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You’ll All Pay #28

© 2004 Joe Conat

I just read this very interesting article on Salon by Rebecca Traister on Eve Ensler and her way-out-there efforts to encourage women to vote. It was a very informative article in a lot of ways. I did not know, for instance, that 22 million single women failed to vote last presidential election or that 50 million women remain unregistered to vote. I was appalled. (Actually, it turns out that, in 2000, 28.4 million American citizen women were not registered to vote, and 9.9 million registered women voters did not vote. Stats can be found here [requires Acrobat Reader].)

And it occurred to me that I am very very stupid.

It never came into my head that women don’t vote as much as they should. Now, before you start sending me “Hey, buddy, I vote” e-mails, let’s just insert caveat #12 right here: I’m not talking about You. Just, you know…people in general. Anyway.

It never occurred to me that all these women didn’t vote. I mean it. Not in this “I’m so self-centered ha ha ha” manner, but in the manner of assuming that all these women did indeed vote. I approached this new subject as a child, so to speak. I had assumed that the sky was blue…turns out it’s not. It’s just light-waves and atmospheric filtering and a whole lot of boring junk. My assumptions were shattered, my world-view a bit more damaged.

These women don’t vote? But…but…but why?

Well, I don’t know. I have no answers to the why. If anyone does, my e-mail address is at the end of this piece.

But this article did point out something that I was vaguely aware of, and it has always troubled me. This “vulva-speak” as Ms. Traister calls it, this “wymyn” version of feminism.

I’m going to spout a cliché and say: I’m not a feminist, but… I am a person. Women are people. Dogs are not people, by way of comparison. Neither are monkeys or fichus plants. Thus dogs, monkeys and fichus plants do not get to vote.

And yes there are myriad particular physiological and psychological and blah blah blah differences between women and sweaty, grunting, Neanderthal men-folk, but…still people. So…I’m a little thrown off by this outré version of feminism.

I thought…I may’ve been wrong, I know, but I thought…that feminism was all about pointing out that, as expressed above, “Hey, women are people, too, and you men-folk are marginalizing us and that ain’t right.” Which I’m all “Woohoo! Right on! Yeah!” about. So this “vulva-speak” crowd throws me off because their message seems to come across as “We are Other! But equal! But still Other! Vulva! Vulva, vulva, vulva!”

Which, lemme tell ya, ain’t gonna get ya what you want.

Lookit…I know I’m sticking my neck out here, being a member of the White Male World Domination and Oppression Club (which club’s newsletter, by the by, I have not yet received, so Mr. Secretary of the White Male World Domination and Oppression Club can you update your mailing list, please? I might not mind the bitchin’ parking spot and the sooper seekrit handshake), but it seems to me that if you go around proclaiming you are Other, then you’re not getting the sympathy for your cause that you might otherwise get.

Man or woman, people relate to those around them. They don’t like it when their daughter or sister, wife or significant other or mother is kicked around and denied what’s fair.

But Others, screaming “VULVA!”…well, they could give a rat’s ass about, you know?

“Look at the loon over there. Screamin’ ‘vulva’. What’s she got against foreign cars?”

“Those are good cars, you’re right.”

Seems to me, but I am a stupid person, that what you might want to try saying to the women you want to vote this November 2, is something like “You’re being disenfranchised because of your gender. Is that fair? No, no it’s not. Are you less capable of doing the things men do? No, no you’re not. Should you be paid less, have what you do to your body dictated to you by others, remain marginalized and disenfranchised? Do you want your mom to remain marginalized and disenfranchised? How about your daughter? No? So vote, already.” Might work better than shouting about your vagina all over the place, you know?

Again, I know I’m stickin’ my neck out here. I’m gambling a bunch of hard-won credibility to say this. I’m just telling you what it looks like from here. And, really…you’re preaching to the choir. I’m all for equality. My wife and my mom would kick my ass if I weren’t. So I’m just sayin’…the message is getting lost in the noise.

We all know you have a vagina. We’re very happy for you, really. It makes no difference, to me at least, in whether or not you can do your job. That’s really all I care about. And part of your job, as citizens, is voting.

You are not Other. You are the Same. Go get your rights as People.

You’ll All Pay is written by patriarchal bastard and loudmouth Joe Conat. You can tell him that, come the Revolution, he’s first against the wall by clicking here.

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You’ll All Pay #26 (Yeah, I know I skipped…get over it.)

© 2004 Joe Conat

I was trying to delve…as deeply and honestly as I could…into my own psyche, looking for an explanation. It has occurred to me, you see, that my response to just about everything George W. Bush does is visceral and fierce beyond any response to a politician I have ever had before.Clinton lied. I’m not defending it or comparing it to Bush’s lies. I’m wondering why Clinton’s lies prompted a “meh”, while Bush’s lies initiate a volcanic, frothing rage in me.

Reagan lied. I’m not going to defend that position today…for the sake of argument let’s just accept it as fact: Reagan lied about Iran/Contra and quite a few other things. Yet his lies warranted a disgust borne of cynicism justified, rather than an overwhelming urge to stand atop the Capitol Building dressed as Moses and proclaim this administration an abomination in the eyes of all that is good and just and holy.

