Censorship and Freedom From Silence Rights
Stop talking? Why? That is what communication is all about! Conversation and explanation.
I was born in 1968 and brought up in a time and place where children were told to be “seen and not heard” so the adults could do the talking about important adult issues. I learned to listen, observe, and then think independently. I was brought up poor and disadvantaged on the coast of Oregon where most of the adults I listened to were white Europeans riddled with issues. History was taught from the perspective of European colonists being given the right to spread their seed and their religion by some almighty European male deity in the sky. I have expanded my knowledge and my understanding of the universe I in which I exist.
My Daddy taught me to respect the laws of the land and respect one’s parents, even if they weren’t perfect. You wouldn’t be here without them. I am a MOTHER who would love to be shown some respect and some appreciation for everything that I have given to others, but respect is a hard thing to achieve. I would have to become a judge, or a lawyer, or a police officer who could toss you into jail just for trying to get from one place to the other as safely and efficiently as possible while trying to survive another 24 hours without getting killed or accidentally killing anyone.
Today, I am a white European adult woman riddled with issues. I am riddled by other people’s issues with outspoken women like me and the people I meet who get targeted everyday by idiots and assholes in positions of power. Like the two lovely men I met the other night who happened to be from Africa. I saw one of them get unfairly targeted and treated and falsely accused of being a “water thief” at a restaurant in downtown Eugene.
As an older white American, I went through the same exact motions as my darker colored acquaintance and I did not have my cup of water taken forcefully out of my hands.
It’s not my fault I’m considered white; I didn’t choose my skin color, my eye color, or my natural hair color. I didn’t get to choose what I look like or my heritage. I didn’t get to choose my country of origin or my gender. I didn’t get to choose my socio-economic ranking, or my dad’s right to teach his family to do their best to follow the Bible like a “quasi” Jew.
My Bible-thumping Nordic blonde-haired, blue-eyed dad was of the belief that races shouldn’t mix because the children wouldn’t have a tribe with whom to identify and would become confused as to where they belonged in the world. He married my very Greek, dark-haired, olive skinned mother who had some hidden Finnish blood in her from her red-headed mother.
I ended up as a mixture of bloods and cultures, and now some of the people I love most are a great big bowl of mixed nuts!
The sentiment that races shouldn’t mix incited one of the first big blow-ups between me and my dad.
“What if they’re in LOVE!!?? It shouldn’t matter where they came from!” I shouted as I stomped off to my room. My first childhood crush was on a beautiful, dark-haired Klamath Native American who ended up going to prison for murder. The situation involved police corruption and resulted in the deaths of some officers as the parents took the law into their own hands after one of their sons had been targeted, taken to the woods, shot in the face and left for dead. He didn’t die. He made it back home and then the entire fiasco involved the National Guard.
In the Wild West, there are STILL “Cowboys” and “Indians”….except there are STILL “Whites” and ‘Blacks” and STILL “Heroes” and “Victims.”
I was too young to wrap my brain around the whole affair of my first crush going to prison and I continued to go to school, take dance classes, run around in the sand dunes with my best friend, and bury myself in books and art. I was raised to be a Renaissance woman, but was poorer than dirt by many standards.
In my home town of Florence, Oregon there were the rich kids and the poor, disadvantaged kids. The children of those members of society who owned local businesses, yachts, big houses, and fancy cars were privileged enough to travel, become cultured and usually did well in school. They rubbed shoulders with us poor kids. Certain children were favored by the teachers, especially if they were good at sports and their parents could afford to buy them the best clothes and they followed the rules. It was assumed that they would go off to college and excel in life. Some did. Some didn’t. Some of the teacher’s children actually went to hail and prison for breaking the law and being human.
I ended up dropping out of school more times than I can count and then ended up living on my own at the age of seventeen. I fell in love and got married at the age of nineteen to a foreigner who had moved to my home town all the way from England via Oklahoma and West Virginia. His sick and twisted step-father brought his family my way and I walked into a story full of a rich past that is still unfolding as I type. I am an Oregonian storyteller and I have some stories some people would rather me not tell.
Due to freedom of speech rights, I have the right to tell my story. I have the right to own my story. I have the right to speak or remain silent to protect those who are afraid, scared, considered evil, and often misunderstood. Sometimes, those in positions of power misuse their authority and threaten those who they believe are doing something wrong, even when they aren’t doing anything to hurt anyone.
The teachers in my small town were in bed together (sometimes literally since some were married to other teachers, and some fell into adultery and had affairs). The children of the teachers were, of course, also favored. I rarely felt “favored,” although the school district legally had to accommodate me and make exceptions for me so that I could learn to read and write and think critically about difficult subjects. Like Sex. And, the right to pursue happiness.
