Open Thread & News Round-Up: Budgetfuck

As I mentioned below, you can read Republican Representative and Chair of the House Budget Committee Paul Ryan's "The GOP Path to Prosperity," which lays out the GOP's garbage austerity plan, here. Other stuff I've been reading today...

New York Times—Shutdown Looms as Talks on Stopgap Budget Fail:

Congress and the White House veered toward a fiscal collision on Tuesday as the Obama administration rejected a short-term House Republican demand to cut $12 billion now in exchange for keeping the government open for one more week. At the same time, the Republicans' budget chairman set forth a longer-range blueprint defining a new era of profoundly smaller government and steep tax cuts for corporations and individuals.

"We are changing the dynamic here," said Representative Eric Cantor, the House majority leader, as Republicans made clear they had no intention of backing down on more cuts in current year spending and would frame the fight over next year's budget in similar terms. Their long-term proposal also included changes in mandatory entitlement programs like Medicare and Medicaid, which they derided as "autopilot" programs.

...At a news conference Tuesday on Capitol Hill, [Representative Paul D. Ryan], surrounded by his fellow Republicans from the budget committee, alluded to the power of the large freshman class and its Tea Party contingent who have helped to propel the fiscal fight forward. "The new people did not come here for a political career," he said. "They came here for a cause. This isn't a budget. This a cause."

Yes, and that cause is called Social Darwinism.

Matt Yglesias makes a good point here: "[Medicaid] is mostly a program for the elderly and the disabled. It's the main way we finance long-term care in this country. If you don't directly benefit from it, you very likely have a parent or grandparent who does and whose financial needs will simply tend to fall on you if the program is cut." Tax cuts don't trickle down, but financial responsibility when the government fucks off sure do.

Josh Marshall, on the Democratic response to this nightmare: "Why on earth did the Democrat speaking for the Democrats just now on Hardball say it was 'courageous' but 'politically stupid' for Paul Ryan to put up a plan to abolish Medicare and other federal social programs? That's the best he can do? 'Courageous'? That's simply amazing. If ordinary people who look forward to being able to rely on Medicare once they retire can't even get advocates who don't think it's 'courageous' to try to abolish Medicare, why are Democrats even in this game?"

Meanwhile, there are reports that some Republicans are (wisely) concerned about overreach. Shutting down the government is not popular with voters, and making deep cuts to popular programs that serve elderly voters, on whose votes conservatives depend, isn't exactly a great reelection strategy. For more on that angle, see Digby.

In other news: Budget Deal Would Give Pentagon Extra Funds in Exchange for Social Program Cuts. Of course it would.

This whole thing is a nightmare. And it really underscores that there is not a functional political party in the US who advocates for the poor and working classes anymore. We're really in the shit. And I don't see that getting rectified anytime soon, because we can't buy our way back in.

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Quote of the Day

"But while I am assailing his ideas, let me put in a good word about [Rep. Paul Ryan (R-Wis.)] himself: He is, from my limited experience, a charming man who truly believes what he believes. I salute him for laying out the actual conservative agenda. Here’s hoping he is transparent in the coming weeks about whom he is taking benefits from and toward whom he wants to be more generous. If he thinks we need an even more unequal society to prosper in the future, may he have the courage to say so."—E.J. Dionne Jr., in a must-read column wondering if the GOP will be honest about the embedded class warfare in their budget and whether the President and his party will stand up to them.

Btw, you can read Rep. Ryan's "The GOP Path to Prosperity" in today's Wall Street Journal. Very cool. Completely changed my mind about the GOP's fiscal policy being garbage. Now I think it's rancid garbage.

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I Found Deeky's Birthday Present

Majestic, is it not?

The great thing is, this is like two gifts in one. As Melissa noted to me via email, she should be receiving it in her mail about a month after Deeky's birthday. Happy Birthday, Melissa!

(via.)

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Jesse: On Inclusion, Humanity, and Grace

by Marianne Leone, an actress, writer, and advocate living in Massachusetts.

Jesse Cooper was an honor roll student who loved to windsurf and write poetry. He also had severe cerebral palsy and was quadriplegic, unable to speak, and wracked by seizures. He died suddenly at age seventeen. In Jesse, A Mother's Story, I wrote about the transformation a teacher like Jesse can bring to the lives of those around him. His father, Chris Cooper, and I became advocates for inclusion during Jesse's life and fought to get Jess his basic civil right: a free and appropriate public education. We won, after a two year battle, and Jesse went to his local public school, despite a special ed director who wondered "why should we spend money on these kids—they don't give anything back to society." The director no longer has a job at Jesse's school; there's now a scholarship in Jesse's name—the Jesse Cooper Give Back to Society Scholarship—given every year to a disabled student at his former high school, and the Jesse Advocacy Fund at the MA Federation for Children with Special Needs now trains parents to be their own advocates.

