Strip Tease

Part of the email, "Restorative Justice," sent to Mr. Maron on Sept 13, 2022, 4:03 pm:

When I was around 19, I had started joining a friend in doing some amateur strip dancing. After she and I got raped by 3 guys, I started to realize that perhaps I had been sent off into the world by my father with a sucky set of work skills. I wrote this:

 Strip Tease

by

Judy S. Lentz

I would start with my hair

take it off like a wig

throw it into that hole

you once made me dig

Next, it's the feet

that failed to run

rip each one off slowly

 smile when I'm done

Now for the skin

it's easy to peel

off layers of pigment

with nerves made to feel

Out seeps old blood

a dark, stagnant flow

from a heart that ceased 

doing its job long ago

The muscle and fat that

 created my form

comes off in great lumps

odorous, barely warm

Skeletal fingers grab 

ahold of dead eyes

rip the orbs from skewed holes as

 lungs heave relieved sighs

Unholy lips are torn

 from a face

that has longed for the time

 it is finally erased

Exposed teeth gnaw at fingers

 tear away at each hand

shake them off violently

no one cares where they land

A deformed mass of 

doughy gray matter

slips out of the skull

hits the ground with a splatter

Bones tense up, shiver

 turn to dust, drop defiled

into dry shattered tear drops

 unshed by a child

Okay, here I am 

daddy, what will you do

this last time your child stands

raw before you

High Noon

Part of the email, "Restorative Justice," sent to Mr. Maron on Sept 13, 2022, 4:03 pm:

On my 18th birthday, I got to perform my first adult legal signature when I stood as a witness for my friend's wedding at a justice of the peace. I remember looking at her and her boyfriend and recalling her telling me about her "first time," which was his first time, too. I remembered the years of watching them and other couples date in high school. And for the first time, on that day I turned 18, I thought that if I had never experienced my childhood and teenage, there was probably a guy somewhere out there that I might have done the whole wedding thing with. I wrote this poem for that unknown guy, on my 18th birthday. I was thinking of my father a little, but mostly of the adventist principal, as the ones who owed the debt in the poem. That birthday was just the very tiny beginning of me starting to realize that if the principal had been a woman who cared about me, I might have started experiencing a better life. Of course, it was only when my kids hit high school that I really understood how important the first adults are who interact with broken teens like I was. One decent teacher can truly save those kids and change their lives. One man like the principal, and a life of hell is set in stone.

I may have written this poem for that unknown boy when I was 18, but when I found and reread this poem in my 40's, I realized it was also for me:

High Noon

by 

Judy S. Lentz

There is a man out there

To whom you owe a debt

If he knew all that he had lost

I know what you would get

You stole his high school sweetheart

You took their special dance

That kiss goodnight outside the house

He never had a chance

He never took her driving

They never shared the heat

Of teenage fumbling passion

In a fogged-up car's back seat

The gift of his engagement ring

Never made her smile

He never knew the joy of walking

Her down some church aisle

He never saw their children

Or shared their family

He never got the chance

To grow old and gray with me

Somewhere there is a man to whom

A lifetime's debt you owe

But he won't ever call you out

Because he'll never know

Slide

Part of the email, "Restorative Justice," sent to Mr. Maron on Sept 13, 2022, 4:03 pm:

The first time the principal fucked me, he got mad afterward, and sharply asked, "Where's the blood?" I never had told him all that had happened to me. I had just answered yes when he asked me if my father had molested me, which was when he first took me under his wing, so to speak. I was not anywhere near ready back then, to put into actual words what had occurred throughout my childhood. But I wrote a poem a few hours after he asked that question. I was remembering a slide on a playground when I was 5, a spiral one, as I wrote this. I wrote it in red pen. I never shared it with anyone until I was in my 40's. Here it is:

Slide

by

 Judy S. Lentz

Drop away beneath me in

breath snatching glee

Is the laughter beating in my ears

from me?

The mirrored slope descending

Sheets of silver floating down

Invisible windfingers lift my hair

the breath of a clown

Whose hand trails behind me, streaking

blood where I slid down

Membership denied

 I love books written by Alice Walker.  My first reading of Possessing the Secret of Joy back in '93 was so moving for me, I often had to set it aside until later in the day, because my children were young, and my daughter noticed when I was on the edge of tearing up while making my way through that book.  I was not able to let myself truly cry until I was in my 40's, so when my daughter saw my reactions to Alice Walker's words, it was disturbing for her.  She'd never seen me cry.