Why? I wondered, do I…yes, let’s admit…hate the man so much?

And I think it comes down to this: he has “attained” the highest position in our society, not through hard work and diligence, not through honorable civic or military service, not through intelligence or even strength of arms…but through graft and nepotism and handouts and “skating by”. He has spent his life, it appears, lying and cheating, scoffing at his betters and shirking his duties and responsibility…and he got away with it.

You know what I mean?

He gives every appearance of being the spoiled child of privilege that he claims he’s not. He slicks his way through Yale. He dodges active duty in Vietnam, and then dodges the commitment to the Air National Guard that helped him avoid active duty. He bungles management of companies and baseball teams, he staggers his way through his gubernatorial stint…and his family hands him Florida and the rest of the nation. He constantly and consistently screws up…and he is handed more rewards.

I mean…no wonder he felt he could go to war without the blessing of the United Nations. No wonder he blindly expected the American people to shout huzzahs as he sent our soldiers off to be slaughtered. No wonder he felt he could raid our national surplus while handing his pals a tax break and it would all turn out okay. No wonder he fully expects that, despite his abysmal foreign and domestic record, the American people will blissfully punch the chad next to his name on November 2 and then line Pennsylvania Avenue with banners and bunting while throwing rose petals in his path for his re-ascension.

He’s living the lie. I mean it…he’s living the lie.

He acknowledges he doesn’t read the news…people do it for him.

He doesn’t ever see protesters…the Secret Service keeps them penned in special “Free Speech Zones”.

He doesn’t ever engage in honest debate with citizens who may not adore him…people who go to see Bush speak have to sign “loyalty pledges” and avow that they loves them some President Bush, yes they do.

He’s completely surrounded himself with a screen of nannies and yes-men who tell him he’s special and wonderful and everyone loves him.

No wonder he can’t see where he’s gone wrong.

And no wonder he doesn’t care.

We are nothing to him. We’re peons. Peasants. Chattel. Hell, it’s entirely possible that, to him, we’re not even real.

He’s been handed everything in the universe and all he shows for it is incompetence and arrogance. He’s smug even as he screws up our country, and then he’s arrogantly affronted when somebody calls him on it.

It makes me dislike him intensely.

I’ve been called to task on occasion for showing a lack of respect for the President. I will cop to this.

But I want to make myself very clear here…I have the utmost respect for the office of the President. But it’s built into the law of the land that I don’t have to have or show respect for the man who currently holds that office.

Back in olden times, and perhaps even up to today, monarchs held their title and secured their position by telling their subjects that they, the king or queen, had a divine right to rule. That the monarch was, in fact, the only direct link between Man and God. And that only their chosen or their heirs could rule, as the chosen or heirs in question would become the only direct link between Man and God. And, by the way lowly peasant, you will never be the direct link between Man and God so if you want God to love you or, you know, be cognizant of your very existence you will bow and scrape to His representative on Earth and fetch His representative on Earth a cool goblet of wine as you go, thank you so very much.

And then some people said “To hell with that!” and left for Parts Largely Unknown. And they died.

But some other people said “To hell with that!” and gave it another go and managed to hold on for a while. And then, a hundred and some odd years later, they decided that they’d had enough of kowtowing and fetching raw materials for the Man who Talked for God and held themselves a Revolution. And they won. And they built themselves into a brand spanking new sovereign country and had it written into the laws of the land that there would be No More Kings for them and that the leader of this nation could not declare himself Ruler for Life or claim to be the only direct link between Man and God.

We would not worship the President.

I will not worship the President.

The office of President is an administrative position appointed by the people. In ideal cases devoid of voter fraud, we decide who sits in that Oval Office and his job is to direct the nation the way we want it. His job, in fact, sort of sucks…he’s in that office because enough people thought he was on the right track to vote him in there. But the job he’s supposed to do is to be an executive…to make the boring day-to-day decisions that keep the country running so that we, the people who put him there, can go back to watching TV or reading or whatever it is we’d rather be doing than staying up late and discussing trade agreements with Moldova.

He’s subject to review…if we don’t like what he’s doing it’s built in that we can dismiss him after four years. If we really don’t like what he’s doing we can dismiss him even sooner, via impeachment or what have you.

To make sure he doesn’t let his vaunted pencil-pushing position go to his head, we also appoint a council of policy-makers. Two councils, actually…the House and the Senate.

We also have a bunch of old lawyers who make sure he doesn’t go cuckoo with the laws and such.

The President is not a demi-god, is my point. He is not the sole wielder of all power in the land and he is not omnipotent. He cannot tell you what God intends for all of us.

Whoever holds the office of President must rise to the occasion. By design it’s a heavy and unwieldy mantle to bear. It carries with it the responsibility of being caretaker of the hopes, dreams, ideals and lives of the people who gave him that mantle.

In my opinion, George W. Bush has played havoc with that responsibility, has wantonly abused his power and privilege and has in the process squandered and endangered American prosperity and lives.

