Judicial Impropriety in 'Baby Veronica' case?

At left: Baby Veronica with the Capobiancos, graphic from Split Feathers.



We have been regularly covering the "Baby Veronica" case on our radio show, Occupy the Microphone on WOLI (which you should be listening to EVERY SINGLE DAY, LIVE AT FIVE!), so I haven't been covering it here. The legal twists and turns are hard to chronicle properly, and I am not sure I fully understand them myself. But there has been a new, disturbing development, with a blogger (go bloggers!) at the heart of it. I shall try to go back to the beginning and tell the story halfway intelligently. Wish me luck.

NOTE: If you prefer reading the legal minutiae and endless step-by-step court-wranglings, go to the SCOTUS blog about the case. More here.

The story begins with the child called "Baby Veronica"--who was adopted in Charleston without the knowledge or consent of her (unmarried) father, Dusten Brown. This is not, by itself, against the law here in South Carolina (although it is in some states), and this is a major reason such adoptions are popular here. The situation was complicated considerably when it was discovered that Brown is a member of the Cherokee Nation, which is legally regarded as a sovereign nation within US borders. This fact can trump state law, invoking the Indian Child Welfare Act. The adoptive parents, Matt and Melanie Copabianco, fought back hard. They have money and connections, and set up several websites (some asking for money) claiming, for instance, that Veronica is only "1% Cherokee"--which is a weird claim, considering that her father is Cherokee. This appeal to bloodlines eventually turned fairly nasty and racist, not surprisingly. (I won't link to the worst of the nastiness, but will leave it to your imaginations.)

Predictably, adoptees and adoptive parents lined up on both sides of the issue. Native American activists came forward to demonstrate and agitate. One of our shows on Baby Veronica got tons of downloads, which surprised us. That's when we learned just how incendiary this case is.

In the end, Veronica was returned to her adoptive parents. Native American activists regarded this as a dangerous precedent, while the states of Oklahoma and SC both moved to punish Brown for the crime of trying to hold on to his daughter; Governor Haley finally dropped the extradition order against Brown only hours ago.

And now, a blogger comes forward claiming judicial impropriety in the case. JL Hardee deleted his original post (right as we went on the air! doncha love that timing!?! Thanks JL!) claiming he was receiving death threats over it. Scotty Reid, our online producer, summed it up on our radio blog:

Yesterday a blogger and author by the name of J. L. Hardee published a post alleging that the Judge Daniel E Martin, Jr. of Charleston, SC is under investigation for not disclosing a possible prior relationship with Melanie Duncan Capobianco and her father, leading to possible bias in his ruling awarding custody to the Capobiancos over the child’s biological father Dusten Brown who is a member of Cherokee Nation. The post has been removed but another post by J. L Hardee says he has been getting death threats over his reports and he has removed all posts related to the adoption case but stands by his report.

Hardee claims he will follow up, but I am doubtful. (I know the few times *I* have been threatened as a blogger, I am certainly not eager to repeat the experience.)

But if it is indeed true that Judge Martin knew the Capobiancos IN ANY WAY? This is an outrage and requires a full investigation. Will we get one? Do we ever? They don't call this state "Bubbastan" for nothing... Bubba runs the laws, and Bubba gets his way. If Bubba wants an investigation, there will be one. However, in this instance, Bubba doesn't--so I don't see it happening.

Let me also add: I find the timing of Governor Haley's decision to drop the extradition, very interesting in light of this accusation.

I will be following up as best I can. I hope this story doesn't simply die, as so many stories in this state do.

~*~

EDIT 10/5/2013: An astute reader sends me the following link and information:

I know you are a careful researcher, so I suspect you already have run across the story of Jan Hunt a family counselor who wrote a letter in support of the Capobianco's re the adoption of Baby Veronica and later realized that she had been seriously misled. But in case you haven't seen it here's a link.

THANK YOU! I did not have Hunt's name, and since I didn't, all of my searches brought up every other aspect of this case but what I was looking for. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the link!

Greenville-headquartered Nightlight Christian Adoptions (the adoption agency responsible for this particular debacle) has also been under attack lately in connection with a five-part Reuters investigation about the practice of "private re-homing" adoptions. They are also well-known for their so-called "snowflake" adoptions of unused embryos (originally intended for IVF implantation), that would otherwise be destroyed.

Owl mythology

At left: On Sunday, I saw this owl on the Swamp Rabbit Trail, maybe 90 minutes before dusk.




He flew from tree to tree about 100 yards in front of me, which is when I first noticed him. He had an enormous wing span. I was walking in his direction, so when I arrived below the tree where he was, I spoke to him. He looked right at me and seemed to be listening. I suddenly understood all the stories about owls being "wise"--they do seem to be smart and attentive, with their immense, intense eyes.

Watching him for a few minutes, I realized he was carefully watching me too, looking me up and down. Very large black eyes; a creepy feeling, as if sizing me up to determine if I could be eaten.

I stood there awhile, sort of communing with the owl. I asked him a couple of spiritually-oriented questions that I won't repeat here. As I said, he seemed to be listening, so why not? The swamp is so, so hushed and quiet. It seemed appropriate to break the silence and say hello.

I then pointed him out to the next couple of cyclists as they whizzed by; these two expensively-sports-attired young fellows ignored me as if I was a crazy old woman (uh-oh). But the next two middle-aged women cyclists stopped and cooed appreciatively at him, taking photos also. A nice Baptist-looking family of cyclists also stopped, their teenage son especially impressed, exclaiming he had never been so close to an owl that was not caged.

On my way home, I idly considered the Lakota legend concerning the sighting of owls in the daytime (portent of death) and wondered if Lakota legends 1) applied to non-Lakota, and 2) applied in Carolina. (Wouldn't Cherokee or Catawba legends apply here instead?) And then I promptly forgot about the owl... until I dreamed about him.

He was answering my questions. He answered them very clearly, but not in "language." They were answers that formed in my mind, and when I woke up, I knew what I should do and what was going to happen.

So, I realize now that the owls are magic.

