Women Warriors

Thirty percent of the Peshmurga (Kurdish Army) are women. They often announce their presence to the Islamic State enemy by shrilly ululating, the traditional middle-eastern cry of female exultation. The jihadist fears them, not only for their prowess as snipers, but because he believes that if he is killed by a woman, he will not be awarded the promised houri of paradise. "So when you shoot ISIS," an interviewer observed, "you're really sending them to hell?" The female peshmurga laughed merrily: "I'm giving them one-way tickets."

These women are hard-core. Although they train separately from men, they go out on missions together. It is not unusual for a woman to be in charge of a group of men. The Kurds are proud of their women and of their fierce reputations.

Christians, Yazidis, and other religious minorities are pouring into Kurdish-occupied Iraq, where a pluralistic state of tolerance is being established.

Turkey, long the oppressor of the Kurds, is not pleased. Because of course the Kurds see this war as not only a crisis, but an opportunity, to realize their dreams of independence. And if any people deserve their own nation, it is the Kurds.

God Bless Jonas Salk

Died of polio six months later.

When I recently moved, I uncovered a sealed cardboard box filled with one hundred year old infant clothes: rompers, smocks, robes. Each piece had been hand sewn by my paternal grandmother in the early twenties, and they were exquisitely fashioned from white linen or muslin, festooned with crocheted lace, tiny perfect pin tucks, embroidered bibs. They had not been worn by my father, but rather by the child my father had been conceived to replace: Melvin. Melvin had died of polio at the age of two, a tragedy that was said to precipitate my grandmother's descent into psychosis. 

My grandmother spent most of my father's childhood institutionalized in the state mental asylum in Steilacoom. The diagnosis was "manic depression with psychotic features." After years of undergoing electroshock therapy, she was deemed fit (or at least sufficiently subdued) to rejoin society and was released. For the rest of her life, her illness continued to manifest itself in the form of religious mania. I dreaded visiting her sweltering house in Wenatchee every summer; it was like sitting in an overheated mausoleum: the walls plastered with mirrors, plastic flowers, crosses, and pictures of Melvin, "the dead baby." I even came to resent Melvin (or at the least the memory of him), that chubby, jolly blonde cherub who had drained my grandmother of all the maternal attention that my father was denied, thereby rendering him incapable of loving his own children.

Now I wondered what to do with these relics. Neither my sister nor I have children to pass them on to, and even if we had, chances are they would not want the clothing of a distant relative who died in infancy. Yet the items were in remarkably good condition except for some yellowing, and still seemed infused with emotion, so I couldn't bring myself to consign them to Goodwill. Instead, I carefully washed and pressed each piece, and repacked it in tissue paper. I thought perhaps I would someday find a museum or historical house that could display them.

The polio vaccine was introduced the year I was born and I grew up hearing my mother speak reverently of Jonas Salk, and of how fortunate we were to have been born into an era of vaccinations and antibiotics. The evidence was clear: I knew several adults my parents' age who were confined to wheelchairs, or had withered arms.

Born of the first generation to escape the scourge of polio, I nevertheless

RIP, little Melvin

suffered from the various childhood diseases for which vaccinations would only later be developed: measles, chickenpox, mumps, rubella. They were not as feared as polio, of course, although the sudden and unexpected death of Roald Dahl's daughter reminded us that measles was nothing to trifle with. They were just mundane miseries to be expected and endured.

The older I get, the shorter everyone else's memories seem to get. How else to explain the resistance to childhood vaccinations?

I never met my Uncle Melvin, who died thirty years before I was born, and yet I am the last person alive who remembers who he was, or any of the particulars of his very, very short life.

I've just watched Monica Lewinsky's TED talk, "The Price of Shame," and she knocks it out of the park.

I Don't Mind Most Marine Mammals...

Is Kody Brown a Feminist?

One of my readers once commented that she follows the manosphere because she doesn't have cable. I laughed with self-recognition at that remark.