Jesse, A Mother's Story is a memoir that celebrates Jesse's life and grieves his passing. This is a memoir that strives to illuminate the humanity in all of us. This is a memoir that I hope everyone reads, to read Jesse's words in addition to my own. This is a memoir about inclusion that Barnes & Noble is shelving in the "special needs" section, without a trace of irony.

Below is an excerpt from Jesse, A Mother's Story which I have chosen for Shakesville.

DR. GOD
I knew Jesse was intelligent. I didn't need words to know that. I knew it when he was eight months old, when he burst out laughing the first time he heard the squeaky voices of the Chipmunks singing a Christmas song. He laughed at other silly jokes, too, things that would make any baby giggle uproariously, fishy faces and fart sounds. He became entranced with his own voice and we would laugh with delight to hear him respond to a question with a full-force yell, like a baby marine. He wore a smirk the whole time our yelling game went on, letting us know he was in on the prank. He understood us, even when he couldn't form the words to reply.

We had even heard him attempt "I love you" and other words. I told this to his pediatric neurologist when Jesse was around four, after he gave Jess an exam on our first (and last) visit to him. The neurologist looked at me with distaste. I was being deliberately obtuse, wasting his time with wishful thinking. I was obviously "in denial." From his Olympian neurological heights, the doctor pronounced his solemn verdict: Jesse would never be "intellectually normal." He said this to Chris and me, in front of Jesse. Then he asked, with what his lizard brain no doubt thought was kindness, if we planned to have more children. Chris wept on the way home as Jesse slept in my arms, and asked me what the neurologist meant by that, about having more children. "Get a good one," I said. "A different one." I looked down at Jesse's tufted teddy-bear hair. I wanted this one.

The very next week, Jesse worked with his occupational therapist on his shapes puzzle. Chris had glued wooden knobs to the shapes so Jess could grasp them easily. The therapist asked for the rectangle, then the square. It took Jess a full minute to tame his wavering arm to grasp each piece, but he delivered each shape correctly. Then she asked for the octagon. Instead of reaching for the shape, Jesse said, with great intensity: "Oct…..eight." I heard him say it, and thanked all the fates that the therapist heard it, too, so I wouldn't get any more "in denial" looks when I reported this feat to other medical doubting Thomases. I told Chris that I knew teenagers who didn't know an octagon had eight sides. As far as I was concerned, our son was brilliant and we would raise him that way.

"Screw the itsy bitsy spider," I said. "Let's give him Yeats."

Years later, when his intelligence was finally tested correctly, using an adapted computer, Jesse scored in the ninety-ninth percentile. I wrote to the neurologist, that ice-cold genius who didn't know the basics of human compassion. I told him that I knew how hard it must be for him not to confuse himself with God, since he had acolyte interns hanging on his every word and parents praying to him for answers, but that he was most definitely not God. In fact, he was a murderer. He murdered the futures of brain-damaged children every day by making absurd hubristic pronouncements even though nobody really understands how the brain works, especially a child's injured brain.

If we had believed him and stopped trying to teach Jesse new things, the neurologist's dire prophecy would have been fulfilled. But the neurologist was right about one thing: Jesse wasn't "intellectually normal." He was intellectually superior. Take that, Doctor God. Of course, I never heard from him again. But I like to think he hesitated before asking parents in code if they planned to get a good one the next time.

THREE GRACES
My dealings with neurologists in the course of Jesse's medical life were frequently fraught with social dysfunction. On their side. I'm not the picture of mental health and admit that the towering grizzly mother part of my persona was always in the room with every member of the medical community that treated my son. But the mortal fear Chris and I felt about Jesse's seizures and their possible effect on his body and mental capacities was made worse by what felt like interspecies communication. Occasionally a neurologist would rise to the level of cyborg, if we were lucky, speaking in English instead of words we would have to look up later. Those were the ones who spoke only to Chris and me. But even when that happened, I stopped listening. While they droned on about "brain insults" and pushed wonder drugs that didn't work, I was having a shouted one-way conversation with them in my head.

"Can you see my son? He's sitting right here, in my lap."

"He is a sentient being, a member of the human race. Are you?"

"His brain isn't just a meat computer that crashed with a fatal error."

"He is alive, conscious. Can you tell me where the seat of consciousness is? Is it in the brain?"

