The abuse meme

(Seems I've come abroad just to write in my blog.)

I am grateful that the experience of my marriage taught me the importance of power.  Before it, I'd never, ever considered how important power is.  Love, yes. Kindness, generosity, goodness, faithfulness, yes.  And I still do believe in those things with all my heart.  But now I know that in order to make those things work, you also need power.  Thank God He is a powerful God.  I revel in the sonorous display of a lightning storm, in the power that makes the earth turn, causing the sun to rise and set for us, in the authority to will entire fields of flowers to open their faces, and in the sheer power it takes to close the skin that's opened on my arm after a nasty burn and make it grow anew.

Power makes love bear fruit.  Power makes the crooked straight.  Power makes the dead rise.  But absolute power, where goodness is not perfect (and there is only one place where it is perfect), also destroys and corrupts.  Abuse comes into existence where there is an imbalance of power, and that power has been corrupted.  That's when you get dictators whose wives bathe in milk while their people starve, innocents withering away in prison and death camps, men beating their wives into the ground while the church stands by.

Power is not just the power of brute force.  It's the power of communication, of manipulation, of shifting the cards just right, of telling the story just so.  One reason I don't find history always compelling is because, as the saying goes, the victors win the right to tell the story.  And historically, at least until recently, when I began to understand my right to take up power to free myself, I've not been a winner in the fights I've faced in life.  So my understanding -- and sympathies -- lie with the underdog, the loser, the doormat.  Those are the roles I understand best.

Having been properly schooled in the ways of abuse for over 5 years, I am very familiar with its strategies, so very familiar that when I see it replaying in front of me, disguised as some other situation, I see with shock and dread that abuse wears many costume dresses and fake mustaches and party hats.  It's like a bad meme that won't go away, the angry honey badger, the Pachebel's Canon of this man's nightmares.   Except that those things are funny at best, annoying at worst, and abuse is neither funny nor merely annoying.  It's evil.  It's devastating.

Of course I've seen the communicative strategies of abuse play out when it comes to women's rights and my own situation -- the abused wives of Christian husbands, forbidden to divorce and exhorted to submit.  However, there were two surprising places I did not expect to see my own particular nightmare meme:

1.  How the church treats gay people
2.  How the white majority treats black Americans

I may have lost some of you right there, though I hope not.  I hope you'll stay with me and read to the end, even if you don't agree.  I am not arguing here for specific legal actions regarding either of those issues.  I'm not saying that everyone who has opinions about 1 and 2 that don't agree with mine is evil.  What I'm asking for is a change in atttitude and language, that we hand back some of that power to the groups in question, to share and balance power in our own spheres, even if we disagree.

I'm someone who is neither gay nor black.  I don't dare speak for those groups.  I'm only speaking for myself and noting where I see the common threads in these discourses, and asking you to walk alongside me and see if my own story points us to a way that we can do things better in these conversations.  In the year after my abuse ended, as the Michael Brown case unfolded, as gay marriage was legalized, there's been a lot of dialogue about those two particular issues, and I've heard familiar abuse phrases echoed from only one side of the argument.  It's telling.  I'm especially saddened when I hear the familiar arguments of my ex-abuser coming out of the mouths of people I love and respect.  I can understand a secular public using all the strategies of an abuser for its own ends.  But people who claim to know and love God?  I don't understand.  I don't understand at all.

I write this not to accuse or condemn, but to plead, exhort, beg people to open their eyes and ears and hearts to the groups who echo the same cries I uttered in the privacy of my home to an abuser who would not listen.  At heart, I don't believe we are the same as that abuser.  I believe we want to be different, but we don't see our own sin.  So here I've written some of what I've observed:

Communicative Patterns for Abusive Majority Groups

1.  A total self-centeredness that ignores/invalidates the suffering of others.  Impatience, unwillingness to listen, thinking the status quo is fine, and calling the other party petty for bringing up grievances.  Denying the oppressed group the right to define their own experiences.

