Save me from the New York state of mind-Amanda Green

Schools. Institutions of learning and nurturing. Places where our kids go to learn socialization and skills they can use as they grow up. The training ground of our younger generation so they can help make the world a better place. Riiiiight.

Schools today have abdicated their role as institutes of learning. It didn’t happen overnight. It was a slow process. I can’t even say where it started, not for the nation as a whole. Here in Texas, it started when state and federal mandates made it impossible for teachers to teach. Lesson plans suddenly had to be approved first by the department chair and then by the administration. Now, in many districts, lesson plans come from Admin and are filtered down.

Oh, the supporters of this say it is a way to guarantee all our children get the same education. The problem with this is that our kids aren’t all the same. They don’t learn the same ways and they don’t learn at the same rate. That, in essence, is the heart of the first problem of education. Teachers can no longer adjust the curriculum to meet the needs of the individual students. Oh, technically they can, but they have to go through so many administrative hoops that, by the time the deviation from the plan is approved, the harm as has been done. Either it is too late and the semester is over or the kid is so bored or so lost that there is no hope of getting him back.

Then there came the standardized tests that became a major part of the grades. Down here they were called TAAS and TAKS and TEEKS and who knows what other names. Most parents and teachers called tem useless. The tests took away from teaching time because school funding, and teachers’ jobs, were tied to how well students did on these tests. So district after district took to teaching to the test – and teaching how to take the test – instead of teaching what kids needed to learn to be successful adults.

Watered down curricula led to watered down grading systems. Some districts outlawed homework. Teachers had to give students enough time to do their assignments in class. IF there was homework, it wasn’t to be graded. I don’t know about the rest of you, but when I was in school, especially before I started thinking about college, if I didn’t have to do homework, I didn’t do it. Following close on the heels of that were the districts that made test grades transient. By that I mean students would be allowed to take a test over and over again until they got the grade they wanted. Forget about the extra work this made for the teacher. Forget about the fact it took away from teaching time because you had to review the material with the student who decided it was more important to go out and mess around than study for the test. Most of all, forget about teaching our kids that there are consequences for their actions or inactions.

Then came the Feds to tell schools what sort of drinks and snacks they could or could not have in the vending machines at their schools. Okay, I get that the Feds meant well. But I don’t need the government telling me what I – or my child – can eat or drink. Nor do I need the Feds taking away money makers from the schools and not replacing that money. Why? Because it means school taxes will go up. Schools sought a middle ground which worked for awhile. The vending machines would be placed in areas like the lunchroom that could be locked off during most of the school day. That worked for a bit and then the Feds said “no”. All bad stuff had to be gone from the premises.

The food police rode in. Students are expelled for bringing peanut butter sandwiches to school because someone might be allergic. The First Lady has made it her mission to make all our kids into “healthy eaters”. I’m sorry, not her job. I repeat: That is not her job. I remember the days when my son wouldn’t eat anything but peanut butter or pizza or any one of several other items. If I didn’t have the option of sending what he’d eat with him to school for lunch, well, he just wouldn’t have eaten. He didn’t care if the First Lady said something was good for him. All he wanted was what tasted good and I guarantee you that wasn’t a salad or broccoli.

Now we have the schools fat shaming our kids. I remember when the President’s Council on Physical Fitness became big back in the 60’s. We had thing like recess where we ran and played. Sure, there was the occasional skinned knee or sprained ankle. But we had fun, ran off energy so we could pay attention in class and we burned off the calories. We weren’t wrapped in cotton wool and protected from falls or bumps and scrapes. The only time we didn’t go outside for recess was if it was raining or too cold. Since this is Texas, that didn’t happen very often.

But our society has turned into a bunch of wimps. If there is the slightest possibility that a kid might get his feelings hurt or have a hangnail, it isn’t allowed on the playground. I’m not talking about bullying. I’m talking about being picked last in a team sport or even just keeping score. We’re teaching out kids that they are all winners and, I hate to tell you this, but they aren’t. At least they aren’t in everything. If we don’t let our kids see and experience failure as they grow up, they won’t be able to deal with it when they become adults.

Don’t think that will be a problem? Google “affluenza” and then tell me that we don’t face problems when kids aren’t taught the consequences of their actions.

Now, throw in politicians like good ole Bloomberg who banned oversized sodas because there are too many people with weight problems. His reasoning was that no one needed to buy that much soda at one time. Well, I hate to tell him this but, if someone wants that much soda, they will buy it, whether it is in one big cup or in a refillable smaller cup. Besides, who is he to tell anyone how much soda they should or should not drink?

Oh, I know. He’s also the politician who is making it his new life’s mission to disarm the citizens of this country. Funny, I have a feeling he’d scream pretty damned loudly if that meant his own personal bodyguards had to give up their guns too.

Or maybe it is just New York craziness. After all, it is the New York Department of Education that sent home “fitnessgrams” to students not so long ago. These fitnessgrams, based loosely on a program out of the Cooper Institute in Dallas, reported the students’ BMI and noted whether or not the students were overweight. Most of us probably wouldn’t have heard anything about it except for one 9 year old girl who is anything but overweight.

A bit of background. In November, students were measured and weighed. This included Gwendolyn Williams. At 9 years old, she stands 4’1” and weighs 66 pounds. She is also a typical kid. Given the Fitnessgram and told not to look, well, it was too tempting not to do just that. Especially since the Fitnessgram was sealed only with a small sticker that could easily be put back in place. So Gwendolyn, like so many other kids, looked.

Fortunately, when she saw the notation that she was overweight and needed to consult a physician, the girl didn’t have any body issues. In fact, she seems to have her head on pretty straight. Even more fortunate, her mother didn’t take the notice lying down and she went to see her daughter’s principal the next day. And here is where you really have to wonder if we aren’t living in a warped version – more warped version? – of the Twilight Zone. Instead of expressing outrage over what the Fitnessgram said, the principal noted that Gwendolyn had been told not to open it. So, let’s shift the blame to the kid again.

Here’s my problem with all this. First, it is obvious the girl isn’t overweight. More than that, she is active and healthy. Yet the NY Department of Education is using a questionable test to tell her the exact opposite. PE teachers are measuring, weighing and taking the heights of their students and this is what these reports are based on. There is, to my knowledge, no physical activity portion of the test – something that is now included in the Cooper Institute’s fitness program and FitnessGram. Worse, with the NY Department of Education “rethinking” the FitnessGram, it isn’t rethinking how it is being used or administered. No, it is only rethinking the fact that maybe it isn’t a good thing to send it home with students. They are looking at other ways to get the information out to the parents.

Head meet wall. Better yet, their heads need to meet walls many times.

We condemn magazines and video ads for their unrealistic portrayal of bodies, especially women’s bodies. Yet no one in the so-called Department of Education seems to see a problem with labelling perfectly fit and normal kids, male and female, overweight or obese. They don’t recognize the potential problems this sort of thing can bring on the kids. Nor do they realize this is, in its own way, a form of bullying. “You don’t meet our standards, so we are going to call you names and tell you how bad you are/how badly you are raising your kids.”

There has to come a time when we finally say “enough is enough”. Surely that time has come. As parents, we need to take back the parenting of our kids. It isn’t up to the state to raise them for us nor is it for the schools. Common sense has a place in our lives and in our education. The home school movement is continuing to grow because of the idiocy happening in our schools. Unfortunately, not every family is equipped to homeschool. I’m not sure what the answer is but, whatever it is, it needs to come soon before we have yet another generation of kids who don’t understand that there are consequences to their actions, that they aren’t going to excel at everything they do and that they can make their own decisions about what to do with their lives – including what they eat and drink. It will then be up to them to live with the consequences of their choices.

So, I was listening to Waldo and Magic yesterday (by Robert A. Heinlein) while I did some stuff around the house. I have to listen to a book while cleaning/packing because, you see, otherwise I get bored. And when I get bored I wander off and things are left undone. So, I was listening to the book and doing stuff, and was charmed in Waldo (mild spoilers) by the notion that we set reality. What we believed was true. Before Galileo’s theories (He wasn’t the first one) were accepted the Earth was at the center of the universe and flat and the sun was a light in the sky, and you could touch the sky from the highest mountain. With a ladder.

There is something oddly comforting in thinking that all the perplexities of the universe, all the complications of our current existence, are all of them in our mind, and we could wish them differently.

