Wednesday, August 07, 2013

What I Learned in My First 50 Years

This week, I celebrate my 50th birthday. “Big birthdays” tend to make me introspective—so I’ve been ruminating on the lessons I’ve learned to date. With the exception of the first and last, these aren’t in any particular order. Some have the feel of deep truth to me. Some are a bit more…prosaic. Some I learned the hard way—others I learned from watching people around me make mistakes or good choices:
  1. In the end, love is really the ONLY thing that matters.
  2. Going to sleep in the arms of the person you love is the most sublime pleasure you can have this side of the Eschaton.
  3. Murphy really was an optimist—but allowing your life to be ruled by fear is a piss-poor way to spend your very limited time on this earth.
  4. Mean/selfish/greedy people suck. They also seem to rule the world—or support those who do. :-(
  5. Dogs are better than people about 98% of the time.
  6. Kindness is the best religion. It can also be the hardest one to practice.
  7. Anything worth doing is worth doing right the first time.
  8. Group projects make the devil laugh.
  9. Music is, and will always be, one of the best ways to experience the Divine.
  10. Your girlfriends will get you through the rough spots. Value them accordingly.
  11. Poetry ranks right up there with girlfriends and dogs in terms of getting you through the crappy parts of your life.
  12. Life is too short to drink cheap wine.
  13. It is better to regret what you did than what you didn’t do.
  14. Ecological impact aside, minivans rock. Especially when you have a child who plays the tuba and the sousaphone.
  15. Grammar is a tool to be used—not a weapon to be wielded. And anyone who spends hir time correcting other people’s grammar, spelling, and punctuation on social media has WAY too much time on hir hands.
  16. It makes sense to eat well and exercise—but you aren’t going to live forever no matter what you do. Therefore, on occasion, Diet Coke and hot dogs are perfectly acceptable breakfast foods—and ice cream makes a delightful dinner.
  17. You only have to floss the teeth you want to keep.
  18. Grief is not linear. And the best gift you can give a grieving person may be to sit silently with them in their sorrow—and to speak the name of their loved ones.
  19. You should be as honest as you know how to be (in an age-appropriate way) with your children. Especially about sex and relationships. And money. And if you are honest about those things, they will not hold it against you, or be scarred for life, if you give them the joys of Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny for a few years.
  20. Tilting at windmills is a hard and thankless job—but someone has to do it. Might as well be you.
  21. If you dare to care about other people more than you care about money or power, a lot of people will call you a fool. And then you will know whom to avoid.
  22. Speak truth to power. It may cost you—but being silent will cost you more.
  23. Emily Dickinson was right. There is no frigate like a book.
  24. Jack Gilbert was also right. “We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure, but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless furnace of this world. To make injustice the only measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.”—From A Brief for the Defense
  25. Deeply spiritual people seem to laugh a lot (e.g., Sylvia Boorstein, Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama). There is probably a lesson there….
  26. Focusing on your looks or your weight or your bank account balance is a big waste of time and energy. (But—true fact—it is easier to change husbands or therapists than it is to change hair stylists.)
  27. Flowers are a wonderful gift, because their very impermanence makes them precious.
  28. Good-smelling men and laughing babies can make you glad to be alive.
  29. There really WAS a use for all that math you thought was a waste of time.
  30. We are what we do. For the most part, this is not a happy realization—but it is always a spur to do better.
  31. People who say “Please,” “Thank you,” and who tip well are people you want in your life. The converse is also true.
  32. Faith may oblige you to forgive, but it does NOT oblige you to allow people to remain in your life when they’ve bitten you more than once.
  33. Honest apologies do not contain the words “but” or “if you were offended.” And if you can’t offer an honest apology, it is better just to keep your mouth shut.
  34. People live up to, or down to, what you expect of them. This includes politicians.
  35. The first rule of parenting is “Never make a threat unless you are prepared to follow through on it.”
  36. Anytime you say “I will NEVER….,” the Universe and the Karma Fairy will unite to smack you down. Hard.
  37. If you have a vagina, men and children will inevitably assume that you possess magical abilities to keep things clean, do laundry, and find missing items.
  38. If you don’t value yourself enough to take care of your physical, spiritual, and emotional health, no one else will do it for you.
  39. It is okay to ask for help. Really.
  40. Life is too short to hate what you do.
  41. What other people think of you really isn’t any of your business—unless they are family, close friends, or your boss. Then you should probably consider taking their opinions under advisement.
  42. Being angry is exhausting.
  43. Reality does have a liberal bias.
  44. Smart people are sexy. Smart people who are kind are irresistibly sexy.
  45. You are never too old to crank up the stereo and hit the gas.
  46. Outside of the bedroom, comfortable shoes are infinitely better than sexy ones.
  47. You should start saving for retirement the day you start working. (Learned that one MUCH too late….)
  48. Some relationships are simply too much work. It’s okay to recognize this and end them.
  49. You don’t have any obligation to argue with random strangers on the Internet.
  50. Every birthday spent above ground is a good one.

