FREEDOM OF SPEECH = DOUBLE EDGED SWORD

I was reading in Yahoo! News today about a man called Albert Snyder. Mr. Snyder lost his son Matthew Snyder when he died on a Humvee accident in Iraq almost four years ago. Matt was 20 years old.

During his son's funeral the ever lovely Westboro Baptist Church showed up to protest against gays, and Jews and pretty much everybody else on God’s green earth with signs that read “God Hates America” “Thank God for Dead Soldiers” “You are going to Hell” “Semper Fags” and other enlightened messages like those.

Mr. Snyder can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he suffers from depression since his son’s death (which is understandable) and is battling diabetes. He is angry and hurt and humiliated and probably wishing his son’s funeral would’ve been a dignified event for him to say goodbye without having all that bad juju thrown his way.

Mr. Snyder decided to sue the Westboro Baptist Church and was granted 10.9 million dollars that were after reduced to 5 million by another judge and then another judge reversed the verdict and he is now ordered to pay roughly $17,000 to Westboro for the legal fees they incurred. It doesn't seem right, does it?

According to Westboro Baptist Church, America is condemned, doomed to hell and being punished by its acceptance of what they call in their website “fag lifestyle”. After taking a gander at the Westboro website (and feeling right after like I had to take a bath on bleach or holy water) I realized just how difficult the law is. The first amendment of the constitution of this country established freedom of speech, freedom of press, freedom of religion and freedom for people to peacefully assemble, etc.

The amendment is a beautiful thing; not only respects my ideas and opinions no matter how unpopular they might be but it also protects my rights to voice them.

Poor Mr. Snyder had to see hate first hand and at a moment of crippling vulnerability. No father should have to bury his son and it made his tragedy even worse to see people gleefully holding signs that celebrated his death and the death of all those other soldiers out there who have lost their life in this war.

Even though Mr. Snyder is now without his son and grieving, and even though my heart breaks at the thought of him seeing those signs, the law states freedom of speech for all. Is it moral for those people to be there and mock his pain? No, and I am sure there are special places in whatever hell those fuck-heads believe in for people just like them. It is right for them to feel the entitlement of invading such a private moment and ruin it with their hateful, putrid beliefs? No, it isn’t.

Is it legal? Yes, it is.

Freedom of speech is defined as the right to speak without censorship and/or limitation, the right to speak or otherwise communicate one’s opinion without fear of harm or prosecution. It applies to all individuals in this country, it covers all opinions, and it defends all ideas.

Those who read this blog know how passionately against religion I am and how passionately for gay rights I am. So it is with a heavy heart that I recognize that Mr. Snyder is going to lose that lawsuit against Westboro.

The law should protect all: sick, hateful, disgusting, crazy individuals too. Even when their moral compass is up their asses, even when their beliefs are repulsive, even when they don’t respect the most private of moments, even when they have no understanding of the meaning of compassion their opinions also have to be respected.

The fact is that the loathsome crew from Westboro peacefully assembled to spew their venom. Mr. Snyder actually didn’t even notice they were there but until later when he saw his son’s funeral on the news. The law should protect Westboro because vile and abhorrent as they are they didn’t break any laws.

My only consolation and I hope for Mr. Snyder’s too is that the legacy of Fred Phelps founder of Westboro Church (won’t do the Baptist a disservice by affiliating them with him) seems to be on his last legs. I don't know if he is healthy or not, but a body can’t hold that much hatred and venom and continue working properly. The man is 81 years old already! Even if his progeny were to continue his work he is the heart of the operation and without him I hope it will dwindle to nothing.

I found Pastor Jim Sommerville’s blog while researching for this post; Pastor Summerville had an encounter of sorts with darling Fred one time when he and his band of roaches went to Richmond Virginia to harass its Jewish community.

Pastor Sommerville is a more evolved creature than I am and he decided to pray for the soul of Fred (what soul?) and for him to find love and let go of the hatred that, to quote Pastor Jim “has made him its disciple”.