The conversation never went beyond the voices in my head. We just listened to their drug suggestions and brain insult descriptions and then moved on, insulted in our own way by the snubbing of Jesse's soul. Another office, another neurologist. We weren't shopping for a better prognosis. We knew Jesse had brain damage and a seizure disorder. We were looking for grace.

If we couldn't find a neurologist who could regenerate Jesse's damaged brain cells, could we at least find one who could show us some mercy and who had the moral strength to see Jesse as human?

We found three, all women.

I don't remember how I found the first, Dr. Catherine Spears, when Jesse was not yet two and in the throes of horrific teething pain. She was in her early seventies then and, unfortunately for us, about to retire. I remember thinking that at the time Dr. Spears went to medical school, she must have been the only woman specializing in the male-dominated field of neurology and that it took a strong temperament to withstand that particular trial by fire. Her steely strength was tempered by gentleness and wisdom, and she met my first criteria: she related to Jesse as a baby first, a baby with a seizure disorder second. And Dr. Spears was unafraid to try alternative treatments. One of the first things she did was magically erase Jesse's teething pain by placing acupressure balls in his tiny ears. However, she, like everybody else, was unable to do anything about the seizure disorder. Her retirement returned us to the generic offices of the generic neurologists who didn't seem to see our son.

When we moved to Massachusetts we again found grace, this time at Boston Children's Hospital. Dr. Sandy Helmers was a young, slim, woman with hair the same color as her name. By then, our opening family act was unvarying; I picture us advancing into the random neurologist's office like a Roman phalanx, shields raised, with Jesse at the protected center. I would watch for any sign of empathy from each new doctor during our long recitation of Jesse's medical struggles and cognitive triumphs. If even a glimmer of warmth appeared, the shields went down and Jesse was revealed to the neurologist, Chris and I still hovering close by. Dr. Helmers looked directly at Jesse, asked him questions, reassured him.

She left for a position in Atlanta after only a couple of years. Her replacement was Dr. Elizabeth Thiele. By then we had become less wary that a neurologist would not see Jesse as sentient. Jesse was communicating well with his computer and was undeniably present in the world. He was enjoying school and doing well.

But some neurologists did not think about what the drugs they proposed would do to Jesse's alertness, his ability to think, to learn. They did not consider how blunting Jesse's learning would take away his greatest pride and pleasure. And so they proposed what was new on the market—wantonly, it felt to me. Each new course of drugs meant waiting and watching for the ever-present side effects, a full-court internet study by me, and the usual outcome—no change. So the new shields went up, this time about drugs.

When I met Dr. Thiele, I asked her what new drug she would be pushing. She was my age, with a warm, open face. She laughed merrily and told me she was "much more granola than that." Then she concentrated on Jesse, cracking wise with him and making him grin. When she heard he wrote poetry, she asked Jesse if he would like to include one of his poems in an exhibition she was putting together of works by kids with epilepsy. I put down my shield and accepted grace when it fell upon all of us.

INSIDE/OUTSIDE

On the inside, I walk
On the outside, I give
On the outside, I am mute
On the outside, I give
On the inside, I speak
On the inside, I walk

— Jesse's first poem, age 10

* * *
Note from Liss: Marianne was kind enough to send me a copy of her book when it was first published, and I was very moved by it. A long time ago, Marianne and I were corresponding about something unrelated to the book, a project Marianne was working on in which she was getting resistance and meeting it with her usual tenacity, and I wrote to her, "You're a Worst Nightmare broad. I love Worst Nightmare broads."

This book is the story of an amazing boy and his mother, who was the worst nightmare of anyone who couldn't see past their disablism and/or privilege to respect his humanity. It is a book about teaspoons, and a book about love. Funny how often those two things go together.

Jesse, A Mother's Story comes out in paperback today.

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Today in Rape Culture

[Trigger warning for "rape jokes" and police misconduct.]

In Ireland, gardaí (police officers) who had two female protesters in their custody were caught on video "joking" about raping the women:

One garda can be heard on the tape saying that one of the women "sounds like a Yank or Canadian". Another garda said: "Well, whoever, we'll get immigration f***ing on her."

A more senior garda picked up the conversation, saying "she refused to give her name and address and [was] told she would be arrested".

"And deported," his colleague continued. "And raped," the more senior garda said.

The conversation continued in jocular fashion, with the more senior garda saying: "Give me your name and address or I'll rape you."

Amid some laughter, another garda said: "Hold it there, give me your name and address there, I'll rape you."

"Or I'll definitely rape you," the more senior garda responded.

