Month: May 2015

I cannot go any longer without writing a small piece on the ‘scandal,’ as it were, surrounding Josh Duggar.  I don’t know how organized I can keep this piece, since the information, opinions, experiences, anger, sadness, etcetera are swimming around in my head like little fish in an aquarium.

I’m writing this because there are several things that trouble me.  What I want to mention first is the rush to characterize Mr. Duggar as a ‘predator,’ or a ‘pedophile.’  He may be one of those, or both, but I would have to see the results of extensive psychological testing directed at making such a determination before I can then make any claim one way or another.  I will return to this subject later in this piece.

Believe it or not, the fact that Mr. Duggar molested several little girls does not, although it points in that direction, immediately qualify him as either.  This would be true if he were an adult, but it is especially true given the fact that he was was fourteen and fifteen years old at the time of the offenses.  I was once fourteen (and fifteen for that matter) and I can tell you now that my hormones were beginning to undergo many changes as I stood at the gates of those delirious years known commonly as puberty.  I am certain that every adult reading this piece experienced the same.

I am not condoning Mr. Duggar’s actions, or giving him some sort of ‘pass’ because of his age, but when I look at the patriarchal cultural environment in which he was raised; an environment in which men feel they have the right to exercise unquestionable and absolute authority over women, I am saddened more than outraged.  I look at this fourteen year old boy entering puberty and how he was taught, by observation if nothing else, to consider girls (and females as a whole) as ‘things’ that are there to satisfy his wants and I am saddened.  I am definitely saddened for his victims, but I also feel sadness for him.

Our healthy and undeniable sense of right and wrong are born into us.  God gives us this gift; this imprinted, internalized knowledge of how we are to look upon and treat others.  We know what this looks like even as adults tainted by the world in which we live.  It looks like the look in a child’s eyes of immediate acceptance of others even in all of our imperfections; expressed in the unwavering look of “Hey, how are you? You want to be friends!?”  It is the look of the love God wants us all to live and share.

My wife and I once bought a t-shirt for our daughter when she was in either kindergarten or the first grade that had a picture on the front of a white and black child embracing each other and smiling.  It also had the sentence “Nobody is born a bigot” below the picture.  Truer words were never spoken.

We, then, as adults, have the opportunity to either help our children fulfill the promise of that gift, or twist it into some grotesque, self-serving image of what it should be; of what it once was.  When we twist this gift of God into a curse of human passions, our children become the Quasimodo-like foot soldiers of the imperial free-market theocracy we seem destined to leave as our legacy.  We end up with war, economic exploitation, sexual exploitation, slavery, and a list of evils too lengthy to even begin to catalog.  We end up with a minimized image of God that supports all of these and is, since we have then succeeded in re-creating Him in our image, as seduced by them as we are.

The adults in the lives of Josh Duggar and his victims did just this.  They twisted the beautiful sense of right and wrong God births into us into something completely unrecognizable; something truly ugly.  They removed all True ‘right’ from the moral equation, retained only the ‘wrong,’ and then pressed this into their children as what is ‘right.’  They then reenforced this evil manipulation of God’s desire for us by characterizing at as His will; as ‘Biblical.’  That, my friends, is the overwhelming weirdness of this tragedy.  Sadly, they weren’t the first to do this and they won’t be the last.

In the patriarchal freak show they created, once Mr. Duggar’s crimes became known, the concern was for him, not his victims.  Who cared for the victims?  No one within their ‘faith.’  They were taught, through a truly ugly manipulation of the Godly act of forgiveness, to get over it.  When I think about what these girls have had to go through; not only as victims of the immediate act of Mr. Duggar’s molestation, but especially the manner in which their pain, confusion, and needs were marginalized afterwards, by their family no less, my sadness begins to turn to anger.

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I do need to return to Mr. Duggar for bit.  Although I am troubled by the fact that he grew up in an environment that would seem to, if not actually condone his actions, at least make certain that he was not held accountable for them, I am more troubled by the fact that he had multiple victims.