Two months ago I finally broke down and got Direct TV, and as you can see, I've practically given up on following the Angry White Guys as a result. I've spent the past couple of months binging on television. My partner and I are currently addicted to Black Sails, Better Call Saul, and Vikings, and on my own, I have become a promiscuous consumer of true crime and obscure documentaries.

We're not into reality series much, with one notable exception: Sister Wives. 

As I've shared in the past, I have a great deal of interest in LDS Church history, being on my mother's side the descendent of Mormon pioneers. I was raised with a particularly dim view of plural marriage. The only twig in my family tree who actually had more than one wife was Uncle Charlie. According to my mother, poor Uncle Charlie and his wife Susan were perfectly content until he was "bullied" by the Church into taking a second wife, after which they hardly had a moment's peace. Now I am not at all convinced this is true. (My mother, like the rest of her family, was never one to let the facts get in the way of a good story.)

Like the Brown wives, they lived in separate houses fifty yards apart.

Subsequent reading -- and living in cultures where polygamy was commonly practiced -- only reinforced my perception that plural marriage was generally a bad thing for the women and children (and, often, for the men) involved in it. At the very least, it was ill adapted to life in post-industrial economies.

The Kody Brown family has indicated that they agreed to participate in the reality series Sister Wives because they had a spiritual mission to share their story, and to convince mainstream America that they were a "normal" family.  In my opinion, they've been very successful. In fact, they seem more "functional" than most monogamous couples I've observed: more respectful, more communicative, more committed.

If an emotionally intimate, committed relationship between two individuals is a crucible, the crucible of marriage amongst five strikes me as exponentially more intense, and greater both in terms of potential rewards and strains. It's clearly not for everyone, as the Browns themselves admit (and they cheerfully accept that some of their own children reject plural marriage for themselves).

It was easy from the start for me to like the wives (Meri, Janelle, Christine, and Robyn), all highly intelligent, thoughtful, and attractive women. It was easy for me to be enthralled with the ideal of "sister wives." And spending time with a spouse once every four days strikes me as just about right since I happen to cherish my personal time and space. But I am surprised to find how much I have come to like and respect Kody Brown, a man who expects his daughters to pursue higher education and professional careers, encourages both his sons and daughters to have long (and chaste) courtships before marriage (because a solid marriage is based on friendship), and who reminds one of his college bound daughters that her body is her own ("and even after you marry, your body belongs to you").  

I don't know if Uncle Charlie and his wives were proto-feminists, BTW, although it's worth noting that during his lifetime Wyoming was the first state to grant women suffrage. I do know that he was very fondly remembered by the folks of my grandparents' generation and was most decidedly not a patriarchal a-hole.

Is this what a feminist looks like?

Lesley Gore, RIP

Happy Valentine's Day

Trite, perhaps, but tried'n'true.

It's been recently, and rather forcefully, brought to my attention that I really need to step up my game in the romance department, so tomorrow I will be giving my sweetie a big ($25!) assortment of chocolates in a red satin heart shaped box and an under-cabinet paper towel dispenser. (One of my girlfriends is treating her spouse to a toilet seat that automatically lights up when the user lifts the lid -- presumably to help him navigate the bowl in the wee hours.) But that's not all. I've also promised to take her to an early showing of "Fifty Shades of Grey", then treat her to a candlelit lobster dinner, because that is just how far I will go to demonstrate my everlasting affection.

Polunin

If you haven't already seen this video of Ukranian ballet dancer Sergei Polunin tearing up Hozier's "Take Me to Church," enjoy. This takes my breath away.

Roosh As A Subject of Art

Feminist artist Angela Washko recently did an interview with Roosh that she expects to exhibit, and is now following up by seeking women who have had "exchanges" with him. Assuming such women actually exist, who would want to admit it?  Although I do recall reading a post by a college student who basically threw herself at Tucker Max so that she could write a mocking account of his less-than-adequate sexual performance. Roosh appears to be both flattered and threatened by this attention.

