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Today, Texas Democratic lawmakers did something remarkable—and notably, not unprecedented.
They boarded planes and fled their state, effectively halting the legislative session and blocking a deeply controversial Republican congressional map from coming to a vote. At first glance, it’s easy to dismiss this as political theater. But what’s unfolding in Texas is deeper than theatrics: it’s symptomatic of a broader democratic crisis that is increasingly defining our era.
This new Texas map, introduced by the state's Republican majority, isn't subtle. It openly carves out five additional safe Republican seats, solidifying GOP control even further. Republicans currently hold 25 of Texas’ 38 congressional seats; under the new plan, that number could rise to 30 – an astonishing consolidation of power in a state growing increasingly diverse and politically competitive. For Democrats, blocking the map isn't simply about gaining partisan advantage; it's a defense against a rigged electoral playing field.
And to do it, they resorted to the only effective tool at their disposal: denying Republicans the quorum they needed.
The politics here aren't subtle, either. Democrats fled largely to Illinois, a choice that isn’t accidental.
llinois Governor J.B. Pritzker, known nationally as one of the Democratic Party's most substantial financial supporters, quietly and effectively backed this maneuver. Pritzker, who has spent heavily supporting progressive causes across the country, provided not just logistical support, but a clear political statement:
Democratic solidarity in this fight against aggressive Republican gerrymandering transcends state lines.
But even as Democrats rally around the Texas delegation’s symbolic stand, it's worth acknowledging the complicated dynamics that define redistricting nationwide.
In states controlled by Republicans, gerrymandering has become something close to an art form – precise, strategic, and increasingly ruthless. Texas, Florida, North Carolina, and others have aggressively redrawn district lines to ensure partisan advantage. But Democrats, where they have the power, have often responded in kind. Illinois itself is no innocent: its most recent congressional map was graded "F" for fairness by the Princeton Gerrymandering Project, illustrating that partisan redistricting is a bipartisan disease.
Yet there is an important difference emerging between how many Democratic-controlled states and Republican-controlled states are handling this process. California, Colorado, New York, and Washington, all Democratic-leaning states, have shifted control of redistricting to independent, non-partisan commissions. This approach, while imperfect, attempts to depoliticize district-drawing and restore fairness into a process that shapes the very foundation of representation.
Texas Republicans, by contrast, are moving aggressively in the opposite direction. They aren't just playing partisan politics – they're actively reshaping political geography in ways designed explicitly to dilute the power of Democratic-leaning voters, particularly voters of color.
This isn't just political strategy – it's fundamentally anti-democratic.
The Democrats' flight, therefore, should not be dismissed as mere spectacle or partisan brinkmanship.
It is a desperate measure born from a political system increasingly rigged against fair competition. It’s worth remembering that this isn't Texas Democrats’ first act of defiance; they did something similar in 2021 over voting restrictions and in 2003 to resist another GOP redistricting plan. Each time, their dramatic acts have drawn national attention – but ultimately, Republicans have prevailed. And yet, Democrats continue to return to this strategy because it illuminates how few options remain when democratic processes themselves are compromised.
JB Pritzker's involvement, quietly facilitating this moment, points to an emerging strategic solidarity among national Democrats: understanding that local battles over redistricting have national implications.
As Republicans across the country increasingly redraw districts to entrench minority rule, Democrats like Pritzker see state-level fights as central to the future health of American democracy itself.
His funding and support underscore how the fight in Texas isn’t just Texas’s fight – it’s America's.
Folks, I have no long history of political bias one way or the other... More specifically, I was among those Americans who paid surface attention to what was happening in Washington, but the demands of our daily lives far exceeded the time it could take to keep abreast of what was happening...
The time when Washingtonians were trying to scare everybody about communists--accusing anybody and everybody... was quite some time ago. However, those who choose to disrupt America for their own purposes has surely been ongoing... But, it is clear that, right now--yes, right now... those individuals have succeeded in placing an individual perfectly suited for the type of leader that already was a conman in his own world and only became worse when given the power of the presidency. Obviously none of us who were "living our lives" had have sufficient time, nor, perhaps, interest, to see the direction that was evolving through the years.
What that means is that we have reached a point where criminal acts had resulted in total control, including the Supreme Court to a great extent, in the presidency. A total rejection of all things that once made America what it was, has been, and was always intended to be... FREE.
Let me be very clear, it is impossible for anybody who follows God's Commandments to Moses, or Christ's cry to care for our neighbors, OR, no matter whether religious or not, but still cannot accept starving an entire group of people is just wrong, to even consider that what Israel's leaders are doing right now (and Russia) is the right thing to do... Further, the pretension of actions here in Amrica by the government that declares any action against Israel as illegal...is...just...plain...WRONG! Anything done, as is/was being done to rig our elections in America is just as criminal as is all other actions now taking place under the present administration... May God Be With Us and All those Who are Being Damaged in some way, including death, as we struggle to be freed from such extreme and lawless activities!
Can America survive the minute-by-minute actions against humanity by the rich and powerful now in control? Only if we all fight in every way possible to stop the MADNESS OF HATE, RETRIBUTION, AND, MOST OF ALL, GREED!
So, we come back to Texas, where people apparently do not matter... Remember that little has been done to help those who lost so much, including their lives in Texas' greatest losses during unprecedented flooding.
Because of course, the politicians have all been involved in working to ensure that the majority of Texans are not fairly treated in our upcoming elections... Yes, that means that the majority (non-white-male) of Texans have been gerrymandered within a "MAP" CREATED TO ENSURE THAT HAPPENS! And it had nothing to do with the redistricting done in association with the last nationwide census... So many lies...how can we keep up???
“As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” Clearly, yesterday’s lunchtime prayer wasn’t a mere ritual. Marie lived her faith. Good thing she does. Only God will be able to solve this for us...
