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my sin is not just my own: systemic injustice and communal repentance

I didn’t understand repentance until I became a liberal.

I’d been raised a Christian, had heard sermons calling for me to repent of my sin every other week, but until I’d abandoned conservatism I never grasped the grotesque beauty and compelling horror of true repentance.

As a child and teenager I thought of repentance in strictly personal, and individual, terms– and mostly in the context of that first salvific event when I was eleven. I’d been really sorry for my sin, for all the times I’d gotten mad at my sister or disobeyed my parents, and that was that, honestly. Oh, I’d continue to be haunted for all the other sins I’d commit for the next fifteen years, but it was all so self-centered. There was some obligatory guilt about hurting people’s feelings, of course, but any time I “repented” it was to assure myself I wasn’t going to burn in hell because Jesus had already forgiven me, or I was trying to make sure I woudln’t be struck down when I took communion.

I viewed sin and repentance this way because individualism is at the heart of conservative evangelicalism. They have a personal relationship with Jesus, not a silly communal religion. They believe in personal responsibility. They eschew concepts like “it takes a village” and– where I grew up– heaped disdain on other cultures that prioritized community over the needs of the individual. This bleeds into the political of course, birthing ideas like “pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” and “the self-made man.”

This is one of the ways I believe that evangelicalism is culturally American more than it is culturally Christian. My country is thoroughly saturated by the notion that we individually contribute to societies, that we have individual rights and freedoms. Conversely, most of us believe to our core that things like racism, misogyny, and homophobia are individual problems. If someone cracks a racist joke, no one needs to bother correcting him, because being racist is his problem, not theirs.

Which is why I didn’t truly understand what repentance means until I became a liberal and started reading things by people like Audre Lorde and bell hooks. When I encountered “without justice there can be no love” and “without community there is no liberation,” it finally clicked. I am a member of a system. That system is built on white supremacy and misogyny, and it’s not self-perpetuating. It’s continued by us communally, subconsciously, unconsciously, and actively participating in it. It’s the water we swim in.

It’s hard fighting this current. But every moment when we’re not fighting it, when we let that joke or comment slide, or when we hold onto our purses just a little bit tighter, or when we frown in disapproval at the “urban” teenager … we embrace the whole abusive system that keeps us all in place. For many of us, that system is capable of giving us power when we capitulate to it. I could embrace ageism and start babbling about those entitled millennials who don’t have a decent work ethic– I’d be amply rewarded for it with articles in GQ. I could write long screeds against feminism and be hailed a hero on Return of the Kings. I could start lecturing on complementarianism and be welcomed by John Piper with open arms. I could send out a racist tweet and get “FINALLY someone says it” from a few hundred people.

That is what we have to repent of. We must “turn from evil, and turn to do good.” We must repent of our lust for power, control, stability, and earthly rewards. And, we must do it together. I can fight against systemic injustice individually– as we all should– but one voice crying in the wilderness can only accomplish so much.

All through the Old Testament the prophets called for Israel and Judah– as nations— to repent. The prophets profoundly understood something we’ve lost. They knew that while there are a few righteous men scattered about the countryside, sin is a matter of culture as much as it is a matter of the heart. Greed lives in the bellies of all of us, as does the desire to feel like we earned the power and position we have, that we have a right to it. The prophets knew better, and tried to tell us so. And Paul tried to tell us again:

As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient. All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our flesh and following its desires and thoughts …

And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus … For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do …

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

~from Ephesians 2 and 6

But, I think, that communal repentance might be too much for many of our churches. I could not even begin to imagine the pastor of my last traditional church leading us in a congregation-wide confession of our sins. We built and sustain the beast together, but saying the words:

“We confess the sin of racism and the hatred toward people of color we have created”

or

“We repent of the violence against women we have caused with our words, beliefs, and inaction”

… seems incomprehensible for any of the churches I’ve attended.

It shouldn’t be that way. Confession is good for the soul, and it shouldn’t be limited to a private accountability partner. Forgive us, for we have sinned should be a principle part of each service, and it should be accompanied by the public commitment to turn away from evil and toward doing good.

Artwork by Dani Kelley (<– pssst, you can buy today’s header on a shirt!)
February 24, 2016 by
Social Issues

“Radical” review: 107-140

This is another chapter of Radical where I agree with the basic argument David makes. It’s a slightly longer chapter, which seems appropriate since he’s trying to convince an American audience that meeting earthly, physical needs of others is one of the fruits Christians are supposed to bear as believers. Obviously I agree with this premise, although we get there through different theological means.

To me, I see meeting physical needs as a requirement for Christians because ours is a religion that teaches our physical existence is sacred. Immanuel is God with us, God become flesh, God dwelling among us. When we observe the sacraments, we baptize our bodies and eat and drink. All through the accounts of Jesus’ ministry the “good news” was Jesus healing us and feeding us, not just giving us theological nuggets to chew on (although he also did that aplenty). I believe that the ultimate goal of the Christian God is to redeem and restore our physical existence, for us to remain embodied and earthy, except glorified.

Because of that, I prioritize making sure people’s needs are met and work to end human suffering.

However, David’s theological motivations are different. This chapter lacks the sort of impetus I’ve described above; instead, his argument amounts to Jesus said so and it glorifies God. This is not the sort of reasoning I’d ordinarily quibble over– if you are led toward taking care of people and ending poverty and starvation, I don’t exactly care what brings you here. However, this is an influential book, and I am going to quibble because of this:

The point is not simply to meet a temporary need or change a startling statistic; the point is to exalt the glory of Christ as we express the gospel of Christ through the radical generosity of our lives. (135)

There’s this thread of an idea that meeting needs isn’t sufficient as an end unto itself. If the person doesn’t come out on the other side of a Christian handing him soup with some urge to confess Jesus as Lord and Savior, then giving him the soup was rather pointless. Meetings needs is a means to an end, and that end is “sharing the Gospel.” Except, the more I read about what Jesus did and said, it becomes startlingly apparent that Jesus took care of people’s physical needs far more often than he talked about the evangelical concept of “salvation.”

In fact, he talks about forgiving sins every so often, but most often he zeroes in on following him. And what does “following him” look like? Helping him help people. Feeding his sheep. Loving people. David talks a lot about the rich man that Jesus instructed to sell all that he had, but ignores the fact that Jesus concludes sell all that you have with follow me. Not “confess me as Lord,” not “admit you’re a sinner and need me to save you from your sin.” He says do what I’m doing. Only God can forgive sin, so what else is left, exactly?

Helping starving children in Africa and Asia isn’t a means to an end. It is an end.