I posted the owl's photo on Facebook and received a couple of warnings about bad luck. And so I looked up some of the mythology and omens connected with owls. I discovered that throughout the world, they are regarded as signs of both good and bad luck. Also, I learned that the concept of owls being "sisters" originally comes from the indigenous people of Australia (see list below), which I hadn't known. There is a national women's organization called OWL (Older Women's League), which (as far as I know) has mostly regrouped into smaller, local chapters. I always wondered why they chose that particular name; I assumed it was a reference to the wisdom of age. I realize now that the connection of owls/women is part of the world's mythology.

The Owl Pages offers everything you ever wanted to know about owls. I discovered his species: Barred Owl, although many southerners call them Rain Owls, which is certainly an interesting (and appropriate!) name, since we have had so much rain lately.

From the Owl Pages, I found a list of fascinating world-legends and mythology about owls.

Here are some of my favorites:

Africa, Central: the Owl is the familiar of wizards to the Bantu.

Africa, Southern: Zulus know the Owl as the sorcerers' bird.

Africa, West: the messenger of wizards and witches, the Owl's cry presages evil.

Algeria: place the right eye of an Eagle Owl in the hand of a sleeping woman and she will tell all.

Arabia: the Owl is a bird of ill omen, the embodiment of evil spirits that carries off children at night. According to an ancient Arabic treatise, from each female Owl supposedly came two eggs, one held the power to cause hair to fall out and one held the power to restore it. Arabs once believed that the spirit of a murdered man continues to wail and weep until his death is avenged. They believed that a bird that they called "al Sada" (or the death-owl) would continue to hoot over the grave of a slain man whose death had not been avenged. The bird would continue to hoot endlessly until the slain man's death was avenged.

Arctic Circle: a little girl was turned into a bird with a long beak by magic, but was so frightened she flapped about madly and flew into a wall, flattening her face and beak. So the Owl was created.

Australia: Aborigines believe bats represent the souls of men and Owls the souls of women. Owls are therefore sacred, because your sister is an Owl - and the Owl is your sister.

Borneo: the Supreme Being turned his wife into an Owl after she told secrets to mortals.

Brittany: an Owl seen on the way to the harvest is the sign of a good yield.

Burma: during a quarrel among the birds, the Owl was jumped upon and so his face was flattened.

Cameroon: too evil to name, the Owl is known only as "the bird that makes you afraid".

Carthage: the city was captured by Agathocles of Syracuse (Southern Italy) in 310 BC. Afterward, he released Owls over his troops and they settled on their shields and helmets, signifying victory in battle.

Celtic: the Owl was a sign of the underworld.

China: the Owl is associated with lightning (because it brightens the night) and with the drum (because it breaks the silence). Placing Owl effigies in each corner of the home protect it against lightning. The Owl is regarded as a symbol of too much Yang (positive, masculine, bright, active energy).

France: when a pregnant woman hears an Owl it is an omen that her child will be a girl.

Germany: if an Owl hoots as a child is born, the infant will have an unhappy life.

India: The Barn owl is the "vahana" (transport/vehicle/mount) of the Hindu goddess of wisdom, Lakshmi. As such, the owl is held as a symbol of wisdom and learning. The eagle owls, especially the rock eagle owl [Bubo bengalensis] and the brown fish owl [Bubo zeylonensis] are called " ullu" in Hindi and the word is also used as a synonym for "idiot" or "imbecile". The most chilling sound during the quiet and cold winter nights in the plains of Bengal is perhaps the call of the " kaal penchaa", the Brown Hawk Owl. The rhythmic "kuk - kuk - kuk" is believed to be a foreboding of impending death.

Indonesia: Around Manado, on the isle of Sulawesi, People consider Owls very wise. They call them Burung Manguni. Every time someone wants to travel, they listen to the owls. The owls make two different sounds; the first means it is safe to go, and the second means it's better to stay at home. The Minahasa, people around Manado, take those warnings very seriously.

Iran: In Farsi the Little Owl (Athene Noctua) is called "Joghde-kochek". It is said that this bird brings bad luck. In Islam, it's forbidden (Haram) to eat.

Ireland: An Owl that enters the house must be killed at once, for if it flies away it will take the luck of the house with it.

Israel: in Hebrew lore the Owl represents blindness and desolation and is unclean.

At left: the swamp itself, which is much more ominous after heavy rains. I love love love it, except for the mosquitoes, which are humongous and always-starving. It is also home to the largest snake I have EVER seen that wasn't under glass in a zoo.

~*~





Japan: Among the Ainu people the Eagle Owl is revered as a messenger of the gods or a divine ancestor. They would drink a toast to the Eagle Owl before a hunting expedition. The Screech Owl warns against danger, although they believe the Barn Owl and Horned Owl are demonic. They would nail wooden images of owls to their houses in times of famine or pestilence.

Latvia: when Christian soldiers entered his temple, the local pagan god flew away as an Owl.

Lorraine: spinsters go to the woods and call to the Owl to help them find a husband.

Madagascar: Owls join witches to dance on the graves of the dead.

Malawi: the Owl carries messages for witches.

Mexico: the Owl makes the cold North wind (the gentle South wind is made by the butterfly). The Little Owl was called "messenger of the lord of the land of the dead", and flew between the land of the living and the dead.

Newfoundland: the hoot of the Horned Owl signals the approach of bad weather.

Poland: Polish folklore links Owls with death. Girls who die unmarried turn into doves; girls who are married when they die turn into Owls. An owl cry heard in or near a home usually meant impending death, sickness, or other misfortune. An old story tells how the Owl does not come out at during the day because it is too beautiful, and would be mobbed by other, jealous birds.

Puerto Rico: The Owl is called "Mucaro". Back in the 1800s, the people from the mountain coffee plantations used to blame the little mucaro for the loss of coffee grains. The belief was that the coffee was part of the owls' diet, and many owls were killed. There are old folklore songs on the subject, one goes like this:

Poor Mucaro, you're a gentleman
you just want to eat a rat
then the rat
set up a trap
he eats the coffee grains
and people blame you.

Romania: the souls of repentant sinners flew to heaven in the guise of a Snowy Owl.

Russia: hunters carry Owl claws so that, if they are killed, their souls can use them to climb up to Heaven. It is said that Tartar shaman of Central Russia could assume Owl shapes. Kalmyks hold the Owl to be sacred because one once saved the life of Genghis Khan.