“Ricky and I will have lunch with you and Luke.” She looked at her son—her biological son—and whispered, “I didn’t know it was going to be this hard.” The housekeeper’s arrival cut short Peter’s response. The aproned woman pushed in an elegant, inlaid wood tea cart laden with four china plates and beverages. She proceeded to set the small trestle table over by the window with linen napkins. Marie thought she must be hallucinating. It looked like someone had clipped this scene straight from a soap opera. She glanced at Peter and Luke. Neither of them paid any attention to the housekeeper. Marie gulped. A very ordinary woman who lived an average middle-class life, she knew she was in way over her head. Peter nudged Luke toward the table, then plucked Ricky out of Marie’s arms. “We’ll have to get you a booster seat just like Luke’s. Today, you’ll sit on my lap.” Marie hesitantly took the seat Peter pulled out for her, then looked at Ricky. He’d curled his fingers around Peter’s collar and grinned up at him, so she couldn’t very well protest, even though her heart twisted at the sight of them together. You knew you’d have to learn to share him. She daintily settled her napkin in her lap, then reached over to take Ricky’s outstretched hand. She cast a wary look at Peter. He took Luke’s hand. “Do you normally say grace, too?” She nodded. Too. That one word relaxed her a bit. At least they held some common ground. Building bridges between their families would be easier if they shared a foundation of faith. Luke and Ricky singsonged, “God is great, God is good…” in a sweet duet, and Peter’s voice quickly blended with them. Marie finally caught up and added, “Amen!” Peter’s intense stare made Marie shift in her seat. “What?” “If you’re upset about missing church, you can attend ours.” She broke eye contact and picked up her sandwich. “I’m so confused.” She put down the sandwich without taking a bite. “I’m torn between needing to stay and needing to go.” “Staying is only right. There’s no question. You can’t tease me with one short hour of being with my—” he paused and shot a quick look at Luke, then back at Ricky. His voice vibrated with restrained emotion “—With my flesh and blood, then snatch him away!” Despair flooded her. “I care for my sister. She was injured in an accident.” He frowned. Marie wasn’t sure whether it was from vexation that she didn’t accede to his wishes at once or concern for Sandy. “How is she managing without you today?” “She’s at the rehab facility. One of our church family is picking her up. He’ll keep her company at home until I get there.” “Surely he can watch her overnight.” Marie winced. “The gentleman involved isn’t exactly versed in giving her the particular type of care she’ll require.” “That’s not a problem. We’ll call and arrange for a private nurse to stay with her tonight. You can’t leave.” “Mr. Hallock,” she paused and watched as Peter playfully stuck an olive on Ricky’s thumb. Both of their faces lit with glee. Cuddling Ricky closer, Peter grabbed another olive and did the same to Luke. All three of them laughed. If it’s so cute, why do I want to cry? Peter looked at her and raised his brows. “What were you going to say?” “I know I said it before,” she whispered, “but this is even harder than I thought it was going to be.” His smile faded. “We have to work together, Marie…for their sakes.” “I know.” He shook his head. “It’s so hard to believe. We’ve got a lot to do.” He accepted a carrot from Ricky. “First off, I—” “I think,” she interrupted, “we’d be wise to not make any immediate decisions. It’s going to be complicated. Can’t we please have today to just share our sons?” “That would be easier if you’d change your plan to flit out of here.” She tried to calm down with a sip of iced tea, but it didn’t help. Her hand shook as she set the crystal goblet back down on the table. “Mr. Hallock—” “Peter. It seems crazy to be formal when we’re going to be sharing kids.” Marie dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Peter, I learned about this a week ago. The first day, I was in shock. You’re that way now. I’m falling apart, and you’re acting like nothing is wrong. In a day or two, the reality will hit you full force.” “So you’re dropping a bomb, listening to it tick for a few minutes, then running before it detonates?” She granted him a wobbly smile. His words were clever, but the reality hurt too much. Her eyes burned and her nose tingled with suppressed tears. “Hey,” he said softly, “I’m sorry. That joke was in poor taste. I think you were incredibly brave to come here. I don’t know what I would have done.” “I admit, I’m frazzled. I prayed all of the way here, but my focus was on the boys.” She shrugged. “I’m not ready to think about all of the consequences or plot a future course.” “Okay. We’ll just concentrate on the guys today.” Marie didn’t eat much. Her nerves were strung too tight. Nothing seemed to fit past the big ball in her throat. By the end of lunch, Luke started rubbing his eyes. Marie looked at Peter. “Would you mind if I tucked him in for his nap?” He rubbed his chin on Ricky’s crown. “How ’bout if we let Ricky nap a while, too?” “He naps well in his car seat. It might be easier if we slip out while they’re sleepy. If you’re free next weekend, why don’t you and Luke come for a visit?” “Nothing is more important than this, Marie. We have to make a pact that the boys come first. I’ll clear my calendar and jump through whatever hoops I have to.” Peter sat on the couch and held Ricky while Marie tucked in Luke by herself. Those few moments she spent alone with Jack’s little son were bittersweet. Even after he’d fallen asleep, she held him close to her heart. Finally, she whispered a prayer over him, slipped him onto his bed and covered him with a satin-edged baby blanket. One kiss wasn’t enough. The second and third were just as precious. She knew she had to leave. It felt like a giant was reaching in and tearing her heart from her breast. Each step she took from his room and down the hall took monumental effort. Peter rose from the couch as she reentered the playroom. Ricky lay in his arms like a boneless cat. He’d fallen asleep, just like Luke. “I’ll carry him out for you.” She blinked back tears and reached out. “My arms feel too empty. Please—” To her relief, Peter relinquished Ricky. Peter’s face was pale and taut. Marie suspected his composure was starting to crack. Part of her wanted to stay so he wouldn’t have to bear the anguish alone, but she had no emotional reserves and couldn’t do anything to lessen the impact of this disaster. Left alone, he’d at least keep his dignity. She made it to the front door, but Peter pressed a hand to the oak panel, blocking her exit. “Marie—” “Peter, you have to let us go.” His troubled gaze held her captive. “For now—but things are far from resolved.” Marie nodded. Ricky stirred and lifted his head. Marie shrank as Peter completely closed the few inches between them. Back pressed against the wall, she gulped and her eyes widened. Then his head dipped. “Bye-bye, tiger. You’re a wonderful boy. I was so happy to meet you. I’ll see you again, soon.” He spoke the words very softly, very tenderly, before he kissed Ricky’s cheek and rumpled his hair. Genuine affection glowed in his eyes. His sweetness to her son meant the world—until he whispered to her, “You take good care of him until I can.”
The phone rang as Marie crossed the threshold. Too tired to care, Marie let go of Ricky’s hand and smiled wearily at her sister. “I don’t know how people commute long distances to work.” Sandy gave her a sympathetic look, then glanced at the still-jangling phone and made a wry face. “You’d better answer that. Some guy named Peter has been calling every fifteen minutes for the last two hours. He’s frantic.” “Great.” Marie rubbed her aching back as she headed for the phone. “Hello?” “Marie! It’s eight forty-seven! You’ve been driving long past dark. What took you so long? Was there a problem?” Her purse strap slid down from her shoulder, and Marie let her bag drop onto the battered, white kitchen counter with a muffled thump. Shoving her hair back from her forehead, she sighed, “We’re fine.” “What took you so long?” Peter’s voice sounded ragged with concern, but Marie didn’t want to think about him or his feelings at the moment. His parting words kept echoing in her head. You take good care of him until I can. All the way home, she’d worried that Peter meant to try to take Ricky away. She’d been so absorbed, she’d failed to look at the gauges and run out of gas. “I said, we’re fine.” “Thank heavens! Marie, your car is leaking oil. I saw a pool of fresh oil right where you were parked. I worried you broke down or something.” “We made it home in one piece.” “Good!” His sigh of relief flowed over the line. Marie cleared her throat. “When I stopped to get gas, my license and cards were in the wrong places in my wallet.” The line went silent. “Mr. Hallock? I believe an answer is in order.” She could hear his steps as he paced back and forth on a hard surface someplace. The silence told her he was considering several possible explanations. That fact irked her. She wanted the truth. “While you were in my house,” he said in a well-modulated tone, “the security officer did a search of the car and your purse. He copied your identification and put it back.” I wanted him to be honest—but I also hoped he’d be honorable. Fatigue gave way to anger. “I’m so mad, I could spit nails! How dare you do such a thing!”
