Showing posts with label class warfare. Show all posts
Showing posts with label class warfare. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Self-defense is not a crime

The most key skill one can possess is the ability to defend oneself.
Though we no longer reside in the wilderness or savage tribes, man
is still a mercenary creature. There are always threats of varied sorts
vying to destroy us or take what is ours. Unfortunately, as the
importance of society in general has been promoted, man's vital
protection skills have been outlawed and lost. Morality, as well
as a lazy sedentary lifestyle, is guilty of incapacitating people's
natural defensive capabilities and territorial nature. The previously
innate self-preservation skills have disappeared.


The need to retrain citizens in the way of self-defense is crucial;
not just physical strength and fitness, but emotional and psycho-
logical spiritedness, too. Many modern men and women are casual
and passive in their daily lives. They have been brainwashed by
religion, workplaces, and government to be demure and calm at
the expense of their own sense of self. People are conditioned to
accept bad situations, rude people, and violations of their boundaries.
Citizens are expected to 'grin and bear it,' for the power of the
individual has been subdued.

When someone becomes reliant on someone or something
outside themselves, they give away power. A man should
not be concerned with the restriction of laws or interference
of the police when defending his home, his things, his honor,
or his life. If a family member is maimed or killed due to
negligence or cruelty of a stranger, what is the repercussion?
The stranger may get some jail time, but the man is simply
expected to go on as if nothing happened. There is no means
of returning a life or a limb. There is no justice once an act is
committed. (This example speaks to the situation of a poor
man without influence, obviously. There are different rules for
different people in this classist culture; yet another reason
people must take care of protecting themselves.)

People will respect a person only to the extent that that person
demands respect. They will take advantage of an individual to
whatever extent they are capable. Even ‘simple’ name-calling
that goes unanswered gives bullies an invitation to further
disrespect a passive person. And small incidents build into
larger ones all the time. Insults devalue a person and set the
stage for submissiveness to build. This is still a world of ‘kill
or be killed,’ even though the pretense is that civility and
societal laws prevail.

The ability to defend one’s self may be a secondary skill; the
initial need might be that people must be taught to have greater
self-respect (the more butch cousin of the much-promoted
'self-esteem’ of the last 20 years.) But the end results of being
actively capable of protecting oneself and belongings may
become necessary before a strong sense of self is intact.
So, this is a case of needing to put the cart before the horse.
With the increase of economic instability and social unrest in
this last year, the possibility of being robbed, overlooked, or
hurt increases all the time. Human beings need to adapt a more
proactive response to potential violence or violations besides
thinking they are safe in their little corner of the world. Wishful
thinking won’t cut it when the eviction notice or the home
invader comes.


People need to know that everything from 'unsatisfactory
customer service' to 'illegal wars fought with their tax dollars'
is not something they must begrudgingly accept. Each time
one allows another to step on one's toes, a precedent is set;
the smaller battles are cumulative in effect. When someone is
dismissive or disrespectful, they must be confronted. When a
person in a position of authority takes advantage of you, a line
must be drawn. When another person invades an individual's
space or threatens them, the individual must be willing to speak
up and defend themselves.
The first step in learning to protect oneself is to recognize
the existing problem of passive acceptance. The only difference
between someone who is a victim and someone who is a victor
is willingness. We are trained in schools, jobs, families, and
churches to be submissive; standing up to all manner of threats
is a skill which must be learned. A first step in altering the
existing problem is to seek out classes or books to learn
what is needed. Martial arts, boxing, and other physical
self-defense courses are available most anywhere. There
are also books and self-help classes to become more assertive
and even aggressive in work, personal, and financial relationships.
Sometimes one has to learn to release old relationships, as even
friends and family can be contaminants restraining one from
achieving a better self. Some people are sick enough to prefer
a friend’s failure so they can continue to feel good about themselves,
or keep the status quo. The reach of cutthroat thinking is far indeed.

The need to properly and confidently defend oneself is the
greatest ability a person can have. Unfortunately, it is a lost
art that has to be learned (or at least reawakened.) Without
the ability to defend self, people in all areas of a person’s life
will take advantage of them. No one else can be expected to
defend us adequately or fully, and it is therefore our right and
responsibility that we train ourselves in this area of expertise.
Once one recognizes how fragile life is and how easily it may
be diminished or extinguished, the reality of defending oneself
is seen as imperative. ‘Survival of the fittest’ is still in play, even
in the Land of Plenty.






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Saturday, December 10, 2011

"Tweezers Versus a Telephone Pole" essay


Every beleaguered story mainstay has to have one thing to remain
a relevant and exciting fixture of an adventure series; an adversary.

