web analytics
Category:

News

gun control, NRA, Right to bear arms, John Lewis, Filibuster, semi automatic weapon

I’ve been mulling over my thoughts on gun control, the Nay voters in the Senate that essentially voted for the rights of terrorists to have guns, the NRA and today’s Senate sit-in. There is so many terrible things happening in the world lately and with the mass shootings especially, to me, it feels like voting against people on terrorist watch lists having the right to purchase assault weapons would be a no-brainer. We don’t allow them to fly because they used planes against us on 9/11 but domestic terrorists use guns against us so often that it’s becoming common place and yet, we still allow them access to assault weapons. Let me tell you, it’s a hell of a lot harder to hijack a plane than it is to shoot someone with an assault weapon that it took 7 minutes to buy at the gun show. I honestly think the real problem is that most people don’t truly understand the 2nd Amendment so here is a better explanation of the right to bear arms. I have degrees that focused on Political Science, History, Government, law, criminology and sociology and sometimes, I forget that not everyone has the comprehensive understanding that I do.

semi automatic weapon, gun control, NRA, Right to bear arms, John Lewis, Filibuster

Just one week after a Senate filibuster forced a vote on gun control measures and a few days after the Republicans stymied that vote (and we all became aware of what each senator was paid in exchange for his/her part in supporting the NRA) the Democrats in the House of Representatives are done with this political bullshit! Enough is enough. Hell no! We won’t go! They are holding a good old-fashioned sit-in on the floor to try to get the Republicans to relent and I’ve never been prouder to be a democrat than I am today. This day in Congress brought to you by the Democrats!

I have been pissed off since June 20th when I found out that most of the Republican party voted Nay to the gun control measures and instead voted for the right of suspected terrorists and their right to bear arms. Yes, our Republican party is so hell bent on not crossing party lines that they would rather sell assault weapons to people on the Terrorist Watch List than protect our children from being shot while sitting in a classroom, dancing in a club in Orlando or just living in general. There are a lot of shitty, hateful people in the world with access to guns.

gun control, NRA, Right to bear arms, John Lewis, Filibuster

What’s worse still, we found out that almost everyone on the Nay list has taken funds from the NRA. Some of the Senators on the list sold their soul for free while others voted for your children to have the right to be shot for as little as $2000. Think about that? That means these people think your child’s life is disposable.

gun control, NRA, Right to bear arms, John Lewis, Filibuster

Thankfully, there are people in the Senate who care about our children’s lives than some macho misconception that in order to be free you must be able to own an assault weapon. Unfortunately, most of our Republican senators think the right to bear arms is more important than your right to hold your children in your arms. I’ve never made a secret about the fact that I’m anti-gun and my feeling that the right to bear arms is an antiquated one. Yes, I’ve been called all the names by all the right wing NRA, gun waving “true” Americans; liberal left wing C*NT seems to be the most popular. Anyways, f*ck your right to bear arms. What about my right to see my children grow to adulthood? What about my right to not worry every single time that I leave them that it’s the last because some psycho with an assault weapon might decide he’s having a bad day and needs to kill some people to feel better about himself?

The second amendment was added to our constitution at a time when we needed a militia. PERIOD. We don’t need general population Americans to be able to assemble and fight for their freedom. We have troops for that now; men and women who have been trained in combat. I don’t need John P. Anybody who lives next door having ready access to assault weapons to shoot kids walking through his yard for trespassing. No one hunts with a semi-automatic or automatic assault weapon, unless the point of the hunt is to obliterate the animal for sport.

I know that many people hold on to their right to bear arms like their right to breathe but I assure you that the second amendment has outlived its usefulness.

Gun control reform is needed in order to protect our citizens from real people with guns more than gun owners need to protect themselves from imagined threats.

 

gun control, NRA, Right to bear arms, John Lewis, Filibuster

“A well-regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”

It is a dinosaur and it needs to be changed. It is not your right to own a gun so you can wave it around whenever you feel like someone has wronged you. It’s not your right to shoot people you don’t like because they looked at you wrong. It’s not your right to shoot someone you hate because you don’t agree with the color of their skin, their religion, their culture, their race or their life choices. You are not God just because you own a gun.

But today, I feel hopeful because people are standing up (well, sitting in) for what’s right. What I can’t understand is how the same people who are adamantly Pro-Life for unborn children, don’t give a f*ck about my living child’s safety. My living children’s lives are worth less to them than their personal right to bear arms. Are children like cars do they start losing their value the moment they leave the womb?

Finally, some politicians are getting it right.

gun control, NRA, Right to bear arms, John Lewis, Filibuster

The time for silence and patience is long gone,” Representative John Lewis, the Georgia Democrat and hero of the civil rights movement who is leading the sit-in, said in a stirring speech Wednesday morning.

“The American people are demanding action. Do we have the courage; do we have the raw courage to make at least a down payment on ending gun violence in America?”

“Sometimes you have to do something out of the ordinary.”

“Sometimes you have to make a way out of no way!”

Then Representative Lewis and his fellow Democrats sat down on the floor and began chanting,

“No bill, No break!”

It’s time we all do our part. We’ve been backing down in the face of the right to bear arms for far too long. The NRA would have you believe that to revoke the second amendment would be to infringe on the human rights of our fellow Americans. The NRA is full of bullies. It’s like a gang of big, dumb kids who don’t know how to use their words and resort to violence in the face of controversy. We Democrats, we are like the smart kids at school. But we can’t be scared of these small minded bullies anymore, our children’s lives might depend on it. We can’t back down this time.

Gun control can’t be more important to us than children’s lives.

3 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
mass shooting, gun control, LGBTQ, Orlando, Florida, Pulse, Shooting, Gay Community, Pride, Omar Mateen, Eddie Justice, Mina Justice

My heart has been breaking since learning about the mass shooting that took place at “Orlando’s Premier Gay club”, Pulse, early Sunday morning leaving 49 victims dead and 53 wounded. I’m saddened and sickened for so many reasons. I could write about ISIS, terrorism, bigotry, racism and hate but what saddens me the most is that 49 mothers and fathers lost their child last night because a lunatic with a gun decided he wanted it to be so.

49 unsuspecting people thought it was just another Saturday night. Actually, it was a pretty special night, it was the eve of Pride Day. If ever there was a night to celebrate as a LGBTQ person (or a human being for that matter) it is the night when we all feel like there is a little less hate and lot more love and acceptance in the world. A day when we feel closer to a world of human equality and further from separation.Today the entire world feels vulnerable and helpless; victimized and terrified. We are angry that this was allowed to happen again but don’t let the anger turn to hate. Hate is what got us here to this moment of childless mothers and fathers, in the first place.

That’s what I was feeling yesterday, as I rode the 15-hour drive home from Boston and saw all the smiling, celebratory faces of my friends, celebrating at Pride Parades and block parties. I felt the pride all last week while I was in Boston and glorious rainbows adorned all of the buildings and landmarks around the city. I could feel the acceptance in the air, it was palpable.

But last night, the ugliness of hatred and stupidity reared up its head and stole the lives of 49 children from their parents. No, they were not small children like the victims of Sandy Hook but anyone who has a child knows that our children are always “our children” no matter how old or how big they get. It is our most primal instinct to protect them and love them as fiercely as our hearts will allow; to give our lives in place of theirs without hesitation or thought.

When I read the story of Mina Justice and the texts that she received from her terrified son, Eddie Justice, while he hid in the bathroom from a gun wielding bigot, afraid for his life, my heart shattered into a million pieces. It’s horrid that any one person had to die so senselessly in such a brutal way for no reason at all other than for being who they were meant to be and loving who they were born to love. But to see his own words in the texts to his mother; to know his fear was almost too much to bare. I can only imagine what his mother must have been feeling.

As a mother, I wanted to crawl into the fetal position and die. I wanted to run to this mother and hold her and tell her that it was all going to be alright. That her son was fine. Like this was some primetime drama and at the end, everybody would walk away just fine and the bad man would be apprehended but that’s not how it happens in real life.

In real life, bad things happen to good people. Terrible unthinkable things happen to unsuspecting people who’ve done nothing more than live their lives, openly and freely. Mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, lose their loved ones because bad people with no scruples are allowed to obtain guns because, apparently, the right to bear arms trumps the right to live in our United States.

We are becoming desensitized to the point where when we see shootings on the news, it’s no longer shocking unless it’s a mass shooting.

People are outraged, screaming that terrorists are targeting and murdering the LGBTQ community and I agree with their outrage but for me, it’s much simpler. Someone murdered 49 children, his name was Omar Mateen.  He was an American-born man, a domestic terrorist, who called 911 before carrying out this ghastly task and pledged his allegiance to ISIS, while referencing the Boston Marathon bombers. He then chose to gun down 50 innocent people. This is the deadliest mass shooting in the United States and the nation’s worst terror attack since 9/11.

Mateen somehow managed to carry an assault rifle and a pistol into a packed club around 2 a.m. Sunday morning and started shooting, he murdered 49 people and wounded at least 53. After a three-hour standoff, while 350 people were trapped inside the club desperately calling and messaging friends and relatives, police crashed into the building with an armored vehicle and stun grenades and killed Mateen.

Omar Mateen was 29-years-old, lived in Fort Pierce, Florida and had been interviewed not once but twice, in 2013 and again in 2014, by the FBI but was found both times to not be a threat. They were wrong. In the past two weeks Mateen legally purchased a Glock pistol and a long gun, ATF Assistant Special Agent in Charge Trevor Velinor told reporters.

Authorities spoke with Mateen’s father and ex-wife and both said that Omar Mateen was not particularly religious but his father said that recently, Omar saw two men kissing in Miami and it offended him. His ex-wife says that she thinks he was bipolar but was never formally diagnosed. Sounds to me like he was a bigot with a gun; a bully.

49 moms and dads are beside themselves trying to figure out how to live without their children alive to love. 49 childless mothers are sobbing primally because their world has been destroyed. 49 childless fathers are looking at the door expecting their child to return, knowing they never will; feeling a void that is so massive that it feels as if their heart will crush beneath the weight of it.