~~~
When a book immediately says "Love Inspired," any reader is going to assume love will be the ending, so I kept that in mind, even though it was not a journey full of joy that occured in this wonderful book, MixedBlessings, by Cathy Marie Hake... In fact, it starts with major heartbreak...
Marie Cadant had already been through personal pain when her husband, a cop, was killed on the job... Needless to say, when another major event occurred soon thereafter, she was upset, to say the least, because she believed that her baby was not hers--that there had been an accidental switch at the hospital... And since there was no way to prove it, she was out to deal with the issue herself!
Diligently doing needed research, she had discovered a possible individual who could have her and her late husband's son... At the same time, she had grown to love the little boy she had taken home from the hospital when released... They had grown close and she knew that she would not be able to give up contact with him either... But could another family adjust to such a situation?
Let's just say that the first contact was very disturbing, especially when the possible father saw her child, who was identical to him! But, at the same time, when Marie saw his little boy, she knew right away that he was her husband's child as well. Two boys could not have looked more like their father... At least there was no dispute about whether a mistake had indeed been made.
But Marie became concerned almost immediately. She realized that the man was extremely rich, which was quite different from her life. Further, immediately he began to act authoritatively as if he would be dealing with all issues to get this mistake corrected... NOT! Marie was a mother, most of all, and she planned to ensure both of these boys were in her life, no matter what this rich man tried.
But, no matter what each of the parents was thinking, the two little boys were almost instant friends as if they realized that a connection was meant to be...
Finally the two parents (yes, the father was divorced), decided to allow time for everybody to get acquainted by visiting at each other homes... Sounds ok from the father's standpoint who had help to run his very large and modern home. But Marie was making do even though the local cops were helping her as much as possible since her husband's death. Automatically, the money availability was quickly noticed with offers from the rich to give to the poor--car, etc... Marie was soon feeling distressed, and in fear that the man would try to take both of the boys, using financial care as a reason for legal action... But at least both of them were willing to work toward an agreeable solution...
“You knew I hummed in the shower?” He chortled softly. “Yep. Sunday mornings, getting ready for church. It always struck my funny bone when you chose a hymn that said something about water or a fount or the ocean.”
He paced back and forth with long, impatient strides, then walked to Ricky’s bedroom door. Bracing an arm against the doorsill, he looked at his son, then drew in a deep breath. Without turning around, he said, “We’ll compromise. I’ll split the cost with you.” “No, I can rework my budget.” He pivoted sharply and snapped, “I don’t want you to!” Glowering at him, Marie said, “This isn’t about what you want. This happens to be you trying to impinge on my private life.” His lips parted, then closed for a second. He came closer and rumbled, “Marie, this isn’t about money—it’s about keeping you, Ricky and Sandy safe.” “No, it isn’t. Clearly you have vast funds and I don’t, but I’m not going to allow you to do anything financial.” Peter groaned. “I’m not trying to buy my way into your lives.” “It feels like you are,” she admitted all too promptly. “Then I’ll ask you to forgive me, Marie. I don’t know what more to say.” “I believe in forgiveness, Peter, but I also know I have to exercise common sense and wisdom. I don’t know you at all, and I don’t know just how much trust I can put in you. People with wealth are inclined to try to buy their way out of problems or patch things up with money, but there are some things in life that don’t have a price tag.” “I only want to take care of a few car repairs!” “This time,” she said. “But then where do I draw the line? It’s a subtle form of control, and I’d be a fool to even think of it. I won’t tolerate you tossing your money at me as if I were a charity case or a poor relation. Am I clear on that issue?” His face stayed grim. “Will you at least go to the guy my man recommended? It’s probably something minor, but mechanics see a woman like you coming and a cash register in the back of their brains starts chinging. At least we’ll know he’ll be honest.” He’d scrawled the mechanic’s name and address on a piece of paper and held it out to her. Marie let out a rueful laugh. “If Ricky or Luke end up half as stubborn as you, I’m going to wear my knees flat, praying for patience!” “Then we’ll match,” he countered as he pressed the paper into her hands. She fingered the slip. “I guess we’ll see you Saturday.” He tilted her face up to his. “No, Marie. Friday evening. The nice part about flying is that you’ll be able to spend more time with us. My secretary will make the flight arrangements. She’ll call you with the details and have the tickets waiting at the counter. Her name is Paulette.” She gave him a tentative smile. “We’ll see you Friday.” Friday, Peter could hardly wait for them to get off the plane, yet a long trail of passengers came toward the baggage-claim area and Marie still didn’t appear. Did she chicken out? He’d wanted to call her every single day this week—both to talk to his little son and to reinforce how much he anticipated their visit. It took all of his self-restraint to phone only twice. Did I push too much? Did I act too casual so she decided it wasn’t important? Luke rode his shoulders to keep from being mowed over by travelers. Just about the time Peter decided to ask one of the passengers if they’d seen Marie, Ricky and Sandy on the plane, they came into sight. Marie held Ricky in her arms and walked behind Sandy’s wheelchair. Peter’s heart sped up another notch. “There they are!” Luke clapped his hands and shouted, “Ricky! Ricky! Marie!” Peter watched Marie’s reaction as he jogged toward them. The time he’d spent using the photos and teaching Luke to recognize Ricky and Marie had paid off in spades. Marie stopped in her tracks. Her breath caught and tears glossed her eyes. Peter swept Luke into Sandy’s lap. “Give Auntie Sandy a big hug, Luke.” Luke wound his arms around Sandy as Peter gathered Ricky and Marie together in one, all-encompassing hug. He gave Ricky an extra squeeze, then smiled at Marie. “Luke recognized you from the picture. I got the film developed and have been showing your photos to him all week. Smart kid, huh?” “Luke takes after his aunt,” Sandy declared as she hugged her nephew. “At least in the brains department. He certainly took after you with his looks, Marie.” “Here, Marie. I’ll take him.” Peter eagerly curled his hands around Ricky’s ribs and tugged. “This little monster is too heavy for you to carry!” Marie relinquished him and turned to get Luke. “Then I’ll take Luke.” Sandy shook her head. “Nothing doing, sis. It’s my turn to hold him. Besides, he weighs more than Ricky, and you still have a gigantic bruise from the lab drawing your blood.” Peter looked at the dark purple splotch at the bend in Marie’s arm and frowned. “That looks sore. Luke bruised, too—but not like that.” She tugged at her sleeve to cover the mark. “Ricky wasn’t happy at all about getting stuck. How did Luke do?” “I bribed him with ice cream,” Peter confessed. He noted how Marie redirected the focus to the boys. She wasn’t one to want to be the center of attention. He didn’t let on how seeing her held almost as much appeal as seeing Ricky. Instead, he directed them toward the baggage carousel and let the boys start up some nonsensical chatter. The boys continued to prattle to one another the whole ride home. During one of the phone calls, Peter mentioned he’d gotten a car seat for Ricky, so Marie didn’t need to lug one along. On the ride home, Peter pointed out a few sights and pulled into his drive. “Wow. Marie told me you lived in a nice place, but she didn’t say it was a mansion!” Sandy gawked at it. Peter grinned at her. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here...”