The most glaring problem about this chapter to me, though, is that he constantly conflates his interpretation of the Bible with What is Absolutely True, Factual, and Accurate. The best example of that is here:

Of course, important principles are expressed throughout Scripture on the subject [of money]. One such principle is that wealth is not inherently evil. Scripture does not condemn riches or possessions in and of themselves. (112)

Again, the Bible does not teach that wealth alone implies unrighteousness or warrants condemnation. The rich man in this story [rich man and Lazarus] is not in hell because he had money. Instead, he is in hell because he lacked faith in God, leading him to indulge in luxuries while ignoring the poor outside his gate. (114)

As I read these pages, all I could think was are you sure about that, buddy? for two reasons. Reason number one comes from Misreading Scripture with Western Eyes. This is one of the first differences they highlight:

Outside the West, wealth is often viewed as a limited resource. There is only so much money to be had, so if one person has a lot of it, then everyone else has less to divide among themselves. If you make your slice of pie larger, then my slice is now smaller. In those cultures, folks are more likely to consider the accumulation of wealth to be immoral, since you can only become wealthy if other people become poor.

Psalm 52:7 describes the wicked man who “trusted in his great wealth and grew strong by destroying others!” In our Western mind, this man demonstrated his wickedness in two ways: he trusted his wealth and he destroyed others. Yet the psalmist considers these to be one action … (41)

They go on to explain the linguistic reasons for why that is, but I’ll stop with that. We see this same concept echoed in the Rich Man and Lazarus parable– in fact, David’s argument that he went to hell because he “lacked faith” isn’t supported by the text; in fact, all it says is “remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony.” There’s nothing there about faith. It’s just about you had good things so now you’re in agony.

I’m not saying David is necessarily wrong here. He could be right. I just think he’s got an over-inflated sense of his interpretation being The Only Correct One.

The last significant problem I have with chapter six comes here:

And this is really the core issue of it all. Do we trust him? Do we trust Jesus when he tells us to give radically for the sake of the poor? Do we trust him to provide for us when we begin using the resources he has given us to provide for others? Do we trust him to know what is best for our lives, our families, and our financial futures? (123-24)

No.

No, I actually don’t.

I’ve known a lot of Christians who trusted to God to “provide for all their need according to his riches in glory” and ended up with malnourished children because they couldn’t afford to buy enough food. There’s tons of stories of people mysteriously leaving groceries on porches, but for every single one of those there’s a Christian kid not having life-threatening medical needs met because these Christian parents don’t have the money to get them treated. And, to be clear, David is specifically talking about sacrificing so much that not being able to receive medical treatment is a significant possibility.

So no. I don’t trust God to provide for me when I have all the hard proof I need to illustrate that this is not something they’re in the regular business of doing. Either God doesn’t provide all our need, or they don’t think that “food” and “shelter” and “healing” are needs. Obviously, Jesus, Immanuel, shows us that they do think these things are important. I agree with David that we are charged with continuing Jesus’ ministry, with feeding his sheep. However, I think that putting ourselves at risk of losing food stability, shelter, and medical treatment isn’t how we’re supposed to go about doing that.

This chapter illustrates really well that David is coming at this from a good place– he really does care about people, about the poor, especially. Where I disagree with him isn’t about the core idea as much as it is a matter of degree. Handsome and I prioritize meeting other people’s needs– our budget revolves around it. However, it is held in balance with the fact that I get two massages every month to manage my fibromyalgia and saving up for things like ellipticals. We all define “need” differently, and I don’t think anyone should judge each other for where we draw the line.

February 22, 2016 by
Social Issues

for the beauty of the earth

Me and basically anyone who knows me well has a running joke: if it’s the most expensive one in the store, that’s the one I want. It’s hilarious because I gravitate toward those items without knowing it. The most expensive lamp. The most expensive pair of heels. The most expensive necklace. The most expensive hat. At times, it’s uncanny. I can think of only a handful of times where the item I liked the best wasn’t the most expensive, but even then it was usually the second most expensive.

I have no idea where this “talent” came from. I grew up as a military brat so it’s not like I had the chance to develop a taste for the finer things in life. My circumstances are different now than what they were when I was a kid, but I’m not exactly Scrooge McDuck-ing it through a pile of gold coins. We have the ability to save up and make investments in decent furniture and things like that, but it does take time and it can only happen because we’re careful.

But, I look around my home– we’ve finally finished unpacking– and I’m proud of how lovely it is. Yeah it’s Walmart tables and Ikea bookcases, but on the other hand I have a beautifully framed print of John Singer-Sargent’s “Incensing the Veil,” gorgeous curtains, an eclectic collection of antique teacups, knick-knacks from all over the world (thanks to a great-grandfather who traveled), and when you put it all together I think it’s marvelous.

Handsome and I hung up our artwork last weekend– a six-hour-endeavor that involved a lot of spacial reasoning and math, neither of which are my strengths– and when we were done I stood back and almost cried because it was so beautiful. It was the last thing I needed to make this place feel like my home, and it’s not just some nesting instinct.

I’ve always been spellbound by beauty in any form. Music, nature, art, architecture, food, fashion, literature, makeup … I’m enraptured every time I play Smetna’s “Moldau,” or when I see moonlight sparkling in a woodland clearing, or when I take a of bite chicken alfredo, or when I walk around some of the grand architecture of my nation’s capital. I always want those moments to last forever. And, last week, when I felt that last bit click into place in my home, something inside of me breathed out a trembling breath of relief.

For most of my life I felt guilty about this impulse, this need for my life to be enriched by order and beauty. I thought my attraction to quality and elegance made me discontent and materialistic and selfish. The fact that I’m frequently repulsed by kitsch and spaces that don’t include any sense of proportion or artfulness made me think that I was a morally deficient person. There must be something wrong with me if I placed that much value on physical things that cost way too much money.

Growing up in the church I did, which had hideous red-and-black carpet, country-blue padded pews and orange glass in the windows, was an interesting experience. The first time I stepped inside a few-centuries-old Catholic church it took my breath away. I had no idea churches (outside of European cathedrals) could be beautiful. In graduate school, I ended up tolerating a Calvinistic-leaning church largely because the church had Gothic arches and stained glass windows (I’m a sucker for Gothic arches).

In graduate school I started realizing that appreciating beauty wasn’t a failing but something ingrained in our collective human soul, built into us by a world of symmetry and saturated color. Even then, though, I still thought of my desire for “nice things” as emblematic of my problem with covetousness. If something about me weren’t corrupted then I wouldn’t constantly be gliding through the “Home Decor” board on Pinterest. I wouldn’t exclaim and ooh! and ah! over Tiffany settings. I wouldn’t drool over Jimmy Choo or Valentino shoes. I wouldn’t constantly want things– and not just anything, but nice things.