"It's as if I'm not even human to you, that I don't have a right to my thoughts and feelings," I'd often say, or at least think, towards my ex.  His attitude towards me was often of confusion and impatience that I would dare bother him with my basic needs.  When I was sick in an isolated village where there was no take-out or delivery, I would starve.  He would go out and buy a plate of unappetizing fried rice, and plunk a half portion impatiently in front of me.  He never came to check on me, and he'd be angry when I'd call him on his cell and beg for more food.  Often I would have just an apple for a meal and that was it, and I would meekly eat it and quietly starve in bed and pray to get better so I could get up and cook.  Once, after an operation, I was in pain, and needed him to go get me some pain medication.  He rolled his eyes impatiently and asked, "Can you just wait til tomorrow?"  To my shame, I was afraid and I said yes.  A few hours later, afraid, I begged him to get it for me.  He was irritated.

Later, when I was miserable and asking for a divorce, he would complain that I was the one making all the problems, that we were fine, happy, even.  He'd tell the counselors that we were actually doing great, but I'd get irked at some little thing and all of a sudden I would fly off the handle and demand a divorce.  Afraid of a verbal confrontation, I'd send him email after miserable email begging for compassion (thank God, because I now have a pretty good chronological record of my misery), but they never amounted to any real effort on his part to change.

I often see this very same attitude at the complaints of oppressed groups.   "Why do they have to be like that in front of me? Why do I have to look at it?  Why can't they just shut up?  Why do they have to make people so uncomfortable?  My life was going so smoothly before you had to speak up and make things so awkward.  Things are fine the way they are. This is not sexism / racism / discrimination.  You're just being petty."

An inherent part of this self-centeredness is denying the oppressed group the right to its own perspective based on our own blindness to their sufferings, because it's not part of our experience.  If black people tell me they can't walk down the street with their hands in their pockets without getting reported to the police, not being black and not having ever been reported to the police for having my hands in my pockets walking down the street, I believe them.  If gay people tell me that they never chose to be gay and they can't unchoose it, not being gay, I believe them.

(By the way, whoever doesn't believe the latter has obviously not done much homework.  Desmond Tutu said, "We struggled against apartheid because we were being blamed and made to suffer for something we could do nothing about. It is the same with homosexuality. The orientation is a given, not a matter of choice. It would be crazy for someone to choose to be gay, given the homophobia that is present."  This logic is pretty sound.  Almost every single gay person I've met tells me of the horror of a childhood realization, of years hiding, wishing, praying, trying desperately not to be gay.  I was privileged to attend a conference of gay Christians earlier this year, and every single gay Christian I conversed with deeply mentioned strong thoughts of suicide as a result of being gay as a part of their story.  They've been kicked out of families, struggled with loneliness, and despaired at the idea of being cursed in God's eyes and alone forever.  WHY would they choose to be gay, if they had a choice?  And why would a person, not being gay, think they know what it feels like to be gay?)

In short, it's extremely dehumanizing to deny a person the right to their own story, and speak for them when we know nothing of their lives and claim no responsibility for their suffering.

I was very frustrated recently during a conversation with a tall, blonde, white man who works at an esteemed Internet company in Silicon Valley, and he categorically denied the (proven) existence of manterrupting (the phenomenon of men interrupting women in the workplace).  I told him that I've experienced it often -- I've watched it happen over and over to women and not to men in the same position, in the same meetings, even --  and that others have written, spoken, blogged about this topic.  But no, based on his own experience as a white man, and his five minutes of thinking about it in that conversation, having never considered it before, it didn't exist.  No willingness to even consider it.  There was absolutely no sexism in the Silicon Valley and women were being petty and sensitive, because, according to him, everyone got interrupted at exactly the same frequency.

