I was always taught that words have power.
My parents ensured that I was enveloped with books as a child – I guess it was natural that their son would grow up to become a writer.
My parents and the tapestry that is my family has served as a muse and an inspiration ever since I could remember.
My family defines and inspires me.
Through them I am compelled to be better than the ugliness around us that masquerades as humanity.
That being said, I always endeavor to hold my family in the highest regard.
It is my contention that if a writer uses social media as a medium to communicate with people around the world, it behooves them to have a presence of mind and a commitment to lift people up rather than tearing them down.
In the age of Trump it would seem that invective has gotten a new lease on life, truth be told an argument could be made that it has been normalized.
Writing about the ugliness of my own shortcomings and contradictions has enabled me to traverse the narrow paths of opting to build rather than destroy, to search for God’s face rather than bathing in the waters of stationary complacency.
Earlier this week, I had the displeasure of bearing witness to a Podcast host (I will not dignify the bully with a reference) dedicate an entire broadcast to my cousin, demeaning her with caustic insults – referring to her with every name other than a child of God.
And to make matters worse this “man child” had people commenting in the threads with even more poignant strains of vitriol.
A cursory review of his podcast demonstrated a wanton disrespect of women that was nothing short of misogynistic prattle, the kind which gives a wink and a nod to violence against women.
Being incensed that he took nearly a hour to focus his angst towards my cousin, it was his referencing her as a “bitch” and his attempt at dehumanizing her that stirred something inside of me, as I took note of my hands shaking with rage.
And… I resolved to fight fire with fire.
In combing through his gallery, I took note of his short stature and arms.
I surmised that his rage was projected onto them – because most women are taller than he is. I surmised that his hatred towards women was rooted in some deep seated hatred towards himself.
And so I engaged.
A back and forth ensued between us and he became incensed at my “name calling”, seemingly oblivious to his slander of my cousin.
Long story short, he was unable to take what he dished out.
I became the bully.
I sullied myself, but I felt justified, because people like this garner their power from dehumanizing others.
Like the mythical Medusa, bearing witness to their own countenance causes them to turn to stone.
This bullying and diminishing of women must come to an end, we must NOT enable it, we should compelled to speak out against it…
If we don’t, what does that make us?
It puts us in the same category as the aforementioned cowardly short man with short arms, short on intelligence and sorely lacking in humanity.
Fortunately, Internet courage doesn’t translate into the real world.
As for that podcast post…
It has gone the way of the Dodo Bird.
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