tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53047797874874910032024-03-18T12:58:33.847-07:00New Wave FeministsDestinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-13047818423649582312023-02-21T11:43:00.008-08:002023-02-21T12:03:35.875-08:00Venezuelan Migration<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> <span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">*Content warning - this is a tough but necessary read*</span></b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmH4nZ1Abf884BHLTAHzAqMWB2wtQ4_1yuj3okh5xefJy6pQNFyxxFzjXKNGEuapNIJdRBCNHJfgCKYgpWR3ymWUKCotLG5G_jVKkE9x25Gs5kp3-PM49A55NhTHvEvA0PFWRHwNhDIlO96q78II6TXT9ByJepCmXzu6SFGv-edQE2UqQBAfUAjohlw/s2375/Migrating%20Butterfly.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2375" data-original-width="2094" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmH4nZ1Abf884BHLTAHzAqMWB2wtQ4_1yuj3okh5xefJy6pQNFyxxFzjXKNGEuapNIJdRBCNHJfgCKYgpWR3ymWUKCotLG5G_jVKkE9x25Gs5kp3-PM49A55NhTHvEvA0PFWRHwNhDIlO96q78II6TXT9ByJepCmXzu6SFGv-edQE2UqQBAfUAjohlw/w367-h416/Migrating%20Butterfly.jpg" width="367" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Years ago, someone asked what I would wish for if I found a magic lamp with a genie inside. He prefaced this with the fact that the genie would only give me one wish. Which injustice or societal ill would I choose from amongst the long list of Consistent Life Issues? I assume this question was meant to find out which issue was our <b><i>main</i></b> focus. But I knew better…</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">“That’s easy,” I said, “I’d wish to eradicate dehumanization.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">That’s basically the CLE version of using a wish to wish for infinite wishes, which as we all know, is never allowed.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">But this would be my personal loophole. My way to outsmart the genie. Because if there was no more dehumanization then there would be no more war, no more violence, no more degradation or hunger. We would all suddenly see every single person as the unique and irreplaceable miracle that they are.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Dehumanization is the root of all the world’s evils.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">And when it comes to those immigrating - especially from South America - dehumanization abounds.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">People fleeing their homes due to extreme destitution and/or violence are often thoughtlessly referred to as ‘aliens,’ or ‘illegals,’ and in some extreme cases “animals,” “killers,” or “criminals.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">For those of us who try to be intentional about fighting this particular type of dehumanization, we usually refer to them simply as “migrants.” But even that label can sometimes feel too… I don’t know… detached them from their intrinsic human dignity?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I’ve found when people hundreds of miles away hear that word - “migrant” - or see headlines about “migrant caravans,” they tend to just picture a sea of nameless, faceless masses, not individuals; not people whose lives are as intricate and complex as our own; not human beings who love their children equally as fiercely as we love our own… willing to do absolutely anything to keep them alive… which is what so often leads them to begin their migration journeys in the first place.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">This week at the Stellar Shelter, Karina received a Venezuelan woman with two small children. The woman, we’ll call her Mairelys, recounted how she’d given birth to a perfectly healthy baby a few years ago, but due to the lack of proper medical care, her baby died at the hospital. She said there is no food in Venezuela… that she’d been “starving for years,” and that she couldn’t let her two other children, now 2 and 6, suffer that same agony.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">The unique thing about Mairelys’ migration story, and all those traveling up from South America, is that they must traverse a massive jungle to get here - a brutal passage called the Darién Gap.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Karina said this is something she knew about, of course, but sort of abstractly. She’d never researched it in depth. However, she quickly realized why most people don’t research it at all… because the horrors of this journey are too horrific for most of us to comprehend.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Mairelys said that it was best to travel in groups for safety. She then shared the story of a young mother in their group who was traveling with her small toddler. At one point this mother turned around “just for a moment,” Mairelys said, and the child was instantly snatched into the trees by a large animal. She said the mother couldn’t bare the devastation of losing her child in this way and took her own life the next day.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I cannot begin to fathom any of this. My mind doesn’t want to picture it, my heart doesn’t want to try to understand how that would feel. It’s more like a Hollywood horror story than reality. But it is the reality for many Venezuelans.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">A level of starvation that would make one so desperate to escape their homeland, that they would take on the dangers of a wild jungle with a baby on their back, just for the slightest shot at survival… or the pain of losing children in such a horrific way…</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I can, however, imagine coming to the realization that you cannot go on without them.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Karina and I both sat in silence for a few minutes.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">“I get it…” I said, “I mean, the decision that mother made at the end.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">“I do too,” Karina replied.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">After a few more moments of sitting quietly in the disbelief of what these travelers have to go through, Karina continued relaying more of what Mairelys shared about her experience.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">“She said a lot of parents die in the jungle on their journey… and that the rest of the group can barely take care of themselves and their own kids.” Mairelys was incredibly thin when she got to our shelter because she had to make sure her children ate, even if she didn’t. But if she added another mouth to feed, her kids might become the next day’s orphans… so she couldn’t take any of those children with her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I didn’t think my heart could sink any lower, but then the bottom dropped out and thus began a never-ending free fall.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">“She told me that she would look out at the trees at night and just hear the cries of orphaned children as they wandered around aimlessly… and how babies were just left on the ground.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">At this point, I couldn’t take any more. My sadness had to turn into anger in order to keep from complete despondency. “Why is THAT not a mission trip?!” I exclaimed. “Where is the billionaire who can buy up some of that property and pave a road through the gap? Or at the very least set up medical tents, and organize teams to go rescue these children?”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">But that’s not the world we live in, nor the horror story so many Venezuelans live through. Perhaps there’s a valid reason why these things cannot or have not been done, but I wasn’t interested in excuses in that moment.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">“People need to know,” Karina said quietly. “We need to tell them.” And I agreed.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">But we can’t tell you in the way most of these stories are told by non-profits. We refuse to give you a neat little bow at the end by stating how “resilient” or “courageous” Mairelys and her children are for making it here. Because telling this story in that way would only serve to make all of us feel better about the fact that, yes, some of the travelers do survive. And while we’re so glad they did, and that they have now a safe place to stay… going through something like that has to change a person, on a molecular level, forever.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Mairelys said her group was able to bring along one 8-year-old orphan because he was big enough to be self-sufficient for the most part. But what about the smaller children they had to walk past without offering aid? What about the babies’ lifeless bodies they had to see as they tried their best to stay alive for their own children? How do you carry the weigh of that trauma, those memories, the choices you did or didn’t make to save another human being’s life for the rest of your own?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">So, yes, Mairelys is resilient. Because she had to be. To a level that makes her superhuman… yet, she and her children, while superhuman, will still face more dehumanization in one day than most of us will in a lifetime.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I don’t want people to see her merely as a nameless, faceless “migrant.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">She’s a mother… a mother to two living children and one she sadly lost. She’s a hero who, along with her group, saved an 8-year-old boy’s life. She’s a woman who’s 90 lbs soaking wet because she “starved for years,” but somehow still conjured the strength to get two small children across a treacherous, deadly jungle, because there is no stronger force on earth than a mother who wants to save her children… but even then, far too often it’s still not strong enough.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">There will be no bow. No feel-good anecdote. All we can offer Mairelys now, beyond a warm shower, safe shelter, and a few hot meals a day, is a platform… a place to share her stories in hopes that those of us here in the States will truly see the human dignity, and strength, and heart of every individual person who makes it to our borders to request safe passage. Because they carry so much more than their children through this. They will also carry these stories and that trauma for the rest of their lives. And the least we can do is let them lay some of that burden on us so they know they didn’t go through it all in vain.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Their stories have the power to humanize. </span></span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Their stories must change us.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">*******</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">{Image Description: Mairelys' 6-year-old daughter dancing through the hallways of the Stellar Shelter in a pair of brightly colored pink and purple butterfly wings.}</span></span><div class="yj6qo" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></div><div><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div></div>Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-9271178530015105122022-11-08T02:34:00.005-08:002022-11-08T03:03:16.358-08:00Template for letter to elected officials<p> <span class="s2" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 18px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><</span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 18px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Your</span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 18px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> Name</span></p><p class="s5" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="color: #666666; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 10px; font-style: italic; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="font-size: 2em; line-height: 24px;">123 Your Street</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="color: #666666; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 10px; font-style: italic; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="font-size: 2em; line-height: 24px;">Your</span></span><span class="s4" style="color: #666666; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 10px; font-style: italic; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="font-size: 2em; line-height: 24px;"> City, ST 12345</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="color: #666666; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 10px; font-style: italic; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="font-size: 2em; line-height: 24px;">(123) 456-7890</span></span></p><p class="s5" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="color: #666666; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 10px; font-style: italic; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="font-size: 2em; line-height: 24px;">no_reply@example.com></span></span></p><p class="s7" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 24px;"><span class="s6" style="font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><Date </span><span class="s6" style="font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">20</span><span class="s6" style="font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">22></span></p><p class="s3" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 16px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><Elected Official</span></p><p class="s5" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s6" style="font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">CEO, </span><span class="s6" style="font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Company Name</span></p><p class="s5" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s6" style="font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">123 Address St </span></p><p class="s5" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s6" style="font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Anytown</span><span class="s6" style="font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">, ST 12345></span></p><p class="s10" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 40px;"><span class="s8" style="font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Dear <</span><span class="s9" style="font-family: Calibri; font-weight: bold; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Elected Official</span><span class="s8" style="font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">>,</span></p><p class="s10" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 40px;"><span class="s8" style="font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">I would like to start this letter by thanking you for advocating for the unborn and passionately pursuing pro-life policies and legislation. I too am pro-life, but unfortunately find myself unable to fully support the pro-life movement in </span><span class="s6" style="font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><your state></span><span class="s8" style="font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">. This ul</span><span class="s8" style="font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">timately comes down to the fact that the pro-life movement is not bringing the right people to the table when creating the wording for amendments or getting their professional input when proposing new legislation. This is demonstrated in </span><span class="s6" style="font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">how the proposed a</span><span class="s6" style="font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">mendment to the Constitution of <your state> was written (included is one example from Kentucky): “</span><span class="s11" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">To protect human life, nothing in this Constitution shall be construed to secure or protect a right to abortion or require the funding of abortion.” Because of the poor wording, I had to vote against t</span><span class="s11" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">his change. </span><span class="s12" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Simply using the word “abortion” is too broad and perpetuates a significant risk to the pregnant person carrying the child. </span></p><p class="s10" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 40px;"><span class="s12" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">In order to protect walking, talking, breathing, extra-</span><span class="s12" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">uterine human life, these pro-life laws need to be written to specifically </span><span class="s12" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">target elective abortions. For example, when creating proposed legislation, one could simply add in the word “elective” or use the ICD-10 CM code Z33.2 which is for an “encounter for elective termination of pregnancy.” This code excludes early fetal death </span><span class="s12" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">with retention of dead fetus, late fetal death, and spontaneous abortion. We are seeing instances across the country of providers hesitating to perform necessary abortions/inductions for their pregnant patients because these unclear state laws have them fearful of lo</span><span class="s12" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">sing their license or facing criminal charges. These </span><span class="s12" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">situations could be avoided if lawmakers would simply invite obstetricians and other appropriate medical professionals to the abortion discussion. </span></p><p class="s10" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 40px;"><span class="s12" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">While I have your attention, I think it's prudent to re</span><span class="s12" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">member there are things that can be done to help make abortion unthinkable in our state and country. A pregnant person needs resources, support, and healthcare so they don’t have to question if they can support themself and their child. Some of these burdens c</span><span class="s12" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">an be relieved through the provision of universal healthcare, eliminating food deserts, and requiring paid parental leave. </span></p><p class="s10" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 40px;"><span class="s12" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Thank you for taking the time to review my concerns and consider my ideas. I strongly want to be able to support pro-life legislatio</span><span class="s12" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">n in </span><span class="s11" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><your state></span><span class="s12" style="color: #202124; font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">, but I need to be confident that the decisions being made are not only protecting the lives of the unborn, but the lives of their mothers. </span></p><p class="s13" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s8" style="font-family: Calibri; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Sincerely,</span><a name="_GoBack"></a></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> </span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> </span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> </span></p><p class="s13" style="border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: thin; border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s14" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 16.799999237060547px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 25.200000762939453px;">Your</span></span><span class="s14" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 16.799999237060547px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 25.200000762939453px;"> Name</span></span></p>Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-44725658344317672212021-11-29T10:00:00.003-08:002021-11-29T10:01:21.571-08:00A Consistent Life Ethic & Environmental Stewardship<p>By Christina Sullivan </p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIEG3nL3fEbS2doo2gVjHO93yEpaeU4WaREoX2PUG-WCIGslj0LAHcd47KPp5dW_K_Aii_uO-WkBD9KudynAZFVbqAD-d2mhE49NfIhB52UO1LLfkB7h0-jnMXdv9nEVxoQTZgS0t37XLK/s960/Defend.