Checkmate

I hate doing this. I really do.

Unless you have had the experiences which constitute my life, you cannot understand how much I despise human conflict. I live with the wounds on a daily basis, both physical and mental.

I try to control them, both physical and mental. I am successful most of the time. To control the physical I have people who know and care. To control the mental, or if you wish, the psychological, I have the world outside the nightmares that are the reality of what I will always be.

I do not expect you to understand. In fact, I do not want you to. As ugly as it can become, the horrors that occured in my life are my world, and, strange as it may sound to you, I will not let you pretend to share them. You can't. You're not me.

The Galloping Beaver was my creation. I have no idea why I felt the need to create it. It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. It was a "moment". If you fly or sail commercially, that is a concept you completely understand. If not, accept that a "moment" is a critical point in which the stability of your situation can change. Failure to acknowledge the existence of a "moment" can change everything. Regardless, The Galloping Beaver was an incarnation designed to give me a necessary vent.

I was never prepared for a relative level of popularity. That was another of those "moments".

In the life of The Galloping Beaver many things have happened but beyond the shadow of any doubt was that "moment" when other writers and philosophers became not just a part, but the breath of this journal. I planted a seed; they became the flowers which propogated a plethora of thought and ideas I could have only wished for.

The Inked Stained Wretches who have toiled to provide what we see as the truth are (in order of when they agreed to participate):

Laura, a Ph.D economist;
Cheryl, an accountant and the love of my life who is now a research source for African studies;
Dana, a performing artist and political academic;
Alison, a writer, artist, a worker beyond comprehension and smarter than any of us;
Boris, a proud soldier and now with a Masters in a social science;
West End Bob, an exceptionally wonderful person who came here from the States and gives us a good shake when we need it;
Rev.Paperboy, a professional journalist who gave us a view from Japan until he returned to his roots in this great country;
Edstock, who scans the world for the things you would never know about otherwise;
Noni Mausa, perhaps the the one professional journalist to whom we owe everything;
Lindsay, an exceptional performing artist who writes as well as he can sing;
LuLu. who writes complex defence contracts when she isn't putting a shine on the dirty parts of our lives.
Me, an old combat sailor/marine with an attitude, a Masters in oceanography, a pride in having served and a love for those who continue to do so.

You can't tell from that list who is heterosexual, who is gay, who has had an abortion, who uses birth control, who doesn't. That's because it's none of your concern nor mine. Their strength is expressed in the way they present their points. And that never involves denying anyone their rights as established under hundreds of years of common law.

If there is one thing we at The Galloping Beaver all agree upon it is the singular point that all rights we possess are secure and we will work to advance the rights of others. That is a pretty goddamned comfortable position to be in compared to the rest of the world. We cherish that luxury.

That's not so hard, is it?

It means that the rights, earned through so much agony, are now secure. They are not up for debate. The mere suggestion that they are means that the fight is not over. And that means that when any of us fear for our personal security the rest of us rush to the ramparts to offer our contribution to their ensure protection.

You don't get to allow a debate on the rights of any citizen in the land I fought for without a further fight.

It's not the subject. It's the idea that you think the subject is still debatable. When it isn't.

I don't expect anybody to kick anybody out of anything. Hell, I have been issued stern warnings in my life. I deserved them all. They were learning experiences.

That would have solved it all. A stern warning.

But Progressive Bloggers took the weak route. They tore up the complainant for the tone of the complaint.

But the complainants have a solid foundation for their complaint and their tone. They're scared.

Hell, who wouldn't be? The parliament of this country wants to debate their rights and Progressive Bloggers thinks that's alright.

I won't be a party to that. The active members of this blog won't be a party to that. We believe that the inalienable rights of people are not the subject of debate. Ever.

I despise human conflict but that doesn't mean I won't put myself on the line to preserve the rights of those who should not have to suffer an assault on their human rights.

This is notice.

The moderators of Progressive Bloggers have 48 hours to respond. They do it only in the comments section of this post where it is clearly public. They will censure those who believe a "debate" on the rights of women is acceptable and they will do it on the front page of Progressive Bloggers.

This is not a negotiation. This is a "moment".

I will exercise the options my co-bloggers have agreed to depending entirely on how and where you respond.

The clock starts, now.