Doxy’s Note: Despite my use of the collective “you,” it should be obvious that these are the lessons I’VE learned. If they don’t resonate with you, see #49.

Friday, July 05, 2013

Same song, 24th verse...

Today marks the 24thanniversary of my first speech at a pro-choice rally. The event took place on the steps of the Tennessee state capitol on Wednesday, July 5, 1989. I was there representing Vanderbilt Students for Choice, a group that several other graduate students and I founded because we could see the way the winds were blowing.

On July 3, the Supreme Court had handed down the first major assault on the constitutional right to an abortion. That case was Webster v. Reproductive Health Services; it addressed a Missouri statute that barred public facilities from being used to conduct abortions and prohibited public health workers from performing abortions unless the life of the mother was at risk. The statute also defined life as beginning at conception and directed physicians to perform fetal viability tests on women who were 20 or more weeks pregnant and seeking abortions.

The case was decided on a 5-4 vote. In his opinion for the court, Chief Justice William Rehnquist stated bluntly “There is also no reason why the State's compelling interest in protecting potential human life should not extend throughout pregnancy, rather than coming into existence only at the point of viability. Thus, the [Roe v. Wade] trimester framework should be abandoned.”

He was joined in that opinion by current justices Anthony Kennedy and Antonin Scalia, who wrote a separate concurring opinion calling explicitly for the court to overrule Roe. The first woman on the court, Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, voted with the majority because she said the Missouri statue did not pose an “undue burden” on women seeking abortions.


Justice Harry Blackmun, who wrote the opinion of the court in Roe v. Wade (which had been decided 7-2 by an all-male court) wrote a blistering dissent in the Webster case:

Today, Roe v. Wade, 410 U.S. 113 (1973), and the fundamental constitutional right of women to decide whether to terminate a pregnancy, survive, but are not secure. Although the Court extricates itself from this case without making a single, even incremental, change in the law of abortion, the plurality and JUSTICE SCALIA would overrule Roe (the first silently, the other explicitly) and would return to the States virtually unfettered authority to control the quintessentially intimate, personal, and life-directing decision whether to carry a fetus to term. Although today, no less than yesterday, the Constitution and the decisions of this Court prohibit a State from enacting laws that inhibit women from the meaningful exercise of that right, a plurality of this Court implicitly invites every state legislature to enact more and more restrictive abortion regulations in order to provoke more and more test cases, in the hope that, sometime down the line, the Court will return the law of procreative freedom to the severe limitations that generally prevailed in this country before January 22, 1973. Never in my memory has a plurality announced a judgment of this Court that so foments disregard for the law and for our standing decisions.

Nor in my memory has a plurality gone about its business in such a deceptive fashion. At every level of its review, from its effort to read the real meaning out of the Missouri statute to its intended evisceration of precedents and its deafening silence about the constitutional protections that it would jettison, the plurality obscures the portent of its analysis. With feigned restraint, the plurality announces that its analysis leaves Roe "undisturbed," albeit "modif[ied] and narrow[ed]." But this disclaimer is totally meaningless. The plurality opinion is filled with winks, and nods, and knowing glances to those who would do away with Roe explicitly, but turns a stone face to anyone in search of what the plurality conceives as the scope of a woman's right under the Due Process Clause to terminate a pregnancy free from the coercive and brooding influence of the State. The simple truth is that Roe would not survive the plurality's analysis, and that the plurality provides no substitute for Roe's protective umbrella.

I fear for the future. I fear for the liberty and equality of the millions of women who have lived and come of age in the 16 years since Roe was decided. I fear for the integrity of, and public esteem for, this Court.

I dissent.


The following text is taken directly from a typewritten copy of the speech I delivered that year—I found it in a box when I was moving. The only changes I have made to it were to correct a few misspelled words (I was—and remain—a terrible typist...), and I have cut it into smaller, more Internet-friendly paragraphs.

I am saddened by how prescient I was—and by how current the speech feels, even now.


Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I could not celebrate the 4th of July. The words to the Pledge of Allegiance hung in my throat—“with liberty and justice for all” is a phrase which no longer applies to over half of the population of the United States. On Monday, the Supreme Court took the first step toward removing the right of women to control their bodies and their destinies. Under the guise of returning power to the states, five members of the Court voted to restrict our freedom to choose when and if we will become parents.

Where was the “liberty” and the “justice” in such an opinion? Where is the liberty from government intervention in our most private decisions? Where is the justice in a group of rich, white, professional people, either incapable of bearing children, or past childbearing age, telling young women, poor women, and women of color that control over their reproductive systems is something to be haggled about and fought over in state legislatures?

We have a good idea what we can expect from that quarter. The maps showing which states are likely to pass anti­choice laws, and which have been published in every newspaper in the country tell us that. The Supreme Court has turned control over our bodies to the same male-dominated legislatures and hospital boards that forced my mother's generation to seek back-alley abortions or to resort to coat hangers, poison, and other measures that make us cringe when we try to imagine them.