Anytime I read a piece on the virtues of minimalism, or the value of casting off the useless and ultimately selfish drive to acquire, I felt twinges and pangs. Why couldn’t I be happy with a tiny home? Why do I always have a running list of things I want to save up for? Our couch is heading toward lumpiness and broken springs, but if I were truly capable of contentment I’d wait until we really needed to replace it instead of already picking out its replacement. When the KonMari method took the internet by storm a bit ago it was pretty frustrating because I look around my home and think all of this brings me joy. That is not a helpful standard.

Then, a few years ago, I took a few Myers-Briggs tests and they all pegged me as an ISTJ, and I read this in one of the profiles:

ISTJs usually have a great sense of space and function, and artistic appreciation. Their homes are likely to be tastefully furnished and immaculately maintained. They are acutely aware of their senses, and want to be in surroundings which fit their need for structure, order, and beauty.

Wait– what?

It had never occurred to me that so much of what I thought of as “materialism” and “covetousness” could be a feature of my personality. I’d never connected the dots between I am extremely observant and detail oriented with I want my surroundings to be in order and pleasant. I’m very much a fan of “a place for everything and everything in its place,” and it’s been extremely helpful for me to know that what something looks like doesn’t matter as much to me as whether or not it is put away. It’s not like my house is never messy, heavens no. But every few weeks when I go through it and tidy and vacuum and dust and mop and scrub I’m so much happier. It’s like a static inside my head goes away.

In fundamentalism, there are very few things, if any, that could be considered morally neutral. I think there is absolutely a line where “wanting things” could become unhealthy or destructive– I could end up in an uncontrollable amount of debt or I could start prioritizing my new sofa over helping people who need it. But it took me a long time to accept that simply looking at something, thinking it’s pretty, and evaluating whether or not it’s something I want to buy is not a moral failing.

For most of my life I felt condemned for something that is a natural consequence of my personality, for appreciating beauty when the world around me could not be more dazzling. It’s amazing how an abusive religion can get inside of your head and twist ordinary things into something worth castigating you over.

February 19, 2016 by
Social Issues

socialization isn’t a freaking joke

If you’ve been around homeschooling culture for any length of time, you’re probably familiar with how they tend to make fun of “socialization.” When I was growing up as a homeschooled kid, I had “20 Snappy Comebacks” prepared in case I overheard someone asking “b-but but what about socialization?!” I’d been taught– and was firmly convinced– that when people asked about socialization it sprang from a place of ignorance about homeschooling. When you homeschool, I believed, you’re not just limited to interact with people from your grade level, but with children and adults of all ages. Through church (and, theoretically, co-ops, although I only attended one in 2nd grade), we got all the social interaction we could possibly want.

It’s ironic to me now that while I thought that other people were ignorant if they asked me about socialization (which, honest moment, they never did, probably because of how incredibly isolated I was), the fact of the matter is that most homeschoolers who dismiss socialization as a legitimate question are also being ignorant.

Socialization isn’t just “learning to talk to people like a regular human.” It’s not “having friends.” It’s not “engage in social activities.” Socialization is “the process whereby an individual learns to adjust to a group (or society) and behave in a manner approved by the group (or society).” I’ve talked about my own experience with socialization before, and one thing I can confidently say is that if we’re talking about fundamentalism, then I am socialized extremely well. I know how to walk the walk and talk the talk. I know what the acceptable behaviors and language are. I was taught to be extremely well-suited to that environment.

However, now that I’m not in fundamentalism anymore, I am not well socialized. I struggle understanding what the group parameters are, and one of the biggest struggles I face is that I have no metric whatsoever for analyzing my behavior. Was I polite? No idea. Did I hurt someones’ feelings? Not a clue. Did I do or say something weird or awkward? Can’t say. I’m slowly learning how to operate in casual social settings, but there is always a sliver of me that’s panicking the entire time that I’m going to blow it and expose myself as the weird homeschool kid.

But there’s another aspect to this “socialization” question that I’ve yet to see addressed.

Above I noted that I am extremely well socialized to operate in fundamentalist spaces, so I am intimately familiar with what’s required to achieve that and it bothers me.

Every once in a while, I’ll bump into someone commenting on how “well-behaved your children are!” Sometimes it’s people talking about how polite and happy and well-mannered all the Duggar children appear to be. A few years ago I overheard it at a not-fundamentalist church, and it was directed at a mom in a denim jumper with six kids and– no joke– No Greater Joy sticking out of her diaper bag for some reason. “Well-mannered children” is part and parcel of fundamentalist socialization, and there’s a fairly uniform code for what that means:

  • instant obedience
  • obedience with a “good attitude”
  • joyfulness
  • respectful of elders
  • lack of rebellion (individuation)
  • are faithful, diligent members of the religion

The main problem I have with the above is all those people complimenting fundamentalist parents on “well-mannered” children have no freaking idea what it takes to achieve children who behave like that. Children are supposed to be imaginative and express their identity and be unruly and rambunctious and explore and be curious and filled with wonder and sometimes be grumpy and unhappy and annoying.

The methods used to create children who are always smiling, who always obey instantly, who never go through individuation, who never talk back– they should horrify us because they are nightmarish. In order to achieve this, you have to beat infants. You have to strike your children multiple times a day with a switch or a board or a belt. Age-appropriate exploration must be prevented at all costs– either through things like blanket training or slapping a baby every time they reach for a necklace or your hair. You must subject your infant or toddler to brutal physical punishment every single time they show a disavowed form of curiosity about their environment.

For older children and teenagers, you have to completely disallow any form of individuality. They must agree with everything you teach them. Doubts and questions are forbidden. If they attempt to express their own identity, they must be bullied by other members of the fundamentalist community to immediately stamp it out.

Being socialized as a fundamentalist child means being horribly abused. It means being denied any natural part of growing up. So, yes, fundamentalist homeschool families are socializing their children– socialization, really, is inevitable– it’s just what they’re socializing them to. Fundamentalist homeschoolers are largely incapable of socializing their children to be capable, competent, contributing members of society because socializing them in fundamentalism precludes that.

Remember that next time you hear someone comment how cute and quaint and charming the Duggar family is.

Artwork by David Bliwas
February 11, 2016 by
Social Issues

Law of Kindness: how Christianity affects my ethics

I’m a spiritual abuse survivor, fundamentalist cult survivor, abuse survivor, and rape survivor; I’m part of the LGBT community and, as a feminist, have experienced harassment, rape and death threats. Because I don’t have access to a decent therapist I’ve found myself dealing with all of that trauma primarily through online support groups. Over the past three years I’ve faded in and out of a variety of groups with a multiplicity of purposes, mission statements, and moderation styles.

