Video: The Amazing Shrinking White Boy

The Amazing Shrinking White Boy

The Amazing Shrinking White Boy
For CBF and Her Army 2018
by Stephanie Mesler


You cannot bring me to my knees,
grateful to be heeled.

You won’t teach me my place with a
kick and a laugh - I won’t be trained.

Your hand on my mouth cannot silence me.
I bite and you bleed.

You think you’ve won the world,
just by being born white and male,
with a lifetime membership to the club.

You think you are the main act,
When, really, you’re just a sideshow freak,
The Amazing Shrinking White Boy,
Too drunk with privilege to see me rise.

You are blind with arrogance,
deaf to the roar of the army behind me, coming to end your reign.

In the end, you are nothing,
Not even a footnote in the history of the universe.
You will return to dust, forgotten.

You’re not the strong one.
You’re just loud.
And puny.
And scared.

I am the one who crawled back from hell
to tear off the mantle you wear to hide your frailty.
It’s not even yours; you stole it,
like everything else you ever wanted and took without asking.

I am the one who will clean up your mess and take away your keys.
I will end you once and for all.
Move along, little boy.
There’s no place for you here.

© Stephanie Mesler 2018

WIP Update: Foremothers Morphing

The play is changing its mind about what it wants to be.  Again.  I am reminded by a friend, who has talked me off the proverbial wall more than once, that this is par for the course.  Still, I sort of wish my current project would settle into it's final form.  I have set an October 18 deadline for completing a first draft.  That date rapidly approaches and I am starting to get the shakes.  Yes, I know, it's a self-imposed deadline, but I have learned that ignoring a deadline -- any deadline -- leads to complete inertia and creative chaos. 

Ironically, the play seems to be taking me back where I started with the idea back in 1994.  Yes, that's right -- 1994.  Some projects take a while to push their way to the front of the writer's assembly line. 

Following is a very brief sample of the work in progress. 
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Hagar:  Abraham was your husband!  He loved you. He chose you and he chose your son over mine.

Sarah:  Did he?

Hagar:  You know he did.

Sarah:  He never laid Ishmael upon an alter and raised a blade above him.  (The word, God, should be said with some contempt.) That was my son he would have slain because his God commanded it, not yours!  It was never yours he wanted to destroy. How can I possibly know that he loved my son or myself?

(There are a few beats of silence while Sarah’s words are absorbed.)

Keturah:  Well, I know.  I was there after you were gone, Sarah.  I watched Abraham grieve. He was my husband then, but it was you for whom he wept.  I was with him in Hebron when he laid you to rest. He loved you and he loved your son. (Ket turns to face Hagar)  He loved you, too, Sister. Sarah was not wrong about that, though I don’t believe he ever meant to choose you over his wife.

Hagar:  Of course not.  I was his slave.

Keturah:  (sadly) You were.

(Sarah starts to chuckle.  The other women look at her.  The chuckle gradually turns into a laugh.  The other women stare at her.)

Sarah: (laughing) What?    

Hagar:  What on Earth amuses you so?

Sarah:  (still laughing) Abraham!  Us! We all danced around him like sunbirds begging nectar from a lily. But was he worthy? Was he really all that?

This work is © Stephanie Mesler 2018.

The Fat Lady Sings: Rules For Discussing Sexual Assault

1.  If someone says they have been sexually abused in any way, believe them.  If they are female, believe them.  If they are male, believe them.  Believe the children and the old men.  Believe the black women and the white teens.  Believe the gay men, the lesbians, and the transgendered.  If they tell you the hour after it happened, believe them.  If they wait 40 years, believe them.

2.  Accept the right of the victim to tell the story their own way, in their own time.  It is their story, not yours.  If someone has shared an abuse story with you, it means they think highly of you.  They trust you.  Don't screw that up by pushing them to say more, or say it differently, than they choose.

3.  Accept the right of a victim or survivor not to tell at all.  If you are aware that someone you know has been sexually abused, assaulted, or harassed, don't approach them about it.  Let them tell you in their own time.  Or not.  That choice is theirs.  Definitely, don't push them to report the event if they do not want to do so.  Maybe, they'll be ready to report at some point in the future.  Maybe, they won't.  That choice, too, is theirs.

4.  Remember that sexual assault of all kinds is about power.  It's not about sex.  It's about creating victims and wielding power over them.

5.  Remember that those who hold power will be inclined to sympathize with others who hold power.  The police and other authorities hold power.  So do victimizers, at least in the moments when they are committing their crimes.  There is an unfortunate tendency for officials to have more empathy for victimizers than victims.

5.  Remember that those in power will do whatever they can to discredit one who challenges that power.  Power will not be easily ceded.  Not by a rapist and not by the community that shields the rapist.

6.  Remember that sociopaths are charming.  Also, remember that, no matter how credible or charming or accomplished a victimizer is, he or she is still a victimizer.  Don't be swayed by winning smiles and sharp wit.