I usually felt ostracized by my society and set apart because I wasn’t “allowed” to participate in certain activities like weekend sports, band performances, and mainstream holidays like everyone else. I was the weirdo child who nobody could understand as I spent a LOT of time by myself, while learning to keep myself as safe as I could growing up around a lot of small-town criminals and criminals in the making.
I spent a lot of time in the hallways, in the library, and in my bedroom at home reading, researching, and writing. I read voraciously while the world around me swirled and unfolded to where we are today: Critical mass. Just like we were before I was born. Just like we were before the Europeans invaded North America as colonists.
My Daddy told me to stay the hell out of the Catholic Church, because the Anti-Christ would come out of the church. The Catholic Church did persecute women like me once upon a time due to the misunderstanding of ergot poisoning in a small handful of young village girls. Nobody could explain their crazy behavior, so they chose to use the older woman as scapegoats and thus began the witch trials and the drownings and burning of innocent women.
I am ostracized and shunned by my family who yells at me and calls me names. I have been erased by my new family’s leader who is also a white European male. So, it is not because of my skin color that I am shunned. It might be because of a progressive disease that I cannot help. Maybe, like my older sister told me, my English degree and my Creative Writing degree screwed me up worse than my first husband. Isn’t THAT nice to know?
I am a writer. Some people in power are erasers. They hide information and would rather erase the past and not talk about it. Or, twist the facts in order to make money from a situation where they were not even present. If given enough power, they can destroy and decimate entire families and lives. I tend to enjoy history. I also like to investigate the TRUTH. I also like to share the TRUTH.
I am more apt to drudge up history and examine it clear back to the days before the Bible was written and there weren’t very many people on the earth at all. In those stories God engaged in sexual incest. Some people don’t like that kind of a challenging conversation, because they are CERTAIN they know the truth. They believe in the concept of a Deity full of love and innocent joy. I do as well.
When I tell people I was raped by God, they looked shocked. Well. I was. And, he said he enjoyed it, then he took my home, my garden, my happiness, my children, my sense of justice and fairness and dashed it all to smithereens!
Today, I am unemployed, yet I am expected to cough up 400.00 a month in order to see my children for two hours while *I* am babysat as though I were a criminal. My crime? Renovating a house and removing my drama-daughter’s bedroom door after she locked me out on the roof.
My ex-husband pulled the “I’m afraid of her” card about me in court even though he has nothing to fear from me except a hug, and a pile of pictures to remind him of the family he helped tear apart by his philandering behavior and his ill-treatment of his “once upon a time” doormat wifey-poo. I have so many stories where I took care of my ex-husband and my children, that for him to claim to be “afraid” of me is laughable. He doesn’t KNOW me.
I am a pacifist.
It is my ex-husband’s and brainwashed older children’s tradition to call the police and DHS on me every chance they can, even when *they* are the ones acting out while blaming “mom” for their disrespectful actions and crazy-making behavior. Their daddy excludes me from family gatherings, is trying to teach my children to fear me and ostracize me, so he can look like a “good” parent who brings home the slaughtered bacon and cooks it up with his newer, younger, bigger, better, “bully” of a woman. She’s more woman than I’d ever want to become. She is the epitome of a well endowed bully. She will even smile as she carries out her heinous behavior towards me.
One day, she physically pushed me away from being able to watch my daughter graduate, or give her a hug, or a gift, or anything. I would NEVER do that to a mother. That is flat-out evil and cruel. However, alienating a parent is tolerated and sometimes even approved of by judges and lawyers who make boatloads of money doing so every day in divorce cases where one parent is targeted as the “bad guy” and a concerted effort is put into building a case, even when the case builders are sick and twisted in their thinking and their motives. Really good lawyers are good at painting pictures that fit their client’s stories. My ex found a “really” good, evil lawyer who uses unethical practices in her career.
Building a case based on painting pictures with words without submitting evidence looks good in court. It is also called gas-lighting, and being set-up for someone to “win” and someone to “lose.” It’s a game where certain people make a lot of money, and certain people get their dreams and hopes destroyed. Kind of like playing Monopoly….except the game is called “Monogamy.”
Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream of a world that is still struggling and unfolding, just like I do. Except, in my dream, the tables get turned.
Stay-at-home mothers get PAID for the work they do. They get PAID extra for volunteer work in churches and in the community. They get PAID to go to school and pursue a higher education, and they get PAID the same amount as the lawyers and judges and police officers who might become involved should the marriage not work out, and if their husband does not treat them and their children with respect.
