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	<title>FrontPage Magazine &#187; Mallory Millett</title>
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		<title>Quarreling with Quarantine</title>
		<link>http://www.frontpagemag.com/2014/mallorymillett/quarreling-with-quarantine/?utm_source=rss&#038;utm_medium=rss&#038;utm_campaign=quarreling-with-quarantine</link>
		<comments>http://www.frontpagemag.com/2014/mallorymillett/quarreling-with-quarantine/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 07 Nov 2014 05:25:49 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mallory Millett]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Daily Mailer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[FrontPage]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[civil rights]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[ebola]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Polio]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[quarantine]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Rights]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[As a survivor of Bulbar polio in my childhood, let me tell you what a real “civil rights” violation is. ]]></description>
				<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><a href="http://cdn.frontpagemag.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/re.jpg"><img class="alignleft size-full wp-image-244508" src="http://cdn.frontpagemag.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/re.jpg" alt="re" width="275" height="176" /></a>Now I&#8217;ve heard everything! Quarantines are a violation of civil rights?</p>
<p>Here&#8217;s the civil rights violation: Not quarantining people who have deadly diseases. One of the few mandated obligations of our government is to protect its citizens. Exactly when and how did the sense of this get lost?</p>
<p>It seems every other day there&#8217;s a national argument breaking out because people no longer realize that the government&#8217;s main purpose is to keep us safe from threats both within and without the country.</p>
<p>When I was twelve years old I was diagnosed with Infantile Paralysis. Polio. This struck directly after my graduation from elementary school at the start of what was to be a grand slope of a summer, culminating in the glorious start of high school. I vividly recall that week, which began on such a high note and then unraveled into what we assumed was flu— crushing for such an eager little beaver who was about to step out to conquer the world.</p>
<p>The doctor who delivered me into the world came for a house call and decided it was, indeed, the flu.  However, the next day, it alarmed my well-seasoned mother when the doctor called saying he wanted to come back and take another look.</p>
<p>I tiptoed out of my sickbed to spy while my mother whispered to my sisters, Sally and Katie: &#8220;This is frightening, girls! Never have I had a doctor call <em>me</em> to ask if he could come back to look at my child. Never!&#8221;</p>
<p>This turned out to be the last great summer epidemic of polio.  It was the end of May. Dr. Salk came out with his vaccine the following November. But at that moment people were contracting the disease in droves and dropping like insects on a dog-day August afternoon.</p>
<p>When Dr. Flannigan returned the following day, it was only moments before he called an ambulance to whisk me off to the city&#8217;s public hospital in St. Paul, Minnesota.</p>
<p>Ancker Hospital was the only possible option when one was diagnosed with the dreaded polio. No private hospital would take you. So, in fear and trembling, I was torn from the sanctuary of my childhood bedroom amid sirens blaring and with my traumatized mommy gripping my hands as if it were to be our last moments together on earth.</p>
<p>They took us to an isolated room, attached but separate from the hospital. Tests were performed. One was a spinal tap, which taught me for all time the true meaning of God-awful pain. I learned then and there I could never withstand torture by Nazis or the Japanese as I&#8217;d always fervently believed. My first experience with profound all-engulfing pain taught me well that I would do anything to make such agony stop.  Turn in my devoted mother. Beg them to do it to anyone else.  Just make it stop.</p>
<p>After several tormenting hours we learned that not only did I have polio but that I had the most vicious form of all: Bulbar polio &#8212; the type that lands you in an iron lung. It had a 97% fatality rate.</p>
<p>Here is where my story has true relevance to current history: this was the fifties, the last period in our country when people behaved as adults, acting reasonably and seeing to it that they responded to such crises with care and maturity in order to protect each other.</p>