I don’t have it in me to wish for Fred’s salvation. I don’t have it in me to pray for his rotten soul. If I was the praying kind I would pray for Mr. Snyder’s battered soul and broken heart. I would pray for his family and the families of all those who Westboro has touched with its grimy paws.

I would pray for Mr. Snyder to feel some consolation after the suit is over even when it probably won’t conclude as he hopes. If I were the praying kind those are the ones I would pray for, I wouldn’t waste a word on Fred.

Actually Fred can go to hell.

For Pastor Jim Sommerville’s post: http://jimsomerville.wordpress.com/2010/03/03/how-do-i-stop-my-enemies/

For the Yahoo! Article: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/us_funeral_protests

HISTORY

Dear Husband and I went to Saint Augustine from Wednesday until Easter Sunday to celebrate our one year anniversary; we made it there at midnight on Wednesday and passed out at the hotel soon after putting our clothes away and showering.

The weather was perfect, a balmy 72 to 73 degrees with a chilly breeze and not a cloud in the sky; it was almost as if the city had made itself pretty just for us. Oh the beauty of the Spanish moss, the towering oaks, the warming sun, the blooming flowers and the damn pollen that had my throat closing, my eyes running and me sneezing my brain out of my nose…sigh.

I love history…I may not love history the same way DH loves it but it doesn’t make my love any less real. My love of history is based on the romantic notion of all that has been sacrificed by those who came before us and the old rules, the old charm, the manners, the ridiculous customs, the restrictions, the fashion, the gentlemen and ladies, the quest for honor, the appreciation of duty above all and that crossed eyed (now considered silly) selflessness of those who went to battle eager to do what was right.

The city was founded in 1565 and it used to belong to the Spanish and the Catholic Church of course, which pretty much ravaged the area with its convert-or-die agenda that the church is famous for. No fuzzy, warm feelings for those back in the days Catholics who ruled with an iron fist and an eagerness to slit throats, hang or burn all in the name of Jesus. Matanzas Bay (or Matanzas River) which is neither a river nor a bay, but an inlet or estuary was called that charming name “Matanzas” meaning Slaughter or massacre because of all the French Huguenots or Protestants that were slaughtered by charming man that was Pedro Menendez de Aviles who held a mass (the first ever catholic mass in the U.S.) and then went off all filled with Christian passion and self-righteousness to kill a bunch of non Catholics and then slaughtered 300 more or so because of heresy. You gotta love the beautiful things done in the name of Christ.

We walked the streets in our trolley super corny in our red trains and hanging cameras and enjoyed the city with its old walls, the Castillo de San Marcos, the Flagler….everything and the old Victorian houses. I have an obsession with Victorian Houses, they make me sigh, shiver, crave, and long for hoop skirts, bonnets, parasols and horse drawn carriages. I have my computer filled with pictures of Victorian Houses from when I visited Connecticut, Maryland, and South Carolina, my short stint in Massachusetts and now from Saint Augustine. I think is ironic that I dislike Florida for its lack of history, for its newness, for its terracotta shingle roofs and the anal retentive landscape where every bush, flower and stone is separated with mathematical accuracy and yet Saint Augustine is THE oldest city in the United States.

I love being surrounded by history; it makes me feel…I don’t know... I can’t describe it, it’s a combination of the hibbie jibbies and wonder, wonder that I have walked the same cobblestone roads as someone did 200 years before, touched the same walls, maybe felt the same feelings. When we were at the Castillo de San Marcos we walked the barracks and saw in the wall the carvings of some soldier that had wanted to make his mark, he left his initials E.H. Hancock, December 1884. It makes one wonder, what happened to E.H. Hancock? What did he look like? Did he live much longer? Did he die in the fort? Did he perish of the yellow fever that later that century killed a third of the town’s population? Did he fall in love? Did he marry? Was he happy?