Yes, I know there is some support for the idea that our mind affects more than should rationally be possible. There might be a basis for faith healing and, yep, the whole universe might be a hologram affected by the mind – BUT NOT LIKE THAT. (Which is too bad because if it were, we could totally decide the solar system planets were habitable, and we could have colonies on the moon this year. Pasturing cattle. Never mind.)

But influenced by the mind or not, reality both of the world and the human mind has hard edges that won’t bend or soften because we want it to.

There are inflexible laws to both how external reality works and how internal reality works. Things don’t happen just because you close your eyes and believe really hard. And people really believe that, modern people, like us. Take, for instance DNC attendees convinced they could levitate the Denver Mint.)

The thing we have to remember is that this doesn’t mean these people are stupid, or even mentally ill in the classical sense. Their issue is closer to Reagan’s “they know so many things that just aren’t so.” And to an extent that’s because the Geeks have inherited the Earth. And to an extent it is because communism fell.

To explain: I used to wonder if magic had ever worked, because why would our ancestor, living tight, close to the bone, and lives of really loud desperation (compared to us) invest so much time in something that never paid off.

This question is not exactly true. It did pay off to an extent, physically, since a lot of natural healing, or other basic but weird learning went under the name of “magic” and those parts worked. What I underestimated and what I am slowly coming to understand, in the face of the insanity of feminists, in SFWA and out, in the face of the insanity of communists because “this time it will work” and in the face of the summer of recovery two and three and four and five and… which people still believe in, is that such beliefs even when they didn’t work, worked.

The world has always been too hard for some percentage of humans. The mind has always been unable to face reality naked. What I mean is, for those of us who believe in something more, it’s easy to say “He won’t give me more than I can handle,” but what about the others? What about those who’ve convinced themselves that there’s nothing but humans, nothing but the naked human mind and the uncaring universe. I don’t mean the ones who have some measure of doubt. All of us, even the most faith-filled have some measure of doubt, and the measure changes through the days and years – I mean the ones who were brought up to believe that anything religious is crazy talk. The ones who try to be “sane” in a peculiar way no human has ever quite managed.

I normally don’t bring religion into these posts, but given the theme, it behooves us to remember that a very wise rabbi who might or might not have been something else said “Man doesn’t live from bread alone.” Even if it’s not your belief or your tradition, you have to acknowledge the wisdom in it. It has taken me years to figure it out.

Most ancient religions were magic. Most primitive religions were magic. It seems to be the base setting of human belief, something along the lines of “I pull this lever and supernatural being dances to my command.” This is something that the more sophisticated and modern churches fight against constantly, because in modern religion, it is still a temptation.

When you remove the more sophisticated religion from the choices for (eh) sophisticated humans, and when those humans aren’t sophisticated enough to face the world with a naked mind (and most people aren’t) you get magic again.

Only this time because the Geeks have conquered the Earth, we get magic with a justification. They know just enough about a quantum universe and the crazier theories at the fringe of science, and they’ve read Diana Wynne Jones or similar, where magic will work on Earth if enough people believe it. They know just enough to convince their sophisticated minds that this time, if we believe enough it will work.

Why this is suddenly, incredibly important (and the reason why mainstream publishing has for decades been pushing fantasy over science fiction – not as a plan, but as a coping mechanism for themselves) is that communism fell. Their “religion” fell. It was proven false.

In the early nineties European communists looked dazed, as the truth about the Soviet Union came out. They stumbled around like living dead.

American communists were more insulated because our papers never published the full insanity and evil that went on in communist countries.

There were a lot more communists in America than you think, and many who didn’t (still don’t) know they’re communist. What they want is indistinguishable from the program of CPUSA, but they don’t know it. They think it’s only “logical” and “sensible” and what “all good people think.” This is because they were taught this by parents, grandparents, schools.

The point is they can’t face it. They can’t face the history that Marxism has failed everywhere it was tried. (Yesterday I read an article about Marxism and how Marx’s theory of immiseration has failed miserably and even Marx would laugh at the sorry asses of modern “Marxists” but I can’t find it. If any of you read it, throw me a link? I didn’t even know that, of course, because my teachers had bought into “third world immiseration” — which doesn’t make any sense, not even remotely, because their lives have been getting better too, unless their local leaders are communists, in which case it functions as well as for everyone else. Salamandyr found it  and here’s the link.) Instead they put hands in ears and go “this time will be different.”

This is because they believe in magic. Oh, most of them, unless they are hard core fans, are not so silly that they CALL it magic and most of them wouldn’t try to do something so stupid as to try to levitate the Denver Mint.

But they believe in magic nonetheless, at the gut level where it might be impossible to eradicate it from the human psyche except with the aid of the more evolved religions.

They believe in magic at the level of “if we do what’s ‘right’” then the right things will happen. Except what they believe is right is part of the religion of Marxism or one of the curious subsets that have emerged, such as radical feminism or “downtrodden race supremacy.”

In this universe, while it’s completely crazy to raise taxes in a recession, it’s still the “right” thing from a moral point of view, because finite pie, and everything the rich stole belongs to us. (The idea of “You didn’t create that” goes deep. They literally don’t think it’s possible to create wealth.) And while the idea of killing 90% of men or preventing 90% of baby boys from being born is not only abhorrent to us, but self-obviously would create hell on earth, it’s the “right” thing to do and therefore doing it should bring rewards they’ve learned to expect.

To us this is heinous, to them it’s an article of faith.  If you truly believe women are naturally superior and more peaceful (yay, magic vaginas!) then NOT making sure 90% of humanity are female would be evil.  And they truly believe this.  It only requires them to ignore EVERY real woman they know, but faith is like that.

Fortunately they can’t try out the second one. The first one is being done by the sneaky means of printing a lot of money and thereby devaluing all savings and denuding the middle class.

And they’re trying a lot of other crazy, self-obviously dangerous and stupid things, like apologizing to third world dictators and appeasing tyrants. To us, this is dangerous and insane, but to them it’s the right thing, and so it SHOULD bring peace.

See, the problem is that if they accept communism was wrong, wrong from the beginning, that it was a cult and as a cult it has failed to produce results, the emotional pain will kill them.  So they believe that if we all just wanted it really hard, and if they do all “the right” things, it will work.  “This time it will work.”

It’s no coincidence that both communists and Nazis were obsessed with researching the supernatural.  At some level they knew that was the only way it would “work.”

Our ancestors held on to crazy beliefs because it made it easier to live in a world where most of what they thought they knew was wrong and more often than not bit them in the ass.

Our “liberal” friends are in the same pickle. And no, I don’t know how to fix it, because no, rubbing their nose in reality doesn’t help. If the reality of the mess the USSR really was didn’t fix them, if they can believe Che “I club children to death with my riffle” Guevara was a sort of sensitive idealist, if they can believe this lousy economy is “recovering”, if they can believe, against all history, that bowing and scraping to tyrants like Putin will bring peace…. We can’t reach them. What can we use that will get through?

Nothing. And attempts to try make them uncomfortable and lead them to more psychotic responses. Hence why the Social Justice Whiners of SFF have now CONVINCED themselves that they live in a sort of chattel servitude and that until their enlightened selves appeared on the scene SF/F was all wall to wall white males writing about machinery.  This only requires them to ignore the last fifty years of publication history.  It’s much easier to believe than that you can levitate a building in the middle of Denver.  Child’s play.

And yes, they’re mad at us, because at some level they “know” that if we all JUST believed the same way, the world would work the way they want it to.  We’re keeping them form their paradise.  It would all be lovely if we just let them do the “right things.”  (Which involves, variously the rest of us “shutting up” or “going away and dying.”)

It won’t of course. Reality has sharp edges that won’t bend. As sure as the fire will burn, their attempts to do what they learned is the right thing will only bring more pain.  Because what they learned is the “right” thing has nothing to do with reality.  It is — not even religious — a magic belief, with no basis in reality.  And so it will fail.

But that will only make them crazier.

Is there a point where the tide turns? I don’t know. The human mind is an amazing, supple thing. Justifying is what it does. Civilizations have had their “hit bottom, turn around” moments, but the thought of what it would take for that makes my blood run cold and I don’t think we’re headed for that – not in our life times, at least.

So what comes next? I don’t know. They will continue to shrill for a long time. Louder, as things get worse. Just be ready for that.

And teach the children well. There is some indication that at least the kids can see reality, once they’re out of school some years. At least some of them. (The crazy we’ll always have with us.)

