology. One of the truest signs that a voice must be heard is that the Church has attempted to silence it.

Reasons to Celebrate

2007-05-10T18:13:00.000-07:00

#10: The last three issues of Vanity Fair have featured covers depicting Brad Pitt (April), Leonardo DiCaprio (May) and Bruce Willis (June).

#9: Rumor has it that Joni Mitchell has been busy in the studio and is about to release a CD of brand new songs about war and peace. The CD will either be titled “If,” or "Fife and Drum,” (according to my sources).

#8: The long awaited fourth installment of the Die Hard series will be released this summer. Live Free or Die starring Bruce Willis as John MacLane will not disappoint as long as it is just a little bit better than Die Harder (#2 in the series).

#7: Bob Dylan and his band have not YET completed the announcement of summer tour dates, so perhaps there is still a chance that Dylan will be somewhere near Charleston… and I will get to kiss him.

#6: This month there will be a blue moon. The second full moon, which occurs in the same month, is a blue moon. I’m thinking of throwing a party and serving Blue Nun and Moon Pies.

#5: On Queen Elizabeth II’s recent visit to the White House, President Bush was only mildly embarrassing, dating America’s BI-centennial in 1776 and referring to the Queen inappropriately as his mother.

#4: Roger Clemons is returning to baseball. OK. Yes, I know he’s going back to the Yankees, but I do not consider The Rocket to be a traitor to the Sox (unlike Demon Damon). He is phenomenal. He is The Rocket. And it is always a joy to watch him pitch.

#3: It is May in Charleston and the beach beckons.

#2: Tropical storm Andrea was gentle and kind.

#1: I am alive. And life is good.

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