You see, my generation doesn't remember those things. Only the sponsors and faculty members of Students for Choice are old enough to remember what those days were like. The students themselves have grown up secure in their right to choose a safe and legal abortion. In a way, the nightmare in which we now find ourselves is the fault of women of my generation. We were complacent with the gains that our mothers and grandmothers had fought for and won with such struggle and sacrifice. We said things like “Nobody has ever discriminated against me," and our parents told us "You can be and do whatever you want to.”

The Great American Myth, and we believed it.

We grew up with our heads filled with dreams of becoming doctors, lawyers, fire fighters, and construction workers. We believed that sexual harassment and discrimination on the basis of race, gender, and sexual orientation were things of the past. We also grew up believing in our right to control our bodies—to use birth control and to choose a safe and legal abortion if we needed it.

Monday's decision was not the first death knell for those beliefs, and it apparently will not be the last. We bought the American Dream and we have found that we were sold a bill of goods. Those of us who are committed to reproductive rights have been concentrating on the Webster case for so long that there has been little comment on the other cases the Supreme Court decided this term. We have nearly overlooked the Court's broadside attacks on affirmative action, and on our rights to battle discrimination and sexual harassment in the workplace. The Supreme Court has not limited its attacks on America's women to only one front. They have ensured that every gain made by the women in this country in the last 20 years has been negated.

They have allowed white male fire-fighters in Birmingham, Alabama to sue for alleged "reverse discrimination" that occurred years ago, while telling women at an [AT&T] plant that they should have foreseen—three to five years in advance—that a change in promotion procedures would discriminate against women. Because they did not bring the suit within 300 days, the court ruled that their complaint was not valid. [Note: The firefighter case was Martin v. Wilks. The AT&T case was Lorance v. AT&T Technologies, Inc. Justice Scalia delivered the opinion of the court in the latter case.]

The Court has said to employers, "You may not discriminate when you hire, but you can force your female and minority employees to perform degrading tasks and to endure racial and sexist remarks." And finally, the Court has begun the torturous path to overruling Roe. They have hit us on all fronts--our wallets, our dignity, and now our bodies. We are fooling ourselves if we fail to see that all of these things are tied together.

First, they take away our economic power, and then they hit at our right of self-determination. These are not things that should be subject to the whims of legislators—the right to control one's life and to live in dignity are fundamental rights, not privileges to be granted to women by the men who make up our political leadership. If our political leaders had any respect for the ideals on which this country was founded, the right to a safe and legal abortion could never even be an issue. If, however, their goal is to put women back in the spots we occupied 20 and 30 years ago, then the abortion issue is the way for them to achieve their goal. The “Reagan Revolution,” whose aim seems to be to put us back in the kitchens and bedrooms of America, barefoot and pregnant, is succeeding.

And where have our political leaders been during these attacks? Have any of them rushed to propose legislation to remedy the damage to our standing in the workplace and our self-determination? NO!!!! They have been holding all-night sessions to denounce flag-burning!!!—as if a piece of cloth, no matter how important it might be could ever be more important than women's lives. There will be no flags flying over the graves of women who die from back-alley and self-induced abortions, nor will there be any flags flying over the graves of the unwanted children who will fall victims to child abuse. It seems that in this country, the flag flies only over the rich, the white, and the male. The rest of us are left out of its protection.

What can we do? One thing the Court and the Congress have yet to take away from us—though I wonder if it may be next—is our ability to vote. We have seen how successful the Religious Right has been with their “litmus tests” on the abortion issue. Many, including a large number of the students I represent, have dismissed these people as “fanatics” and “nuts,” and we thought we could ignore them because their views were so extreme. We have learned, to our detriment, that we cannot ignore them, but we can appropriate their methods. We can develop our own “litmus tests”—those who don't support us will not only not receive our support, but will face our candidates in elections. We have long lamented the lack of women and minorities in government—it's time for us to put them there. We can no longer hope for a pro­choice candidate to show up as an election choice. We—you, me, and the person standing next to you—must be the candidates. We are fighting for our lives now, and we cannot wait for someone else to appear and lead us to the Promised Land. We must be ready to run, to win, and to lead.

The anti-choice activists have adopted the tactics of civil disobedience—it is now time for us to do the same. We must be ready to defy bad laws and to prevent any government from asserting control over our wombs. If our opponents are willing to go to jail to stop women from being free to choose, can we do less?

There can be no more fence-straddling. The lines have been drawn, and they have been drawn in the blood of women—women my age, whose lives and futures depend on what you, as individuals, choose to do in the coming months. If you choose to let others do your fighting for you, or to throw your hands up in despair and frustration, you will have condemned us to failure. The end result will be to put all women back in the semi-slavery they endured before Roe. If we cannot control our bodies, we will never be allowed to take our rightful place in society. And we must guard our economic rights as well—the right to work in the jobs we choose, and to do so in an environment free from fear and humiliation. If you make this your personal fight, we will not—we cannot—go back.