At some point when I was insisting on the validity of my experience, and described how a doctor had actually thrown me out of his office for asking him not to interrupt me (true story!), he brightened for a moment. "Ah, do you think that women are interrupted more because they let themselves be interrupted?"  Being a nice guy, he meant to praise me for not letting the doctor interrupt me, but his conclusion was, let's just say, discouraging.

2.  Accusing the oppressed party of being abusive for speaking up about their own grievances. Denying them the right to anger while allowing oneself that very privilege.

I have defined for myself rules of conflict, meticulously formed after years of consideration. No name-calling, no shouting, no telling someone that they're stupid, no emotional manipulation, no personal comments, no passive aggression, no dishonesty.  Try to use "I" statements and to allow people their point of view, even if you disagree.  The most powerful weapon one should ever wield is well-communicated withdrawal.  However, the rules don't mean you're always going to feel good about me if we're in conflict.  I now allow myself to communicate displeasure frankly and make requests clearly and directly, something that the previous Christian-submission theology forced upon me during my marriage did not allow.  I give myself the freedom to not have to make other people feel good all the time, as long as I respect them as human beings and refrain from denying them dignity.

But I've found, over and over, that even when I stay within the bounds of my rules and the other person does not, simply expressing any sort of displeasure seems to be defined by the other person as an abusive attack.  I'm quite confused when I say, "Hey, that felt like passive aggression to me and that hurt my feelings; can you explain that?" and the other person reacts as though I'm a bully simply because I'm being direct about a breach in our relationship.  I've been rebuked for bringing things up directly and not letting them sit; I've been rebuked for letting things sit for a few weeks before I brought things up.  I've really tried to examine the situation fairly, and I've asked people questions about the reason for their anger, and it still seems to me like the anger is a response to my own anger rather than a real anger at something wrong I've done.  Being angry at me for being angry. This was certainly the situation with my ex.   And I see it happening all the time with voices discussing #blacklivesmatter and gay rights.  I think those groups have a historic right to some pretty fierce anger for the things they have suffered.  I think that they deserve to be heard and validated, and while anger at wrongs done is perfectly valid, anger at anger is something different.  It springs from the attitude in #1.  And it leads to blatant victim-blaming.

And this prohibition from airing grievances, however dire or well-deserved, is an essential step to #3.

3.  Attempts to silence their voices.  

There are many, many ways to silence people, but here I want to focus on the use of distractions to divert the argument.  I absolutely hate this strategy because it is so brilliant and so effective.  I've seen every possible distraction under the sun for a marital argument (usually me fighting for something that I never should have to fight for, like food, milk, clothing, medicine, and basic kindness).  Suddenly, however, instead of my needs, we were arguing about the fact that I had not thanked him for giving me a ride yesterday, and somehow my blatant ingratitude had forced him into denying me whatever "petty" thing it was that I wanted.

For instance, let's say the argument is "We need to address our divergent use of language regarding different genders in the workplace."  But then someone else says, "But rape in India!  Women are being oppressed and abused and attacked!  Why don't you care about that?  All you care about is the petty use of language in the workplace! First world problems!"

That's a non-argument, a distraction.  It doesn't have anything to do with anything in this discourse.  Yes, human rights in India are very, very important.  But 1) it's not directly relevant to this topic, which is important in its own right, 2) It implying an either-or attitude towards addressing gender discrimination, rather than both-and, i.e. "only blatant violations of human rights are worthy of being addressed, and we can't possibly address both," and 3) I often find that the speaker of such arguments doesn't care one bit about women's rights in India, i.e. they've done nothing about it, they've never tweeted or FB-posted anything about it, and they never talk about it.  (I suspect that the prononents of equal language use for/towards women are likely much more passionate and active about women's rights in India.)  It's just extremely convenient to use the distraction argument to get away from the current argument which they don't like.