I tell women today that if the man they are with doesn’t treat them like a Goddess, then dump him. She should treat him like a little prince, or a cute little puppy dog as well as a piece of a larger, universal concept of some DOG in the sky with dyslexia who might have ferocious teeth.
In my dream, birth MOTHERS in our world are respected for the work they poured into their family. In my dream, after a divorce from a brute, their ex-husbands get turned into princes and just replaced with a nicer, younger, newer model of her choosing. In my dream, there might even be a whole house full of house-husbands working their asses off for the ruler of her realm. The queen keeps her castle, her children, and her garden flowers while her excommunicated brute gets to go find a partner more suitable to his liking and begin another family with whoever, or whatever, wants to tolerate him.
They part in peace, wish each other the best, and learn to share and communicate like political diplomats and peace delegates from different worlds. That is what COULD happen in a family full of alienated children, being led by an alien from another country. However, from MY experience, I guess it’s legal to eradicate a MOTHER if the father is a legal alien and he just happens to be white and European and plays the “poor me” “I’m a victim” role while in court and in his circles of friends and neighbors.
My ex-husband got me as teenagers by pulling out the “poor me” card. Now, several decades later, it’s “I can’t give you any money because I’m a poor poet and forcefully retired mother who can’t keep up with people who make 150.00 to 300.00 an hour. I went to school for the wrong degree! I live in a world that doesn’t appreciate creative artists and women who know how to set tile and renovate houses while dinner is cooking in the oven.”
It is often a case of black and white kindergarten thinking while in court and in this mixed up world of opposites attracting and birds of a feather flocking together. Lawyers hand out together with judges at the Oregon Country Fair over here where I live…and they get stoned and drink wine and dance and do karaoke right next to those who they caused to lose everything. Over here in Oregon, the rich get richer and the poor get poorer, just by following advice and trying to fix problems that nobody wants to fix because it might jeopardize someone’s career.
Unfortunately where I live in Oregon, there is still a strong sector of idiots who target people of different skin color, different sexual identities, different political views, and different religions. Many are white supremacists with behavior much like the KKK. Many are prejudiced against the homeless, which is on the rise. Many are prejudiced against those who dress differently, express themselves through tattoos, hairstyles, and piercings. Many are prejudiced against those who “imbibe” in the same substances they themselves do.
The other night, I was at Sizzle Pie in downtown Eugene near Kesey Square and I struck up a conversation with a couple of beautiful men from Africa who were also getting pizza.
The square is named in honor of Ken Kesey, the man who wrote “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” and it is very fitting to have a statue of Kesey in the town square since Oregon is ran by a bunch of whacked-out insane people who just “look” normal and conservative on the surface while at work, and then let their hair, and their guard down while off duty.
There are often a handful of homeless people who hang out in our square, trying to scrounge up enough money for some food or whatever drug of their choosing to which they are addicted. Many are addicted to legalized substances and have no “beef” with anyone. They just want to smoke pot, or drink, or play music and find someplace safe to sleep. Some were kicked out of their homes by parents with issues. Some keep quietly to themselves and visit with other homeless people and passersby all day. One man dresses in a robe and identifies himself as “Jesus.” I have had several conversations with him. He has always been very pleasant.
Another man dresses in a coat and identifies himself as “Satan” the father of “Jesus.” He is also a pleasant person. At least on most days. He has some major social anxiety and was severely abused as a child. My heart goes out to these people, but I cannot do much for them. In my joking around with these screwed up, hurting and struggling people, I let them know that I am God’s wife, and the sister-bride of Jesus….the SHE-Jesus, but not “Sheezus,” because that would be Lily Allen. Most of them have heard of Lily Allen. She’s a talented singer, artist, and women’s advocate.
I also let them know that I am balanced because as God’s wife, and a red-headed mermaid who is a researcher and writer, I tell them I am also THE Anti-Christ and…. can they use a hug or a pair of socks? I do have to be careful with slinging that label around, because some people take labels very seriously, especially when it comes to spiritual identities. I’ve been through some internal hell and have faced some internal demons and can now laugh at life.
My family doesn’t understand me. Some people in my realm think I’m a horrible piece of shit and a rotten human being. They don’t know me and have not walked in my shoes. Sometimes, people use me as a vessel to pour out their own rage and frustration into and judge me while refusing to look at themselves in the mirror. Sometimes, people blame me for things beyond my control. I can’t control how other people react to me, or what goes through their heads and their thought processes.