Samoa: the people are descended from an Owl.

Siberia: the Owl is a helpful spirit.

Spain: legend has it that the Owl was once the sweetest of singers, until it saw Jesus crucified. Ever since it has shunned daylight and only repeats the words 'cruz, cruz' ('cross, cross').

Sri Lanka: the Owl is married to the bat.

Sumeria: The goddess of death, Lilith, was attended by Owls.

Sweden: the Owl is associated with witches.

~*~

And so we see, Owls are often connected with women, and with spirituality... or both.

Since my dream, I choose to see my owl as a good omen. But I also realize that life IS impermanence, and what is regarded as "good" right now, may well be considered "bad" in the future.

Perhaps that is the lesson of the owl. Live completely in the present.

No to the Keystone XL Pipeline

I totally forgot to post photos of our anti-Keystone XL Pipeline demonstration, here in Greenville on Saturday. This might be because it actually started to snow (a big crisis in South Carolina!) and I quickly hightailed it home after we ate lunch.



Our small but hardy troupe included Green Party members, 350.org and Occupy Greenville. This was staged in front of the downtown TD Bank, which is funding the Keystone XL Pipeline. Local actions were on Saturday, while the larger, national demonstration in Washington (on the National Mall) was scheduled for Sunday.

I helped pass out leaflets to curious onlookers, which outlined some of the following points (this particular excerpt is from Friends of the Earth):

The Canadian oil and gas company TransCanada hopes to begin building a new oil pipeline that would trek close to 2,000 miles from Alberta, Canada to the Gulf Coast of Texas. If constructed, the pipeline, known as the Keystone XL, will carry one of the world’s dirtiest fuels: tar sands oil. Along its route from Alberta to Texas, this pipeline could devastate ecosystems and pollute water sources, and would jeopardize public health.

Giant oil corporations invested in Canada's tar sands are counting on the Keystone XL pipeline to make the expansion of oil extraction operations profitable: The pipeline would double imports of dirty tar sands oil into the United States and transport it to refineries on the Gulf Coast and ports for international export.

Before TransCanada can begin construction, however, the company needs a presidential permit from the Obama administration

...

Environmental concerns

Pollution from tar sands oil greatly eclipses that of conventional oil. During tar sands oil production alone, levels of carbon dioxide emissions are three times higher than those of conventional oil, due to more energy-intensive extraction and refining processes. The Keystone XL pipeline would carry 900,000 barrels of dirty tar sands oil into the United States daily, doubling our country's reliance on it and resulting in climate-damaging emissions equal to adding more than six million new cars to U.S. roads.

During the tar sands oil extraction process, vast amounts of water are needed to separate the extracted product, bitumen, from sand, silt, and clay. It takes three barrels of water to extract each single barrel of oil. At this rate, tar sands operations use roughly 400 million gallons of water a day. Ninety percent of this polluted water is dumped into large human-made pools, known as tailing ponds, after it’s used. These ponds are home to toxic sludge, full of harmful substances like cyanide and ammonia, which has worked its way into neighboring clean water supplies.

Northern Alberta, the region where tar sands oil is extracted, is home to many indigenous populations. Important parts of their cultural traditions and livelihood are coming under attack because of tar sands operations. Communities living downstream from tailing ponds have seen spikes in rates of rare cancers, renal failure, lupus, and hyperthyroidism. In the lakeside village of Fort Chipewyan, for example, 100 of the town’s 1,200 residents have died from cancer.

It also appears that there will be minimal (if any) increases in American employment for the Pipeline, despite copious Republican propaganda that it will provide more jobs.

Notice that their "more jobs!" claims are always very nonspecific and vague. There's a reason for that.



~*~

Sunday's action in Washington featured a whopping 40,000 demonstrators. 350.org reports:

The speakers up on stage today represented the full diversity of our movement, from indigenous leaders across the United States and Canada, to clean energy investors like Tom Steyer, to environmental leaders like Mike Brune and Bill McKibben, to civil and voting rights activists like Rosario Dawson and Rev. Lennox Yearwood.

The march today looked like the movement that elected President Obama. Now, it’s time for him to join us in standing up to Big Oil and saying no to Keystone XL. Because this movement isn’t going anywhere. We’re, to borrow a phrase, fired up and ready to go. And we’re not stopping until the President takes action.

Here is the NPR report on the demonstration.

I was disappointed, but not surprised, to see the New York Times cave to Big Oil on this one. (not linking)

I strongly urge people to investigate and study the issue on their own, because the mainstream media seems determined NOT to provide the whole story.

The Real Daisy

... was my grandmother. I have no idea when or where this photo was taken, but it was probably in Pittsburgh.

Her eyes were so black, you couldn't even see the pupils. Her hair was likewise very black, naturally curly and silky.

My grandmother was Melungeon, which I have always intended to blog about, but there is so little known about them, I don't know exactly what to write. Suffice to say, they were very WEIRD backwoods people with all kinds of BIZARRE traditions you never heard of. (I later understood this is why my family was so odd and never fit in with the other nice, Midwestern families on the block.) Her youngest brother (who never left the backwoods) had an indescribable, hard-to-place accent that was nearly indecipherable, as did both of her parents. It went beyond mere Appalachian accents, and it was nice to finally learn the reason why.

When the Melungeons were asked questions by census takers, they told them all kinds of creative stories, claiming to be Portuguese, Arabs, Jews, and whatever else they thought the census-taker wanted to hear. That's why nobody knew for sure what race/ethnicity they were, and historians are still arguing over it. Much has finally been sorted out through DNA: Melungeons were "tri-racial isolates" -- Native American indigenous people (and refugees from colonial encroachment) and free African-Americans, intermarried with white colonists who decided to go off and live in the wilderness for whatever reasons. This accounts for their deep secrecy and suspicion of strangers (and especially the government).

When white colonists eventually migrated to the Cumberland Gap and the New River (where my grandmother was born), they found these strange folks already living there.