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="764" height="409" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIEG3nL3fEbS2doo2gVjHO93yEpaeU4WaREoX2PUG-WCIGslj0LAHcd47KPp5dW_K_Aii_uO-WkBD9KudynAZFVbqAD-d2mhE49NfIhB52UO1LLfkB7h0-jnMXdv9nEVxoQTZgS0t37XLK/w326-h409/Defend.jpg" width="326" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Artwork by Jackie Fawn</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222;">“I’m wondering if the fact that we’re surrounded so much by disposable items makes us think too that people are disposable, unimportant. I find it so hard to find friendships where people really care about each other, value each other’s time, and not treat each other like we are interchangeable, disposable items too. I wonder if all these disposable items around us somehow found a way into our psyche and impregnated how we see everything else.” </span></p><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was a post that was made on my local Zero Waste Facebook group a while ago. As a pro- life feminist who sees a very clear link between disposable items and the notion of disposable people/friendship, it took every shred of self-discipline to not reply to the post and call out the glaring relationship between abortion and disposability. If you cannot recognize the action of literally throwing tiny humans into the biohazard waste bin with what we regularly do with our leftover bag of chips, are you really even Zero Waste? </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While there is a slightly sarcastic tone in that last sentence, I do strongly believe that encompassing a Consistent Life Ethic lends itself well to the concept of Environmental Stewardship in that, what’s the point of saving all of these babies if the oceans we leave them are covered in floating islands of trash? Why bother empowering women to make life-affirming decisions if those lives born of their wombs are cut short because of air pollution? Why do we fight to keep families intact if those very families are the ones disproportionately affected by climate change? Some would answer, and rightfully so, “nothing else matters if we don’t prioritize Life.” I agree with this statement. I also think it sells ourselves and our movement short. Fighting for the Right to Life is less meaningful, especially in the eyes of “other side”, when fighting for Quality of Life is seen as mutually exclusive. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Speaking to this, I’ve been following the Maternal Feminism group called Big Ocean Women for a while now, and Tenet 7 of their Beliefs describes the concept of three environments: The Womb, The Home, and The Ecological Environment. In their view, The Womb is the first environment to which we all are exposed, and after birth we interface with The Home and The Ecological Environment. While The Womb is arguably the most important given it’s our first environment—and nothing else would matter if we weren’t first given the chance to be born—we also have a responsibility to care for our Home, and our Ecological Environments. Interestingly, there is research pointing to the effects of environmental hazards like BPA and other endocrine disruptors on fetal development—so this should give us even more cause to do what we can to minimize our impact on the Ecological Environment. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the criticisms the pro-choice side makes of us, which we must admit has some merit, is that our movement largely neglects the opportunity to vocalize support for environmentally- conscious causes. Simply put, pro-choicers think pro-lifers don’t care at all about the environment. Consider however how the pro-choice logic is critically flawed: it places the burden of environmental decline on our present and future offspring. How many times have we heard children referred to as “carbon-spewers” or that “overpopulation” is responsible for our climate crisis? Those who think critically understand that the concern over the environment should be credited to us adults and our penchant toward overconsumption. As such, it is my—the grownup’s— duty to minimize the ongoing environmental impact.</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Children are not the problem. The collective brain power of current and future generations has the greatest potential to concretely mitigate the environmental woes. Those who participated in</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">COP26 can stress the need for immediate intervention, which I absolutely think is needed to some extent, though there is much debate on the “how to” go about effecting change. I also believe that future invention—perhaps developed by those yet to be born—holds the key to addressing and dare I say resolving the damage previous generations have done to our Common Home. Anecdotally, I have seen the addition of more children to a family be the exact impetus needed for the parents to reconsider their consumer habits— not in spite of having a third or fourth child, but precisely because of it. In other words, having more children propelled them to think more critically about the world that generation will inherit. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am by no means an expert on Environmental Stewardship, but I have learned quite a lot over the past year and we as a family have made significant strides in rethinking our family’s approach to consumerism and waste. This naturally effects what we bring into our Home Environment and how much leaves our Home and enters the Ecological Environment. We will always prioritize fighting for the lives and health of the preborn in the Womb, and we compliment that by altering our purchasing and disposal habits so as to simultaneously benefit the Home and Ecological Environments. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The big question remains: how do we do this? We have found the process to be surprisingly simple—I’ll share the changes we’ve made in Part 2 of this post.</div>Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-78896865653935060682020-07-10T15:13:00.001-07:002020-07-10T15:13:30.995-07:00"Housing Dignity"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuf98KzH_yC3JDdFMQnIJA6vSiF2XB-wfcJRp-poUUNlEePqmDn-66asVHHXIWl3O8X6YGz4fGnj3VBhquYinkz3OhUNezXH24Ga4cbhz9SX7ZPIe8qge0RkoKFGi-pcC13A4r1ANZYGRL/s1600/Housing+Dignity.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1397" data-original-width="1600" height="558" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuf98KzH_yC3JDdFMQnIJA6vSiF2XB-wfcJRp-poUUNlEePqmDn-66asVHHXIWl3O8X6YGz4fGnj3VBhquYinkz3OhUNezXH24Ga4cbhz9SX7ZPIe8qge0RkoKFGi-pcC13A4r1ANZYGRL/s640/Housing+Dignity.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We had just crossed over the border bridge on foot, hauling half a dozen birthing bags with us. As we got to the Juarez side, K. explained that the street we were now on was known for sex tourism and violence. “See that hotel,” she said as she pointed to the left side of the road, “it’s one of the worst.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We walked down the street while she gave us a brief overview of its history and how thing had changed since Covid. The street was clean, the sidewalks looking freshly repaved. It seemed like any city’s main drag, except the road was crowded with motorist waiting in line to cross back to the El Paso side, as vendors sold snacks and knickknacks to the drivers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She told me she was going to get me one of the weekly newspapers as we walked back to the spot where we were to wait to be picked up. We approached a man standing by the large cross reading, “Justicia.” At this point I still had no clue what the cross was, or that the paper tags nailed to it were toe tags from bodies of murdered women. She gave the vendor a few pesos and he handed her the newspaper. I took it, gave the cover a cursory glance, and then we set off to the spot where we would catch our ride. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We made small talk while waiting. I didn’t know if it was an Uber or another volunteer from her shelter. About half an hour later a man arrived in a van. I’ll call him “O.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">O. was a soft spoken man with light eyes and a small bit of red scruff on his face. We piled into his van and that’s when I remembered the newspaper. I pulled it out and began flipping through the pages. The first ten or so were just local news. It looked like the alt-weekly’s we have here in the states, so I assumed the back pages would be where “massages” were advertised. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I continued flipping through it though, I gasped. Near the middle of the paper there weren’t small advertisements for women offering “services”... no... there were full page pornographic ads. Women were being sold in these pages. Women who’s toe tags could likely end up on the very cross their images were being purchased next to. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“This is straight pornography,” I exclaimed. O., from the front seat, asked what I was looking at, and when K. told him what she’d given me, he nodded his head slowly and sadly. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We stopped briefly to pick up another volunteer from the art collective K. and O. work with, then we headed to a lumber yard. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">O. and the volunteer went in to procure the wood while K., Mel, and I stayed in the van. The air was turned off but the door was open, so a nice breeze filled the car as we took respite in the shade. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">K. began telling us about the women she serves. At one point, when talking about the “torture porn” industry taking hold in Juarez, she asked how much we wanted to hear because so much of it was unfathomable to most. Mel and I assured her that we could handle hearing the reality of what these women endure. She said one of the women in her shelter has scars all over her face. Actually, a few of them do, but this one woman’s were particularly bad. “They stuck toothpicks into her skin,” she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That level of desperation to survive and make money for your family in such a way, is so foreign to me, but it is very much a reality here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually, O. and the other volunteer returned and the van was driven into a large lumber warehouse where planks of wood were fastened to the roof of the van. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mel and I still had no clue where we we’re headed, as we weaved through the crowded streets of Juarez. Up until this point, K. had been acting as our translator, when O. said something I actually understood. He apologized for his English, telling us he’s slow at speaking it because he has to translate each word in his head first. It was actually quite good though. Much better than the few words of Spanish I know. He made a joke about how he had a “bad face,” which was untrue. His eyes are incredibly kind. He said people in Juarez tell him he looks like a hillbilly because of his light complexion and auburn hair.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As we crawled up a hill in the van, the houses flanking us looked more like shacks. Blankets and pieces of aluminum stood in place of secure doors. Eventually we came to the spot where he was building a house for migrants. K. explained that he believed in “housing dignity,” and that if he could use his skills to do anything, he wanted it to be making sure the migrants waiting on asylum had a safe and dignified place to live. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We got out of the van, and one by one, he started unloading the planks. Some other volunteers who were already there came over to assist him, and in groups of two we moved the wood to the site where the house was being build. The cinder blocks and frame were already up. A blue plastic tarp served as a make shift roof.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There were a handful of children that lived in the nearby dwellings, and they were watching on as one of the volunteers poured water into a large dirt pile. The water would be poured, then more red dirt would be added until the measurements were just right. K. told me the kids were waiting to mix the dirt and water together with their feet, and she jokingly asked me if I wanted to join them. I’d already started rolling up my pants when I realized she probably thought I was going to decline. I told her it would be just like that episode of “I love Lucy” where they were at the vineyard stomping grapes and that I was all in. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sadly, before the time came to mix the clay for the walls, K. told us it was time to go to the shelter and that she’d just ordered us an Uber. I rolled my pants back down and smiled at the children who were about to have so much fun in the cool clay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Housing dignity”... that’s something so few of us in the states have to worry about. For many of us, if we lose our housing, we at least have friend’s who’s couches we can crash on, or family that will take us in. But for these women, they are hundreds of miles away from anyone they know. They have zero community to lean on for support. And women with no roofs over their heads - no roofs over their children’s heads - often have to go to great, soul crushing, debasing lengths to provide the safety and security of a home. So, O. is not simply creating safe dwellings. He’s creating spaces for women and children to thrive which don’t require their dehumanization to simply survive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we spoke to K. the night before we left, we asked her to come up with a wishlist for what she would like for the shelter. Preferably in order of the most needed first. One of our big BIG dreams we had was to be able to help O. out with some sort of transportation so he didn’t have to keep hauling wood on the top of his van, but that expense seemed pretty unreachable at the time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And then, this week as you all bought out the registry for the THIRD TIME I got an email from the refrigerator company informing me that they don’t deliver to El Paso. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was so upset. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I was trying to formulate a plan, y’all bought the washing machine, and Amazon informed me they wouldn’t be able to deliver that either. The TWO BIGGEST items on the registry, and probably the two most needed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I scrambled to figure out what to do, I posted on my personal Facebook asking if anyone in the Dallas area had a UHAUL style trailer we could borrow because maybe the solution was simply for me to drive the two items back across Texas myself. Within minutes someone said they would cover the cost of a UHAUL so we’d have insurance on it. It still pained me to even think about spending over a thousand dollars (because they charge by the mile) on something we’d only be renting for a few days though. Especially since I knew that money would be better spent somewhere else. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And then, a few minutes after that, ANOTHER donation came in covering the cost of both the refrigerator and the washing machine in case we needed to cancel those orders (at which point the donations would simply go back to the donors, not NWF - which I’m sure y’all would have donated back, but it still would’ve been such a pain for everyone, so I was trying to avoid that if at all possible). </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">All that to say, y’all’s generosity completely floored me, and it also gave me the room I needed to breathe. And with that oxygen flowing again, and some input from our brilliant board, we got to brainstorming the best solution. We realized this might actually be the universe’s way of pushing us into the perfect solution after all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Within a day, I was able to find a guy an hour away who builds flatbed trailers with high sides. The kind of trailer that would be PERFECT for hauling a fridge and washer to El Paso. And then we could leave the trailer there for O. & K. to use to haul lumber for the houses.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That was a BIG DREAM item and you guys provided it. I’d say I’m speechless, but if you’ve made it this far you know I’m anything but. But my heart is still so full of gratitude for the good work in Juarez y’all have supported this week. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">K. was speechless though. When I told her the good news I just got a string of head exploding emojis.</span></div>