I can be anything I want to be on the page and on the stage. That is my right as an actor. I usually try and tell people some good news, because I don’t know their stories or how they got to where they are, or even how they are going to get to where they want to go. If everyone is peaceful and at least has some basic needs met, then we might all make it through another set of seasons.
I have studied hierarchies of spiritual power and as a Universal Mother who would wave a magic wand over all of the children on earth and help them feel safe and taken care of, I sometimes hand these street “children” some socks or some encouragement and a hug, if welcomed. And, if *I* feel safe in doing so.
It was at Sizzle Pie that I witnessed a situation that made my mouth drop open. The white bouncer near the door accused a black man of “stealing” a cup of water as he physically removed the cup from him and placed it in the bussing tub near the door. I was shocked. He was a paying customer and had the right to get a glass of water to go with his pizza! I thought we as a society had grown beyond making false accusations against people based on their appearances.
The black man maintained his composure, complained to the other employees, and got another cup of water. I was impressed at how well he handled himself. He and his friend sat at my table and told me he has been in my area for the past seventeen years and gets treated that way all the time. He also told me he is a manager at a Walmart store and just wants to work and hang out with his friends. Imagine that. Just like everyone else.
“That guy at the door is an asshole!” I told him. I also let him know that I have been falsely accused of things I didn’t do, so I know how it feels. We talked and laughed and enjoyed our pizza. I resisted the urge to throw a glass of water into the face of the white “bouncer” as we left the building.
I gave him a ride to his vehicle and we parted as pleasant new-found friends. The asshole at the door needs to be careful with his “monitoring” customers.
Some of the nicest people I’ve met are from other countries. Some of the biggest jerks I’ve met are white European men who believe they are “privileged” and somehow endowed with “rights” not given to minorities and women. Some of the BIGGEST jerks I’ve met are actually women. Some of them are downright homicidal when strung out on drugs. I avoid those kind as much as possible.
Once upon a time, my European ex-husband threw a glass of water into my face to punctuate the end of an argument. He stomped off to bed angry and grumpy as usual. It was during a time when we were apartment managers and had a couple of little children. He worked nights at a store, I took care of the issues surrounding managing two apartment complexes with our children in tow. I shopped, cooked, cleaned, prepared Sunday school lessons, collected rents, took care of the laundry facilities, made bank deposits, and answered the phone. I had a lot of energy back when I was younger.
The day of the “water glass” incident I quietly cleaned the kitchen. I quietly filled a great big huge mixing bowl up with water and I quietly went into the bedroom and dumped it on his face. He woke up sputtering a spewing.
“Don’t you ever throw water in my face like that again!” I told him. He never did. He did worse things instead, but at least he never punched me in the face or broke any of my bones. So, in some respects, I picked a “winner” and a “good guy.” I also picked a “cheater,” but, I guess even Martin Luther King Jr. philandered and possibly participated in a rape situation. No one should ever be forced to have sex against their will, even if they are married. But, it sometimes happens. And, often the victims learn to wear a mask.
Today, my bullies make a lot of money in the courtrooms, and in their attorney offices, and in their offices of higher education.
I am an outspoken woman who has been told to “stay home” because I have a condition called, “filter-flop” and it can make certain anal-retentive people feel uneasy. Especially, if they don’t get my references.
Filter-flop is where one’s social filter flops on the floor, cause you just don’t give a flying flip what you say to anyone anymore! Just because a person is given a title doesn’t mean they have all the knowledge there is to be had. Judges NEVER got the entire story, because they only get a little snippet of a situation where both parties want to feel justified in their behavior. Judges construct so many rules and protocols to follow that those in front of them are usually traumatized before they even get into the courtroom.
I tried to tell the judge about my situation of being used and abused and she mocked me and laughed at me along with my ex’s powerful attorney. I am worried sick about my children and the lessons they are learning about how this country is run on SHAME and abuse and erasing those who don’t fit into their assigned roles like they are expected to their entire lives.
And how those who TAKE money just get to demand outrageous payments for a service they provide, while those who speak out about injustices get told to shut up and hand over more money, even if the service is inadequate, poor, and set up to fail. Those left with nothing to their name eventually get to become something close to a town crier, or a warning to others coming around the corner in life.
Isn’t that what FREEDOM OF SPEECH is all about? Isn’t there a saying that says “The only thing needed for evil people to succeed is for GOOD people to do nothing?”
It also says behind every successful man is a woman doing the dishes and scrubbing his toilet and cheering him on. Well, behind every successful MOTHER is a father who set the example. Behind every GODDESS of universal love and wisdom is a God of universal love and wisdom.
Call your mother. She might surprise you.