There will always be some people trying to levitate the Denver Mint or its equivalent. Some people really need fluffy pink clouds around the edges of their reality. But provided we stop now, and combat everywhere we can the bizarre idea that communism is the most advanced form of government and that we’re inevitably headed there, we should eventually be all right.

Oh, not in my life time, and possibly not in the lifetime of anyone reading this. But this mess started before we were born. We’re in it for the long game.

Just keep fighting, and be aware that for a while the response is not going to be just hateful, or just crazy. The response is going to be bonkers (as well as hateful and repugnant.)

If we’re very lucky, the world won’t end in chickens, and the species will recover from this wobble and go on.

Misandry – by Cedar Sanderson

Lately I’ve run into a sort of bizarre mentality. People expect to be safe. I mean, really safe, everywhere, all the time.

No, I’m not being ironical. Which I only need to explain because this bizarre idea that you can be safe everywhere, so perfectly safe that nothing bad ever happens.

Do I need to tell you that’s impossible?

Three incidents from my life:

My older son was three when we took him to visit my parents, who took us to a nice beach resort for a week. The place is extremely safe. At night you might run into a drunkard, and of course, you could drown (though you’d have to make an effort. I can’t swim and never managed it, not even as a kid.) Safe, right?

My mom took my son for a walk. Walking along the street above the beach, kid starts screaming, his face starts swelling. He was stung by a bee and we had to take him to emergency for a shot.

Is the sane thing to call for legislation for bee control? Or to carry an eppi pen? (He doesn’t even do that, turns out this wasn’t exactly a normal bee and his allergy is very specific, so if we’re not in Portugal, he’s fine. And the reason I’m not being specific here is that I only understood half the explanation, even in Portuguese. He is, however, deathly scared of bees to this day.)

Take last week – I was in my kitchen, about to make lemon tea for my son who had a cold, when suddenly I THOUGHT someone had thrown a stone at the window.

It wasn’t. It was hail storm from h*ll. It ended up okay, but if we’d been out walking, I’d probably have been (at least) concussed. Hail control? Or keep a – ah – weather eye out and a place in mind to run to while out walking in summer?

Take the time I was 20 and someone came out of a dark alley and grabbed me as I left college after dark in Portugal. Madman control? No, of course not. What I should have had is a gun, but this was not allowed in Portugal and my dad refused to get me one. So I defended myself with what I had on hand and ran away.

Take that last incident. Every time something like this happens here, I hear talking heads both wringing their hands over “how could this have happened” and calling for laws to prevent it.

Somehow, the idiot in Hollywood who killed people with a knife and a gun is the fault of the NRA for… encouraging the people to have the means to defend themselves.

Honestly, I think this is the “baby proof” generation and their parents distorting the thoughts of the nation.

When I first got pregnant, my oby-gyn gave me a packet on baby proofing the house. I jaw-dropped.

I grew up in an early nineteenth century farmhouse, imperfectly adapted to the 20^th. In another country. Yes, we had exposed electrical wires, massive furniture I could pull on top of myself, stuff that was dangerous stored where I could reach it. It never occurred to grandma to move the wood-chopping ax, let alone the knife drawer. In the yard, there were agricultural implements, in my grandfather’s carpentry workshop, well, everything. And I played in there all the time.

It never occurred to anyone to move things, take things away, hide things so that the world was a safe play pen for me.

Instead, they made me a world-proofed the child. A lot of watching, a lot of “don’t touch that, because—” Some slaps if I insisted on trying it. (Who, me, stubborn?) Not SPANKING as such understand? Kids that small, a little slap on the hand and they recoil. Oh, wait, people are against physical punishment, so their kids never learn to control themselves. Because little slaps on the hand will make the child violent, or something. This despite the fact every great ape spanks. (And don’t come to me with our being rational beings. Two year olds aren’t. And at any rate this sort of thing needs to be trained-in below the conscious level. It’s not a “reason with me” moment.)

Were there incidents? Only one. I danced barefoot on a wood pile granddad had bought from a demolition to recycle. (Apparently mahogany of a certain type is only obtainable that way.) Tetanus shot, trip to the hospital. I lived. I also didn’t do it again.

Should he not have had the wood in the workshop yard, because I existed? I bet now they’d charge him with neglect. And it would be stupid. NO ONE CAN KEEP TRACK OF A SIX YEAR OLD EVERY SECOND. IT’S IMPOSSIBLE.

Yesterday in comments there was talk about how women shouldn’t have to defend themselves. Men should be taught “not to rape.” Oy. Where to start. Most men never have any interest in rape. (Unless you define rape as “looked at me funny.”) Those that do aren’t likely to take teaching any too well.

The best thing you can do when someone is threatened is to have them defend themselves. They’re right there, and it’s their life on the line.

There are limits to this, of course. I couldn’t send my little ones armed to school. So I taught them what to do if they even suspected there was an intruder. Schools are gun free zones, of course, but that doesn’t stop people intent on killing other people from bringing them in. It’s a funny thing. If you’re going to do murder, you’re okay with violating rules. And what’s more, you know all victims and their teachers are disarmed.

So I taught the kids to use EVERYTHING – desks, books, chairs – as a weapon. And, before it came to that, if they even suspected there was a shooter, break a window, get out, run away in zigzags. If it wasn’t a shooter, mommy will explain and pay.

Paranoid? Better paranoid and alive…

The world can’t be made safe. There’s always a mad man. You need to be able to do what you can to defend yourself and others.

And if the worst still happens? None of us is immortal. You can die in a crash, and you can die of a bullet. Or you can die safe in your bed. Dead is dead. I wonder if these precious flowers of “I wanna be protected” realize that some day they’ll die. Sure as shooting. No matter how careful they are.

And the same goes for nations. You can’t have a safe world. The war to end all wars wasn’t, and wasn’t said by anyone sane.

No matter how GOOD you are as a nation, and how much you apologize, it’s a wide world, someone will attack you.

You can’t babyproof the world, and it’s scary when we have an administration that thinks if we’re attacked it’s all our fault.

World politics ain’t beanbag. If you both want the same thing, you will fight. And even if your nation decides not to – say, sends Putin a stern rebuke instead of a nuke – the other side won’t stop because of that. On the contrary. Aggressors don’t take your pacifism as an example. They just view pacifists as easy prey.

For this reason, we have fighting men, who volunteer to defend the nation. May G-d bless them and keep them and provide them leadership who won’t expend them in futile gestures and grand philosophical crusades.

And may those who gave their life protecting this nation rest in peace, and know that in a world that can’t be made safe, they did what they had to do.

And let’s not forget them, their sacrifice, nor how necessary it was.

*Before I fully give the floor to Jason, if he needed his point proven, there was Tore this last week accusing the Holocaust survivors who made in this country of “white privilege.”  Apparently if your skin is white-ish, you’re automatically privileged.  Centuries of progroms, inquisitions, expulsions and suffering discrimination, but you don’t have enough of an hereditary tan, so shut up, you’re privileged.  THAT, my friends, is racism, straight up, with no dilution — Sarah*

Aristocracy of Victimhood- by Jason Hobbs

I am a terrible person.

Allow me to first introduce myself: I am Jason, a conservative-leaning white, Christian, cismale heteronormative fascist. Because of my birth-gifted sexism/racism/homophobia I have very little authority with which to tell you, dear reader, about the Aristocracy of the Victim.

It’s a trend I’ve been noticing more of as late, as people are told “Check your privilege” instead of simply “shut up.” This is one of those Alinskyite tactics of language control which confers superiority of the person demanding the check while at the same time seeming ‘profound’ and ‘enlightened’. Moreover, it’s about authority and submission–the Authority of the Victim seeking the submission of the Enemy of the Week.

Allow me to explain. For the past several hundred years, the world has seen a massive shift of power. A funny little country of Odds managed to rise up against one of the great world powers, throw off the chains of an aristocracy and oppressive government and determine its own path. What’s worse, it’s been steadily growing more free, throwing out year after year, decade after decade the different trappings of hierarchy and class. People who were oppressed, who were regarded as little more than property, people who were once considered sub-human all have been given a place at the table. It’s by no means perfect but is going to continue being an on-going process of growth…unless certain folks have their say in the process.

America, quite frankly, is an abnormality. We put our dirty laundry out, we agonize over ideas, and we place the individual ahead of the state. We tell people they can rise above their assigned or born class and be greater, not in spite of their origins but because of their work. Unfortunately, throughout history this behavior has generally not been the case. Despite any claims to meritocracy, there always tended to be a ruling class defined by birth. Born to a king or a noble? Congratulations, you win at life. Born as a serf? I hope you like dirt, because you’re going to be seeing a lot of it. Look around the world. Ancient Persia, Feudal Japan, Pre-Communist Russia. Say what you will about Game of Thrones, Martin nails the worth of the serf perfectly.