Dr Bríd Connolly, lecturer at NUI Maynooth, a college at which one of the women was a student, wondered: "How can women who have been assaulted have any confidence in the Garda if this is the sort of attitude that prevails?" Good question.

That, of course, is one of the most pervasive challenges of dismantling the rape culture: As long as the rape culture permeates the institutions ostensibly tasked with securing justice for survivors, justice will be elusive. Victims will be discouraged from reporting crimes against them; rapists will continue to create more victims. And on and on it goes.

Naturally, the officers are being well defended by rape apologists desperate to point out they were ONLY JOKING.

As if that even matters. Oh, you mean the police were only JOKING about raping women in their custody? Well, that's all right then!

And, you know, even if they were, those who are objecting are right to do so, even aside from the legitimate criticism that the police "joking" about raping women in custody undermines public trust and breaks faith with survivors, because rape jokes abet rapists and because there is no neutral in the rape culture.

[H/Ts to Shakers Insomniax and Sarah.]

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Obama/SCOTUS/Jesus Newz

AP:

A Supreme Court divided along ideological lines said Monday that ordinary taxpayers cannot challenge government programs that use tax breaks to direct money to religious activities.

The court ruled 5-4 in favor of an Arizona scholarship program for private schools that has mainly benefited religious schools in offering a dollar-for-dollar reduction in the income tax bill of people who participate.

The Obama administration argued aggressively for the outcome the court reached Monday; it also took the view that the challengers had no standing to sue. [emphasis mine]

:Yawn:

P. S.: Smash

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Autism Acceptance for Autism Awareness Month

by Shaker LydiaEncyclopedia

Well, Shakers and public, it is April, and that can only mean one thing to this autistic blogger: Autism Awareness Month is here for another 30 days, and without a time machine, there's no escaping it.

Autism Awareness Month has been a thorn in my side for as long as I've been an adult. I am at heart an attention-seeker, so you would think having an entire month devoted to people like me would be a joy to behold. But that's the problem behind Autism Awareness Month. It isn't about me. It's not about me—the autistic person. The entire conception of Autism Awareness Month doesn't even revolve around autism, not the kind I have or the kind that anyone I know lives with. The ‘autism' of Autism Awareness Month is a mysterious, esoteric, silent force, which magically swoops into the homes of unsuspecting families, and replaces regular, darling children with empty husks, ala the Changelings of ancient myths.

It's not even entirely about the children who are these so-called "empty shells." The entire focus of Autism Awareness Month seems to be divided between what sad, pathetic existences they must lead, and the potential for a real, neurotypical, normal child that lies just around the corner in the next type of chelation, cure, or therapy. Rather than shedding light on what autism is, Autism Awareness Month has served to cloud autism further in lies, half-truths, pity, and the tyranny of low expectations.

I've watched as a series of Autism Awareness Months have gone by, and nothing seems to have changed in the public eye. I've seen promoted and have attended various Autism Awareness Events over the years, and the funny thing is, they almost universally don't bother to think of how autistic people might function at these events. There is usually loud music, so loud that those with sensory processing disorder may be forced to not attend. The crowds are often suffocating, whether the event takes place at a conference hall, hotel, or outdoors, with no regard given to how someone who functions poorly in large crowds may feel about being squeezed in with so many people. There are usually no rules restricting the use of perfume, and I can remember coughing through clouds of it once and deciding I'd rather leave than have my sense of smell continuously assaulted.

There's something deeply problematic about an event centered around autism which doesn't consider the needs of autistic people in order for them to equally participate.

That's not even getting to the genuine content of the events. Typically, they will consist of speakers, usually doctors, or parents, or on a vanishingly rare occasion, an actual autistic person. But usually this autistic person is verbal, articulate, and, even while promoting themselves as an autistic person worth listening to, they sometimes fail include all autistic people under their umbrella of acceptance. Often, they will promote the notion that those with special gifts and talents, who can more or less live independently, like themselves, should be given the option of living with their autism. But they will often promote, in a swirl of cognitive dissonance, the idea that those not like them, without these special gifts and large vocabularies, well, who cares, cure them. The doctor speakers usually only consider autism within the confines of the medical model of disability, and usually don't speak about autistic people as individuals, but singular entities with a shared host of problems which we need to research, and usually don't talk about the experience of autism as a teenager or adult.

Parents will usually be a bit more personal and intimate, but their speeches can range from "I love my son/daughter dearly and want to do everything I can to make sure they're happy and successful" to "My child was stolen away from me and replaced with this screaming, in-affectionate demon!"

These alienating incidents aren't necessarily always the case, but they are frequent enough for me to not be surprised when I feel like an unwelcome stranger at an event about my own disability—which certainly isn't (or shouldn't be) the goal.