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-17169200248951639982020-07-10T15:03:00.003-07:002020-07-10T15:19:09.382-07:00Shoes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfndtCzQ1LVCb3Dinf-R8swX8iVPv3opGTQj9FiVhrmpDh0JmBWSOqaKrF51lxZS2pS1JD2ko-TsqfY_dTYpl6HShMxPOg8mpIR7GtUivTNrdnfYcVMBQR41fyXRNiLvDO1h7ihyphenhyphenu3CHnE/s1600/Shoes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="821" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfndtCzQ1LVCb3Dinf-R8swX8iVPv3opGTQj9FiVhrmpDh0JmBWSOqaKrF51lxZS2pS1JD2ko-TsqfY_dTYpl6HShMxPOg8mpIR7GtUivTNrdnfYcVMBQR41fyXRNiLvDO1h7ihyphenhyphenu3CHnE/s640/Shoes.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">TW: Sexual Assault</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">When you walk into the shelter in Juárez, the first thing you have to do is sanitize your hands and the bottoms of your shoes. There‘s a small wooden table adorned with an assortment of plastic bottles just inside the door. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">With 20 people, a collection of women and children all staying at the shelter, they have to take every precaution necessary to keep them safe from outside germs. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I grabbed the hand sanitizer first. Rubbing the cool liquid into my palms and all around my fingers. Then I started to spray off the bottoms of my shoes, as I’d been instructed to the day before, with another bottle of disinfectant. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">K., the woman who brought us to the shelter, is always in high demand. As soon as we got there, she was swept away by one of the residents needing her assistance. Mel and I were left on our own, which normally wouldn’t have been an issue, except an older women approached us and started pointing at my feet - saying something in Spanish. I didn’t know if she was a volunteer or a resident, all I knew was that she was clearly trying to communicate something very important to me.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Had I not done it right? Had I missed a step? My heart began to race and I froze, not wanting to contaminate anything any further until I figured out what I had done wrong. Another younger woman walked over, who we’d met the day before. She’s 17, and we were told she’d just finished up her nursing studies. I looked to her for some sign as to what I should do. Her face gave me no answers, so I turned back to Mel. “What did I forget? Did I do it wrong? WHERE IS K.?!?” Mel was as lost as I was, and that’s when the young nursing student said, “She like... she like... your shoe... where did you get?”</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The older woman then removed her own sandal to show me the hard plastic toe separator. Suddenly, we were speaking the same language because I HATE those too!!! I prefer the fabric kind that don’t rub against your toe pits. Yes, I said toe pits. It’s a thing! </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ha!</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Immediately, a wave of relief washed over me as I began explaining to them, probably in too many words for the younger woman to translate, that I’d just stopped at Walmart that morning, while we were still on the American side, to pick them up. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">See, I’d come down to El Paso in a dusty old pair of Vans, I knew I should’ve packed my flip flops, but alas, I didn’t. And after traveling the streets of Juarez the previous day, my Vans had rubbed awful blisters on both my pinky toes. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mel, my partner-in-crime, had been telling me for a month now that I needed new shoes since I’d been slowing her down at all of the protests we’d attended in May. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“My feet were just made for flip flops, Mel! I don’t know what else to tell you.”</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mel is sensible and wears sensible shoes, but I’ve never been sensible and flip flops are life. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I told the two women I would find her a pair next time I was at the store. I’m not sure if they were able to understand my words, but a few hours later we needed to go pick up some diapers for a family with a newborn that just moved into the shelter.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Because there was a recent outbreak which shut down a number of factories where people earned their livelihoods, Mexico is taking this virus VERY seriously. So seriously, that only one person is allowed in their grocery stores at a time. I told K. I could just give her my card and PIN number, but she said she’d feel more comfortable if I just ran in myself, so I did, even though I was completely incapable of communicating with anyone. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">An officer at the front of the store took my temperature, squirted a dollop of sanitizer into my hands, and gave me a small paper number to use when I checked out - I guess to confirm I’d gone through the proper decontamination steps upon entry. As I turned the corner to find the diapers, there is was... a glorious display of my beloved flip flops.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I searched through the racks mad at myself for not getting a better look at the woman’s shoe size, before finding a nice comfy pair that looked like they’d fit just right. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">When we returned to the shelter, I carried in the diapers and a few other bags of small knickknacks and toys we’d picked up for the kids. And then I saw the woman from earlier and remembered the flip flops! I was so excited to give them to her and she was just as happy to receive them. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">We’d told K. about our funny foible early, and how that was the woman the shoes were for. Then she told me who she was. She was a resident of the shelter who had survived a horrific amount of sexual abuse and because of it suffered from Fistula. Fistula is debilitating, and the only other time I’d really heard much about it was in regards to women who’d suffered nearly lethal rapes in the Congo.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(You can learn more about Traumatic Fistula here: </span><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://fistulacare.org/what-is-fistula/traumatic-fistula/&source=gmail&ust=1594504971478000&usg=AFQjCNFs7qtg5LJwPc6_stwhsSDcWmJxUA" href="https://fistulacare.org/what-is-fistula/traumatic-fistula/" rel="noreferrer" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" target="_blank">https://fistulacare.org/what-i<wbr></wbr>s-fistula/traumatic-fistula/</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">)</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">My heart broke for her. We might be walking in the same literal shoes today, but I can’t begin to imagine what she went through on her journey to seek asylum. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">So many of the women we met had similar stories, some with (physical) scars more visible than others because “torture porn” is taking a hold in Juárez and these women have been subjected to things most of us in the states can’t even fathom.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">But their smiles, flip flop discomforts, hopes and hearts are still just as real as our own. There wasn’t a woman or child there that hadn’t suffered seemingly insurmountable challenges, but yet they were all still standing. Still persevering, still helping those with whom they shared these walls. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">“We’ve been given much so that we can give much.” That is the motto I live my life by, and it’s clearly a motto this amazing woman lives her life by as well, as she’s now helping care for others alongside those who care for her.</span><br />
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Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-69506299815727631512020-07-10T14:56:00.000-07:002020-07-10T15:19:40.392-07:00The Intersection <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">TW: Assault</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We got out of the car near where <u>16 de Septiembre</u> meets Constitucion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Her face was there. Painted on the wall nearby, her eyes a flat blue, and dozens of bodyless eyes were floating around her head. The words "te observan" were written at the top. "We're watching."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Karina told us it was a painting by Isabel Cabanillas, one of her best friends. She was an artist who worked as part of several collectives focused on protecting the women of Juarez. They worked tirelessly to counter the femicide that had taken root in their city over the last few decades. They also acted as guides to migrants, showing them to the places where they could access resources and safe lodging. She painted clothing to sell in order to raise money for them. She kept a neighborhood watch. She was doing the work. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And then, last January, Isabel was shot in the head and chest and left to die in the streets she fought to protect.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She became another pink rectangle with a black cross. A symbol that haunts their community and covers many of the telephone poles, signaling the spots where other woman were found dead. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The community that she worked so hard to protect was, and remains, rightfully outraged at her loss. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Marches were held. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Crowds of women shut down the Santa Fe bridge, under the shadow of another large cross with the toe tags of all of the murdered women. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They wrapped black bandannas around their faces and chanted "ni una mas." Not one more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Across the street from "Te Observan" is a painting of Isabel. Purple hair, a big smile. At various spots around the area, purple stencils of an eye boxes in by the words "Isa Vive" can be found. Isa lives. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She is still doing the work. "They didn't kill all of us,” Karina, explained. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Forming a triangle with "Te Observan" and the painting of Isabel is ‘Panaderia Rezizte.’ The Resist Bakery. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In it 'Yorch' and his wife are baking bread. Gorgeous loaves and sweet buns made from recipes that were passed down from his grandfather. They sell the items they bake to raise money, and they donate fresh bread to migrant shelters. They were close friends with Isabel and the bike she was riding when she was killed is placed in a position of honor above the front door. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“You have to eat, right?" Yorch told us. "This is a basic need. So we’re making bread." The bakery has the electricity of big things packed into small spaces.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The day before we went to the intersection, a man named Omar picked us up from the border and we talked with Karina in his van while he purchased lumber to take to a build site. When we got there, we helped haul the lumber to the side of a small hut, where they were building lodging for migrant families waiting for their immigration court date. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Small children were patiently being shown how to add just the right amount of water to dusty clay in order to make adobe for the walls of the hut. Just before it was time for us to leave, they finally got to the part they'd been working for - the moment when they could take off their shoes and squish the water into the clay with their toes. The families who will live in that small home will probably never hear the laughter of the kids who helped build the walls that are surrounding them, but I hope they will feel it. It's not a mansion, it will not have air conditioning, memory foam mattresses, or cable television. But it will provide some measure of protection in a world full of agencies, weather, and human beings that almost always do not. It will give them a sense of home and dignity while they wait for their futures to unfold. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's the communities of Juarez - Karina, Yorch, Omar, their families, and the hundreds of others using art, and bread, and mud, and sweat, and laughter to heal the brokenness of this world. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Isa vive. Isa lives. </span></div>
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<br />Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-83611834146983988242020-07-06T18:59:00.002-07:002020-07-10T15:20:01.188-07:00Crosses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">TW: Sexual Assault</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Everywhere... they’re everywhere.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Black crosses on pink rectangles cover Juárez.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It’s impossible to drive down any street in the city without seeing at least one... often you see a dozen or more at a time. Telephone pole after telephone pole after telephone pole, covered in the crosses. Some are bright pink with fresh paint, others are faded and peeling. People walk passed them without much notice because they’re so common... they’re so.... everywhere.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But each cross represents a life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Each cross represents the spot where a woman‘s body was found.</span></div>
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“They will often target migrant women,” my friend K told me... probably in an attempt to make me feel safe. “Because unlike you, they can’t be traced - they know no one will be looking for them.”</div>
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Many of these women leave their countries of origin in an attempt to find a safer land, but on their journey the dangers only increase.</div>
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When they get to the US border, if they’re not granted immediately asylum, they’re given a court date. Often times it’s at least a year away. And if their asylum is denied all together, they are stuck.</div>
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Women from Guatemala, Venezuela, or Ecuador have no way to legally work even in Mexico, without a visa, so they’re pushed into other ways of earning the money they need to survive.... to feed their children.</div>
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This frequently leads to sex work. To abuse. To the “torture porn” Juarez is becoming famous for. And more times than not, to death... Because in the eyes of their killers these women are nothing more than property to be used and disposed of.</div>
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Untraceable.</div>
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And this dehumanization spreads. It’s not just migrant women who are property to these predators, it‘s poor Mexican women too, because everyone knows their families don’t have the money necessary to seek justice.</div>
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Their value is only contingent on their wealth or documentation - two things so many of these women don’t have - making their lives expendable in the eyes of the killers and the government.</div>
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A large cross is on display at the entrance back to the American side of the border. It was originally erected for 8 women who were killed, but has stayed because that was just the beginning.</div>
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The black beams rest against a large piece of pink wood. Railroad spikes now surround the cross. Numerous tags are attached to the spikes that flap and twist in the wind. When I first saw the memorial I didn’t give it much thought.</div>
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I had no idea what those tags were.</div>
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Then K told us they were the toe tags of the murdered women. A group of activists requests them from the morgues and then they hang them on the spikes.</div>
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Far too many read, “No Identificada.”</div>
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Untraceable.</div>
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When a murderer is caught, the woman’s tag is removed.</div>
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“Justicia.”</div>
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But far too many tags will remain forever on that cross... the only trace left of so many women’s stolen lives.</div>
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Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-12609747687609506712020-06-29T14:37:00.002-07:002020-07-10T15:22:57.840-07:00Raising Activists<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">The other day, my husband and I went to the store to get some stuff for dinner. Trips to Kroger are the closest thing we have to date nights these days, so we usually take our time strolling down the aisles, enjoying some kid-free conversations.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">On this particular day, however, we were only gone for about 30 minutes. When we returned home, we walked through the door to find our daughter, Eddie, curled up in my husband's<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"> chair with tears streaming down her face.<br /><br />She ran up to me, buried her head in my chest, and began gasping out bursts of words, “I shouldn’t have watched it... I shouldn’t have clicked through... but I did. I saw him die, mom. I saw him die.”<br /><br />My heart sank.<br /><br />While I’ve been attending protests demanding justice for George Floyd the passed few weeks, even *I* haven’t been able to bring myself to watch the video.<br /><br />I can’t.<br /><br />I saw the images.<br /><br />I read the commentary.<br /><br />I knew what had happened, but I couldn’t watch a full 8 minutes and 46 seconds of a man’s slow, painful murder - his life literally being snuffed out on camera.<br /><br />We sat down on the couch and I held Eddie as she told me what had happened through tears and sobs.<br /><br />She was looking at a friend’s Instagram on our home computer. The friend posted a screenshot of a girl, around her age, in blackface. Her friend then followed it up with another link to the full video of George Floyd’s death to make a point about how vile this teens racism was.<br /><br />Eddie was mad at the girl doing blackface. She was mad at the cop. She was mad at the world. And her anger was justified.<br /><br />So I sat with her in it.<br /><br />That’s what these last few weeks of protests have taught me - how to simply sit with others in their pain, and then stand along side them and fight for change.<br /><br />Being an activist myself, I know how important that righteous anger is.<br /><br />It’s the flame that keeps us pushing forward, even when the future we‘re striving for seems damn near impossible - it’s always there to light the way.<br /><br />I want my children to have that same fire in their belly for justice, but I also know from experience that we can’t live constantly ablaze, or we will burn out before we’ve had a chance to make a real difference.<br /><br />Later that night, after Eddie’s tears had dried, she came and sat with me on the patio. I told her that I didn’t ever want her to forget how she felt when she saw that video... that I wished she hadn’t seen it... but since she had, I wanted her to lock that feeling deep inside her heart, because it would become invaluable to her one day.<br /><br />Those feelings are what cultivate an activist spirit inside all of us. Spirits the world needs. That is what George Floyd’s legacy will be for so many people in this rising generation... no matter his past... he gave us ALL a mission for our collective future.<br /><br />But that anger she‘s feeling right now? It needed to be addressed. It must be handled with care.<br /><br />It can’t be accessed wantonly, because our rage is so powerful.<br /><br />So, so powerful.<br /><br />It’s like a lion in a cage.<br /><br />If we don’t train it, it will eat us alive.<br /><br />...It will eat everyone involved alive.<br /><br />That power must be harnessed, and controlled, and used wisely.<br /><br />Because at the end of the day, that’s the caliber of outrage it’s going to take to tear down these oppressive systems. Systems that are so deeply rooted in our country that people literally think we’re ripping at the fabric of our flag when we try to tear them out.<br /><br />But really we’re just fighting to create the very nation that flag claims to represent - one that stands for liberty and JUSTICE for all.<br /><br />May we all be raising the activists our future needs right now.</span></span></div>