7.  Know that you know people who have been sexually assaulted.  Even if no one has ever told you they have been assaulted, this is true.  More women have been sexually assaulted, harassed, or abused than not.  Really.  There are also many men who have been sexually assaulted, harassed, or abused.  They are even less inclined to report the crimes to authorities than women.  Transgendered endure more abuse of all kinds than the rest of the adult population.  That leaves the children.  Abuse against kids is the most under-reported of all, because children often do not know how to report or who to trust.  If a victim is young enough, they may not even realize that they have anything to report.

8.  If a victim is discredited, remain skeptical of the evidence that exonerated the victimizer.  I'm not saying you should fully disbelieve evidence.  Of course, it is possible for a person to be wrongly accused.  However, after re-reading numbers 4, 5, and 6 above, seriously consider the likelihood that a victim may have told the truth, no matter what the "evidence" might indicate.   

Forty-Nine Floors

Forty-Nine Floors
By Stephanie Mesler

I smell him before the doors open.
He slinks on board,
reeking.
Not the light smell of a delicate French soup or wild onions along grandmother’s fence.
He must have bathed in a vat of roasting bulbs, rinsed his hair in the juice as it sweat into the pan.
His vegetable smell is mixed with testosterone and the hairs on my arms stand to attention.
I know before he reaches for my waist that he has plans for my body, plans to which I have not consented and never will.
I spin around and face him down, right there in that tiny room, gliding from ground floor to roof.
He is not zipped and I watch as he grows.
He smiles
NO, I shout, reaching behind me for the button, any button.
I want to get off this thing, out of this space, out of his reach.
He swings wildly, grazes my cheek with a sting.
BITCH, he roars.
YES! I roar back. YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA.
He lunges and I stumble backwards, somehow, miraculously, hitting the alarm with a shoulder as he forces me down into the corner.
The elevator climbs as he descends.
I lift one knee with all the force I can muster - it smashes into his prized possession.
Pushing against his chest with both palms, I choke on his pungency as I scream.
NO, I say again, and then I stand.
He is curled in the opposite corner, muttering, Bitch, Cunt, Slut, Bitch, Cunt, Slut, Bitch…
I step toward him and kick. Hard.
Blood splurts from his nose and he has no more words.
He howls and the elevator rumbles.
The door opens behind me and I step backwards into a crowd.

© Stephanie Mesler 2018

WIP Update: ForeMothers

My current WIP is finally taking some shape I may be able to stand.  It has gone from comedy to drama, shed 50% of its original cast list, and gone from being a frivolous tribal rah-rah, to having some real 21st century significance.  It's not the play I wanted to write when I started the project, but it is what it is.  Art is as art decides to be.  Another significant change is in the play's name.  It was to be Holy Mamas.  Now, it is ForeMothers.  We'll see how long that sticks.

I am not ready to share snippets or specific plans, so here is a little related artwork to whet your whistle.

Public Domain, Link

Sometimes, history repeats.  Always, it echos.  

The Fat Lady Sings: On The Destruction of Immigrant Families

I grew up in the time of Vietnam, LBJ, and Watergate. My very earliest memory is of my father crying at the side of the road when they announced on radio that JFK was dead. My default position is to never trust government and never believe a single word uttered by any elected official. I assume always that anyone who actually wants a second term in elected office is either crazy or personally benefiting from their job in public service. No matter what team they play for, red or blue (or green or purple or orange), I verify what politicians say before I accept anything they have told us. That is my default. Please know that is always where I start political discourse.

I believe the groundwork for a complete fascist invasion of our government has been laid by members of every political party that has won an election since Lincoln (maybe before). I believe we saw it coming and failed to stop it. I believe that anyone who did not see it coming chose blindness. The warnings were there and they were clear. Don't bother whining now that you had no idea.

With regard to separation of immigrant families and the detention of immigrant children, please know that I assume all persons in power have allowed this to happen. ALL of them. And, shocked though we would like to be, this is nothing new. The United States has been decimating families since before its inception as a nation. Take a historical walk with me, now. Let's start with native Americans, take a meander through slavery, times of war, child labor, human trafficking, the Japanese interment camps, juvenile prisons for profit, and join me now outside the ICE child detention center of your choice. It's really the same old same old. The difference now is social media. We can't easily look the other way now, not unless we are willing to give up cute kitty memes and pics of our pals' dinners.

So my take is that you can blame whoever you want. Blame the Cheeto in The White House now or blame his predecessor. Blame Roosevelt or Eisenhower or Charlie the Tuna, if that floats your boat. Just know that we cannot pretend we don't know what is happening to children in detention by ICE in The US. Knowing what we know, we are obligated to take action. We are, each and every one of us, responsible for each and every one of those children held in captivity now by our government. We are obligated as human beings to do whatever it takes to see that these children are well-treated and reunited with their families.

In the coming days and weeks, I'll have more to say on this topic and others. I have never been silent. but now I will use my great big voice to speak out in a more structured way. I hope you will read what I have to say, share it far and share it wide. Then ask what you can do to fix the fascist mess we are in.

Stephanie Mesler is a writer, political activist, and musician who lives and works on Florida's East Coast.