This particular book described so accurately some deep truths about societies driven by misogynistic and patriarchal foundations.   I am constantly understanding more about the meanings woven throughout this book.  My oldest son has my original copy at his place, so I have purchased The Color Purple Collection for my cloud reader.  It is time for me to reconnect with Tashi.  I understand her even more, now.

Since April 26, when I first posted about the predatory behavior of Marc Maron, and his own description of sexually assaulting/abusing a member of the crew on the set of The Horror of Dolores Roach (by indecently exposing his genitals after his scene was done and the cast and Intimacy Coordinator had left the set), I have had a painful reminder of one of the worst truths in Alice' book about Tashi.  It is not the men who circumcise little girls in societies where females are subjected to that awful form of control.  It is the women.

It has been made clear to me since April 26, that for quite a number of cis women who are outspoken warriors for women's rights all over this planet, my cause is not seen as an accepted part of the current feminist movement.  Typing that last sentence just made my eyes get hot, and that tear lump form in my throat.  I am now forced to feel the pain of something I already know well, but was not having to fully feel yet, because I hadn't acknowledged it yet.  I hadn't put it into words.  Once again, I don't belong.

When a cis female child is sexualized, their ability to develop agency is stolen, but everyone around that child will place full blame for that child's responses to CSA directly on that child.  The far right sees that as a girl choosing to be a whore, and adult men as blameless for sexually exploiting such a temptress child.  The left, the one group I always saw as the ones who might've protected me at 13, has members now letting me know they see Maron as an innocent 59 yr-old man, and the girls he fucks and leaves suicidal, girls with BPD caused by child sexual abuse, are fully mature women who know damn well Maron is only using them and does not give a shit about them.  I am being told that girls who choose to self-harm and want to die because they are being re-exploited, knew exactly what was going on, and wanted to be sexually exploited again.  I am being told I was, and they are, girls who want to be re-exploited.  I am being told these broken girls are the ones choosing this.  These girls, and myself, are not viewed as being part of #metoo by quite a number of women who I thought would be allies. Our childhood sexualization was our choice.  I caused the sda principal to fuck me.  Broken girls make Maron exploit them. Being dumb enough to believe the lies old men like Maron tell us so they can get off on our childhood sexualization, is our fault.  Too bad we didn't choose to know how to protect ourselves.

Possessing the Secret of Joy resonates deeply for me for many reasons.  But it specifically reverberates for me right now because of one disturbing truth.  The reason girls are still circumcised in some places on this planet is not because the men in those societies perform the circumcisions.  The reason girls like I was will continue to live lives like mine is not because of predator men like Marc Maron.  It's because of the women, from all sides, who will never defend us.

"What are you hiding for, Maron?"

 Marc Maron considers himself to be a "mid-level celebrity."  This seems to be an honest, accurate description of his status.  Podcast listeners are very aware of him, comedy fans are often aware of him, and movie-goers are beginning to appreciate his acting abilities. True Maron fans are aware of all of this, as well as his guitar skills and his ownership of cats.  They are also aware of other things he once made sure were publicly known.

Throughout his decades of performing, there are things about him that have been well publicized, as he has been vocal about his personal likes and dislikes, his foibles and neurosis.  Because of his mid-level status, not everyone has been aware of these things, but his fans are kept up to date, by Maron's own words, by what he chooses to let others know.  Maron has recently complained about certain fans thinking they know him, which I find ironic, as he has been publicly interacting with and "dating" fans for decades.  He is the one creating these very parasocial interactions he now wants to complain about.  He has been grooming "sugar pics" from young fans since his Jessica days, although he always blames the girls for sending those pics he has subtly been making clear he wants, which is a classic part of the grooming process.  He has been hooking up with very young girls with specific mental health issues for over 30 years, ever since he first began grooming those very girls from the stage and from visits to late night TV.  He used to be quite proud about his re-exploitation of sexually abused girls with BPD, happy to confirm this once well-known and oft referred to fact about his proclivities. After #me,too, he made it clear in the Guardian interview that he still saw his behavior toward teen girls as perfectly fine.  Since then, he has done an obvious about face.  Not in his predatory behavior, simply in his crowing about it.  When I sent the "Well, hell" email late last summer, he and/or his handlers, started removing proof of his sexual behavior toward damaged young girls from YouTube and other online sources.  It is apparent that he is going to keep fucking young and teen girls with serious issues, but he is now trying to keep his newest fans in the dark, which is especially insidious and disingenuous when one considers the number of children who are being added to his fan base.  What happened to his pride in how many young girls he could groom and fuck?  Where is his trademark honesty and matter-of-factness when it comes to his constant drawing in and sexually interacting with damaged girls as soon as they hit 18?  He has obviously never seen this behavior as something he should change, but he sure has decided to try and keep this behavior hidden from parents of his newest fan base.  Not to mention, from people like Brooke Shields, who he interviewed as if he understood the way sick old predators in this patriarchy have sexualized children born female, presenting himself as an ally, while he was actively ghosting a broken young girl with a gun that he had just finished sexually exploiting. 

