In truth, there are no alternative facts.

I do. Arguably the strongest two-word phrase any of us can ever avow, especially when those words of commitment bind us in marriage. There isn’t any wiggle room that allows for only some days or maybe not when I have a headache or when the other person is being an idiot in the moment. The promise spoken is simply, I do.

Inevitably life is going to come along and throw a challenge in your way. Financial crisis. Medical crisis. Teenager crisis, especially when hormones are involved. Car trouble. Computer trouble. None of it is fun or pretty and for the most part we struggle through and breathe a sigh of relief when it’s over and your vows are intact and you can honestly say your marriage is stronger for having gone through the experience. And the make-up sex is great.

There’s a funny/not funny thing about life. You think you’ve gone through the worst experience of your life, you survived it (eek, just barely), and you take a breath and figure “I got this.” Until.

Along comes Trump. All those months he was campaigning I watched in disbelief when no one, including my husband, called out Trump when he mocked a disabled reporter, lied about history, made impossible promises, and bullied anyone who dared to challenge him. In those early days my husband laughed when I brought up my concerns and told me these things people were saying about Trump were all exaggerations or twisted words. Even when faced with video recordings of the man professing to grab women by the….  My husband asked me, “What happened to your sense of humor? Why can’t you laugh at a joke anymore? Don’t take things so serious.”

I found myself changing in ways I wasn’t proud of. I grew quiet. I was careful who I spoke to. I passed judgment on anyone who was willing to turn a blind eye to Trump and his antics. Pulling on my political beliefs and my limited knowledge of history, I told myself this too shall pass. There’s no way America will elect this man. But America did. Or maybe not.

My husband is a lawyer and lawyers deal in facts. Circumstantial evidence is not fact. Video and audio recordings can be altered. Photographs are even easier to edit. Women lie. But then, so do men and Trump does it every day of his life, often many times a day, and often in public. Direct evidence is the opposite of circumstantial; it is truth. There is no gray matter in truth. It’s all black and white. And for the first time in our married life my husband came to believe that everything is circumstantial; there is no truth unless you see it firsthand. Watching Trump speaking live at an event on the TV is not truth because that’s not firsthand. The news media can doctor the video. Soundbites after the event are definitely not truth even if they are an exact duplication of what you witnessed live, in the moment, on TV. And what about those exaggerations and “proven” lies? Alternative facts.

The problem for me is that I am an editor and I’m trained to look for truth. Some of the companies I’ve worked for even referred to the original or the source document as the “truth document”. In truth there are no alternative facts. There is no gray matter. It’s all black and white.

The struggle becomes real when a lawyer and an editor, both trained to see things only in black and white, are faced with the fact that one of them no longer can see black and white. For that person everything is gray. In fact, even the gray is being pushed out by all the colors. But it’s a weird canvas built on prejudice, bigotry, racism, misogyny, elitism. For my husband, all these colors are floating around in his world that he’s willing to embrace but at the same time he cannot and will not embrace people of color or those with disabilities or those with a lesser education. It is as if these people are circumstantial, alternatives, less than, not truth. And through this experience I’ve come to understand I married a privileged white man.

In talking with a friend, she was persuading me to look at the situation differently. Just because my husband supports Trump, that doesn’t necessarily mean my husband is racist or a misogynist. I have a problem with that because there’s guilt by association. For example, if someone helps another rob a bank, doesn’t that make both people thieves? My husband isn’t “aiding and abetting” Trump but my husband supports Republican dogma. Does a person expressing support for someone who is doing racist or other bad things make the person guilty of those things? No, but it does provide evidence that the person is those things. My husband voted for Trump, knowing Trump had issues with respecting women and knowing Trump had generalized Mexicans as rapists, not to mention all the protocol Trump tossed to the wind such as releasing tax statements. To me it’s the same thing as if my husband were to hand car keys to an intoxicated friend. Down the road when the crash happens and someone is injured or killed, my husband would be complicit in that crime. If you were beaten by a person while his friends cheered him on, would you say those friends would never do such a thing themselves?

“I do.” Two simple words with no wiggle room to add any others. They are the foundation upon which all our burdens and challenges are added. I pray they are strong enough to withstand this moment of babies being taken from their mothers and placed in cages, of children barely out of diapers shuttled a thousand miles away from parents they may never see again. Honestly, I’m on my knees praying those two simple words can hold us together.


The Cancer of Abuse

I was first sexually assaulted when I was 12, by a brother-in-law. He was close to 30 at the time. My mom was sick and dying and I didn’t tell anyone. I was embarrassed and scared and knew it was wrong. But I also knew no one would believe me. So I just stayed quiet. That brother-in-law did it several times over the course of a couple of years before I was finally able to be in a position to not be around him alone.