It doesn't have to be this way, though. The only thing standing between the truth and the current situation is the concept of Autism Awareness itself. It's time for a new idea, one that seems to be heresy to the people pushing Autism Awareness, but has been the crowning point of the disability community at large for 20+ years now: "Nothing About Us Without Us." Or, to put it more succinctly, it's time to throw away Autism Awareness, and replace it with Autism Acceptance.

The fundamental difference I see between the two is that Autism Acceptance is being spearheaded by autistic people themselves. People from all walks of life and in all corners on the spectrum are coming forth and working to tear down these myths established by the Autism Awareness contingent and the Medical Model of Disability. It's a collaborative effort meant to showcase that, during this month, which is ostensibly all about our disability, we have a right to talk about what our disability means to us, and what public attitudes towards it mean for us.

Plus, Autism Acceptance isn't confined to April. For me, Autism Acceptance is every day. It took me years to understand the harm disablist rhetoric did to my self-esteem, my perception of my own talents and passions, and how I handled my limitations. It's a powerful thing for an autistic person to learn how to love themselves. It will also be powerful for non-autistic folk to take a moment to see past the puzzle ribbons and the grim statistics meant to show how autism affects more people than diabetes, cancer, and HIV.

Look past all that garbage foisted onto you by those who neither know nor truly respect autism and autistic people, and you will see that what we need from you most is not a month set aside for the purposes of degrading and pitying our existences and experiences, but constant, unwavering support, the patience to listen to our side of the story, and the power for you to put aside your own ideas about who should be listened to, based on what credentials, and to give those of us with the disability as a constant presence in our lives a chance to speak. Just because someone can't talk (in your language of words and verbal dialogue) doesn't mean they have nothing to say.

If you want to look for the signs of an Autism Acceptance/Neurodiverse-friendly event, then I recommend looking to the example of Autreat, which pledges to make it a sensory-friendly environment for autistic people, respects our personal space, allows flexible scheduling for those who feel overwhelmed, and is run by autistic people for autistic people. Autreat strives to be the pinnacle of an autism-friendly event.

If you are interested in improving a local event, try to think about what sensory issues I listed above, and think, "How can I address this?"

Look for autistic speakers to book, from all ends on the spectrum. The autism blogosphere is a great place to start, or you could find a local person with autism who may want to share their story. Sometimes, the best way to make your event autism-friendly is to just engage with autistic people to see what they would like to see at their local autism event. Since it's about their disability, they're best qualified to tell you what will attract those with autism to participate in these events. And really, isn't that the best thing you could hope for at your own Autism event?

You can find more information on Autism Acceptance events here.

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Two-Minute Nostalgia Sublime

The International Sweethearts Of Rhythm: "Jump Children"
The International Sweethearts of Rhythm were the first integrated all women's band in the United States. They have been labeled "the most prominent and probably best female aggregation of the Big Band era."

The group made two national tours. As a racially mixed band, their performances defied the Jim Crow laws of the South. Despite being stars, when the band traveled in the South they ate and slept on their bus because segregation laws prevented them from using restaurants and hotels.

Sadly, most of their recordings are now lost. Some surviving tracks are available here.

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Happy Birthday, Space Cowboy!!!

Happy Birthday to youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!
Happy Birthday to youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!
Happy Birthday Space Cowwwwwwboyyyyyyyy!
Happy Birthday to youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!

And many moooooooooooooore...

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Open Thread

Hosted by Grimace.

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Question of the Day

What is your favorite movie score and/or soundtrack?

Michael Nyman's score to The Piano is probably my all-time favorite. Favorite soundtrack is Yusuf Islam's (nee Cat Stevens) soundtrack to Harold and Maude.

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Deeky's Garbage Treasures

As you may recall, Deeky is a closet hoarder who sends me his garbage treasures. Basically, the way this works is that Deeky saves useless garbage like a rat who's fixing to make the Rat Taj Mahal out of useless garbage. Then, instead of throwing it away, he throws pieces of his collection of strange bits of paper and other detritus into an envelope and pays money to ship it to me—priority mail, so he can track his garbage treasure's path across the country—where it sits in my mailbox until he harangues me to collect it. Then, I empty the garbage contents of the garbage envelope, laugh at it with him until tears are rolling out of our eyes, and throw it away. I mean, put it a special garbage treasure reservoir for safe-keeping!

But not before taking a picture of it so that I can post it, obvs.