I am interested in learning more, as it becomes known. In studying the Melungeons, it is fascinating to note how some people don't mind being one of the first Americans, but twist themselves in knots to deny the African ancestors. My grandmother told me that as a child, she always knew there were Africans in her family tree... but that is not the rude terminology she used, which I will not repeat here. (What is interesting is that she found this amusing and never denied it. In all honesty, she seemed to find the idea of being related to Cherokee more disturbing.) When people snootily remarked that she looked like Lena Horne, she was obviously too thrilled to get mad about the racial thing.

Second photo is of my grandmother and my mother, Betty, on the right. I estimate their ages to be 37 and 21, respectively. (1955 - Parkersburg, WV)

















Third photo is my mother and me, ages 38 and 15. (1973 - Columbus, OH)
Yes, before you ask, I think that IS real fur. She thought fake fur was low class.

I miss them a lot during this time of year.

And now, your turn. Who do you miss?

Saturday with the Duke, meditations on fat...

I dunno why I watch reruns of John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara in McLintock! (1963)... because I am a glutton for punishment?

The movie amazes me in its "playful" but violent sexism; the way the music goes all cutesy flutes-and-piccolos-and-pipes when he is chasing her around and eventually forcibly carries her up the stairs, Rhett Butler-style. She is still issuing orders to her black servant as he carries her backwards to the second floor, to have his way with her. Now, I ask you: is that cute or what?

I have written here before of how uncomfortable I am with the old movies I am simultaneously addicted to. I have also written of how common it is, in these old films, to find something horrifyingly reactionary right next to something progressive. In McLintock, John Wayne takes up for the beleaguered Comanche Nation, who get thoroughly shit on in no uncertain terms. As a kid, I remember watching this movie; it was my first real education regarding Native American rights (or lack of them) and what had actually occurred in the Old West. Remember, we were all raised on "bad Indian" history lessons, and the whole truth was not presented to the masses until Dee Brown's landmark bestseller, Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee.(1970) [1] My mother read passages of the book out loud to us, with an incredulous tone in her voice. Most of us had no knowledge of the history of broken treaties and lies; our history books unambiguously portrayed the Indians as bloodthirsty killers that needed to be 1) wiped out or 2) converted. Ironically, the same movies that slandered the Indians, also reminded us that they were human beings, they had their own ways. The movies, then, were subversive.

And so, we get a movie that tells the kids: The Comanches got messed over. And then, the same movie joyously-endorses spanking grown women; it famously winds up with bitchy Maureen getting turned over John Wayne's knee for some good old-fashioned discipline, as the wild-west crowd (who hate these uppity red-headed broads from back East) cheer him on. (Stefanie Powers, the Duke's daughter, is also spanked by her boyfriend, while the cutesy flutes play on in the background and Dad chortles delightedly.) Lots of talk about manhood in this movie, and what it means to be a man. For George Washington McLintock, not surprisingly, manhood is some heavy patriotic assignment from God Almighty. (The Comanche, too, proclaim they will not take charity from whites, which is for the widows and orphans; they are MEN and will die like warriors.) This movie is a whole tutorial in manhood, and the proper place of MEN, even as it extends empathy to the indigenous people... but wait, not all of them. The MEN. The Comanche males are given a voice here, but their concerns are all about their vanquished manhood, not the fate of their tribe and nation. (And does anyone believe that? Sounds like more John Wayne, doesn't it?)

I watch this stuff to look for progress, since it sometimes appears that there is none. But watching this, I assure you, there is!

And another thing, common to old Hollywood westerns: The horses look sick and overworked. At the end credits, I didn't see any such, "No animals were harmed during the making of this picture," and highly doubt they could make that claim.

:(


~*~

The Fat Wars in Feminist Blogdonia rage ever onward. The Feministe "Fat and Health" thread nearly blew up feminist Blogdonia. There is currently an "answer post" by Zuzu, titled "Fat and Health, A Response" with another accompanying endless thread. This time, no "fuck yous" and so on (as I wrote back on September 3). It's most decidedly a love-in, as everyone blows kisses to Zuzu for restoring order and assuring everyone that there is no connection between fat and... well, apparently anything.

But as I read the piece, a few things jumped right out at me.

I have been wondering why I don't understand what is being discussed, exactly, and I think the light is dawning. Once again: class and age.

Question: Is this how a lone black woman feels when they enter a room and all the white women are talking about how they fix their hair? Uncomfortable, disconnected?

And here it is: I don't know what lots of these fat women are talking about, and it's time I came right out and said so.

Example, Zuzu says weight and eating are not connected. Of course it is. For me, it certainly is, and for the hundreds (thousands?) of people I have talked to about fat on my job, it most assuredly is. I hear about bad food choices due to no time for preparation (the appearance of the home-microwave and the incidence of increasing obesity are a definite correlation!), no places to exercise, no time to walk anywhere (not even into a building from the lower parking lot), no opportunities for fitness at all. In the thread, folks assure us that changing this state of affairs is good, and yet at the same time, tell us that obesity is okay. But both realities can't be true; the first situation has in fact CAUSED the other.

Zuzu claims Monica's original post seemed to highlight the "moral failings" of fat people. Then I got it, at least some of it: If you admit that food makes people fat, then people are bad for eating too much food. Therefore, food doesn't make people fat, since we have to be nice to everyone, and that is regarded as a rude thing to say. (It's a lot like Chris Prentiss' approach to addiction at his classy Malibu treatment center: His first step is to NOT call you an addict and make you feel bad.)

Being fat is no moral failing. Being an addict or alcoholic is ALSO not a moral failing (yes, I just compared them).[2] Oppressive, harried, breakneck-paced modern capitalist American life works on us all in different ways; I don't know anyone who emerges totally unscathed. Some of us smoke pot to relieve stress, some of us exercise or do yoga to relieve stress, some of us eat to relieve stress, some of us drink vodka to relieve stress, some go to BigPharm to relieve stress, some come to me and ask for herbs to relieve stress.

The common element? The stress. Where is all the STRESS coming from? Hm. Let me guess.

In my case, I can easily eat a lot, and I love food. In my prime, I could have been in one of those bizarre eating contests on TV; I have the capacity to pack it in as fast as any of those guys. I can take in amazing amounts of food. [3] Everyone in my family could also eat amazing amounts, and did. And we were all fat. If anything, we should have been lots bigger.