Where's that trademark honesty, Maron?  Why are you now hiding what you used to brag about, making sure your new fans never hear the truth about you now?  You have, twice, on podcasts heard by none of your new fans, and hardly anyone else, hastily glossed over the fact that you still sexually interact with girls who are "legal," in whatever country you may be standing in, but you do not say these things in your intros, or make sure parents are aware of you seeing their young daughters as fuckable.  What's up with that, Maron?  Do you perhaps know what you are doing is predatory?

Yeah, you know.  You damn well know.  Parents need to fucking know.  And those making movies for kids need to see you as the predator you are, and stop marketing you as safe and harmless to children.

If you don't see grooming and fucking teen and very young sexually abused girls with serious mental health issues as wrong, you need to speak up and say it, on your podcast.  Your newest fan base, and the parents/guardians of the underage members among those new fans, have a goddam right to know.

Tagging Mr. Maron

 A year ago right now, I was actively re-engaging with online life, experiencing new music for the first time in quite awhile, watching new movies and reading new books, catching up on shows by comedians that I had missed.  I was about to re-experience a moment of real laughter, for the first time in years.  I was blissfully unaware of the gaping rabbit hole waiting for me up around the bend.  

Someone asked me, in an email this weekend,  what is it I would actually like to accomplish, if I could pick one thing my current blog posts might cause to happen.  Something that was within the realm of possibility.  I decided, if I could narrow it down to one rationally obtainable goal, I would hope Mr. Maron might publicly say, from the same stage he has used to disparage and sexualize and groom girls with mental health issues caused by child sexual abuse, that because he chooses to continue having sex with girls as soon as they are legal, he will no longer market himself to children.  This would be an honest admission to his fan base, so parents could respond accordingly,  and damaged girls might have a chance to understand that they are not "special" to this man, that he does this a lot and they are simply one of many he is choosing to briefly use.  His fans, and future exploited girls would be better informed about his real behavior, and he would no longer be actively and publicly marketed to children as "safe."  That was my answer to the emailer's question.  Apparently,  it was seen as a further attempt by me to employ sarcasm, because the email reply I got was simply, "🤣."  My inability to view life in any "normal" manner is in no danger of changing, I guess.  I honestly believed this was not an unreasonable ask.  I still see this as something that could happen, if Maron would decide to be honest about his own behavior that he views as acceptable.  Ah well, maybe the emailer was laughing because he knows a man like Maron would never do anything this honest.  Maybe it wasn't laughter at my stupidity.  Doesn't matter, either way.  It was the most honest response I could come up with.  

I was clueless a year ago right now.  It was a different time.

When?

 So, when does progressive, compassionate Mr. Maron apologize to every child being sexually assaulted this second, for ever using that horribly dehumanizing and diminishing term, "Daddy issues?"  When does he apologize to everyone with BPD for targeting and dehumanizing and sexualizing those with this mental illness?  When does he apologize to parents for buddying up to children he has no problem grooming and then fucking them the minute they turn legal?

When does open season on sexually abused children finally end?

What kind of man are you, really, Marc Maron?  Man enough to tell every parent that yes, you will fuck their daughter as soon as she hits 18, if she has been molested or has a mental health issue?  When do you tell them if their little girl responds to your online grooming by sending you underage pics, you will not turn those pics in to law enforcement? When do you man up and admit how many broken sexually abused BPD sufferers you have left suicidal?