<p>I was instantly quarantined. My mother and sisters were quarantined in our home. I was placed in the Bulbar polio ward along with everyone else who had the exact same thing as I did. I was tearfully torn away while clinging to my bewildered mother as we both realized it might be the last time we would ever see, smell or touch each other in this lifetime.</p>
<p>I was installed in an open ward with about twelve beds occupied by people of both sexes, all ages. The only segregation was with respect to our particular strain of this killer, crippling disease. We were the Bulbar people. Those with spinal polio were elsewhere.</p>
<p>My mother and sisters were confined to our home, which they could not leave under any circumstances. An enormous yellow poster declaring that the premises were under quarantine was plastered over the front door of our innocent white house and no one could enter or leave for what I believe was thirty days. The groceries were ordered by phone and left on the steps down by the public sidewalk.</p>
<p>Health officials stormed my bedroom and <em>every single thing</em> was removed and burned. My dolls and teddy bears; my desk, bed and radio. Everything was taken from my little-girl room and destroyed.</p>
<p>Meanwhile I plotted like a wily cat to stay alive. Lying in that fevered and terrifying illness my mind raced as to how I could escape the drift of death, which was moving throughout that room. Every night some one or two of my fellow inmates died.</p>
<p>They always died at night, it seemed, and they had the exact same illness as I had. I was twelve years old and my lot was to quietly wait until it was my turn to be wheeled out as a corpse covered in a white sheet. After about a week this became highly notable and so I concocted a scheme to survive.</p>
<p>A patient with Bulbar succumbs under the tsunami of phlegm their body produces. As there were only two suction machines on the floor and half-staff at night, people were drowning in their own mucous.</p>
<p>I figured the only thing that might possibly get me out of that room and back at home would be if I stayed awake all night, every night.  If I just piled high the pillows and sat up very straight maybe I wouldn&#8217;t suffocate in the never-abating ocean of snot.</p>
<p>Another thing which insured my alertness was the specter of the iron lung. There were only four of them in the hospital and they were strung up and down the sides of the hallways, as there wasn&#8217;t space in the rooms for such enormous contraptions. My two goals were to stay alive and then to elude that iron lung.</p>
<p>I stayed up all night every night doing crossword puzzles and reading, and then slept all day. Opening my dazed eyes from time to time I could contemplate the lung’s hideous form with some poor soul captured in its clutches just outside my doorway. Often there would be a heart-pounding stir as health workers suddenly burst into the room to perform an emergency tracheotomy with blood spurting everywhere and the pulsing of a life-and-death drama. This could happen at any time, during lunch or dinner; at midnight, upon whomever death had come to perch.</p>
<p>We were all perfect strangers locked in a sweaty struggle against death and atrophy, which oddly made us instant intimates.  Even as a preadolescent what struck me most profoundly in those days and nights in that desperate room was the unceasing passion, heroism, self-sacrifice, and committed devotion of every person who labored to keep us alive.</p>
<p>I was such a desperate child longing for my family and home, convinced that I would never again see the people I loved. No one was allowed to visit; not even my mother. I was fortunate enough to have a window and in those days you could open them. I think we were on the eighth floor or so. My family would gather on the street corner below and as they waved up at me, I hung out of my window pleading, &#8220;Get me out of here!!&#8221;</p>
<p>Many, many people died in that room with me. Each time someone expired they were replaced by another Bulbar victim. One was a four-year old girl named Bernadette, whom I had befriended and taken under my older wing. The blow of her death stung deeply and I was gripped with shock for weeks.</p>
<p>Nurse Kaci Hickox, who recently returned from treating patients in Ebola-stricken Sierra Leone, is &#8220;fighting for her freedom&#8221;? She says &#8220;no&#8221; to quarantine? Doctor Craig Spencer, who contracted Ebola, lied about his movements after returning to the US? We find out he was out and about all over New York City? What kind of dedicated doctors and nurses are these people? They&#8217;re scientists, no?  We deserve much better.</p>