I challenge each and every one of you to make a difference­-let your voice be heard. Vote, write letters, make phone calls and run for office—but do something, so that I, and millions of other women like me, will have something to celebrate next 4th of July.


I did not have anything to celebrate by the following 4th of July, and I have had precious little to celebrate since then. Since that rainy, wind-swept day in 1989, literally thousands of anti-choice bills have been introduced and/or passed by male-dominated legislatures.

As a white, upper-middle class woman, my choices remained fairly constant. I knew that, if and when I needed/wanted an abortion, I could get one.

I also knew that so many women—poor women and women of color—did not have my options

This haunts me, even now.


Sometime near the end of 1999, I got pregnant. The pregnancy wasn’t planned, but it wasn’t unwelcome either. I already had one, much-wanted, and planned child. I had been conflicted about whether or not to have a second child—and the positive pregnancy test seemed to have answered the question and ended the need for any more agonizing on my part. I remember the thrill I felt when the EPT showed that second line...

In January 2000, I took a trip to visit family and tell everyone I was pregnant again

And then I started spotting.

The plane ride home was the longest of my life. I drove straight to my OB’s office from the airport, and she was waiting for me when I got there. The ultrasound showed a tiny bean-shape in my uterus. There was no heartbeat. She sent me home to await the inevitable miscarriage.

My pregnancy ended about the time that the vast majority of abortions take place in this country. What poured out of my uterus was a lot of blood and a few thick clots. There was no “tiny human” in my womb. There was blood, and cramps, and sadness—but no “miniature baby.”

I went on to have my second child—with no mental/emotional conflict whatsoever this time. Both of my children were wanted and planned. That was my choice. I want my daughter—and all women in this nation—to have the same choice I did.


On Monday, I will join a group of women who remember what life was like before Roe, and we will make our way to the state capitol to participate in a Moral Monday protest. Last week, the North Carolina General Assembly rammed through sweeping anti-abortion legislation that will severely limit women’s right to choose whether and when to bear children—and they did it without giving the citizens, especially the women, of this state the right to be heard on legislation that affects us in the most intimate way possible.

We will go to make our voices heard.

My 12-year-old daughter will be with me—as eager to go as the women old enough to be her grandmother. My child-bearing days are over—but my daughter has decades ahead of her in which she wants to maintain her ability to control her own destiny. We go to protest for her, and for every other girl and woman who will need or want reproductive freedom in the future.

We go to fight—three generations of women united to assert our rights against a legislature full of mostly privileged, white men who believe that we should turn our bodily autonomy and our ability to consent over to them in the name of their god.

Twenty-four years ago today, I said “Hell, no.” And—in 24 years—I haven’t changed my mind.

Doxy’s note: I am closing comments for this post because this is my statement. I don’t care to argue about this anymore. If you don’t trust women to make the decisions that are best for them and their families, I really don’t give a damn what you have to say. I have been fighting you for most of my adult life, and I will never stop fighting you. I will never grant you the right to control me or any other woman on this planet.

Tuesday, July 02, 2013

Recipes for Racism

I don’t really watch television, but my grandmother was a big fan of Food Network, and she and my daughter were devoted watchers. I would sometimes go plunk down in my grandmother’s king-sized bed with the two of them and have a Food Network-fest. Chopped was probably their favorite, but Paula was definitely on the short list. (True fact: I actually have Paula Deen’s autobiography sitting on my bookshelf—one of the few personal possessions my grandmother left behind when she died.)

I confess that I’ve always liked Paula. She reminds me of a lot of older Southern women I know—women who always know how to make you feel comfortable, seemingly without effort. As a die-hard butter fan, I was never put off by her cooking, as so many of the Health Police seem to have been. I always figured that no one was forcing anyone to follow her recipes. Take what you like, ignore what you don’t, and move along.

And then came the revelations.

There has been a ton of ink spilled about the whole fracas, and the only reason I’m writing about it now is because I’ve been astonished to see people who are normally incredibly attuned to racism defending Ms. Deen. This has been so confusing and bothersome to me that I’ve dropped a much bigger set of blog posts that I’m working on (more on that later this week) to write about this.

Racism is an issue that should be confronted anywhere and everywhere—yet, somehow, it seems to have become a worse sin to call someone a racist than it is to be a racist. Here are the arguments I seem to keep running across—and they strike me as recipes for racism:

We shouldn't fault Paula Deen for being racist because there are so many other, more important issues in the world.

Playing “Rank the Terrible Issues” serves only to ensure that all the bad “-isms” will continue—because the “-ism” that limits or destroys one person’s life is "no big deal" to another.

Plus, calling Paula Deen out for racist speech/behavior has absolutely nothing to do with any given individual’s involvement in “other, more important issues in the world.” If we can't call out individual acts of racism, how in the name of heaven can we call out systemic racism? (The quick answer is: We can’t.)