Interview With A Troll

Lindy West interviewed one of her most hateful trolls on This American Life. I found this very moving.

The Ethics of Doxing

When it comes to the ethics of doxing (doxxing?), context matters, according to a post by feminist/atheist blogger Rebecca Watson, "Why I'm Okay With Doxing." Revealing the IRL identity of people who send harassing and threatening messages is ethical; revealing the identity of people who simply disagree with you is not.

But who decides what meets the criteria of "harassment" and "threat?" I believe that the person who doxed me viewed my mockery and attention as "harassing" because he views anyone who criticizes him as "a hater" and a mortal enemy. That's a function of his own pathology. Similarly, I am sure Paul Elam, Mike Cernovich and Chuck C. Johnson can justify their own outrageous violations of women's privacy on the grounds they are engaged in an ideological war. The threat their victims pose is very real to them. "Exposing" their opponents by publicly humiliating them is an intimidating weapon in their arsenal (well, pretty much their only weapon).

Complicating the whole issue is that the word "doxing" (like the word "troll") has come to mean a lot of different things. Is it "doxing" to Google, and then publicize, the address of someone who blogs under their real name? Is it "doxing" to publicize public records or private blogs?

And in an era when it is commonplace for both sides of the cultural divide to tweet vengeful fantasies of murder, rape and mutilation to one another, how credible are these threats? When I was doxed, I received a number of anonymous comments from people urging me to kill myself; as unpleasant as these sentiments were to read, it would be disingenuous for me to claim that I considered these to represent real threats against my person.

I love the anonymity of the internet, but I have never felt it was sacrosanct. Perhaps that's because I'm of a generation that did not grow up with the expectation that I had a "right" to anonymity. I've always recognized that the privacy of the internet is an illusion. I've learned that if anything characterizes the age we live in, it is that all of us are constantly under surveillance. People -- including me -- should be prepared to be held accountable for their words and actions. And perhaps the threat of being doxed is not an entirely bad thing, if it reminds us of that. 

#Beta As Fuck

A Rape Story

False rape accusations: the New Misogynists are obsessively fearful about this. Even though the statistical probability of being raped themselves far outweighs the chances of being falsely accused of raping someone else.

A long time ago, in a rural community in western Colorado, I was assigned to be a personal advocate for a sixteen year old girl who had been raped. My role was never clearly delineated, but basically I was available to drive and accompany her to appointments, to help her navigate the criminal justice system, and to just be a friend in need.

I was awful at all of this. I had no idea how to do anything but try to sympathize with her, and even that was difficult because frankly, I found her to be -- at least initially -- a highly unsympathetic character. A high school dropout with bleached hair, shredded jeans, dirty bare feet encased in three inch patent leather "fuck me" pumps, raccoon eyes glaring at the world, she dared the world to pity her. She was sullen, defensive, resentful, and uncommunicative with both her estranged mother and me, the two harried, helpless matrons who doggedly flanked her throughout the process, deigning only to address me when she wanted me to run for coffee, candy, or cigarettes. Like most of the victims of domestic and sexual violence I met while volunteering at the project, she failed to meet my ideals of what a "good victim" should be.  

Yes, I am aware that all of this speaks much more harshly about me than her: my arrogant expectations, my insatiable appetite to be recognized, my clueless class privilege.

And I was initially as skeptical of her story as anyone else in the community:

She had gone over to her boyfriend's house, a cabin in the woods, even though she knew her boyfriend wasn't home at the time. She had agreed to play a drinking game with the boyfriend's roommate. Within a short time, she was drunk. When the roommate jumped on her, tore off most of her clothes, and attempted intercourse, she ran away. Now she wanted him to be tried for assault. Her primary concern was to be vindicated in the eyes of her boyfriend, who, in response to her accusations, had immediately distanced himself from her and allied himself with his buddy. In other words, it was easy to characterize her as just another girl who had made some foolish choices, and sought a rape conviction in order to avoid being "slut-shamed."