Enter America, and the formula changed.

There’s one problem, however: some people have issues with all this rampant freedom going on and without the ability to slide people into their little classification boxes the world ends up too big and scary. (Where this comes from is something I’m not going to bother with; see a shrink.) This attitude tends to be prevalent in the Progressive movement–just study a moment the early Progressives of the 1900s, obsessed with superiority of race and ideals. If you don’t believe me, go ahead and look it up. I’ll be right here waiting for you. And no, I’m not going to feed you a link. Go forth and claim knowledge for yourself!

Alright, back? Great!

The question is, how does one divide people by class if it’s become a cultural and social taboo to do so? Simple! By raising up those different classes as paragons of inferiority and victimhood, you can be as condescending and judgmental as you please, but now you’re doing it because you care so very, very much about them. Thus, a form of Victimhood Aristocracy was born.

Instead of being called inferior or lesser because of your race, gender, religion or orientation, you’re now a victim. And the more of these ‘titles’ you claim for yourself, the greater your ‘authority’ to fight the ‘injustice’ which made you a victim. For example, to the progressives today, a transgendered homosexual African (Dark skin–white skin need not apply) Muslim holds an incredible amount of moral authority (not to mention mind-blowing amounts of irony)–congratulations, you are now the Duke/Duchess of Victimistan. If they speak, they are to be listened to as long as they continue to speak the proper ideology, though their various titles protect them to a point from ideological heresy accusations. Too much heresy and the condescension and hate will become overt, of course, and they will be stoned for their transgressions.   Myself, on the other hand…

I am told to be silent, to “check my privilege.” If I still speak out, I am to be shunned, unless the words I use are of the correct ideology. In that case, I become a champion of the cause to be lauded…right up until I say the wrong thing. Then I’m required to pay a fine and go on an apology tour. But I digress.

The fact is, victimhood and its aristocracy of titles is nothing more than a softer form of unwitting racism, homophobia, sexism and general hate. It’s just been sugared up so it tastes better and is being used daily to carve us up back into our little segregated groups to deal with all this pesky freedom America’s been spreading.

Because if there’s one thing aristocracy and dictators hate, it’s the proles thinking they can do on their own something greater than their allotted station.

Guys, I have a chapter half written, I do.  And I’ve been sitting here, trying to finish it, but–

But–

Yesterday the older son — elephantus majorus (totally Latin, shuddup) — graduated summa cum laude (this really is Latin) and as outstanding undergraduate student in his area, with a BS in bio and a BA in chem.  There is something about this type of occasion, and a day spent celebrating (you know this family’s wild and crazy parties.  Yep.  The zoo.  How did you guess?) that leaves me totally wiped out.

I NEED to write on Through Fire, and I need to write a WAY overdue novella, and the chapter is just cluttering up everything else.

However, if you need something to read — and who doesn’t — sashay over for Cedar’s view on Amazon and the current Amazon is teh ebil madness — they want, of course, the government to step in.  We pause the outrage to remind you: Amazon is a business.

For those who don’t know what has been going on with Archon, here’s some level setting: From the Lair of the International Lord of Hate, and from Mad Mike, who is more than a little miffed, and from me.

And meanwhile, did you know the reason Holocaust survivors did well in America was “White Privilege” — if you’re like my friend Kate, There Are No Words.  (Which is funny because I said several, starting with “F**k Toure and his eastern seaboard upper class college education and his easy living, coasting in America privilege.  Also his little dog too.  Just for completeness.”

And none of these upheavals help the writing, so now I’m going to write.  Through Fire.  Because.

I was going to write about something completely different, mostly about “victimhood as saintliness” but I was listening to Waldo and Magic (Robert A. Heinlein) while cleaning the kitchen, and something rubbed me wrong. More than once, he referred to the formation of the UN as ending war; and then he mentioned “the US had an army at the time.”

And my hackles were well and truly up.

Oh, I understand how Heinlein came to make that mistake. You see, he sort of assumed that the UN would be run with American values. It was a logical mistake. At the end of WWII we were a colossus bestriding the globe. And everyone who has been in that position before imposed its values and its culture on the world.

We didn’t. Part of it might have been our administration at the time and the shameful deal that created the cold war.

Part of it might have been that we didn’t want to scare Europe and wanted to make them feel like equal partners.

I think it was a mistake, and means we’ll fight a global war again. (I might be wrong, but I think I can sniff it in the wind.)

The point is that the UN without universal values that all the world agrees on is a sheep and ten wolves arguing what is for dinner. It has become a vehicle for countries that would otherwise be totally disregarded – and which by culture should be. I mean, Iran is in charge of women’s status in the UN – to hit out at bigger, more successful countries. Also for countries to cadge Dane Geld from bigger, richer countries (mostly the US.)

One wonders how long the scam can go on, when it’s obvious that this is not a way to create universal peace, which is how it was billed. Instead it’s a rent seeking organization with a side order of “make the US feel guilty” which is necessary, of course, for rent seeking.

But that’s not the topic of this. The topic of this is the concept of internationalism.

I was talking to a friend this week, and he said the world – due to increasing connectivity – is bound to become a mono-culture. We’re already trending that way. And if it becomes a mono-culture, it will stop having “stop points” and “corrective measures.”

Look, all cultures go crazy now and then, sometimes temporarily, sometimes terminally. Sometimes they survive their insanity for a while. Rome was nutso-crazy for centuries before it died. But Rome lived in a more stable world. Europe (and at this level, Europe IS a monoculture) has been howlingly insane since WWI. I’m not sure Europe will survive. I’m not sure it would have survived this long without our financial, moral, and cultural influence making it a “satellite culture.” Frankly, I doubt it. And if we crash, they’re going to hurt worse than you can imagine. I remember living there and how much fun the seventies were because ya’ll went crazy and elected the peanut farmer. I gather they’re almost as interesting now. And of course, the Europhiles in and out of the US don’t see this. Never mind…

The point is that a mono-culture which goes howlingly insane at the same time could destroy not just civilization or culture, but the whole race.

Which is why my friend said it was important to get to space, and to create societies that aren’t so close and so easy to influence. So that – in that sense – diversity can lend strength. A world or colony could collapse, and another would go on. For the species.

I agree with him, but that’s besides the point.

I’m going to come back to the idea of the UN, of a world body that can stop wars, and teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.

Not only is that impossible, unless we agree on one culture (Be fair to the soviets. Their internationalism was SANE. They wanted a one-world government, and that government soviet.) but is it really desirable?

It amuses me that those who agree on “diversity” in everything are unable to see that diversity of culture and thought might be desirable. At least they are unable to see it when it violates their sacred cows.

I’m all with Heinlein when it comes to “making it one world and that world American” if we’re talking about the America of his time. But now? How many apologists for barbarism, guilty for not being a minority, cult of victimhood representatives do we need? And do we want science fiction world wide to be all wall to wall glittery hoo has?

Okay, that last was a joke, but it brings up a point. The glittery hoo ha and the rot in science fiction developed because the structure of publishing became centralized and a mono-culture and that culture Eastern Seaboard Liberal. This didn’t fit even the rest of the country and has been a resounding commercial failure. And meanwhile they, isolated from all criticism, became ever more crazy and started drinking their own ink. Which is why we have a field already dominated by women crowing about “kicking patriarchy in the balls” by giving awards the outer world ignores to people on the basis of their genitals.

THAT is what happens to cultures that are isolated and get their own feedback loop.

Now, I’m going to tell you right now that yeah, I think our culture is superior to others in some basic things, and that if I had an army, I’d march into certain countries and stop cold the brutalization of minorities (yes, sexual and orientation minorities, but also religious and ethnic minorities. Such as the killing/running off of Christians in the middle East. Or the running off of the Jews in the same place.) Because in my opinion no good comes of those practices.

It’s a good thing I don’t have an army. No, I don’t believe the Islamic womb will conquer the world. I think they’re already spiraling the drain which is what makes them so dangerous. No, I don’t believe they’re the next big thing, and history would seem to back me up. They’re not, shall we say, known for creating anything enduring or innovative. (Most of their so-called ‘inventions’ were stolen from the Persians.)

Could I be wrong? Oh, boy. Scholars have been wrong about less obvious things.