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Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-41990580330712089232018-12-26T12:39:00.002-08:002020-07-10T15:23:19.942-07:00Never Give Up... anything<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">I remember the exact moment that my world changed forever... just like it was yesterday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My mother was leaning over my bathroom sink when I suddenly saw her rock back onto her heels and let out a long sigh. Her eyes were closed, which made me even more nervous.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“How long do those things usually take?” I asked as I sat on my bed a few feet away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“It says 3 minutes on the box...” she responded. Then I then let out my own sigh of relief before she finished, “...but it only took 30 seconds.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“30 seconds... 30 seconds to, to what? 30 seconds to tell me I’m NOT pregnant? I don’t understand. What are you saying?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She took two giants steps towards my bed as if she was trying to race the giant ball of realization that was headed straight for me. She got there just as it hit, obliterating everything I knew my life to be, and I collapsed into her arms sobbing.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I screamed.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I screamed so much.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I said horrible things that I wish I could take back now but I was just so angry... so angry at myself.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">What had I done?</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I, more than anyone, knew how hard this type of thing was on a child. I WAS THAT CHILD just seconds earlier. My mother was only 19 when she got pregnant with me, and that was still three years older than I was at the time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Life was hard for me growing up. I mean, of course, I’m glad I’m here but it wasn’t easy. And now here I was, about to put another person through that exact same existence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I didn’t know if I could. Abortion was never an option, but there were still so many other choices to be made in the coming months.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For the first 2 trimesters of my pregnancy, I considered adoption. I was only a sophomore in high school so it just seemed prudent. When I would tell my friends I was thinking about placing my baby into another family’s arms most of them would respond with something like, “You should, because are you really ready to give up the next 18-years of your life?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">...GIVE UP ...THE NEXT 18-YEARS ...OF MY LIFE.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Those words were continually rolling around in my head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Back then, 18 years seemed like a lifetime... I mean, it quite literally was for me... and then some.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the end, I decided against adoption, although birth mothers and fathers are my heroes to this day. The amount of love and strength it takes to make that decision is astonishing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But I knew I had the means to raise my son, thanks to family support - something so many women don’t have. And while I wasn’t able to give him everything, I was able to give him enough.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Looking back now, I can definitively say I gained so much more than I ever gave up though.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He saved me.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He gave my life a purpose and my heart a mission.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Through him I gained an invaluable perspective of what it’s like to be a pregnant teenager, walking down the halls of my high school through thick clouds of gossip, feeling utterly invisible while also somehow the most visible person in that place.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I gained a bouncing baby boy, that showed me just how strong my body was as I brought him into this world.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I gained a toddler that raised me as I was raising him. We figured out so much of our lives together. I think all new moms feel this way, but by 18 I really was just learning how to live independently for the first time, and it was nice that I didn’t actually have to be independent at all, because my trusty sidekick was always there with me.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I gained the experience of being a single mother for a few years after that - just the two of us against the world - and then I gained an amazing husband and had more children.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I gained a sweet little boy who would retreat into his room whenever those siblings got too loud or out of control... and often times he would let me join him as we hid out together knowing we both needed respite from their rambunctiousness.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I gained a brilliant teenager who always had a mind for math and science but recently surprised us all with his amazing artistic abilities - he gets that from me, obviously.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I gained a young man who works hard, and if I’m lucky will even tell me all about the weirdest customers he‘s had on any given day.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And today, oh, today... so long in the making...</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Today my son turns 18 and I’m gaining a full-grown man - a man of character who maybe, just maybe, I can actually start to become friends with now that the bulk of my “clean your room” era parenting is over.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">...although, now that I think about it, yeah, he still needs to clean his room.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I have never before given up so little to gain so much in return.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">This child, who is now a man, has brought so much joy into my life, and to all those who are lucky enough know him.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And I’m so glad people get to know him. I’m so glad he’s here. I’m so glad I chose life because my own has been so greatly enriched through raising him. In the beginning, it was messy and rough and I cried more tears than I ever knew I had. But those tears have turned to ones of joy now as I watch him grow into the amazing young man he is today.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So, happy birthday, Enoch. I’m incredibly proud to be your mother.</span></div>
<div style="display: inline; font-family: inherit; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I didn’t give up anything. I gained you.</span></div>
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Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-23839734036263064822018-10-03T18:49:00.000-07:002018-10-03T18:49:02.755-07:00How My Sexual Assault Made Me "Sex Positive"... in all the wrong ways.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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{CW: Sexual Assault}</div>
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Last year, Jessica Valenti, a well-known feminist author and activist, spoke at SMU in Dallas.</div>
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And even though we disagree on a few keys things (like whether or not NWF belonged in the Women’s March) she wrote a book called ‘Sex Object’ that I absolutely adored, so I went.</div>
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Not only does she talk about the sexual harassment she experienced as a young teen simply for being born female, but she describes in her book how often women will objectify themselves because, after all, if it’s going to happen anyway, we might as well at least control some facet of our own exploitation, right?</div>
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As I read her words I realized she was telling my story.</div>
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I can remember thinking if men were going to use my body for their pleasure no matter what, I might as well pretend I was calling some of the shots.</div>
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So I did.</div>
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By 18, I’d convinced myself that hook-up culture was empowering, and that I was only being “used” if I chose to view it that way. Maybe true equality meant *I* could become the user.</div>
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I’m not sure exactly what I thought I was using, as my sexual interactions were seldom good (something on par with what an overwhelming number of women seem to be saying these days about one night stands and *their* satisfaction levels). More often than not, it was merely performance art on my part as I acted out all the tricks I’d read and rehearsed in Cosmo magazine over the years. I was a liberated, sex positive woman. This is what we did, or were supposed to, right? So who cared if the pleasure was mostly one-sided?</div>
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Look, as long as I didn’t call the guy before he didn’t call me, we were equals in my book. I was just so empowered... or something.</div>
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But the more I unpacked my own experiences and what led me to this type of mentality, the more I realized it wasn’t the full story. There was a moment - a crucial moment - when everything changed for me.</div>
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I wasn’t always like this.</div>
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There was a time when I *did* view sex as a deep intimate connection between two people who loved and respected one another. It was precious. It had value. It was a gift, not a tool used to grab power or be weaponized for control.</div>
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When I was younger, I had only had two serious boyfriends, both of whom I loved deeply.</div>
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I broke the first one’s heart, and the second one broke mine... when at 16 I told him I was pregnant and he decided not to stick around.</div>
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My life was suddenly a mess, and I became easy prey.</div>
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I’d just started working a summer job, one I felt lucky to even get because I knew I would start showing soon and was afraid no one would hire me.</div>
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The only problem was, two weeks into this new job the manager pulled me aside and told me he’d made a huge mistake. He simply didn’t have the hours available in his budget to bring me on. And since the three older boys, whom I knew from high school, had all worked there the previously, they had seniority and I was gonna be let go.</div>
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Then, just as I was about to burst into tears, he told me how when he mentioned this to the guys, all three of them offered to give up ten of their own hours each week so he could keep me on.</div>
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I was beyond grateful. I owed them all big time.</div>
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Before leaving work that day one of the boys pulled me aside and as I thanked him for what they’d all done he told me they heard around school that I was pregnant. He promised he wouldn’t tell our boss, because he said they knew I needed the money for more important stuff than they did.</div>
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My secret was out, but I trusted them to keep it safe.</div>
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Of the three guys there was one that was just a little off. He was chaos and energy, all the time. He was the one I got along with the least.</div>
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But a week or two later, he followed me home from work one day, even though I told him not to. I let him inside and he asked me where my room was. I told him he really shouldn’t be there since my parents weren’t home, but he ignored me and walked up the stairs.</div>
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My mother, with her best intentions, had always told me not to “create an environment where someone could take advantage of me.”</div>
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But here I was. I had just created it, and he was going to.</div>
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He kissed me. I let him kiss me. I owed him. He took off my shirt. I let him take off my shirt. I owed him.</div>
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He took off my pants and I tried to slow him down. At this point I felt I’d already given him enough... but he disagreed.</div>
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Tears streamed down the sides of my face as he had sex with me. I didn’t fight him though. I said “no” clearly and loudly, but I didn’t yell. No one was there to hear me anyway.</div>
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I just froze and let him finish.</div>
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These are all the tiny little details I ran over and over again in my head the following days.</div>
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These are the things that didn’t make it a rape. He just “took advantage of the situation” I told myself. A “situation” I allowed to be created the moment I let him into my house when no one was there.</div>
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In my mind, I was to blame.</div>
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Two days later, I saw him at work. I didn’t make eye contact. I didn’t want to be anywhere near him, and for the most part he left me alone until almost the end of my shift.</div>
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That’s when a man came in and I guess he was being a little too friendly because this boy came up and took over, shuffling me off to clock out.</div>
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Was he trying to make amends for what he’d done? Was this supposed to be chivalrous? Did he suddenly realize just how easy it was for him to take advantage of me and now in some sick and twisted way he was trying protecting me from another man doing the same?</div>
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As the days and weeks wore on, I gave up. I honestly never thought about reporting it because in my mind it wasn’t a rape. It just couldn’t be. My victim sash was already too full. The single teen mom badge was taking up so much space, there was no room for a rape survivor patch as well.</div>
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Over the following months my belly grew, and the awkwardness around my coworker began to fade. My mind started trying to figure out how to set all of this right; how to change the narrative, even if only retroactively.</div>
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I began to think that maybe just maybe I’d be able to kill two bird with one stone if I could somehow learn to love him, or at the very least like him. Then it wouldn’t have been rape, and I’d still only have had sex with people I cared for deeply. My record and reputation would be renewed.</div>
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So I tried. I did.</div>
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We “dated” even though he had a girlfriend the entire time. He took my to a school dance and talked to the child growing inside my womb.</div>
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We became friends.</div>
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I was never able to love him the way I’d loved my previous boyfriends, but we did form a bizarre connection.</div>
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And just like that, I wasn’t assaulted anymore. He just “took advantage of the situation” that one time, but amends had been made and we could all move on now.</div>
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Years later he was completely out of my life, and I truly felt as though I’d beat the system. I somehow managed to reverse my own victimhood.</div>
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My son was born, I graduated, and before I knew it I fell into hook-up culture hard, even though at this point, I, more than anyone, should’ve known better.</div>
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This life would never serve me well. I was too broken.</div>
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I don’t know how I didn’t end up with any diseases or subsequent pregnancies as my life became totally wheels off. But I do know that the pain I felt from that one moment broke something inside of me, and it never went away as hard as I tried to convince myself it had - it simply reverberated throughly the years in smaller destructive waves.</div>
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As a 35-year-old woman, I look back now and my heart breaks for the younger me. I was doing exactly what Valenti talked about in her book. I was hurting myself before anyone else could hurt me again - telling myself I wasn’t a victim while victimizing myself over and over, relentlessly.</div>
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It ruined sex for me for many many years because that act became nothing more than a tool. It was how I could control men, heal them, hurt them. And I used it accordingly. It was power over another person which felt better than the powerlessness I’d become so accustomed to, but it had nothing to do with their human dignity or mine.</div>