Today the entire world feels vulnerable and helpless; victimized and terrified. We are angry that this was allowed to happen again but don’t let the anger turn to hate. Hate is what got us here to this moment of childless mothers and fathers, in the first place.

Channel your hatred, anger, helplessness and vulnerability into change. Donate blood. Be kind to strangers. Treat people as humans. Don’t judge people for who they love, the color of their skin or the God they worship. Be a voice for the mothers and fathers who cannot speak or barely breathe, those who lost everything because one evil man was able to possess a gun and with that gun he chose to murder people just because he could.

We have to say no more, stand up for those who need protection and be the change we want to see in the world. The time for  expecting others to make things happen has passed. We have to vote, risk and force the change. Next time, it could be one of our children.

What would you be willing to risk in order to prevent another mass shooting?

0 comment
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Brock Turner, rape, rapist, Stanford University, reduced sentence

Brock Turner, the Stanford University swimmer, convicted of sexually assaulting an unconscious woman and leaving her next to a dumpster has already had his controversial, barely-there six-month jail sentence reduced by 2 months according to court documents obtained by The Daily Mail.

Brock Turner, 20, has already had two months knocked off his sentence for “expected good behavior behind bars”, which means he’ll be a free man as early as Sept. 2.

Yes, people, lock up your daughters because coming soon to a city near you, this piece of shit rapist will be walking the streets free and clear.

As soon as this fall, Brock Turner will be free on the streets, able to find another victim, force himself on her, claim it was just another misunderstanding and get just another slap on the wrist.

Mr. Turner is also in the process of appealing his conviction and moving his three-year probation to his home state of Ohio. All while his dad is fund raising for his son’s legal fees. A customer service representative for the Wright-Patt Credit Union confirmed that Dan Turner, the father of Brock Turner, established the account into which funds solicited through the Facebook fundraising page would be deposited.  The credit union account is still active as of this update.  It is unclear whether Dan Turner also established the page soliciting the funds, which purported to be authored by a friend of the Turner family. Because you know, this has all been so hard on the Turner family. I bet it is hard knowing you raised a rapist.

The page has since been taken down.

Which makes me wonder, what the hell is going on in high schools in Ohio. Wasn’t it just a few years ago that a group of high school boys gang raped an intoxicated, unconscious girl in Steubenville, Ohio? Why do we keep blaming the victims for ruining the rapists lives? How is society getting this so ass backwards?

What are your thoughts on the Brock Turner case and the reduction of his sentence?

1 comment
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Emily Doe, victim statement, Brock Turner, Stanford, swimmer, rape, rapist, kid, roared, roar, tantrums, mommy moment, bad parenting

On January 17, 2015, former Stanford University student, Brock Turner, raped an inebriated 22-year-old woman, Emily Doe, behind a garbage dumpster after a frat party. There was no remorse on the part of Mr. Turner for raping someone, only the remorse of being caught. We are all Emily Doe. This could have happened to any of us. It has happened to many of us (to one degree or another) and it will happen to many more of us, if we don’t fight to change it. In fact, it will happen to your daughter, and your granddaughters and all those daughters that come after that.

The attack was only stopped when two Swedish PhD students, Carl Fredrik-Arndt and Peter Jonsson, were cycling past on their way to a party. When the two heroes saw that Turner was on top of an unconscious woman, they stopped, tackled Turner and pinned him down until police could arrive and arrest him. They didn’t have to stop, in fact, most people wouldn’t have stopped they would have gone on about their business.

Because let’s be honest, most people don’t want to be bothered by the inconvenience. It’s so much easier not to get involved. So people pretend they don’t see it happening; the frightened woman on the subway with the stranger’s hand on her ass, the drunk girl at the party being carried off to another room by a group of guys or even the businesswoman walking down the street being harassed by catcalls by men so far beneath her station that the closest thing they’ll ever get to talking to her is yelling sexually lewd epithets at her.

This March, Turner was found guilty of three counts of sexual assault and last Thursday Turner faced a maximum of 14 years in state prison but instead was only sentenced to six months in a county jail and probation. He must also complete a sex offender management program and register as a convicted sex offender for the rest of his life.   This is a slap on the wrist and an insult to his victim. Apparently, membership in the club of white penis has its privileges. I’ve seen worse punishments bestowed on POC simply for being of color.

I’ve been avoiding the news the last few days because I wanted to enjoy my time with my family. After last week’s fiasco, I know to truly enjoy my life and time with my family I have to unplug. Then I stumbled across Facebook and I saw the photo of Brock Turner as the clean-cut good kid. Then I saw the actual mug shot and honestly, what does it matter what a rapist looks like? If you rape a woman you are a rapist. How well you dress or clean shaven you are, doesn’t make it okay or make you less of a rapist.

Brock Turner, Stanford University, rape culture, misogyny, campus rape

I’m sitting on vacation, reading the transcript of Emily Doe’s impact statement. As I listen to my little girl’s playing and giggling in the background, I am pushing down the lump in my throat and it is taking everything in my body not to start sobbing right here in the pool room at the Hyatt Regency. I didn’t realize that I’d be triggered but I was. Rape culture is alive and well and is not going anywhere soon. If anything, it’s growing momentum.

I want to cry for the victim; for what she has had to endure and her revictimization by a system that has failed her. I want to cry for my daughters who will one day soon be at college, alone without me to protect them from the evils of the world. I want to cry for every young woman who has ever gone doe-eyed and naively into the world and not expected to be victimized; myself included.

The judge was lenient on Brock Turner because he was an athlete, had a promising future and could possibly have even gone to the Olympics; made all of us Americans proud in the fucking 100-meter dash or some fucking shit like that. He got six months for ruining this woman’s life because in the world we live in, women’s lives don’t matter. We might have “equal rights” but really we will never be considered as valuable as men. He could have been an Olympian, what is she? Just another drunk girl at a party; or so Brock Turner, his father and the judge would have you believe. Just a poor dumb girl, who drank too much and had some drinker’s remorse the next day.

I used to be that girl. No, actually I was what Brock Turner and his attorneys would have you believe his victim was so I was actually much worse. I used to drink a lot in college. I would black out on occasion. I went to frat parties and I loved to flirt. I was the touchy-feely girl who loved attention and liked to have fun but I was a virgin until I was in college. Sure, I had boyfriends and there was dry humping, marathon make-out sessions and all that other shit you do when you just haven’t done the deed yet but I never consented to more. I wouldn’t because I hadn’t and I didn’t want to yet.

But there were times when I was drinking and guys got a little too aggressive in their advances. I remember once I was visiting a friend and I’d met a guy who was visiting her boyfriend, after a night of drinking and hanging out, I woke up to feel him pressed up against me and kissing me. I pushed him off but by the time I had woken up, he’d already been touching my body. I don’t know for how long, I was passed out. But I didn’t do anything about it because I felt partially responsible. Even though there was no consent and no making out before I passed out, I felt responsible for letting myself get into this vulnerable position because that is how this society has conditioned women to believe. If we are assaulted, we must have done something to encourage it.

Then there was the time I was at a frat party and a group of brothers from another university came to the party. I was a little sister at the fraternity, so I was comfortable and even felt safe at the house. A cute walkout started talking to me and one thing led to another, the flirting was in high gear and then in the middle of a room full of people, he pushed my head into his lap. I was drinking but that sobered me up immediately. I felt vulnerable, threatened (in a room full of guys) and angry. Luckily, the president of the frat (a friend of mine) saw the whole thing happen and literally, kicked the guy out of the house. Of course, then he spent the night “comforting” me. I let him because I felt like I owed him. I didn’t want his advances but it felt safer than some stranger shoving my face in his crotch and becoming an unwilling participant in a gang rape.

Then there was the time I was at a college bar with my friends and the star basketball player came up behind me and started grinding on me. I gently moved away. He followed in pursuit. Then he came in front of me, grabbed me by my ass and lifted me up around his waist and started trying to kiss me. No one did anything. I was terrified. I didn’t want his advances. I did not invite him to do any of this. I was minding my own business. No one helped me. I wiggled myself out of his grip and ran out of the bar. When a friend found me outside, she did not care if I was alright or if I was shaken. Her question was, “Don’t you know who that was?”

Or the time I was working at a retail chain as a teenager and the security guys called me back into the security room. I thought they needed a female employee as a witness as they questioned a suspected female shoplifter because that was protocol. Instead, when I got back there at 9 at night, when we were working on a skeleton crew, the two grown men, locked the door and started making comments on how I looked in my uniform. They told me that they liked watching me on the cameras and told me to my face, as they laughed, “You know we could do anything we wanted to you in here and no one would even hear us.” I was trembling I was so terrified.

How about the time I was at a cop party with my friend and a married cop tried to make advances towards me and when I said no because he was married (plus I wasn’t interested) he told me that I should think twice before driving alone in his city ever again because he could pull me over late at night on a dark road and it wouldn’t matter if I was interested or not.

The thing is as I read the victim’s account of what had happened to her, I was saddened and more than anything I was fuming mad. I’m trying to use my words but the problem is that I’m angry and I’m sick of the world giving men a hall pass for rape and attempted rape and acting like it’s a victimless crime. I could go on for pages listing all the different times I’ve been accosted to one degree or another.

Sometimes were worse than others. Sometimes things went further than I wanted them to go but I never felt like I could do anything about it because the truth is that no matter how good, bad, drunk, sober, promiscuous or frigid you are, if you are a woman, you have been made to feel vulnerable and unsafe in your lifetime; it is the curse of being born with a vagina.

We don’t have to do anything to precipitate an attack, they just happen and we just have to learn to live with it, apparently even in 2016. But this is bullshit. I don’t want my girls to ever feel this kind of vulnerability or fear of living. Why do we have to be cautious and careful before doing everything? Even a girl in a beige cardigan who did nothing to encourage her attacker’s advances still got raped, left like garbage on the side of a dumpster and her attacker only received six months jail time.

