An Open Letter to Defenders of John Kricfalusi

The following is an open letter to defenders of John Kricfalusi as well as those who’ve minimized his actions, particularly Ron Cicero, Kimo Easterwood (directors of the documentary Happy Happy Joy Joy: The Ren and Stimpy Story), and Kricfalusi’s old friend Chris Gore, who made some appalling remarks on the Film Threat podcast:

To those who’ve heard about, read about, or otherwise know about the recent revelations about John Kricfalusi, creator of Ren and Stimpy, having had a “relationship” with former childhood fan, Robyn Byrd, starting when she was 14: If you call what happened “consensual” and “not as bad as Harvey Weinstein, because she lived with John K., because therefore least it wasn’t rape,” then you don’t know dick about what’s going on. You also don’t know dick about the concepts of consent, abuse, and underage grooming.

I can’t speak to whether it was Robyn or one of Weinstein’s victims who was traumatized more — that really comes down to the individual– but yeah, you’re right, John K. isn’t as bad as Weinstein: he’s worse. Weinstein’s victims were blackmailed, and they knew they were victims. They put up with his abuse because they didn’t want to endanger their careers. But they still knew what was going on. Just so there’s no misunderstanding, this understanding does not mean they consented. Having sex with somebody to keep your career is responding to blackmail and is not consent, just as giving someone $50 when they have a gun pointed to your head is not consent to give that person $50.

What John Kricfalusi. did was far more insidious. He groomed an adolescent girl for sex by telling her she was special and promising her a career in animation. Grooming is a process that adults do to kids to gain their trust so that when the topic of sex comes up, it seems acceptable to them. Only when significant damage has been done do they realize what’s going on. Think of the metaphor of the slowly boiling frog. This is what happened with Robyn. She didn’t move in with a wayward guy her age or a couple years older that she was in love with. She moved in with a man in his early forties, and did it because this asshole groomed her into thinking he was in love with her, that there was nothing wrong with such a relationship, and that this was an appropriate way to have an internship. A kid that age usually doesn’t have the brain development to pick up on these signs. On top of that, with the power imbalance that comes with the massive age difference and brain difference, it is NOT consent. If a five-year-old touches a grown man’s penis because he offers her $1000, she did not consent to that sexual activity. What Kricfalusi did to Robyn was essentially a more complex version of that. I can’t believe that there is still such an egregious lack of understanding– let alone debate– about this dynamic in 2020.

What happened to Robyn was far worse than being raped by a stranger or being blackmailed into sex (and yes, that too is rape) by Harvey Weinstein. As disgusting and reprehensible as those things are, at the very least they involve someone the person already knew to be “bad” or didn’t know at all, not someone that trusted. In those cases, the victim could still have friends and relatives who they trust, and who the know would never hurt them. Involved here is a massive violation of trust, which I strongly suspect would be difficult to recover from: I imagine that had I been in that situation, I would be reluctant to trust anybody ever again, and that anybody would seem like a potential abuser.

Just so there’s no misunderstanding, both John Kricfalusi and Harvey Weinstein are disgusting predators who did something horrible and traumatic to their victims. If there was actually justice here, both of these guys would be in prison, and for a very, very long time.

Frustrated,

“InYourFaceNewYorker”

“My Heart Does No Thinking; It Pumps Blood”

On the popular Internet show, The Atheist Experience, in which religious people often call to debate, a woman called and criticized the hosts for needing to be convinced “in their minds”. One of the hosts, Matt Dillahunty, responded, “Yeah, where else would you be convinced?” The woman said, “You know, there are those who would say they are convinced within their hearts.” Matt responded with, “My heart does no thinking; it pumps blood.” And when the woman went on to explain that she sometimes feels something in her chest that “points to a god”, Matt quipped, “You should maybe see a doctor.” The video that contains this exchange is at the bottom of this post.

That is one of my favorite quips out of Matt Dillahunty, but this exchange also elucidates how utterly irrational people are. And yes, this includes me and anybody else who calls themselves a skeptic. Nobody is exempt from this. It’s all part of the human condition. We often talk about knowing something to be true “in our heart” or “having a gut feeling”. Well, my gut does no thinking; it digests food. I don’t know the exact origins of this the expression “gut feeling”, but I strongly suspect that it has something to do with the “butterflies” we get in our stomachs when we’re anticipating something exciting: “I have a gut feeling that I’m going to win this contest”, for example.

But it’s meaningless. The “butterflies in your stomach” are a result of the fight-or-flight response, a surge of adrenaline that is released in response to perceived threats, or any high stakes situation, so you can prepare to fight or run (“flight”) from the threat. Nowadays, a “threat” can be something as innocuous as being called into your boss’s office. No physical threat, but definitely anxiety-ridden. In my experience, it’s happened even when I think something good is going to happen. I suppose evolution misfired a bit, perhaps the rule of thumb being “any strong emotion might be in response to a threat. Release adrenaline.” I admit I do not know, and I invite anybody who’s well-versed in biology to correct me.

There have been many times where my “gut feeling” turned out to be correct. It’s tempting to say that I have some kind of sixth sense, that the adrenaline rush is a sign of some mystical power that makes me able to predict the future. This is, of course, nonsense. We humans are notorious at cherrypicking data and only seem to remember when our predictions come true. We easily forget the times we had a “gut feeling” about something, good or bad, and it turned out to be wrong. In the instances when we turn out to be right, it could also be that we picked up on subtle cues that other people gave about the situation. For example, if that time your boss called you into his office you had a “gut feeling” he was going to fire you or a “gut feeling” he was going to give you a raise and, whatever the feeling was about, you turned out to be right, you might’ve been taking environmental cues. Maybe your boss’s tone of voice when he called you in betrayed his intentions. Or maybe there were cues from your coworkers. Perhaps they were avoiding you (in the case of the firing) or perhaps they were speaking highly of you (in the case of the raise).

One of my other favorite examples of cherrypicking is dreams that “come true”.

Recently, I had a dream that I dropped and broke my sports bottle that I take to the gym. The next day at the gym, I dropped and broke my sports bottle. But that’s a pretty unremarkable, mundane event. Plus, I’ve dropped and broken many sports bottles. I’ve had to buy several in the last year alone. It’s just that the night before one of the many times I’ve broken a sports bottle, I happened to dream about it. This is the story you hear, not the stories about my bottle breaking without a dream “predicting” it.