The fact that I’m blogging about Paula Deen’s dramatic fall from public grace, rather than the Supreme Court’s abominable decision in Shelby County v. Holder on the Voting Rights Act (VRA), doesn’t mean I don’t care about the VRA. That will be a boots-on-ground involvement for me, involving contacting elected officials, attending Moral Monday protests, etc.

But here’s the thing—it is the Paula Deens of the world who make that invalidated section of the VRA so important. It is the everyday, casual racism of people like her—and those who defend her—that is the bedrock on which legislatures across the nation will build voting roadblocks for people of color.

To sum it up: If you care about the VRA, you damned well better be calling Paula Deen—and any other person in your life, including yourself—out about racist speech and behaviors, because those are the manure in which systemic racism grows and thrives.

We shouldn’t fault Paula Deen for being racist because she’s a product of her time and place.

I find this rationale for letting Paula Deen off the hook to be deeply, DEEPLY offensive. I can’t believe I’m going to quote Republican speechwriter Michael Gerson about the “soft bigotry of low expectations”—but it fits:

Please don’t give me a pass on racism because I’m a native, white Southerner.

There is simply NO EXCUSE for racism. Not geography. Not age. Not anything. There have been plenty of white people across time and space who refused to engage in racist acts or speech. It is currently impossible for white people in this nation to avoid benefiting from a racist social structure, but it is critical that we not excuse individual racism. Being/acting racist is a choice.

If you want eliminate your own racist behaviors, there is an entire Internet out there just waiting to educate you. [Warning: some of those links contain language that is NSFW.]

Doing so will, of course, require you to listen to people of color as they recount their experiences of racism.

It will also require you to learn to sit quietly with serious personal discomfort and to put down your instinct to be defensive. If you feel the urge to argue, don’t. The first step in dealing with your own internalized racism is to be humble and LISTEN.

If you are serious about it, uprooting your own racism will force you to de-center your experiences, thoughts, and opinions, and to give pride of place to the experiences, thoughts, and opinions of those who are constantly wounded by a system that routinely denies them the legitimacy of their own lives.

If you choose to engage in that hard, but rewarding, work, you will fail. Repeatedly. I know, because I’ve done it. It is humiliating and humbling to realize that your good intentions are not enough and you’ve messed up.

But the way you handle failure is not to turn yourself into a martyr and tell people to “please take up that stone and throw it as hard as [you] can and kill me”—like you’ve got Jesus on your side.

The way you handle failure is to say “I’m sorry.”

No excuses. No faux-pologies. No “I’m sorry if you were offended.” No ifs, ands, or buts.

Say “I’m sorry”—and then never do/say that thing again. Hard and easy—both at the same time.

We shouldn't fault Paula Deen for being racist because she's innocent until proven guilty.

This one is nonsense. Paula Deen has convicted herself. The transcript of her deposition in the lawsuit against her and her brother is there for anyone to read. And anyone can watch the video of her interview with the New York Times.

My opinion was formed by her sworn legal testimony and by the words that came out of her own mouth. I don’t need a court of law to know that she has said racist things and done racist things.

We shouldn't fault Paula Deen for being racist because we've all sinned and fallen short.

Using the “logic” of this argument, we can never call anyone on ANYTHING. Not sexism. Not racism. Not homophobia. Nothing.

That is not a world in which I want to live.

If I say or do something racist, I really hope someone calls me out. I hope they do it kindly—but they aren’t doing me any favors by excusing my behavior.

Not so long ago, it was almost unthinkable that a white person would say overtly racist things in public. Within their family or friend groups, sure—but not to the world at large.

But Barack Obama's election/re-election seems to have dealt a death-blow to the long-held convention that one shouldn't be OPENLY racist. In our supposedly “post-racial society,” the election of an African American president blew the lid off the festering racism in our country, and now the entire nation is covered in the poisonous spew. [Again, some links are probably NSFW.]

That is why, personally, I am glad to see anyone being held accountable for saying racist things that no one said in polite company just five years ago.

And here’s the thing—for better or worse—people who are on the public stage know (or ought to) that they are under scrutiny. I loathe and detest our “celebrity culture” because I don’t think that one gives up a right to privacy just because zie happens to be on television, in the movies, etc. But I’m not in charge of the culture, and anyone in the public eye ought to be smart enough to know that EVERYTHING zie does will be analyzed and criticized. That’s the price of fame in our culture.

Paula Deen worked really hard to get herself and her sons out of poverty—and I can, and do, admire that. But there are many people who worked just as hard and were not lucky enough to get the opportunities she was offered.

She seems to have forgotten that, from those to whom much has been given, much is expected.

She could have learned a lesson—those who use their celebrity well can make a powerful difference in the world. That she didn't speaks volumes about where we are as a culture.