<p>Nurse Hickox says quarantine is a violation of her civil rights.  No, it is, in fact, your civic duty to accept quarantine. Have we really become such unspeakably self-involved, narcissistic, immature, mindless citizens? What a sad country we have dwindled to. How can it be that it isn&#8217;t commonly understood that quarantine is a vitally important, adult, necessary action in these scenarios? I can hardly contain my outrage at these persons&#8217; indifference.</p>
<p>Back in the days of my childhood it never ever occurred to us to fight or resent or argue with the quarantine. For God&#8217;s sake, neither I at my callow age nor my family of various ages —nor anyone in that room with me— ever would have considered quarreling with the quarantine. On the contrary, I would have been horrified had I infected anyone else; nor did my mother and sisters bristle at their captive state.</p>
<p>They, we, waited it out, grateful to be surrounded by educated, thoughtful, concerned people who took care to confine us along with the disease. The plan worked and I got to walk out free and healed at the end of summer, just in time to attend the first day of high school.</p>
<p>These days I find myself consumed with a deep longing for that time in America when people actually grew into adults. We used to be quite wonderful people. Will we ever again be surrounded, nursed or even governed by caring grown-up fellow citizens?</p>
<p><em>Mallory Millett resides in New York City with her husband of over twenty years. CFO for several corporations, she is a long-standing member of The David Horowitz Freedom Center and sits on the Board of Regents for the Center for Security Policy. </em></p>
<p><strong>Freedom Center pamphlets now available on Kindle: </strong><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref%3dnb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&amp;field-keywords=david+horowitz&amp;rh=n:133140011%2ck:david+horowitz&amp;ajr=0#/ref=sr_st?keywords=david+horowitz&amp;qid=1316459840&amp;rh=n:133140011%2ck:david+horowitz&amp;sort=daterank"><strong>Click here</strong></a><strong>.   </strong></p>
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		<item>
		<title>Marxist Feminism’s Ruined Lives</title>
		<link>http://www.frontpagemag.com/2014/mallorymillett/marxist-feminisms-ruined-lives/?utm_source=rss&#038;utm_medium=rss&#038;utm_campaign=marxist-feminisms-ruined-lives</link>
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		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Sep 2014 04:30:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mallory Millett]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Daily Mailer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[FrontPage]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[destruction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Feminism]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mallory Millet]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sexual Politics]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Women's Rights]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.frontpagemag.com/?p=240037</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The horror I witnessed inside the women’s “liberation” movement.]]></description>
				<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><a href="http://cdn.frontpagemag.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/feminists.jpg"><img class="alignleft  wp-image-240041" src="http://cdn.frontpagemag.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/feminists.jpg" alt="feminists" width="352" height="235" /></a><em>&#8220;When women go wrong men go right after them.”<br />
&#8211; Mae West</em></p>
<p>“Socialism is a philosophy of failure, the creed of ignorance, and the gospel of envy; its inherent virtue is the equal sharing of misery.”  Winston Churchill wrote this over a century ago.</p>
<p>During my junior year in high school, the nuns asked about our plans for after we graduated. When I said I was going to attend State University, I noticed their disappointment.  I asked my favorite nun, “Why?” She answered, “That means you&#8217;ll leave four years later a communist and an atheist!&#8221;</p>
<p>What a giggle we girls had over that. &#8220;How ridiculously unsophisticated these nuns are,&#8221; we thought. Then I went to the university and four years later walked out a communist and an atheist, just as my sister Katie had six years before me.</p>