When I was 16, a guy who was 27 “courted” me and made me feel like I was the most special person on the planet. By that time both of my parents had died and I just wanted, needed someone to love me. I was an easy victim and this guy told me all the things I wanted to hear. All so he could have sex with me. Yes, it was consensual. But I was too naïve to know it was wrong. My brothers knew it was wrong and they tried to stop it. But my brothers had never shown me any love. They had only acted in a way that showed me I was a burden in their lives. Why would I listen to them? Eventually this abuser grew tired of me and found a new plaything.

Looking back I now understand it was only a natural progression in my life that I would marry someone who was an abuser. At first he was super sweet and loving. It wasn’t until about a month before our wedding when I first saw how destructive his anger was. Again, I knew it was wrong but I was embarrassed and afraid. I should have walked away but instead he apologized and said it would never happen again. I believed him and I married him.  

In many ways his abuse was the worst because it didn’t leave bruises. Similar to a frog in water that slowly gets warmer and warmer, the abuse was gradual and I didn’t see it happening. It started out as controlling behaviors, being jealous for no reason, getting angry and blaming it all on me. He limited my access to money and to other people. And he clearly made it known who was the boss in our marriage bed. I totally bought into his declarations that I was the one causing all the problems. I was the one doing things that made him angry. Everything that was wrong was my fault.

It took me YEARS to figure out it wasn’t me and another five years to safely exit the marriage. And I went through intensive counseling to heal the wounds. I suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of all of the abuse in my life and I’ve managed to deal with it well. I am in a much better place in life now. I have a husband who loves me and respects me. My life and my daughters’ lives are not threatened on a daily basis. I feel safe at home, at work, in my community. I get a good night’s sleep every night with both eyes closed.  

About a year ago, some darkness slipped into my life when the news media blew up with coverage about Donald Trump and the Access Hollywood video. Another black cloud appeared when this man who had bragged about sexually assaulting women was elected as our country’s president. I was physically ill for several days. Yet, I was persuaded to give Trump a chance. “That happened years ago. He’s different now.” Anyone who’s ever been abused knows from first-hand experience that the abuser doesn’t change. The abuser just gets smarter and learns to conceal it better. But I respect the office of the presidency so I gave him a chance. By January, Trump was in the public eye a lot and so much of his behavior and actions and words told me this man hadn’t changed. Watching him interact with his wife made me cringe. I could easily imagine things that have probably happened in their marriage, in their home.

Things settled down a little after the Inauguration, as other issues flooded the news headlines. And then the saga at Fox News blew up with Roger Ailes followed by Bill O’Reilly. When the Harvey Weinstein story broke this fall, my anxiety ticked up several notches. Sexual assault or abuse was in the daily headlines. There was nowhere to hide from it, unless I went completely off grid. I tried that for a couple of days and it didn’t work. So I dusted off my “tricks” for dealing with anxiety and PTSD and was holding my own until this week. This thing with Roy Moore just pushed me over the edge. It had to be the circumstances of that 14-year-old girl being approached in a courthouse by a prosecutor, a man of the law, someone who was “safe” and they were in a “safe” place. It was too close to home for me. I had been 12 and it was a family member and we were in a “safe” place.

I’ve learned over the years that I have to talk about what happened. It’s the only way to allow the horror to escape from my mind and spirit. Usually when I talk about it I minimize the details. That’s a natural reaction according to the experts. But minimizing it causes other problems, so I have to be careful and make sure I tell my story in all of its gory detail. It’s hard. I physically shake when I talk about it in that depth of detail. I’ve forgotten so many things that have happened over the course of my life but I can remember all the minute details of where I was, what I was wearing, how much light there was in the room, what the sounds were, what the room smelled like, when it first happened to me at 12. I remember like it happened yesterday. And as difficult as it is for me to talk about it, it’s just as difficult for someone to listen to my story. I know this to be true, so I am very careful in making sure the person is qualified and “safe” for me to talk to. I cannot fathom the stories such professionals have heard. Certainly they are trained to listen but it has to be so challenging. I am grateful for these people. I would not be alive today without their help.

None of us knows what the future holds. In the coming days and weeks we will hear more about Roy Moore and his victim. We may possibly hear more in regard to Trump. Surely we have not heard the last of the Weinstein story and others like him in the music and film industries. I am bracing myself as best I can. I know all too well, it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

Reading Between the Behaviors

As part of my job, I am required to complete extensive training each year on a variety of topics but usually on the laws and regulations that govern the industry in which I work. This month’s training was on the topic of culture and identity, a slightly different topic from the norm but important nevertheless since my employer takes ethics very seriously and instills a culture of inclusion for all of its employees.