Even a girl in a beige cardigan who did nothing to encourage her attacker’s advances still got raped, left like garbage on the side of a dumpster and her attacker only received six months jail time. Apparently, that is all a woman’s life is worth. Her life is ruined; she will never be the same but it doesn’t really matter because a penis holds more value in this world than a vagina ever could. After all, we only propagate the species. He could have been an Olympian; she was always just a woman.

Emily Doe, Victim statement, swimmer,Brock Turner, Stanford University, rape culture, misogyny, campus rape

The scary thing is Brock Turner is not an anomaly. And it doesn’t matter what we do, how we dress, how much we do or don’t drink, we can all be the victim and this is what scares me the most. When are we going to teach our sons that it’s not okay to put their hands, fingers, mouths and dicks on women’s bodies without permission? When will our girls ever be able to feel safe to walk alone at night or have a vagina?

In case you don’t think rape is a serious crime that warrants more than a six-month inconvenience for the attacker, read the statement below from Brock Turner’s victim.

Your Honor, if it is all right, for the majority of this statement I would like to address the defendant directly.

You don’t know me, but you’ve been inside me, and that’s why we’re here today.

On January 17th, 2015, it was a quiet Saturday night at home. My dad made some dinner and I sat at the table with my younger sister who was visiting for the weekend. I was working full time and it was approaching my bed time. I planned to stay at home by myself, watch some TV and read, while she went to a party with her friends. Then, I decided it was my only night with her, I had nothing better to do, so why not, there’s a dumb party ten minutes from my house, I would go, dance like a fool, and embarrass my younger sister. On the way there, I joked that undergrad guys would have braces. My sister teased me for wearing a beige cardigan to a frat party like a librarian. I called myself “big mama”, because I knew I’d be the oldest one there. I made silly faces, let my guard down, and drank liquor too fast not factoring in that my tolerance had significantly lowered since college.

The next thing I remember I was in a gurney in a hallway. I had dried blood and bandages on the backs of my hands and elbow. I thought maybe I had fallen and was in an admin office on campus. I was very calm and wondering where my sister was. A deputy explained I had been assaulted. I still remained calm, assured he was speaking to the wrong person. I knew no one at this party. When I was finally allowed to use the restroom, I pulled down the hospital pants they had given me, went to pull down my underwear, and felt nothing. I still remember the feeling of my hands touching my skin and grabbing nothing. I looked down and there was nothing. The thin piece of fabric, the only thing between my vagina and anything else, was missing and everything inside me was silenced. I still don’t have words for that feeling. In order to keep breathing, I thought maybe the policemen used scissors to cut them off for evidence.

“You don’t know me, but you’ve been inside me, and that’s why we’re here today.”

Then, I felt pine needles scratching the back of my neck and started pulling them out my hair. I thought maybe, the pine needles had fallen from a tree onto my head. My brain was talking my gut into not collapsing. Because my gut was saying, help me, help me.

I shuffled from room to room with a blanket wrapped around me, pine needles trailing behind me, I left a little pile in every room I sat in. I was asked to sign papers that said “Rape Victim” and I thought something has really happened. My clothes were confiscated and I stood naked while the nurses held a ruler to various abrasions on my body and photographed them. The three of us worked to comb the pine needles out of my hair, six hands to fill one paper bag. To calm me down, they said it’s just the flora and fauna, flora and fauna. I had multiple swabs inserted into my vagina and anus, needles for shots, pills, had a Nikon pointed right into my spread legs. I had long, pointed beaks inside me and had my vagina smeared with cold, blue paint to check for abrasions.

After a few hours of this, they let me shower. I stood there examining my body beneath the stream of water and decided, I don’t want my body anymore. I was terrified of it, I didn’t know what had been in it, if it had been contaminated, who had touched it. I wanted to take off my body like a jacket and leave it at the hospital with everything else.

On that morning, all that I was told was that I had been found behind a dumpster, potentially penetrated by a stranger, and that I should get retested for HIV because results don’t always show up immediately. But for now, I should go home and get back to my normal life. Imagine stepping back into the world with only that information. They gave me huge hugs and I walked out of the hospital into the parking lot wearing the new sweatshirt and sweatpants they provided me, as they had only allowed me to keep my necklace and shoes.

My sister picked me up, face wet from tears and contorted in anguish. Instinctively and immediately, I wanted to take away her pain. I smiled at her, I told her to look at me, I’m right here, I’m okay, everything’s okay, I’m right here. My hair is washed and clean, they gave me the strangest shampoo, calm down, and look at me. Look at these funny new sweatpants and sweatshirt, I look like a P.E. teacher, let’s go home, let’s eat something. She did not know that beneath my sweatsuit, I had scratches and bandages on my skin, my vagina was sore and had become a strange, dark color from all the prodding, my underwear was missing, and I felt too empty to continue to speak. That I was also afraid, that I was also devastated. That day we drove home and for hours in silence my younger sister held me.

My boyfriend did not know what happened, but called that day and said, “I was really worried about you last night, you scared me, did you make it home okay?” I was horrified. That’s when I learned I had called him that night in my blackout, left an incomprehensible voicemail, that we had also spoken on the phone, but I was slurring so heavily he was scared for me, that he repeatedly told me to go find [fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][my sister]. Again, he asked me, “What happened last night? Did you make it home okay?” I said yes, and hung up to cry.

I was not ready to tell my boyfriend or parents that actually, I may have been raped behind a dumpster, but I don’t know by who or when or how. If I told them, I would see the fear on their faces, and mine would multiply by tenfold, so instead I pretended the whole thing wasn’t real.

I tried to push it out of my mind, but it was so heavy I didn’t talk, I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep, I didn’t interact with anyone. After work, I would drive to a secluded place to scream. I didn’t talk, I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep, I didn’t interact with anyone, and I became isolated from the ones I loved most. For over a week after the incident, I didn’t get any calls or updates about that night or what happened to me. The only symbol that proved that it hadn’t just been a bad dream, was the sweatshirt from the hospital in my drawer.

One day, I was at work, scrolling through the news on my phone, and came across an article. In it, I read and learned for the first time about how I was found unconscious, with my hair disheveled, long necklace wrapped around my neck, bra pulled out of my dress, dress pulled off over my shoulders and pulled up above my waist, that I was butt naked all the way down to my boots, legs spread apart, and had been penetrated by a foreign object by someone I did not recognize. This was how I learned what happened to me, sitting at my desk reading the news at work. I learned what happened to me the same time everyone else in the world learned what happened to me. That’s when the pine needles in my hair made sense, they didn’t fall from a tree. He had taken off my underwear, his fingers had been inside of me. I don’t even know this person. I still don’t know this person. When I read about me like this, I said, this can’t be me, this can’t be me. I could not digest or accept any of this information. I could not imagine my family having to read about this online. I kept reading. In the next paragraph, I read something that I will never forgive; I read that according to him, I liked it. I liked it. Again, I do not have words for these feelings.

“And then, at the bottom of the article, after I learned about the graphic details of my own sexual assault, the article listed his swimming times.”

It’s like if you were to read an article where a car was hit, and found dented, in a ditch. But maybe the car enjoyed being hit. Maybe the other car didn’t mean to hit it, just bump it up a little bit. Cars get in accidents all the time, people aren’t always paying attention, can we really say who’s at fault.

And then, at the bottom of the article, after I learned about the graphic details of my own sexual assault, the article listed his swimming times. She was found breathing, unresponsive with her underwear six inches away from her bare stomach curled in fetal position. By the way, he’s really good at swimming. Throw in my mile time if that’s what we’re doing. I’m good at cooking, put that in there, I think the end is where you list your extracurriculars to cancel out all the sickening things that’ve happened.

The night the news came out I sat my parents down and told them that I had been assaulted, to not look at the news because it’s upsetting, just know that I’m okay, I’m right here, and I’m okay. But halfway through telling them, my mom had to hold me because I could no longer stand up.

The night after it happened, he said he didn’t know my name, said he wouldn’t be able to identify my face in a lineup, didn’t mention any dialogue between us, no words, only dancing and kissing. Dancing is a cute term; was it snapping fingers and twirling dancing, or just bodies grinding up against each other in a crowded room? I wonder if kissing was just faces sloppily pressed up against each other? When the detective asked if he had planned on taking me back to his dorm, he said no. When the detective asked how we ended up behind the dumpster, he said he didn’t know. He admitted to kissing other girls at that party, one of whom was my own sister who pushed him away. He admitted to wanting to hook up with someone. I was the wounded antelope of the herd, completely alone and vulnerable, physically unable to fend for myself, and he chose me. Sometimes I think, if I hadn’t gone, then this never would’ve happened. But then I realized, it would have happened, just to somebody else. You were about to enter four years of access to drunk girls and parties, and if this is the foot you started off on, then it is right you did not continue. The night after it happened, he said he thought I liked it because I rubbed his back. A back rub.

Never mentioned me voicing consent, never mentioned us even speaking, a back rub. One more time, in public news, I learned that my ass and vagina were completely exposed outside, my breasts had been groped, fingers had been jabbed inside me along with pine needles and debris, my bare skin and head had been rubbing against the ground behind a dumpster, while an erect freshman was humping my half naked, unconscious body. But I don’t remember, so how do I prove I didn’t like it.

I thought there’s no way this is going to trial; there were witnesses, there was dirt in my body, he ran but was caught. He’s going to settle, formally apologize, and we will both move on. Instead, I was told he hired a powerful attorney, expert witnesses, private investigators who were going to try and find details about my personal life to use against me, find loopholes in my story to invalidate me and my sister, in order to show that this sexual assault was in fact a misunderstanding. That he was going to go to any length to convince the world he had simply been confused.

I was not only told that I was assaulted, I was told that because I couldn’t remember, I technically could not prove it was unwanted. And that distorted me, damaged me, almost broke me. It is the saddest type of confusion to be told I was assaulted and nearly raped, blatantly out in the open, but we don’t know if it counts as assault yet. I had to fight for an entire year to make it clear that there was something wrong with this situation.

