The World’s An Uglier Place Than I Ever Imagined…
There were some hashtags involved in that title. Hashtags that expressed my rage, unfiltered, shoot-from-the-hip, don’t you fucking mess with this mother of a trans kind of outrage.
I had quotes and links, arguments and counter-arguments. I asked Firstborn… will you look at this, should I just delete it?
She read it, twice. “No, this needs to be said. Post it.” Then she said, “There’s one typo.” That’s my girl!
I saved the 1500+ word rantalicious diatribe to draft, made dinner and then returned to the laptop, poised to hit ‘send’. But, oops! wait a mo… gotta fix that typo. That’s when I noticed, three-quarters of the post had vanished, the quoted passages had turned into html or Mandarin (for me it’s a toss-up) and if I wanted to get that furiousity (it’s my blog, I can make up words if I want to) out there, I’d need to start over.
Crap on a stick.
We went to see Finding Dory instead. I stewed in my considerable juices until we got home. BTW: not quite as good as Finding Nemo, but the animation was jaw-dropping and it was a splendid message for kids about acceptance and being different.
Of course, by the time we got home, it was late so I tabled the rage for the next day.
Cue birds twittering, coffee perking, sunshine streaming in the window, a cool breeze, me in the recliner, laptop on lap, opened to Word Press and my blog… and nothing, nada, zilch, zippo.
The rage was dead, shriveled into a nugget of why bother. I waited out the entire day, and still nothing.
Oh the rage is still there, make no mistake, but here’s the deal…
This world’s become a cesspool of outrage. Of bullet-riddled bodies, innocent victims and blood-spattered memorials to the insanity of ideology and religion and entitlement. Each and every day, there’s new evidence of tyranny, of people being censored and stalked and falsely accused on social media. Hourly we are privy to fresh hells on so many levels it’s impossible to keep up, let alone absorb the implications, to understand the consequences, or to prepare yourself for a reaction, a plan, a way to make sense of senselessness.
We are inundated with a tsunami of ugliness, hate and vile acts of inhumanity against the innocent, the vulnerable, the young and old, the least able to defend themselves.
I asked myself: why add to that? Why be just another drop in the ocean? Why become nothing more than background noise? Why speak up at all?
I’ll tell you why: history.
And if you don’t understand that simple statement, I assure you… you will be doomed to repeat it endlessly. If you survive.
Here’s what the rage was about, in shorthand form:
- Petitions to isolate the trans community from the LGB umbrella
- Accusations that being trans means you are mentally ill so your ‘disability’ is inimical to LGB ideology, goals and way of life
- Accusations that trans people are a danger to families, to women and children
- Studies that show women don’t feel welcome at LGB Pride events and why
None of this was a surprise to my daughter. She’s spent years researching and coming to grips with the very unique form of misogyny evolving, to the invective, the hate and lies, the male privilege and cult of special interests that has coalesced around an ideology based on fear and misinformation.
That’s what fueled my rage.
Shades of the sixties, times a thousand thousand.
I had shouted in that aborted blog post…
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?
I’m still shouting…
Yeah, there it is… the rage. Welcome back, old friend.
Don’t fucking mess with a mother of a trans.
Peace to all of us in these troubling times.