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After years of reflection, and being loved the right way I like to think those wounds have begun to heal. There’s still a scar there for sure, but they’re on the mend.</div>
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I know what good healthy sex looks like, which is why I scoff at most of the things labeled “sex positive” these days.</div>
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They are anything but.</div>
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They are exploitive and destructive. We deride men for their “toxic masculinity” and their unwillingness to connect to others and show emotion while simultaneously praising toxic femininity - this idea that women should be able to bounce from person to person, feeling nothing. Feelings, when it comes to sex, are a weakness to be avoided at all costs. There needy and desperate. We strive to be as callous and closed off as the worst men, and we call that progress.</div>
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This wasn’t meant to be a <a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"type":104,"tn":"*N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/whyididntreport?source=feed_text&__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARCXmUihbmFqvkz3mlJvMyg-RMVCa4BNm_eupXbVx_uo4ljUeDblGJKo1ZZliMOD3QSbtnGF7XwllJro4AWaUF1qxfutitzpyZRcJOmNWXKMBmftcSQOqlKWhIaIgqjMujd0OpX6obs_uZfyVR3qBAa_3AwaH3LN6audSTnvU3Ms-BE_QRNJCg&__tn__=%2ANK-R" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;"><span class="_5afx" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; unicode-bidi: isolate;"><span aria-label="hashtag" class="_58cl _5afz" style="font-family: inherit; unicode-bidi: isolate;">#</span><span class="_58cm" style="font-family: inherit;">whyididntreport</span></span></a> story, or at least it didn’t start off as one.</div>
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My purpose for writing about what happened to me was to hopefully help other women understand just how knotted up experiences like this can be, and still are, in the heads and hearts of so many of us.</div>
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Sexual assault is hardly ever cut and dry.</div>
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It impacts us for years and years from deep within our psyche.</div>
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I’ve only recently begun to come to terms with what happened that day 19 years ago and gain any true insight. For me it took sitting on a couch, a decade after my assault, telling a friend over a glass of wine about how this boy “took advantage of the situation” and her looking me square in the face and telling me I was raped.</div>
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I was raped?</div>
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Wow... maybe I was raped.</div>
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I said it out loud and it’s like the sutures came flying off of this unhealed wound.</div>
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If we can’t admit it to ourselves, then how can we tell another person, let alone report it to anyone beyond that?</div>
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And how many of us simply try to undo it, because that’s what women do? We are problem solvers. We are fixers. We are creative and strong as hell. But sometimes our perseverance backfires and only serves to cover up that festering wound indefinitely. But until it’s opened up, and given oxygen, and cleaned out, it will continue to make us sick and eat away at our minds, bodies, and souls.</div>
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In order for us to heal we have to purge this hurt from deep within our beings. In order for us to love others and see their pain we have to be able to love ourselves. In order for us inoculate our daughters and sons against this same sickness, we have to become whole and uninfected ourselves, so that we can help them avoid these hurts... otherwise this cycle will only continue for generations and these lies will be mislabeled as “liberation”.... keeping us all sick.</div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Originally posted on the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/NewWaveFeminists/photos/a.634815239873934/2035928469762597/?type=3&theater" target="_blank">New Wave Feminists FB</a> page)</span></div>
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Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-27067935236783912562018-04-17T12:04:00.000-07:002018-04-17T12:48:12.566-07:00Ripples of War<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYs2duYb1JoQ4R5nOhRJ1Bp1nVEEbvpWCYvd0sv28CfE830WNtVvN99NNndqz-b0YsQu7RW-jQ9_rLy_-pNaVQUxIgh6LjapHJiDUEDvOF09bcSv6icGyaAxmSg68kJtVU9D2Rnhz0ERWK/s1600/little+girl.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYs2duYb1JoQ4R5nOhRJ1Bp1nVEEbvpWCYvd0sv28CfE830WNtVvN99NNndqz-b0YsQu7RW-jQ9_rLy_-pNaVQUxIgh6LjapHJiDUEDvOF09bcSv6icGyaAxmSg68kJtVU9D2Rnhz0ERWK/s640/little+girl.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“Orphanage robberies." What did that even mean? The words weren't quite sinking in. Who would rob an orphanage? That hardly sounds like a lucrative racket. What's there to steal?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "georgia" , serif;">Then I realized what it meant. </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "georgia" , serif;">The horror of that thought washed over me, the full weight resting on my lungs causing me to exhale slowly: t</span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "georgia" , serif;">hey steal the children.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">For many of us, when we think of war, we only weigh the loss of military life. Don’t misunderstand, I have nothing but respect for our men and women in uniform. Their bravery and daily sacrifices are absolutely worthy of our support. I know and love a number of service members which is one of the reasons I hate war so much to begin with. Having a strong military that we never have to use is the best way to protect their lives too. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But we must also be aware of the ripples of war; the subsequent effects; the displaced, scared, and vulnerable people caught in the crossfire. They are just like us. Their lives and stories are equally as complex and real as our own. And the love they have for their children, compounded by the pain they experience when they are in harm's way, runs just as deep in their hearts as it would our own. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #454545;">When communities are flipped upside down, children become easy targets for those looking to exploit them. </span><span style="color: #454545;">Young girls are snatched from their mother’s arms when their villages are taken over; orphanages are "robbed" for their most precious assets; girls are stolen in the dead of night from refugee camps targeted by terrorists. Many are then divvied up among ISIL fighters, while others are exploited for profit, being forced to see upwards of 40 men a night. You begin to wonder how anyone could endure a life of such violent abuse, but that's when I learned that in some parts of the world the average girl will only survive 7 years of trafficking before injury and disease ultimately take her life. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Thankfully there are a number of organizations working to rescue these children. I saw a photograph of a girl who was only 12 when she taken. My oldest daughter is about to turn 12. The hardest thing she has to deal with is finding time to practice her violin before she heads off to her swim meets. I couldn’t fathom knowing my child was experiencing such wicked and vile abuse. These mothers must feel so powerless.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="color: #454545;">I looked at their children and saw my children. </span></span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "georgia" , serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And rescuing these girls is only half the battle. After that, teams of highly trained counselors must care for them. Sadly they've seen many victims return to their capturer's if they do not receive proper treatment. The trauma they’ve experienced is so great that many don’t know how to re-assimilate back into their communities, and even sadder still, some families will not accept them back. However, there are also some beautiful stories of truly astonishing strength that have come out of this darkness.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One was of a girl who was only 14. After her rescue, she was being cared for in a makeshift facility on the outskirts of town. She learned that the team who had recovered her was going back for more children the following day and she asked if she could go along. She wanted to be there to comfort the other girls as they were pulled out so they wouldn't be so scared. I cannot even imagine the amount of inner strength it must've taken her to do that. She quite literally used her own freedom and liberation to save others. </span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">At the end of the day, I truly believe that's what all of us want. Our aim is to help those who are suffering and protect the vulnerable. But it cannot be done merely with missiles. If we are gone once the rubble clears, then it is nothing more than virtue signaling to the rest of the world, and the oppressed are still no better off. We must be there to truly help them heal. </span></span></div>
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Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-40912060867988594182018-04-07T12:37:00.000-07:002018-04-07T12:37:08.452-07:00Pro-Life Feminism <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjam6XtZktIXmTCv-IyMLej-AoXc3dMN03bquKHsF5SRHehouRSns89JLSCZpuhp0t9oXiBMWCmOmIfDkvxlZP8U1ujFO6vaFjhgceNlAmvVx7vlBLoPjuwVvmLlUbeUQvLngp5v7NQPAFu/s1600/PLFsign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="960" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjam6XtZktIXmTCv-IyMLej-AoXc3dMN03bquKHsF5SRHehouRSns89JLSCZpuhp0t9oXiBMWCmOmIfDkvxlZP8U1ujFO6vaFjhgceNlAmvVx7vlBLoPjuwVvmLlUbeUQvLngp5v7NQPAFu/s640/PLFsign.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "SF Optimized", system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; letter-spacing: -0.12px; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "SF Optimized", system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: -0.12px; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">Today I was asked how I can be both prolife and a feminist (for the millionth time). This was my answer...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "SF Optimized", system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-variant-ligatures: normal; letter-spacing: -0.12px; orphans: 2; widows: 2;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "SF Optimized", system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-variant-ligatures: normal; letter-spacing: -0.12px; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">Given that women were treated as property for most of history, it is absolutely abhorrent for us to turn around and do the exact same thing to any other member of the human family. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "SF Optimized", system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-variant-ligatures: normal; letter-spacing: -0.12px; orphans: 2; widows: 2;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "SF Optimized", system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-variant-ligatures: normal; letter-spacing: -0.12px; orphans: 2; widows: 2;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "SF Optimized", system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-variant-ligatures: normal; letter-spacing: -0.12px; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">We talk about smashing patriarchal constructs because they are the epitome of ‘might makes right.’ When only </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: "SF Optimized", system-ui, -apple-system, system-ui, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-variant-ligatures: normal; letter-spacing: -0.12px; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">men held all of the power and status, those that wanted to, were able to control our bodies and use aggressive violence against us whenever they saw fit. In many parts of the world this is still a reality for too many women. This type of mentality MUST be smashed, not imitated.<br /><br />Yet here we are, doing that exact same thing to our status-less, voiceless, non-consenting unborn children simply because we are bigger and stronger and they are the weak and powerless ones this time.<br /><br />Abortion takes our newfound liberation and uses it not to protect the weak and vulnerable but instead to perpetuate the very violence we were once oppressed by ourselves.<br /><br />That is why feminists who want to stand up for the most marginalized and vulnerable should absolutely be fighting against any form of aggression that treats another human being’s body as property. It’s just that simple. It’s the same reason we are against rape, murder, human trafficking, domestic violence, the list goes on.<br /><br />We must stop passing down oppression in the name of liberation.</span></span>Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-14512776606336403892018-03-27T13:59:00.000-07:002018-03-27T13:59:42.543-07:00Destiny Does Dublin<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; letter-spacing: -0.12px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I told my husband he couldn’t come to any of my talks while we were in Ireland. Nothing against him, I just hate when people I know see me do anything like that.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; letter-spacing: -0.12px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As a child I used to beg my mom not to come to my volleyball games, it was just too much pressure. Failing in front of strangers is one thing... but possibly failing in front people I know and love? Yeah, no thanks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But then, on our last night in Dublin, I had to speak at Maynooth University which was a whole train<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"> ride away. It felt wrong to just leave my husband at the hotel all alone, so I told him he could tag along if he wanted. He asked if I was sure and I said yes.</span></span></div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He sat off to the side and even earned me some extra laughs when I joked about wanting to smash the patriarchy but still loving men... specifically, that one over there. Having him there actually made me feel sorta empowered, like, even if I did fail at least there would be one friendly face in the audience that loved me anyway.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My talk went really really well. Actually, it might’ve been one of my best yet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Afterwards, he kept going on and on about how great he thought I did. “Are they all like that?” he asked, “Yeah, totally... all of them... every single one.” <span class="_5mfr _47e3" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 0; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle;"><span class="_7oe" style="display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; width: 0px;">😂</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We stopped for some take-out on the way back to the hotel and as we walked along the old cobblestone streets of Dublin we talked about how amazing it would be to do this all the time. Just travel the world spreading the message of prolife feminism. Together. As a team.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When women are empowered, men are empowered. Families are stronger and our communities flourish. As we talk about on here so often, support makes all the difference in the world for so many women. Myself included, turns out.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am far from perfect. I fail at being a wife constantly, and sometimes majorly. And I have to ask for forgiveness often. But at the end of the day, my husband Abrahm will never be uninvited from one of my talks again. Because as I found out, I’m better when he’s by my side.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I’m so excited to see what the future has in store for the two of us, our family, and New Wave Feminists. I think some big things are happening, y’all. </span></div>
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<span class="_5mfr _47e3" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 0; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle;"><span class="_7oe" style="display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0px; width: 0px;">💕</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu1ERwvhfYD5rCW-NeYV-uV-tAeICWoZ_7De9OmNKnHAgexpy8oWza4GeHjVbfvv6BKShpBFrXURrmyfPc5WFO_RXQowXEzXWYQuf6E9FqvMbWCqZZUS6P0BR_y6JeOfRmmFJzogx4jbK7/s1600/Abrahm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="960" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu1ERwvhfYD5rCW-NeYV-uV-tAeICWoZ_7De9OmNKnHAgexpy8oWza4GeHjVbfvv6BKShpBFrXURrmyfPc5WFO_RXQowXEzXWYQuf6E9FqvMbWCqZZUS6P0BR_y6JeOfRmmFJzogx4jbK7/s640/Abrahm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-28695211272918730822017-09-29T09:36:00.000-07:002017-10-02T08:33:33.485-07:00The Terrifying Tale Of The Big Bad Pig Patriarchy....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiycuTF2zRroYzjmB_A1VPVTRcg6NApy-mJD89BR_irE1h-5atGpi_6wICaWKN8h21XqMckrE007WmUMmT79LnPbEbLeVqz1RruFzV2hcF9G-MVZU9g2GK6HPjp_MOXGyGMVd1MpcR_FOPB/s1600/big+bad+pigs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiycuTF2zRroYzjmB_A1VPVTRcg6NApy-mJD89BR_irE1h-5atGpi_6wICaWKN8h21XqMckrE007WmUMmT79LnPbEbLeVqz1RruFzV2hcF9G-MVZU9g2GK6HPjp_MOXGyGMVd1MpcR_FOPB/s640/big+bad+pigs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u><sub><sup><strike><br /></strike></sup></sub></u></i></b>
<br />
</span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Once upon a time,
women got wise to the ways of misogynist men and began standing up for their
rights...</span></b></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><br />
<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;">When the big bad pig patriarchy realized that this meant they
could no longer abuse women and get sex out of them at will and that *gasp!*
they would actually have to start respecting them as equal human beings, they
knew something had to be done. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">And quick!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;">So they came up with a plan...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;">They would convince women that consequence-free sex
was what they actually wanted all along. After all, didn't they mention
something about equality? So, if <i>these</i> men were pigs, then women should
be able to be pigs too, right?! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;">To help the women on their journey to liberation,
the pigs packed them a picnic basket with plenty of delicious little treats -
like poisonous (shhhh!) birth control pills and the "right" to