Look, I’m not saying we stop (or perhaps don’t start is more appropriate) calling them to book on their treatment of women, gays, Christians, Jews, Non-Muslim. I think we should defend our own culture and fight for it hot and heavy. To the diplomacy for other means state, if needed.

BUT I think that’s what cultures should do world wide. If you believe in your own way of living, defend it. Not in some namby pamby “everyone gets their say and we all gang up on the big guy” way, but in the real world, where we say what we mean and shame the devil (and Iran.)

I say that’s how it must be because it’s the only way that human civilization advances and that what is best for the species happens.

Maybe, as revolting as I find it, it is best for the SPECIES SURVIVAL for women to be dressed in sofa covers and treated like chattel. I don’t know. And neither do you. And neither do the people who do this.

Early signs are against it (if you believe their population figures, I have some swamp land in FL I’ll sell cheap. ALMOST no gators.) But it could be.

We don’t know. We can’t know. We don’t see with the eyes of history. We can’t see with the eyes of history. We can only make individual judgments and fight for what is right. And we can resist the attempts at all levels to make us a mono-culture.

Look, in the course of normal human thinking, there are no absolutely monolithic cultures, and enough variety will remain for some reality checking.
Even if we prevailed tomorrow and the American way as Heinlein believed it owned the world, countries would have individual quirks from their history and culture that would make things different.

It would never be as the glittery hoo Ha social justice workers want to make it, a monolithic agenda and only “right think.”

And this is a good thing, because if it were, then there would be no feed back, and we’d have a world of Glittery Social Justice Whiners for … about a generation, before the population collapsed, because after all PIV is rape. Or something.

You see how that would be bad?

Well, there are ways in which even our own culture could be bad, too, for human survival. We don’t know. We can’t know.

I agree with my friend that we need colonies, far flung and with varied experiences to be quite sure we have enough variety that the species will survive.

But until then? I say we’ve been on the wrong track with this world-unity thing. Surely war – large scale war – is to be avoided if possible. I don’t like it and neither do you.

However, the history of our race seems to show that’s how we work and how we survive.

So I say, let cultures defend themselves and their beliefs.

I say the other guys are wrong. And I say we tell them that.  I say we stop them upholstering women and treating minorities like dirt.

Let the better culture win — for a while — and carry the torch of species survival for a time.

Until we can get out of this mud-ball.

What does woman want? This was Freud’s big question, because Freud based all of the male’s needs on the fact that males had a penis (Freud was a proto-glittery hoo ha) and so he couldn’t imagine what women, not having a penis, had at the center of their needs. (If I had a time machine, I’d bring Freud forward and show him that the glittery hoohas do quite well with thinking with the innie, just as much as some guys do with the outie. No, more so, since they’re persistent and relentless. But then he would go back in time and in a minute, I’d find myself in a burka, locked somewhere in the house. No.)

So his entire idea was that not having a penis, women were mostly moved by that fact and suffered from penis envy. (Maybe I DID bring him forward and he read some of the GH’s blogs?) I will confess that I did suffer from penis envy round about six, but it had nothing to do with sex (and even then I thought having to deal with that thing hanging down inside your clothes all the time would be a pain) but with the fact that my – mostly male – play friends could pee standing up. I couldn’t, so I had to leave the rousing game and go inside to use the bathroom. Which meant by the time I came back they were doing it wrong! (If there had been a ban bossy campaign back then, pigtailed, glowering me would have been the poster girl. And btw, if I’d been taught to curb those tendencies at that time, it would have made high school MUCH easier.)

So what do women want?

I don’t know. I know what I want, and what my friends want.

I’ve been moved to write this by a few surveys recently, which claim that women are far happier being wives and mothers than being wives and mothers and working women. Combined with the fact our population (I suspect worldwide, but we can only prove it in developed countries) is dropping like a rock, and the inescapable conclusion is that women should be back in the kitchen and pregnant.

I don’t like inescapable conclusions. Not when it comes to humans. I’m not a “feminist’ who thinks women should be a sort of ersatz male and views pregnancy as a violation. (Yes, I know that’s not what they say they think, but if you read them, you end up getting that very clear picture.)

In fact from a certain point of view, if you squint, I took a very traditional path. We got married and I worked a little until the kids came when I stayed home with them. If you stop squinting, it’s not so traditional. For one, we made the decision based not on who had the outie and who had the innie, but who was bringing in the real money. Given my job which was like writing and required me to establish myself, etc, I was making almost nothing. And then there was the fact I wanted to write, which made staying at home and looking after the kids perfect. (In execution it was more fraught, which is why progress was so slow. There were years I could only write in a two hour window, while the kids were sleeping.)

But then there’s the other side of the coin.

I grew up in a village.

My path was the most common one. Every mother I knew was a working mother, usually while totting behind/around them a vast number of children. (Okay, not so vast. Three or four was many, but that’s also because so many died in childhood, infancy.)

The myth of the stay at home mom who eats bonbons and watches soaps exists only in the heads of people. I don’t think it was ever that way, save for a very small, very wealthy or very devil may care minority.

I mean if you squint and look sideways my mom was a stay at home mom. Only she wasn’t. I mean, she worked at home, and for the first fifteen years of her career she worked from a three room shotgun apartment, where the kitchen table got cleared and used for her work table. If she couldn’t clear it or was on deadline, she might send us next door to grandma for supper, but that happened rarely as the two had a “competent mother” competition going.

Grandma too, if you squint and look sideways was a stay at home mom and for most of her life a single one, as granddad was in various countries, making money. But if you stop squinting, she brought up four children while running her own business, tending the … backyard farm (it’s hard to explain how this works. We had a relatively small space in the backyard. Like your average suburban backyard, say, but none of it was lawn and all of it was fruit trees/vegetables/vines and the place for the potatoes (the open center, which got enough sun) except for about a fifth of it which was “put to” flowers because grandma considered flowers an essential part of housekeeping. (And in a way it was, since doing the flowers in the cemetery was the woman’s duty every weekend, on all the graves of the departed family, and if you didn’t do it people would consider you bad or neglectful. This might very well be a roman custom for all I know.)

But then there were also properties we had “a right to.” These were either still or originally owned by the family and either sold or rented out, with reservation of the “right to”: the right to wine (i.e. the vines growing on the land were still ours), the right to till (i.e. to plant and harvest what we wanted in parts of the property) and so on. I suspect all together it amounted to d*mn near a small family farm. We surely didn’t buy anything but exotics (grandma’s attempts to get the hazelnut tree to fruit never worked) and meat/fish. And grandma ran all of that (up to the time she died, pretty much, when she was paying for someone to come do the actual work, but still running it and distributing the produce.) I understand before I was born, ie before grandma’s mom died, and she had to face killing things she’d raised, we also grew a lot of the meat up to and including a small calf. (When I was a kid the chickens were mostly layers and a lot of them became pets and were given “retirement.”)

So, woman in the kitchen with her children about her is rather a wrong idea.

But never minding that”: were most women in the village happy “just being wives and mothers” Well, most of them weren’t. At the very least they were housekeepers in time and place where this involved sometimes carrying clothes to the public washing through (built by Trajan. The inscription said so. The weird thing is that it was called “the river” though it wasn’t, but a stone square with the water diverted to flow through it and down into the drainage ditch. BUT before it was built women washed in the river and linguistic habit is an odd thing.) then beating the living daylights out of them, after soaping them with soap you might or might not have made, then carrying the sodden mass back home in a huge basket, to hang in your own property. (We didn’t have to do that because we had our own “tank” which was more like the “river” than like washing tanks you’ve seen. Family lore says my brother went head first into it at three, but they fished him out in time to revive him. I wasn’t allowed near it till I was tall enough to stand in the water.)

Still let’s call these women “just wives and mothers” since most of them had no career in the modern sense.

Were they happy?

What do you mean by happy? I mean, seriously. Sometimes I think happy is a modern invention. Very modern. Acquired through radio, television, books.

What is “Happy”? Does anyone go around in a flutter of blue birds and singing Disney princess songs, all the time? Or do you call “being generally contented with life” “happy”?

This is important, because it has a bearing on the conclusion of whether women should stay home with children to be happier.

I think if you’d asked most of these women if they were contented with their lot, they’d have said yes, even though a significant number of them were really tight on money and a lot of them got beat at least once a week.