In another example, I had a dream that there was something wrong with my cat. The next day, she got very sick, seemingly out of nowhere. Two days later, she was dead– I had to have her put to sleep because it turned out she had heart disease. But I have no reason to think I had a premonition. I loved that cat, and so of course I was bound to have a dream– or several– about something bad happening to her. Same thing with my current cat. Over the twelve years that I have had him, I had several dreams about him running away, or dreams about him getting sick and dying. Again, I love this cat, and I would be devastated if I lost him or if something happened to him. Is it unreasonable that I would have these dreams? But unlike my last cat, he has always been in excellent health. It’s just that this story doesn’t reek of confirmation bias like the death of my last cat.

What it comes down to is that we are animals, a species of great ape that happened to become intelligent enough to take over the world with complex civilizations and technologies. But we still retain a lot of illogical thinking that probably helped us survive in millennia past. An example– which Richard Dawkins and other biologists often give– is that acting on “gut instincts” in the past was probably something that helped us survive. Was that rustle in the grass the wind, or was it a lion? Go with your gut, and the worst that could happen is that you ran for nothing. Investigate the rustle, and you just might get eaten. But most humans are no longer living in environments where predatory animals are a threat, and we are vulnerable to jumping to conclusions– good and bad– and cherrypicking data. Confirmation bias is a very powerful thing. But we have something that other animals don’t– more complex brains. With practice, we can override our natural irrational interpretations and come to a better understanding of the world around us.

Start thinking.

A Quick Message for 9/11 Truthers

A popular conspiracy theory that leads people to believe that 9/11 was an inside job is that the jet fuel wasn’t hot enough to melt the steel beams in the World Trade Center towers. Steel melts at 2750 degrees Celsius, whereas jet fuel only burns at a temperature of between 800 and 1500 degrees Celsius. So you’re right, the jet fuel wasn’t hot enough to melt the steel beams in the World Trade Center towers. But here’s the thing: Melting isn’t instantaneous. It’s a process. According to Popular Mechanics, steel loses 50% of its integrity at 1100 degrees Celsius. It’s not melted, but it’s not as strong either.

Actually, I’ll make this a bit easier. Here’s a thought experiment: A philanthropist has offered to give you a million dollars if you stand in the middle of a frozen lake for a predetermined amount of time. If you fall through the ice, you will be submerged in 50 feet of dangerously cold water, and nobody will come to rescue you. You are offered two choices of when you can stand on the ice (bear in mind that the temperature at which water freezes/melts is 0 degrees Celsius):

1. You will stand on the ice one day when the temperature of the ice is -1 degree Celsius.
2. You will stand on the ice one day when the temperature of the ice is -15 degrees Celsius.

Which scenario will you pick?

I’ll wait.

No, My Dead Dog Didn’t Visit Me When I Was 12

In a post from 5 years ago, I wrote about my first emotional experience with death when I was 12, in which my dog, Smokey (not his real name) got a bacterial infection that destroyed his intestines and, after two months of letting the vet try to solve the issue, my dad did the merciful thing and had Smokey euthanized, ending his suffering– and mine. I experienced myriad emotions the day that I learned that Smokey had died (only years later did I learn it was via euthanasia): Horror, disbelief, sorrow– but the one emotion that unexpectedly trumped the others was relief. I had been suffering watching Smokey suffer, his death ended that, and I could move on.

Although I was ready to get a new dog just two days after learning about Smokey’s death, I was still grieving somewhat. And one night, something interesting happened: I saw a very vivid image of Smokey sitting on the edge of my bed. I could feel the pressure on my feet from his body, as if he were really laying there. The blankets even rippled a bit from what seemed to be a strong wind entering the room. The next day, I went to school and told my friend, “I think I might have contacted Smokey.”

Then a couple days later I had another vision of Smokey. And another. And another. All were vivid, and in all of these visions I could “feel” the pressure of Smokey sitting on my bed. I looked forward to going to sleep every night, hoping to see my dog again.

Wait, asleep? I was asleep when this happened? Yes. Minor detail, right? About six months later, I admitted to myself that, no, Smokey did not come to visit me. I had just had a series of vivid dreams. Whenever I tell people this story, there’s always one person who says, “Well, maybe you did contact Smokey” or “How do you know for sure that you didn’t contact Smokey?”

I don’t know anything for certain. But which do you think is more likely? That a dog’s ghost was visiting a 12-year-old girl, or that a creative, grieving 12-year-old girl who was desperate to have her dog back was having intense dreams? Oh, but does the intensity and vividness mean anything? Yes, it means I have intense and vivid dreams. I’ve had them all my life. It’s just that this one particular time I decided to attribute significance to it. I actually remember my dreams better than most people I know. Almost every day I have a story to tell about some absurd, Salvador Dali-esque dream I had the night before. Often these dreams have a sensory component. I’ve had a number of dreams where I stick my bare hand in some snow and it feels cold. I’ve also had dreams about stepping on sharp objects, and God, does it hurt. I really, really feel all these things as if they’re really happening.

All this tells me is that the human brain is extremely susceptible to hallucination. And we hallucinate every night when we sleep.

This video with Richard Dawkins that went viral about ten years ago sums it up nicely.

When DNA Results Open Pandora’s Box

Note: Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve posted here! Well, that’s because I’ve been working on some of my own personal projects. But I’m back, and I intend to post somewhat regularly again.

I grew suspicious one day in 2015 when I was combing through my DNA matches on 23andMe.

The DNA match, who I’ll call Carla, showed up as a predicted 2nd cousin on 23andMe. I was excited because I’d been researching my family tree. My maternal cousin, Rich, who also uses 23andMe, had the same DNA match in his results, so it was immediately clear that Carla was on my mother’s side of the family. Carla and I both have extensive family trees, and yet we could not find any common last names. Immediately, I thought that this pointed to something– what, I didn’t know yet– that had to do with my grandmother’s father.

I never knew anything about my grandmother’s father, as he had died when my grandmother was 5. My grandmother knew nothing about him either. I called her and told her about my discovery. I explained that I thought this might be about her father’s side of the family, and that I wanted her to do a DNA test to confirm my suspicion that Carla was related to her line and not my grandfather’s. Both my grandmother and my mother submitted DNA samples to 23andMe. All I could do was wait.