And you know, I will not shut up about that fact, simply because the Fat Acceptance Police have decided that truth, my truth, is the enemy. It is true. And you know what? I also know that my family ate MORE because they were fucking exhausted all the time, and that is the truth, too. But I read precious little about the relationship between hard work and appetite in that thread. I think most of those women are (like Zuzu) well-educated, elite professionals (which is why I found the chorus of "fuck yous" in the first thread, so surprising).

~*~

And the term "fat shaming" keeps annoying me. What is all this "fat shaming" I keep hearing about? What exactly is "fat shaming"? Why is anyone ashamed? Seriously, I'm asking. Why are self-defined feminists complaining about being ashamed of their size? How can you be ashamed without your consent? The task is to NOT BE ASHAMED--not to rearrange reality so fat is actually a good thing, so there is nothing to be "ashamed" of.

In addition, all the fuss about doctors blew my mind. Maybe because I have worked for so many (and listened to them and transcribed their meandering, solipsistic, often silly nonsense), they don't automatically command my respect or impress me much. (M.D. = Medical Deity, but not to me.) All this fear of going to doctors to avoid some arrogant bullshit? (My experience has shown me that many actually specialize in arrogant bullshit, so I am usually impressed when they don't act like that.) But AVOIDING the doctor for this reason? You gotta be kidding me. It's YOUR money; if you are in the USA, you are paying for this shit! They work for you. Why are you putting up with this stuff?

Examples, for your edification:

:: When one doctor said to me, lose weight, I gave him my standard reply: I didn't come here for that, thanks. "Well, that's my opinion," he said, and I said, "Duly noted." He didn't press the issue.

:: Another time: The good doctor kept pressing the issue: lose weight, lose weight, "blah blah blah would be better if you lost weight, blah blah blah," I stopped him, carefully looked him right in the eye and said, "About the weight? I. Have. Heard. You." and made it very clear, any more weight-blather would be VERY UNWELCOME. He stopped.

:: Another time, when asked by a doctor in the first five seconds (the health matter was totally unrelated): "Don't you think you should lose weight?" I asked him, "Don't you think you should want me to pay for this visit?" That always strikes right to the heart of the matter, I've discovered, for just about everyone (in the USA, anyway).

In another words: BE A BIG GIRL, Jesus H. Christ, what the hell happened to feminists? It used to mean you were a PROUD BITCH who didn't TAKE NO SHIT.

When I read "fat shaming" I think of little orphan-waifs weeping and blowing their noses after someone calls them fatty. That was me as an 11-year-old, but I grew out of it. By the time I was 13, whenever these asshole boys would scream "Fat Ass!" at me out the windows of cars, I gave them the finger and told em what I thought of their manners in no uncertain terms, which is even more unprintable than my usual rants. As a young feminist, just discovering the Second Wave, I loved cussing them out and actually regarded it as my FEMINIST DUTY, since I didn't know any other feminists besides my mother. (I decided they needed to hear it!) And my mother had given me permission to use the nastiest words of all, for the boys who yelled at me. My joy over my newly-expanded vocabulary easily eclipsed any upset I may have had over being called "Fat Ass!" (Sometimes, I would even come home disappointed no boys had yelled anything, so eager was I to try out the Forbidden Vocabulary.) Mostly what I noticed was how I would get wolf-whistles AND "Fat Ass!" --sometimes in the very same day. I realized, this was proof of men's inferior, confused sensibilities, they can't even decide if I am supposed to be attractive or not, poor saps. Tsk tsk. My feminism got stronger and stronger.

"Fat Ass!" used to piss me off a lot, but never made me ashamed. [4]

Moral of MY story: Good God, girls, show some gumption!

I am very tired of the whole VICTIM CHIC, and yes, I am aware of how damnably libertarian that sounds. The libertarians in my readership (quite a few) are likely chuckling in delight.

~*~

Another thing I thought of was the Bernard conference, wherein the Second Wave officially imploded. And it imploded over orthodoxy/dogma, the particular dogma being SEX:

Perhaps the most famous confrontation in the lesbian sex wars occurred in 1982 at a conference at Barnard College in New York City. Organized under the title "The Feminist and the Scholar IX," the conference brought together a diverse group of feminist thinkers and activists to consider the complex relationship between pleasure and danger.

Local radical feminists deemed some of the topics offensive and attempted to shut the conference down, claiming it promoted anti-feminist values. Protesters handed out leaflets describing individual speakers as sexual "deviants." Clearly, sexuality had become a deeply divisive issue, even as the focus on such issues as s/m, pornography, and censorship obscured other feminist and lesbian issues related to sexuality.

I remember when Samois, the lesbian SM group, was kicked out of the San Francisco Women's Building, simply for existing.

According to Second Wave dogma, rape fantasies were an invention of male porn, women didn't really have them. No woman actually enjoyed BDSM, more male fantasies, more lies about women. "Porn tells lies about women!" was a picket-sign often held by WAP in various late-70s/early-80s demonstrations against movies (including one of my favorites, the extremely politically-incorrect DRESSED TO KILL). If it was in porn? Then you can count on it NOT being true. No women enjoy stripping, sex work, fetishes, blow jobs, anal sex, or any of that stuff. [5] Butch/femme lesbians are reactionary, and they need to wise up. Etc. The Barnard conference laid all of this bare, as some women stepped up and said, "Well, I, ummmm, kinda like some of that stuff and think we could even have some feminist versions," and the Second Wave just freaking blew up. KABOOM.

My friend asked me, "Are garter belts going to destroy feminism?" and I laughed my ass off. I never dreamed it would be true.

And now, we come to Third Wave dogma: Fat Acceptance, or Else.

It is amusing that the Third Wave even HAS dogma... mostly they have defined themselves in direct opposition to the Vicious Nun Vibe of the Second Wave: Hey, come on in! We love everybody!

Wow, I guess it turns out that they DO have some dogma, lurking in the rafters, huh? (LOL-gotcha!) And now, they are imploding from the nuclear reaction of people questioning THEIR dogma. Deja Vu all over again. (And as I wrote previously, the disintegration of the coalition, right on schedule.)

