(Originally written on Dreamwidth MAY. 16TH, 2012 11:19 PM)

Understand this very clearly: they do not respect women. They do not actually like for us to have any control over ourselves or our environment at all. They know how they would act in our shoes and they are terrified we will.

If they are Catholic or if they are Jewish or if they are Baptist or if they are Muslim or if they are Shinto it doesn’t matter. The masters of the faith require us to bow our heads to them. They need for us not to “play God” with our own bodies because we might reverse a decision they made. Like whether or not to have sex without their consent. Like whether or not to grant life to a bit of their genetic makeup. Make no mistake: the entire Catholic institutional uproar about whether they shall cover birth control or abortions is directly about whether women will have sex without permission from God (them). This is clearly seen in Limbaugh’s screed over how much sex he imagines Ms Fluke to be having. It is clearly seen in the bishops’ demand to control the pregnancy options of their employees, Catholic or not. It is clearly seen in the unofficial “honor” killings performed by WASP men in these United States.

They love us. They fear us. They fear losing us and our services to them, and like any abusive family member, they try to make it impossible for us to enjoy ourselves, to control ourselves, or to escape.

I have for decades now been alarmed by the number of hospitals that are owned by the Catholic church. I have been alarmed for decades by the repeated claim that medical personnel might control the options of their patients by their own principles rather than by the principles of their patients. I am gasping with terror over those ugly, scaly, noxious gorilla buttocks being shaken in public in each and every state and national governmental body in the land.

We discovered, back when my eldest daughter first acquired her pet rat and wanted to share it with me, that I am terrified of rats. (Really, who knew?? Not me!)

We also discovered what my actual visceral response to terror is.

The urge to violence.

(Kind of like that of abusive family members, actually. It is really a good thing that nothing my family members can possibly do is anything that terrifies me. I’d have to pre-emptively check myself into jail. Ugh.)

I’m older than I was when I decided it wasn’t safe for me to own firearms. My hormones are under control again, my therapist is really happy with me, and I am very unlikely to go all “Get off my lawn!” on anyone.

So I’m thinking – maybe it’s time I took advantage of the power that we have actually accumulated over the last 60 years. Before we lose it.

Maybe it is time we all take advantage of the power our foremothers and forefathers bled to acquire for us.

I have always voted. I am now also writing to my reps, and calling them. I am volunteering now. I went to Madison. (Did you Go To Madison?) I hereby begin to write again, and I write now to urge you, my sisters and those of my brother who see this, to Go To Madison. To vote, and to speak with your neighbors. To demand response, in front of all the scaly arses wagging in our faces. To be willing to stand for an appropriate office, just like my brother in First Unitarian did, the one who Led The 14 Out Of Madison. In spite of all the things the media and the opposition can possibly pull up and wave in my face.

Make no mistake, those things are there. I have to – you have to – be willing to say, Publish And Be Damned To You!

We have the franchise. No matter what kind of ID nonsense they are now trying to inflict on all of us, we do have the franchise. Vote, and persuade your family and your neighbors and your congregation members and your pool buddies and your fellow students (or teachers or TAs or crew members or shipmates or whoever the blessed fuck you communicate with) to go out and do likewise. Persuade them that they actually can affect their own – our own – country.

But more: as you find appropriate for your own place (block, town, state) and your own circumstances (fears, abilities, people immediately around you), arm yourself. Be Darcy. Be Natasha. Be Sif.

Holy fuck, be Tony and get yourself a Nuke of your very own, if you want and you can and you should.

And when the scaly gasfarters say “Fear me, little gurl, and scream and run and bleed and cry and submit,” you say:

“Oh, yes, I fear you.” TAZE “You need to scream and run and bleed and cry and submit, now.”

Arm yourself according to your circumstances, both personal and environmental.

(And believe me, if I was Destiny’s mom, I’d carry my own tazer or pepper spray to school, and just shadow him all day, looking threateningly at every kid there, and not saying a word.)