Many of these support groups adopt the stance of being a “safe space,” a doctrine I almost always appreciate. I have to deal with biphobia, misogyny, and ignorant-though-well-meaning people who victim blame me almost everywhere I go, so it’s nice to be able to retreat into a bubble where that doesn’t usually happen and if it does the moderators deal with it so traumatized people don’t have to. I also take a firm stance in moderating my comment section here. Slurs , threats, or doxxing isn’t allowed, and if you don’t argue in good faith you’re going to be banned fairly quickly.

However, here and and in every other “safe space” I’ve inhabited, a question is inevitably raised: what does it mean to be a safe space? Each group defines their boundaries differently, and what I’ve seen happen is frequently not every member is going to be happy with those boundaries: either they’ll find them too constraining or not protective enough. For example, if I see someone comment on an article about a teacher sexually abusing over a hundred students with “that must be one incredibly promiscuous school” what should the standard of a purportedly “safe space” be?

Over the last year, though, I’ve been a part of a number of discussions about what constitutes a safe space, especially when the group in question has quite a cross-section of trauma survivors and individuals with different needs, such as being neurodivergent and/or mentally ill. Many of those conversations centered around what to do with people who are ignorantly reinforcing cisgender, heterosexist, misogynistic, racist, or allistic frameworks. A few main methods would eventually come out of that conversation:

  1. People who have the wherewithal that day should attempt to educate the individual in good faith using a calm, moderated tone. If the individual persists in bad faith, then more moderation may be required.
  2. Any space that claims to be a “safe space” shouldn’t be moderated at all, because no one should have their voice silenced by anyone. (I’ve seen this one usually appear in groups for spiritual abuse survivors, like The Naked Pastor and Stuff Christian Culture Likes.)
  3. Trauma victims who are a racial, sexual, or nuerodivergent minority should be able to respond in whatever way they deem appropriate. Encouraging oppressed people to be “kind” or “calm” is tone policing and is inherently harmful to liberation and equality.

To a certain extent, and depending on context, each of these arguments appeal to me. If you’ve been around as a commenter for a while, you’ve probably realized I favor approach #1 here: attempt to educate, then ban if necessary. Sometimes, though, I go with option #3, because hell no I will not tolerate someone referring to Syrian people as “rapefugees” and I’m not going to stop to “educate” them. I can understand the philosophy behind approach #2, even though I don’t think it ever works out in practice. #2 does insure that people that I might subconsciously want to ignore get to have their say, too.

However, at some point over the last few months I realized that I agree with approach #1 because I’m a Christian.

I talked about this concept some in my response to the GCN conference, and I’ve been struggling to articulate what I mean. Part of me recognizes the validity of approach #3, and I’ll continue to support people who are “raging against the machine.” I believe in #BlackLivesMatter, and I will continue to support their protests because they are disruptive. Shutting down traffic, disturbing mall shopping, sit-ins and marches and interrupting campaign speeches– all of it. Black men and women are being lynched practically every day by our police force and I would not dare to tell them that they are not responding to their rage and grief “appropriately.”

Or I’ll read “Nice Girls Don’t Birth Revolutions” and feel something inside of me exalting along with Alana Louise May when she says:

People are so conditioned they will die to defend the very system that has been abusing them,

Poisoning them

Plotting their death before their very birth

That shit is sick

That shit is fucked

And no I am not interested in your polite passive aggressive tea room debate

But then, a few days later, I’ll read “Words for Cutting: Why we Need to Stop Abusing ‘The Tone Argument‘” and nod along to Katherine Cross’s words all the way through it and then want everyone I know to read it, too.

I do believe that our involvement in systemic racism and misogyny and everything else needs to be communally repented of, that abusers need to be named, that victims like Nagmeh Abedini should be believed and protected and defended. That we should confront oppression when we see it, ignoring how the mere act of confrontation itself is enough for some to dismiss us as “abusive.”

But, as a Christian, I am personally called to a different way of being. Jesus asks me to put down my sword, to turn the other cheek (which is a radical act peaceful resistance), to embody the fruits of the spirit which are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, and self-control. If being a Christian means acting like Jesus, it means acknowledging that a soft answer turns away wrath, that I should have the law of kindness on my tongue.

There’s a mental separation I have to live with: as a public citizen, as a voter, as a member of interfaith communities and activism movements, I’m not a pacifist. I believe that mandating pacifism on oppressed peoples is another act of violence against them. I think that enforcing standards like “be kind” or “stay calm” or “tolerate ignorant shitheads” onto trauma survivors can re-victimize them all over again. I could not imagine a world where I would ever be kind to the man who raped me, and asking a victim to be “kind” or “loving” to their abuser is akin to sending them to the seventh circle of hell.

But, privately, I do not believe that I could take the life of someone else, even in defense of my own.

So while I do not think these standards– love your enemy, do good to those who hate you— should ever be something that is indiscriminately ordered from the top-down, I am becoming ever more convinced that I, personally and privately, should fully embrace these concepts. I should commit to if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all, which I still hear in my mother’s voice.

Jesus confronted those in power. He was direct, and powerful. He boldly proclaimed that some of them were vipers and white-washed tombs with nothing but bones inside. He was forthright with the Woman at the Well. He argued with the Syro-Phonecian Woman (eventually conceding her point). I don’t think that having the law of kindness on my tongue means that I become mealy-mouthed or impotent.

But, if I am to love my neighbor, it must include people I don’t agree with. Who are misogynistic. Who are biphobic. Who say ridiculous, harmful things to me that have me sobbing in my partner’s arms, or that leave me fragile and triggered and shaken. I don’t have to be the one who responds every single time, and if I can’t respond without hatred bubbling in my heart, without the temptation to wound them like they wounded me, then maybe I shouldn’t.

Photo by Michael Coghlan
February 5, 2016 by
Social Issues

2 Ways Modern Republicans are Anti-Christian

I was seven when I saw the original Star Wars trilogy, and eleven when The Phantom Menace came out. To say that Star Wars had an impact on me would be one hell of an understatement. I was obsessed. Completely and utterly obsessed. I loved everything about those stories, and almost everything I wrote for over a decade was Star Wars fanfiction.

Like with Star Trek, Star Wars helped shape my views and opinions, and two of the things that affected me most were the Jedi Code and the statement Yoda makes in The Phantom Menace:

Fear is the path to the Dark Side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.

I didn’t fully understand what he meant as a teenager, but as I’ve grown I’ve come to appreciate the truth in this quote. Over the last few months I’ve come to appreciate it even more, as it’s been occasionally difficult to not let my justified and righteous anger over so much of what’s happened– police brutality, domestic Christian terrorism, the utterly depraved, utterly evil policies advocated for by Bush, Cruz, Trump, Carson, and all the rest– to not let that anger transform into hatred.

Hatred would be easy. Hatred would even feel good, probably.