From as early as I can remember, I was plagued with several foils
in bad standing at any given time. Yes, life counts as an adventure
series.

One particularly dastardly piece of work took the form of Mrs. Ellen
Witkowski, a New England transplant to sunny Florida where she
took up teaching at a prestigious all-boys private school, the Academy
of the Holy Names.

Ellen, an old school theatrical bitch with a permanent scowl and a
sneer that would shatter glass, was not at all afraid to show her
favoritism among the students. She was an elitist sow who
showered praise and affection on the rich students, and alternately
ignored, penalized, or was contemptuous of the less affluent students
(of which I was one.)


Needless to say, when a woman past her prime resorts to screaming
matches with adolescent boys, it's not pretty. Regularly, she would
make snide remarks about boys' intellect, their lack of pristine clothing,
or their lack of worldly knowledge (You know; significant shit like what
a Cartier is, or what Bergdorf's was...life-saving world events stuff.)
She was a text book snob, a braggart, and a bully.


I dreamed nightly of slapping the taste out of her mouth and beating
her senseless (short fight,) and occasionally forayed into just
what my alibi would be when her body was discovered in a shallow
grave at the dairy farm near our house, the cops scratching heads
as they pondered aloud "What we just cain't figury is why some
uppity Yankee would have been way out here'ins this country side
of the county? Y'all have any ideas about that?" Whoopsies.


We had standoffs on an hourly basis; she knew what buttons to push,
and I kept my insubordination just this side of insurrection...mostly.
It was a moot point, though, because this was the 7th grade, and I
had long since mastered both parents' handwriting style so as to
effectively forge any responses to notes home, progress reports,
disciplinary forms, and the like. She only thought I was scared of her.


(And lest you think I had an ally, when I wasn't being terrorized at
home, they were training me to be a punching bag for others. Both
parents instructing me to avoid trouble, never talk back--even if the
other person was wrong--and to allow my ass to get kicked if it
came to it. My parents looked at me as their Golden Ticket, and
they wanted no problems at this oh-so-important school they had
sacrificed to get me in. No matter the quality of life or the long-term
side-effects; be a doormat so we can have a Presidential son!)


If I were to be bullied or teased in her classroom, she would allow
it to go on and on in interminably. When I finally had my fill and
responded, all Hell broke loose.


(I imagine not much has changed from this incident nearly 30 years
ago to the current bullying problem in schools where a double-standard
invariably permeates.) I was hit and stabbed with pencils at one point
and she laughed, but when I placed gum on The Jew's pants (hey,
that's how stupid 12 year-olds refer to one another--sorry!) it was an
act of unforgivable terrorism. Never mind that he routinely pointed
out that he could buy my entire wardrobe with what he spent on the
average nightly dinner.


I had a hatred for that woman that was dangerous. And one day, the
firestorm. A boy was teasing me on the playground, calling me "Fag."
Now, I knew at the time I was, but I was terrified of anyone else
knowing, so my macho defenses kicked in. I chased and grabbed and
ripped shirt and whooped ass. Then Witkowski came to the window
of her classroom and called for us.


When we came, huffing and puffing, she very belligerently told us we
were both sitting out PE and getting classroom punishment as well.
Andy Boyer lied and said I attacked him unprovoked. She gave her
trademark sneer and said to him disgustedly--as markedly foul a look
as ever I have seen--"I heard what you said to him, and if I was him,
I'd have beaten you for saying such a horrible thing, too." That gut kick
of soulful disrespect from an authority figure. Didn't matter I didn't
respect her; I was so vulnerable on a deep emotional level in regards
to my sexuality and my worth as a human being, this sucker-punched
me. My homophobia was 'justified' for many years by such seemingly
insignificant comments that haunted and lingered.
Yup; that was confirmation. Being gay was the 'worst' thing imaginable.

We continued to go round and round, and I wish I could say I worked
things out or progressed past my hatred of her. or even that I under-
stood her. When she was my homeroom teacher the next year, she
gave all of us personalized posters for our graduation from her class
and the school. Mine was the "Serenity Prayer." You know..."accept
the things I cannot change." It only further enraged me as I saw it as
a slap in the face to the inevitability of corrupt people running things
and injustice prevailing. Maybe, too, it was something more she saw
in me.


But who's to say. My view of her was rather entrenched by the more
prominent experiences. I'm not sure I'd be open to more depth in her
if it were true.


Middle school isn't for sissies, and time has not proven any more forgiving
of my chief foil, WitCowSki, aka The Head Bitch In Charge.