Old buildings, history, soldiers and the 1800s always make me feel melancholy. Don’t know why but that is always the case. At first I am always excited to see the places and once I’m there I feel a little sad for what was and is no longer. It’s weird but I miss those long dead strangers as if they were friends I haven’t seen in a while. This makes me believe even more in reincarnation! Well Saint Augustine was beautiful, it made me like a little more this crazy State of Florida that I have never been a fan of, it made me even more firm in my believe that the Catholic Church has always been fucked up and probably always will be.

As I take a look at the pictures of the houses, the old streets, the old city entrance that is still standing I can’t help but wonder architectonically speaking what kind of legacy are we leaving behind? The world is filled with beautiful buildings full of history, pain, blood and tears and what exactly have we built?

Don’t get me wrong, I like leaving in this age where I don’t need a chaperone to walk the streets and I won’t be burned as a witch if I don’t the like the church. I rather like this age where I won’t succumb to a fever but can simply pop an antibiotic and the fact that the streets are paved and not heaped with horseshit. Why then is it that it all seems so much more heroic, more romantic back then?

WALK FOR ALS!!

Since I was bitching that I was blocked, woe is me, what am I to do and all that bullshit, I decided to write about one of the most amazing men I have ever met and kill two birds with one stone, if he doesn’t inspire me, nothing will and that way I bring attention to my little circle of readers to ALS.

I will be forever humbled by my former boss; he is currently suffering from ALS (Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis) better known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease and has remained determined, sweet, humorous and more than anything hopeful. Hopeful that if maybe not for him, but for those who will get sick in the future there will be a cure of this terminal, debilitating and simply horrible disease.

To learn more: http://www.alsa.org/

I met MM when I was twenty years old and miserable. I was working at McDonald's, my ass kept getting bigger because I had to eat two of my daily meals at work and I was getting spider veins on my legs from standing on my feet for 10 hours a day. He was like a knight in shining armor. His wife loved my mom who worked with her, cleaning her house and talking care of her elderly parents and knowing how badly I hated my job she had put the little bug on her husband’s head to hire me as a trainee appraiser since he was losing one in the office.

I was given the opportunity to interview and I showed up, greasy and nervous to the office. If I had known what I know now of him I wouldn’t have been nervous at all, but since I didn’t know him I was shaking, wishing this could be true and I could work in an office, with working air conditioning, away from oil burns and more importantly where there was a chair.

He took me in under the wings of his company and kept me there for as long as he could. I have never met a man like him and I don’t think I ever will. MM is the smartest man in my acquaintance, he has a big heart, a willingness to help others, an amazing sense of humor, an even temper, awesome stories to share and treated each and every one of us like family. He used to brag about me to his friends and colleagues about how smart I was and how good my English was even though I had only been in the country for a few years.

I spent five years almost six working for him and they were unforgettable years full of laughter and praise, full of working late when we procrastinated because we spent a too long lunch hour talking about Scotland and smuggling him coffee that his lovely wife didn’t want him drinking. When MM got diagnosed we were so utterly ignorant about the disease that we didn’t even worry. It wasn’t until the time started passing and he started losing weight that I went online to research. “Terminal” is a word no one ever wants to hear, but no matter where I went that’s what it said. ALS is a terminal disease. We, the people that worked for him, his family, friends, everyone was heartbroken. Why, how could this happen to a man like him? I’ve had years to digest it and still refuse to believe it.

Each year in March we March, we walk to raise money, awareness and to spend some sunny time with friends and family who need something to hold onto, who for that one moment can look at the horrible disease with something else than fear and dread and with maybe a little bit of hope. Hope that a cure will be found, hope that a reason behind the disease will be discovered, and hope that when the time comes they won’t be alone.

There are no survivors in this walk, there are no brave people telling their story. It’s not like cancer which at times thankfully can be overcome. There are just people facing their death and still unwilling to give up.

If that is not inspiring I don’t know what is.

So tomorrow at 9 am I will be along with MM and his family and friends and we’ll walk and talk and catch up with the ones we haven’t seen since the last walk and ignore the reason why we are there and concentrate only on MM and be happy that maybe tomorrow there’ll be a cure.