Two questions were asked to begin the training: What identity do you have? How many cultures do you belong to? Simple answers are the first things that come to mind but the real answers are much more complex. For example, in terms of identity I think of myself as a wife, mother, grandmother. Those are my first thoughts. But I also can identify as sister, youngest sibling, aunt, working woman, baby boomer, survivor, writer. Actually, there are many more labels that can be applied depending on the context I find myself in when needing to self-identify.

The culture thing was a little trickier for me. When asked how many cultures I am a part of, I naively answered one. As it turns out, I am a part of several since I am a white, college graduate, middle-aged, employed, married, hearing-impaired, female, American. Each one of those characteristics places me into a unique group. And each one of those groups to which I belong has its own rules and values that drive my behaviors. If a culture values hard work, behaviors will look like focusing on goals, being organized and determined, striving for success. If a culture values family, behaviors will look like respecting elders, honoring parents, offering support and encouragement to siblings.

As “one nation”, the United States is a diverse blend of communities and cultures, all sharing experiences and common influences. Our lives are governed by the same laws, systems, and processes, and yet we behave in ways that we learned from our cultural identities, based on who we identify as and how important certain values are to us.

Think of the community in which you live. How many cultures are reflected in that community? How different are the values and behaviors among all of the cultures that exist? Do you consider your community successful? Do cultures co-exist easily or is there a constant tension?

What happens when a culture is mired in despair and hopelessness, if common values are focused around the mere act to survive? How does a community blend that set of values with the values of its other cultures that don’t have to worry about survival and instead focus on achievements and success? Can members of “successful” cultures even comprehend the lives of those in other cultures just trying to live to see another day?

Cultural differences influence how we are treated simply in how others identify us or in how we self-identify. As a white person I never thought I would be subjected to profiling in America. It never used to matter that I was a woman. I was told I could grow up to be anything I wanted and I taught my daughters the same thing. But things changed during last year’s presidential campaigns and election. The Women’s March and other protests caused some men to start treating me differently, labeling me emotional, hysterical even, simply because I am a female and despite the fact that I didn’t participate in any of those events. As a citizen of the United States, I never thought I would live in a country ruled by a dictator. I still don’t, but the fear is real now when before I couldn’t imagine it. Right before my very eyes I’ve witnessed the man in the office of President of the United States knowingly lie and mislead people, blatantly and strategically breaking ethical and moral bounds if not legal ones. If a culture begins to allow lies and deceits and ambiguity, what rules and values do those behaviors create?

I am embarrassed to admit I am married to someone who defends Trump’s every word. I try to justify it by saying my husband doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand women, he’s from the “old school”. But what do my words and my behavior say to the culture of women to which I belong? When my husband defends Trump by saying it’s within the President’s authority to pardon anyone he wants, what does that say about the values and rules we have in our home?

I am an American. I am a woman. Nothing will change those identities. But I have fear today that I didn’t have a year ago, that I never imagined I would feel, ever. How do I stay a member of my cultural groups when their values and behaviors are changing in catastrophic ways that I disagree with? These sweeping changes carry the potential to destroy the America I love and crack the foundation of my marriage and my home. How does one maneuver through a minefield like the one that has sprouted up around us?

The Bully

There wasn’t any specific reason why I took a mental trip to the past, and yet there were a thousand reasons why. Usually I avoid thinking about any of the abuse I suffered, but sometimes thoughts just creep through like a spider moving in and out of a crack in the floorboards.

My ex-husband was a master at it. His bruises went deep to the soul but they left no marks on the surface. He worked the graveyard shift and I used to silently count down the hours until he would leave for work. I treasured my nights without him at home and I dreaded his nights off. After a while I used to dread any hour he was home when I or the kids were awake. I never knew when he was going to blow so I would run scenarios through my head. If he blows today, this person is off work and we can go there. Plan B. Plan C. Sometimes all the way to Plan F. The girls and I got so attuned to his body language that we knew he was going to blow before he did, and we could give ourselves a little lead time to get to a place of safety.

Once you learn to read that body language, you can’t turn it off unless you close your eyes. So without even thinking about it, you find yourself reading it in others who exhibit it. Perfect strangers even. Once I was grocery shopping and encountered a man who was oozing anger so silently that he was odiferous. Instantly I became ill and had to run outside to vomit in a garbage can. I so desperately wanted to go back and talk to his wife, to find out how I could help her break free. But I didn’t. I understood all too well that if she was in his presence, she could not be approached.