We shouldn't fault Paula Deen for being racist because we are supposed to forgive people.

This one is aimed specifically at Christians.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean that there are no consequences for our actions. I wish someone could explain to me why people equate “forgiveness” with “obligation to allow Ms. Deen to retain her position as a cultural icon and to keep filling her already overflowing coffers.” Because I just don’t get it.

First of all, the only people who truly have the right and power to forgive Paula Deen are the people she has directly injured with her words and actions. Those would be her employees, first and foremost, and then people of color in general.

We all make mistakes—but until she shows that she has the least clue about what she did wrong, recognizes the harm she’s done, and stops playing the martyr because people have called her on it, it seems to me that she isn’t really all that interested in being “forgiven.” It seems more like she’s rushing to get to that “forgotten” place—and there appear to be a lot of folks who are anxious to see her get there without any accountability.

I wonder if that's because most white people know they have uttered racist words in their past, and they feel guilty about it. Could they be excusing Paula Deen as a way of expiating their own behavior?

I don't know. But I do know this—in the past, I have said racist words and told racist jokes—and, yes, I feel guilty about that. But I don't think that gives me license to excuse Paula Deen—or anyone else (including myself) for racist behavior.

We shouldn't fault Paula Deen for being racist because Alec Baldwin is an emotionally abusive homophobe (or because Other Men do bad things and don’t lose their reputations, endorsements, etc.)

This is just a variation on the first one—and it’s just as much a non sequitur. Ms. Deen and Mr. Baldwin should both be called out. They have both behaved badly. They have both hurt people with their words and actions. I believe that both of them should take themselves out of the spotlight and do some serious personal work to change their behaviors and work to repair the harm they have done.

And I would add several other names to that list. I’m sure you could too.

Some people seem to want to excuse Ms. Deen because they believe she’s being treated more harshly because she’s a woman. I agree that’s part of the calculus—but, at the same time, I always come back to the fact that we should be calling out anyone who makes racist/sexist/homophobic/xenophobic/etc. statements.

No passes. Period.


Every one of these rationalizations is a recipe for racism. And not a single one of them holds up to scrutiny.

Let me be clear—I don’t want to see Paula Deen drawn and quartered. Sadly, I know that what she did takes place millions of times every day—she is not alone. And THAT is the problem.

What I want is for people to take this moment and this conversation seriously. I want people to understand that every one of us has an obligation to be aware of our words and actions and to change them when they hurt others.

I also want people to understand that racism is like cancer. Without vigorous treatment, it spreads. It causes incalculable suffering and it kills.

Let’s stop making excuses for it—whether it be for Paula Deen or ourselves. We can do better than this. We can craft our own recipe for a world that values ALL people equally.

And that recipe can—and should—involve honesty, humility, and a willingness to listen and change.

And butter. Lots and lots of butter.

Update: I wanted to add a comment that I got on my Facebook page from a friend and former colleague who is a 20-something Asian American man. He raises a number of issues that I, as a privileged white person, didn't even consider. I am grateful for his thoughtful addition to the conversation.

Apparently talking about Deen's racist actions "steals" attention from other issues, as if we live on a TV set with limited time and breadth? Apparently Deen's racism isn't symptomatic of the larger issue, including being related to "higher priority" issues of racism or racist culture like those things spouted by proud racists and issues like VRA? I've had people who argued that Deen's only sin was being accused of using a racial slur that can't be substantiated turn around and tell me I'm oversimplifying the issue by claiming that the real problems are the racist and sexist behaviors she and her brother have ACTUALLY admitted to in their depositions.

It is INSANE that people would invoke punishing people like Palin, Perry, or Gingrich ("true racists") in the same breath as claiming that Deen deserves leniency. If we really care about racism being called out (as well as other -isms) then it means that Deen deserves what she's getting and that these other people need to feel the same, not that we need to lay off of Deen.

But one other argument that annoys me to NO end is the claim that this is just a way for liberals to feel good about themselves and their race issues (see: every liberal Deen defender, Bill Maher, and probably every conservative looking to tear down a liberal who is against Deen's actions as reference). First, this assumes that all liberals are white people who have no personal stake in the racial climate of our society that they can afford to tackle issues like this "to make them feel good". People of color confront these issues because they are part of the reality of their lives and they're tired of it going ignored. When they bring it up and debate it, they're not doing it altruistically. Are we really going to suggest that people of color are only raising hell about this because they want to score anti-racism brownie points from one another? The "feel good" argument is entirely white-centric. It's racist and the irony is palpable.

The second issue is that it assumes that white people have no personal stake in fixing a racist society. White people do not live in a vacuum. They benefit from a racist society, but that doesn't mean that every white person is fine with it that way. White people have family and friends who are people of color. They also have a fundamental sense of morality and ethics. To make this "feel good" argument suggests that the fundamental issue of inequity being inherently "wrong" in this society is non-existent to white people, and that idea applies to other -isms: sexism, homophobia, transphobia, etc. Minorities always end up carrying the burden of fighting for equality, but it also requires that people who don't experience those inequities sincerely wish for change as well.