It is fascinating to me that BOTH of these dogmas are about a denial of women's appetites:

Second Wave: WOMEN DON'T LIKE BDSM, WE ARE LADIES! We aren't bad girls with bad fantasies and sexual desires! Sex is dirty!

Third Wave: FAT WOMEN DON'T GET FAT FROM EATING, WE ARE LADIES! We aren't bad girls who eat more than our share and have cravings! Food is gross!

Note the similarity.

As I said during the first Feminist Inquisition: I like the Sex Pistols, I like DRESSED TO KILL, I secretly-think all manner of politically-incorrect sexual thoughts. I am not nice. I like sex.

And now I will reprise: I like ice cream, I like cake, I secretly-wish I could eat enormous amounts of cheese with no gastronomic or caloric consequences. I am not nice. I like food.

And the house comes down!

It makes you wonder: How strong was the house to begin with?


~*~



[1] I can't imagine a history book of this kind making the bestseller lists now.

[2] And as regular readers of my blog know, I don't consider addiction a moral issue AT BASE, but a health/psychological issue.

[3] It takes an average of 8 minutes for your brain to get the "satiety" message, that you are "full". One of the secrets of eating contests, is to pack as much food in before you get that message, when you simply can't eat anymore. One interesting theory is that some folks get that satiety message "late"; most of the people in the eating contests can go up to 12-15 minutes before they feel the "stop" impulse. Maybe this is key to obesity, too: if you only get X amount of minutes to eat at work or school and you pile it all in at once, you are probably eating far more than you really need, but your brain doesn't get the chance to tell you. One of the major things I have learned is to STOP PERIODICALLY and WAIT for the damn message. For me, takes about 15 minutes, almost twice the length of a 'normal' (haha) person. I am convinced this is a huge part of how increased weight happens in our time-is-money culture.

Also, stress while eating creates indigestion problems, and is a large contributor to acid reflux. Acid reflux medications slow digestion WAY DOWN (causing weight gain, water retention and constipation) and make the problem worse. DIGESTIVE ENZYMES ARE SUPERIOR TO NEXIUM, ET AL., please try some instead of the deadly BigPharm concoctions, I guarantee you won't be sorry (speaking from experience now).

[4] I also loved the look of surprise on their faces: Sweet, blond, innocent 13-year-old Hayley Mills look-alike (only bigger), suddenly erupts into obscene invective... they just looked slack-jawed and stunned.

I loved it and felt very powerful.

[5] I can actually recall in one feminist newspaper (probably OFF OUR BACKS, but I won't swear to it), they brought in a battered-women's advocate/activist, to "refute" an SM practitioner. (?!?!?) Do you believe?!?

[6] One commenter very big on Fat Acceptance was BStu. I checked out this person's blog and the first thing I see is a Notes from the Fat-o-sphere Feed informing me that Judy Freespirit has died. I met her in San Francisco decades ago, one of those very charismatic feminists you simply never forget, and I am saddened.

RIP, dear Judy.

Feast of the Presentation: Groundhog Day

The Presentation in The Temple (1342) by Ambrogio Lorenzetti.


(DEAD AIR NOTE: I am reprinting last year's Groundhog Day post, since I don't think I can improve on it!)

~*~


I was intending to write a cool post about how Groundhog Day was once the Feast of the Presentation in the Roman Catholic Church. Then I realized I would have to be fair and explain this was once known as Candlemas, which was unabashedly grabbed from Imbolc, only to discover that people aren't 100% sure about the social evolution of just how these holidays all morphed together.

And I realized that we all appropriate... the secular culture now has no clue about the Feast of the Presentation, just as most Catholics don't know from Imbolc. Just as most of us don't know that fireworks were first used by the Chinese for their own holiday festivals... we consider them all-American and now use them for every occasion.

Still, as a ritual-junkie, I like to know where my rituals came from.

Every culture in the known world, but particularly frozen Europe, has historically marked this day, which is the exact middle point between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox... I get ancient images of women lighting candles to make the sun return, in bitterly-cold stone temples throughout the wintry places of my ancestors. They lit those candles for the future, for us. Just as the Feast of the Presentation was a way to celebrate the bris of Our Lord, his official entry into His tribe and people.

If anything sums up our modern irreligious times, it is how we don't seem to feel connected to the future or the past; the whole of humanity. We do things for ourselves, right now. Who cares what the people of the past imagined for us? Who cares what future generations might think of us?

We have cut ourselves off from destiny and then we wonder why we get so depressed.

~*~

I was recently studying Chaco, a place I am trying to talk Mr Daisy into going, and how they have literally had to OUTLAW religious ceremonies. As far as I know, the first worldwide attention to Chaco came after Carl Sagan's influential TV show COSMOS (1980), in which he demonstrated the incredible astronomical knowledge of the Anasazi people, who designed these structures.

At left, the "Chaco Sun Dagger"--in New Mexico. (approx time period 1000 AD)

From LAPAHIE.com:

Shown is the "Sun Dagger" by which the Chacoans (Anasazi) were able to read the harvesting and planting seasons and recorded time's passage. At the Winter Solstice, rays of sunlight fell between the 2 huge stone slabs, neatly bracketing the spiral petroglyph on 443-foot Fajada Butte at the south entrance to Chaco Canyon. At the Summer Solstice, a single band of light bisects the center of the spiral. The spring and fall equinoxes were heralded by an additional light that fell on the smaller petroglyph, visible to the left of the larger one. This discovery was made by Anna Sofaer in 1977.

Now, I ask you, is that awesome or what?

At various times of the year, the moon settles into some of the "windows" of these structures (see last link for example). I am made dizzy by how many generations dedicated themselves to understanding these celestial patterns; I bow in awe of their heavenly awareness.

