All my adult life I have been fighting corporate power and I have had a community of people on the left. But once I turned my attention to the porn industry, the left became as hostile as the right. In my book I ask why is that people on the left – people who understand corporate power – suddenly forget that the pornographers are capitalists and see them instead as guardians of our sexual freedom? Since when did capitalists ever care about our freedoms? Pornography is like all industries, predatory and out to make a profit by any means possible. They commodify real human needs and wants as a way to sell products, and until we resist, the pornographers will continue to hijack our sexuality.
Those who attempt to describe the atrocities that they have witnessed also risk their own credibility.
To speak publicly about one’s knowledge of atrocities is to invite the stigma that attaches to victims….
Denial, repression and dissociation operate on a SOCIAL, as well as an individual level.
There’s a lot of information and analysis out there about the medicalization of birth, and how the absorption of reproduction into the medical industry, and the reclassifying of birth from a natural process to a medical phenomenon, has been bad for women overall. This is also true of the medicalization of abortion. The practice of medicine during this period went from a more community based structure with widwives and female healers having a place particularly in reproductive aspects of health, to the absorption of this community structure into the commercial medical industry. The medicalization and the criminalization of abortion went hand in hand. Both increased male control and decreased female reproductive autonomy. […]
Roe is not enough, and we know it. But stopping at acknowledging Roe’s shortcomings still glosses over the reality of what Roe has done – and it’s not all good.
The medicalization and the criminalization of abortion went hand in hand. Both increased male control and decreased female reproductive autonomy.
Roe does nothing to challenge this hostile takeover of female reproductive decisions by male dominated institutions. Roe codifies governmental regulation of abortion in law, and it institutionalized the total dependence of women on the medical industry with regard to reproduction. Never once in the text of Roe v. Wade is a woman referred to as having made a decision on her own; every single time a woman’s decision is mentioned, it’s as “a woman and her physician.”[…]
in all of our romanticization of Roe’s effects, why do we never speak of the fact that in the pre-Roe era, women weren’t fighting the government over how abortion should be regulated – they were fighting over whether the government had the right to exercise any control over female reproduction. By accepting governmental regulation as a baseline, we’re giving up ground that pre-Roe activists fought for tooth and nail.
There is a country Lost,
a moon grows in its reeds,
where all that died of frost
as we did, glows and sees.
It sees, for it has eyes,
each eye an earth, and bright.
The night, the night, the lyes.
This eye-child’s gift is sight.
It sees, it sees, we see,
I see you, you see me.
Before this hour has ended
ice will rise from the dead.
Attention is the natural prayer of the soul.
Finally, after five months of my life during which I could write nothing that would have satisfied me, and for which no power will compensate me, though all were under obligation to do so, it occurs to me to talk to myself again. Whenever I really question myself, there was always a response forthcoming, there was always something in me to catch fire, in this heap of straw that I have been for five months and whose fate, it seems, is to be set afire during the summer and consumed more swiftly than the onlooker can blink his eye.
Bring me to the brink of mountains, mystic
Dread, rapture of fear I feel and …fail.
Still: the swallow slicing blue is beautiful.
Stil: the cloud-tugged bell tower’s frozen music.
There is in me a man alive, a man alone,
Who, heart-stopped above a deep abyss,
Can hear a snowball grow one snowflake less,
The clock-tick accretions of dust becoming stone.
No. I am not that man, not that sadness
With its precise ice, its exquisite rue.
The pain that sings in me does not sing, and is true.
O whirlwind, O real wind
In which the avalanche is happening,
All my soul is bells, which will not ring.