A couple months later, my mother’s and grandmother’s DNA results were in. Carla showed up in the DNA matches as my mother’s predicted 2nd cousin and my grandmother’s predicted 1st cousin. To be clear: The predictions are rough estimates. A predicted 2nd cousin could actually be another close relative, such as a 1st cousin once removed or a half 1st cousin. A strong possibility for a predicted 1st cousin could also be a half-aunt/uncle or a half-niece/nephew. Whether a 1st cousin or not, something was very clear: Carla was closely related to my grandmother.

Once again, Carla and I compared last names. Again, no matches. I then began to suspect that somebody in both of our trees had been messing around. I told my grandmother about what I had found. Since she had barely known her father, I knew that it wouldn’t bother her if I told her that perhaps he’d had an affair that produced Carla’s mother, who would be my grandmother’s half sister, and who would produce Carla– my grandmother’s half niece. Another possibility was that Carla and my grandmother were first cousins and that my grandmother’s father had had a brother who had an affair with Carla’s mother. Or perhaps one of her mother’s brothers had an affair with Carla’s mother. But since there were no other DNA matches to help triangulate the relationship, there was nothing I could do.

My grandmother died later that year, the puzzle remaining unsolved.

In early 2019, Carla contacted me again. She told me that some 2nd cousins on her mother’s side of the family took DNA tests on MyHeritage. She asked me to upload the 23andMe results to MyHeritage and check to see if her 2nd cousins showed up in my grandmother’s matches. They did, as predicted 1st cousins once removed. In order for my grandmother to be related to Carla and Carla’s second cousins, there would have to be common ancestry a few generations back. But what did this mean?

There was one other possibility that I didn’t mention to my grandmother: Her father wasn’t who she thought he was, and her mother– my great grandmother– had had an affair. After getting more detailed family tree information from Carla, I sat down for a couple hours and created charts that showed the different possibilities of how my mother and Carla could be related while still being related to Carla’s second cousins. There was no question about it– my grandmother was the product of an affair (yes, I realize that rape is another possibility– but since I’ll never know, I’m going with the assumption that this is something that my great grandmother had agency in).

After ruling out scenarios that were logistically impossible– for example, Carla’s mother having an affair with my grandmother’s supposed father’s brother wouldn’t work because Carla’s mother would’ve been a child at the time that Carla was conceived– I came to the conclusion that my grandmother was Carla’s half aunt. The relationship could be explained as follows: My great grandmother had an affair with Carla’s grandfather, producing my grandmother. Without digging up Carla’s grandfather and extracting DNA samples, there is no way I could prove this with 100% certainty. But I could find stronger evidence if Carla were willing to provide something that would be my ace: her aunt’s DNA. Carla’s mother is deceased, but if her aunt showed up in DNA results as my grandmother’s half sister, that would be the closest we could get to proving my theory.

Understandably, Carla refused to provide her 100-year-old aunt’s DNA for my little science experiment. However, I am fairly confident that I have solved the puzzle. A biology major told me that while I can never know for certain unless I dig up my grandmother’s suspected father for a DNA sample, the scenario I came up with is the most likely explanation. I told my family about my discovery, and it was uneventful. As I said, my mother never knew the man she’d thought was her grandfather, so it didn’t alter her perception of reality. Carla is being careful about who in her family she tells, because they all knew her grandfather and hearing about this would be difficult for some of them to accept.

DNA tests like 23andMe are amazing. They help siblings separated at birth find each other. They reveal that your best friend of twenty years is also your second cousin. They tell you about ethnic heritage that you were previously unaware of. And, in my case, they act as a time machine to reveal to me a secret that my great grandmother took to her grave.

But sometimes these tests tear families apart. Siblings who live together find out that they’re only half siblings, or a child finds out that his best friend next door is also his half brother. Couples have divorced over revelations like these, which blast open secrets about the affair Mommy had with her coworker, or the affair Daddy had with the woman next door. Sometimes these affairs happen because the marriage isn’t working, or because one person just found themselves irresistibly attracted to someone else. If the couples are lucky, they can solve their relationship issues or at least divorce amicably. Other times, the affairs happen because one partner feels entitled to sleep with whoever they want, no matter who gets hurt. Either way, DNA tests are revealing secrets that wouldn’t have been revealed 100, 50, 30, 20, or even 10 years ago. They are so inexpensive now that scenarios like the aforementioned are much more commonplace.

So what does it mean? Do we want to know the truth about these things? Many of these couples wouldn’t have divorced 20 years ago because they would never have known about their partner’s secrets. Ever since I found out my great grandmother’s secret– which I admit was fun to figure out because it was like solving a puzzle– I wondered how I would feel if something like this were to affect me more directly. What if the man who raised me weren’t my father? And yes, he is my father. He also did 23andMe, and I look too much like him anyway. There was never any doubt in my mind. But let’s just say if. Would I be upset? Yes, I would. I would be upset because the man who made me and the man who raised me were two different people. It would upset me because it meant my mother had done something deceptive. It would alter my perception of reality. But I came to the conclusion that even if Dad weren’t my father, I’d still want to know because I care about the truth. He would still be Dad, which is much more important than merely being a father (obviously I’m using the term “father” in the biological sense).

With DNA testing, there are myriad problems that society hasn’t faced before. But I think it was Roger Ebert who, in his review of the film Pleasantville, said it best:

Yes, we have more problems. But also more solutions, more opportunities and more freedom. I grew up in the ’50s. It was a lot more like the world of “Pleasantville” than you might imagine. Yes, my house had a picket fence, and dinner was always on the table at a quarter to six, but things were wrong that I didn’t even know the words for. 

In fact, I think about how society has changed for the better in terms of handling false paternity cases, even before DNA testing. Today if somebody finds out that they’re the product of an affair, unless they’re religious it’s only upsetting because of the deception and how it changes their perception of reality. Up until fairly recently, deception and perceptions of reality were the least of the concerns of the affected child. Both the child and the mother were considered “dirty” because of the out-of-wedlock sex.

I can imagine the horrible situation my great grandmother must have found herself in: She came from a poor family and got married at age 16 (in 1921 it was early, even if not unheard of), possibly for financial reasons. She probably wasn’t happy, but back then divorce was considered shameful. What else could she do but have an affair? She then got pregnant with the man’s child– my grandmother– and realized she would have to take this secret to her grave to protect herself and my grandmother. Otherwise she would be shamed and her child would be slapped with the word “bastard” and be considered “dirty”. She must have been terrified that somebody would find out and that it would ruin the lives of her and my grandmother. I, her great granddaughter, found out, of course. And it’s OK!