How long do you ignore this damaged person speaking so hard from her broken heart, speaking for a group of horribly damaged humans you have dehumanized and re-exploited for decades?

When?...

In a Flash

My oldest son has been sending me pictures from his visit to Kauai, the island where his father and I lived back when we were nineteen.  I am enjoying how so many of the places I remember from 38 years ago have not changed.  The Maniniholo Dry Cave, at Haena, where we slept after our tents and belongings were stolen, looks exactly the same now as it did in '85.  The hiking ridge that looks down on Kalalau Valley along the NaPali has not changed, either. Two photos in particular that my son sent, transported me straight back in time.  I could feel the soft muffled stillness of the dry cave, waking up long ago to sunlight scattering inward around the edges of that cave entrance. As I saw the image of that place now, the scents and sounds of that cave swept over me.  Another photo from the ridge trail overlooking the curving valleys dropping away toward the Pacific, mist hovering atop green ferns and tangled vines draping across red dirt and rock, all took me straight back to a moment sitting outside a tent in Kalalau, eating guava, misted salt scents seasoning the sweet fruit as the whole scene fed my bloodstream and soul those decades ago.  Those two photos were all I needed to travel back in time, and I was there again.  No scientific machine necessary for this trip.  Part of my mind exists there still, in that cave and valley, and a photo lets me re-experience those moments.  At times like this, I am grateful for the way my memory works.  

There are other times when I am not grateful for my memory.  Back in the '90's, when I spoke to law enforcement in the city where I was used by my stepmother in the making of child porn, I was shocked to have the detective I spoke with tell me how a significant number of children who are interviewed after they are identified in child porn material, will have no memory of those moments of horrendous sexual exploitation.  I would give almost anything to not remember the worst memories from my childhood.  Human minds sometimes successfully block those kinds of awful memories. 

Since I have been an adult, I have had startling moments of pain that have hurt in my chest, reactions I have heard defined as "triggering," the PTSD-type responses that remove me from the moment, and place me straight back into the hell of my childhood.  I have written about some of these moments where something in real time, makes me re-experience pain from the past.  Here is one example of such a moment, copied from an archived blog post:

"Sometimes, when I am driving cats to be fixed at a clinic, there will be a kitten who makes me catch my breath, and feel a sudden, deep ache. It will be a slender black kitten, about 5 months old, with big golden eyes, who looks a lot like my kitten Barney looked. Seeing such a kitten always makes me ache a bit inside, but I have learned to ignore that pain, work right through it, and focus on the big picture, which is getting a group of cats fixed, to lessen the number of stray and feral cats who suffer daily in this world. 

On one particular cat trip this past couple of years, there was one of these slender black kittens that I picked up to take with a group of cats to get fixed. That kitten caught my eye right away. Later in the day, the owner of that cat called my cell phone, to see how their kitten was recovering after surgery. I told her the kitten was doing fine. She asked me if I could tell her daughter that the kitten was fine, because her daughter was very worried about her cat. I said yes, and a tiny voice came on the phone. My brain went through a great deal of pain, as I listened to the voice of a very young child ask me if her cat was okay. Her voice was so serious and worried. I told her that her kitten was doing very well, and would be home soon. Then I thanked her for letting us fix her cat, because this was the best way to help all of the cats have better lives. When that tiny little voice said, "You're welcome," I was overwhelmed with emotion. I put the phone into my pocket, and immediately went into the clinic bathroom to be alone. I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch the wall. I wanted so badly to never have been forced to kill my kitten Barney, when I was little, when my voice must have sounded like the little girl I had just talked to on the phone."

_____________________

That is an example of how I experience flashbacks.  It is not fun.  There are other moments, where I am forced to re-feel pain from my past.  Like seeing that predator sda principal responding to one of my friend's posts on social media, which immediately makes me relive how it felt to be groomed, conned, lied to, sexually re-exploited, and then blamed for all of it, by a man who is seen as decent to this day by most of the people who know him.  It hurts so much, to know what he really did, how he is a sick-ass predator who purposely damages damaged little girls with "daddy issues," and to have to see how he is viewed as decent by most people who know him.  I have to know the truth, while I also have to know how many others believe his facade.  This is emotionally some of the most painful truths I carry.  I am thankful that asshole is enough degrees in separation from me, that such painful moments are not common.