I feel strongly that I must go there...it's a bit reminiscent of Richard Dreyfuss playing in his mashed potatoes in CLOSE ENCOUNTERS; I am drawn to this location for reasons I can't readily comprehend. And then I read ((embarrassed)) that lots of people feel that way and have created something of a new-age ruckus out there in the desert, waiting for the moon and the sun dagger and everything. They ring bells and play instruments and such. I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to restrain myself, if I saw such a thing in person, I would likely shed tears and sing, or something. But that isn't respectful of the people who believe this is part of their tradition. Although the Anasazi are long gone; the Pueblo and Hopi are their relatives, but they are no more THE SAME as the Anasazi, as I am THE SAME as the folks who originally designed Stonehenge. I don't see that they or anyone else should have the spiritual copyright. And then again, I also believe it would be somewhat disrespectful to whoop it up out there during the Solstice. So, color me confused.

And so, a ritual we cannot imagine and have lost... has this one thing left from it: the calendar they used. And as we see time pass, we also see Imbolc morph into Candlemas, into the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lord, and finally, it becomes the harmless commercial hoopla known as Groundhog Day, featuring Punxsutawney Phil. And it would appear that as the story has morphed into a fun secular tale, people have lost all sense of time, except for the "6 more weeks of winter" prediction that goes along with it.

Pennsylvania had many German settlers, which accounts for why Phil ended up there, of all places. The introduction of an animal into the story was their unique innovation. Some believe it was due to the candles of Candlemas, that the animal saw its shadow (or not) in the flickering candlelight. Other sources believe it was due to the (human) carnivorous habit of searching for the whereabouts of hibernating mammals, who might peek out to see if the weather was pleasant, then dart back inside. (And it was originally a badger or hedgehog, which also changed when Germans came en masse to the Western Hemisphere.)

And now, we have Groundhog Day... also the subject of a great movie which starred my favorite comedian of all time. The movie, fittingly, has a deeply spiritual message, for those who can appreciate it: You can keep on repeating yourself forever, or you can evolve. Just as the holiday itself, has evolved.

Keep on evolving, and happy Groundhog Day!

The Feast of the Presentation: Groundhog Day

The Presentation in The Temple (1342) by Ambrogio Lorenzetti.





I was intending to write a cool post about how Groundhog Day was once the Feast of the Presentation in the Roman Catholic Church. Then I realized I would have to be fair and explain this was once known as Candlemas, which was unabashedly grabbed from Imbolc, only to discover that people aren't 100% sure about the social evolution of just how these holidays all morphed together.

And I realized that we all appropriate... the secular culture now has no clue about the Feast of the Presentation, just as most Catholics don't know from Imbolc. Just as most of us don't know that fireworks were first used by the Chinese for their own holiday festivals... we consider them all-American and now use them for every occasion.

Still, as a ritual-junkie, I like to know where my rituals came from.

Every culture in the known world, but particularly frozen Europe, has historically marked this day, which is the exact middle point between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox... I get ancient images of women lighting candles to make the sun return, in bitterly-cold stone temples throughout the wintry places of my ancestors. They lit those candles for the future, for us. Just as the Feast of the Presentation was a way to celebrate the bris of Our Lord, his official entry into His tribe and people.

If anything sums up our modern irreligious times, it is how we don't seem to feel connected to the future or the past; the whole of humanity. We do things for ourselves, right now. Who cares what the people of the past imagined for us? Who cares what future generations might think of us?

We have cut ourselves off from destiny and then we wonder why we get so depressed.

~*~

I was recently studying Chaco, a place I am trying to talk Mr Daisy into going, and how they have literally had to OUTLAW religious ceremonies. As far as I know, the first worldwide attention to Chaco came after Carl Sagan's influential TV show COSMOS (1980), in which he demonstrated the incredible astronomical knowledge of the Anasazi people, who designed these structures.

At left, the "Chaco Sun Dagger"--in New Mexico. (approx time period 1000 AD)

From LAPAHIE.com:

Shown is the "Sun Dagger" by which the Chacoans (Anasazi) were able to read the harvesting and planting seasons and recorded time's passage. At the Winter Solstice, rays of sunlight fell between the 2 huge stone slabs, neatly bracketing the spiral petroglyph on 443-foot Fajada Butte at the south entrance to Chaco Canyon. At the Summer Solstice, a single band of light bisects the center of the spiral. The spring and fall equinoxes were heralded by an additional light that fell on the smaller petroglyph, visible to the left of the larger one. This discovery was made by Anna Sofaer in 1977.

Now, I ask you, is that awesome or what?

At various times of the year, the moon settles into some of the "windows" of these structures (see last link for example). I am made dizzy by how many generations dedicated themselves to understanding these celestial patterns; I bow in awe of their heavenly awareness.

I feel strongly that I must go there...it's a bit reminiscent of Richard Dreyfuss playing in his mashed potatoes in CLOSE ENCOUNTERS; I am drawn to this location for reasons I can't readily comprehend. And then I read ((embarrassed)) that lots of people feel that way and have created something of a new-age ruckus out there in the desert, waiting for the moon and the sun dagger and everything. They ring bells and play instruments and such. I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to restrain myself, if I saw such a thing in person, I would likely shed tears and sing, or something. But that isn't respectful of the people who believe this is part of their tradition. Although the Anasazi are long gone; the Pueblo and Hopi are their relatives, but they are no more THE SAME as the Anasazi, as I am THE SAME as the folks who originally designed Stonehenge. I don't see that they or anyone else should have the spiritual copyright. And then again, I also believe it would be somewhat disrespectful to whoop it up out there during the Solstice. So, color me confused.

And so, a ritual we cannot imagine and have lost... has this one thing left from it: the calendar they used. And as we see time pass, we also see Imbolc morph into Candlemas, into the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lord, and finally, it becomes the harmless commercial hoopla known as Groundhog Day, featuring Punxsutawney Phil. And it would appear that as the story has morphed into a fun secular tale, people have lost all sense of time, except for the "6 more weeks of winter" prediction that goes along with it.

Pennsylvania had many German settlers, which accounts for why Phil ended up there, of all places. The introduction of an animal into the story was their unique innovation. Some believe it was due to the candles of Candlemas, that the animal saw its shadow (or not) in the flickering candlelight. Other sources believe it was due to the (human) carnivorous habit of searching for the whereabouts of hibernating mammals, who might peek out to see if the weather was pleasant, then dart back inside. (And it was originally a badger or hedgehog, which also changed when Germans came en masse to the Western Hemisphere.)

