Under the Bus

I regret that I have to do so, but this is my political/activist page and I am appalled and dismayed at anyone wanting to coopt or hijack it. Please, do not do so.

Sixteen years ago at this time, I was a guest of the Harris County Psychiatric Center in Houston. I had been there since September 19, 2008, voluntarily.

It was not anywhere or anyplace I wanted to be, but I was nonetheless fortunate to find myself there. I would have otherwise been homeless for all practical purposes.

I had rapidly been spiraling from severe major depression into a full-blown long-term mental (nervous) breakdown. After a few years of chronic major depression and insomnia, fueled by a series of major life crises, culminating in an exponentially disastrous two weeks preceding the 19th:
• turned 55 on the 5th (not really a major issue);
• saw my P*P on Sept. 8th and receiving a script increasing my Paxil and upping my Klonopin from four to six milligrams daily, which temporarily gave me false hope I might survive my circumstances;
• went to work late the following morning (I was driving 120 miles daily to Brenham and back for my job) and was terminated for chronic lateness and calling in sick. Actually, had I not been in a total state of mental disarray, I could have saved my job, but that is a story for another time, and I have no issue with my then employer;
• lost my internet at my apartment due to non-payment of bill about noon on the 10th. I had black and white television and watched “Law and Order’ and anything I was still able to receive on analog;
• I had no cash on hand and only about $40 in my bank account, until I received my severance check, which I needed to refill both the Paxil and Klonopin as I was out;
• I had a nearby liquor store that I bought good wine and liquor from in better days and from whom I still bought Lone Star Light and lesser reds. The owner was kind enough to advance me on a post-dated check, which allowed me to by booze and ci******es. I drank either two to three bottles of wine or a case of beer after work on weekdays and often more on weekends. I drank so I could sleep, which usually amounted to an hour, sometimes two, of what time I was able to sleep;
• The last thing I heard before my internet went down was that a hurricane was likely to hit Houston, but it was estimated to be only a Category One or Two storm. We were about 60 miles north of Galveston, where landfall was predicted, and expected that we might lose power for a while where I lived, but nothing in the way of a long-term and widespread issue;
• I was wrong.

The storm took the power out Friday evening, one week after my birthday, and I finally passed out on the floor, forgetting to turn off my only flashlight and charge my phone before the power died. The few items I had in my refrigerator and its freezer were lost, so I did not have either food, potable water, alcohol, ci******es, or my prescriptions. Fortunately, I had food for my cat.

I spent five days in a ground-floor apartment without power or air conditioning in Houston in early September. It was adequately lit during the daylight hours, but dark as pitch at night. I was so dark in the bathroom that I tripped on the carpet Saturday night, fell across my toilet so hard that I knocked the seat off, and then slammed into the top edge of a fiberglass garden tub. It turns out that I broke multiple ribs.

I lived off beer, warm before ice was available ,two 12-packs a day, and 3-5 packs of Virginia Slims Lights each day. I could not shower or shave as the water was ice-cold, and my ribs screamed as I attempted to bathe. My essential tremors were exacerbated by not only the depression, but the withdrawal from my psych meds, which also took a physical toll.

But enough fond memories, I am only sharing this at this time because I find it not only appalling, but deplorable, that the Democratic Party of Oregon (DPO) and some of its elected and assumptive leadership have no regard for mental health issues. Rather, they quite willingly buy the lies (libel and slander) of an ill-informed and/or factually challenged member who sits at the right-hand of the DPO Chair.

Prior to the assault by Shani Harris-Bagwell, Kelie McWilliams, Robin Givens, Rosa Colquitt and others, I was unaware of any serious issue with anyone in the DPO or Multnomah Democrats (MultDems). I might be the only DPO SCC or Admin member that has never missed an SCC Quarterly Meeting since I first became an SCC member in March of 2015. To the very best of my knowledge I have never been anything but a gracious and thankful guest.

I do not often speak at SCC events, unless called upon by the DPO Chair to do so or discussing one of the several DPO resolutions I have authored and spoken to. As the immediate past DPO Vice Chair and current Democratic National Committee (DNC) member, I try not to influence the outcome of a vote or issue, though I certainly have an opinion.