On July 7, the first episode of a show will be premiered on Prime, and thousands of people will watch it.  They will respond by saying positive things about the actors featured in that episode.  Those actors will be publicly viewed, and spoken of, all over social media.  The trailer for this first episode is already out there.  I have seen it myself a number of times, and I am actively trying to avoid seeing anything about that program.  Every time I see it, my heart hurts for the person that show is going to re-damage.  A crime was committed, and there is a girl who will have to re-experience the pain of that crime, every time she sees the trailer for that show.  The face of her perpetrator will forever hurt that girl, because she has to know what he really did, how he purposely chose to commit a sexual crime against her, how he is a predator who harmed her illegally, yet everyone else will be viewing that same man as a good person, treating him well, praising him.  Marketing him to children...

I hope she knows that she isn't completely alone as she is re-traumatized.  I know what he did.  I know how it will continue to harm her, and how often the trauma will be replayed in her mind, because that crime is part of public entertainment, and her mind won't have a chance to forget.  I know what he chose to do, how he does not care about, or even acknowledge, the pain he caused her.  How that flash of his face onscreen will reharm her soul, over and over. 

Age and gender identity

Someone wrote that I must have an issue with "old men getting to fuck young p****."  Happy to clear this up, for anyone reading my posts here.

I have seen relationships between people of all gender identities that appeared to be healthy, where age differences seemed to be a non-factor.  When adults are interacting in an honest and non-predatory manner, with others they respect and care about, age and gender identity don't seem to matter all that much at all.  When adults interact honestly, and no predator/prey dynamic is involved, I don't give a shit what any of them are doing.  It's none of my damn business.

I have lived a life deeply affected by childhood sexual exploitation, and the continuous re-exploitation that occurred every time I tried to get help from those very folks society tells survivors to go to for help.  I have been approached by countless old-ass predators who spot people like me and move in for the kill.   I have had to hear the horrendous childhood I went thru be diminished and invalidated over and over, by the fucked up phrase, "daddy issues."  I have had to experience the nightmare of realizing my childhood was an actual aphrodisiac for older male predators around me.  I have been spotted, targeted, groomed, and misused, directly because of the damage childhood sexual abuse did to me.  And I have had to witness other sexualized children go thru these exact same experiences. In this patriarchy, old men, men seen as respected members of society, are free to joke about, lie to, target, groom, and re-exploit sexually abused children.  So, yeah, I got issues with those old-ass predators, who have honed their sexually exploitive behaviors over the course of decades, at the expense of mentally, emotionally, and physically abused and damaged children with BPD.  Children, who end up carrying all the blame.  

Predators of any gender identity piss me off.  Sexually exploited children from every gender identity break my heart.  My personal experiences give me the knowledge to write about my exploitation and re-exploitation from my specific viewpoint.  This means my writing will be more focused on cis female children being S/A'd and then re-exploited by mostly old male predators.  That is what I have mostly experienced.  But I despise all sexual predators, and my heart hurts for every sexual abuse survivor who has no way to protect themselves from those asshole predators.  

A Kiss, and Kauai

My story about my first kiss was written for a college writing course in 2008, and published in The Los Angeles Review the following spring.  Since the publication of this story, and my subsequent "A Thousand Words," I have been approached by others, in real life and online, who said I must've been lying about my childhood abuse, because I wrote that my first kiss didn't happen until I was eleven.  I guess this is a good thing, to have this be an assumption some people make, because it means they aren't aware of what activities tend to occur in the kind of child porn my stepmother was involved in creating.   While there may be some specific subgroups in pedophilia who insanely think they feel some sort of sick definition of "love" for age specific children, which may include kissing of mouths, I never once experienced any kind of mouth-to mouth type kissing during any of the abuse I went thru as a child.  This meant my experience, during that summer of '77, was the only "first" in my whole childhood where I was involved in choosing to participate.  That moment is probably the closest I ever came to experiencing feelings that should be a part of every child's development, my one and only "first time" that did not involve adult exploitation of my child body. 