<p>Sometime later, I was a young divorc<span style="color: #000000;">e</span>e with a small child. At the urging of my sister, I relocated to NYC after spending years married to an American executive stationed in Southeast Asia. The marriage over, I was making a new life for my daughter and me.  Katie said, &#8220;Come to New York.  We&#8217;re making revolution! Some of us are starting the National Organization of Women and you can be part of it.&#8221;</p>
<p>I hadn&#8217;t seen her for years.  Although she had tormented me when we were youngsters, those memories were faint after my Asian traumas and the break-up of my marriage.  I foolishly mistook her for sanctuary in a storm. With so much time and distance between us, I had forgotten her emotional instability.</p>
<p>And so began my period as an unwitting witness to history. I stayed with Kate and her lovable Japanese husband, Fumio, in a dilapidated loft on The Bowery as she finished her first book, a PhD thesis for Columbia University, “Sexual Politics.”</p>
<p>It was 1969. Kate invited me to join her for a gathering at the home of her friend, Lila Karp. They called the assemblage a &#8220;consciousness-raising-group,&#8221; a typical communist exercise, something practiced in Maoist China.  We gathered at a large table as the chairperson opened the meeting with a back-and-forth recitation, like a Litany, a type of prayer done in Catholic Church. But now it was Marxism, the Church of the Left, mimicking religious practice:</p>
<p>&#8220;Why are we here today?&#8221; she asked.<br />
&#8220;To make revolution,&#8221; they answered.<br />
&#8220;What kind of revolution?&#8221; she replied.<br />
&#8220;The Cultural Revolution,&#8221; they chanted.<br />
“And how do we make Cultural Revolution?&#8221; she demanded.<br />
&#8220;By destroying the American family!&#8221; they answered.<br />
&#8220;How do we destroy the family?&#8221; she came back.<br />
&#8220;By destroying the American Patriarch,&#8221; they cried exuberantly.<br />
&#8220;And how do we destroy the American Patriarch?” she replied.<br />
&#8220;By taking away his power!&#8221;<br />
&#8220;How do we do that?&#8221;<br />
&#8220;By destroying monogamy!&#8221; they shouted.<br />
&#8220;How can we destroy monogamy?&#8221;</p>
<p>Their answer left me dumbstruck, breathless, disbelieving my ears.  Was I on planet earth?  Who were these people?</p>
<p>&#8220;By promoting promiscuity, eroticism, prostitution and homosexuality!&#8221; they resounded.</p>
<p>They proceeded with a long discussion on how to advance these goals by establishing The National Organization of Women.  It was clear they desired nothing less than the utter deconstruction of Western society. The upshot was that the only way to do this was &#8220;to invade every American institution.  Every one must be permeated with ‘The Revolution’&#8221;: The media, the educational system, universities, high schools, K-12, school boards, etc.; then, the judiciary, the legislatures, the executive branches and even the library system.</p>
<p>It fell on my ears as a ludicrous scheme, as if they were a band of highly imaginative children planning a Brinks robbery; a lark trumped up on a snowy night amongst a group of spoiled brats over booze and hashish.</p>
<p>To me, this sounded silly.  I was enduring culture shock after having been cut-off from my homeland, living in Third-World countries for years with not one trip back to the United States. I was one of those people who, upon returning to American soil, fell out of the plane blubbering with ecstasy at being <em>home</em> in the USA. I knelt on the ground covering it with kisses.  I had learned just exactly how delicious was the land of my birth and didn&#8217;t care what anyone thought because they just hadn&#8217;t seen what I had or been where I had been.  I had seen factory workers and sex-slaves chained to walls.</p>
<p>How could they know?  Asia is beyond our ken and, as they say, utterly inscrutable, and a kind of hell I never intended to revisit.  I lived there, not junketed, not visited like sweet little tourists &#8212; I’d conducted households and tried to raise a child. I had outgrown the communism of my university days and was clumsily groping my way back to God.</p>
<p>How could twelve American women who were the most respectable types imaginable &#8212; clean and privileged graduates of esteemed institutions: Columbia, Radcliffe, Smith, Wellesley, Vassar; the uncle of one was Secretary of War under Franklin Roosevelt &#8212; plot such a thing?  Most had advanced degrees and appeared cogent, bright, reasonable and good. How did these people rationally believe they could succeed with such vicious grandiosity?  And why?</p>