“I was pummeled with narrowed, pointed questions that dissected my personal life, love life, past life, family life, inane questions, accumulating trivial details to try and find an excuse for this guy who had me half naked before even bothering to ask for my name. “

When I was told to be prepared in case we didn’t win, I said, I can’t prepare for that. He was guilty the minute I woke up. No one can talk me out of the hurt he caused me. Worst of all, I was warned, because he now knows you don’t remember, he is going to get to write the script. He can say whatever he wants and no one can contest it. I had no power, I had no voice, I was defenseless. My memory loss would be used against me. My testimony was weak, was incomplete, and I was made to believe that perhaps, I am not enough to win this. His attorney constantly reminded the jury, the only one we can believe is Brock, because she doesn’t remember. That helplessness was traumatizing.

Instead of taking time to heal, I was taking time to recall the night in excruciating detail, in order to prepare for the attorney’s questions that would be invasive, aggressive, and designed to steer me off course, to contradict myself, my sister, phrased in ways to manipulate my answers. Instead of his attorney saying, Did you notice any abrasions? He said, You didn’t notice any abrasions, right? This was a game of strategy, as if I could be tricked out of my own worth. The sexual assault had been so clear, but instead, here I was at the trial, answering questions like:

How old are you? How much do you weigh? What did you eat that day? Well what did you have for dinner? Who made dinner? Did you drink with dinner? No, not even water? When did you drink? How much did you drink? What container did you drink out of? Who gave you the drink? How much do you usually drink? Who dropped you off at this party? At what time? But where exactly? What were you wearing? Why were you going to this party? What’ d you do when you got there? Are you sure you did that? But what time did you do that? What does this text mean? Who were you texting? When did you urinate? Where did you urinate? With whom did you urinate outside? Was your phone on silent when your sister called? Do you remember silencing it? Really because on page 53 I’d like to point out that you said it was set to ring. Did you drink in college? You said you were a party animal? How many times did you black out? Did you party at frats? Are you serious with your boyfriend? Are you sexually active with him? When did you start dating? Would you ever cheat? Do you have a history of cheating? What do you mean when you said you wanted to reward him? Do you remember what time you woke up? Were you wearing your cardigan? What color was your cardigan? Do you remember any more from that night? No? Okay, well, we’ll let Brock fill it in.

I was pummeled with narrowed, pointed questions that dissected my personal life, love life, past life, family life, inane questions, accumulating trivial details to try and find an excuse for this guy who had me half naked before even bothering to ask for my name. After a physical assault, I was assaulted with questions designed to attack me, to say see, her facts don’t line up, she’s out of her mind, she’s practically an alcoholic, she probably wanted to hook up, he’s like an athlete right, they were both drunk, whatever, the hospital stuff she remembers is after the fact, why take it into account, Brock has a lot at stake so he’s having a really hard time right now.

And then it came time for him to testify and I learned what it meant to be revictimized. I want to remind you, the night after it happened he said he never planned to take me back to his dorm. He said he didn’t know why we were behind a dumpster. He got up to leave because he wasn’t feeling well when he was suddenly chased and attacked. Then he learned I could not remember.

So one year later, as predicted, a new dialogue emerged. Brock had a strange new story, almost sounded like a poorly written young adult novel with kissing and dancing and hand holding and lovingly tumbling onto the ground, and most importantly in this new story, there was suddenly consent. One year after the incident, he remembered, oh yeah, by the way she actually said yes, to everything, so.

He said he had asked if I wanted to dance. Apparently I said yes. He’d asked if I wanted to go to his dorm, I said yes. Then he asked if he could finger me and I said yes. Most guys don’t ask, can I finger you? Usually there’s a natural progression of things, unfolding consensually, not a Q and A. But apparently I granted full permission. He’s in the clear. Even in his story, I only said a total of three words, yes yes yes, before he had me half naked on the ground. Future reference, if you are confused about whether a girl can consent, see if she can speak an entire sentence. You couldn’t even do that. Just one coherent string of words. Where was the confusion? This is common sense, human decency.

According to him, the only reason we were on the ground was because I fell down. Note; if a girl falls down help her get back up. If she is too drunk to even walk and falls down, do not mount her, hump her, take off her underwear, and insert your hand inside her vagina. If a girl falls down help her up. If she is wearing a cardigan over her dress don’t take it off so that you can touch her breasts. Maybe she is cold, maybe that’s why she wore the cardigan.

Next in the story, two Swedes on bicycles approached you and you ran. When they tackled you why didn’t say, “Stop! Everything’s okay, go ask her, she’s right over there, she’ll tell you.” I mean you had just asked for my consent, right? I was awake, right? When the policeman arrived and interviewed the evil Swede who tackled you, he was crying so hard he couldn’t speak because of what he’d seen.

Your attorney has repeatedly pointed out, well we don’t know exactly when she became unconscious. And you’re right, maybe I was still fluttering my eyes and wasn’t completely limp yet. That was never the point. I was too drunk to speak English, too drunk to consent way before I was on the ground. I should have never been touched in the first place. Brock stated, “At no time did I see that she was not responding. If at any time I thought she was not responding, I would have stopped immediately.” Here’s the thing; if your plan was to stop only when I became unresponsive, then you still do not understand. You didn’t even stop when I was unconscious anyway! Someone else stopped you. Two guys on bikes noticed I wasn’t moving in the dark and had to tackle you. How did you not notice while on top of me?

You said, you would have stopped and gotten help. You say that, but I want you to explain how you would’ve helped me, step by step, walk me through this. I want to know, if those evil Swedes had not found me, how the night would have played out. I am asking you; Would you have pulled my underwear back on over my boots? Untangled the necklace wrapped around my neck? Closed my legs, covered me? Pick the pine needles from my hair? Asked if the abrasions on my neck and bottom hurt? Would you then go find a friend and say, Will you help me get her somewhere warm and soft? I don’t sleep when I think about the way it could have gone if the two guys had never come. What would have happened to me? That’s what you’ll never have a good answer for, that’s what you can’t explain even after a year.

On top of all this, he claimed that I orgasmed after one minute of digital penetration. The nurse said there had been abrasions, lacerations, and dirt in my genitalia. Was that before or after I came?

To sit under oath and inform all of us, that yes I wanted it, yes I permitted it, and that you are the true victim attacked by Swedes for reasons unknown to you is appalling, is demented, is selfish, is damaging. It is enough to be suffering. It is another thing to have someone ruthlessly working to diminish the gravity of validity of this suffering.

My family had to see pictures of my head strapped to a gurney full of pine needles, of my body in the dirt with my eyes closed, hair messed up, limbs bent, and dress hiked up. And even after that, my family had to listen to your attorney say the pictures were after the fact, we can dismiss them. To say, yes her nurse confirmed there was redness and abrasions inside her, significant trauma to her genitalia, but that’s what happens when you finger someone, and he’s already admitted to that. To listen to your attorney attempt to paint a picture of me, the face of girls gone wild, as if somehow that would make it so that I had this coming for me. To listen to him say I sounded drunk on the phone because I’m silly and that’s my goofy way of speaking. To point out that in the voicemail, I said I would reward my boyfriend and we all know what I was thinking. I assure you my rewards program is non transferable, especially to any nameless man that approaches me.

“This is not a story of another drunk college hook­up with poor decision making. Assault is not an accident.”

He has done irreversible damage to me and my family during the trial and we have sat silently, listening to him shape the evening. But in the end, his unsupported statements and his attorney’s twisted logic fooled no one. The truth won, the truth spoke for itself.

You are guilty. Twelve jurors convicted you guilty of three felony counts beyond reasonable doubt, that’s twelve votes per count, thirty ­six yeses confirming guilt, that’s one hundred percent, unanimous guilt. And I thought finally it is over, finally he will own up to what he did, truly apologize, we will both move on and get better. ​Then I read your statement.

If you are hoping that one of my organs will implode from anger and I will die, I’m almost there. You are very close. This is not a story of another drunk college hook­up with poor decision making. Assault is not an accident. Somehow, you still don’t get it. Somehow, you still sound confused. I will now read portions of the defendant’s statement and respond to them.

You said, Being drunk I just couldn’t make the best decisions and neither could she.

Alcohol is not an excuse. Is it a factor? Yes. But alcohol was not the one who stripped me, fingered me, had my head dragging against the ground, with me almost fully naked. Having too much to drink was an amateur mistake that I admit to, but it is not criminal. Everyone in this room has had a night where they have regretted drinking too much, or knows someone close to them who has had a night where they have regretted drinking too much. Regretting drinking is not the same as regretting sexual assault. We were both drunk, the difference is I did not take off your pants and underwear, touch you inappropriately, and run away. That’s the difference.

You said, If I wanted to get to know her, I should have asked for her number, rather than asking her to go back to my room.

I’m not mad because you didn’t ask for my number. Even if you did know me, I would not want to be in this situation. My own boyfriend knows me, but if he asked to finger me behind a dumpster, I would slap him. No girl wants to be in this situation. Nobody. I don’t care if you know their phone number or not.

You said, I stupidly thought it was okay for me to do what everyone around me was doing, which was drinking. I was wrong.

Again, you were not wrong for drinking. Everyone around you was not sexually assaulting me. You were wrong for doing what nobody else was doing, which was pushing your erect dick in your pants against my naked, defenseless body concealed in a dark area, where partygoers could no longer see or protect me, and my own sister could not find me. Sipping fireball is not your crime. Peeling off and discarding my underwear like a candy wrapper to insert your finger into my body, is where you went wrong. Why am I still explaining this.

You said, During the trial I didn’t want to victimize her at all. That was just my attorney and his way of approaching the case.

Your attorney is not your scapegoat, he represents you. Did your attorney say some incredulously infuriating, degrading things? Absolutely. He said you had an erection, because it was cold.

You said, you are in the process of establishing a program for high school and college students in which you speak about your experience to “speak out against the college campus drinking culture and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that.”