I do not report to the DPO Chair or DPO Executive Director. I report to the DPO SCC. And contrary to what has no substance, to the best of my knowledge I am not widely reviled in the DNC and there are a number of diverse individuals that would refute that.

What I intended to say ask at the outset was, “What is so broken and wrong with the DPO that its leadership and her minions can be celebrated and legitimized for not only actively persecuting a human being coping with severe mental health issues that while at times stultifying. do not cause irrationality. And why were so many ready to believe the very worst about me without question and not bothering to contact me for the record.

I suspect transphobia plays a larger role in the “progressive” DPO, led by neo-progressives than many are willing to admit. Otherwise, why label me as a “trans misogynist”?

It was an easy way to without cause label me as both “trans” and a “misogynist”. It was intentionally meant to conflate those terms. According to Wikipedia, “Transmisogyny, otherwise known as trans-misogyny and transphobic misogyny, is the intersection of transphobia and misogyny as experienced by trans women and transfeminine people.[1][2] The term was coined by Julia Serano in her 2007 book Whipping Girl to describe a particular form of oppression experienced by trans women.[ Not that it matters, but I have copies of “Whipping Girl” and “Excluded” about five feet to my left.

Those seeking my recall two years ago were not interested in the truth or even a fair crucifixion. They sought no remedial actions. What they wanted was a death penalty. Effectively both ruining my life and a bunch of lies that can never be dignified or verified. There are a couple of email exchanges between Rosa and I within about a month of my criticizing her for her excuse for not attending the DNC Semiannual Meeting in National Harbor, Maryland that need to be read.

Since Harris-Bagwell’s personal attack on me for posting an excellent political cartoon, whose imagery offended only the small troll troupe who rejoice in the “pearls” of her postings. Many of their postings about me were degrading and based on stereotyping, not to mention the unqualified posters who made comments about my mental state and being “dangerous”

It was not I that protracted the issue and neither did I seek any retribution, retaliation, or revenge against any. They, on the other hand, evidently immediately set about to do me the gravest of damage. However, Rosa did not join them until she realized that I was not going to endorse her for DPO Chair, despite the offers she made to entice me. (I intend on posting a couple salient things that substantiate that fact, as well as the retribution for those not willing to endorse her.

I have been cheated out of my term on the DNC and as a member of the now non-existent DPO Admin. Furthermore, this ruined my holidays the past two years. Other than finally being able to defend myself adequately, there is no catharsis in these posts. I deal with PTSD when I revisit any of this. To this day, I have been unable to read the entire recall petition.

Two years ago, I was hanging on by a thread, minute by minute. You have no idea how often and how many times I wished myself dead. My wife, and a cat that KC got us to adopt, are no doubt the main reasons I am still here and still fighting. By the time the recall meeting arrived, I was a shell, unable to defend myself and only able to sincerely apologize for any offense I caused. You should request viewing the tape of the December of 2022 4th Quarter SCC Meeting and recall. I could barely stand, and I only wanted it to be over. But then it never ended.

The moral of this is that though my life appeared ruined and over at 55, I had the good fortune to believe in the “higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks.” And to have met my wife, who is likely the only reason I am still here and have not quit.


Sixteen years ago at this time, I was a guest of the Harris County Psychiatric Center in Houston. I had been there since September 19, 2008, voluntarily.

It was not anywhere or anyplace I wanted to be, but I was nonetheless fortunate to find myself there. I would have otherwise been homeless for all practical purposes.