Mr. Duggar needs to be examined, over a lengthy period of time, by a professional psychologist or psychiatrist regarding his sexually deviant behavior to determine the extent to which he may be at risk for committing any such acts in the future.  He may pose no risk to anyone.  This may have been a pubescent hunger fueled by his environment.   Then again, he may pose a great risk; he may be walking around cloaking his deviant desires beneath a shroud of avoidance of shame and guilt that is certain to fail at some point in the future.  If he poses such a risk, he must either voluntarily, or be compelled if necessary, to find a way to minimize this risk; not within the male-domination common practice of his family’s theology, but within the larger world.  After all, it is within this larger world that he exists.

I sincerely hope that Mr. Duggar is not a sexual predator (in which case all women are at risk to be sexually assaulted by him), or a pedophile (in which case all children, especially girls, given his history, are at risk to be sexually assaulted by him).  These are psychological conditions I wouldn’t wish on anybody, if for no other reason than the harm done to others as a result of their expression when left untreated.

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Lastly, in terms of what actually occurred, although I have not the requisite information to accurately characterize him as either a sexual predator or a pedophile, I do condemn Mr. Duggar for what he did.  Mr. Duggar knew right from wrong, for although the adults in his life twisted the ‘knowledge of right and wrong’ gift God gives us, we all know that His gift always survives within us in its true essence.  God is too powerful and loving for us to ever completely destroy His work.  Mr. Duggar made choices, and those choices were his and his alone.  Those choices were counter to what he knew was right and hurt these girls and others.

As I stated earlier in this piece, all adults reading this have passed through the crucible of puberty.  These years contain the genetic/hormonal changes that take us, in a purely physical manner, from childhood to adulthood.  We exist in this strange transitional state in which the curiosities of childhood meet the desires of adulthood.  The body is changing so quickly that our psychological and emotional selves cannot keep pace.  When this happens we end up with…teenagers.  Yes, that’s right, the dreaded scourge of all parental tranquility; the teenager.

However, the vast majority of pubescent teenagers are able to process the curiosity/desire matrix through a filter that will lead them to not molest children, but rather stumble through these years of discovery and confusion with someone their own age who is experiencing the same physical and psychological pushes and pulls.  Mr. Duggar either did/does not possess this filter, or saw it as not part of the ‘biblical’ traditions to which his parents taught him he was entitled.  Both of these are dangerous, but the latter is by far the most dangerous.

Parents create the environments in which their children learn how to live within the larger world.  Two major environments are the degrees to which children grow in love and understanding, or shame and guilt.  Depending on the balance of the ‘love and understanding’ or ‘shame and guilt’ home environment created by the parents, we end up with several different outcomes to this teenaged, pubescent stumbling:

In a home environment based upon love and understanding we have initially uncomfortable conversations between parents and children about the dangers and responsibilities of approaching physical adulthood and the eventual inevitability of becoming sexually active.  The results of the conversations fostered by this ‘love and understanding’ environment are teenaged boys who respect themselves and girls, and girls who respect themselves and boys.  Neither are generally promiscuous and both know about birth control.

The result of a ‘shame and guilt’ home environment are no such conversations.  Rather, society ends up with teenage boys who look down on girls and girls who end up pregnant at the abortion clinic their parents are trying to shut down.

Peace and Love to all,

Niemand

Names have been changed to protect privacy…

I once called my friend and personal Jimminy Cricket, Jacqueline, while working at Joe’s Addiction and said to her simply; “There is no end to them.”  She knew exactly what I meant and replied; “No, Chris, there isn’t.”

“Them” is the afflicted of this world; the widows and orphans our society creates at a faster pace than we can ever hope to help them.  “Them” are like the people of the eastern world our country kills in our name.  For every person they claim to be my enemy they kill, two more of these “enemies” are created.