[Click to embiggen.]
Some of the contents of the latest package of Deeky's Garbage Treasures: A menu for "Sweet Sin: A Gluten Free Café," an expired Go Pass for the MTA, an Amtrak Customer Safely Instructions pamphlet labeled "Please do not remove this card from the train," a City of Baltimore parking citation, a class picture of Mrs. Barbour's first grade class at the Frances E. Willard School in Pasadena taken April 5, 1962, a book titled Facing the Nuclear Age: Parents and Children Together, a deli ticket stub #20, the title page from The Overton Window, three free passes to the circus at the Frederick Fairgrounds on February 25, a drink coaster from the Annabel Lee Tavern, his old library card from Missouri, a tag from a shirt he bought at Banana Republic ($49.99!), and some unidentified piece of black plastic in a tiny zip-loc bag.

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Daily Dose of Cute

Dudley, demonstrating why one of Iain's many nicknames for him is "Nosehead."
This weekend, Dudley had a play-date with Van, who is the Shar Pei-in-residence at KBlogz Manor. It was the first time they met, and it's the first time Van's really had a chance to play with another dog since his big brother Twister died.

I wish I'd had my camera with me, because the two of them were sooooooo cute together. They ran around the backyard together, play-bowing at each other and making dramatic snorty noises, and, inside, Dudley was rolling onto his back and pawing up at Van, who dodged Dudley's paws to nudge his belleh with his big wrinkly nose. At dinnertime, they kept switching bowls. "What do you have over here? Oh! It's the same thing I had over there! NOM NOM NOM." It was ridiculous.

Honestly, the two of them together was killing me. Van is just this adorbz snub-nosed wrinkled tank, and Dudley is so the opposite. The Laurel and Hardy of dogs.

MamaBlogz got some pix; when/if she uploads them, I'll post them.

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Woman's Work

For a very long time, Democrats' agreement with progressive women was this: Vote for us, and we will be your champion. In practical terms, despite important pieces of legislation like the Violence Against Women Act and the Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, being women's champion has largely meant making sure that progress women made wasn't allowed to backslide by standing between progressive women and the enforcers of the Patriarchy in all their guises—conservatism, religion, tradition.

But decades have passed with women on average still making less than men, still widely and primarily victimized by sexual violence (and still vanishingly unlikely to see justice for those crimes against them), still disproportionately affected by the nation's failure to provide a comprehensive and robustly funded social safety net, by unemployment, by food insecurity, by the lack of universal healthcare, by the lack of equal opportunities, by the lack of sensible and fair family-work policies. What social progress does happen frequently comes at the expense of women's reproductive rights.

Women who have multiple axes of oppression—women of color, women with disabilities, women in same-sex partnerships, women who are trans*, fat women, poor women, et. al.—are at increased risk of being marginalized and under-served by their government.

A government whose national legislative body, meant to be representative of the people, is still less than 20% female.

In recent elections, the Democrats' promise to progressive women has been reduced to ensuring (and only when it's politically expedient) that Roe vs. Wade would not be overturned, even as the GOP diligently works to render that ruling an empty statute.

Last week, Shark-fu and I were talking about the blitz of anti-choice legislation in state legislatures across the nation, and she was telling me about lobbying in Jefferson City, Missouri—one of the many places bills limiting abortion rights are being considered. (The following has been published with her permission.)

Shark-fu: Jeff City was a train wreck. SEIU and others were there trying to stop the right to work bullshit. We were there trying to stop the 20 week abortion ban. And a whole bunch of losers were there showering the House and Senate with praise for giving it to the works and taking away women's rights. Ugh. I had a state Senator tell me that he "has" to vote for abortion restrictions so he can get other stuff done. The price of entry into negotiations with the MO GOP is women's reproductive freedom. I'm disgusted and dreaming of Canada.

Liss: "The price of entry into negotiations with the MO GOP is women's reproductive freedom." This is so depressing. I just don't even know what to say anymore. As I'm sure you know, the same legislation is making its way through the statehouse in Indiana. I'm not only dreaming of Canada; I'm dreaming of menopause, so I don't have to worry about the possibility of ever needing an abortion.

Shark-fu: OMG, it's so funny that you mention menopause! On the drive back yesterday I decided to write a post about how amazingly liberating it is to no longer have a uterus—every time I read a heinous bill I realize that they can't touch me. Sadly, plenty of the bills still apply to my post-hyster self. But they can't force me to get pregnant and that's so damn liberating it's sad.

Liss: If the fact that diminished cis female reproductive capacity (whether via hysterectomy, menopause, or elsewise) feels liberating for feminist women doesn't plainly expose how TOTALLY FUCKED UP the GOP's war on uteri is, I don't know what possibly could.