I had rapidly been spiraling from severe major depression into a full-blown long-term mental (nervous) breakdown. After a few years of chronic major depression and insomnia, fueled by a series of major life crises, culminating in an exponentially disastrous two weeks preceding the 19th:
• turned 55 on the 5th (not really a major issue);
• saw my P*P on Sept. 8th and receiving a script increasing my Paxil and upping my Klonopin from four to six milligrams daily, which temporarily gave me false hope I might survive my circumstances;
• went to work late the following morning (I was driving 120 miles daily to Brenham and back for my job) and was terminated for chronic lateness and calling in sick. Actually, had I not been in a total state of mental disarray, I could have saved my job, but that is a story for another time, and I have no issue with my then employer;
• lost my internet at my apartment due to non-payment of bill about noon on the 10th. I had black and white television and watched “Law and Order’ and anything I was still able to receive on analog;
• I had no cash on hand and only about $40 in my bank account, until I received my severance check, which I needed to refill both the Paxil and Klonopin as I was out;
• I had a nearby liquor store that I bought good wine and liquor from in better days and from whom I still bought Lone Star Light and lesser reds. The owner was kind enough to advance me on a post-dated check, which allowed me to by booze and ci******es. I drank either two to three bottles of wine or a case of beer after work on weekdays and often more on weekends. I drank so I could sleep, which usually amounted to an hour, sometimes two, of what time I was able to sleep;
• The last thing I heard before my internet went down was that a hurricane was likely to hit Houston, but it was estimated to be only a Category One or Two storm. We were about 60 miles north of Galveston, where landfall was predicted, and expected that we might lose power for a while where I lived, but nothing in the way of a long-term and widespread issue;
• I was wrong.

The storm took the power out Friday evening, one week after my birthday, and I finally passed out on the floor, forgetting to turn off my only flashlight and charge my phone before the power died. The few items I had in my refrigerator and its freezer were lost, so I did not have either food, potable water, alcohol, ci******es, or my prescriptions. Fortunately, I had food for my cat.

I spent five days in a ground-floor apartment without power or air conditioning in Houston in early September. It was adequately lit during the daylight hours, but dark as pitch at night. I was so dark in the bathroom that I tripped on the carpet Saturday night, fell across my toilet so hard that I knocked the seat off, and then slammed into the top edge of a fiberglass garden tub. It turns out that I broke multiple ribs.

I lived off beer, warm before ice was available ,two 12-packs a day, and 3-5 packs of Virginia Slims Lights each day. I could not shower or shave as the water was ice-cold, and my ribs screamed as I attempted to bathe. My essential tremors were exacerbated by not only the depression, but the withdrawal from my psych meds, which also took a physical toll.

But enough fond memories, I am only sharing this at this time because I find it not only appalling, but deplorable, that the Democratic Party of Oregon (DPO) and some of its elected and assumptive leadership have no regard for mental health issues. Rather, they quite willingly buy the lies (libel and slander) of an ill-informed and/or factually challenged member who sits at the right-hand of the DPO Chair.

Prior to the assault by Shani Harris-Bagwell, Kelie McWilliams, Robin Givens, Rosa Colquitt and others, I was unaware of any serious issue with anyone in the DPO or Multnomah Democrats (MultDems). I might be the only DPO SCC or Admin member that has never missed an SCC Quarterly Meeting since I first became an SCC member in March of 2015. To the very best of my knowledge I have never been anything but a gracious and thankful guest.

I do not often speak at SCC events, unless called upon by the DPO Chair to do so or discussing one of the several DPO resolutions I have authored and spoken to. As the immediate past DPO Vice Chair and current Democratic National Committee (DNC) member, I try not to influence the outcome of a vote or issue, though I certainly have an opinion.

I do not report to the DPO Chair or DPO Executive Director. I report to the DPO SCC. And contrary to what has no substance, to the best of my knowledge I am not widely reviled in the DNC and there are a number of diverse individuals that would refute that.

What I intended to say ask at the outset was, “What is so broken and wrong with the DPO that its leadership and her minions can be celebrated and legitimized for not only actively persecuting a human being coping with severe mental health issues that while at times stultifying. do not cause irrationality. And why were so many ready to believe the very worst about me without question and not bothering to contact me for the record.

I suspect transphobia plays a larger role in the “progressive” DPO, led by neo-progressives than many are willing to admit. Otherwise, why label me as a “trans misogynist”?

It was an easy way to without cause label me as both “trans” and a “misogynist”. It was intentionally meant to conflate those terms. According to Wikipedia, “Transmisogyny, otherwise known as trans-misogyny and transphobic misogyny, is the intersection of transphobia and misogyny as experienced by trans women and transfeminine people.[1][2] The term was coined by Julia Serano in her 2007 book Whipping Girl to describe a particular form of oppression experienced by trans women.[ Not that it matters, but I have copies of “Whipping Girl” and “Excluded” about five feet to my left.