Campus drinking culture. That’s what we’re speaking out against? You think that’s what I’ve spent the past year fighting for? Not awareness about campus sexual assault, or rape, or learning to recognize consent. Campus drinking culture. Down with Jack Daniels. Down with Skyy Vodka. If you want talk to people about drinking go to an AA meeting. You realize, having a drinking problem is different than drinking and then forcefully trying to have sex with someone? Show men how to respect women, not how to drink less.

Drinking culture and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that. Goes along with that, like a side effect, like fries on the side of your order. Where does promiscuity even come into play? I don’t see headlines that read, Brock Turner, Guilty of drinking too much and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that. Campus Sexual Assault. There’s your first powerpoint slide. Rest assured, if you fail to fix the topic of your talk, I will follow you to every school you go to and give a follow up presentation.

Lastly you said, I want to show people that one night of drinking can ruin a life.

A life, one life, yours, you forgot about mine. Let me rephrase for you, I want to show people that one night of drinking can ruin two lives. You and me. You are the cause, I am the effect. You have dragged me through this hell with you, dipped me back into that night again and again. You knocked down both our towers, I collapsed at the same time you did. If you think I was spared, came out unscathed, that today I ride off into sunset, while you suffer the greatest blow, you are mistaken. Nobody wins. We have all been devastated, we have all been trying to find some meaning in all of this suffering. Your damage was concrete; stripped of titles, degrees, enrollment. My damage was internal, unseen, I carry it with me. You took away my worth, my privacy, my energy, my time, my safety, my intimacy, my confidence, my own voice, until today.

See one thing we have in common is that we were both unable to get up in the morning. I am no stranger to suffering. You made me a victim. In newspapers my name was “unconscious intoxicated woman”, ten syllables, and nothing more than that. For a while, I believed that that was all I was. I had to force myself to relearn my real name, my identity. To relearn that this is not all that I am. That I am not just a drunk victim at a frat party found behind a dumpster, while you are the All­ American swimmer at a top university, innocent until proven guilty, with so much at stake. I am a human being who has been irreversibly hurt, my life was put on hold for over a year, waiting to figure out if I was worth something.

My independence, natural joy, gentleness, and steady lifestyle I had been enjoying became distorted beyond recognition. I became closed off, angry, self deprecating, tired, irritable, empty. The isolation at times was unbearable. You cannot give me back the life I had before that night either. While you worry about your shattered reputation, I refrigerated spoons every night so when I woke up, and my eyes were puffy from crying, I would hold the spoons to my eyes to lessen the swelling so that I could see. I showed up an hour late to work every morning, excused myself to cry in the stairwells, I can tell you all the best places in that building to cry where no one can hear you. The pain became so bad that I had to explain the private details to my boss to let her know why I was leaving. I needed time because continuing day to day was not possible. I used my savings to go as far away as I could possibly be. I did not return to work full time as I knew I’d have to take weeks off in the future for the hearing and trial, that were constantly being rescheduled. My life was put on hold for over a year, my structure had collapsed.

I can’t sleep alone at night without having a light on, like a five year old, because I have nightmares of being touched where I cannot wake up, I did this thing where I waited until the sun came up and I felt safe enough to sleep. For three months, I went to bed at six o’clock in the morning.

I used to pride myself on my independence, now I am afraid to go on walks in the evening, to attend social events with drinking among friends where I should be comfortable being. I have become a little barnacle always needing to be at someone’s side, to have my boyfriend standing next to me, sleeping beside me, protecting me. It is embarrassing how feeble I feel, how timidly I move through life, always guarded, ready to defend myself, ready to be angry.

You have no idea how hard I have worked to rebuild parts of me that are still weak. It took me eight months to even talk about what happened. I could no longer connect with friends, with everyone around me. I would scream at my boyfriend, my own family whenever they brought this up. You never let me forget what happened to me. At the of end of the hearing, the trial, I was too tired to speak. I would leave drained, silent. I would go home turn off my phone and for days I would not speak. You bought me a ticket to a planet where I lived by myself. Every time a new article come out, I lived with the paranoia that my entire hometown would find out and know me as the girl who got assaulted. I didn’t want anyone’s pity and am still learning to accept victim as part of my identity. You made my own hometown an uncomfortable place to be.

You cannot give me back my sleepless nights. The way I have broken down sobbing uncontrollably if I’m watching a movie and a woman is harmed, to say it lightly, this experience has expanded my empathy for other victims. I have lost weight from stress, when people would comment I told them I’ve been running a lot lately. There are times I did not want to be touched. I have to relearn that I am not fragile, I am capable, I am wholesome, not just livid and weak.

When I see my younger sister hurting, when she is unable to keep up in school, when she is deprived of joy, when she is not sleeping, when she is crying so hard on the phone she is barely breathing, telling me over and over again she is sorry for leaving me alone that night, sorry sorry sorry, when she feels more guilt than you, then I do not forgive you. That night I had called her to try and find her, but you found me first. Your attorney’s closing statement began, “[Her sister] said she was fine and who knows her better than her sister.” You tried to use my own sister against me? Your points of attack were so weak, so low, it was almost embarrassing. You do not touch her.

You should have never done this to me. Secondly, you should have never made me fight so long to tell you, you should have never done this to me. But here we are. The damage is done, no one can undo it. And now we both have a choice. We can let this destroy us, I can remain angry and hurt and you can be in denial, or we can face it head on, I accept the pain, you accept the punishment, and we move on.

Your life is not over, you have decades of years ahead to rewrite your story. The world is huge, it is so much bigger than Palo Alto and Stanford, and you will make a space for yourself in it where you can be useful and happy. But right now, you do not get to shrug your shoulders and be confused anymore. You do not get to pretend that there were no red flags. You have been convicted of violating me, intentionally, forcibly, sexually, with malicious intent, and all you can admit to is consuming alcohol. Do not talk about the sad way your life was upturned because alcohol made you do bad things. Figure out how to take responsibility for your own conduct.

Now to address the sentencing. When I read the probation officer’s report, I was in disbelief, consumed by anger which eventually quieted down to profound sadness. My statements have been slimmed down to distortion and taken out of context. I fought hard during this trial and will not have the outcome minimized by a probation officer who attempted to evaluate my current state and my wishes in a fifteen minute conversation, the majority of which was spent answering questions I had about the legal system. The context is also important. Brock had yet to issue a statement, and I had not read his remarks.

My life has been on hold for over a year, a year of anger, anguish and uncertainty, until a jury of my peers rendered a judgment that validated the injustices I had endured. Had Brock admitted guilt and remorse and offered to settle early on, I would have considered a lighter sentence, respecting his honesty, grateful to be able to move our lives forward. Instead he took the risk of going to trial, added insult to injury and forced me to relive the hurt as details about my personal life and sexual assault were brutally dissected before the public. He pushed me and my family through a year of inexplicable, unnecessary suffering, and should face the consequences of challenging his crime, of putting my pain into question, of making us wait so long for justice.

I told the probation officer I do not want Brock to rot away in prison. I did not say he does not deserve to be behind bars. The probation officer’s recommendation of a year or less in county jail is a soft time­out, a mockery of the seriousness of his assaults, an insult to me and all women. It gives the message that a stranger can be inside you without proper consent and he will receive less than what has been defined as the minimum sentence. Probation should be denied. I also told the probation officer that what I truly wanted was for Brock to get it, to understand and admit to his wrongdoing.

Unfortunately, after reading the defendant’s report, I am severely disappointed and feel that he has failed to exhibit sincere remorse or responsibility for his conduct. I fully respected his right to a trial, but even after twelve jurors unanimously convicted him guilty of three felonies, all he has admitted to doing is ingesting alcohol. Someone who cannot take full accountability for his actions does not deserve a mitigating sentence. It is deeply offensive that he would try and dilute rape with a suggestion of “promiscuity”. By definition rape is not the absence of promiscuity, rape is the absence of consent, and it perturbs me deeply that he can’t even see that distinction.

The probation officer factored in that the defendant is youthful and has no prior convictions. In my opinion, he is old enough to know what he did was wrong. When you are eighteen in this country you can go to war. When you are nineteen, you are old enough to pay the consequences for attempting to rape someone. He is young, but he is old enough to know better.

As this is a first offence I can see where leniency would beckon. On the other hand, as a society, we cannot forgive everyone’s first sexual assault or digital rape. It doesn’t make sense. The seriousness of rape has to be communicated clearly, we should not create a culture that suggests we learn that rape is wrong through trial and error. The consequences of sexual assault needs to be severe enough that people feel enough fear to exercise good judgment even if they are drunk, severe enough to be preventative.

The probation officer weighed the fact that he has surrendered a hard earned swimming scholarship. How fast Brock swims does not lessen the severity of what happened to me, and should not lessen the severity of his punishment. If a first time offender from an underprivileged background was accused of three felonies and displayed no accountability for his actions other than drinking, what would his sentence be? The fact that Brock was an athlete at a private university should not be seen as an entitlement to leniency, but as an opportunity to send a message that sexual assault is against the law regardless of social class.

The Probation Officer has stated that this case, when compared to other crimes of similar nature, may be considered less serious due to the defendant’s level of intoxication. It felt serious. That’s all I’m going to say.

What has he done to demonstrate that he deserves a break? He has only apologized for drinking and has yet to define what he did to me as sexual assault, he has revictimized me continually, relentlessly. He has been found guilty of three serious felonies and it is time for him to accept the consequences of his actions. He will not be quietly excused.

He is a lifetime sex registrant. That doesn’t expire. Just like what he did to me doesn’t expire, doesn’t just go away after a set number of years. It stays with me, it’s part of my identity, it has forever changed the way I carry myself, the way I live the rest of my life.

To conclude, I want to say thank you. To everyone from the intern who made me oatmeal when I woke up at the hospital that morning, to the deputy who waited beside me, to the nurses who calmed me, to the detective who listened to me and never judged me, to my advocates who stood unwaveringly beside me, to my therapist who taught me to find courage in vulnerability, to my boss for being kind and understanding, to my incredible parents who teach me how to turn pain into strength, to my grandma who snuck chocolate into the courtroom throughout this to give to me, my friends who remind me how to be happy, to my boyfriend who is patient and loving, to my unconquerable sister who is the other half of my heart, to Alaleh, my idol, who fought tirelessly and never doubted me. Thank you to everyone involved in the trial for their time and attention. Thank you to girls across the nation that wrote cards to my DA to give to me, so many strangers who cared for me.