But Yoda was right: hate leads to suffering. What’s become vividly clear to me, watching with nauseated horror this circus-cum-trainwreck, that the Republican party is deeply and terribly afraid– and that fear is leading to anger, and then to hate, and culminating in terrorist attacks and assaults and murders. People’s homes and churches are burning to the ground. Little girls are being attacked at school for wearing a hijab.

Many Republicans say they’re Christians; in my experience, they tend to be Republican because they think that Christianity is Republican. However, the modern Republican approach to many issues– from foreign policy to economics to domestic public health concerns– blatantly contradicts two Christian principles.

In the first chapter of Paul’s second letter to Timothy (if he wrote these letters, which is … doubtful), we find this passage:

 … I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God …  for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control. Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord, nor of me his prisoner, but share in suffering for the gospel by the power of God, who saved us and called us to a holy calling …

The context of this passage is one of suffering . Regardless of whether or not Paul wrote this to Timothy or some later person wrote it in Paul’s name to the persecuted church, it’s clear that the author of this letter was encouraging their reader not to be afraid. To live by their Christian principles (love, joy, peace, kindness, forgiveness), to use their Spirit-given gifts, regardless of what the people around them were doing or what the frightening consequences might be.

God has not given us a spirit of fear, but the modern Republican party is wholly consumed by it. Fear is the driving force behind calls to only admit Christian Syrian refugees (just in case you think Trump’s the only one who thinks Muslims shouldn’t be let into the country, that was Bush). Fear is turning into barely-restrained panic, prodded and goaded by white supremacist, fascist, misogynistic, and homophobic rhetoric. Christians are afraid, and so they’re filing for Title IX exemptions that will allow them to discriminate against women, people of color, and LGBTQ persons while still receiving federal money.

We’re so very afraid, and we’re letting that fear dictate almost all of our political choices. We’re letting unprincipled men and women use that fear as a weapon to control us and maintain their power.

Fear is leading us to suffering.

But it’s not just fear controlling us. We’re being manipulated by lies.

One of themes woven throughout Scripture is that the truth will set you free: that Christians are supposed to value and love truth, that we’re supposed to be honest, that we’re supposed to condemn duplicity. Many of our Bible stories are about the consequences of lies and self-delusions, encouraging all of us to be honest about who we are and what we’ve done.

In fact, truthfulness and honesty are such bedrock Christian principles that the greatest antagonist of our faith is called the Father of Lies:

If God were your Father, you would love me, for I have come here from God. I have not come on my own; God sent me. Why is my language not clear to you? Because you are unable to hear what I say. You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father’s desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies. Yet because I tell the truth, you do not believe me!

We’re afraid of lower social classes, of black people, of LGBT people, of Muslims, of foreigners, and all of that fear is based in lies. We’re Christians– we’re supposed to love and accept the widow and orphan, the foreigner, the weak, the prisoner, and yet conservative Christians have gone out of their way to lie — with unbelievable impunity— about all of these groups for decades.

Read the common Christian propaganda about the AIDS epidemic from the 80s– it’s almost totally bald-faced lies, and the things that aren’t are still twisted half-truths. Or, for a more recent example, look at the videos the went viral this summer that claimed that Planned Parenthood is “selling baby parts” for financial gain. Carly Fiorina is still using this outright deception, and Ted Cruz is just thrilled to pieces with Troy Newman’s endorsement. If you don’t know who Troy Newman is, he argues that people who murder reproductive health providers are committing “justifiable homicide.” All of this led to Robert Dear shooting twelve people at a clinic– and a rapid increase in aggression and violence since the release of the videos.

Many Christians are convinced that the “only faithful Muslim” is a radical jihadist, that “true Muslims” are committed to killing infidels, and peaceful, loving, tolerant Muslims aren’t real Muslims. This is a lie. It’s possible to make any religion look brutal and violent– in fact, a straightforward, un-nuanced, un-contextual reading of the Bible (yes, even the New Testament has its problems) could lead someone to conclude that God wants his followers to commit genocide, since he commanded them to do exactly that repeatedly.

Or how about the despicable lie that transwomen are just looking for a way to assault women in restrooms? The truth– the truth that Christians are supposed to uphold and cherish– is that there have been exactly zero times that this has ever happened. Instead, Christians in Houston fought tooth and nail against allowing trans people to use the appropriate bathroom because of nothing more than fear and lies.

We’re not supposed to be afraid. We’re not supposed to lie. But, instead, it seems like modern and supposedly Christian Republicans are rarely capable of anything else.

December 16, 2015 by
Social Issues

the value of shame

I have … unusual hair. At one point when I was a child, it was so long I could sit on it, but it wasn’t just the length that made it stand out. It was also full, thick, voluminous– or as my partner likes to call it, “robust.” I have thick, wavy hair and I have a lot of it. It was also fairly healthy, so, as long as it was, it kept its body all the way to the ends. Honestly, it didn’t even look real.

Because of that, I tended to attract attention in public. Complete strangers would come up to me and begin stroking my hair without even asking me first. It bothered me, but a part of me preened under all the “oohs!” and “ahhs!” my  hair got me.

So in graduate school, the first time a black colleague came to work with her 4c natural hair down and I asked her if I could touch it, I didn’t think much of my behavior. I was fascinated by her hair– it was the first time I’d ever seen 4c hair worn naturally, and it was so different. She took my request to touch her hair in stride, and I connected that interaction to the sort of thing I’d experienced as a little girl– as maybe a little bit weird, but complimentary.

It wasn’t until a few years later that I realized that asking to touch a black woman’s natural hair is a microagression. Not every black woman I’ve talked to feels the same way about this– one woman honestly doesn’t mind, she sees it as an opportunity for education– but being “curious” or “fascinated” are just examples of all the ways that our culture erases the experiences of black women.

When I started listening to black women talking about all the “curious” and “fascinated” people who’d touched their hair over the years, I felt ashamed. I think back to doing that to my colleague, and something deep inside of me recoils. What I did was racist– and that’s an amusing anecdote compared to other things I’ve done, said, and believed about black and brown people. The only word I can ever come up with is horror. If I could go the rest of my life without admitting to the heinous things I used to think, I would.

***

A little while ago a friend and I were talking about skincare products. I have extremely sensitive skin– I can’t tolerate washing my face with anything besides warm water most of the time– so I’ve been limited to a single line of moisturizers. The line my friend uses is one of the brands that are especially bad for my skin, and when she brought it up, I said:

“Oh, I’d never put that stuff on my face.”

My friend and my partner– who was sitting next to me– were legitimately and appropriate offended by my remark, and called me on it. But I did not understand why they were upset. To me I was purely thinking of how my skin reacted to that brand, and there wasn’t a shred of judgment in her using that line.

Except a listening person couldn’t hear anything except judgment in my choice of words, and regardless of what I meant, intent isn’t magic.