I would rather live in the world where these secrets are revealed– via DNA or otherwise– so we can talk openly about them and deal with them. I find it exciting to be living in the 21st century and witnessing the new scientific advances. And I’m glad that I was the one to unearth my great grandmother’s secret through the power of science.

Josh Duggar: Another Right-Wing Hypocrite

If you’re American and haven’t been hiding under a rock, by now you know about the scandal involving the Duggar family of 19 Kids & Counting fame. For those who don’t know, 19 Kids and Counting is an American reality show about a family with, you guessed it, 19 kids. And yes, they are part of the Quiverfull movement, a fundamentalist Christianity that eschews all forms of birth control, including the pill, condoms, IUDs, injections, pulling out (hey, it’s extremely unreliable anyway!) and even the rhythm method. There are a lot of jokes about the Duggar family that have circulated the Internet over the years, many which you have probably seen, such as this demotivational poster:

Other variations of this are “It’s not a conveyer belt”, “It’s not a vending machine”, and from Bill Maher, “It’s not a water slide.”

The latest news as that the oldest Duggar son, Josh, who was the executive director of the anti-LGBTQ group Family Research Council, was involved in a sex scandal. After the details emerged, 19 Kids & Counting was cancelled.

When the news first broke that Josh had done “something inappropriate” with a girl when he was a teenager, I stopped myself from caving in to my first impulse, which was to say, “Someone on the far right gets caught in a sex scandal. What else is new?” The details had not been released and I wanted to be as impartial as I would want the right to be when someone in the atheist community gets in trouble for something. I entertained the notion that Josh might have simply been caught consensually fooling around with someone, say, two years younger than him and below the age of consent, which may or may not take into account the age difference between the two parties. Then the news came to light that Josh had molested a younger girl.

I am a little hesitant on judging an adult based on something stupid he did as a teenager. Let’s face it: teenagers are stupid, and I was no exception. Should I be held accountable now for stupid things I did in my teens? But then more information surfaced, revealing that this was not an isolated incident. Josh had molested not one girl once, but several girls, including his own sisters (one of which was 5 at the time) over the course of a year. Part of me still wants to give him the benefit of the doubt (as disgusting as I find that entire family’s beliefs and their reality show) and say, “He could have just been young and stupid.” But doing so would have been burying my head in the sand and ignoring several fundamental points.

First, I am sorry to say that I am not surprised that something like this happened. If a boy is growing up in a family that is cut off from the real world, taught that sex before marriage is evil, and that even certain thoughts are “dirty” and “wrong”, and that as a man you get to have dominion over women, it shouldn’t be surprising if that boy releases his emerging sexuality in a destructive way when sexuality isn’t even allowed to be acknowledged. Hell, look at all the sex abuse scandals in the Catholic church. I’m not excusing or apologizing for Josh’s actions. Quite the contrary. I think Josh Duggar is disgusting, and his abuse of his sisters is just the beginning.

It’s the aftermath that disgusts me the most. Josh Duggar’s father, Jim Bob, found out about Josh molesting his sisters and sent him to live with a family friend for a few months and do manual labor. Jim Bob made a state trooper (who was later arrested for child porn) give Josh a talking-to. Jim Bob only reported Josh’s actions long after the statute of limitations had expired and so Josh couldn’t get arrested. And then of course there was all that crap about asking God for forgiveness and then “changing his life.” When the story eventually hit the airwaves, Josh expressed regret about his past actions. He made a passing reference to having hurt his family, but he made more references to sin, God having changed his life, and God having forgiven him.

I have to wonder– when Josh talked about having hurt his family, did he realize the psychological damage he may have caused his sisters? Did he ever say to himself, “Wow, I can’t imagine what it must have been like for them, knowing that I could come into their room in the middle of the night and touch their genitals and breasts”? Did he ever say to himself, “My poor sisters must have been so terrified”? Did he ever say to himself, “I was so stupid when I was that age and I don’t know how I was so blind that I didn’t see what I was doing to these girls”? Maybe, but I doubt it. Based on the statements made by Josh and his family, it is very clear that Josh’s regret is based on the nebulous concept of sin– in this case, that God doesn’t like it when people touch someone’s genitals outside of marriage, regardless of context– and not based on the real-world, human consequences of breaking familial trust and abusing his sisters. If Josh really has stopped touching people inappropriately, then great. But I suspect he has stopped for the wrong reasons. Besides, who’s to say he won’t do something like this again, since he can ask Jesus for forgiveness?

Another part of the Duggar family that disgusts me is their vehement dislike of LGBTQ people. Love the sinner, hate the sin? Whatever. Michelle Duggar, the mother, knowing full well what her son had done, campaigned against an ordinance in Arkansas that would allow transgender people to use the bathroom of the gender they identify with. Why? Because she claimed to be afraid that transwomen (or as Michelle put it, men pretending to be women) could go into the bathrooms and sexually assault little girls. Statistically, transpeople are more likely to be be harassed and assaulted in bathrooms than to harass and assault someone themselves. Josh Duggar, meanwhile, went on to become executive director of the Family Research Council (he has since resigned in light of the scandal), a group that lobbies against same-sex marriage and other rights for the LGBTQ community. If Michelle Duggar’s campaigning is any indication, they’re not afraid of children being molested. They just don’t like LGBTQ people and they want a scapegoat for certain horrific acts, someone who isn’t one of them. Someone from the outgroup. An other. Or maybe they just feel worse if children are molested by evil LGBTQ people rather than “good”, heterosexual Christians like Josh Duggar who can pray to their invisible sky daddy and be forgiven.

It’s an inconvenient truth that children are more likely to be molested by someone they know then by a stranger. It’s an inconvenient truth, too, for the Duggars, that in attempting to protect their children from the “sinful” secular world, they failed to protect them from abhorrent behavior perpetrated in their own house.

My Skepticism and “You’ll Go Down to the Devil!”

Both my brother and I seem to have been endowed with a genetic makeup that fosters skepticism.