Monday, May 13, 2013

On showing up...

First, I want to note that I *am* writing—not quite like this, but…writing. Just not here.

Writing is like athletics in a way. When you don’t exercise for a while, you start losing your muscle tone, your speed, and your endurance. I hadn’t written in so long that I decided I needed to do some remedial work—and you don’t really want to do that in public. Especially not when what you write on the Internet is—supposedly—out there forever.

So I’ve been writing with a pen. On paper. It feels almost subversive. And I intend to keep doing that until my writing muscles are back in shape.

But today, I’m coming out of my pen-and-paper reveries to write about Showing Up.

As I type this, I’m sitting in a high school stadium watching Dear Friend compete in the local Senior Games. He’s running the 400 meters now, and he’s well ahead of his only competitor. If he wins this race—as he undoubtedly will—it will be his NINTH gold medal in the Senior Games. 

(He did. By the time I got ready to post this, the gold medal total was 13.)

DF is a great all-around athlete. He’s not the fastest or the strongest 60-64 year-old male in the county—but he is in great shape and he shows up. The other, faster, stronger 60-64 year-old males who could have bested him stayed home today.

The last time he did this, I joked that 90% of winning was just showing up.

But I was wrong—it’s 100%. You can’t win if you don’t show up.

Lesson learned.

Back to pen and paper...but I'll see you soon.

Saturday, December 29, 2012

“Write like a motherfucker”

I was wandering around the little independent bookstore on Main Street when I saw it. I had never heard of the author, but the title caught my attention: Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Life and Love from Dear Sugar.

I don’t know why I bought it. I pay full price in that store so that I can support a local, woman-owned business—but doing so means that buying something I don’t know anything about is a bit of a risk.

But there was something about that book….

Maybe it was that I’ve always been an advice-column junkie. When I was a kid, I would get the newspapers (back then, there were two each day!) and turn straight to Dear Abby in the morning or Ann Landers in the evening--even before I read the comics! And long before I was old enough to understand half of what I was reading, I was fascinated that people would write to a complete stranger in the belief that Abby or Ann could help them with their problems.

Or maybe it was the “Dear Sugar” part that got me. There’s just something so….Southern…about a “Dear Sugar” who dispenses straight-from-the-gut advice and who calls her readers “sweet pea” and “honey bun.” Before I even opened the book, I suspected that I would recognize and connect with such an author.

What I recognized and connected with was myself.

The title of this post come from this Dear Sugar column. I’m sure that some people will be offended by the title, but that’s the way it goes.

And, in a way, those who will be offended are part of the issue that compels me to write this.

You see, I am a writer who no longer writes. My last blog entry was seven months ago today. And if you look at my blog archives, you will see an interesting set of numbers:

Posts before my divorce:

Posts after my divorce:

Posts after my marriage to Dear Friend:
2009—30 (12 after my wedding)
2012—7 (counting this one)

I wrote very little when I was married to the Hydra. Enveloped in the fog of depression, I couldn’t summon the energy.

When I finally left, it was as if the floodgates opened. I wrote a blog post nearly once a week. Given how much I agonize over most of them, that was nothing short of a miracle.

And then….my voice began to diminish again. It is clear that my depression has returned. (Not, I hasten to add, as a result of my remarriage. There are other things—my grandmother’s illness and death chief among them—that have had an impact.) I am doing what I need to do to deal with that issue.

But to prove the point, in 2012, four of my last six posts have been about death. The other two are about despair. In a presidential election year, I—the former political scientist and lifetime political junkie—wrote not a single word about the process, the candidates, or the main issues.

I have lost my voice again…and in small, almost imperceptible ways, that loss is killing me.

If I don’t start writing like a motherfucker, I may disappear entirely.


There are a couple of things that have brought me to this pass.

First and foremost has been a sense of responsibility to Dear Friend. When we started dating, he was just so damned PROUD of me. He told everyone who would listen about my blog and, with each additional person who knew about my alter ego, my sense of freedom contracted a little. To his everlasting credit, he has always told me “Doxy, you say what you need and want to say. People know you are not me.” But I was afraid. I love him with all my heart, and I didn’t want anything I wrote to reflect badly on him—especially since the things that most often move me to want to write are religion and politics.

We all know what they say about discussing religion and politics….

Like many churches, St. Swithin’s is filled with people who don’t agree on a lot of things. A fragile peace is maintained because individuals avoid the “hard topics.”

Dear Friend makes no bones about the fact that we are a welcoming and inclusive congregation (code words for “LGBT-friendly”), but he doesn’t talk politics from the pulpit. I suspect that people know where he stands on most issues—and it’s no secret that I’m the “Feminist Socialist for Jesus” either. One look at the bumper stickers on my minivan—the one the Empress refers to as “the Socialist Sleigh”—will confirm that…

So why did I convince myself that I needed to be silent—or that I was somehow hiding my thoughts and positions? 