And he does it with a smug little grin and a twinkle in his eye. Because he knows he will not, ultimately, be held accountable for it. He will go to his grave believing that he did everything right and if it all turned to crap it’s because Democrats didn’t blindly follow his lead.

He is dangerously conceited. Dangerously.

I do not respect this President. I, in fact, dislike this President. His uncaring incompetence enrages me to the point of apoplexy. I laugh and giggle at his every fumble, his every gaffe and every piece of evidence that comes out showing what a liar and a criminal he really is.

I cop to that.

And my incessantly telling you that I don’t like him is guaranteed me by the closest thing we have in this country to Holy Writ. My exercising of my rights to tell you, over and over and over again, that I do not like this President and I think he should not be re-elected is a patriotic act.

So neener.

And as to my original point…I think I dislike George W. Bush because, when you come right down to it, he acts like the rich little snot we all knew growing up. He doesn’t care that he’s stupid, he doesn’t care that he’s clumsy and oafish, he doesn’t care that he’s wrong…his daddy is rich and can sue your daddy.

So neener.

You’ll All Pay is written by Joe Conat who lives in sullen resentment. You can attempt to penetrate his brooding sulk by writing him here.

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You’ll All Pay #27
© 2004 Joe Conat

I’m having a daughter.

Emma Jayne Conat is expected around November 30th of this year. She will stop living solely off her mother and will instead live off both her mother and I.

She will be tiny. She will be fragile and innocent and unknowing.

I’m having a daughter and our economy is in the toilet and we’re losing troops every day in a country we shouldn’t be in and people who fly airplanes into buildings are still out there plotting to do something like that again, maybe even something worse.

I think you see where I’m going with this.

This is why there’s an edge of barely stifled urgent panic when I write or speak about the Bush administration. Dubya the Clown Prince is heading our country and he’s so busy trying to remember how to spell his middle initial and that he shouldn’t pick his nose in front of Matt Lauer while the little red light on the camera is glowing that he fails to look around and see that his assurances of economic prosperity and peace in our time are lies.

Lies.

I’m having a daughter and she will be born into a world of lies. Where the leader of the most powerful country in the world cannot be believed when he says “Good morning”. Where the commander in chief of the most powerful military force in the history of our species cannot strike the right target, cannot see that his foolishness is wasting…yes, wasting…lives instead of safeguarding them, cannot find a way to bring our troops home for the next 20 years.

When my daughter is twenty years old, we will still be occupying Iraq. When my daughter is twenty years old, she will be old enough to go to Iraq, to wear a uniform and body armor.

When my daughter is twenty years old she will be eligible to be splattered across the hot desert sand by a roadside bomb or a rocket propelled grenade. When my daughter is twenty years old she could be killed by a person born on the same day as my daughter, raised under our occupation. She could be killed by a person sharing the same birthday as her, somebody who hates her simply because she’s American and isn’t where she’s wanted.

I’m having a daughter. She will never know what it’s like to not be concerned about terrorism. She will go to nursery school and kindergarten and elementary school, junior high, high school, college…and she will always be aware that somewhere out there is a person…who could share the same birthday…who might be carrying a dirty bomb on the subway she takes. Who is learning to fly a plane. Who might have strapped several pounds of dynamite to their chest and is sitting beside her on the bus. She will never know that she is safe.

I’m having a daughter. She will never know that, if all goes wrong, the government cares about her and will help her if she gets sick. She will always be concerned about insurance and health care and HMOs and who will screw her over the least.

She will never have the assurance of financial security in her golden years.

And if we give Bush four more years, she will never know a time when her country wasn’t dealing with a huge budget deficit.

She will never know of a time when we could touch the stars. She will never know of a time when our goal was to unite humanity and achieve the unthinkable and breed heroes to walk the skies.

That’s what I’m looking at. This is the world my beautiful daughter is going to be born into.

But by all the gods, if I have anything to say about it…and I do…this is not the world she will marry in. This is not the world her children will be born into. This is not the world she will die in.

It is time…it is past time…for us to move along a different path. We cannot…can not…let the world slide into wrack and ruin, let the greatest country in the world veer dangerously off course into madness and the nonsense dreams of an idiot man-child.

We begin by getting Bush out of the White House. And we keep it up by never letting his ilk take the reins of power again.

We have a responsibility, you see. We have to be more aware, more careful. We have to know who we’re putting in charge…and they have to know we know.

We have to hold them accountable. Every decision they make should be met with intense scrutiny, with deep consideration…and, if we think it’s the wrong decision, extremely vocal opposition.

We hold them accountable by holding ourselves accountable. See?

We will never again know a world where this isn’t paramount. Where the people must be smarter and stronger and braver than they were. Where the people have to be less complacent, more aware and industrious. Where we safeguard our planet, our country, our people…and our children…with every fiber of everything that we are.

I’m having a daughter.

One day, for her birthday…I will give her the world.

I want it to be the best gift ever.

You’ll All Pay is written by Joe Conat. You can send him comments here.

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