“Just for us. God gave us a blanket of stars.” “Just for us?” “Absolutely.” He turned his head and winked at her. “He whispers His love on the wind, too.” “Mmm,” she hummed. “I like that.”
And of course you can guess how the story ends... But it's a lovely read--heartwarming and inspirational... Enjoy this one!
Epigraph: A freshening stream of libel actions, which often seem as much designed to punish writers and publications as to recover damages for real injuries, may threaten the public and constitutional interest in free, and frequently rough, discussion.
—Judge Robert Bork, concurring opinion in Ollman v. Evans, 1984
A. J. Daulerio was in Montana when the package—a thin envelope without a return address, containing nothing more than a DVD—arrived at his New York office. It was September 2012, and Daulerio was the top editor at Gawker, the swashbuckling network of websites whose modus operandi was to offend the sensibilities of the rich, famous, powerful, and power-hungry. For weeks, rumors had been circulating online about an unauthorized sex tape featuring the wrestler Hulk Hogan. A few gossip sites had run items on it, even teased readers with stills from the video. Now someone had sent Gawker thirty minutes of grainy black-and-white footage of Hogan and an unidentified woman.
Daulerio was in Missoula to catch a Pearl Jam show. He was an obsessive follower of the band, which he’d seen perform all over the country. This gig promised to be unusual: it was Pearl Jam’s only appearance that year outside of a music festival, and the concert was doubling as a fundraiser1 for Montana’s first-term Democratic senator, Jon Tester, who was locked in a tight reelection battle. Eddie Vedder and company
were playing at a smallish venue on the University of Montana campus. Tickets had sold out in fifteen minutes. By some standards, Daulerio was one of the most notorious journalists of the internet age. Gawker had a reputation for breaking news and shattering norms and being downright mean. So did Daulerio. He’d started out as a traditional reporter, working his way up from a local newspaper in his native Pennsylvania to a couple of niche business publications in New York. He got his big break at Deadspin, Gawker’s sports blog, where he produced a mix of juicy scoops—exposing the rickety finances4 of pro baseball and basketball teams and revealing Brett Favre’s alleged sexual harassment, for example—and a constant patter of dick pics and clickbait. During Daulerio’s tenure as Deadspin’s top editor, its traffic nearly quadrupled. GQ credited him with transforming it into “the raunchiest, funniest, and most controversial sports site on the Web.” In 2011 he was promoted to be the editor of Gawker itself. Daulerio was a mess. He’d been abusing substances—alcohol, coke, Adderall, acid, Xanax, you name it—for years. “I didn’t treat anything seriously,” he later said. Not his relationships, not his job, nothing. “I was basically just like one of those guys that even when I was making a lot of money, I was still broke all the time.” Now, at what would become a fateful moment for Gawker and the entire media industry, he was 2,300 miles away, screaming at Eddie Vedder, who was onstage in a short-sleeved flannel shirt and skinny jeans, battling a cold and swigging from a
champagne bottle. “It’s not every day you get to do a benefit for a candidate you believe in,” Vedder rasped to the cheering crowd. The concert lasted two and a half delirious hours. Pearl Jam rocked a twenty-nine-song set, including many of its staples and a smattering of politically themed covers. An hour in, Vedder performed a melodic rendition of “Know Your Rights” by the Clash. “These are your rights,” he sang,
tilting the microphone stand toward the crowd. “You have the right to free speech—provided, of course, you’re not actually dumb enough to try it.” Daulerio, it turned out, was definitely dumb enough to try it. He, his Gawker colleagues, and many others were about to pay an awful price. Eighteen months earlier, an Oxford law student named Aron D’Souza had gone out to dinner in Berlin with the hard-right tech billionaire Peter Thiel. The pair had known each other since 2009, when D’Souza had given Thiel a tour of Oxford. D’Souza was one of those young men with a knack for ingratiating themselves with the powerful. “What’s the biggest problem you face?” he had asked Thiel as they strolled the ancient campus. “There’s this terrible outlet writing all this terrible stuff about me,” Thiel had replied. D’Souza always researched people he was about to meet for the first time, and so he had known what Thiel was referring to: Gawker. A couple of years earlier, the website had reported that he was gay. That would have been bad enough—Thiel had come out to a lot of people, though not publicly—but Gawker was pioneering a uniquely skeptical form of writing about tech titans like Thiel, who had grown accustomed to a generally docile press marveling at their latest inventions. That wasn’t Gawker’s style. The website seemed hell-bent on piercing his self-created image as a visionary. Gawker had documented his hedge fund’s financial struggles and tax avoidance and his fringe political and philosophical theories. (Among many other things, Thiel had seemed to complain about women getting the right to vote, and he had written that he “no longer believe[d] that freedom and democracy are compatible.”) Thiel thought that Gawker’s coverage was causing investors to pull money out of his hedge fund and discouraging others from putting money in. Just as alarming, Gawker’s mode of reporting seemed to be spreading. As the tech industry gained economic and cultural clout, other news outlets—from rival upstarts to established newspapers—were beginning to cover Silicon Valley more aggressively, with an eye toward holding its companies and leaders to account, much as reporters might write about Wall Street or the White House. (Part of this might have been a reaction to Gawker’s years of needling rival tech reporters as “toothless.”) The result, it was becoming clear, would soon be a new era of intense scrutiny for the men atop what was fast becoming the world’s most powerful industry. Someone needed to nip this in the bud. Thiel had taken to warning that Gawker’s style menaced not just him but all of Silicon Valley. “I think they should be described as terrorists, not as writers or reporters,” he growled in 2009. At one point, he asked staffers to hire private investigators to dig into the personal life and finances of Gawker’s founder, Nick Denton. (The efforts apparently came up empty.) After their campus tour, Thiel and D’Souza had kept in touch, and they both happened to be in Berlin in April 2011. They met for dinner at Tim Raue, a Michelin-starred restaurant around the corner from Checkpoint Charlie. Over a seven-course tasting menu and some very expensive Riesling, Thiel resumed his grumbling about Gawker. “Why don’t you just sue them?” D’Souza asked. Thiel said that would just attract more attention—the last thing he wanted. The idea, D’Souza told me, hit him out of the blue: What if Thiel recruited someone else to sue Gawker? Thiel could bankroll their litigation through an intermediary, while remaining in the shadows. “Basically run a proxy war,” he suggested. D’Souza didn’t realize it—he was no expert in American history or constitutional law—but he was in essence proposing a clandestine version of the strategy that L. B. Sullivan and his Alabama colleagues had perfected back in 1960: trying to bankrupt a bothersome media company through waves of costly litigation. Thiel lit up. He spent the rest of the dinner excitedly talking about the possibilities. It was nearing midnight, and the restaurant was about to close. The pair decamped to a nearby hotel bar. Thiel asked D’Souza what it would cost to crush Gawker. D’Souza was twenty-five years old and