abortion. Then they convinced the women that their bodies were no longer
private entities to be respected, but instead told them that if they were truly
free, then their nipples should be too! Their bodies went on public displays
for all the pigs to consume.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;">"Of course we 'respect' your sexuality,"
the misogynists would say with a chuckle as they watched the women strut about
topless, ogling their boobs on street corners instead of in brothels. "You
can sleep with me if you want and, get this, if you never want to see me again,
well, that's just fine with me... your ‘liberation’ is my command!" they'd
say. "Just reach into that picnic basket we packed for you and let me free
you from the confines of this sexually oppressive society you've been trapped
in for so long."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;">They added, "Oh! And don't worry, if an
‘accident’ happens and we procreate while engaging in this procreative act,
you'll know what to do. After all, the basis for your empowerment is my, er, I
mean <i>your</i> sexual freedom, right? And we can't just let some kid get in
the way of you expressing yourself, can we? Of course not! ...I'd offer to pay
for it, but you're an empowered, independent woman who makes her own money, so
I know you won't need anything from me!" </span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;">And the women ate it up, making pigs of themselves
because these lies tasted so good at first. The misogynist pigs used all the
right words to make it sound extra tasty. And the next morning, after the pigs
had gotten all they wanted out of the women, they moved on to their next sexual
conquest. But not before telling the woman how empowered they were and leaving
one more tiny jewelry-shaped gift at her door.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;">See, the women who decades ago had shaken off the
shackles of bondage would now gleefully put them back on, all because the
misogynists convinced them that the shackles were really bracelets.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;">Moral of the story: Don't convince yourself you've smashed the patriarchy, simply because it's wearing a different mask now.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" style="font-size: large;"><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" style="color: blue; font-size: medium;">*Please note that this story is not about <i>all</i> men. Only douchebag pigs, </span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" style="color: blue; font-size: medium;">or "the New Patriarchy" as we like to call them around here.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g"><span style="color: #cc0000;"></span><span style="color: blue;"></span><br />***************************************************<br /><br />By Ashley Penn & Destiny Herndon-De La Rosa</span></span></div>
Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-77341504615609627952017-06-26T12:05:00.004-07:002017-06-26T12:05:56.048-07:00Restorative Justice & Neglected Children <div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
A few years ago a neighbor invited me to volunteer at something called a "Prostitute Round Up." The name, admittedly, is the worst, but the mission itself was focused on restorative justice.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
The Dallas Police Department and a local church had teamed up to not just get women off the streets, but help them stay off the streets.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
We arrived around 10 o'clock to an empty parking lot where three large trailers sat. I was told that the first trailer would be used as a holding cell f<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">or the women until they were able to see the judge. "Couldn't they just process them as they came in?" I naively thought.</span></div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px;">
I had no idea what I was about to see.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
A little after midnight vice cops began showing up with the women in droves. They didn't look anything like I'd expected. These weren't the women portrayed on Law & Order SVU in tight mini dresses and 6-inches heels. Most of them were wearing baggy t-shirts and long blue jean shorts or sweatpants, their hair in messy ponytails, and quite a few were missing teeth. We were put to work making sandwiches because you could tell that many of them hadn't eaten in days.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
This was not an empowered life choice they were making. These women were slaves to drug addiction.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
One by one they were taken from the first trailer to the second one where they would see the judge for sentencing. This is where she would tell them that instead of going to jail they were going to be given a second option: treatment at a rehab facility which was being paid for by the church.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Almost all of the women chose to seek help, and that's when they started calling in the social workers.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
It was like watching a relay race. The social worker would get the addresses from the officers and hurriedly rush off to collect the children who'd been left home unattended. Their ages ranged from teens all the way down to infants.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
And that's when I stopped spouting the line that drugs and prostitution are "victimless crimes." They are anything but.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
I never in a million years thought I would consider those children "lucky," but as <a class="profileLink" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=20946638799&extragetparams=%7B%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/dallasmorningnews/?fref=mentions" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;">The Dallas Morning News</a> recently discovered, so many others never have a social worker show up at their door at all...</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Read the full story here: <a href="https://interactives.dallasnews.com/2017/overlooked/" rel="nofollow noopener" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">https://interactives.dallasnews.com/2017/overlooked/</a><br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UY4AmGCNpNc" width="640"></iframe>Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-71702417590919399582017-06-19T09:22:00.001-07:002017-06-25T09:59:56.042-07:00The tides are turning... <div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_5947f835865309189011992">
<span style="font-size: large;">Destiny here, reporting live from a bathroom stall at the LSU student center where I'm currently crying. BTW, I might be doing feminism wrong. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Sike. We're evidently doing it totally right, which is why I'm in this predicament. Allow me to explain.... </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> So Aimee and her crew from </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=255776494446827&extragetparams=%7B%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/RehumanizeIntl/?fref=mentions"><span style="font-size: large;">Rehumanize International</span></a><span style="font-size: large;"> are tabling at LSU this morning and I got suckered into coming along. I say 'suckered' because I hate intentionally engaging people in this debate. I prefer a more organic app</span><span class="text_exposed_hide"><span style="font-size: large;">...</span></span><span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: large;">roach usually involving booze. But, I digress. If anyone can do it right, it's Aimee. </span></span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<span style="font-size: large;"> She has this big banner that reads, "Can You Be Pro-Life and a Feminist?" which she posts up next to her table, and then she invites students walking by to log their vote on a poster board marked "YES" or "NO."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_q5bCieWefiR-ypNOUMYhpgX3De-ZEi_ye-eW-TM1YWbkSg02piXqm_SlxAcWEXuhejLwl1c0ArurXYk03wi_zu43F6sSJjrh0asxWb2y3TQbtT4rXZrstPdM7WeTE_iqM28UGjsJK2N/s1600/LSU.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="705" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_q5bCieWefiR-ypNOUMYhpgX3De-ZEi_ye-eW-TM1YWbkSg02piXqm_SlxAcWEXuhejLwl1c0ArurXYk03wi_zu43F6sSJjrh0asxWb2y3TQbtT4rXZrstPdM7WeTE_iqM28UGjsJK2N/s320/LSU.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="235" /></a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> We'd been standing around for about 30 minutes when a bus full of college students pulled up, unloaded, and started walking towards us. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> One by one a group of about 20 women took the time to cast their votes. Unanimously they said YES, you CAN BE prolife and a feminist. And now you're all caught up. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> I had to walk away because we weren't trying to poll students on whether or not you could be a blubbering, middle-aged, purple haired, hormonal mess on a college campus. (That's really more of a "should you" vs a "can you" anyway.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Bottom line, we started a national conversation in January with the </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=1338822066131069&extragetparams=%7B%22fref%22%3A%22mentions%22%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/womensmarchonwash/?fref=mentions"><span style="font-size: large;">Women's March</span></a><span style="font-size: large;"> and now at college campuses across this nation we're hearing the answer. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Yes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Yes, you can be prolife and a feminist. Yes, you can demand better for pregnant and parenting students on campus. Yes, you can keep your child and still succeed in life. Yes, women are finished with the lie that we must accept violence against the weakest and most vulnerable human beings - our own children - in order to achieve true liberation. Because we know, WE KNOW, authentic empowerment does not oppress others, it stands up and empowers them as well. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> And we won't accept anything less.<br /><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Btw, I'm the jerk who added the "no" vote... just so that it would be less intimidating. And then no one followed suit! :)</td></tr>
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Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-87857313194000536132017-06-19T08:33:00.000-07:002017-06-19T08:48:09.786-07:00Father's Day<span style="font-size: large;">This morning I listened to a talk on the power of fatherhood.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I won't lie, it was hard to hear what the speaker was saying without feeling a bit defensive.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> He began by citing statistics for children who are raised in homes without fathers and how they face higher rates of depression, drug use, incarceration, and academic failure.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Check, check, almost, and check.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> He went on to say that adolescent females raised without fathers are more likely to fall into promiscuous lifestyles, and subsequent unplanned pregnancies.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Check, and check.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> He was describing me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> A self-proclaimed feminist. A feminist who was raised by an amazing, strong, hard-working mother... but no matter how hard she tried, she could never be my father.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> And this might not be anyone else's experience, but it is mine. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I'm strong like my mother. I'm opinionated, and stubborn. But there's a part of me - and there probably always will be - that's broken because I never knew my real dad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> My mother took me to see him just once, thinking it might cause him to change his mind. I was two weeks old. He commented on how long my eyelashes were, then he never laid eyes on me again. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I wasn't enough... or maybe he wasn't enough. I really don't know. But for years I tried to reach out to him; my letters and phone calls always going unanswered.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> So I looked for validation in others. Mostly guys. I told myself that this behavior was empowering. They wanted me.... someone wanted me, at least for a little while... and that felt powerful. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I would leave them before they could leave me, because that's what badass chicks did. Then I'd bask in how liberated and cool I was.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Look at me, I don't need them... maybe I'm more like my dad than I realized..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> But at the end of the day it was my lack of self-worth, not empowerment, that led to those actions. And before I knew it, I was repeating my mother's life. Pregnant, single... having to be even stronger now that someone else would be depending on me, like I depended on her. So much of our strength came from their weakness. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I am a man-made feminist. And I hate that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I hate that my strength often feels inauthentic because would I even be who I am today if so many men along the way hadn't failed me?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Perhaps I'll never know. But I do think this is what makes my mission with New Wave Feminists a bit different. I know that bad guys exist, but I haven't lost faith in the good ones. I understand the power of fatherhood because I've experienced the pain of its absence.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I've often said that when women are better, men are better. That is why NWF will never be about trashing males. It'll never be about embracing the toxic elements of radical feminism that tell us we don't need them, or that our power comes through controlling men with our sexuality. Because I've lived both of those lies, and I know better.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Fathers are irreplaceable. Period. Full stop.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> So to all the good guys, to all the men who are making this world and the women in it better through their love and support, Happy Father's Day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> What you are doing matters so much more than you know and the ripples of your impact on our lives will affect more generations than you will probably live to see.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> *************************</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> As a side note, I found out two years ago that my biological father passed away. And while I'm sad that I never got to know him, he was the one who missed out. My children, his grandchildren, would've filled his life with so much joy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> So, if you're reading this and you have a son or daughter out there that you're afraid to reach out to because you're just not sure how they'll react, please don't let that fear stop you. I wish I could've told my father that. If you still have air in your lungs, it's not too late...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Post by Destiny</span></div>
<br />Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-60384882455172041522017-05-30T18:33:00.000-07:002017-05-30T18:36:50.416-07:00The Real Wonder Woman<div style="margin-bottom: 11.326px;">
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<a href="http://www.dailylocal.com/article/DL/20170513/NEWS/170519925" target="_blank">Excerpts from the Daily Local News - Story By Nate Heckenberger - PHOENIXVILLE >> </a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It’s a Tuesday late in April and Melissa Gormley sits in a recliner, cherishing the bumps and kicks from her baby, growing inside her womb.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As minutes crawl into hours, the sign of life is a welcomed distraction from the taxol and carboplatin streaming through her veins.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Melissa, 31, is not alone, surrounded by other patients in a room full of recliners and IVs, as she sits through her first chemotherapy session. The cancerous tumor on her cervix threatens to deny her a full motherhood experience, and even though her first pregnancy was not planned nor expected, Gormley’s motherly instincts are already sharpened and she is prepared to fight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>“There are definitely times where I break down crying,” Melissa said. “It’s scary thinking about all the what ifs. Like, what if it doesn’t work? What if something happens during delivery? All of those thoughts go through your head. She’s moving a lot now, so every time we have that I just think, we’re doing all this so she’s healthy, so I’m healthy, so I can be there for her. That kind of helps me get through it.”</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;">Melissa Gormley met Dave Good 13 months ago, while training for their serving jobs at World of Beer in Exton, PA. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;">An unassuming beginning led to a spontaneous six-hour first date which led to a relationship. </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: large;">“She was so shy and she had this nervous laugh,” Dave recalls. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Just after New Year’s, the couple received the most life-changing of all surprises: <b>Melissa was pregnant.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“We were both kind of like, ‘what?!,’” she said. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Shock transformed into excitement, and at 14 weeks the pair found out they’d be having a girl.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That same night, Melissa experienced some light bleeding, which prompted a trip to the doctor, and eventually a biopsy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Every day that passed, every time the phone rang, tension and urgency built, magnified by the little life inside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“We were so excited and were finally over the shock of ‘we’re pregnant,’” David said. “We were starting to be like, ‘This is awesome, we’re going to be able to start our life together’ and then we get this news and we wondered, what does that mean for our new life? Did it mean it couldn’t happen anymore? Can we still have the baby? Is Melissa going to be OK?