Later that evening I was recounting that conversation with my partner, upset that I’d been “attacked” for expressing an opinion. That was when he realized I had no idea how my words were received. He stopped dead on the sidewalk and said “Sam, you hurt her feelings.”

For a split second I couldn’t believe it, and then I burst into tears. I realized with perfect clarity that he was right, and I heard myself from the outside for the first time that night. I had hurt her, and I was deeply shamed. I cried for the entire car ride home, and the second I saw her I apologized. That whole night, though, I was wracked with shame. The thought I am a horrible person how could I do that to her kept spinning ’round and ’round my head.

***

If there is a writer I wish every ex-fundamentalist could read, it’s Brené Brown. If you have the time and you’ve never seen her TedTalk “Listening to Shame,” I highly recommend it. In the research I’ve done since leaving the fundamentalist cult behind, I’ve done a lot of reading on the differences between shame-based and guilt-based cultures, and I think Christian fundamentalism is a mixture of both. Growing up, shame was an integral part of my identity. Much of Christian culture glorifies shame, enshrining it in concepts like total depravity and calling each other and ourselves “worthless rags” and “worms.”

As Brené puts it, “Shame is the intensely painful feeling that we are unworthy of love and belonging,” which sort of encapsulates total depravity in a nutshell for me. She also says that “Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.”

Shame is paralyzing, especially for those of us who have survived fundamentalism. It was the primary weapon used to control everything about our lives, about the way we think, about what we thought, about what we said and did. For me, when I experience shame today– like after the incidents I related above– it still has the power to stop me dead in my tracks and send me into a feedback loop of I am a horrible, worthless person.

That’s not a healthy reaction.

In that TedTalk, Brené talks about exploring shame without letting it paralyze us like that, to wade through the “swamp” of shame without staying there and settling in. Shame shouldn’t control us, because all it can do is deaden us to the opportunity this new awareness is giving us.

However, I think the ex-fundamentalist community might be going a little bit too far with the “no shame!” bandwagon. We were either a) not given the tools to manage feeling ashamed properly, or b) stripped of those tools– so I completely understand the overwhelming need to try to avoid experiencing it. It’s hard to confront shame head on because we can feel the fear trying to choke us. Feeling ashamed feels like letting ourselves being tugged back under the sometimes inexorable tide of fundamentalism that stills roars in the back of our minds.

When we’re faced with shame, it could be emotionally and mentally easier to not let ourselves experience it; except, when we avoid any opportunity to feel ashamed of ourselves, we’re deterring self-growth.

This is where writers like Brené talk about the differences between guilt and shame. Typically, guilt is portrayed as the positive alternative to shame, but recently I’ve come to disagree. Guilt is an easier emotion to manage, but for me at least that also makes it easier to ignore. Shame, though, is compelling. It’s blinding. The realities about shame that make it so dangerous are also what make it important.

If I didn’t feel bone-deep shame for my racism, or my tactlessness, or my internalized misogyny, or my ableism, if there wasn’t a part of me that felt the part of me that is racist is horrible, I don’t think I’d be as fierce about overcoming those things.

The hard part is not letting shame become a part of my identity. Being racist– and I am racist, not just a person who explicitly or implicitly contributes to systemic racism– is not who I am. It’s a nuanced separation, but it exists. I am bisexual: that cannot, will not ever change. I am and always will be a cis woman.

However, I don’t have to continue being racist: I can unlearn it and change.

But racism, or ableism, or whatever else, are so deeply buried inside of me that it takes moments of heart-stopping shame to overcome it. We can’t let ourselves bury ourselves in shame, to flagellate ourselves with it, to wallow. Shame shouldn’t stay. It should be an emotion we use constructively to motivate us to change, not a weapon we use to punish ourselves.

Photo by Grey World
November 13, 2015 by
Social Issues

Man Enough by Nate Pyle — Review

I first heard about Nate Pyle a while ago, when I read his post “Seeing a Woman” after a colleague posted it on Facebook. I appreciated what he had to say there, and over the last two years he’s become someone with whom I don’t always see eye-to-eye, but I still appreciate. I’ve shared his work a few times, and his voice has proven to be extremely effective at reaching an audience I usually can’t.

So when Sarah Bessey (another person I don’t always see eye-to-eye with) posted a blurb on her page about Man Enough: How Jesus Redefines Manhood, I was curious, and after looking into it I decided this was a book I needed to review (and thanks to my Patrons, I was able to buy it).

There was only one thing I didn’t like about Man Enough. There is a general feel of “the exceptions prove the rule” approach to gender essentialism. While he acknowledges that some women and some men won’t conform to whatever concept he’s discussing at the time, he is comfortable with saying “all women” and “all men” or things like this:

When I play with my young nieces, we never play this game [breaking things like lego towers]; rather, we play house. The imaginative games are always relational in nature … They are always face-to-face and involve a lot of talking.

While extremely simplistic, these examples highlight a general difference between men and women. Men love to be agents of change in the world. … Even in these differences [some men value strength, others value creativity, etc], there is commonality– changing and influencing the world according to our will. (160)

Personally, I think that the wide acceptance of gender essentialism hurts church and ministry effectiveness. If you believe that there is something(s) inherent to being a man or a woman, that will always be a part of how you view them; in my opinion, that view prevents you from seeing a person, in big or small ways, as a unique individual with their own gifts, priorities, and weaknesses. In this case– “men like to be agents of change”– it made me think, well what the hell does he think women like me are doing? If you ask most of the people who know me, they’d tell you “being an agent of change” is my #1 desire, every other priority pales in comparison, and I don’t think I’m an “exception.” I can think of a lot of men who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about this, while nearly every woman I know does.

A book that’s 194 pages long will, by necessity, have some generalities, but I think Nate needs to step back and evaluate this gender essentialist question some more. Is it that men and women have inherent differences, or that the harsh gender binary in America has given men and women, generally speaking, a similar set of experiences and expectations that are divided along strictly regulated lines? That he doesn’t seem to have wrestled with this is a significant weakness in his argument.

But that’s my only real problem, and even I can admit that a lot of his “I’m not trying to erase gender differences” bits are probably intended to make a conservative evangelical comfortable in a book that shouts about a lot of feminist and social justice issues. I highlighted a lot of things I loved, like these:

The inherent danger of equating some Christlike characteristics with masculinity but not with femininity is that we fail to engage women in discipleship that calls them and sanctifies them into the image of Christ. (49)

The problem with militant portrayals of Jesus is that they can quickly and easily be co-opted to endorse the subjugation of those deemed less than masculine– whether that is expressed through racism, sexism, or homophobia. (66)

Using the gospel to reinforce gender roles and ideals redirects our attention away from its central goal: that men and woman will become like Jesus. (157)

I think the strength of this book is that it addresses a lot of the systemic problems present in modern, and extremely gendered, evangelicalism. Nate explains the history and cultural movements that brought us here, and points out that parts of “Christian culture” may not be Christian at all– and he does it all without using feminist or social justice buzzwords that could be off-putting to the very people who desperately need to read this.