<p>I dismissed it as academic-lounge air-castle-building.  I continued with my new life in New York while my sister became famous publishing her books, featured on the cover of “Time Magazine.” “Time” called her “the Karl Marx of the Women&#8217;s Movement.”  This was because her book laid out a course in Marxism 101 for women.  Her thesis: The family is a den of slavery with the man as the Bourgeoisie and the woman and children as the Proletariat.  The only hope for women&#8217;s &#8220;liberation&#8221; (communism’s favorite word for leading minions into inextricable slavery; &#8220;liberation,&#8221; and much like &#8220;collective&#8221; – please run from it, run for your life) was this new “Women’s Movement.”  Her books captivated the academic classes and soon &#8220;Women&#8217;s Studies” courses were installed in colleges in a steady wave across the nation with Kate Millett books as required reading.</p>
<p>Imagine this: a girl of seventeen or eighteen at the kitchen table with Mom studying the syllabus for her first year of college and there&#8217;s a class called &#8220;Women&#8217;s Studies.&#8221; &#8220;Hmmm, this could be interesting,&#8221; says Mom. &#8220;Maybe you could get something out of this.&#8221;</p>
<p>Seems innocuous to her.  How could she suspect this is a class in which her innocent daughter will be taught that her father is a villain?  Her mother is a fool who allowed a man to enslave her into barbaric practices like monogamy and family life and motherhood, which is a waste of her talents.  She mustn&#8217;t follow in her mother&#8217;s footsteps. That would be submitting to life as a mindless drone for some domineering man, the oppressor, who has mesmerized her with tricks like romantic love.  Never be lured into this chicanery, she will be taught.  Although men are no damned good, she should use them for her own orgasmic gratification; sleep with as many men as possible in order to keep herself unattached and free. There&#8217;s hardly a seventeen-year-old girl without a grudge from high school against a Jimmy or Jason who broke her heart.  Boys are learning, too, and they can be careless during high school, that torment of courting dances for both sexes.</p>
<p>By the time Women&#8217;s Studies professors finish with your daughter, she will be a shell of the innocent girl you knew, who&#8217;s soon convinced that although she should be flopping down with every boy she fancies, she should not, by any means, get pregnant.  And so, as a practitioner of promiscuity, she becomes a wizard of prevention techniques, especially abortion.</p>
<p>The goal of Women&#8217;s Liberation is to wear each female down to losing all empathy for boys, men or babies. The tenderest aspects of her soul are roughened into a rock pile of cynicism, where she will think nothing of murdering her baby in the warm protective nest of her little-girl womb.  She will be taught that she, in order to free herself, must become an outlaw. This is only reasonable because all Western law, since Magna Carta and even before, is a concoction of the evil white man whose true purpose is to press her into slavery.</p>
<p>Be an outlaw! Rebel! Be defiant!  (Think Madonna, Lady Gaga, Lois Lerner, Elizabeth Warren.) “All women are prostitutes,” she will be told.  You&#8217;re either really smart and use sex by being promiscuous for your own pleasures and development as a full free human being &#8220;just like men&#8221; or you can be a professional prostitute, a viable business for women, which is &#8220;empowering&#8221; or you can be duped like your mother and prostitute yourself to one man exclusively whereby you fall under the heavy thumb of &#8220;the oppressor.&#8221;  All wives are just &#8220;one-man whores.&#8221;</p>
<p>She is to be heartless in this.  No sentimental stuff about courting. No empathy for either boy or baby.  She has a life to live and no one is to get in her way.  And if the boy or man doesn&#8217;t &#8220;get it&#8221; then no sex for him; &#8220;making love&#8221; becomes &#8220;having sex.&#8221; &#8220;I&#8217;m not &#8216;having sex&#8217; with any jerk who doesn&#8217;t believe I can kill his son or daughter at my whim.  He has no say in it because <em>it’s my body!” </em> (Strange logic as who has ever heard of a body with two heads, two hearts, four arms, four feet?)</p>
<p>There&#8217;s no end to the absurdities your young girl will be convinced to swallow.  &#8220;I plan to leap from guy to guy as much as I please and no one can stop me because I&#8217;m <em>liberated!”</em>  In other words, these people will turn your daughter into a slut with my sister&#8217;s books as instruction manuals. (&#8220;Slut is a good word. Be proud of it!&#8221;)  She&#8217;ll be telling you, &#8220;I&#8217;m probably never getting married and if I do it will be after I&#8217;ve established my career,&#8221; which nowadays often means never. &#8220;I&#8217;ll keep my own name and I don&#8217;t really want kids.  They&#8217;re such a bother and only get in the way.&#8221;  They&#8217;ll tell her, “Don&#8217;t let any guy degrade you by allowing him to open doors for you. To be called ‘a lady’ is an insult. Chivalry is a means of ownership.”</p>