Several months ago I encountered another bully, an influential person who liked his ego to be stroked often. It bothered me to have a bully rise to the top and be in the brightest spotlight of all, caught on video nearly every day and appearing in my living room on the evening news. I watched in horror as he mocked a disabled reporter. Even more horrifying was watching others defend the bully, trying to tell me he wasn’t making a mockery of the disabled person. I watched the bully knowingly lie, escalate falsehoods and advance conspiracies, manipulate a mob, and incite violence. He called others names to their faces. He publicly falsely accused others of breaking the law. He was disrespectful to his wife in public, caught twisting her arm to cause pain. And she, like the woman in the grocery store, silently spoke just as loudly with her body language. Even my grown children could hear their body language. Sadly, many people could not hear it or would not.

And now it appears some people, some very smart and conniving people, played with that bully, manipulated that bully, to the point that now the bully is desperate and paranoid. On one hand, it’s a welcome sight to watch a bully get a taste of his own medicine. But on the other hand, there is no escaping the fear of what is to come when he blows.

Six or Half Dozen

Six. A finite number. Definitive. While it’s more than one, it’s a singular entity. Six. Complete logic and order. Monochrome. You know exactly what you’re getting. Six.

On the other hand, half a dozen is ambiguous. Do you have exactly six, or do you have a little more than five or slightly less than seven? There are multiples with half a dozen. Is there chaos? Were there more and now you’re on the downslide? Or are you on the upswing, gaining more and more? Assumptions are made with half a dozen, but they depend on the context. Do you see potential or failure? And while one person may assume a positive grouping in half a dozen, another might see a doomsday prediction. Dichotomy. Half a dozen.

I asked for six. Half a dozen were served.

All Politics Aside…

In full disclosure, I used to be a public official. I served for 17 years in local government and then I thought I was good enough to run for the state legislature. Well, I was good enough but my opponent ran a smarter, nastier campaign and I lost by four percentage points. Having experienced all those elections probably has something to do with the fact that I am interested in the whole process of elections, especially elections for U.S. President. Or maybe I’m just an election junkie.

But I have to tell you, I’m absolutely fascinated by what is happening in our country right now. Think about it. Whether you love him or hate him, Donald Trump is a master marketer. A couple of weeks ago he gave a speech and told everyone the cell phone number of one of his opponents. That opponent was furious! And several days later, the opponent, seeking revenge, gave out Trump’s cell phone number. But Trump had planned on that all along. When people called Trump’s number, they were greeted with a campaign message and directed to Trump’s website. And, in the process, Trump’s cell phone recorded every single one of those caller’s phone numbers. What an interesting way to build an election database!

Candidates for election are held tight by all kinds of rules, and one of them has to do with “advertising”. If you appear on a TV or radio show, then that show has to offer “equal” air time to your opponent. With 17 GOP candidates right now, it’s very challenging for TV and radio shows to offer up equality to all the candidates. But if a candidate makes “legitimate” news, well, then, that falls under the category of covering the news, not advertising. And every time Trump appears in the news, he’s getting the best of free advertising. Given our country’s extreme dislike for established politicians right now, Trump is loving every minute of it. He doesn’t care if it’s positive or negative news. He just cares that his name is being spoken (or heard) in households every day.

Another rule candidates have to deal with has to do with fundraising. The rules are many and complicated. However, if a candidate is rich and can finance his own campaign without having to raise enormous amounts of money—which Trump is—then that candidate can pretty much do whatever he wants. He doesn’t have to cater to special interest groups. He doesn’t have to make any pledges or promises. He can do whatever he wants. And anyone familiar with Trump knows that’s the way he likes it.

Honestly, I think Trump is having a blast and laughing every minute. Will he be the GOP nominee? Probably not. But, there is a slight chance that he could still win the election. As I wrote above, the majority of voters are totally fed up with establishment politicians. They could very easily vote for Trump. Stranger things have happened. If you doubt me, check out the Minnesota 1998 election for governor when a pro-wrestling lunatic was just as shocked as everyone else when he was declared the winner. Jesse Ventura ran as a reform party candidate and he won! Trump could do the same thing as an independent party candidate. Just saying…

Crossing over to the Democrats, Bernie Sanders spoke to a crowd of 26,000 people this week in Washington State. Hillary Clinton barely gathered a crowd of 6,000 on her East Coast home turf. At this time in 2008, someone else from the non-establishment ranks was drawing big crowds—then-candidate Obama. And just like Trump (and Obama in 2008), people are drawn to Sanders because he’s not an established politician. People are clamoring for change.