One of my favorite themes that he weaves through the second half of the book is that modern “masculinity” is anti-vulnerability in pretty much every conceivable way, but that choosing to be vulnerable is how we develop intimacy in our relationships; it’s how we can make the truest, deepest connections. I encountered that lesson– again– last week when my pro-choice article went up on xoJane. I was taking a beating in the comment section until I was vulnerable. I would have had every right to be defensive, but I chose to be vulnerable with people who were attacking me, to be honest about the grief and remorse I feel. That decision changed some people’s minds and affected others who might have been on the fence about me. I was able to make connections with people– however fleeting they might have been.

Vulnerability is hard. Most of the time it sucks because it requires a level of introspection and self-awareness that can be painful. Vulnerability frequently means risking pain, because truly exposing ourselves is almost always a risk. Nate blends in his own story of coming to terms with vulnerability, honesty, and authenticity in his life, and how embracing those principles enabled him to love others the way he feels called by Christ to do– and it was interesting seeing him trace his steps in his journey toward understanding who he actually is, and not living up to what culture– Christian or secular– says he must be.

In short, I very much recommend this book. I think it is successful for its intended audience, and I’ve known a lot of men who could have used the encouragement in this book. I spend a lot of time on this blog going through the books that put Christian women into a cage, but Man Enough reminded me that it’s not just women who are affected by gender roles. I could never have embraced my true identity in complementarianism, but neither can a lot of men. As long as we’re all being forcefully shoved into a box we don’t fit in, no one is going to be free, or whole.

November 4, 2015 by
Social Issues

5 reasons why everyone needs an ISTJ friend

So I’ve been working on outlining a few heavy and serious posts but I have a migraine today and don’t really feel like writing about what the emphasis on procreative marriage does to Christian theology or how purity culture affected my views of marital sex, so instead I’m doing a Myers-Briggs post!

A word on personality tests like Myers-Briggs: I’m not totally convinced of how accurate these things are, but I have found the Enneagram and Myers-Briggs personally helpful. It was nice to have some parts of myself that I’ve been critical of affirmed in a positive, healing way. Some things are actual problems, and some things are allowed to be personality quirks, and figuring out the difference is a relief.

However, in all the articles I’ve seen float about the web on how awesome ENFJs are (seriously, do ENFJs own the internet, or is that just me?), or how to love your ISFP friend, I’ve never bumped into one on ISTJs. So I’m writing one. Because we’re amazing. Even if we’re supposedly the Stannis Baretheons, Owen Larses, and Severus Snapeses of the world (upside: we’re also the Spocks of the galaxy, so).

1) We’re Extremely Dedicated

One of the more complimentary nicknames for ISTJs is The Duty Fulfiller (less flattering ones, in my opinion, include The Judge and The Inspector). This comes out in a variety of ways, including the fact that we keep our promises, are among the most responsible people you’ll ever meet, and that we are reliable and dependable. But when it comes to our friends, we plain just do not give up. Ever. Once we’ve decided you’re our friend, that’s basically it for us. You’re our friend, and we will cross hell or high water for you. It might take you a while for you to cross that line from “person I don’t totally hate” to “yes take all my kidneys,” but once you do, you’ll never experience loyalty like you will from an ISTJ friend.

2) We’re brutally, terrifyingly honest

How is this a good thing, you wonder? Why would anyone want a “terrifyingly” honest friend? Well, we’re more than just straight-shooters. We don’t do cloak-and-dagger stuff, passive-aggressiveness gives us hives, we don’t leave hints and clues and expect you to just intuit what we’re thinking (the reverse is also true: if you don’t tell us something, we’re guaranteed to have no idea what your problem is). If we have a problem, we’ll either a) know it’s a big enough deal to tell you or b) swallow it and let it go.

The best thing about all of this is that you’ll never be left wondering where you stand with us. There’s no “oh you’re just saying that.” You can trust us to mean what we say. So when we say you’re awesome, we like you, we think you’re smart and pretty and courageous– it’s the Lord’s honest truth. Also our advice is awesome and everyone should take it.

3) We play by the rules

Remember all that talk about being dependable? Well, in friendships, it also means that not only do you have a loyal friend for life, you’ve also got a friend that abides by traditional social codes and mores. We value things like civility, patience, and we definitely do not do things like stab you in the back. Betrayal of any kind is anathema to everything about who we are.

Another upside is that you know we can be trusted to do our best to embody the concept of friend. We take our commitments seriously, and when we say you’re our friend, we do our best to act like it. We defend you to others who are gossiping about you. We’ll bring you chicken soup when you’re sick. If you need to us to drop everything and come right then, we’ll be there in brightest day and blackest night.

4) We see and remember everything

This is the the “sensing” part of ISTJ coming out. And I do really mean everything. Depending on the way our individual brain works, we’ll remember all the addresses of every place you’ve ever lived, all the phone numbers you’ve had, your birthday, your pet’s birthday, your mother’s birthday, the anniversary of [Important Life Event]. We know all your preferences– your coffee order at your favorite coffee shop, your favorite song to listen to when you’re angry, that poem you once mentioned got you through a hard time in your life.

We also keep track of all the wonderful, meaningful, amazing things you’ve ever done or said, and we love you for it.

Also, we know where all the skeletons are in the closet of the person you despise, and we know where the bodies are buried.

My favorite part of remembering everything is that I am a fantastic gift giver. No, seriously. I am the Best Gift-Giver In the Entire World. You exclaim over that adorable hat? We remembered that hat come Christmas. You once mentioned years ago on a whim that you wanted peonies for your wedding centerpieces? Well, if we ever have a reason to buy you flowers, it’ll be peonies.

Obviously, right along with “remembers everything” is “incredibly observant.” We notice you, and we’ve made you important enough to where we pay attention. We have a lot of things flying at us that it can get overwhelming at times, but you– you are the priority, and everything that happens to you matters to us. You can count on us to say “hey, what’s wrong?”

Keep in mind that “observant” and “perceptive” are not the same thing. We’ll notice, we just might know what we’re noticing. We’ll ask, but you’ll have to tell us.

5) We’re the best freaking planners ever

Yes this means that spontaneity isn’t really our scene. Just don’t expect us to be thrilled with anything that involves the words “carefree,” “spur of the moment,” or “carpe diem.” However, give us the time to plan for an event and it will be baller. We are the best researchers, so we will find the cutest little bistro and brunch spot you’ve ever been to. We’ll know about that tiny little hole-in-the-wall shop that has everything you’ve ever wanted inside.