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When Melissa finally got a voicemail from their doctor's personal cell phone, she didn’t want to call back. There was little that could soften the blow of the news: </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">cervical cancer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I was in shock at that point,” Melissa said. “I kind of mentally prepared myself that I might not get the news I wanted, but it was still very hard hearing that.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The process to recovery began, but Gormley’s case was not only rare, but a bit more challenging, timeline-wise. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Had Melissa been early into her pregnancy, terminating it may have been a recommended route. Discovery in the third trimester could have allowed for some wiggle room on the start of treatment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Melissa was smack-dab in the middle of her pregnancy, leaving her with really only one choice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Ending the pregnancy was not an option for me,” she said. “I knew that right from the beginning. Even if they were like ‘we can’t do anything for you,’ I would’ve waited. </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">I was really just concerned for her.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Friends and family searched for the right response in an avalanche of unknown.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“It was heartbreaking,” said Sharon Good, Dave’s mother. “To go from such a high of knowing I was going to be a grandmother to hearing she has cancer, it broke my heart. Whoever thought a pregnant woman could have chemo, but when I heard that I said, ‘OK, we’re gonna fight this.’ There’s nothing else to do.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">With more and more information out there, chemotherapy while pregnant is a viable option. Melissa will have her second chemo session Tuesday and another three weeks after. Following that, she’ll undergo another MRI to check the progress. If the tumor has been reduced, Gormley will go for a fourth session. If progress is minimal, the plan is to deliver the baby through caesarean section around 30 weeks and then surgically remove the tumor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Needless to say, when baby Olivia makes her arrival to the world, she will be a beacon of joy and of hope and of gratefulness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 11.326px;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">“Dave kept saying 'I don’t ever want to call her princess, I want to call her our superhero.'</span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 11.326px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Like mother, like daughter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 11.326px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Here at NWF we've been blown away by Melissa, Dave, and baby Olivia's story of strength. If you'd like to help them cover some of their unexpected medical expenses, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">here are the following ways to donate:</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 11.326px;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4b4f56; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>PayPal: davemelissaOMG@gmail.com</b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span></b></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white; color: #4b4f56; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">Venmo: Mike-Strawbridge</span></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4b4f56; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Or message us at NewWaveFeminists@gmail.com </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">for their home address if you'd like to send a check.</span></div>
</span></b></span></div>
Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-42797432062393691892017-04-26T07:01:00.001-07:002017-05-08T20:17:41.262-07:00I Do What I Want<div id="m_7594736969832743490AppleMailSignature" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">
<div class="content-list-component bn-content-list-text text" data-beacon-parsed="true" data-beacon="{"p":{"mnid":"citation"}}" style="box-sizing: inherit; color: black; font-family: NotoNashkArabic, ProximaNova, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px auto; max-width: 720px; padding: 0px; width: 715px;">
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<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/democrats-tom-perez-abortion-rights_us_58fa5fade4b018a9ce5b351d?ncid=tweetlnkushpmg00000016&section=politics" target="_blank">WASHINGTON ― <span style="box-shadow: rgb(13, 190, 152) 0px -2px 0px inset; box-sizing: inherit;">Democratic National Committee</span> chairman Tom Perez became the first head of the party to demand ideological purity on abortion rights, promising Friday to support only Democratic candidates who back a woman’s right to choose.</a></div>
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<div class="content-list-component bn-content-list-text text" data-beacon-parsed="true" data-beacon="{"p":{"mnid":"citation"}}" style="box-sizing: inherit; color: black; font-family: NotoNashkArabic, ProximaNova, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px auto; max-width: 720px; padding: 0px; width: 715px;">
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<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/democrats-tom-perez-abortion-rights_us_58fa5fade4b018a9ce5b351d?ncid=tweetlnkushpmg00000016&section=politics" target="_blank">“Every Democrat, like every American, should support a woman’s right to make her own choices about her body and her health,” Perez said in a statement. “That is not negotiable and should not change city by city or state by state.” </a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ7sdqmjmmi-2u-7ZTZnN52Bge-ZuarYsaKabDsBr2G6MwX5qzhQU4p5yhb8CcJuf7XO6r4GknHqhJu4IAh0jGmjS3FEjAN3js_1az8BS5yXHgiaUbDQbre-vqKE-fURSmotSB-YZ1RdcO/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-04-26+at+8.55.46+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="529" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ7sdqmjmmi-2u-7ZTZnN52Bge-ZuarYsaKabDsBr2G6MwX5qzhQU4p5yhb8CcJuf7XO6r4GknHqhJu4IAh0jGmjS3FEjAN3js_1az8BS5yXHgiaUbDQbre-vqKE-fURSmotSB-YZ1RdcO/s640/Screen+Shot+2017-04-26+at+8.55.46+AM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">First of all, challenge accepted, Perez. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Second, eff this guy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And third, democrats are such bleeding heart hippies. This shit is totally their jam! I mean, aren't they supposed to be all about helping the weak and oppressed?! How they are not already pro-life, blows my mind. At no point in our lives are we more vulnerable and marginalized than when we are in the womb.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That said, in my opinion, the most dangerous thing we ever did was make abortion a partisan issue - and thereby "political." This is about violence against another human being. Opposing rape and murder are not "conservative" or "liberal" platforms. Abortion shouldn't be either. It's violence. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yet somehow it's now a party platform. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So what ends up happening is we have a lot of conservatives working overtime to make sure their republican candidates are prolife "enough." Meanwhile, democrats are trying to radicalize their own base into becoming insanely "up to the moment of birth" pro-choice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Most Americans don't even agree with that extreme stance. They view it as a necessary evil, and would like to still see it rare. But why? Because somewhere deep down they know it's a human being. That's nuts that they're still okay with abortion, but I see that as something we can work with. And guys like Perez know this, so they want to keep prolifers far far away from their precious. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bottom line, you don't make abortion unthinkable with just one political party. You don't make abortion unthinkable with just one religious faith. You make abortion unthinkable by shifting the entire cultures consciousness so they can see that yet again we've taken one part of the human family - the weakest and most vulnerable within it - and said they are not quite human. They are not quite worthy of life. They can be viewed as property and disposed of however we see fit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Throughout history, anytime we've dehumanized an entire population of people, it's always been viewed by future generations as a horrific travesty and massive human rights violation. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, in conclusion, Tom Perez just made me one million percent more motivated to turn every democrat I know prolife. Because again, this cause was freaking made for their filthy little bleeding hippie hearts. They just don't know it yet. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Signed, A Fellow Bleeding Heart (With A Brain)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">**********************************************************************************************************</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">*Originally posted in a Facebook messenger conversation.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">**Then after some light to medium editing, in which all of the awesome sarcasm and swear words were removed, it was published on <a href="http://ijr.com/opinion/2017/04/265363-im-bleeding-heart-feminist-im-also-pro-life-no-room-democratic-party/" target="_blank">Independent Journal Review</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">***Now, for posterity I'm running the original here WITH the sarcasm and swears in all their glory. ;)</span></div>
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Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-5165485180672124422017-03-29T09:09:00.000-07:002017-03-30T00:02:54.058-07:00Interdimensional Compassion<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIHuCILGMpeRehf024EbGjqXXPEMMxIyhZh8b61fzQv-TLXZMOuE7vvogbOmOzqq-MsI6XCmxz1qGtiUJtkV0kt8M6L9L08PaArRP15Axq-eWCdaxnsp9Ll45Tv71LzIG-5Z4I_dhjFpeE/s1600/Ben.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="553" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIHuCILGMpeRehf024EbGjqXXPEMMxIyhZh8b61fzQv-TLXZMOuE7vvogbOmOzqq-MsI6XCmxz1qGtiUJtkV0kt8M6L9L08PaArRP15Axq-eWCdaxnsp9Ll45Tv71LzIG-5Z4I_dhjFpeE/s640/Ben.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">B</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">en’s the baby of the family, but don’t try calling him that.
Even with a limited vocabulary he still knows how to clap back. “BIG DUDE”
he’ll insist, referring to himself. Then the follow-up under his breath: “POO,”
-a curse word ‘round these parts - which we usually humor with a dramatic gasp.
He loves it. Of course, the effect is more impactful if everyone in the room
stops what they’re doing to be collectively offended.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
Having someone with Down syndrome in your life is like having stepped through
an interdimensional gateway. Things are different here. Before I arrived, I </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">was</span></i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> aware that people with special needs
were “out there” but they were probably being cared for by someone infinitely
more benevolent than myself -- like angels or something, the kind with fluffy
wings and halos. They lived in a separate place that I could only imagine. I
always just thought, “Good for them!” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But now everything has shifted. I’ve been allowed to
crossover into this dimension. Ben’s dimension.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In this separate place the world is brimming with hurt,
healing, and more purpose than I know how to handle. I didn’t know I could feel
this much and I didn’t know there were so many people who needed me - who </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I</span></i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> also needed. Benjamin was my family’s
little “interdimensional gateway,” and since we stepped through things have
never been the same.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
When Ben gets up in the morning he's a zombie, which makes getting him ready
for school an adventure for my mom. He'll fall asleep while eating breakfast or
flop back in bed right before the bus arrives. (Lots of fun. My mom loves
that...) Yesterday, three and a half minutes before the bus was going to pull
up my mom was running around the house calling his name and panicking. That's
never a good thing to hear with little siblings. I jumped out of bed and flew
down the stairs to ask if she’d found him. He was downstairs in our basement,
showing our pet snake his homework. My dad is a science teacher. We like weird
pets. Ben had his little "Letter S" print off from the day before up
against the glass. "SNAKE," he instructed. Now when we don't know where
he is, we check the basement.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One time someone told my mom aborting a child because they
had Down syndrome was totally justified. Ben just happened to be sitting there
on her lap at the moment. I was floored. I had never been so baffled.
Instinctively, I needed to get my brother as far away from that person as
possible. Mom cried. I cried. We drove to a park and Ben scratched away with
chalk on the Buffalo city sidewalk next to my siblings. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
“</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">He’s ours. Ben is ours.</span></i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">” I told mom,
because seeing her cry is never a good thing. “</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">He could have been someone else’s, someone who wouldn’t want him. But
he’s all ours. We get to love him.</span></i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">” She hugged me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Ben is small but his world -- this dimension we’ve found
ourselves in -- is growing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
To say that people with special needs don’t deserve a shot at life is to say
that Ben has no value. And nothing could be further from the truth. Not only do
we need to protect people like Ben, but we need to celebrate every moment
they’re here with us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Mom and Dad told us when he was born that things were going
to be... different. How different? None of us knew. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We were scared. Mom cried -- and like I said, when mom cries</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> it’s weird</span></i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">. The apocalypse could be
vacuuming the final vestiges of habitability from the planet and my mom would
be sitting there in the fruit cellar handing out freeze-dried ice cream and
canned beans while maintaining some semblance of “cool” and assuring everyone
that it was gonna be okay. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It might as well have been the apocalypse with how we
carried on. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">How long would he live? Would he be... </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">happy?</span></i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> We googled furiously for answers, as if an extra chromosome
could possibly affect how much love we were willing to offer. We were
experiencing the shift – taking those first few steps into Ben’s dimension. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
Now, on the other side, we’ve emerged with a better understanding of what it
means to love. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I call it empathy but my sister calls it Down syndrome
radar…. (It actively takes every cell in her being not to pounce on special
needs classmates and cover them in hugs and kisses.) Our compassion vocabulary
is expanding rapidly. And there’s a mischievous wink we get to share with
special needs families. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“You’ve made it
here too, huh? Good news, we understand you! And guess what? We’re here for
you.” </span></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And it doesn’t stop there. Our world is bigger. There is a
burden for those who hurt, for those who cannot speak for themselves. We
wouldn’t give that up for anything.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We are privileged.</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span></i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">We are so very privileged.</span></span></i></b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">
Not everyone has the chance to step through this little gateway. In fact, most </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">actively</span></i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> deny that journey. They slam
the portal shut and lock it tight. They tell people like Ben that since there’s
a chance what he has to offer isn’t “good enough,” they won’t have any part of
it. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“You won’t have a
quality life. You’re going to be different. We’re probably both going to
suffer, so let’s just not."</span></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Pre-birth screenings are the reason that most Down syndrome
children will never have the chance to take their mothers by the hand and guide
them through that gateway.</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Our capacity
to show others unconditional love is being traded for a false sense of emotional
safety. Does showing compassion hurt? Hell yes. In fact, I think now that I’m
living in this other “dimension,” where special needs kids are no longer
invisible, life aches more. That ache is what drives me to love them harder.
They need it. They want it. And they deserve it. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I get to witness their potential firsthand -- through Ben.
And sometimes I see that potential snuffed out. And it hurts, but I have
purpose now - learning how to love deeper.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This world needs to heal. But who will heal us and who will teach
us how to heal others if we are eliminating every opportunity to step outside
of our comfort zones? We don’t need more locks on our interdimensional gates.
We need more Bens to let us know that we are strong enough to give our time and
our blood and guts to those who desperately need unconditional love.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
One last story… Ben went through a phase where he would, well, randomly kiss
things when he was in a good mood. We’re still trying to figure out where this
came from. I guess if he got comfortable enough with his environment some rogue
synapse in his little head would fire more rapidly than usual and induce a
desire to show affection by giving whoever (or whatever) was closest, a peck.