I totally understand the fury over the saying "All lives matter" in response to "Black lives matter" because it falls into this category:  the distracting non-argument.  Of course all lives matter.  But when one responds to "Black lives matter" with "All lives matter," one is twisting the whole conversation by basically implying that the motto "Black lives matter" intends to say that "only black lives matter," when it obviously doesn't mean that at all. It also implies that one is nobly taking the higher road and protecting ALL lives, when in reality "All lives matter" 1) dismisses and distracts from the valid topic of "black lives matter," i.e. injustices committed against black people and 2) condemns "black lives matter" as racist and selfish (or "petty," as per #1 above), when actually it's the powerful white majority that's being that way by ignoring "black lives matter."

It's a classic distraction strategy.  And though the word "distraction" sounds innocent enough, often the strategy calls for statements that sound morally compelling and usually smack of victim-blaming. It's usually extremely destructive.

Of course there are tons of other invalid arguments used all the time -- the slippery slope argument, the straw man, etc.  But the distraction is a personal nonfavorite of mine.

4.  A demand that the oppressed side be absolutely morally perfect before it is allowed its human rights

This was a common strategy of my abuser.  If he could get me to scream, or cry, or raise my voice, or act out in any way, suddenly the whole fight was about the fact that I'd misbehaved.  So he'd push me every way he could.  He'd aim every verbal arrow at my underbelly, hoping I'd cry.  When I did not lose control, he'd draw the net of "good behavior" even tighter.  I could not inflect my voice at all.  I could not invoke words of despair.  I could not use imperative verbs.  I could not move my hands at all.  I could not bring up a serious topic for a few hours after his arrival home, or within 2 hours of bedtime, or during transit, or anytime near an arrival or departure of any kind.  Rules that were impossible to follow, and when I found a way, he'd find something new.  There was a whole list of words I was not allowed to use in any context, such as "stupid," "I can't take it any more," and "manipulation."  It was exhausting to be perfect.  (Ironically, he'd often tell counselors that I wouldn't "love him as he was" because I "demanded perfection" but he needed lots and lots of forgiveness and reminders to improve.)

The problem is that when we went to counselors and outsiders, if I'd behaved in any way less than perfect, either 1) I'd be held responsible for the conflict or 2) they'd conclude that it was a common two-way argument ("it takes two to tango") and that we just needed better communication strategies.

Re: #blacklivesmatter: "Violence is not the way," I often hear people say when protests turn ugly and when crimes are committed by angry black people trying to make a point.  Now, I'm not saying I condone violence, but coming from an oppressed minority, I do understand it.  After hours of verbal abuse, with me begging and pleading to no avail, I threw clothes at my abuser.  I've thrown other things, at walls, at furniture, on the floor.  Maybe at him.  I honestly don't remember.  In my despair, trying to get through to him, to awaken some kindness in him, I've hurt myself.  I've done things that I've not been proud of, and I've been punished by his gloating advertisement of those things to every marital counselor we've seen, to the point that one counselor who had never even conversed with me thought I had borderline personality disorder, because, according to the ex, I just up and did those crazy things for no reason.  (I confronted the counselor on my "diagnosis," and he recanted immediately.)  I've groveled and repented and apologized to my ex for my sins and been "graciously forgiven by him" only to have him hold them over my head and blackmail me with them every time he wanted to control me.  I hung my head in shame when he recounted them to others, but kept silent about his wrongs (for fear of future punishment).

No human being, or group, is ever going to be perfect.  But a woman shouldn't have to be perfect to not be abused.  A minority shouldn't have to be perfect to be afforded the same respect and protections that the majority group holds.  We should never demand that populations be crime-free, or error-free, or scandal-free, before we allow them respect and compassion.

When I hear that an oppressed party has committed violence in a desperation to be heard, I usually feel sad just because I know that this will cloud the likeliness that they will be heard and not vilified.  But I do understand, just as I understood the rage behind Arab Spring even as some of its details horrified me.  And I do also validate that legal, peaceful, verbal means quite often do nothing at all.  Counselors and my ex would often tell me that I needed to resort to less dramatic ways to communicate with him.  And I did.  I talked.  I prayed.  I asked for time-outs when things got heated.  I showed him love and cooked for him and washed his feet, literally, even when things were excruciating for me.  He loved that I could still serve him when he knew I was horribly heartbroken and angry with him.  Why wouldn't he?