When you’re with us, everything will probably go smoothly. We’ll have obsessed over every single last detail, from making sure the conversation is sparkling to every single last dietary need is met. Everything is done as far in advance as possible, and you’ll be left with nothing but bringing the vegetable tray. We’ll know exactly how much time we’ll need from getting from point A to point B, and we’ll know how to make sure everything gets there. Ever want to take your friends on a road trip? Ask an ISTJ to come with you, and you’ll have every campsite/hotel/hostel/restaurant/gas stop accounted for with six different possible routes.

And we’re introverts– so while we are the Preparedness Royalty, you know you’ll be at the center of our attention. You’re our friend, and we did it for you when we would literally rather die before doing it for anyone else.

~~~

Anyway, those are just some of my observations based on various ISTJ profiles and what I’ve personally experienced. ISTJs need all the love we can get on our moisture farms and potions dungeons.

Photo by Bailey Weaver
October 7, 2015 by
Social Issues

mass shootings are a feminist issue

If you haven’t heard about the mass shooting that took place at Umpqua Community College yesterday, the New York Times gives a decent summary of the facts we know at this point– which, honestly, isn’t much. There’s been a lot of speculation about what drove this particular attack. I followed the #UCCShooting tag for a few hours last night, and the dominant consensus was that the police weren’t releasing the shooter’s identity because they were a bunch of “libtards” who didn’t want to admit that it was a “radical Muslim” who’d “targeted Christians.”

That theory came about because one witness has said that the shooter was asking if any of his targets were Christians, and others who are the friends and family of victims have made similar statements. While I don’t believe that these people are lying, I’m doubtful that this person intended to target specifically Christians because he hated Christianity just that much.

I feel that this man wanted nothing more than attention, and one of the best and guaranteed ways for a mass shooter to garner as much attention as possible in this country is to invoke Columbine and Cassie Bernall. Making Christians think that they’re being persecuted is a surefire way to make sure your story makes it into — and stays in— the popular consciousness. The only reason why I heard of Columbine, back before social media and “going viral” was a thing, was because of Cassie.

I think he “targeted Christians” for the attention because of two reasons. The first reason is that the experts say that mass shooters exist because of the attention we give them.

We’ve had twenty years of mass murders, throughout which I’ve repeatedly told CNN and our other media that if you don’t want to propagate more mass murders, don’t start the story with sirens blaring, don’t have photographs of the killer, don’t make this 24/7 coverage, do everything you can not to make the body count the lead story, don’t to make the killer some kind of anti-hero. Do localize this story to the affected community and make it as boring as possible to every other market. Because every time we have intense saturation of coverage of a mass murder, we expect to have two more within the week.

Dr. Park Dietz

The second reason is that he said he was doing this for the attention on 4chan’s /r9k (one of the places where #GamerGate was spawned, and is a board dedicated to “relationship advice”). He posted his intentions, added that “This is the only time I’ll ever be in the news I’m so insignificant,” and was encouraged by the community and given advice on how to kill as many people as possible.

I’ve read through that particular thread multiple times, and it’s clear from that thread as well as breakdowns like this one (only go there if you can stomach it) that the /r9k community is filled with self-described “betas,” who are pretty obsessed with how wronged they are by women not having sex with them. Even though the shooter didn’t state that he was doing this because women had wronged him like the Isla Vista shooter, the instantaneous reaction in the thread was to call this “The Beta Uprising.”

And then this happened:

4chan 1

“If only he had been consoled or had a [girlfriend] then maybe he wouldn’t have went off the deep end like this and many lives would have been saved.”

4 chan 2

“A [girlfriend] could have prevented this … state mandated [girlfriends] when?”

4 chan 3

“If only he had a girlfriend this wouldn’t have happened. We need to save the troubled souls not make fun of them. You all make me sick.”

4 chan 4

“If only he had a girlfriend he wouldn’t have resorted to this. #betalivesmatter”

4 chan 5

“Also it’s because all the girls date douchebags rather than the [Original Poster] or moi.”

That last one especially made me sick because it’s apparently possible for “willing to commit mass murder” not to appear on someone’s “this makes you a douchebag” list. The whole thread made me sick because it was essentially a bunch of people either praising the shooter, calling him “legendary,” or saying that it’s women’s fault that this happened. We’re not willing to date mass murderers and that makes it our fault.

The feminist critique of that should be obvious, so I’m not going to spend much time on it.

We know that these mass killings usually happen because men want attention. Women do similar things, too, but much more rarely, and for different reasons. There’s been a lot of conversation happening recently on toxic masculinity, like with the #masculinitysofragile tag on Twitter, and it seems intuitive to me that actions like mass shootings are an outgrowth of this reality in our culture. Boys are taught from a very early age that violence and aggression are two of the principle methods to gain respect– when you combine that with how men aren’t allowed to respond to their emotions in natural, healthy ways, the result is that men frequently respond destructively. Often that includes suicide, but it often makes it possible for men to be violent in ways like mass shootings.

However, I think this is bigger than just toxic masculinity. I think it’s our entire patriarchal culture. Toxic masculinity tells men that they need to be dominant and aggressive, but patriarchy tells men that they have a whole plethora of rights. Among these “rights” are things like “I deserve to have women sleep with me.” Most relevant among the messages that patriarchy screams at men is that they deserve to be at the top of everything– to be in control of the money, of government, of companies, of universities, of departments … Patriarchy tells men that if they are not the center of things, if they do not have total control of their environment, that they have to do something to assert their masculinity and superiority.

Sometimes this means abusing their partners.

Sometimes this means neglecting their families in favor of overtime.

Sometimes this means mass shootings.

As a friend put it: “entitlement is a hell of a thing.”

Gun violence in America is a real concern, and I think something fundamental must change in our gun laws in order to avert these kinds of situations in the future. But, I don’t think that largely unregulated firearms and ammunition is the only problem. Some would like to use the red herring of “mental illness,” but more and more often these people are telling us exactly why they’re willing to commit these acts. In Charleston it was blatantly racism. In Isla Vista it couldn’t have been more clear that it was misogyny. And now, in Oregon, this shooter felt robbed of the attention he felt he naturally deserved– from women and society– and he was willing to murder people in order to get it.

Feminism is an answer to this problem. We know that when gender parity and egalitarianism becomes common, violence declines. It is not a given that society must be this violent, must be this wracked with terror and grief. Feminism has taught me to prioritize empathy and understanding, and I believe that if those were to become the virtues of our society– instead of power and wealth, the virtues of white supremacist capitalist patriarchy— our world would be a much better place.

And maybe, just maybe, mass shootings would become a thing of the past instead of a daily reality.

Photo by John Spade
October 2, 2015 by