Those seeking my recall two years ago were not interested in the truth or even a fair crucifixion. They sought no remedial actions. What they wanted was a death penalty. Effectively both ruining my life and a bunch of lies that can never be dignified or verified. There are a couple of email exchanges between Rosa and I within about a month of my criticizing her for her excuse for not attending the DNC Semiannual Meeting in National Harbor, Maryland that need to be read.

Since Harris-Bagwell’s personal attack on me for posting an excellent political cartoon, whose imagery offended only the small troll troupe who rejoice in the “pearls” of her postings. Many of their postings about me were degrading and based on stereotyping, not to mention the unqualified posters who made comments about my mental state and being “dangerous”

It was not I that protracted the issue and neither did I seek any retribution, retaliation, or revenge against any. They, on the other hand, evidently immediately set about to do me the gravest of damage. However, Rosa did not join them until she realized that I was not going to endorse her for DPO Chair, despite the offers she made to entice me. (I intend on posting a couple salient things that substantiate that fact, as well as the retribution for those not willing to endorse her.

I have been cheated out of my term on the DNC and as a member of the now non-existent DPO Admin. Furthermore, this ruined my holidays the past two years. Other than finally being able to defend myself adequately, there is no catharsis in these posts. I deal with PTSD when I revisit any of this. To this day, I have been unable to read the entire recall petition.

Two years ago, I was hanging on by a thread, minute by minute. You have no idea how often and how many times I wished myself dead. My wife, and a cat that KC got us to adopt, are no doubt the main reasons I am still here and still fighting. By the time the recall meeting arrived, I was a shell, unable to defend myself and only able to sincerely apologize for any offense I caused. You should request viewing the tape of the December of 2022 4th Quarter SCC Meeting and recall. I could barely stand, and I only wanted it to be over. But then it never ended.

The moral of this is that though my life appeared ruined and over at 55, I had the good fortune to believe in the “higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks.” And to have met my wife, who is likely the only reason I am still here and have not quit.


Sixteen years ago at this time, I was a guest of the Harris County Psychiatric Center in Houston. I had been there since September 19, 2008, voluntarily.

It was not anywhere or anyplace I wanted to be, but I was nonetheless fortunate to find myself there. I would have otherwise been homeless for all practical purposes.

I had rapidly been spiraling from severe major depression into a full-blown long-term mental (nervous) breakdown. After a few years of chronic major depression and insomnia, fueled by a series of major life crises, culminating in an exponentially disastrous two weeks preceding the 19th:
• turned 55 on the 5th (not really a major issue);
• saw my P*P on Sept. 8th and receiving a script increasing my Paxil and upping my Klonopin from four to six milligrams daily, which temporarily gave me false hope I might survive my circumstances;
• went to work late the following morning (I was driving 120 miles daily to Brenham and back for my job) and was terminated for chronic lateness and calling in sick. Actually, had I not been in a total state of mental disarray, I could have saved my job, but that is a story for another time, and I have no issue with my then employer;
• lost my internet at my apartment due to non-payment of bill about noon on the 10th. I had black and white television and watched “Law and Order’ and anything I was still able to receive on analog;
• I had no cash on hand and only about $40 in my bank account, until I received my severance check, which I needed to refill both the Paxil and Klonopin as I was out;
• I had a nearby liquor store that I bought good wine and liquor from in better days and from whom I still bought Lone Star Light and lesser reds. The owner was kind enough to advance me on a post-dated check, which allowed me to by booze and ci******es. I drank either two to three bottles of wine or a case of beer after work on weekdays and often more on weekends. I drank so I could sleep, which usually amounted to an hour, sometimes two, of what time I was able to sleep;
• The last thing I heard before my internet went down was that a hurricane was likely to hit Houston, but it was estimated to be only a Category One or Two storm. We were about 60 miles north of Galveston, where landfall was predicted, and expected that we might lose power for a while where I lived, but nothing in the way of a long-term and widespread issue;
• I was wrong.