Most importantly, thank you to the two men who saved me, who I have yet to meet. I sleep with two bicycles that I drew taped above my bed to remind myself there are heroes in this story. That we are looking out for one another. To have known all of these people, to have felt their protection and love, is something I will never forget.

And finally, to girls everywhere, I am with you. On nights when you feel alone, I am with you. When people doubt you or dismiss you, I am with you. I fought everyday for you. So never stop fighting, I believe you. As the author Anne Lamott once wrote, “Lighthouses don’t go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining.” Although I can’t save every boat, I hope that by speaking today, you absorbed a small amount of light, a small knowing that you can’t be silenced, a small satisfaction that justice was served, a small assurance that we are getting somewhere, and a big, big knowing that you are important, unquestionably, you are untouchable, you are beautiful, you are to be valued, respected, undeniably, every minute of every day, you are powerful and nobody can take that away from you. To girls everywhere, I am with you. Thank you.

After the victim’s statement went viral, Turner’s dad, Dan Turner, issued a statement defending his son, arguing his life will be “deeply altered” by the court’s verdict. I know this man is speaking out as a father but really, the callousness with which he disregards the consequences his son’s actions have had on his victim sickens me. He pretends that his son has done nothing wrong worth jail time and has no regard whatsoever for how his child has ruined this woman’s life.

“He will never be his happy go lucky self with that easy going personality and welcoming smile,” he wrote.

“His every waking minute is consumed with worry, anxiety, fear and depression. Now he barely consumes any food and eats only to exist. These verdicts have broken and shattered him and our family in so many ways. His life will never be the one that he dreamt about and worked so hard to achieve. That is a steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action out of his 20 plus years of life.”

Mr. Turner says his son, Brock Turner, should not be sent to jail.

“The fact that he now has to register as a sex offender for the rest of his life forever alters where he can live, visit, work, and how he will be able to interact people and organizations,” he wrote.

“What I know as his father is that incarceration is not the appropriate punishment for Brock. He has no prior criminal history and has never been violence to anyone, including his actions on the night of January 17, 2015.”

Mr. Turner then suggested his son could become a role model for young people. I get that he is the kid’s dad but there comes a time when you need to support your child by loving them while at the same time making them understand that there are consequences to bad behavior and raping a woman is bad behavior. It is unforgivable behavior.

“Brock can do so many positive things as a contributor to society and is totally committed to educating other college age students about the dangers of alcohol consumption and sexual promiscuity.”

“By having people like Brock educate others on college campuses is how society can begin to break the cycle of binge drinking and its unfortunate results. Probation is the best answer for Brock in this situation and allows him to give back to society in a net positive way.”

It’s like this man doesn’t think his son has done anything really wrong. I know he’s a father who loves his son and love is blind, especially where our children are concerned but this man is in absolute denial.

What do you think is a fitting punishment for Brock Turner’s choice to rape a woman?

4 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail

The crazy people of the internet went from a polarizing hatred toward me over the Cincinnati zoo gorilla and my opinion of Michelle Gregg to straight up racists this week. People were commenting on everything from the fact that Michelle Gregg was African American to tossing around racists stereotypes like it was their job. I was appalled.

The thing is I wrote a knee-jerk post in a moment of anger. I’m an emotional writer who lacks a filter. I got more facts and apologized for being so judgmental. Then something unexpected and crazy happened, all the “Trump people” found their way to my blog and turned a horrible mistake into a venue for racist rants. This shocked me because, I have no idea what the race of a mother, or the criminal history of the child’s father has to do with their ability to parent or whether or not they love their children. What shocked me the most is that suddenly a parenting issue became about race.

Whether you buy your food with cash or on an EBT card, aren’t you still feeding your children? Since when is it a crime to be a little less financially fortunate? And just because a person made some mistakes that landed them in hot water with the penal system, does that mean they are incapable of loving their children? I don’t think so.

I’ve learned this week that the world is full of hateful, narrow-minded people that will use any excuse to spread their hateful agenda. Small people like to hurt people at their lowest moments and kick them hard when they are already feeling down.

I thought the worst had happened when I received close to 400 comments on my post telling me what a sanctimommy I was after I wrote the post about the mom who I held responsible for it all. The internet was not happy with me.

I was being judged presumptuously by the blog title alone (obviously, no one read it or most would have realized that I shared many of their opinions on the situation.) I was called every terrible name imaginable, told to come down off of my high horse, facetiously called “Super Mom”, “perfect Mother” and a proper “C*NT” (not so facetiously but quite literally) more times than I can even count.

Yes, she may have been responsible for not paying enough attention to her little guy for a few moments/minutes but then again maybe the enclosure should have been better child proofed/ less dangerous and maybe, just maybe, it was all just a horrible accident that could have happened to any one of us and has, to some degree. I think that’s where all the anger originated from.

People, parents especially, were identifying with this mom, empathizing and remembering a time when their child slipped away out of their gaze, even for a moment. It terrified them because any one of us could have ended up in this exact situation or something similar. It just so happened that I was the cold-hearted bitch making them all feel like mom failures. Which was never my intention. Then I wrote an apology for being hasty. That’s when the internet lost its f*cking mind for real.

The Racists came Out in Full attack mode.

Look I can take it if you want to attack me for my unpopular opinion. It was judgy and had a very polarizing opinion. What I don’t get was why when I published the second post, the one apologizing, I got just as much hate mail. All the people who apparently supported my original post but dared not voice their support suddenly sounded off and they were outraged. All I could think was, “Where were these people yesterday when I was being crucified by the internet?”

Honestly, I don’t think anyone read either post. I think everyone just read the title and formed their opinions of me. Talk about judging a book by its cover. Hell, it could have been the exact same post, just with a different title. In fact, it may have been. I’m never telling. You’ll just have to read for yourself and find out.

But then, something even more unbelievable happened, what was about a mom and her parenting skills or lack thereof suddenly became about race. I don’t know what one has to do with the other but all of the sudden the comments on the FB share became very dark. People started attacking this woman for her race, which has absolutely nothing to do with her parenting skills.

I won’t repeat what these racists were saying because low”>I’m not a racist  myself but you can go see them for yourself and be disgusted here.

One commenter accused me of having “white guilt”. Firstly, I’m Latina. Secondly, I wrote the post before I ever saw a picture of Michelle Gregg. Thirdly, I grew up in a very urban neighborhood, my entire neighborhood was African American and so are some of my favorite people. Who’s jumping to conclusions now?

Anyways, who knew that a little boy falling into a gorilla enclosure could bring out all of the “Trump supporters” to this mom? Honestly, this is just a symptom of what our country is becoming since Donald Trumpp has been campaigning for president.  People now think it’s okay to be openly racists. It’s bad enough if you have that hatred in your heart but it’s quite something else when you decide you are free to shout it out into the world, not caring how those words affect others. It’s as if they are proud to be racists.

People no longer feel ashamed or fear consequences of this kind of despicable behavior. This simultaneously sickens and terrifies me. Somehow this election season has brought out all the worst in people of our country and made people believe it’s acceptable to wave their racists flags high. Have you seen the Purge? I feel like lynchings could be making a comeback if Donald Trump gets into the oval office.

I don’t usually delete comments on my blog because I am a big girl and when I put my opinions online, I’m open to debate. I don’t expect everyone in the world to agree with me. Hell, we can even be friends if we have opposing views, as long as we respectfully agree to disagree but if you are leaving racists remarks on the blog, they will be deleted because I won’t be used as a venue for you to hurt other readers with your small minds and mean words. Bottom line is that if you are a racist or a bigot, we can’t be friends so just unfollow me now. Stop reading.

And to the “friend” who decided that after 3 days of being hated by the internet, she’d take her turn and kick me while I was already down. Bye Felicia! There’s no place in my world for fake friends. I’m grown. Life’s too short for shitty friends.

If you heard someone being a racist in person ( or online) would you speak up or would you be silent for fear of backlash?

What would you really do if you heard/saw racists spewing hate towards someone else?

0 comment
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Michelle Gregg, Cincinnati Zoo, Harambe, Lowland gorilla, Gorilla murdered, cincinnati zoo gorilla, deonne dickerson

A couple days ago, I wrote a piece about Michelle Gregg and the Cincinnati Zoo gorilla, Harambe, who was shot and killed as the result of a terrible situation gone out of control. A 4-year-old boy dodged out of his mother’s sight and found his way into the gorilla enclosure. Meanwhile his mom watched helplessly as the animal dragged the toddler around the moat like a rag doll. I can only imagine what hell that must have been.

We’ve all made mistakes and had situations with our children escalate or get out of hand in a matter of seconds. These are moments that we all wish we could change but we simply cannot. These accidents happen and all we can do is learn from them and pray we survive them.

Myself, I’ve had a 3-month-old roll off the changing table, when I turned my head for a split second to see why her 2-year-old sister was screaming bloody murder. We ended up in the ER and she was fine but I still feel terrible guilt over that.

I know toddlers are like tiny Houdinis and quite frequently bolt for doors, down streets and try to get out of your reach; most often as some sort of game. There is a unique pleasure that toddlers find in things that happen to terrify their parents. They don’t have rational thoughts so what they see as great fun, a game of tag with mommy or daddy, we find as absolutely horrific because we are acutely aware of all the things that could go wrong. That’s why we are responsible for keeping them safe. Parenting is hard work.

I remember once my 2-year-old daughter bolted off down our Cul de Sac when I was 9 months pregnant with her sister. I was terrified. I chased her down, praying all the while that she wouldn’t dart out into the road. The entire time she was looking back at me smiling, giggling and laughing. She thought it was a game. All I could think was, “Dear God, please don’t let this little person who I love more than life itself get hit by a car!” So I smiled back, using my sweet mommy voice (as not to spook her) while I was panicking inside. So see, I do understand how these things happen.