And now, we have Groundhog Day... also the subject of a great movie which starred my favorite comedian of all time. The movie, fittingly, has a deeply spiritual message, for those who can appreciate it: You can keep on repeating yourself forever, or you can evolve. Just as the holiday itself, has evolved.

Keep on evolving, and happy Groundhog Day!

October 15th - Blog Action Day

OUR PEOPLE ON THE REEF

The swaying palms, the gentle surf lapping upon the sand
A gentle breeze so keen to please slowly gusts across our land
Our island home is all we have known as centuries rolled by
Our island people stood alone on reefs so barren and dry.

But as years go by we wonder why the shoreline is not the same
The things we knew as always true somehow do not remain
The breakers break on higher ground - the outer palms are falling down
The taro pits begin to die and the village elders wonder why.

For what is happening to the beautiful isles we know
Tuvalu, Kiribati and Tokelau - the Marshall isles, that place of smiles
The rising sea will reclaim our ground - nothing but water will abound
Our people forced to leave for higher ground.

While far away they pour their fumes into the clear blue sky
Not knowing and never caring why the world is beginning to die
So land of our forebears despite how much we cared for you
The time will soon be when we must bid you adieu.

Poem by Jane Resture

Blog Action Day

----------------
Listening to: R.E.M. - Cuyahoga
via FoxyTunes

Kissed by a Rose

Left: Holy card, St Rose of Lima

Rose was born Isabel Flores de Oliva, on April 20, 1586, in Lima, Peru. Her mother, Maria de Oliva, was of Inca descent, and her father Gaspar Flores, was said to be a Spanish soldier, although considering the political climate in South America at that time, it is doubtful canonization would have been granted to any saint who didn't claim this lineage.

Indeed, Rose was the first saint of the Americas.

She one of the extreme ones; the women who starved and punished themselves. The hagiography is haywire. One wonders what lessons we are to take from such deliberate martyrdom:

She began by fasting three times a week, adding secret severe penances, and when her vanity was assailed, cutting off her beautiful hair, wearing coarse clothing, and roughening her hands with toil. All this time she had to struggle against the objections of her friends, the ridicule of her family, and the censure of her parents. Many hours were spent before the Blessed Sacrament, which she received daily.

Like so many of the great women saints, Rose was harangued by her parents to marry, and she resolutely refused, taking a vow of virginity. At age 20, she takes the strict vows of a Dominican nun:

In her twentieth year she received the habit of St. Dominic. Thereafter she redoubled the severity and variety of her penances to a heroic degree, wearing constantly a metal spiked crown, concealed by roses, and an iron chain about her waist. Days passed without food, save a draught of gall mixed with bitter herbs. When she could no longer stand, she sought repose on a bed constructed by herself, of broken glass, stone, potsherds, and thorns. She admitted that the thought of lying down on it made her tremble with dread. Fourteen years this martyrdom of her body continued without relaxation, but not without consolation. Our Lord revealed Himself to her frequently, flooding her soul with such inexpressible peace and joy as to leave her in ecstasy for hours. At these times she offered to Him all her mortifications and penances in expiation for offences against His Divine Majesty, for the idolatry of her country, for the conversion of sinners, and for the souls in Purgatory.

From the Catholic Encyclopedia

I told you she was one of the extreme ones.

Do you suppose any of this really happened? If so, my heart bleeds for Rose. It is a fact that she was only 31 years old when she died. How could anyone have allowed her to do all that? Then again, there is no question from records that survive: this was her own choice, in the context of the pious times she lived in.

If Rose's suffering is a fable, what are they teaching us in this story? Is voluntary pain a vehicle to ecstasy and spiritual enlightenment?

Can we achieve religious or spiritual ecstasy without self-denial?

Miracles were reported after Rose's death (in 1617), by her intercession. She was canonized 1671 by Clement X. Her feast day is celebrated on August 30 in South America. Her iconography is represented by a crown of roses.

Note: This is the first in my series on women saints, whom I'll be writing about on subsequent Feast days. In so doing, I also ask for their intercession.

The Catawba fight for economic survival

Tribal Affairs

South Carolina’s Resilient Native People, the Catawba, Fight for Economic Survival (excerpt)

BY GARY HYNDMAN, Upstatebeat.com

The irony isn’t lost on Donald Rodgers. Dressed this day in a polo shirt, slacks and running shoes, the professional credit counselor is just weeks into his new mandate - and no doubt the greatest vocational challenge of his life: to lead his people out of a wilderness of near financial ruin, lawsuits, mismanagement and internecine conflict.

Last month Rodgers was elected chief of the Catawba Nation of South Carolina, the state’s only federally recognized Native American tribe. He succeeded the embattled Gilbert Blue, who resigned under pressure last March after a 34-year tenure that began during the Nixon administration.

Rodgers understands the job won’t be easy, citing “backbone” as an essential asset for a tribal chief.

“I knew this was going to be a tough ride,” he says.

Several years ago the U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs suspended the Catawba’s approximate $1.5 million annual federal grant, pending a long overdue audit of its financial records. And earlier this year, its Rock Hill bingo operation, the tribe’s other major source of income, was shut down.

The financial bind is so dire, there’s no money to pay Rodgers’ salary. He supplements a small tribal stipend by continuing to work part-time at Charlotte’s Alliance Credit while his wife has taken a job as a dental assistant to help support the family’s three children.

There does appear to be some light at the end of this dark fiscal tunnel, however. BIA has agreed to reinstate the Catawba’s grant - probably by this fall - and a consultant is working with the tribe to update its bookkeeping practices.

Meanwhile, the new chief is concentrating on healing deep-seated internal strife. Division between supporters and critics of Blue’s administration that Rodgers compares to the legendary Hatfields and McCoys dispute became so hostile that deputies from the York County Sheriff’s Office were assigned to maintain order at Catawba tribal meetings.

And there are even thornier issues awaiting the new leadership, including the need to provide for the long-term economic survival of the Catawba. This could depend on the settlement of a lawsuit against the state of South Carolina currently before the U.S. Supreme Court. On an even more basic level is the tribe’s struggle to preserve its self-determination in a dominant culture often indifferent to its right to exist.

Read the whole thing