The storm took the power out Friday evening, one week after my birthday, and I finally passed out on the floor, forgetting to turn off my only flashlight and charge my phone before the power died. The few items I had in my refrigerator and its freezer were lost, so I did not have either food, potable water, alcohol, ci******es, or my prescriptions. Fortunately, I had food for my cat.

I spent five days in a ground-floor apartment without power or air conditioning in Houston in early September. It was adequately lit during the daylight hours, but dark as pitch at night. I was so dark in the bathroom that I tripped on the carpet Saturday night, fell across my toilet so hard that I knocked the seat off, and then slammed into the top edge of a fiberglass garden tub. It turns out that I broke multiple ribs.

I lived off beer, warm before ice was available ,two 12-packs a day, and 3-5 packs of Virginia Slims Lights each day. I could not shower or shave as the water was ice-cold, and my ribs screamed as I attempted to bathe. My essential tremors were exacerbated by not only the depression, but the withdrawal from my psych meds, which also took a physical toll.

But enough fond memories, I am only sharing this at this time because I find it not only appalling, but deplorable, that the Democratic Party of Oregon (DPO) and some of its elected and assumptive leadership have no regard for mental health issues. Rather, they quite willingly buy the lies (libel and slander) of an ill-informed and/or factually challenged member who sits at the right-hand of the DPO Chair.

Prior to the assault by Shani Harris-Bagwell, Kelie McWilliams, Robin Givens, Rosa Colquitt and others, I was unaware of any serious issue with anyone in the DPO or Multnomah Democrats (MultDems). I might be the only DPO SCC or Admin member that has never missed an SCC Quarterly Meeting since I first became an SCC member in March of 2015. To the very best of my knowledge I have never been anything but a gracious and thankful guest.

I do not often speak at SCC events, unless called upon by the DPO Chair to do so or discussing one of the several DPO resolutions I have authored and spoken to. As the immediate past DPO Vice Chair and current Democratic National Committee (DNC) member, I try not to influence the outcome of a vote or issue, though I certainly have an opinion.

I do not report to the DPO Chair or DPO Executive Director. I report to the DPO SCC. And contrary to what has no substance, to the best of my knowledge I am not widely reviled in the DNC and there are a number of diverse individuals that would refute that.

What I intended to say ask at the outset was, “What is so broken and wrong with the DPO that its leadership and her minions can be celebrated and legitimized for not only actively persecuting a human being coping with severe mental health issues that while at times stultifying. do not cause irrationality. And why were so many ready to believe the very worst about me without question and not bothering to contact me for the record.

I suspect transphobia plays a larger role in the “progressive” DPO, led by neo-progressives than many are willing to admit. Otherwise, why label me as a “trans misogynist”?

It was an easy way to without cause label me as both “trans” and a “misogynist”. It was intentionally meant to conflate those terms. According to Wikipedia, “Transmisogyny, otherwise known as trans-misogyny and transphobic misogyny, is the intersection of transphobia and misogyny as experienced by trans women and transfeminine people.[1][2] The term was coined by Julia Serano in her 2007 book Whipping Girl to describe a particular form of oppression experienced by trans women.[ Not that it matters, but I have copies of “Whipping Girl” and “Excluded” about five feet to my left.

Those seeking my recall two years ago were not interested in the truth or even a fair crucifixion. They sought no remedial actions. What they wanted was a death penalty. Effectively both ruining my life and a bunch of lies that can never be dignified or verified. There are a couple of email exchanges between Rosa and I within about a month of my criticizing her for her excuse for not attending the DNC Semiannual Meeting in National Harbor, Maryland that need to be read.

Since Harris-Bagwell’s personal attack on me for posting an excellent political cartoon, whose imagery offended only the small troll troupe who rejoice in the “pearls” of her postings. Many of their postings about me were degrading and based on stereotyping, not to mention the unqualified posters who made comments about my mental state and being “dangerous”

It was not I that protracted the issue and neither did I seek any retribution, retaliation, or revenge against any. They, on the other hand, evidently immediately set about to do me the gravest of damage. However, Rosa did not join them until she realized that I was not going to endorse her for DPO Chair, despite the offers she made to entice me. (I intend on posting a couple salient things that substantiate that fact, as well as the retribution for those not willing to endorse her.