But see, here’s the thing: this is what they’d been taught to expect. They’d grown up expecting this sort of married life and looking forward to its consolations: children, a home of their own, an old age surrounded by grandchildren who respected them. Hankering for a life where they weren’t beat, or a life where they had a “career” in the modern sense would never occur to them, and no it wasn’t oppression necessarily. Well, being beat was, but not not having a career. Most of them would have said “but I don’t want that. Don’t I have enough to do with the kids?” And the idea of not getting married at all would have made them very unhappy because, being normal women, most of them liked men.

So if you took a survey of their contentment, most of them would be pretty high.

On the other hand, if you took a survey of women like my mom and grandma – women of the striving class – you’d get a much lower level of contentment. But if you thought it was because they (and my grandmother’s grandmother before her, etc, world without end) didn’t like working, you’d have it backwards. Women in my family worked because they weren’t contented with “just” being wives and mothers. They expected more and had ambitions, so their level of contentment was always lower, as they wanted to get further ahead/do more. Stopping working wouldn’t make them happy. It would make them more neurotic. (My mom had to stop working for health reasons when I was twelve. We’ll draw a veil of decency over about five years, until she discovered investing and jumped into that, leaving me – thank heavens – in peace and no longer micro-managed.)

So, would sending all women back to the kitchen and children make them happier? I don’t know.

Look, most women, like most men don’t want a “career.” They work because they have to, because our system of taxes makes a one-working-parent family nearly impossible (trust me I have reason to know. I didn’t start making any money at all from writing till Robert was about six.) Some percentage of the women also work because they’ve been shamed into it. (At the lowest level, the cost of daycare, work clothes, transport, outweighs the money they bring in. Not to say her job is useless. Just having resilience during layoffs which are a feature of our time, is worth it.) But a large percentage of men and women have no lofty ambitions and are never going to set the world on fire in a career.

Staying home with kids might make these women (and men) happier. But then you have to wonder if they’d be a material addition to the household, if they hadn’t learned to make and scrape. But that’s something else.

Part of the problem with the “everyone would be better for a career” movement is that it comes from people with a career, people who always wanted to have one and who learned and studied and who would work even if they became millionaires tomorrow.

Cast your mind back to high school. Remember the vast mass of your classmates? They were there because they had to be there. For all they learned and all the pleasure they derived from it, they might as well have quit in second or third grade. (Even if this were when schools still taught.) Why would you think this changes with adulthood? Why do you think women (or men) want to devote eight hours of their lives to some random activity they get paid for?

The essence of humanity is to do just enough to get by. People like me who are compelled to work at something are broken. There’s something wrong inside us. (The fact that hobbies are much higher and taken more seriously – like mini-careers — among Americans than anywhere else in the world makes me wonder if we have a higher percentage of people born broken in that peculiar way. It would explain much.)

There is something else to consider which those who were never mothers might or might not know. I was not ever a particularly good mother. I like kids, but they’re not the center of my existence. However, when I had to work when the kids were little, like when Dan was unemployed and I took a job while he was looking for one, I missed them constantly. Even when my work was doing better, and we hired someone to look after the kids so I could write more, it only lasted a year, because I realized no, this was NOT the part I wanted to subcontract. House cleaning, sure. My kids, no.

There was a very strong sense of ownership and also the ah… sense of responsibility for them. But there was also an instinctive-level attachment which I think would have been painful to break. I wondered what they were doing, ALL the time.

As for “we’d have more children if women just stayed home,” it’s probably right, but it misses a factor. It would greatly help if men either stayed home or had more flexible schedules. With all the will in the world, there were long periods of time that Dan came home, collapsed into bed for four hours, shaved and went back to work. You can’t – ahem – rouse the dead. And this was normal scheduling for programmers in that day and age. Which means our kids are that far apart because he was establishing himself in his work.

If having kids is a priority – and I think it will be, and soon enough. We might limp another fifty years with trick statistics, but sooner or later we’re going to “get” it and panic – then the best system for it would be work from home which I suspect is the way we’re going anyway. For men and women.

As for happiness… meh.

I suspect most of the women who are happier staying home with the kids would have been happier doing it even if they had a work at home job. It’s all in what you expect.

The women with “careers” who are impelled to it to “show” the men and who never married because of their feminist faith, etc. they’re the other side of the coin. I don’t think they’d have been happy ever, at any time and with anything.

And then there’s people like me. What does woman want?

Impossible to say. Freud, like Marx, is dead. There are some basic things all women want including food and shelter and food and shelter for their kids, and possibly someone/something to love.

After that needs vary. This particular woman– and most women she knows– wants all that, plus she wants her kids to be successful and happy, she wants her husband to be happy, she wants to continue working at her craft since she feels compelled to, and she wants to make a decent living out of it.  Most of all, she wants the chattering heads to shut up. She would have been just as unhappy in a corporate career as she would have been in “just” motherhood. Both would have bored her to tears.

In the current state, despite the fact she has nine kids less than she wanted and all the uncertainties and upheavals of this stellar economy, she’s pretty happy. I mean, not right after she reads politics, but pretty happy. And she wouldn’t trade all of this for queenship over the known universe and the fawning of courtiers.

So I guess this woman has got what she wants*.

Let women be individuals just like men are individuals and stop pushing them this way and that.  Let them find their own happiness.

*And since she’s lapsed into talking of herself in the third person again, it might be wise to give her an evil-villains lair stat before she decides what she wants are some minions in the piranha tank.

Okay, to everyone out there, celebrating the fact that all the Nebulas were won by women, and hardly mentioning the stories but only that “Squee, they were written by women!” I have one question to ask:

Do you hear yourselves?

Let’s turn this around. Let’s say that all the Nebula Awards this year were won by men and that men were out there celebrating “Take that, biatches, we showed those women that their science fiction writing sucks.”

It would look like this, right?

And of course you’d think that they only voted for these guys because they’re male.  I mean, that’s all they’re celebrating.

How does that sound to you, good?  An attractive image?

No? Shocking.  I wonder now if I can make it clear in another way.

Let’s suppose that only white writers won.

And they’re out there going “Yay, only white people can write science fiction.  It’s time we showed those other darker people what good science fiction is! Who are they to think they can tan and write science fiction?”

And right now you’re stomping your foot and saying “We’re nothing like that.  You totally misunderstand, because you see, there was this great matriarchy when everyone — even guys — was perfectly happy:

And then men revolted against this perfect rule, and instituted patriarchy.

But wait.  If the matriarchy was so perfect and stuff, how come they revolted?

Right…. if you’re done with your fairytale, which, let me point out, is a less compelling narrative of Eden and the fall of humanity.

There is absolutely no proof of any primitive, lost in the mists of time matriarchy.  Sure there are female goddesses, but Greeks had those, and they sure as hell weren’t matriarchal.  In fact, save for isolated, special instances in small tribes there is no primitive matriarchy. Because when you’re living close to the bone and wrestling a living from nature with your bare hands, brute force is the only force, and men have more of that than we do.

And how in heck do you believe that back when all humans were scattered in small groups they were all ruled the same way?  Did it come over the internet they didn’t have?

Or do you think females ruling is “natural”?  It’s not natural among the great apes our cousins.

But let’s suppose there really was a great matriarchy where women ruled and everyone was happy, way back before history, where you can’t be proven crazy wrong.

Come on, guys, grapes.

And that evil men broke it.  You do realize those men would have been dead A LONG TIME, right?  And that men today were not responsible for breaking your matriarchy.

So what’s wrong with men in positions of power?  Oh, right.  They have penises.  Which don’t monologue.  (Thank heavens.)

But Sarah, you say, the problem is that they created this structure where only men can win.  After their perfidious revolution they took over everything.  Look how they kept women down for centuries.  Centuries I tell you.

Oh, ladies, people of vaginitude, newsflash.  For most of those centuries, everyone was kept down:

Everyone worked harder than you when you wrote your dissertation; they ate less than you do on a diet, and men and women noblemen and serfs were all kept to strict, oppressive roles.  Because this thing we have called technology wasn’t around.

See, you say, that’s the patriarchy and the patriarchy–

So, what you are saying in essence is that a system in which only women are allowed to rule is inherently fair, because supposedly the ancient matriarchy was divine.  But a system in which only men are allowed to rule is inherently unfair.  No?  How not, if none of the men alive today caused the problem?  It must be because men are inherently inferior to women, right?  When it comes to governing, right?

Because of course, when we write about the organs of government THAT is what we mean, right?