As an aside, let me state the following from a political perspective: I firmly believe that the state, especially in a republic which purports to function on a broad set of democratic principles, does not possess the right to tell any citizen who their enemy is.  Each citizen possesses, as a natural right endowed by their Creator, the right to decide who their enemy is.  I do not consider the muslims of this world to be my enemies, and so the United States government does not possess the right to tell me they are.

The world of humans as resources that exist for the sole purpose of maintaining shareholder value creates the afflicted faster that we can help them.  Therefore, the statement is true; there is, indeed, no end to them.  The only person that could have solved the problem of the widows, orphans, afflicted, and outcasts of this world was the Christ, and He remains the only one who can do it.  We can only beg His assistance as we try to do as He would have us do; watch over those we can, and serve those we can.

On May 5th of this year, I was driving south on Martin Luther King, Jr. Blvd. in Oklahoma City and was sitting at a red light at the I-40 Junction when I glanced to my right and saw an orphan.  He was a man of undeterminable age from where I sat, but I perceived him to be in his late twenties.  He wore a dirty, dark t-shirt, and modern rain resistant pants that looked to be either dark blue or black.

The man was unwashed and dirty from head to toe.  He was walking south toward the same junction at which I sat and walked as if he were either mentally ill or recovering from a high of some sort.  It was the plodding walk of a man both largely unaware of, and decidedly unconcerned about his surroundings.  I know he was dirty from head to toe because his head, from his hair to his skin, was covered in old dirt and he wore no shoes.  His feet were filthy, and the bottoms of his feet epitomized of his overall appearance.

I sat there, watching him, thinking “What could I possibly do for this man?  I have four dollars in my wallet, and if I give that to him, I am certain he will spend it on his next adventurous journey to the outskirts of Galaxy X.  There’s nothing I can do for him.”  The light turned green, and I proceeded onto I-40 westbound.  I was home in less than ten minutes.

I had to work as the barista at Joe’s that night and spent an uneventful evening there.  It wasn’t completely uneventful, I showed the first three hour-long episodes of “The World at War;”  the greatest documentary on World War II ever made, and plan to show 2 episodes every Tuesday until I have shown all twenty-six of them.

I had a few household items to buy that night and had to stop at the grocery store on the way home.  Since Wal-Mart is putting all other grocers out of business, I stopped at their closest super center.  I hated it, but that’s another post.

I had three items on my list: peanut butter, bar soap, and chew sticks for Princess.  The soap and the chew sticks were on the side of the store I entered, and so I went for those first.  I initially was going for the chew sticks, but it occurred to me that the soap was on the way, and if I happened to see it, I would stop and pick it up first.  Therefore, as I walked briskly toward the aisle with the chew sticks, I lightly glanced down a few aisles I thought might contain the soap.  I didn’t see it.

I did, however, see a woman with long red hair.  She was attractive; not drop dead gorgeous by current imperial standards, but as I saw her momentarily as I walked by I thought to myself “Wow, she’s pretty.”…and that’s all I will say about that.  Our eyes did meet and there was that moment of recognition as I walked by.  I proceeded to the pet care aisles.

Within a couple of minutes she came around the corner and approached me.  I said hello and asked what I could do for her.  She smiled, returned my greeting and held out a clear plastic anti-theft container which contained a smaller box.  She proceeded to tell me that the box contained diabetic test strips that her 8-year old son needed for his diabetes.  They have insurance which covers a majority of the cost, but it restricts her and her children to one box per month.  The dog got to the box that she had just purchased for the month of May.

I asked her what I could do.  She said she would never ask, but if I had a couple of dollars to help her buy this box, she would appreciate it.  I said that wasn’t necessary, that I would purchase the box for her.  She replied that I couldn’t do that because that box of 50 strips cost $68.00.  My mouth dropped open.  I asked her what she planned to do and she replied that she was going to ask every patron in the store for a couple of dollars and if that worked, she’d have enough.

I settled the issue by giving her the $4.00 I had in my wallet and telling her this: “I have a little bit of shopping to do, and when I am finished, I’m going to find you wherever you are in this store.  If you don’t have all the money together that you need, I’m going to buy the strips.” Her mouth dropped open.