And what does it mean to give up your voice to protect your spouse—especially when he didn’t ask to be protected?

If you are a member of Dear Friend’s parish, it is important for you to know that I married the man, not the church. It would be wrong of you to judge him by what I do or say.

These are true things about me: I am passionate, loving, and I try to be kind to everyone in my path. BUT….I struggle with depression and hang on to my faith by my fingernails. I swear—a lot. I am certainly no one’s idea of a “good Christian” (whatever that really means). And I need to stop pretending that I am.

I don’t think that saying “fuck” is a sin at all. But even if it was, it's not in the same league as say….denying healthcare to other people because you value marginally lower taxes more than you do those people’s lives. Or insisting that your right to own a gun trumps my children’s right to live in safety.

I guess I just got political, didn’t I? And that is true of me too. I am a political animal. Dear Friend is constrained by his role as a priest and pastor to keep overt expressions of politics to himself. But I am not. I am Christian BECAUSE I am a feminist and a socialist—and my failure to write about things I care about for fear of offending someone at St. Swithin’s is, ultimately, a denial of my faith.


Second was the fact that blogging has, in a lot of ways, been superseded by Facebook and Twitter. I found myself spending countless hours on social networking sites, reading other people’s brilliantly pithy thoughts, and thinking to myself “Everyone has already said anything useful that could be said about X. Why bother?”

But I was listening to my favorite radio program (On Being) recently, and Krista Tippett was interviewing Brené Brown about her work on shame and vulnerability. (Please go listen to the entire interview—it is certainly worth 52 minutes of your time). The interview itself is not focused on writing, but Brené Brown makes some brief comments on the connection between creativity and a “whole-hearted” life. In her research, Brown has discovered that the single biggest killer of creativity is….comparison.

When I heard her say this, it was as if a grenade had exploded in my head.

I know full well that there are any number of people who are better writers and thinkers than I am—but the bottom line is this: I am a writer. There is a real, and steep, cost to me in the act of giving up on writing. It is not only a denial of my faith--it is a denial of who I am.

I realized that I don’t even necessarily need anyone to read what I write—I just need the outlet and the discipline of writing.

So here I am. Writing.



Another kick in the pants was this essay on Six Harsh Truths That Will Make You a Better Person. There are many criticisms to be made of this article, but….it resonated. Especially numbers 1-3.

The only way to be the "better person" I want to be is to DO SOMETHING. Make the effort. Take the risk. Say what I need to say—regardless of whom it might offend.

So…I am committing to write like a motherfucker in the coming year. No holds barred. No comparisons. No excuses.

How many women wrote beautiful novels and stories and poems and essays and plays and scripts and songs in spite of all the crap they endured. How many of them didn’t collapse in a heap of “I could have been better than this” and instead went right ahead and became better than anyone would have predicted or allowed them to be. The unifying theme is resilience and faith. The unifying theme is being a warrior and a motherfucker. It is not fragility. It’s strength. It’s nerve. And “if your Nerve, deny you –,” as Emily Dickinson wrote, “go above your Nerve.” Writing is hard for every last one of us—straight white men included. Coal mining is harder. Do you think miners stand around all day talking about how hard it is to mine for coal? They do not. They simply dig.

You need to do the same, dear sweet arrogant beautiful crazy talented tortured rising star glowbug. That you’re so bound up about writing tells me that writing is what you’re here to do. And when people are here to do that they almost always tell us something we need to hear. I want to know what you have inside you. I want to see the contours of your second beating heart.

So write, [Doxy]. Not like a girl. Not like a boy. Write like a motherfucker.

Thank you, Dear Sugar.

Game on.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Love remains the same....

What follows is the eulogy that the Empress (my 11-year-old daughter) gave for my grandmother--the Empress' self-described "best friend" and confidante for her entire life.  My daughter is very shy and does not like being the center of attention--so I was shocked when she stood up and spoke. It was an act of courage on her part--born of great love and pain.

I have typed it verbatim from the notes she wrote for herself, and I share it with her permission:

Ammama was, and is, the most special person in my entire life. She comforted me in every situation--from falling and scraping my knee to much more important things. I can't even explain how kind she is to everyone she meets.

When I felt all alone, Ammama was there for me. In a sense, she was like my second mom. Ammama did so much for me, and I never really got to properly thank her.

May her soul rest in peace, and I hope that the day I die, Ammama will be waiting at the golden gates of heaven for me.


I do not know if heaven really exists. No one does.

But this I do know--the love that can inspire a shy and brokenhearted child to stand up and declare it to the world is a love that will never die. That love has shaped who she is, and who she will be, and it will course through her, and through everyone she ever loves.

I believe that love is the most powerful thing in the universe...and it is born of the simplest of things--bandaging knees and singing lullabies and hugging all the hurts away.

My grandmother is gone, but the love remains.