But the peaceful methods never worked. They never would have worked, because he was committed to the status quo -- him in charge, me under his foot.  He told me himself, he never would have changed as long as I kept going back to him.

By the way, gay people are rarely violent-- they're much, much more often the victims of violence -- and, while I admire their restraint, I've never heard their critics praise them for their pacifism or listen to them better as a result.  It seems you can never win.

5. A shocking lack of information, and an even more shocking refusal to pursue it

A friend with strong opinions once asked me how I as a Christian thought we ought to treat gay people when they continue to persist in their sin.  I asked him/her if s/he had any gay friends.  S/he said no.  I told her to find some and love them, and then have an opinion about their lives.  S/he said nothing.  A year or so later, s/he asked me the same question.  I gave him/her the same response.  Again, silence.  I very much doubt that person has found a gay friend yet.  Why?  Why do we as Christians feel we can judge people when we don't know them and we don't love them?

I feel really, really sad when I talk to Christians about their points of view that I find, let's say, outside my own understanding of the gospel of the Jesus that I know, and I find that they haven't bothered to do anything to get more information, when the information is out there to be had.  I've talked to people who have not read articles they've validated, who did not research whether the things they've forwarded were validated on Snopes or not, and who did not listen to the entirety of speeches they've slammed.  An honest mistake is an honest mistake, but if you're going to back things that some people find hateful and hurtful, isn't it best to do your homework first?  The majority of the people who condemned me for divorcing my ex for abuse didn't even bother to look up the Bible verses I referenced as my support.  Well, I suppose it makes total sense that judgmentalism comes easy. It's love that requires work.

Over a year ago, I decided I want to hear more about what gay people go through, and what it would mean for them to follow Christ.  I found people (or, rather, they found me).  I conducted interviews and recorded them.  We spent hours and days talking about the issue.  I have one particularly well-informed gay friend who's read everything under the sun about what it means to be gay and Christian, and he's passed me websites, books, articles, etc.  I flew across the country with my friends to the annual Gay Christian conference to learn more -- gaining for myself the proud status of having attended an event protested by Westboro! -- and I assumed the position of a learner, humbled by the devotion of the gay Christians around me who had gone through a suffering I will never fully understand, mostly at the hands of Christians, and yet still hold firmly to Christ.  I did my homework so that I could understand them before I made any judgment.  And yet I still don't feel that I know enough to really have a strong say.  I still feel that my main role is as a listener.

By the way, if you have an opinion on how gay people who profess Christ are supposed to live their lives, but you've never heard the words "Side A" or "Side B," please just stop.  Just. Stop.  And go talk to some gay Christians.  Ask me to ask my knowledgable friend for book recs for you.  Read up on why Exodus International shut down its ministry.  Do your homework.  And most of all, make friends and love them, truly, enough to die for them.  Then have an opinion.  I think it's only loving to know what's already been discussed before you showed up on the scene, right?

6.  Clever little ditties

Ok, so to conclude, I'm just putting this one in because it's a pet peeve of mine.  Just 'cause it rhymes or has some nice alliteration doesn't mean it's wise or right or kind.

"It takes two to tango." (Re: the impossibility of one-way abuse in marriage)
"It's Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve."
Ellen DeGeneres used to be called "Ellen Degenerate."
As stated before, "All lives matter."

These seem like witty sayings, or in the last case, a witty comeback, but they really aren't.  They just show the moral superiority that the speaker feels; they're condescending and uncompassionate and overgeneralizing.  I've never seen a little rhyming ditty or play on words convince anyone of the love, holiness, righteousness, grace, and forgiveness of God.  So why use them?

If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading.  I still consider myself a learner in this journey, and so I welcome any comments, critical or otherwise.