When I wrote the piece, I was very upset that the child was hurt in what appeared to be such a senseless and preventable situation and I was upset that the Cincinnati Zoo gorilla had to be put down due to human error. I lashed out in my piece. I became harsh and judgmental in my words and I shouldn’t have because the person I was putting all the blame on is only human. She is a mom I know what a labor of multitasking, exhaustion and complete love motherhood is.

I wrote the piece too early, with not enough information. While I did do my research, there was still not enough helpful information available at the time of publication for me to accurately write about the situation. It’s not an excuse but, anyone who has ever read this blog, knows that I do tend to react immediately while my emotions are still running high. It’s how I process things. It’s also why I am a blogger and not a journalist.

 

Here are a few facts about Michelle Gregg I didn’t know when I wrote the original post.

I know now from further investigating that Michelle Gregg only turned for a second and was being distracted by another of her crying children who needed her attention. She tried to go over the enclosure herself to rescue the boy but was warned by zoo officials that it would only cause the gorilla to become more aggressive. When the boy told her he was going to go into the enclosure, she told him no but when he saw his chance to get into the enclosure, he took it.

I always believed that the gorilla had to be put down in order to secure the child’s safety. That’s a no brainer, a human child’s life always holds more value than an animal’s life. I have two daughters and nothing has more value to me in the world than their lives. I’m certain that had it been my own daughter, there is nothing I wouldn’t have done to insure her safety. I’m fairly positive that I would have been down in the enclosure myself because I tend to react first and think about the consequences later.

I was very disappointed that more wasn’t done to help the child and mother before the toddler got into the enclosure. I know that some people did try to help but said they couldn’t get to the child in time but it just reminded me that we live in a world where people don’t necessarily try to help others, even when they see it happening because it might be an inconvenience. What happened to it takes a village?

Michelle Gregg, Cincinnati Zoo, Harambe, Lowland gorilla, Gorilla murdered, cincinnati zoo gorilla, deonne dickerson

I’ve been in situations where I have seen a stranger’s child heading towards danger, not to this degree obviously, but about to run into a parking lot or get fingers smashed in a door and I always try to stop the child from getting hurt because how the hell could I just watch something like that happen, especially as a mother, myself? But we live in a world where sometimes when I help, the parent gives me a dirty look because I spoke to their child, completely disregarding the reasoning behind it. People just don’t go out of their way to help their fellow people like they used to.

I have no super powers and sit on no throne ( as many of my commenters facetiously stated). I don’t think that my mothering choices are beyond reproach. I’m just a mom trying to raise my children the best way that I know how.  I don’t normally make a habit out of judging other moms. Generally, I believe parents should parent however is best suited for their family.

After initially hearing that the child had told his mom that he wanted to go into the enclosure several times before hearing her side of it, I felt like the mom could have saved herself a lot of pain by just taking his warnings more seriously and locking him down; stroller, hand holding, handing off to another adult or whatever. I now know that a willful 4-year-old is going to do what he wants to do if given the chance.

It’s easy for me to say what I would have done because I am not the one who suffered the ramifications of this momentary lapse in judgement. I’m sure Michelle Gregg will feel terrible about this for the rest of her life and every time she looks into her sweet boy’s eyes she will be thankful that he is alive and acutely aware that things could’ve ended much differently.

Toddlers are quick and fearless. No matter how hard we try to be the best moms to our children, sometimes bad stuff still happens. Anyone who has ever read this blog knows that I am flawed and have made a shiton of mistakes in motherhood. In fact, that was the entire premise of this blog in the beginning.

I judged another mom harshly because I didn’t agree with her parenting choice. I had a knee-jerk reaction and I condemned a woman for making a one-time error in judgement.

I’m sorry Michelle Gregg, you’re not a terrible mom; you’re just a human, like the rest of us.

 

4 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Michelle Gregg, Cincinnati Zoo, Harambe, Lowland gorilla, Gorilla murdered, cincinnati zoo gorilla

A Cincinnati zoo gorilla, Harambe, a majestic male Silverback lowland Gorilla (listed as critically endangered), was shot dead the day after his 17th birthday when a mother visiting the zoo lost track of her 4-year-old child. In a sad turn of events, the child got away from his mom and into the gorilla enclosure in front of a crowd of social media savvy a**holes (I know because they were all too busy tweeting video to actually help.) All because of one mom’s parental negligence.  Talk about a bad parenting moment. Thankfully her son is now resting safe and sound in the hospital with just a few scrapes and bruises. That’s the good news.

Who’s to blame for all of this? In my opinion, the mom. The toddler told his mom that he was going to go into the enclosure but she ignored his threats and that’s why I feel she’s responsible for the entire situation.  I realize that I’m being judgmental but how can I not be when not only was this woman not watching her child; more specifically, she chose to ignore his direct warning that he intended to do something dangerous.

Michelle Gregg, Cincinnati Zoo, Harambe, Lowland gorilla, Gorilla murdered, cincinnati zoo gorilla

If my toddler somehow ended up in the bottom of a Gorilla enclosure submerged in water with a 400 plus pound, super strong, unpredictable primate standing only inches above my child, I’d have grabbed the gun and shot the damn gorilla myself.

Who in the world let’s their toddler roam free out of sight long enough to shimmy under the clearly marked “Keep out” railings and wires of the enclosure, fall down the ravine and end up in the moat? She finally noticed that her child was in danger when other patrons started screaming? It had to take a minute for the child to escape her and make his way to the moat.

I took my girls to the zoo when they were toddlers and they were almost always strapped into their strollers as we maneuvered high traffic areas, unless they were in my arms or holding my hand. We’ve since moved past this barbaric practice; no zoos, circuses or Seas World’s for us. We go to sanctuaries, reserves, oceans and National Parks to see animals in their natural habitats.

Witnesses say the child, after being overheard telling his mother that he wanted to “get in the water”, then crawled through the railing, the bushes and fell 15-feet into the moat of the enclosure. Apparently, him telling her that he was going to do it wasn’t enough of a warning.

What’s wrong with this mom? Where was the little boy’s dad? Was anyone watching him? I’m normally of the mom and let mom parenting technique but willfully ignoring the threats of dangerous behavior ( in a dangerous place) could warrant a DCFS intervention.

Due to the negligence an innocent child was terrified and hurt and a Cincinnati Zoo Gorilla was shot and killed.

I watched many videos and read available reports on the situation. Everyone was rightfully terrified at the situation. Too bad the gorilla couldn’t be tranquilized rather than shot dead. But obviously, a human child’s life takes precedence over a gorilla’s. Zoo officials couldn’t very well stand around twiddling their thumbs while a child was drowned, mauled or crushed to death. A gorilla doesn’t know its own strength and could’ve easily seriously injured the child.

Tranquilizers could have caused the gorilla to become aggressive and hurt the child or fall on him in the interim as they waited for it to take effect. I get all of that. The thing is primates are highly intelligent animals and I think Harambe was just doing what came natural to him and he probably felt pretty scared when his handlers shot him.

I’m not a primate expert or a zoologist but it didn’t appear that he actually had any intention of hurting the child. It looked to me like he was trying to keep the baby safe until the child’s people came to collect him. I think the screaming and commotion was adding fuel to the fire and scaring both Harambe and the little boy. I think both the gorilla and the kid were both victims of this mother’s negligence.

This lady needs to be held responsible for her actions. She needs some parenting classes. I’m sure many of you think I sound like a cold-hearted witch but I watched the video (all of them) and I’m wondering why she is just standing on the sidelines screaming, “Mommy loves you!”

Lady, if you really loved your kid, maybe you should have kept your eye on him, strapped him in a stroller, held his hand and NOT let the kid wander off into the gorilla enclosure. Maybe you should have taken his warning that he was going to get into the water more seriously. That’s the part that really makes me feel like she was negligent.

I think most moms would have gone into mama bear beast mode and scaled that damn moat themselves and tried to save their baby or at the very least grabbed a zoo employee or maybe, I don’t know, sobbed at the thought of their baby possibly being beaten or killed by a gigantic primate. She did nothing…just like all the people who stood there and watched and recorded rather than actually help.

The little boy was taken to the Cincinnati Children’s hospital and is listed in stable condition after being manhandled for about 10 minutes by the gorilla. I think the bulk of the damage was probably done by the fall into the moat, the dragging around he endured while the gorilla became frightened from the screaming of the crowd or, I don’t know, the traumatization he will live with forever from seeing the giant gorilla murdered as it stood above him. Poor kid. Don’t worry kiddo your mommy loves you. She just doesn’t want to be bothered with watching you.

Word of advice if you can’t watch your kids, stay at home with the doors shut and try to keep your kids safe until they are old enough to take care of themselves. You suck! The Cincinnati zoo didn’t get the kid out of all the danger he’s facing by killing Harambe. After all, they aren’t  going home with the kid.

What did everyone think the gorilla was going to do? Eat the baby? They’re not carnivores. In my opinion, the parents’ negligence caused child endangerment.

Michelle Gregg, Cincinnati Zoo, Harambe, Lowland gorilla, Gorilla murdered, cincinnati zoo gorilla

What do you think about the endangered Cincinnati zoo gorilla being murdered in cold blood because a mom couldn’t be bothered to watch her child?

18 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail

I wanted to write a lighthearted Saint Patrick’s Day post today but Donald Trump has me terrified. It has nothing to do with being a Republican or a Democrat; it’s him, as a person. I am a Political Scientist by degree, I’m not sure many of you know that about me. Politics are my jam. I know all the ins and outs and I have my affiliations but I’m not asking you to vote the way I vote, I’m just asking that you consider all the facts.

I absolutely believe in the right to free speech and the right for every single person who is a citizen of this country to be able to vote for who they want to lead us, we are the people of “we the people”. It is our country. The President is an elected official. By staying silent and allowing a monster to be elected, because you don’t want to get called for jury duty, makes you part of the problem, not the solution and your (yes, you!) vote counts!