I have been cheated out of my term on the DNC and as a member of the now non-existent DPO Admin. Furthermore, this ruined my holidays the past two years. Other than finally being able to defend myself adequately, there is no catharsis in these posts. I deal with PTSD when I revisit any of this. To this day, I have been unable to read the entire recall petition.

Two years ago, I was hanging on by a thread, minute by minute. You have no idea how often and how many times I wished myself dead. My wife, and a cat that KC got us to adopt, are no doubt the main reasons I am still here and still fighting. By the time the recall meeting arrived, I was a shell, unable to defend myself and only able to sincerely apologize for any offense I caused. You should request viewing the tape of the December of 2022 4th Quarter SCC Meeting and recall. I could barely stand, and I only wanted it to be over. But then it never ended.

The moral of this is that though my life appeared ruined and over at 55, I had the good fortune to believe in the “higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks.” And to have met my wife, who is likely the only reason I am still here and have not quit.


Sixteen years ago at this time, I was a guest of the Harris County Psychiatric Center in Houston. I had been there since September 19, 2008, voluntarily.

It was not anywhere or anyplace I wanted to be, but I was nonetheless fortunate to find myself there. I would have otherwise been homeless for all practical purposes.

I had rapidly been spiraling from severe major depression into a full-blown long-term mental (nervous) breakdown. After a few years of chronic major depression and insomnia, fueled by a series of major life crises, culminating in an exponentially disastrous two weeks preceding the 19th:
• turned 55 on the 5th (not really a major issue);
• saw my P*P on Sept. 8th and receiving a script increasing my Paxil and upping my Klonopin from four to six milligrams daily, which temporarily gave me false hope I might survive my circumstances;
• went to work late the following morning (I was driving 120 miles daily to Brenham and back for my job) and was terminated for chronic lateness and calling in sick. Actually, had I not been in a total state of mental disarray, I could have saved my job, but that is a story for another time, and I have no issue with my then employer;
• lost my internet at my apartment due to non-payment of bill about noon on the 10th. I had black and white television and watched “Law and Order’ and anything I was still able to receive on analog;
• I had no cash on hand and only about $40 in my bank account, until I received my severance check, which I needed to refill both the Paxil and Klonopin as I was out;
• I had a nearby liquor store that I bought good wine and liquor from in better days and from whom I still bought Lone Star Light and lesser reds. The owner was kind enough to advance me on a post-dated check, which allowed me to by booze and ci******es. I drank either two to three bottles of wine or a case of beer after work on weekdays and often more on weekends. I drank so I could sleep, which usually amounted to an hour, sometimes two, of what time I was able to sleep;
• The last thing I heard before my internet went down was that a hurricane was likely to hit Houston, but it was estimated to be only a Category One or Two storm. We were about 60 miles north of Galveston, where landfall was predicted, and expected that we might lose power for a while where I lived, but nothing in the way of a long-term and widespread issue;
• I was wrong.

The storm took the power out Friday evening, one week after my birthday, and I finally passed out on the floor, forgetting to turn off my only flashlight and charge my phone before the power died. The few items I had in my refrigerator and its freezer were lost, so I did not have either food, potable water, alcohol, ci******es, or my prescriptions. Fortunately, I had food for my cat.

I spent five days in a ground-floor apartment without power or air conditioning in Houston in early September. It was adequately lit during the daylight hours, but dark as pitch at night. I was so dark in the bathroom that I tripped on the carpet Saturday night, fell across my toilet so hard that I knocked the seat off, and then slammed into the top edge of a fiberglass garden tub. It turns out that I broke multiple ribs.

I lived off beer, warm before ice was available ,two 12-packs a day, and 3-5 packs of Virginia Slims Lights each day. I could not shower or shave as the water was ice-cold, and my ribs screamed as I attempted to bathe. My essential tremors were exacerbated by not only the depression, but the withdrawal from my psych meds, which also took a physical toll.