I have had people say I should try to find Curtis, now, and see what might come from that.  Please dear lord, do not let such a thing ever happen.  At 11, I was still somehow capable of trusting someone else.  Thanks to the sda principal,  and every other "helping" person who has re-exploited me since, not to mention all of the cheating spouses I have witnessed or been involved with, I am not capable of feeling any trust at all.  None.  Me saying this is not some challenge-type statement meant to draw in somebody to try and prove me wrong.  If, by some fucking miracle, a truly trustworthy human drifted into my life, my inability to trust would destroy such a person. Do not feel any kind of pity or sadness for me.  It's perfectly okay.  I have no desire to ever want the kind of relationship that requires such trust.  I am quite content with one-time hookups.  "Hit it and quit it" is my personal motto, and please, for the love of god, do not imagine me saying that as some sort of "cry for help."  I am quite serious.  I am 57, and I finally keep myself as safe as I can be, without practicing celibacy.  This decision, to live my life this way, is the only time since my birth, where I am in control of my decisions regarding sex.  I am finally making informed choices.  I guess this is what the beginning of me developing self-agency looks like.

So, my first kiss was where I usually landed, when anyone asked me if I had ever experienced real romantic "love" (whatever the fuck that means).  Of course, there is nothing about 11 yr-old children kissing that comes close to whatever it is two committed adults in a decent relationship are feeling.  But I do think Curtis and I shared some of the infinitesimal seeds of the kinds of stuff that must later be happening for real love to begin to exist.  We worked well together to figure out problem solving.  We weren't mean to each other.  We didn't argue or yell at each other.  The only time I ever heard Curtis raise his voice at all was when he defended me by telling a kid to shut up as we tried to save those puppies in my story.  The brief time we shared together was good.  Our first kiss was mutual, and awkward, and sweet.  And absolutely non-predatory.  Yeah, some decent seeds were there, that summer.  

In early 1985, I, my boyfriend, and a friend of his set out for Hawaii.  To live.  We were all nineteen.  I was escaping my father and my church.  My boyfriend, Stan, was escaping his own family dysfunction and pain.  Brett, who was Stan's best friend and became a good friend of mine, as well, was trying to create a future for himself, as he was the only member of our trio with any forward thinking abilities at that age.  We ended up settling on the North Shore of Kauai, and there, each of us experienced some amazing and adventurous moments, as well as some deeply learned lessons that would serve us all for years to come, and remain strong memories for us ever since.  

When Stan and I returned to the mainland, we had my oldest son, and went our separate ways.

Yesterday, my oldest son landed on Kauai, for his first visit to a place he has heard me tell stories about since he was little.  The Garden Island is not that much different than it was 38 years ago, unlike Waikiki, on Oahu, which is unrecognizable to me now.  My firstborn is on soil where his father and I shared a beautiful, slower-paced, intense, amazing time together.  Before my son left on this trip, I was telling him some of the stories about his father and myself that I hadn't ever spoken of before.  The time his father spread his arms toward the plumeria blossoms and said, "You can't say I never got you flowers.  I gave you a whole damn island of 'em," and I shot back, "It was my car got sold to buy our fuckin tickets here."  We laughed a lot on Kauai.  We fought, too.  Once, Stan was so frustrated by me, he went outside our shack and yanked up a young banana tree, tossing it aside, where it promptly re-rooted.  The next time we argued, Stan tore that plant up again, and threw it in another direction.   It became a running joke.  I'm sure that banana tree is big, now, and strong as shit.  Kinda like our son.  I was never gonna be capable of any long-term commitment, but Stan was the only relationship I ever had that was not based in predatory behavior by some older man similar to my father.  My time with my oldest son's dad was the only such relationship I experienced not marred by abusive predatory control and manipulation. 

I have no idea what intimate "love" feels like.  But Curtis and Stan are the two people whose memories for me are not filled with lies, gaslighting, fear, exploitation, and abuse.  My father's abuse, compounded by my stepmother's added sexual exploitation, set me up for some difficulties.  But the adventist principal could have set me on a much different path.  Kids who live relatively acceptable lives after childhoods like mine, always have that one person who steps in and stops the re-exploitation cycle.  This does not happen often. In fact, it's the exception.   Men like Maron keep re-exploiting sexually exploited children, and they never find their way out of that awful cycle.  In order for this re-exploitation to stop happening, it is going to take knowledgeable adults calling out predatory behavior, and protecting sexually exploited children.  And that takes me right back to the whole "magical thinking" bullshit I wrote about in an earlier post.  I would like to believe sexually abused children might someday be protected from re-exploitation.  But believing in it now, after 57 years of living, would mean I was choosing to be insane.