And then I heard her tell a detective a part of the story I hadn't heard before. And these details changed my whole perspective, and made it impossible for me not to believe her. In an attempt to escape her assailant, she had fled the cabin naked save for her socks, and dashed through subzero temperatures down the frozen moonlit rural road. As the accused took after her in his jeep, she dodged into the dark woods and stood waist deep in a snowbank for twenty minutes until she was sure that he had given up pursuing her. She then proceeded to stagger half a mile through the woods to a house with lights on, where she found refuge. The neighbors there drove her to the hospital where she was treated for hypothermia.

The jury believed her story, too, as it turned out. The young man was convicted; he wound up serving several months as I recall. This was no triumph for the girl, whose reputation in the town was now in tatters, and who finally, at the sentencing, gave in to a cascade of bitter tears because -- despite the conviction -- she had lost her boyfriend's "love."

I have personally known several women who reported being raped. (I don't know anyone who has been falsely accused of rape.) In all cases the accused rapist was arrested, tried, and convicted. And in all cases the women who endured not only the rape, and the trial, but also the aftermath of trial, suffered long past the conviction of their assailants. They suffered not only from PTSD, but also from the loss of dignity, privacy, employment, friends, and even family members. The attention female rape victims get is not something any sane person would seek, and I wouldn't be surprised to learn that for male rape victims, it's even worse.

I'm not saying, of course, that false rape accusations are never made: I expect that occasionally they are. But my own experience suggests that they are rare. That rape isn't always proven (because one or both of the parties were too addled by alcohol to provide credible testimony) is not evidence that women are likely to falsely accuse men of rape. The JuicyJuice's story of fighting his own "false rape accusation" is a case in point. Instead of citing his expensive, stressful ordeal as proof that rape victims are liars, I wish the young men who read it would draw the following conclusion:

Having sex with someone who is too drunk to give consent is not only unethical, it is not likely to validate your ego or satisfy your quest for pleasure. If seduction is, after all, a "game," it is about as "sporting" as shooting a tranquilized lion tethered to a pole. Furthermore, and perhaps most importantly, it is putting you at risk of being accused of rape. You may or may not be convicted, but the outcome either way will cost you, and it will haunt your future. 

Silence is not consent. Chemically-induced immobility is not a green light (and what are you, a necrophiliac?). If a potential partner has not enthusiastically and unambiguously signaled his/her desire to proceed, stop. It's just that simple. Why is this hard to understand?

Roosh -- Now a Journalist!

UPDATE: "Jackie" was doxxed today by budding right wing, "C grade" journalist Chuck C. Johnson. Well done, Chuck! That'll show the liberal press a thing or two. Cuz it's all about "ethics in journalism."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Roosh claims today to have the identity of "Jackie," the young woman who may or may not have been raped at UVA, and whose veracity is at the heart of a recent controversial article in Rolling Stone. His dilemma: Should he dox her?

Roosh @rooshv  ·  2h 2 hours ago

So I was sent the real identity of "Jackie" (full name and picture). I'll think about this carefully before deciding what to do.

Hard call, indeed (hard call, that is, for someone who has no moral compass whatsoever). Good thing he has the sagacity (and flattery) of the Juice Bro lawyer to guide him!

  Mike Cernovich @PlayDangerously  ·  2h 2 hours ago
This is a heavy decision. I do not envy @rooshv right now.  
Mike Cernovich @PlayDangerously  ·  18m 18 minutes ago

That said, I am not a journalist. If I were Roosh, I would probably publish her name. It is newsworthy. Hard call, though. 

Mike Cernovich @PlayDangerously  ·  19m 19 minutes ago

Right now the SJWs are on the run. Hoaxes and frauds are being exposed. It's better to not let them regain high ground. 

Mike Cernovich @PlayDangerously  ·  20m 20 minutes ago

I *personally* would not publish "Jackie's" name. It will lead to her claiming death threats and change conversation.