But enough fond memories, I am only sharing this at this time because I find it not only appalling, but deplorable, that the Democratic Party of Oregon (DPO) and some of its elected and assumptive leadership have no regard for mental health issues. Rather, they quite willingly buy the lies (libel and slander) of an ill-informed and/or factually challenged member who sits at the right-hand of the DPO Chair.

Prior to the assault by Shani Harris-Bagwell, Kelie McWilliams, Robin Givens, Rosa Colquitt and others, I was unaware of any serious issue with anyone in the DPO or Multnomah Democrats (MultDems). I might be the only DPO SCC or Admin member that has never missed an SCC Quarterly Meeting since I first became an SCC member in March of 2015. To the very best of my knowledge I have never been anything but a gracious and thankful guest.

I do not often speak at SCC events, unless called upon by the DPO Chair to do so or discussing one of the several DPO resolutions I have authored and spoken to. As the immediate past DPO Vice Chair and current Democratic National Committee (DNC) member, I try not to influence the outcome of a vote or issue, though I certainly have an opinion.

I do not report to the DPO Chair or DPO Executive Director. I report to the DPO SCC. And contrary to what has no substance, to the best of my knowledge I am not widely reviled in the DNC and there are a number of diverse individuals that would refute that.

What I intended to say ask at the outset was, “What is so broken and wrong with the DPO that its leadership and her minions can be celebrated and legitimized for not only actively persecuting a human being coping with severe mental health issues that while at times stultifying. do not cause irrationality. And why were so many ready to believe the very worst about me without question and not bothering to contact me for the record.

I suspect transphobia plays a larger role in the “progressive” DPO, led by neo-progressives than many are willing to admit. Otherwise, why label me as a “trans misogynist”?

It was an easy way to without cause label me as both “trans” and a “misogynist”. It was intentionally meant to conflate those terms. According to Wikipedia, “Transmisogyny, otherwise known as trans-misogyny and transphobic misogyny, is the intersection of transphobia and misogyny as experienced by trans women and transfeminine people.[1][2] The term was coined by Julia Serano in her 2007 book Whipping Girl to describe a particular form of oppression experienced by trans women.[ Not that it matters, but I have copies of “Whipping Girl” and “Excluded” about five feet to my left.

Those seeking my recall two years ago were not interested in the truth or even a fair crucifixion. They sought no remedial actions. What they wanted was a death penalty. Effectively both ruining my life and a bunch of lies that can never be dignified or verified. There are a couple of email exchanges between Rosa and I within about a month of my criticizing her for her excuse for not attending the DNC Semiannual Meeting in National Harbor, Maryland that need to be read.

Since Harris-Bagwell’s personal attack on me for posting an excellent political cartoon, whose imagery offended only the small troll troupe who rejoice in the “pearls” of her postings. Many of their postings about me were degrading and based on stereotyping, not to mention the unqualified posters who made comments about my mental state and being “dangerous”

It was not I that protracted the issue and neither did I seek any retribution, retaliation, or revenge against any. They, on the other hand, evidently immediately set about to do me the gravest of damage. However, Rosa did not join them until she realized that I was not going to endorse her for DPO Chair, despite the offers she made to entice me. (I intend on posting a couple salient things that substantiate that fact, as well as the retribution for those not willing to endorse her.

I have been cheated out of my term on the DNC and as a member of the now non-existent DPO Admin. Furthermore, this ruined my holidays the past two years. Other than finally being able to defend myself adequately, there is no catharsis in these posts. I deal with PTSD when I revisit any of this. To this day, I have been unable to read the entire recall petition.

Two years ago, I was hanging on by a thread, minute by minute. You have no idea how often and how many times I wished myself dead. My wife, and a cat that KC got us to adopt, are no doubt the main reasons I am still here and still fighting. By the time the recall meeting arrived, I was a shell, unable to defend myself and only able to sincerely apologize for any offense I caused. You should request viewing the tape of the December of 2022 4th Quarter SCC Meeting and recall. I could barely stand, and I only wanted it to be over. But then it never ended.

The moral of this is that though my life appeared ruined and over at 55, I had the good fortune to believe in the “higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks.” And to have met my wife, who is likely the only reason I am still here and have not quit.