You might want to take a good look in that mirror:

Because what you’re looking at is someone who hates and despises half of humanity because these people — through no fault of their own — were born with outies instead of innies.

Let’s translate that:

You’re saying that you believe that if you’re born with a certain characteristic you’re inherently inferior and unable to take any positions of leadership.  Because of characteristics you were born with.  Through no fault of your own.  Because of mumbo jumbo and pseudo scientific stuff, people born with this characteristic are inherently evil and bad, or at least stupid and can’t help themselves.  Honey, GRRRRL, this guy would love you:

But — you say — the Nebulas aren’t about ruling the world, only proving that women can write science fiction.  And that they’re as good as men and stuff.  Women won totally on merit.  Because they’re just that great at writing.

(It’s very easy, btw, to kick white patriarchy in the balls.  Now, try to do that to the tan patriarchy of the Middle East — which is real patriarchy — and you might find yourself stoned to death.  And we don’t mean with pot.)

Actually, if you had voted for stories, not what was between the legs of the writers, you wouldn’t have engaged in end-zone victory dances about how cool it is that women won all the Nebulas.

You wouldn’t have done that, because it wouldn’t matter.  (And if you knew anything of the history OF YOUR OWN FIELD you wouldn’t think women have ever been kept out of it — and you’d realize they certainly aren’t kept out of it now!  Most editors/agents AND writers are women.  The bad old days of patriarchal oppression are a myth in your own head.  Geek guys always fawned over geek girls.  Oh, and speaking of oppression, try writing an action character who is a straight male, and watch what you get called!)

It might warrant a passing mention “Oh yeah, it’s all women.  Cool.”  But it wouldn’t be a full flutter party with the most important thing celebrated being that the writers are women.  Which means you couldn’t care less what they wrote, provided they have the magical vagina.  Because vaginas are all important.  And not having them makes you evil and bad and oppressive and also a bad writer.

And frankly ladies — oh, sorry, this is offensive, right? — frankly bitches and hos, Sluts, after the tantrums you’ve been throwing, disgusting half the people (male and female) who used to be part of the association that controls the voting, (Only members of SFWA vote for the Nebulas)  you don’t even look like that KKK rally.  What you look like is this:

You seem to have forgotten that writing isn’t about social work, or affirmation, or feeling good and it certainly isn’t about curing your inferiority complex towards males. (And why you should have one is beyond me. Some males are better than I.  Some females too. What do you think is the magic of penis, that I should feel inferior to it, and try to put down those who have one?)  Well, it can be about all that, if what you’re writing is inspirational chicken soup for the feminist soul stuff.  But if you’re writing fiction, the purpose is telling an interesting story, which entertains the public, which will then buy the story and give you money.

If you can sneakily hide a message in the story they buy, so that you convey something that’s important to you, yay.  But no one buys writers that hit them over the head and tell them they’re inferior because they have a penis.

An award which is supposed to mean that the story is entertaining, and serve as an assurance of quality to the buying public.  Half of which have icky penises.

NOTE I’M NOT THE ONE SAYING THAT THESE STORIES DIDN’T DESERVE TO WIN AND ONLY WON BECAUSE THE WRITERS ARE WOMEN.  YOU ARE.

You are saying it over and over with your incessant crowing not about the quality of the stories or even how the stories express some essence of femaleness, but about “Yay, only women won.”

CONGRATULATIONS LADIES BITCHES AND HOS, sluts, you poor Marxist-Leninist dupes!  You won.  You won an award which those who voted are ensuring means nothing but that people voted for you because you had lady parts!  Are you proud of yourself?

Carry on you crazy Social Justice Warriors Whiners, you!  If you try really hard, there are other things you can make meaningless by disregarding all quality and awarding it to people because of what’s between their legs!

The rest of us are pretty much like this:

But consider that to the public at large it all looks like this:

 UPDATE: Welcome Instapundit Readers and thank you to Glenn Reynolds for the link!

When I was six, I went into elementary school. I understand this is a common trauma we inflict on our kids. As trauma goes, it was probably lighter than going to a “real school” because this was a village school, and they didn’t really pay much attention if you were an hour or so late, provided you kept up with the work.

I had an advantage because I could read and a huge disadvantage because I couldn’t write with a quill pen, having learned to write with a ball point.

I remember those early days of school as utter boredom – when the teacher was explaining the sound words made – combined with extreme terror, when she actually wanted to look at my notebook, which was a collection of interesting blots. (I later developed the ability to drop a blot at will. Very useful in dictation as my spelling was even more wretched than it is now.)

Another moment stands out from my early days in school. I’d early on realized the dialect of Portuguese I spoke wasn’t exactly… the common one, not even in the village. Mom was raised in a slum and still speaks oddly. But even at home, we had words we used… Take “retrete” for instance. I suppose it’s from the French for retreat, but that’s how we referred to the bathroom. It’s not an uncommon word but neither is it a delicate one. It’s most often associated with “outhouse.”

So, the first time I stood up and raised my hand asked to go to the “retrete” the entire class laughed aloud, and my teacher informed me the school didn’t have them, it had “casas de banho” – bathrooms, out back.

(Curiously, though both were outside the building, likely for the same reason – because the tech at the time had trouble piercing three foot thick stone walls – grandma’s was a bathroom, with a shower, a sink and a toilet, while the school’s vaunted bathroom was an outhouse, of the format beloved throughout the Middle east, with a hole in the middle of the floor, and no running water. After my first look at them (do you know how good elementary school students are at aiming?) I risked utis by holding it in until I got home.)

There were other instances of this – innocently using a word that made them all jeer and point.

Weirdly I survived intact. I didn’t like it. I really didn’t like it. It annoyed me no end. BUT I survived it, learned to use the words they expected, and eventually became one of the “accepted leaders of recess” where I de-facto invented LARPGs based on whatever book I’d just read.

Other instances of very hurtful words, when I was too young to build up any protection involved a friend of my dad’s who liked getting in political arguments with me – stupid ones – and tried to end run me and prove how much brighter he was than the eleven year old. Since all his arguments boiled down to “being rich proves I’m superior” (and since he’d gotten rich on some morally dubious speculation game) it shouldn’t have been hard to demolish, but I was a kid, and got confused having an adult argue with me. So then he’d call me a dummy and a communist (!) and say that I only had book learning and nothing more. (Again, I was eleven. Yes, the man had issues. Yes, they eventually caught up with him.)

I used to dread his visits. (There were other reasons too, but we won’t go into that.) But, you know what, I survived his jeering put downs remarkably unscathed.

Add to that that I was the youngest – the much youngest. My brother was the next youngest, at ten years older, and the next after that was four years older than him – of a very large extended family that ran in a pack. It should be normal/make sense for my cousins to realize I was younger and pull punches. But since in the structure of the family I was an “equal” – i.e. same generation – they didn’t pull punches. Some of their good natured (mostly) teasing stuck and I really thought I was stupid for a long time.

Is this an extended whine? Does it mean that I was hurt – hurt, I tell you – and that I suffered like no one else ever has?

I very much doubt it. We’ve now found out self-esteem education is basically a crock. Believing you’re great without having the achievements to back it up doesn’t make you supercalifragilisticespialidosous. It makes you a brittle and touchy person.

Well, I had anti-self-esteem education, through a variety of factors.  It didn’t hurt — much.  Not long term.

Sure some of it sticks – but it’s due to other things, actually, like the long slog to break into print, and how I was treated for a long time afterwards – and when I go into a new group, I’m awkward and timid (some of that might be innate, mind.)  And I have trouble er… making a big deal of my accomplishments. And I HATE being called names.

But for the first, it has given me unusual flexibility. Since elementary, I’ve learned to pick up dialects and see how people behave, and hit the right note. If I’d never had to adapt, I probably wouldn’t know. As for bragging about my accomplishments, yes, it’s cost me in an age when tooting your own horn (as in the publishing I came into. Publishers believed it when writers said how wonderful they were. No, really.) was effective. Now… it’s not so important. I’d rather have achievements than the touting of them. Both, sure, if possible, but if others can do the touting, yay. (Hey, I have come to terms with the fact I’ll have to do some of that myself. Yes. But I’d rather be writing.)

And as for not liking to be called names… really… which of us loves it?

My weird reaction – and it’s a problem mostly when I get beta critiques – is that because of my cousins and because they were so much better/brighter than I (being older), my first reaction when someone says “you did this wrong” is to believe them. It takes me time away and a lot of thought to get past that and say “no, this is right, this is wrong.” It is as damaging as thinking all my words are sacred – but different.