And then we lolsobbed forever.

This, then, is the situation in which we find ourselves: We are demoralized to the point of imagining, if only in passing, life in another country, or in another body, because we have been abandoned by the only one of the two nationally electable major parties who were even ostensibly on our side, who have negotiated away our alliance because doing so is the price of entry into doing business with the other party.

There is a presidential election coming up. The Democrats will not only want our votes, but expect them. And male partisans, having not learned the lessons of the last election, will admonish any feminist/womanist voter who does not axiomatically promise to give her vote to the Democrats that she is a fool who doesn't even understand her own rights or recognize her own best interests. We will be excoriated for even considering abandoning the Democratic Party, as if the Democratic Party did not abandon us first.

But this is not a post about voting. This is a post about the way reproductive rights are regarded—by the women who are actually affected by them, and by the party who purports to be our ally, and the cavernous divide in between.

My right to control my reproduction—and the respect for my bodily autonomy, agency, and consent that is embedded within that right—is central to my sense of self and my worth to my community and country. I can't put it any more plainly that that. The value of my very humanity is predicated on that right.

That right is not some piece of shit bit of legislation to be used as a dangled carrot during elections and used as a bargaining chip to be negotiated away in between.

And I'm angry that the party meant to champion women's rights doesn't see it the same way. I'm angry that there are so many male Democratic partisans (and not a few women) who claim to be progressive and yet think that whether I am trusted to make the best decisions about my own reproduction isn't a big fucking deal. Or want to lecture me about what a Big Fucking Deal it is when they're trying to bully me into voting for the party whose indifference allows the GOP to chip away at the scope of that right.

If it's not a big fucking deal to you every fucking day, then don't come shouting at me about it every four years like you're Professor Roe V. Wade, foremost expert in Abortionology at Gliberal University.

And if it is a big fucking deal to you every fucking day, then get busy getting involved.

Believe me, I know: Getting involved stinks. You're forced to deal with people who, on the best end, are deliberately obtuse bullies and, on the worst end, spam your inbox with pictures of dead fetuses. These are not pleasant folks, and I'd like to avoid them myself.

Unfortunately, that would necessitate closing up shop, putting down my teaspoon, and going silent. And then, somehow, magically not being a woman who lives in a patriarchy anymore.

This is the hard truth for progressive men who care about reproductive rights: When you leave the public fight to others, you're leaving it mostly to women.

I'll give you a moment to contemplate the many ways in which treating the feminist/womanist fight for reproductive rights as "woman's work" is some fucked-up irony, right there.

*a moment*

Now here's the other thing about leaving the reproductive rights fight to the ladies: Misogynists don't respect women. They don't listen to women; they won't acknowledge a woman's authority on her own lived experiences; they're not going to learn anything from women, and certainly not feminist/womanist women.

Misogynist anti-choicers who believe women to be less than need to hear that they're terribly, infuriatingly, and demonstrably wrong from men. Publicly. Passionately. As loud as the loud, so very loud, voices on the other side. One of the ways their self-reassuring bullshit works is via the effective void of male dissension, which supports their erroneous belief that they are the "objective" arbiters of womanhood.

They count on feminist men never showing up en masse for the main event.

They count on the Democratic Party being too squeamish, too spineless, too unprincipled, too apathetic to stand up for reproductive rights, unyieldingly.

They count on reproductive rights being the first bargaining chip on the table.

They count on the still almost entirely male leadership of the Democratic Party and the vast number of male Democratic partisans giving themselves permission to not get publicly involved, or to get publicly involved only when it's convenient and not all that risky and not all that hard.

They count on men trading on that privilege of not having to get involved.

They count on Democratic partisans being more interested in hectoring dispossessed progressive women than in being their allies and fighting this fight alongside them, every day.

They count on reproductive rights being treated as Woman's Work, and thus being devalued as woman's work inevitably is.

They are trying to overwhelm and demoralize the (mostly) women to whom this work is being left.

If the Democratic Party wants to retain its alliance with women, they'd better send reinforcements. And soon.

By way of suggestion, I recommend sending out that allegedly feminist staunch defender of reproductive rights, President Barack Obama, to give some of his fancy speech-making on behalf of the 52% of the nation whose rights are being eroded. Three hundred and fifty-one pieces of legislation seems like it warrants his comment. Ahem.

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LOL FOREVER

Think Progress: "[On Fox News Sunday this weekend], Fox personality Brit Hume argued that cutting taxes will actually lead to increased tax revenue. Fox analyst Juan Williams responded by noting this is often not the case, citing the fact that G.E.—the nation's largest company—paid nothing in taxes last year. Williams' response flummoxed Hume, who appeared dumbfounded and at a loss for words. Host Chris Wallace had to jump in to smooth things over with a joke."