had no idea. “Ten million,” he guessed. That was nothing for Thiel. “Aron, come work with me,” Thiel said as they parted ways around 2 a.m. “Let’s do this.” Then and there, D’Souza agreed. Two months later, after collecting his diploma from Oxford, he flew to his native Australia, dropped off his stuff, hopped a flight to New Zealand, sat down with Thiel, and put their plot in motion. It was codenamed MBTO, an acronym for Manhattan-based terrorist organization, which was how they viewed Gawker. The two men briefly discussed bribing employees to sabotage Gawker, bugging its offices to collect dirt, or even hacking the company’s computers. They eventually decided that a legal approach would be better. The first step was to hire a lawyer. D’Souza interviewed a bunch of Brits, but they lacked the entrepreneurial spirit and creativity that the mission would require. Then someone mentioned a Hollywood lawyer named Charles Harder. D’Souza had never heard of Harder, which was a selling point. “You don’t want a superstar,” D’Souza explained to me, sitting in his basement office in London on a sunny autumn afternoon. “You want someone who wants to make his name.” Harder, who was in his early forties, was a Los Angeles native and registered Democrat. He’d spent his early years as a lawyer at the firm of Lavely & Singer. It was dominated by the notorious Hollywood hatchet man Marty Singer, who often was the first stop for celebrities engulfed in scandal. Harder considered Singer to be “a mentor of sorts,” but he hadn’t enjoyed the job. “It wasn’t much fun, the stress was constant, the hours were too long, and workload too heavy,” Harder told me via email. In 2008 he left to join a larger, cushier LA firm, Wolf Rifkin Shapiro. Harder’s specialty was making sure brands didn’t use his clients’ names or images without authorization. (He represented Clint Eastwood in a lawsuit against a furniture store that was selling “Eastwood” chairs, and he sued a company for using Sandra Bullock’s image to advertise diamond-encrusted watches.) Lean and perma-tanned, with sandy hair and a Brooks Brothers–style wardrobe, Harder looked the part of LA lawyer. He wasn’t particularly well-known—one writer described him as “another cog in the Hollywood machine”—but he was respected. At one point, Oxford University Press had asked him to help write and edit a book on entertainment law. One day in early 2012, D’Souza called Harder to introduce himself. He said he was representing some very rich individuals who hated Gawker. Would Harder be interested in exploring legal avenues for destroying the site? Singer’s law firm had represented people who’d been attacked by Gawker, and Harder had formed what he described as “a strong negative impression” of the outlet. On the phone, he immediately began brainstorming. D’Souza loved it. This guy was brimming with creativity, ambition, and an instinct to go “straight for the jugular.” Plus, Thiel liked the idea of having an LA lawyer, as opposed to someone in New York or Silicon Valley, in the driver’s seat. It would add an extra layer of anonymity. If anyone caught on to what D’Souza was doing with this lawyer, they’d probably suspect the operation was being run to benefit someone like Rupert Murdoch. Harder was hired. Now it was his job to help figure out how to take down Gawker.* He and his team spent months poring over press clippings and legal filings, trying to identify potential points of weakness. Could they pursue a fraud or patent case? An action brought by the shareholders of Gawker’s holding companies? An attempt to force out Nick Denton? Ultimately the conclusion was that they would need to win a crippling verdict. And that meant finding a plaintiff—someone who had been severely harmed by a Gawker website—to serve as a vehicle for retribution. For as long as he’d been a journalist, Daulerio had been hooked on scoops. He loved the competitive chase for news, the adrenaline rush followed by the dopamine hit of being first to reveal something to the world. (“He needs the next story like an addict needs their next fix,” Denton said in 2011.) The Hulk Hogan sex tape wasn’t exactly Watergate, but it struck Daulerio and his colleagues as fair game. For years Hogan had been boasting about his sexual exploits. Plus, Gawker operated under the basic principle that if the site received information, it should be published. Gawker’s lawyers gave the green light to post the video, so long as they kept it short. Daulerio asked a video editor to cut it into a “highlight reel,” and, to accompany the 101-second film, he wrote an essay about the public’s obsession with celebrity sex. “I was very enthusiastic about writing about it,” Daulerio later said. “I thought it was newsworthy.” On October 4, 2012, a week after the DVD had been delivered to Gawker’s offices, the website posted Daulerio’s essay and the video, about nine seconds of which displayed a naked Hulk Hogan having sex with what turned out to be his best friend’s wife. “Even for a Minute, Watching Hulk Hogan Have Sex in a Canopy Bed Is Not Safe for Work but Watch It Anyway,” yelled the headline. The post became “a blockbuster,” garnering about seven million page views. Hogan’s longtime lawyer, David Houston, had been working for weeks to prevent the video from being published. He’d persuaded other websites not to post it. Now Gawker had gone and done it. He sent the site a cease-and-desist letter, demanding that the video be taken down. A lawyer for Gawker responded that it was newsworthy and would remain online. By then, Harder knew all about the sex tape. He and D’Souza had a crew of about twenty employees56 reading every single item that Gawker had ever published, scouring them for potential causes of action. As soon as Harder saw Daulerio’s post, he recognized the opportunity. The publication of the explicit video struck him as a flagrant violation of Hogan’s privacy. And Daulerio’s piece was quickly racking up page views, which would make it easier to argue that it had damaged Hogan’s reputation. He pinged D’Souza. It was the middle of the night in Australia, but D’Souza had set up his phone to alert him whenever Harder or Thiel messaged him. Bingo, Harder wrote. This is it. D’Souza agreed. Harder phoned Houston, told him he represented someone with an interest in pursuing Gawker, and volunteered to help on a lawsuit. Houston accepted the offer. A week later, Harder, Houston, and Hogan stood on the sidewalk outside the federal courthouse in Tampa, facing a cluster of reporters and camera crews. They had just filed a lawsuit seeking $100 million against Gawker for invading Hogan’s privacy. “The actions of the defendants cannot be tolerated by a civil society,” Harder declared. Hogan posed behind him in a black T-shirt, bandana, and sunglasses, a tough-guy pose etched on his mustachioed face. The following three-plus years would be war. Harder and his team viewed the lawsuit, which ended up being moved to state court in Florida, as a vessel not only to compensate Hogan but also for a broader blitz against Gawker. They deposed its employees. They reviewed its internal documents, which they obtained through the discovery process. They contacted the subjects of nasty articles and volunteered to help them sue.60 When Harder learned that Gawker had unpaid interns, he helped organize61 a lawsuit seeking back pay and damages. Thiel’s team would secretly sponsor about a half dozen lawsuits against Gawker, D’Souza told me. Daulerio, Denton, and Gawker’s lawyers had an inkling as to what Harder was doing. When they accused him in court filings, Harder at times seemed to dissemble. Asked whether he was using discovery to amass materials for other potential suits against Gawker, Harder replied that the allegation was “unsupported by any evidence.” (This is what journalists call a “nondenial denial.”) He also claimed that Gawker’s financial resources were “exponentially greater” than Hogan’s, which might have been accurate but didn’t account for the billionaire lurking in Hogan’s corner.