To be fair, I think my brother is more of a born skeptic than me: I believed in Santa Claus until I was six years old; he never did. He never believed in God; for years before declaring myself an atheist at age twenty six after reading The Blind Watchmaker by Richard Dawkins, I waffled back and forth. I will say this, however: I did stop believing in Santa Claus earlier than most kids, at the age of six (the average age is eight). I also didn’t make the “sudden discovery” that many kids make that kills their faith: that is, I didn’t catch my parents wrapping the presents or catch them putting the gifts in the den. I simply stopped believing because I thought about it one day. Well, okay, it was after a little coaching from my brother. The Christmas of 1986, when I was six years old, was the last year that I believed in Santa Claus. My brother, nine at the time, kept telling me there was no Santa. “Reindeer can’t fly”, or “How could he get around the world in just one night?” or “How could he fit down the chimney?” or, since we lived in a house at the time that didn’t have a fireplace, “If Santa went down the chimney, he’d burn his backside in the boiler.” Naturally, I was very upset when my brother said these things to me and I refused to believe him. I honestly and sincerely believed that Santa Claus knew that my brother was being “bad” and that he would get coal instead of presents. Then the following year, when we moved to a new house (that, incidentally, does have a fireplace) I was in the basement one day looking for something when it suddenly occurred to me, “Well, of course he’s right! There is no Santa Claus! That’s silly!”

About a year after that, I began to have my doubts about God. If Santa Claus is made up, after all, then doesn’t it make sense that God is as well? Given that I grew up in a mostly secular Jewish household– Reformed Synagogue, on the high holidays only and yes, presents for Christmas– I was free to think these things. I first learned about a soul at around age seven not from any indoctrination but from reading an article in the parents’ guide portion that came packaged with my subscription to Sesame Street Magazine (oh, come on, you really think I would have just given it to my parents like a good little girl?). The article was about tough questions that children ask. One example, if I remember correctly, was about burying a dead pet rabbit in the backyard and a child asking if the rabbit is in heaven. I showed the article to my mother and asked, “Couldn’t they just dig it up and see if it’s still there?” Then my mother told me that some people believe in a soul. When she explained what it was, I remember thinking that it sounded really stupid. And chances are I may have even said, “That’s stupid!”

Around the same time, at age seven, I was attending a day camp. One day a little girl came up to me and asked, “Do you believe in God?” I answered honestly, “No.” The little girl said, “You have to believe in God. My mom says if you don’t believe in God you’ll go down to the devil.” I probably said, “No you don’t.” or “That’s stupid.” And I seem to recall that she reiterated, again, “You’ll go down to the devil.” Then she proceeded to give me this long lecture of what would happen to me if I didn’t believe in God (I don’t recall the details) which finally ended with her declaring, “And then a dinosaur will stomp in front of your bedroom window and say, ‘Yoooooou dooooon’t believe in God!'” I remember feeling terrified after that encounter. I knew that what she said sounded ridiculous. But her mother had told her these things, after all. Maybe this was something that my parents just hadn’t told me about yet.

I kept silent about this incident for a very long time, ultimately because I eventually forgot about within a few months, but initially because I was afraid to tell my parents. I was reluctant to tell them for one simple reason: I was afraid that they would tell me that the girl was right. I know now of course that this is ridiculous. Mom would have been upset that the girl’s parents were allowing their child to frighten other children, and Dad would have been particularly upset about the religious aspect of the entire matter (he’s never been a huge fan of religion). But the fear and guilt festered in me for a couple months. There were several times when it was on the tip of my tongue to tell my parents about what had happened, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The fear that they would tell me that the girl was right was just too strong. There was one time in particular that I remember being in the car with my mother. She asked me what was wrong, and I said, “I don’t want to say it.” Oddly, she didn’t press the issue.

Bottom line, for a couple months until my child’s mind moved on to something else, I lived in fear and horrible guilt over hell after one conversation with an obnoxious little girl. It didn’t matter that my parents never forced God on my brother and me. It didn’t matter that my parents said, “Some people believe in God, and some people don’t.” It didn’t matter that the concept of “hell” was never introduced in my household. This horrific fairy tale that has been keeping people frightened for millennia frightened me, a seven-year-old skeptical girl. And this fear continues to take hold of other children’s minds. As frightening as it was for me, imagine how much more frightening it is for kids who grow up in a household where the fear of hell is ingrained in their consciousness.

“The Patriarchy”

I am really getting sick of people simplifying the problem of sexism by reducing it to one little abstract package called The Patriarchy, as if there is an invisible cabal out there conspiring to keep women barefoot and pregnant. While it is true that there are some men out there who want to keep women down and out of jobs and conversations that are traditionally “for men”, that is just one part of the problem. From my personal experience, the sexism that I’ve suffered comes not from men but from other women. Yes, other women. When I tell people this, they tell me that it is just women parroting what “The Patriarchy” has instilled in them over the years. Actually, I think there is something else going on that has nothing to do with a historically patriarchal society.

In Judith Rich Harris’s book The Nurture Assumption, Harris discusses in-group and out-group mentality. Employing the old Japanese expression, “The nail that sticks up gets hammered down”, she points out that those who do not “fit in” with the group that they are supposed to be in are ridiculed and bullied. This is, perhaps, an evolutionary strategy that ensured cooperation among our ancestors to help them survive. There are many in-groups depending on the social context. Sometimes these in-groups are not based around gender, but sometimes they are. And in terms of gender, it has been my experience that women are more tolerant of feminine behavior among men and men are more tolerant of masculine behavior among women. But in terms of gender-atypical behavior within their own gender? Forget it. We all know how often guys call effeminate men “faggot”. And we all know how often women… well… from my experience the way they gender police is more indirect and passive-aggressive.

I am not the most traditionally feminine woman out there. In fact, I wouldn’t say that I’m traditionally feminine at all. I am very direct. I have a raunchy, absurdist, Monty Pythonesque sense of humor. I am very loud, too, and I hate small talk. I’m also opinionated to the nth degree. Typically, the people who get upset about these behaviors on my part are other women. But instead of talking to me directly, they complain about me to other people. Or they report it to someone in charge (head of a Meetup, boss at work, etc.). Growing up, my mother policed my tomboyish behavior far more than my father did. In fact, my father generally though my mother’s policing was ridiculous. When I want to meet new people, I usually know what contexts to find like-minded people, men and women. But when it comes to a context– such as work– where people of all different backgrounds are thrown together, I almost invariably get along better with the men.