It was actually really cute. But we found out this habit wasn’t limited to just
kisses on the face -- the target had to be eye level for him. At 8, he’s a bit
short for his age, around 3 and a half feet tall.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
So one day we were out shopping and Ben was walking alongside mom, helping out
because he’s a big boy. Suddenly, he started to pucker up. The nearest target:
a complete stranger’s... um, posterior. He was gentle and brief, like powdering
a macaroon. Mom would have been mortified if the unassuming victim of Ben’s
affections hadn’t seen the humor in the situation. I’d like to say we learned a
lesson that day, or that we taught Ben something, but we figured it was best to
just leave it alone. There’s not really any use in telling someone that they’re
showing too much love.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />
I’ve found that is something that rings true in both dimensions. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br />******************************************************************</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">Post by Jake Romano</span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-25976103619666409032017-03-28T08:29:00.000-07:002017-03-28T08:29:05.687-07:00Pro-Choices<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Had the pleasure of speaking at a 40 Days rally this morning and as I was leaving this gentleman stopped me. He said a few years ago he heard me speak at an event about my teen pregnancy. I mentioned how no one could've made me feel any worse than I already felt for putting myself (and now an innocent child) into that predicament at 16.<br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">If I would've been met with shame or anger, I would've welcomed it oddly enough, because it's what I felt I deserved. I hated me. And I thou<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">ght everyone else should hate me too.<br /></span></span></div>
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px;">
But to my surprise, no one did. They loved me. They supported me. They offered me options. They cut through my self-loathing with love. They helped me eliminate the crisis, not the pregnancy.<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
I know how lucky I was to have had that. Not a day goes by that I take it for granted. ALL WOMEN deserve that kind of support.<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
He said my story impacted his activism, and that's when I read his sign. Then suddenly realized how bad my allergies had gotten and excused myself.<br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />This is the Prolife movement, y'all.<br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qIhMZ354vuX6RubOy6Klqow5OVCF_zUjvnz3MPLacp86VqGBmOJmPGZpoDjtO0sofGuvTa6RSpQjeBSed_0ZxPrQ2480FDLNboTqOaF0vqBt_6ruIUWr37c05aOjI5R9RPysUNu-955u/s1600/dude.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qIhMZ354vuX6RubOy6Klqow5OVCF_zUjvnz3MPLacp86VqGBmOJmPGZpoDjtO0sofGuvTa6RSpQjeBSed_0ZxPrQ2480FDLNboTqOaF0vqBt_6ruIUWr37c05aOjI5R9RPysUNu-955u/s640/dude.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-76327634618205931362017-02-15T07:50:00.001-08:002017-02-15T08:05:06.122-08:00I just read a quote that gave me chills...<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">"'Mother' is the name for god on the lips and hearts of children."</span></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">What an incredible thought. Take a moment not to be offended, but instead soak that sentiment in.</span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
To a child that knows nothing more, this is the power a mother holds. We are everything. Their giver of life, their protector, their nurturer, their shelter, their food source... everything.</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
When did we stop embracing that power?</div>
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When did we stop celebrating it?</div>
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When did it become something to destroy?</div>
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When did we become at odds with those that depend on us for everything?</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
We control their entire universe yet feel "empowered" when we destroy it. How? And why?</div>
</div>
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Just because we can?</div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Because we are bigger and stronger and have the power to do so? As a feminist that sounds awfully familiar.</div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
The power to create and destroy. The power to give life and take it.... I guess that does make us gods, huh? But isn't that everything people hate about God? How He allows evil, and destruction, and death. After every natural disaster, after every school shooting, after every act of terrorism people are always asking where "God" was and why he didn't stop the violence.</div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Yet, when the violence is suddenly a "woman's right to choose" we are silent in the face of human oppression.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Our ability to destroy another human being simply because they are powerless against our aggression, and can't say no... that will never be a human "right." Because that is the very definition of oppression.</div>
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We have so much power.</div>
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But how will we use it? For good or evil? To give life or take it?</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Violence against human beings - no matter how vulnerable, weak, or unwanted they are - that can never be something that we champion as feminists, or people.</div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
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We fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.</div>
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And because of that, abortion is the human rights violation of our lifetime.</div>
</div>
</span></div>
Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-50736670165468843322016-12-21T17:08:00.000-08:002016-12-21T17:17:13.430-08:00Can you imagine a world without abortion? <div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica neue"; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">What would it look like? </span></b><span style="font-size: 13px;">
</span>Pro-choicers want us to believe it would be filled with hemorrhaging women, self-aborting and dying in the streets, but I'm not buying that. </span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-ad847baa-23fb-7355-5742-0cb21edf51ba" style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I imagine what the world would look like if our fertility were treated as the super power it is, and the life of the unborn human given the respect it deserves, I see a place that's a whole hell of a lot more pro-woman than what we have now. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span>
<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Think about it. Currently when a low-income woman gets pregnant (or a young woman, or a single woman, or really any woman who doesn't have a life deemed “suitable” by society to bring children into) she is met with all types of hostility. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Simply for having the audacity to, ya know, actually have the kid that clearly already exists inside her womb.
</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She basically has to make her case for why she should be able to STAY pregnant and how she plans on supporting said child with the least amount of inconvenience to society as possible. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5puey4dfypr3wDpjFdBuom1_gIa55V1_RyEsOFtJQvyMzMKRfixZoxhdXk-TGsJRlhJ59nUQkniQo642jvES4vdxtR0NdxQ36q3sfVRHBLfiuJEXyTvgTtA83yHGNsbq-wSyDqOTbLB2e/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-12-21+at+7.06.56+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; color: #ee55a0; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5puey4dfypr3wDpjFdBuom1_gIa55V1_RyEsOFtJQvyMzMKRfixZoxhdXk-TGsJRlhJ59nUQkniQo642jvES4vdxtR0NdxQ36q3sfVRHBLfiuJEXyTvgTtA83yHGNsbq-wSyDqOTbLB2e/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-12-21+at+7.06.56+PM.png" style="background: rgb(34, 34, 34); border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="287" /></a><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her partner resents her; her boss resents her; her community resents her. She and her child--whose life is considered "a choice" (and because she CHOSE to keep the baby this is all her responsibility of course)--are now a burden to others. An inconvenience. This makes the fertile female person a liability to employers and partners. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But what if we lived in a world that realized that once a new life had come into existence, the time for "choosing" whether or not it existed, was over? What if we lived in a world where that woman, no matter her age, income, or status, was accommodated rather than resented? </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because more than 50 million unborn children have been aborted over the last 43-years, we can't know how society would have accommodated women if such a high number had continued with their pregnancies. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica neue"; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Had the unborn person not been viewed as disposable, the world would've had to adjust. </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our culture and our corporations would have had to accept that--guess what!--women sometimes grow new people in their bodies and it's freakin' amazing. And not only should we respect the hell out of that, but we as a society might want to help a sister out a little bit more because without happy healthy women, society screeches to a halt. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif; font-size: 13px;"></span>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Unfortunately, we don't live in that world though. We live in a world where if you experience an unplanned pregnancy you are expected to work twice as hard to make up for you fertility. That child is not a blessing, it's a burden. It's not a person, it's a problem. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because abortion is an option, when a woman doesn't "choose" to terminate her pregnancy, by default she's choosing to burden her employer, her partner, her community. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And we hate her for it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Abortion creates a world that is undeniably anti-woman.
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 16px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">Post by Destiny</span><br />
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Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com66tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-42908534270503645752016-12-20T13:33:00.002-08:002016-12-20T13:33:33.244-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">We cannot compete with Planned Parenthood. </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">It's time we admit that.</span></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDG2BTSNyZPWhI02dh03_1OeKijni-kktY6nrl-8DD4-YdkvuekCWaxWxvGLm7NeFQdNFUGI46KwjMy-hlC14IX5WRsQStGq5gHNWFtgTDbqqUnqKo03MVn60w1UmtzvKwmqbGIEFAC7gh/s1600/assisther-free-perspective-app-mockup.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDG2BTSNyZPWhI02dh03_1OeKijni-kktY6nrl-8DD4-YdkvuekCWaxWxvGLm7NeFQdNFUGI46KwjMy-hlC14IX5WRsQStGq5gHNWFtgTDbqqUnqKo03MVn60w1UmtzvKwmqbGIEFAC7gh/s640/assisther-free-perspective-app-mockup.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> There are thousands of pro-life groups who are doing great things individually and offering pieces of what PP does, but I've yet to come across one nationwide entity that is offering comparable services, sans abortion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Federally Qualified Health Centers (FQHCs) are the closest thing we have to that, and let's be honest, they're more like the DMV than PP. So if a woman does not have a strong conviction against going to an abortion provider for her healthcare she is going to pick Planned Parenthood every time. She can schedule an appointment there, get all of her well woman services in one place, and get in and out in a timely manner.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I can hardly blame women for being defensive when we talk about taking that away, without replacing it with something better.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> That said, I wonder what would happen if we stopped putting all of our efforts into "defunding" Planned Parenthood and instead started actively working to create an alternative. Pregnancy Centers are great resources for PREGNANT women, but guess what, women still need healthcare even when they're not pregnant. And letting uninsured, low income women go without annual breast exams and cervical screenings is not pro-life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I say this as an uninsured woman myself. I've been able to experience this lack of options first hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> However, I'm not one to complain about a problem without offering a solution. And it's worth noting that it took Planned Parenthood 100 years and millions of dollars in blood money to create the monopoly they currently have on women's "healthcare."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Pro-life outreach usually COSTS us money, so we're going to have to get creative. The services already exist, the main thing we're missing is the network that links these resources together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Five years ago I felt called to start an app that would help uninsured and underinsured women find healthcare.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> It would be similar to "Around Me," but instead of showing you nearby bars and coffee shops, it would drop pins for Maternity Homes, Pregnancy Resource Centers, Pro-life Doctors who offer free/low cost services, FQHC, WIC offices, Free Sonograms, etc.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The fact that this type of app doesn't already exist honestly blows my mind, and as a movement we should be ashamed that we haven't created it yet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> THIS is how we take down Planned Parenthood. We offer COMPARABLE alternatives through a vast network of pro-life resources, in turn giving women real options and practical support.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> It would not be as easy as "Around Me" since we couldn't simply hook it up to a Google algorithm. The resources would have to be vetted, up-to-date, and entered into the network manually in order to guarantee that they are all life-affirming facilities. But it could be done if different pro-life groups adopted cities or states and committed to do this for the women and unborn children (and born children!) in their communities.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Most sidewalk counselors already have this information gathered. It's usually in a big, bulky box that they haul around when offering alternatives outside of the clinics. But could you imagine being able to offer those same resources to women not just at the clinic, and from the palm of your hand?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> For me this is personal because I encountered a young woman 3-years-ago and wasn't able to help. I had already had this idea when I found myself in a Walmart bathroom, washing my daughter's hands over the sink. I looked up into the mirror and noticed an empty pregnancy test box on the floor of the stall behind us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> You aren't in a good place when you're taking a pregnancy test in a Walmart bathroom. I knew I could help her but I didn't know how to without invading her privacy. I knew what the resources in my area were but I didn't know how to get them to this complete stranger locked in the stall behind me, without crossing quite a few boundaries.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Could you imagine if I had a simple business card that read, "Help Assist Her - Women's Healthcare Resources In The Palm Of Your Hand" that I could've slipped under the stall door?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I can, because I imagine it quite frequently. Such a simple act could've saved a life. I don't know whatever happened to that woman or her child, but I want to make this app for her and all of the women like her that we could reach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I don't know how this is going to happen, but I know there are enough of us here who are sick and tired of being against Planned Parenthood and are ready to be FOR something better.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> So if you think you can help, or know someone who could, please contact us. It's high time that <a href="https://www.facebook.com/HelpAssistHer" target="_blank">Help Assist Her</a> became a reality.</span></div>
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Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5304779787487491003.post-67701491517618185402016-10-13T13:07:00.000-07:002016-10-13T16:38:47.932-07:00Amanda Marcotte Just Makes Shit Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So evidently this is how <a href="http://www.salon.com/2016/10/13/hip-to-be-square-is-there-really-a-feminist-secular-anti-choice-movement-spoiler-no/" target="_blank">modern day online journalism works</a> now. You decide you hate someone and then go and cobble out the villain you want them to be from work that they're only distantly connected to. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Exhibit A:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUPxhR851mAauAsebKco_MX-BNK2sRqilC1gNGcon_jLXBKzNSoaC8Stdqq2aDef0U6aYqOtLX5nwgGq8wgzsvGH0nWu1cjQxXXGi09IXa931CWB4D9ReIKU0sYbp2fT76pf8Im9iSgwvs/s1600/AmandaMarcotte.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="544" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUPxhR851mAauAsebKco_MX-BNK2sRqilC1gNGcon_jLXBKzNSoaC8Stdqq2aDef0U6aYqOtLX5nwgGq8wgzsvGH0nWu1cjQxXXGi09IXa931CWB4D9ReIKU0sYbp2fT76pf8Im9iSgwvs/s640/AmandaMarcotte.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Like literally she just removed the word "not" so that it would have to opposite meaning and then slapped it by my name. Are you effing kidding me, Salon?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Marcotte then goes on to attributed someone else's words <a href="http://newwavefeminists.blogspot.com/2013/08/lets-talk-about-sex-without-having-babe.html" target="_blank">from a blog post</a> (which she actually links to in her "article," y'all… showing the other person's attribution and all) and claims it was MY story about giving up contraceptive. {Note to self: Let husband know about this update in our sex life.}</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So basically this is how internet "news" works these days. Good to know. NWF *official* response:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-jtLkqE921659GPsCuVrLBil545La7TB8PZpA8wd-h8pk9bZUf4DZV6kYE8BGsGNZKpdKxv-c3iFHsonpY0qMNKBWBlpRVNn16L9WZ2JCp2zib9LRtixVTrGTgtFzWfdbzM0yx7OrgLxc/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-10-13+at+3.02.04+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-jtLkqE921659GPsCuVrLBil545La7TB8PZpA8wd-h8pk9bZUf4DZV6kYE8BGsGNZKpdKxv-c3iFHsonpY0qMNKBWBlpRVNn16L9WZ2JCp2zib9LRtixVTrGTgtFzWfdbzM0yx7OrgLxc/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-10-13+at+3.02.04+PM.png" width="496" /></a></div>
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*all of those words were in her article or articles people she knows have written before </div>
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so I put them together in a sentence I liked better. </div>
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<br />Destinyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06129018504883376123noreply@blogger.com4