* After years of toiling in the backwaters of Hollywood, Harder sensed that this case—not just the Hogan suit but the overall plot against Gawker—was his moment to make a name for himself. Part of it was the money. Harder was making at least $500 an hour, and the hours were extensive. Yet he didn’t feel like he was being compensated sufficiently by his current employer, Wolf Rifkin Shapiro, where, he told me, he was often “one of the biggest rainmakers.” It wasn’t long after D’Souza initially contacted him that Harder told him that he was toying with venturing out on his own, just checking that D’Souza and his clients would stick with him. (They would.) Harder sounded out a colleague, Jeffrey Abrams, and the pair soon got serious about opening their own little law firm. Like Harder, Abrams specialized in so-called right-of-publicity litigation, going after companies and individuals that used celebrities’ names or likenesses for commercial purposes without authorization. Abrams knew another lawyer, Doug Mirell, who had spent the past thirty-plus years at the giant law firm Loeb & Loeb. The two ran in the same circles: Mirell had recently been representing the estate of Marilyn Monroe, while Abrams had been working on behalf of Marlon Brando’s. Their kids attended the same LA private schools. So Abrams pitched Mirell on creating a boutique law firm focused on representing A-list celebrities in publicity cases. The three men met for breakfast at a diner in LA. Mirell didn’t know much about Harder, but he seemed bright and ambitious. The catch was that if they started their own firm, Harder would be taking the Gawker litigation along with him. This was suboptimal for Mirell. He wanted no part in attacking the media. He’d initially been heading for a career in journalism, having been editor in chief of his college newspaper and written for the Hollywood Reporter. Even after becoming a lawyer, his allegiances were clear. At Loeb & Loeb, he had defended news organizations against aggressive plaintiffs. On the other hand, Gawker’s conduct toward Hulk Hogan struck Mirell as “rather outrageous,” he told me. And the Gawker case would be the exception; Mirell’s understanding was that most of the firm’s work would be focused on publicity rights. He was in. The law firm of Harder Mirell & Abrams opened its doors in early 2013. Pretty quickly, it became clear that Mirell and Abrams’s conception of their plan had been imprecise at best. Harder imported from his old firm a couple of high-profile right-of-publicity cases, but he seemed mostly focused on suing Gawker. “He was...
~~~
I chose the above excerpt on purpose to spotlight my own opinions... We have lost control of our legal system. America has become a litigious country where anybody and everybody decides to "sue" at the drop of a hat, just because... Just because they have a real issue... OR, just because they can... Take for instance a recent firing of a top nightly host:
If indeed America has gone too far in controlling cases for "justice" for those actually affected, say, by sexual abuse, job harrassment, or, discrimination based upon race, religion and all other issues that have a basis for seeking action based upon our Constitution, what has finally evolved is much worse.
Let me give you a simple example affecting my life daily. I have been a member of AOL for over 50 years. I was on when even movies were talking about using AOL... At that time, they had a chat activity, it might have been the first, it was that popular... I talked to people in Alaska, Germany, as well as all over the United States... I even met new "friends" online via AOL... But, for whatever reasons, probably because other tech giants had seen the potential and spent the big bucks to create new platforms, such as Facebook, ot Twitter, AOL has dwindled down to just email.
So, I've been on their email now even continuing when I moved about 20 years ago and started out with dialup service here where I live now... Their program was quite good and I saw no need to change it...
However, the company was apparently bought... There was no announcement, except that if you wanted to rid yourself of too many ads, you could pay to do so... Now I had been used to ads so I didn't bother paying for something that I had already supported for over 50 years...like most social sites (as they had been created)...
Now, ad activity has increased 150% or more... The site I use for my personal email versus for my review activities, now receives no more than 10 pieces of actual email for me... Hundreds come in offering free gifts and then if you open, it just says you have a "chance" to try for some gift... Well, you probably know by now, that I refuse to be EXTORTED, for that is what is now being done, simply because their services were not profitable anymore... Well, since I've been a user for well over 50 years, I do not feel I should be penalized just because...for whatever reason AOL could not keep at the top of the game...
You can decide about what you'd do for this one issue upon which I've taken my stand to fight against being threatened, penalized, and purposely being sent even the same mail in any given week...we all know that it is a scam to make money...
Think about it, if I had been the new owner, I would have written a letter to all users about the site changing hands...explaining what their plans were for the future and allowing us to consider the option(s) for what they would be doing... and then thank us for being faithful members!!! Instead, money, money, money grabs began...no matter who or how long you'd been a member of the once-larger site! The action taken was extortiion; the proper management of a site would have been what I would have done, don't you think...
Now, let's look at the extreme extortion that is now taking place all over the world by our political members...
Anybody who "offends" the president gets immediate retribution through demanding compensation, such as to include eliminating comedians, journalists, lawyers, judges, citizens... anybody who refuses to do what Trump says to do.
Any program that uses money as approved in the past or, specifically by democrats, is pulled back. USAID, Education, child food programs, refusal to deal with gun control because NRA pays for their security... need I go on?
The latest is a doozy and may result in America being blown up some day... Remember my background is in facilities management...
And let's not forget that millions of those covered by Medicaid has been approved for elimination by the recent budget approved by republicans at the demand of the president... while he lies he didn't participate for most of those changes initiated by DOGE
Let's not forget about the DEI actions taken which resulted in loss of government positions for anybody that is not white men (especially the ranking female leaders in the Pentagon!)
Yes, I could continue to provide examples of "wanting gold toilets" but, hopefully, you all will make the effort to begin to do your own research, if needed...
But let's realize that this book is specifically aimed with the issue of Murdering Truth. It is an exceptionally well written and fully documented series of issues that reveal just how Truth is being lost in our culture. It begins before 2015 when lies began to be counted by news agencies... and continues on to the present with the most "treacherous" liar, because of his position, who has made lying almost the language of America for purposes of business and politics... Do any of you remember the days when companies promised that "the customer was always right..." without forcing that we bow at the feet of the manager or owner to return a purchase? or question the item's quality if ordered online?