Speaking of change, I think this election cycle is going to bring about a lot of changes once it’s all said and done. I won’t be at all surprised in January 2017 when Congress takes up a bill dealing with election reform. With Trump self-financing his campaign, both parties will be eager to establish some firm rules about how much money a candidate can spend. And once election financing is on the table, you can bet on a Pandora’s box being opened. PACs and Super PACs will have to reach deep into their bank reserves to lobby for the status quo since all their money will have been spent on the election. And I won’t be surprised if people demand rules requiring term limits to do away with established politicians once and for all.

Just think, we have another 15 months of this before we head to the polls. Sit back and relax. Toss aside your hatred of the other party. Stop listening to the rhetoric and start thinking like a marketing manager. Consider this all a learning moment. How would you run a campaign?

What exactly does it mean?

Black lives matter. That phrase has been bothering me for some time. I try very hard not to see a person’s color or gender or race or sexuality. I can’t imagine what some people would do if I stood in a pack of protesters holding up a sign that said White Lives Matter! It’s not about us versus them. It’s about all of us. It’s about being treated with respect and being respectful of others. ALL LIVES MATTER!

One day last week I’d had my fill. I had heard on the news that high school students in Minneapolis walked out of classes in protest/support of what was happening in Baltimore. To me, those kids were just looking for an excuse to leave school on a rare beautiful Minnesota spring day. I expressed my frustration on Facebook and quickly a friend pushed back. She politely suggested that I didn’t know what I was talking about. Sometimes I don’t, and I have no problem with someone helping me to understand. My friend quoted some statistics from a Washington Post article that certainly helped me to understand the depth of frustration some people are feeling in Baltimore. But it didn’t change my feelings at all.

I believe most of the Baltimore protesters are people feeling hopeless about their lives for many reasons and the Post article backs that up. But what I cannot understand, and I’m reading/hearing similar thoughts from many others across our country, is why destroy the very town you live in just because you feel hopeless? Why resort to violence at all?

Today I saw my friend shared someone else’s post on Facebook, suggesting that some of us are saying, “Black lives matter, but….”

To my way of thinking, those protesters broke laws and should be disciplined accordingly. I don’t care one bit about the color of skin those protesters have. Anyone who sets fire to a building is an arsonist, and that is against the law. Anyone who steals from a store is a shoplifter, and that is against the law. And, for the record, I believe every police officer is held to a higher standard and must obey the laws too. No one is above the law. No one.

My friend wanted to argue that residents of Baltimore have it bad. I won’t argue against that fact. But what frustrates and irritates me is that so many of the protesters think the rest of us have it easy and that we should be more compassionate and understanding of their emotions, wants, needs. I’m sorry, but I can’t justify rioting, looting, setting fire to buildings for any reason. And I just have to ask, did they really believe doing those things was going to make their lives better?

For the record, I don’t have it easy. I haven’t for many years. But because I have a job, have a house, have a car, people assume I have an easy life. I worked very hard for the things I have and I know that a major illness or another job loss would take away all that I have. Many days I fight off despair, hopelessness, depression. I am not alone. Those protesters are not alone. I don’t know a single person in my life circles who has it easy. We are all struggling. And so, I believe we ALL matter.

The really sad part about what’s happening in Baltimore now is that it reminds many of us of what happened in Detroit in 1967. Research history (or read this article in today’s StarTribune ). The 1967 Detroit riots incited reactions across the country, just like the protesting in Ferguson and now Baltimore. In the Detroit riots, many people died, thousands were arrested, and more than 2,000 buildings were burned to the ground. It took years for the area to recover, and some people believe Detroit still hasn’t recovered. I’m wondering about Baltimore now. How long will tourists stay away? How long will businesses planning conventions go to other cities? Given all the bad statistics in the Post article, I have to wonder if Baltimore will ever recover. Is it really true that we haven’t learned anything in nearly 50 years? Or, even worse, did we, as a people, think we knew more than we really do? Did we think we had learned and took some action but now it turns out it’s not enough action, and we’re right back at square one?

I don’t have the answers. But I do know the answer isn’t in protesting or robbing or burning down a store. Instead we need to talk to our elected leaders and candidates running for office. We need to use words, not violence, to let people know we are hurting and we need change. And then we need to work together to make that change. We cannot sit back on our laurels and expect change to miraculously happen. It’s going to be hard work. And it’s going to be filled with frustration and despair. But it’s work that must be done. If we keep dividing ourselves, us versus them, black versus white, we’re only going to perpetuate violence and despair and powerlessness. We’ll just keep reliving 1967 again and again until we destroy our very selves.