Juan Williams: Remember that there's been an extension of the Bush tax cuts, and you're going on as if, you know what, we don't know in America how to help our own deficit problems. We do! We just have to tax people.

Brit Hume: Juan. Juan. What we need is not higher tax rates. What we need is higher revenue. And how do you get higher revenues? You get higher revenues from an expanding economy. That's where the big money comes from.

Williams: Yeah, and GE paying no taxes—that's good for America? Come on. You know that's not right.

[Pause. Brit Hume looks like he might barf.]

Chris Wallace: I just want to say, I pay all my taxes!

Williams: [laughing] Good man.

[H/T to Space Cowboy.]

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Monday Blogaround

This blogaround brought to you by Shaxco, publishers of the upcoming memoir I Dreamed of a Little Dog Laundry-Dancing by Paul T. Spud.

Recommended Reading:

Tami: [TW for racism and sexism] Talking Racism, Sexism with Ricky Gervais, Chris Rock, Jerry Seinfeld and Louis C.K.

Michelle: [TW for discussion of eating, diet, and weight] Eating Incompetence

Fannie: [TW for sexism] Anti-Feminists Condemn Feminists for Condemning Maher's Sexism

Stella: The Loneliness of An American Lefty

Daniel: [TW for racism] Five Myths about the 10 Most Segregated Metro Areas

Living ~400lbs: [TW for discussion of exercise and weight] Fitness vs. Fatness

Andy: Tsunami Dog Rescued at Sea is Reunited with Owner

This video [TW for discussion of violence] is a week or so old now, and I kept meaning to link it and keep forgetting. If you haven't seen it yet, definitely give it a watch: A History Lesson for Chris Brown. Jay Smooth is the best.

Leave your links in comments...

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Two-Minute Nostalgia Sublime

Jordy & The Dixies: "Diplomate"

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Sure

New York Times: House Republicans Propose $4 Trillion in Cuts Over Decade.

House Republicans plan this week to propose more than $4 trillion in federal spending reductions over the next decade by reshaping popular programs like Medicare, the Budget Committee chairman said Sunday in opening a new front in the intensifying budget wars.

Never mind that austerity doesn't work. Meanwhile...

The Hill: GOP seen as more reasonable in spending-cut debate.

A plurality of likely voters believes Republicans have been more reasonable than Democrats in the negotiations over spending cuts.

A new poll conducted for The Hill showed 41 percent polled said the GOP had been "more reasonable," while 29 percent said Democrats had been more sensible. Twenty-two percent said neither party was more reasonable than the other, and 7 percent were not sure.

Awesome.

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Texting! With Liss and Deeky!

My power is back on. At least for the time being. We've got a storm rolling on, so if I disappear again, rest assured I'm just sitting in the dark, cursing.

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Liss: My electricity just went out.

Deeky: Awesome!

Liss: I was in the middle of writing a post, too. Whooooooooooops.

Deeky: Electricity is for suckers.

Liss: Seriously, how the fuck often does my electricity go out?! And it's just our block this happens to, which seems to me ought to make whatever causes it easy to FIX ALREADY!

Deeky: "Dear Shakers: Liss' power is out again. Because Mitch Daniels."

Liss: LOL! I just called the power company. They're sending someone out. This is some real bullshit. I am so sick of power outages.

Deeky: Yeah. For serious.

Liss: Well, a power truck has arrived in the area.

Deeky: That's a promising sign.

Liss: The guy is literally just standing next to his truck, staring up at the telephone pole, lololol.

Deeky: LOL.

Liss: He just walked around the side of our house and bashed something. It sounded like he kicked the side of our house, lol! WTF?

Deeky: That'll fix it!

Liss: And now the power's back on! What was that—the Fonzie solution?!

Deeky: LOLz for real.

Liss: Now it's off again, lol.

Deeky: Perfect.

Liss: Now it's back on. LOL.

Deeky: This is going to be your whole day.

Liss: He's driving away. Guess it's fixed!

Deeky: LOL! Good news.

Liss: Nope, back out.

Deeky: Whoops!

Liss: Nope, back on! OMG this is hilarious.

Deeky: Just fire up the Tesla coil and be done with it.

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Blog Note

Just FYI, Liss is unexpectedly without power again. Way to go Power Station! They are sending a truck out, whatever that means. (Lorry?) And they will have power restored ASAP. Whoever they are exactly.

In the meantime, enjoy this vintage Roxy Music track:

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