Right now I can hear some people saying, “Well, that’s the patriarchy again, thinking that there are mental differences between men and women.” Sorry, there are. But this is just a generalization and obviously not reflective of each individual. Research has indicated that men and women in general have different styles of thinking and behavior that is rooted in biology to the tune of different genes and hormones (obviously, I’m a potpourri of behaviors typical of both genders, but in many ways on the more masculine side). Research has indicated, for example, that girls exposed to extra testosterone in utero exhibit “tomboyish” behaviors. Recently, Sam Harris got some flack for pointing out the reality of differences between male and female brains. And jeez, he’s a neuroscientist! Wouldn’t he be a good authority on this type of information?

There is scientific research backing up the assertion that men’s and women’s brains are generally different and that these differences are rooted in evolution. For practical reasons, there were different selection pressures on men and women. It made more sense for men to be more direct, to spend more time alone, to talk about “things” rather than engage in small talk, and to be more aggressive. They were the ones who had to hunt, after all. Women were the ones who had to take care of babies while the men were out hunting. They also had to know whom they could trust with their offspring while they were sick or out gathering. Simon-Baron Cohen theorizes that gossip and small-talk served as a “social lubricant” for women to help them figure out whom they could trust with their babies.

People have tried for years to raise their children in gender-neutral ways. It didn’t work. For the most part, the girls generally behaved like girls and the boys generally behaved like boys. Without this understanding, the term “transgender” would be meaningless. Many transgender people report that they were “born this way” and that they’re “in the wrong body” and that they feel like they have the brain opposite of their biological sex. Reporting scientific evidence for sex differences in the brain is not sexist. What is sexist is forcing people into prescribed roles if they deviate. Doing so invokes what is called the naturalistic fallacy.

That said, why is there still sexism? Ask just about any educated person, and they will deny being sexist. They will also deny being racist. And they probably honestly and sincerely believe that they are none of those things. That’s because we now live in a society that is fighting these problems. So if most educated people aren’t overtly sexist and racist, then what the hell is going on?? Why are there still problems with racism and sexism?? Once again, let’s return to evolution. Our ancestors had to make quick, snap decisions about the world around them. They had to categorize. And the speed at which they did it meant the difference between life and death. So they had to do this unconsciously. Today, this may manifest itself as unconscious bias, something discussed in great depth in The Hidden Brain by Shankar Vedantam.

Here’s an example of unconscious bias: Someone walking down an inner-city street sees a white man and says, “Hello,” and smiles. Someone walking down the same street sees a black man and not only does not say hello but also crosses to the other side of the street to get away from him. He might not even consciously realize that he exhibited two diametrically opposed behaviors in the same situation. He made a snap decision based on the information his brain unconsciously processed. And everybody is guilty of unconscious bias to some extent. Yes, me too. So I think the next step in minimizing racism and sexism in our society is not token phrases like, “Girls can do what boys can do” or “Blacks and whites are equal.” We already know these things. The next step is to make people aware of unconscious bias. I have, on numerous occasions, stopped people dead in their tracks, calling them out on their unconscious bias. In many cases, they’ve sheepishly said, “I’ve never thought of that” or “Oh, my God, you’re right.” And so have I, when it’s been pointed out to me.

Think about it.

My Brother on Emotionally Sensitive Topics

My brother should have become a lawyer. I have never met anybody who debates as well as he does. He easily spots logical fallacies and argues with great clarity and never gets emotional. And yes, if he’s wrong, he will see it if it’s presented to him in a clear, logical, and convincing manner. It’s impossible not to question your own positions after debating with him. If only he were on Twitter when some of these shitstorms (you know what I’m talking about!) break out!

In the wake of some bloggers and Tweeters referring to celebrity photo leaks as sexual assault, my brother had this to say on his Facebook page:

I was going to write a post about some of the terminology that has been used to describe the recent celebrity photo leaks, but this article says much of what I would have. For the record, I have neither viewed nor attempted to view any of the photos.

I’m sure this will generate a lot of hate, but this is a subject I have particularly strong feelings on and have thought about a great deal over the past couple of years. I certainly welcome comments and am open to having my mind changed.

There’s something that happens when we discuss emotionally sensitive topics: a linguistic sleight of hand, a kind of insidious verbal acrobatics, a possibly unconscious abuse of language that seeks to equate substantively different things by applying the same broad label to them and then judging the specific by the general. A type of reasoning where as soon as you can slap a broad label on something, as soon as you can categorize it, further thought, further discussion is killed, because the label comes with its own judgment, its own axiom, even if it ends up equating an ostrich and a sparrow because they’re both called birds.

To be clear, although the article makes this clear enough: what the hackers did and what the people affected suffered is awful, but by calling it “assault” we’re smearing the definition of the word to absurd near-meaninglessness and in the process trivializing the seriousness of physical assault. If you want to call this incident something, fine, come up with a word for it, but choose your words responsibly and thoughtfully.

One of my brother’s friends went on to say that you don’t have to even be touched to feel victimized and violated, and that therefore “assault” is a proper way to describe this. My brother then said:

Why stop at “assault”? Clearly there was a sexual aspect to this, and it happened without the victims’ consent, so why don’t we call it rape and treat it as such?

Or perhaps “forced prostitution”? These people involuntarily had sexual aspects of themselves appropriated and shared, which were presumably used by others in a sexual way, so why don’t we call it that?

My brother’s same friend then talked about the etymology of the word “assault” and why it therefore is an accurate term to describe celebrity photo leaks. My brother the should-be lawyer, never missing a trick, said this:

Language is malleable and words change, but not overnight. We’re not talking about the word “assault” as it was used half a century ago as compared to today.

Dictionary definitions aside, the world “assault” is nearly always used in both legal and everyday situations to refer to something physical. A physical attack is the sine qua non of an assault as any English-speaking individual typically understands it as it relates to human beings.

So what is happening here, is that you and the posters of these tweets are expanding the definition of the word by fiat, in order to encapsulate something that is essentially, substantively different from what the word signifies in current usage.

I want to point out that more than one of the tweeters suggests that even the act of LOOKING at these pictures constitutes assault.

This is where the “sleight of hand” comes in.

Let’s see where we’re at: before these tweets, we knew what “assault” was, and the definition was at least limited enough that we could find something in common between different instances of the crime, namely, that they involve a physical attack. We have centuries of human history to look at to realize the nature and extent of harm a physical attack can do, both mentally and physically, and to have formed a certain moral judgment against someone who perpetrates one.