In the same way when someone says “you just said the most stupid thing in the world” I check my work, automatically, because, hey, maybe I did. But I’m unfortunately (of course unfortunately – because if you stop checking you could spin into the nut zone) getting used to the idea that in fact when I get called names by someone on twitter who disagrees with me politically and whose entire rebuttal is “Aahhhhh she’s so stupid.” Or of course “She makes me sick, I want to change my gender.” they don’t in fact have anything to contribute and their opinions are worth as much as monkey flinging poo. Less, actually, since monkeys at least make their area more sanitary, while these people might do otherwise.

So, what is this in the name of? I found myself in the comment section of one of Brad Torgersen’s post, (I think) where a woman was maintaining that saying things about her, even expressed in a polite way, was “an attack.” More specifically to say that she was ignorant of history and being immature was “an attack.” (Even though both were demonstrably true, and people were using examples.)

I found the idea jaw-droppingly insane. Someone might be completely wrong in what they say of you – I’ve been called both stupid and ignorant, and ignorant in my particular areas of knowledge, such as when the precious flower who took offense to my SFWA post said I was a “typical American” who’d “never been out of the country.” I found this annoying, but also very funny, because… well… No contact with reality.

Another example of lack of contact with reality was when someone who used to comment here told us all that in A Few Good Men only the gay guys and women were good. Thereby relegating the uber-father of the plot, Sam, and Mr. Long to “bad guy status” which annoyed me because I couldn’t imagine how someone could have read that book and got that. But it was also funny, because… how could someone have read my book and got that? (And at least two gay guys are not good.  Well, three.  The gay couple who pulls a gun on them, and Royce, though Royce isn’t bad, he just annoys Luce.)

I don’t read my reviews, as a rule, but when I do, I’m often very amused by both good and bad reviews that refer to a completely different novel. For instance, my first book got a five star review from someone who said it was “Silverdawn’s book. Silverdawn is the best character.” The only problem is that I didn’t then, and I don’t now have a character named Silverdawn.

Now, the reviews that are “true” and critical (even those that are good overall, but hit on one of the flaws of the book) hurt. Badly. This is why I don’t read them, because they can stop an entire book for six months, because I will obsess.

Look, I know my books have flaws. All books have flaws. It’s just at the point of writing them, I didn’t know how to do it better and (we can argue but it’s true) it’s better to put out a few flawed books than to work at the same book thirty yers and never finish. So, Darkship Thieves is really three novellas, and one of the transitions is shaky. Is it a bad book? No. I had to read it recently to get the mind back in the universe, and it’s good (I can say this as it’s far enough it no longer feels mine, if that makes sense) but it is still three novellas crammed into a book and the first transition (the time in Eden until the spaceship theft) is shaky. No more shaky than some Heinlein transitions, but if I were doing it now, I’d know better how to do it.

Older books, like the Magical British Empire (first book, author’s edition, being edited) are more problematic, as I had pacing problems. I knew I had them then, I just didn’t know how to solve them. Now I know how to, but I get very confused on how to integrate the new patches with the old.

Still, what I mean is, I know they have flaws and having them pointed out hurts, because I either don’t know how to fix them, or it’s much too late to do so.

BUT do they hurt me – I mean leave scars at the level of the soul? Oh, for crying out loud. No. would I prefer not hearing them? Sure. Nothing but praise would be great, thank you.  (Can we arrange that?  Yes?) BUT hearing that my writing started out very slow paced has yet to kill me.

Being called to account for things I’ve done (like when I rebutted an article and called the author Michael instead of Mark) is humiliating but not scarring.

And being called things I’m not – neo-nazi, really? Because Nazis want to make governments miniscule and leave people alone. Yep. Little known fact, Hitler really wanted the state to not intrude in private lives, and left the free market unfettered. Oh, wait, no he didn’t. He arrested people for private behavior (and genetics) and eliminated vast swaths of his country’s population while confiscating their wealth and choosing winners and losers in the economic arena. Sorry, guys. I don’t see what that has to do with small l libertarian me – certainly doesn’t scar me for life. Depending on how ridiculous they are they might make me laugh. Sometimes, if I think that’s what the general public will hear, it will make me worry about sales. BUT scar me for life? Oh, please.

Guys, I’ve been in real fights. I’ve had guns pointed at me. The first time was kind of scarring, but the others are a blur. And unless people were shot near me (or trampled to death in one case, as the crowd panicked. I didn’t see it, but knowing I was there, and it could have been me, if mom hadn’t grabbed me and flattened me against the building doesn’t help) it left no lasting scars.

Am I some kind of special? Oh, please. Life goes on in places where people witness – daily – some sort of horror that’s much worse than any words could be. People who live in Israel and have endured random rocket attacks for years don’t curl in the fetal position and refuse to go on with life.

People in terrible places – like during the civil war in Lebanon or in Detroit today or… — don’t just get scarred for life and become quivering bowls of jelly unable to function.

No, this ability to be “destroyed by words” exists only in the most sheltered of places: academia, the confines of a certain type of NYC publishing, the circles of radical chic when your “speaking truth to power” ultimately amounts to echoing the received wisdom everyone around you echoes.

In a way these people screaming that, oh, when Larry makes fun of them it’s an “aggression” remind me of hyper protected and very young upper class Victorian girls. Or of royalty who were never corrected and never allowed to hear they were wrong. Or perhaps of certain members of the more prudish cults. We used to know a family who was so hyper religious they had decided that THINKING about sin was a sin, even in the sense of knowing sin existed was a sin. So their fourteen year old had never heard the WORD “rape” and didn’t know what it was. They didn’t know anyone in the present day committed murder. The parents protected them from the news (this is one of those worst cases of homeschooling.)

I’m sure that when those poor kids left the house and heard how the world really was it shattered their minds. A similar situation is supposed to have led to the Buddha’s enlightenment.

So when I hear people complain that they were – sniffle, sob – called a name and it destroyed their entire self image/conception of the world/view of men/you name it, my thought is that they too were raised in cult-like protection, and likely the cult was of their own personality. In the misguided idea that building up their self-esteem made them strong, parents and teachers cooperated in making them hot-house plants.

Look, no one likes being called names, being out of step, feeling stupid. I don’t anymore than anyone else does. And I’m not going to say it makes you stronger.

But in a way it does. Being told you’re not right, or you’re not brilliant, or even that you’re fat might not make you stronger. I know – and the rest of you know – it hurts. But it causes no lasting damage. Not if you are a properly functioning adult.  And you learn to accept that the universe doesn’t revolve around your belly button and sometimes you’re wrong or doing something wrong.

It might hurt like hell, particularly if there’s a grain of truth in it. And if you’re subjected to nothing but that morning noon and night, it will leave traces (particularly if you’re a child) but that takes an intimate, family abusive situation. Not a passing stranger saying “you’re ugly and your mother dresses you funny.” (This was fairly normal in Portugal from what I call “three guys outside the tavern” – they thought it was a conversation-opener.)

But don’t go thinking you’ve been “assaulted” or that the person who disagreed with you or beat you at a game (apparently an article now disappeared accused people who beat girls at games of “rape.” No, seriously, and if I can find the cache, I’ll link it.) or even made fun of you for no reason is an ogre and monstrous. They might be right, they might be stupid themselves, or they might lack in social skills. Only in one of those instances should their words even begin to concern you.

So if the worst thing that ever happened to you was being told that your cozy, comfortable worldview was wrong or that some of us disagreed with it, and this led to a shattering of your world and to declaring Larry Correia an evil villain who “hates women” (Oh, please) and Kate and I “the world’s worst people” perhaps you’ve been too sheltered. Perhaps you should join humanity and consider that people who lived through wars famines and plagues had it worse than you. And yet they went on to function fully and to find in themselves nuggets of hope, love and charity which they left us in their work and in the children they reared and who reared our ancestors.

Maybe sticks and stones can break your bones, but words won’t ever hurt you.

Just a thought. And I know it’s crazy. But maybe if you let those who oppose you speak, and meet them in the open marketplace of ideas without seeking to silence them or calling them names, you might find your perfect theories have some holes. Or they’ll find theirs do.

But this requires not screaming assault when the other side gives half as good as they get.  This requires not feeding your own paranoia with talk of patriarchy and microaggressions.  It requires considering that perhaps maybe that thing in your belly button is just lint, and not the answer to the essence of life.

I know, I know. It’s a crazy idea. But it might just work.