Mike Cernovich @PlayDangerously  ·  22m 22 minutes ago

If you run a news organization, you print the news. Free speech isn't free. There will be backlash. But "Jackie's" real name is newsworthy.

Mike Cernovich @PlayDangerously  ·  34m 34 minutes ago

Roosh has gone from a random guy who writes about meeting women to a cultural critic and now a journalist. I am proud of him.

Mike Cernovich @PlayDangerously  ·  36m 36 minutes ago

Roosh @rooshv has a First Amendment right to publish "Jackie" the Rolling Stone hoaxer's name. I believe he should exercise that right.

Having examined the purported image of "Jackie" now in his possession, Roosh concludes that, in his expert opinion, she is simply not "attractive enough" to be raped, and therefore, her story is patently false:

Roosh @rooshv  ·  1h 1 hour ago

Jackie is a 5.5 or 6: not attractive enough to get top attention from an elite fraternity. Her rape story is seeming like wish fulfillment. 

Well, then, I guess nothing else needs to be said. I mean, who better than Roosh to assess whether a young woman is "worthy" of being sexually assaulted?

The Panopticon of the Like Economy

The "grifters" who have emerged to exploit controversy within the gaming industry include unsavory characters already familiar to those that have followed online misogynistic subcultures for a period of time. These include the Usual Suspects (Roosh, Mike Cernovich, Thunderf00t). It's interesting to watch people in larger communities, who have hitherto been unfamiliar with them, react to the havoc they can play. 

Some of the most interesting voices right now include Katherine Cross, an academic who writes from the perspective of feminism, trans activism, and sociology. Also,  "A Man in Black" is an interesting twitter commenter who recently published a "storify" article called The Panopticon of the Like Economy.  Some of the tweets that particularly resonated with me:

"When the internet made us all a journalist and publisher, it made everyone as vulnerable and public as a reporter."

"There isn't any way to retaliate, when the source of the defamation just doesn't give a shit."

"Is there a word for defamation that includes true things?"

"It doesn't matter if it's true or not, all that matters is that the accusation sticks enough to make you popular while you say it."

"You can make a living on hurting people, in a way that leaves you accountable to nobody but your audience, who are there to see people hurt."

Gamergate and the Use of Online Technology to Silence Women

Tim Watts, Federal Labor Member for Gellibrand (Australia) speaks about the use of online technology to threaten and intimidate women who support feminist issues.

Bill Price Retires The Spearhead

Bill Price has announced that he has, at least for now, has retired from maintaining his virulently misogynistic website, The Spearhead. Reason? His wife has had a baby, and he therefore has to seek work beyond begging for donations. 

When Bill's wife popped up in the comments section of We Hunted the Mammoth some months prior, identifying herself as a feminist (!), I wondered how their marriage would play out.

It strikes me that Bill has made a good decision... a decision that is likely to lead to greater happiness for all the parties involved. 

Wringing the Last Out of Gamergate

Even Ken White at Popehat had fun with Roosh's new Reaxxian website.

Meanwhile, Mike Cernovich is sore because newsweek did a story this week about Randi Harper and although he is mentioned (unfavorably) the story doesn't link to his websites, but rather to a critical piece by Sam Biddle on the "D List Rightwingers" who hijacked Gamergate and tried to lead them to the Red Pill. This is a big deal to Cernovich because of SEO or something: Newsweek in collusion with Gawker is denying him hits on his blog that are rightfully his.

JuicyFruit is venting his spleen by retweeting photos of his followers' gun collections, whilst complaining (or bragging?) that no SJW had the guts to attend his "meetup" in Chicago, and then making the curious statement that he "has never met an SJW in real life."

Poetry Corner

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

-- William Butler Yeats, "The Second Coming" (1919)

Written in the aftermath of World War I, this poem had great resonance with a variety of artists in the sixties... and surely is as relevant now as ever.

The Cruelty of Seagulls

Seagulls can be awfully cruel.