With these tweets, people have arbitrarily expanded the definition of the word, by fiat. So now it suddenly has a much broader meaning. The essential characteristic of an assault, the physicality of it, is no longer defining or even central to the word. It’s become a much vaguer word. However, despite the fact that these tweeters have redefined the word, they seem to be judging it based on the moral and ethical implications of the older, more specific definition.

Relatedly, when you say that you or I would feel “assaulted” if this were to happen to us, you’re speaking metaphorically. Do you honestly believe that the subjective experience of being physically attacked is of the same nature as what the victims of the photo leak experienced?

Would you claim that a musical artist experiences the same thing if someone leaks mp3s of their album online as he would if someone broke into his home and stole hundreds or thousands of dollars in cash from him?

And once again, I am NOT saying what happened wasn’t horrible, and I am NOT saying it wasn’t a violation of privacy. But I’m saying use a word that reflects what actually happened. It was theft, it was a violation of privacy, and perhaps you can say it’s worse because it was a violation of sexual privacy. But it’s not “assault” by any definition of the word.

Language shapes thought, and thought shapes language, and we impoverish both when we blithely throw things into broad, easy categories that we have preformed judgements about, rather than examining their specifics.

The same friend then told my brother he should be debating with a feminist lawyer. My brother responded:

Why a feminist lawyer? I’m not talking about the law, I’m making a point about language and thought. As for the feminist part, if the victims were men, would it make leaking and sharing their pictures any more or any less of an “assault”?

The friend argued that my brother’s definition was confined to the legal definition of “assault”, and that this is why he should debate with a feminist lawyer. My brother said:

No, it’s tied to the commonly-used common sense definition of “assault” as it is nearly always used in the 21st century in English-speaking countries.

Again, the friend kept urging my brother to research the etymology of the word “assault”:

Etymology has no relevance here, historical usage has no relevance here – the people tweeting the accusations of assault and writing blog posts about it were not talking about the roots of the word or the historical usage of it (if they were even aware of it), they were — obviously, excruciatingly obviously — using it in the modern, English sense. Etymology is fascinating, but it’s not germane to this topic.

The expressive power of words and language comes not only from what words signify, but from what they do NOT signify.

Like, if we call this “assault” and the people who did it “assailants”, what meaning do those words even have? What ISN’T an assault? Is every transgression by one human against another an “assault”? It seems to be that we’re stretching the meaning so widely that it becomes useless. You may as well use it as a synonym for “crime against another person”. But what use does that serve?

Why not just call things “doubleplus ungood” and be done with it?

Another friend of my brother’s (a woman this time) said that etymology was important in this debate. And she went on to say that because there is lack of consent, the transgression of celebrity photo leaks is therefore assault. My brother’s response:

Nobody is disagreeing about anything having to do with consent, in any way. And explain how etymology is of supreme importance.

My brother’s male friend then challenged my brother with the term “assault on the senses”. My brother said:

It’s a metaphor, obviously. If I say I feel “crushed” by something emotionally, it has exactly zero to do with the sensation of having a piano dropped on my head.

Then my brother’s woman friend said that she felt that my brother was telling women how they should define sexual assault and of dismissing their disagreements with him by using terms such as “emotional” and “sensitive” to define the topic being debated. My brother responded (to both people, I think):

I can’t really argue with you any more than I could argue about evolution with someone who took the Bible as the literal word of God. The very basis of your thought, the lens, the axis that you view things along seems to undermine the very principles of debate. If, as you have said before “objectivity” is a construct of male privilege, if attempting to have a philosophical or moral discussion divorced of gut feelings is sexist and invalid, how is it possible to have a meaningful discussion or come to a conclusion about anything?

The woman felt that my brother was discussing topics that disproportionately affect women, marginalizing her feelings as “gut” or “emotional”, and using his male privilege to tell women how they should speak about themselves. My brother then said:

If this photo leak had happened with male actors and people had labeled it as “assault”, my reaction would have been the same.

Again, again, and a thousand times again, if you think the original post’s point was specifically about the photo leak, you are missing the point. I am talking about the careless use of language to twist one thing into another and kill critical thought.

We could likely have a similar discussion regarding the way people talk about any charged (not “sensitive” or “emotional” if I need to use a different word) subject. I think we would see similar broad categorizations, judgments that brook no argument, that kill thought and discussion, if we were on a subject like the Holocaust, the bombing of Hiroshima, racism, the bombing of Pearl Harbor, 9/11.

The woman argued that the Tweeters were using their Tweets to make people think more about the issue of consent. My brother then said:

These tweets were not isolated though. Before I even came across this particular article I had read another where the author equated it to assault.

I feel like there is this logical fallacy inherent in a lot of thought about things like this. A therefore B does not imply B therefore A. While a lack of consent may be a necessary component of “assault” that does not mean that anything where consent is lacking constitutes “assault”, unless you want to argue that I am assaulting artists if I download their music without consent.

The man kept coming back and telling my brother he was falling back on the use of “assault” as defined by the law. My brother said:

At no point have I focused on the law. In fact, I have explicitly said I’m NOT talking about the legal definition. I am saying that the word “assault”, as it is commonly used in English in the 21st century Western world, essentially entails physical violence. I’m saying that is the way 99% of the English speaking world understands the word “assault”.

And you never answered my question, [male friend’s name]  why can’t we go so far as to call this “forced prostitution” or something similar? This is not a rhetorical question.

I don’t know, I’m exhausted by this and I don’t know if I have the words to make my perspective any clearer. Look up Ignoratio Elenchi, Begging the Question/Circular Reasoning, Equivocation, Etymological fallacy, Thought-terminating cliché.

The guy said that, no, he doesn’t think of the links as forced prostitution. He then told my brother he was being dismissive of how harmful celebrity photo leaks can be to the women in question. My brother said:

If after all this, you think that I don’t think this is harmful, and don’t view it as “reality”, then I have utterly, utterly failed to make myself understood.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

It was hard enough finding a job just after graduating college, let alone in 2003– a post-9/11 economy– in New York City. I had had no experience and was so desperate to continue living in New York that I was willing to take a job wherever I could find it. A common practice small companies in New York do is to “try you out” for a few days after interviewing you and then make a final decision whether or not to hire you. An independent pet store in Brooklyn did just that for me. I worked there for two or three days feeding the animals and cleaning their cages. I didn’t mind getting my hands dirty– even if it meant cleaning up dog poop– because I have a great love for animals, especially dogs and cats. The “trial” seemed to be going very well and I hoped that I would be offered the job.