Folks when people's lives are being devastated purposefully because they "thought" the president was telling the Truth, only to discover on day 1 of this final term of office that what was going to happen would actually be forced upon the entire world--tariffs, trade deals, cancelling of trade deals, attacks on countries without authorization, removing support for Ukraine and other programs, while delaying actual activities that would lead to the end of that war, back and forth opinions on Gaza rather than taking a firm stand and acting... while children starve!
Surely you recognize that Truth is being Murdered every time republicans open their mouths... After all, who closes the House of Representatives and goes home so they don'e have to vote on releasing documents that were promised during the campaign!? The Epstein files, while are important for understanding how our young girls were abused by rich men, they do not compare to the day-to-day losses of jobs, financial support, threats to universities, that are occurring minute-by-minute to ensure an authoritarian leader evolves for America... and it's all getting implemented through criminal actions!
GABixlerReviews
Remember!!!
The God of Truth is Watching...
Murdering the Truth...
Note: Is there Separation of church and state or not?
ALL People are covered by the Constitution!
Note: Please read the previous article if you have not done so...
It is important that we listen to concerns from all Americans at this time!
God wants us to Love ALL OUR Neighbors!
Consider what ICE is doing stealing people off streets!
Nuns who were infamously the face of the mother-and-baby homes, providing a service to Catholic families who wanted to turn a blind eye to what went on, whole communities relieved to wash their hands of it. It felt to Sam like an image from centuries past, not just one generation.
If they lied about what happened to her, maybe they lied about burying her. Or maybe she’s been hiding out at St Margaret’s all this time.’
Prologue Friday 13 February 1959 My darling Elvira, I do not know where to begin. You are just a little girl, and it is so hard to explain in words that you will understand why I am choosing to leave this life, and you, behind. You are my daughter, if not by blood then in my heart, and it breaks to know that what I am about to do will be adding to the mountain of hurt and pain you have had to endure in the eight long years of your short life. Ivy paused, trying to compose herself so that the pen in her hand would stop shaking enough for her to write. She looked around the large drying room where she had hidden herself. From the ceiling hung huge racks crammed with sheets and towels meticulously washed by the cracked and swollen hands of the pregnant girls in St Margaret’s laundry, now ready to go down to the ironing room and out to the oblivious waiting world. She looked back down to the crumpled piece of paper on the floor in front of her. Were it not for you, Elvira, I would have given up the fight to stay in this world much sooner. Ever since they took Rose away from me, I can find no joy in living. A mother cannot forget her baby any more than a baby can forget her mother. And I can tell you that if your mother were alive, she would be thinking of you every minute of every day. When you escape from this place – and you will, my darling – you must look for her. In the sunsets, and the flowers, and in anything that makes you smile that beautiful smile of yours. For she is in the very air you breathe, filling your lungs, giving your body what it needs to survive, to grow strong and to live life to the full. You were loved, Elvi, every minute of every day that you were growing inside your mother’s tummy. You must believe that, and take it with you. She tensed and stopped momentarily as footsteps clattered above her. She was aware that her breathing had quickened with her heart rate, and underneath her brown overalls she could feel a film of sweat forming all over her body. She knew she didn’t have long before Sister Angelica returned, slamming shut the only window in her day when she wasn’t being watched. She looked down at her scrawled letter, Elvira’s beautiful face flashing into her mind’s eye, and fought back the tears as she pictured her reading it, her dark brown eyes wide, her pale fingers trembling as she struggled to take the words in. By now, you will have in your hands the key I enclose with this letter. It is the key to the tunnels and your freedom. I will distract Sister Faith as best I can, but you don’t have long. As soon as the house alarm goes off, Sister Faith will leave the ironing room and you must go. Immediately. Unlock the door to the tunnel at the end of the room, go down the steps, turn right and out through the graveyard. Run to the outhouse and don’t look back. She underlined the words so hard that her pen pierced a hole in the paper. I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you face to face, but I feared you would be upset and would give us away. When I came to you last night, I thought they were letting me go home, but they are not, they have other plans for me, so I am using my wings to leave St Margaret’s another way, and this will be your chance to escape. You must hide until Sunday morning, the day after tomorrow, so try and take a blanket with you if you can. Stay out of sight. Ivy bit down hard on her lip until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. The memory of breaking into Mother Carlin’s office at dawn was still raw, the anticipation of finding her baby’s file turning to shock as she discovered no trace of Rose’s whereabouts. Instead, the file contained six letters. One was to a local psychiatric unit, the word ‘Copy’ stamped in the corner, recommending she be admitted immediately; the other five had been written by Ivy herself, begging Alistair to come to St Margaret’s and fetch her and their baby. A rubber band was wrapped tightly around these letters, Return to sender written in Alistair’s scrawl across every one. She had walked over to the tiny window of the dark, hellish room where she had suffered so much pain and watched the sunrise, knowing it would be her last. Then she had slotted Alistair’s letters into an envelope from Mother Carlin’s desk, scribbled her mother’s address on it and hidden it in the post tray before creeping back up the stairs to her bed. Without any hope of freedom, or of finding Rose, I no longer have the strength to go on. But Elvira, you can. Your file told me that you have a twin sister named Kitty, who probably has no idea you exist, and that your family name is Cannon. They live in Preston, so they will attend church here every Sunday. Wait in the outhouse until you hear the bells and the villagers begin arriving for church, then hide in the graveyard until you see your twin. No doubt you will recognise her, although she will be dressed a little differently to you. Try and get her attention without anyone seeing. She will help you. Don’t be afraid to escape and live your life full of hope. Look for the good in everyone, Elvira, and be kind. I love you and I will be watching you and holding your hand for ever. Now run, my darling. RUN. Ivy XXX
Ivy started as the lock to the drying room where she and Elvira had spent so many hours together clicked suddenly and Sister Angelica burst through the door. She glared at Ivy, her squinting grey eyes hidden behind wire-framed glasses that were propped up by her bulbous nose. Ivy hurriedly pushed herself up and stuffed the note into the pocket of her overalls. She looked down so as not to catch the nun’s eye. ‘Aren’t you finished yet?’ Sister Angelica snapped. ‘Yes, Sister,’ said Ivy. ‘Sister Faith said I could have some TCP.’ She buried her trembling hands in her pockets. ‘What for?’ She could feel Sister Angelica’s eyes burning into her. ‘Some of the children have bad mouth ulcers and it’s making it hard for them to eat.’ ‘Those children are of no concern to you,’ Sister Angelica replied angrily. ‘They are lucky to have a roof over their heads.’ Ivy pictured the rows of babies lying in their cots, staring into the distance, having long since given up crying. Sister Angelica continued. ‘Fetching TCP means I have to go all the way to the storeroom, and Mother Carlin’s dinner tray is due for collection. Do you not think I have enough to do?’ Ivy paused. ‘I just want to help them a little, Sister. Isn’t that best for everyone?’ Sister Angelica glared at her, the hairs protruding from the mole on her chin twitching slightly. ‘You will find that hard where you’re going.’ Ivy felt adrenaline flooding through her body as Sister Angelica turned to walk back out of the room, reaching for her keys to lock the door behind her. Lifting her shaking hands, she took a deep breath and lunged forward, grabbing the nun’s tunic and pulling it as hard as she could. Sister Angelica let out a gasp, losing her balance and falling to the ground with a thud. Ivy straddled her and put one hand over her mouth, wrestling with the keys on her belt until they finally came free. Then, as Sister Angelica opened her mouth to scream, she slapped her hard across the face, stunning her into silence. Panting heavily, with fear and adrenaline making her heart hurt, Ivy pulled herself up, ran through the door and slammed it shut. Her hands were shaking so violently, it was a struggle to find the right key, but she managed to fit it into the lock and turn it just as Sister Angelica rattled the handle, trying to force the door open. She stood for a moment, gasping deep breaths. Then she unhooked the large brass key Elvira needed to get into the tunnels and wrapped her note around it. She heaved open the iron door to the laundry chute and kissed the note before sending it down to Elvira, pressing the buzzer to let her know it was there. She pictured the little girl waiting patiently for the dry laundry as she did at the end of every day. A wave of emotion crashed over her and she felt her legs buckling. Leaning forward, she let out a cry. Sister Angelica began to scream and hammer on the door, and with one last look back down the corridor that led to the ironing room and Elvira, Ivy turned away, breaking into a run. She passed the heavy oak front door. She had the keys to it now, but it led only to a high brick wall topped with barbed wire that she had neither the strength nor the heart to climb over. Memories of her arrival all those months ago came flooding back. She could see herself ringing the heavy bell at the gate, her large stomach making it awkward to lug her suitcase behind Sister Mary Francis along the driveway, hesitating before she crossed the threshold to St Margaret’s for the first time. Hurrying up the creaking stairs two at a time, she turned as she reached the top and pictured herself screaming at the girl she once was, telling her to run away and never look back. As she crept along the landing, she could hear the murmur of voices coming towards her and broke into a run, heading for the door at the foot of the dormitory steps. The house was deathly quiet, as all the other girls were at dinner, eating in silence, any talk forbidden. Only the cries of the babies in the nursery echoed through the house. Soon, though, Mother Carlin would know she was gone, and the whole building would be alerted. She reached the door of the dormitory and ran between the rows of beds just as the piercing alarm bell began to ring. As she reached the window, Sister Faith appeared at the end of the room. Despite her fear, Ivy smiled to herself. If Sister Faith was with her, that meant she was not with Elvira. She could hear Mother Carlin shouting from the stairway. ‘Stop her, Sister, quickly!’ Ivy pulled herself up onto the ledge and, using Sister Angelica’s keys, opened the window. She pictured Elvira running through the tunnels and out into the freedom of the night. Then, just as Sister Faith reached her and grabbed for her overalls, she stretched out her arms and jumped.
About
Mother and Baby Homes first appeared in England in 1891 under the guidance of the Salvation Army in London. By 1968 there were a total of 172 known homes for unmarried mothers, the majority run by religious bodies. Premarital pregnancy was heavily stigmatized and provoked issues around sex, morality, religion and authority both parental and community...Continue Reading... Further Sources listened in Book...
As I said, this is a terrible book. But I had to keep reading. This book is based upon historical actual events, presented quite dramatically. It is compelling, therefore, and, if you have any concern about the overthrow of Roe quite recently, by the republican administration, you need to read this book... We cannot go back to the 18th century and earlier!!!
On the other hand, as a number of reviewers stated, at least on Amazon, I, too, found reading the book tedious. There was at least 3-4 names that were used interchangeably throughout the book regarding the same person and/or her relationships with others. This was initially based upon the young girl being forced to have a new name in the home, but Mary was rarely used as the new identity. The connections of characters was indeed difficult. And, as one person stated, a young man who was in love with the main character--"disappeared..." And that was after risking his life to save a child. It illustrates the true need for editing the story from the readers' viewpoint.
Readers indeed are pulled into a devastating story... It is important, primarily, to emphasize the "volume" of unwed mothers being sent to these homes... Of course, all of us have watched Law and Order SVU and discovered just how often boys will rape girls while telling them they love them...etc. etc. etc. In other words, sex has been around since the beginning of time...
no matter what story you use to illustrate the facts and the resulting devastation to the girl, but rarely the boy! Read Epstein case news, for instance!
There are some readers who comment on the "action" not starting until... Give me a break! This is not an action adventure story for guys to enjoy as they dream about doing the same to girls they meet, including the use of roofies... And, yet, that is the exact point that has the majority of women being so upset at this time when we see so much being done to remove all of women's protection in medical areas, including, but not limited to, pregnancy? Yet, rarely, seeing that the male rapist, incest actor, or any other manipulation by men, for whatever reason, including power control, are rarely prosecuted... Note: there is also an issue with drug testing being handled in the home's attic with very young victims...
In this story, it was indeed a local sports star that had seduced the girl and then dropped her immediately after obtaining another conquest... However, this young girl wound up pregnant and given the home situation, she was sent to the prominent home for girls that was run by the local religious group which happened to be a Catholic Father and nuns... The parents were told it was for the best and for a given amount of money, they would handle all issues that was necessary to ensure no shame or notoriety came back on the rich families... Yeah, sounds familiar, doesn't it?
The main character happens to be a reporter in the 1970s, who is looking for a story that will gain her an image as an important journalist. And she found that story right in her own home, although she didn't know it at the time... The events that occur to the girls by their caretakers, including a mother superior who dictated the rules: No talking, ongoing required hard work in laundries regardless of their advancement toward birth, physical punishment, and, of course, a constant reminder that they were sinners who had to attone in this manner to regain God's approval... What happened to Christ's death on the Cross for our sins???
And, of course, the "action" that began to occur "late" in the book was that the reporter started adding people to research, and finding that most of them had already died in one way or another... Yes, they were being murdered... And, yes, there was a twist or two which, in relation to the overall story, had little impact on what the main thrust of the historical novel based upon facts, provides to readers. It is for the overall story that I rank this book a must-read for women... We MUST work to prevent the backward movement of women's lives!
The actions against girls of all ages is extremely graphic. This is not a novel to be enjoyed for content; it is an historical review of multi-generational results of rape, separation of child from parent, lies about what is happening, threats, fear, and lack of adequate food and health care during pregnancies. Only one fact I provided... In the 70s when the home was to be torn down, they discovered hundreds of children stuffed into the underground tunnels of the home, without any death information provided to any parents... or proper preparation for death of a child...
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