CW: abuse

The Patriarchy loves loves loves to silence women and men speaking out about issues of justice. A theme throughout my life has been “Stop talking.” 

Silence is the economy of Patriarchy. It pays for our safety. It is what keeps us in our proper place. It is what pays for our ability to move in a system without conflict. If you follow the rules of “silence” because it makes others uncomfortable for you to speak out, you get a bonus of pretend acceptance to those who you otherwise offend.

A woman who can define herself and articulate clearly and courageously what she thinks, what she feels, what she wants, and what she will do, threatens every patriarchal penny spent on keeping her in her place.

When she refuses to move on from the injustices, abuse, and neglect that a sexist and misogynistic culture imposes on her, she becomes the problem.

I remember many times after an episode of violence in my home, my mother and one or two of my Italian aunties would be rehearsing what happened. Have you ever watched the movie, “Moonstruck?” That was a bit like my growing up. Often, to cover up my father’s violence, my mother would tell us to lie. For instance, once, when my brother had his face smashed in, my parents told him and us to tell people he had accidentally closed the refrigerator on his face! Absurd, right? 

When I was a freshman in high school, I went to a party with a friend. We did drugs and drank too much. Then, we walked to a donut shop open for 24 hours. I was so afraid to go home. I knew my dad would beat the living hell right out of me. So finally, at about six in the morning, I called my house, hoping beyond hope my mom would answer the phone. My older sister (who did not live at home) answered. I could hear the mix of relief and terror in her voice. She said, “we were so worried. We have been up all night, not knowing if you were okay.” She asked me where I was and said she would come and get us. I told her I was too afraid to go home. I knew what was awaiting me. She promised me my dad would not hurt me. She was there with my mom, dad, and my aunt Lucy. I was so tired and so exhausted I trusted my sister and told her to come and get us.

My dad grabbed me by the hair when I walked in the door. What ensued after that moment, I barely remember. I remember my sister, mom, and aunt screaming for him to stop. They were trying to pull him off of me. But, instead, he used his fists and called me the vilest names a young woman could hear. Later that afternoon, my mom came into my room and told me we had to go to my dad’s company picnic. She told me if anyone asked what happened to me, I was to tell them I had been in a car accident. I remember arguing with her. Telling her, I was not going to lie. I started to voice my anger and my disgust with my dad, to which she said in an exasperated tone, “Stop talking! My god, when you grow up, you will probably be a lawyer for the poor! Just stop talking!” My mother’s way of handling domestic violence was to make it all go away as fast as possible. If we don’t talk about it, it might stop. I know she was afraid, and I also know from a very young age my mother’s way of coping with the Patriarchy and the machismo of my father was to bury her head in the sand and hope it would all get better. 

This same sentiment often happens when speaking up threatens the power holders in a patriarchal system. 

I remember when in 2006, writing an open letter to Mark Driscoll regarding his witness as a Christian pastor in our city. You can read about it here and here. I had so much pushback from so many places. The hardest pushback came from men and women in my Movement. I heard everything from, “it’s not right to call another leader out in public, to you are a feminist and jealous of Mark’s success.” So many men were especially defending him. We had an online forum for Vineyard scholars and pastors, there was so much pushback, and the guys were so disrespectful we had to shut the site down. All because I challenged one of the fastest-growing churches in the US at the time. Who cares about the abuse happening at Mars Hill Church as long as people get “saved and the church is big.” I got the message loud and clear, “Stop talking!”

Several years after the 2006 resolution to empower women, I and others noticed many of the regional gatherings and special events for church planters were all still headlined by males, primarily white males. So I wrote an angry email to several national leaders, asking why we can’t have at least one woman on the main stage at these events. One of the leaders responded to me and graciously acknowledged my anger and the pain women carry from constantly having to be the voice for mutuality. He said we are going to do better. 

Another of those leaders said, “I don’t understand why you and Di have to talk about gender equality constantly. Why can’t you just model it like so and so.” In other words, “Stop talking!”

I find this same sentiment when I post on social media. It never fails. If I post anything about current events and what I think about them, The Patriarchy cannot wait to tell me to “Stop talking!” “You’re a leader; you can’t publicly make political statements.” Yet, others can post away about the “big lie” and what the so-called “court prophets” say about Trump, which is okay. We can disagree about public policy (politics) but to try to silence me on my social media pages is how the Patriarchy works, whether you know it or not. We can even disagree about the value of posting about policy (politics). That’s how democracy works. Someone recently said politics means how we organize ourselves to get along. I don’t identify with any political party. But, I will speak out on issues I believe are just and right. If that offends you, you should not read my posts. It is just that simple. So, I no longer respond well to “Stop talking!” 

Series beginning here