I shopped and then found her.  She had collected a total of $6.00 with my $4.00.  I didn’t even have to ask.  I approached her, removed the container from her hand and said “Let’s get your son his strips, and I’m going to tell you a story.”

As we approached the lengthy check out line, I told her of the man I saw earlier who I did not know how to help.  I also told her that I was unsure whether I really didn’t know how I could help him at that moment, or if I was just making an excuse to myself not to help him.  I also told her: “And then you approach me with a need I can fill, and I am given another opportunity to serve.  I am not passing on this one.”

I thought she was going to cry, but she didn’t and we had a pleasant conversation while in line. When we were finished, she told me she would pay my generosity forward at the first opportunity.  I told her I knew she would, finally introduced myself, and left.

Now today, May 13th, I am on my way to Joe’s for my 5 to 10 shift and I pass a woman in the rain walking west on SE 59th Street.  She was sort of staggering toward the railroad bridge.  She looked like ‘Cousin It’ with out a brush.  Her head was down and her long, tangled locks hung all about her, covering her face.  Something struck me and I turned around and parked in a parking lot ahead of her.  When I emerged from my car with my umbrella she was now in the street, heading toward the painted median for the railroad bridge.  I approached her and when I was close enough to her I called out if she was okay.  She looked up and was crying.  She was in bad shape and said “No, can you help me?”

It was now 4:50 and I told her that I had to be somewhere at 5:00, but if she needed to get to somewhere close, I could take her.  She told me a street just over a mile away, and so we made our way back to my car where I texted the barista at Joe’s that I would be a couple of minutes late and I took her home.

Once she was in the passenger seat looking forward, her hair fell back and I could see that she was beaten up pretty badly.  Not as bad as I’ve seen in this life God has made for me, but it was evident she had been punched about the head and face several times.

Her story was this: She works (or ‘worked’ at this point, I suppose) as a dancer at one of the sex clubs in Valley Brook, called Fancy’s.  She may have worked at one of the other clubs as well recently, because according to her, the manager of another club named Brenda came in and went after her.  A fight ensued and she was beaten up.  Someone called the police…the Valley Brook police…and they came in and once they had them apart, told her that they would not press charges against her because she didn’t have a prior felony.  She tried to tell them that she was the one who was attacked, but it didn’t matter.  They and the club manager kicked her out on the street…in the rain.

Throughout the ride to her house, she continued sobbing uncontrollably asking how something like that could happen. I told her 2 things quite plainly.  First, that the people who employ her at clubs like that see her as nothing more than a commodity that they sell (or ‘lease’ is a more accurate term) until they see her as used up, and then wad her up like a piece of paper and through her away like a piece of trash.

Second, that she has to remember that this occurred in Valley Brook, and the people who own and manage those clubs are protected by Valley Brook.  She is not.

I cannot testify to the veracity of her story, but that is immaterial.  What matters is this: Here we are, and there is no end to them.  Once again, this world creates the afflicted faster than any of us can help them.  Sometimes the help they need is, in their eyes, pretty substantial; like a single mother begging for money to buy a $68.00 box of test strips for an 8-year old son with juvenile diabetes.  Sometimes it’s just a ride home out of the rain for a woman who has been abused beyond what I can imagine ever tolerating on my own person.

Whatever the level or size of their affliction, we are called to watch over them.  They are there, and if we truly profess our devotion to Jesus by our deeds toward these people and not by religious quotes on Facebook, then they will find us.  He will make sure of it.  When they walk through the door, or approach us in the store, or stagger down the street, remember that any one of them could be the Christ, returned to reconcile us the the Father; so watch over them.

Lastly, there is a strange beauty in all of this.  The beauty is that Jesus knew when He called us to follow him and laid out our job description, that inherent in the life of serving Him through serving the afflicted was job security like nothing else on this planet.

Peace and love to all,

Niemand