I’m not here to Trump bash, though if you know anything about me, you know I can’t stand his politics. But this is Throat Punch Thursday and I don’t think anyone deserves a bigger punch to the gullet, with a Chuck Norris round house kick more than Mr. Trump. If you support him, we’re probably not friends and aren’t reading this so I won’t worry about you unfriending me but on the off chance you are a Trump supporter, I would love to hear why you think he is the best candidate for you in the comments.

When I think of Trump the businessman, and I know many people think that the United States needs a business savvy person to run the country to fix the economy, I think of the top 1%. He is without a savvy businessman. He has more money than he knows what to do with and I think with that comes a God like feeling. When you don’t need people, I think you begin to lose touch with reality and that is a slippery slope to losing your humanity. It’s almost as if he can’t help it. He’s lived in this Trump bubble of his for so long that the situation the other 99% lives in (paycheck to paycheck) is not even fathomable anymore.

What scares me the most about the thought of Donald Trump winning the presidential election is that he thinks he is above all reproach. He will not be held accountable. He incites hatred and has made racism, misogyny, bigotry and xenophobia acceptable behavior by American people. In the short amount of time since he has began campaigning, people are crawling out from under their rocks and hurling hatred at one another in the most disgusting ways and it’s trickling down to our children.

 

Children hear and see everything. I discuss politics with my daughters. We have dinner together every night and we discuss our days and the news. I don’t believe in keeping my kids in bubbles. I think that kind of gullibility makes them vulnerable and susceptible to other people’s opinions so we discuss. I allow them to form their own opinions by presenting the facts. They know that they don’t have to agree with me but they do need to make informed choices in life.

I’ve worked really hard parenting my children to become good human beings.  I don’t want Donald Trump to ruin our children’s futures with his agenda of hatred. Personally, I think I’ve been doing a pretty good job of parenting and I want my kids to stay on the trajectory they are on as good, decent human beings who see other human beings.

 

#BellaForPresident, Donald Trump, parenting, politics, racism, misogyny, bigotry, children, America, American values, xenophobia, America is great

 

What do you think of Donald Trump and his campaigning antics?

[/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]

2 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Beyonce, formation, super bowl, girl power, black power

Saturday, I saw  Beyonce‘s video for Formation and I fell in love with it. I’ve been a fan of Beyonce since Destiny’s child. Not a rabid fan but I had a genuine appreciation for her as an artist. She has a beautiful voice and she’s all about the girl power, which as the mother of two daughters, she had me from the get.

What I love about Formation is how strong she is. Giving absolutely zero fucks. I’m going to speak my mind because bitches I’ve been silent too long. She came out the box with words a blazing. The lyrics alone were strong and on point but the imagery of the video told the whole story.

She is the kind of role model I want for my little girls. Hell, she’s my new shero with this bold new side.

Here are a few lessons all little girls, especially those little minority girls of ours, can learn from Beyonce and her new video.

Beyonce, formation, super bowl, girl power, black power

1. “My daddy’s Alabama, my mommas Louisiana”

Be proud of who we are no matter where we come from. Who cares if you are from the country like Bey or the ghetto like me. Where we come from makes who we become. If I hadn’t been poor and grew up in the ghetto, I probably wouldn’t be the strong broad I am today. Coming from hard places makes you scrappy and a fighter and that’s nothing to be embarrassed ever.

Beyonce, formation, super bowl, girl power, black power

 2. “I just might be a black Bill Gates in the making”

We can be anything we want to be. If we are ready to put in the blood, sweat and tears to get it. It can be ours. We are not limited by anything but our own determination. Don’t let other people’s opinions matter more to you than what you think of yourself. Work hard and do you.

 3. “I carry hot sauce in my purse”

Firstly, me too girl, me too! Be yourself and be proud. Give zero fucks about what other people think about you. You have to live with yourself. Make yourself happy. Life is too short to spend your life worrying about what other people think about you. We can’t leave our happiness in someone else’s hands or we’d all be unhappy. We’ve got to be who we are and go after what we want.

Beyonce, formation, super bowl, girl power, black power

4. ” I like my baby hair, with baby hair and afros. I like my Negro nose with Jackson Five nostrils.”

Love your body. Love what God gave you. If you are black, white, Latino or whatever else you might be we might all be the same on the inside (human) but we most certainly look different on the outside. We have different body types and we need to embrace them. I’m never going to have the “model body” of a 10-year-old boy. I have curves. It’s how I’m built. I have no ass to speak and rather large breasts. I can’t change any of it and instead of spending my life hating the body I was given, I need to embrace it and love it for what it is and not hate it for what it isn’t.

This part is everything.

Beyonce, formation, super bowl, girl power, black power

5. Go for it! Slay it. Put your heart, your soul and your back into it. Take no shit. Stand up for what you believe in and don’t be afraid to make your voice heard because we all matter!

I see it, I want it

I stunt, yeah, little hornet

I dream it, I work hard

I grind ’til I own it

I twirl all my haters

Albino alligators

El Camino with the ceiling low

Sippin’ Cuervo with no chaser

Sometimes I go off, I go off

I go hard, I go hard

Get what’s mine, take what’s mine

I’m a star, I’m a star

Cause I slay, slay

I slay, hey, I slay, okay

I slay, okay, all day, okay

I slay, okay, I slay okay

We gon’ slay, slay

Gon’ slay, okay

We slay, okay

I slay, okay

I slay, okay

Okay, okay, I slay, okay

Okay, okay, okay, okay

Every woman…can I please get a HELL, YEAH? This is the anthem for African Americans and women alike. It’s a call to action. A wake-up call. We all matter and that’s worth fighting for and I can’t think of anything better that I’d like to teach my little girls.

What did you think of Beyonce Formation video and its message?

 

2 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
square, Abe Hagenston, digital panhandling, homeless, homelessness

A 42-year-old Detroit homeless man, Abe Hagenston better known as Honest Abe, is in the business of being homeless. You read that right, he has taken panhandling to the next level by developing a website for people to use to hire him and other homeless people to do odd jobs. He even bought a square so that he can accept credit cards from his cell phone. He has a business license and merchant’s account and all card swipes go through square.com and they do his merchant processing so he has no access to your credit card info.

I was confused because I thought homelessness was the result of some horrible thing that happened to someone, like getting AIDS, losing your house in a fire or having your child get hit by a car and here in your arms one minute and gone the next. I thought that these things could happen to anyone. That was the tragedy. Any of us could fall victim to this type of travesty at any time through no fault of our own just really shitty circumstances. That’s why I give when I can but when I heard words like square, website and business license, it felt more like a choice than a situation beyond one’s own control. It felt intentional but I didn’t know the whole story.

Apparently, honest Abe has been in the business of being homeless for nearly a decade and just got tired of hearing people say that they wish they could help but they just didn’t have any cash on them. It’s true; we are becoming a cashless society. I seldom have cash and usually, I give food because I can charge it. He got tired of just waiting for something to happen to turn his life around so he created a way to help himself and others.

“Being homeless is my business. Now my business is being homeless,” he said.

At first when I heard this story, I was a little leery. I mean, how the hell can a homeless man afford a phone, a data plan, have a website and think to use a square to get donations? I would never have thought of all of that and I work online in the space. Apparently, Honest Abe has a better business sense than most.

When I heard the blurb on the radio this morning, I firmly believed this guy was a scam artist who was lazy and just trying to find an easy way to make a buck instead of working (because there are people who do that.) There was an entire expose a few years back about suburbanites who made panhandling their jobs to the tune of $65,000 a year because they didn’t want to work. They enjoyed the hustle. That’s when I started giving food.

But then I researched his site, watched his video and read his story and I may have been wrong. I think this guy is just smart and trying to make the best out of a bad situation. He actually doesn’t want a hand out, he wants a hand up and he wants to pass it on.

square, Abe Hagenston, digital panhandling, homeless, homelessness

It seems that my life has been a series of rebuilding.  Along the way I have learned that hard work, determination, ethical and moral decision making, along with a positive attitude is the right combination to pull yourself out of a hole.  However, just once I wish there was someone with a rope to assist.  I have never had the benefit of being assisted.  I have always found myself in the wrong demographic, ineligible for assistance other than food stamps, having to struggle when I could have been making progress.  I have never even heard of a homeless program (let alone seen one) that actually presented itself as a viable pick you up, dust you off and send you running, all the bells and whistles included full package program.

Being homeless gives a person a lot of time to reflect on what went wrong, and what a person could do differently if given the chance.

Hagenston’s cellphone was provided by the federal government’s Lifeline Assistance program and is known as the “Obamaphone.” His website is a free WIX website that he set up and accesses via the public library.

He doesn’t get food stamps and he refuses to lie about his mental state or do anything illegal to get housing. He wants to earn his way but, due to circumstances beyond his control, he is without a home and any identification and this prohibits him from securing employment.

There are 4 options left to me.  I could steal, deal drugs, prostitute, or fly a sign.  The first 3 are out of the question.  I am not slick enough to steal, I am not mean enough to deal drugs, and I am not pretty enough to prostitute.  So, you see me at 8 and Woodward.  I mean what else am I supposed to do?  Just lay down and starve to death?

I think he seems rather bright and business savvy. He may just be a genius. He is not only trying to get himself and other homeless people honest work and pay, he is trying to develop an app to identify the truly needy homeless from those who just pretend to be panhandlers which I would personally love to have because I love to help others but I’d like to know that they are actually in need of food and care not just panhandling because they don’t want to be stuck in a cubicle all day.

If this guy is for real, he is everything we need in this country. We have so many starving, homeless people on our own streets that we need to feed and if they can work for what they earn and provide for themselves, maybe we can help not only feed them but allow them to feel/be productive in society. That is a genuine win win situation for all of us. I find his entrepreneurial sense refreshing. He’s not giving up on himself, he’s reinventing himself within his circumstances.

What do you think of Honest Abe and the business of being homeless?

0 comment
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail

This website uses cookies to improve your experience. We'll assume you're ok with this, but you can opt-out if you wish. Accept Read More