Two weeks passed and I did not receive a call back. I called the pet store myself. The manager said, “You did well, but I can’t take a chance with you.” When I asked him why, he said, “You got upset at me for calling you ‘honey’. I don’t feel like having to deal with a sexual harassment lawsuit.” I was shocked. The manager had called me “honey” once, it’s true. I had said, “Could you please not call me that?” He had then apologized profusely, and I remember thinking he seemed to be apologizing in a way more extreme than warranted.

The manager continued, telling me that recently he had posed in a photo with a woman for a some kind of promotion for the pet store. He put his hand on her hip and for this she sued him for sexual harassment for $10,000– and won. I said, “I would never sue anybody for something so stupid. I didn’t think you were harassing me. I just had that reaction because every day when I walk down the street creepy men call me ‘honey’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘baby.’ It was a just a knee-jerk reaction. It was no big deal, and at worst it made me feel a little uncomfortable. Don’t worry about it. I have better things to do than to sue people for stupid reasons.” The manager said, “Well, I don’t want you to feel a even a little uncomfortable.” And that was that. It’s a shame, because I really liked this guy.

Both the pet store manager and I had a “once bitten, twice shy” moment. I already explained why the manager was so gun shy about getting sued (I’ll talk more about him later). But what about me? Why did I say anything in response to him calling me “honey”? What did it even enter my consciousness? Let’s look at the background on that.

When I first graduated college, I moved into a cramped apartment in Bedford-Stuyvesant, one of the worst areas in Brooklyn. Every day without fail, from the moment I left my apartment I was catcalled by drunk men, usually while walking along Fulton Street towards the subway. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought my name was “Baby”, “Sweetheart”, “Sexy”, or “Honey”. But it was more than idiotic name calling. Sometimes it was an invasion of personal space. One day when while I was walking home, a man jumped in front of me and shouted, “Hey, pretty girl!” I stepped out of the way and continued walking. The man jumped in front of me again, shouting, “You’re so pretty!” Another time, a drunk man who looked about ninety put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Hi, baby. How are you?” “Uh, fine,” I said, stepping away. Lots of other guys would shout, “Hey, honey, let’s fuck!” or “Hey, baby, show me your tits!” or something to that effect. The worst thing that happened was when I was walking along DeKalb Avenue and heard some strange noises. I looked around, trying to figure out where it was coming from. I turned around to see a guy stopped at a red light in his truck, making vigorous humping motions and orgasm noises at me. The previous encounters had been obnoxious, but this one was downright humiliating. I threw him the finger. What else could I do? It eventually reached the point that I was so fed up with ignoring these assholes, as people had advised me to do for the sake of my own safety, that I began talking back to them and calling them names. That made me feel at least a little empowered.

I couldn’t understand why this was happening. It hadn’t happened to me at all while I was in college, possibly because I had always traveled in groups (these friends had since moved to Los Angeles). I began to wonder if this was what it meant to be a woman living in a city, that your personhood would not be respected and that most men would just see you as a penis-receptacle, that they would feel entitled to act in such a degrading way towards you. Fortunately, I learned that this was not the case, as I left Bedford-Stuyvesant after a few months and moved to southern Brooklyn where I remained for several years. I can count on my fingers the number of catcalls I received after the move. However, the fact that it only took four months for me to want to get out of Bedford-Stuyvesant is a testament to how uncomfortable these scumbags made me feel.

I was still living in Bedford-Stuyvesant at the time that I “tried out” at the pet store. In the split second that the manager called me “honey”, all of these frustrating experiences that I had been dealing with on a regular basis cascaded into my brain and made me cringe. Once bitten, twice shy. Had this happened after my move I might not have given it a second thought. After all, women call each other “honey” as well. I think the manager was just being warm. Although “honey” can have “catcalling” connotations, it doesn’t have the same patronizing tone as something like “baby”.

But it’s easy to see why, given my experiences, I would get annoyed if someone called me “honey”. It’s also to see why someone with similar experiences would feel uncomfortable in an elevator being asked back to a stranger’s hotel room for coffee at 4 AM. In and of themselves, the “triggering” incidents are harmless, but they are a catalyst after several serious infractions. In my case, I thought to myself, “Why do men insist on calling me these stupid little names?”

Now, back to the manager. He had had a “once bitten, twice shy” moment as well. It only took one incident to make him afraid. After all, he was out $10,000. The woman who sued him might have had a “once bitten, twice shy” reaction when she decided she needed to sue him (ie perhaps she lived in a bad neighborhood where she was harassed on a regular basis), but I strongly suspect her motive was to get money out of him. I do question the man’s judgment, but I honestly don’t think he meant any harm. He probably wasn’t even thinking about where he was putting his hand, as it is common to pose with a hand on the other person’s hip in a picture. Had I been in that situation, I would have simply taken his hand and put it on my shoulder, or asked him to move his hand.

I consider myself a feminist, but I know that there are some feminists who would immediately shoot down my assertion that this woman might have been overreacting and taking advantage of a law designed to help those who are victims of harassment. I know that some of them will say that nobody ever overreacts and that nobody ever makes false accusations. I understand why they have that reflexive reaction– after decades of women’s concerns being brushed off, they are afraid of it happening again. The easiest thing to do is assume that life is black and white, that if someone says that they are a victim, they are a victim, and that if anybody says otherwise then he or she is an apologist for rape. However, it is important to note that if a woman does overreact to something– as this woman certainly did– it’s not because she’s a “hysterical” woman. It’s because she’s a person, and sometimes people overreact. And overreactions– from women and men– can and do ruin people’s lives.

What this comes back to is what I have been saying in a two recent blog posts: we need to stop falling into the “us versus them” mentality. It may be comforting but it is also damaging. We need to stop screaming at people and we need to sit down and have a discussion. Men need to listen to the concerns women have about harassment. Likewise, women need to listen to the concerns men have about being falsely accused which does happen. Otherwise, the conflict will go on and on. Women will continue to shout “patriarchy” and men will continue to shout “professional victim”, when what both are are terms to simplify complex situations.

I said it before and I’ll say it again: We need to have a discussion.

Also, I urge you to watch this video, which further elaborates my points.