<p>Thus, the females, who are fundamentally the arbiters of society go on to harden their young men with such pillow-talk in the same way they’ve been hardened because, &#8220;Wow, man, I&#8217;ve gotta get laid and she won&#8217;t do it if I don&#8217;t agree to let her kill the kid if she gets knocked-up!” Oppressed? Woman has always had power. Consider the eternal paradigm: only after Eve convinced Adam to eat the fruit did mankind fall. I.e., man does anything to make woman happy, even if it&#8217;s in defiance of God. There’s power for ya! Without a decent womankind, mankind is lost. As Mae West said, &#8220;When women go wrong men go right after them!&#8221;</p>
<p>I’ve known women who fell for this creed in their youth who now, in their fifties and sixties, cry themselves to sleep decades of countless nights grieving for the children they&#8217;ll never have and the ones they coldly murdered because they were protecting the empty loveless futures they now live with no way of going back.  “Where are my children?  Where are my grandchildren?&#8221; they cry to me.</p>
<p>&#8220;Your sister&#8217;s books destroyed my sister&#8217;s life!&#8221;  I&#8217;ve heard numerous times. &#8220;She was happily married with four kids and after she read those books, walked out on a bewildered man and didn&#8217;t look back.&#8221;  The man fell into despairing rack and ruin. The children were stunted, set off their tracks, deeply harmed; the family profoundly dislocated and there was “no putting Humpty-Dumpty together again.”</p>
<p>Throughout the same time these women were “invading” our institutions, the character of the American woman transformed drastically from models portrayed for us by Rosalind Russell, Bette Davis, Deborah Kerr, Eve Arden, Donna Reed, Barbara Stanwyck, Claudette Colbert, Irene Dunn, Greer Garson.  These were outstanding women needing no empowerment lessons and whose own personalities, as well as the characters they interpreted, were strong, resilient and clearly carved.  Their voices were so different you could pick them out by that alone.  We all knew Rita Hayworth&#8217;s voice.  We all knew Katherine Hepburn&#8217;s voice.</p>
<p>I dare you to identify the voices of the cookie-cutter post-women&#8217;s-liberation types from Hollywood today. How did these “liberated” women fall into such an indistinguishable pile of mush? They all look exactly the same with few individuating characteristics and their voices sound identical, these Julies and Jessicas!  My friend, Father George Rutler, calls them &#8220;the chirping fledglings of the new Dark Ages.&#8221;  The character of the American woman has been distorted by this pernicious movement. From where did this foul mouthed, tattooed, outlaw creature, who murders her baby without blinking an eye and goes partying without conscience or remorse come?  And, in such a short little phase in history?</p>
<p>Never before have we heard of so many women murdering their children: Casey Anthony killing her little Caylee and partying-hearty for weeks; Susan Smith driving her beautiful little boys into a lake, leaving them strapped in the water to die torturous deaths; that woman who drowned her <em>five</em> children in the bathtub?  “Hey, if I can kill my baby at six months of gestation why not six months post-birth, just call it late late-term abortion.”</p>
<p>I insist that woman always has been the arbiter of society and when those women at Lila Karp&#8217;s table in Greenwich Village set their minds to destroying the American Family by talking young women into being outlaws, perpetrators of infanticide, and haters of Western law, men and marriage, they accomplished just what they intended.  Their desire &#8212; and I witnessed it at subsequent meetings till I got pretty sick of their unbridled hate &#8212; was to tear American society apart along with the family and the &#8220;Patriarchal Slave-Master,&#8221; the American husband.</p>
<p>We&#8217;re all so busy congratulating each other because Ronald Reagan &#8220;won the Cold War without firing a shot&#8221; entirely missing the bare truth which is that Mao, with his Little Red Book and the Soviets, <em>won the Cold War without firing a shot </em>by taking over our women, our young and the minds of everyone tutored by Noam Chomsky and the textbooks of Howard Zinn. Post-graduate Junior is Peter Pan trapped in the Never Neverland of Mom&#8217;s (she&#8217;s divorced now) basement. Christina Hoff Sommers says, &#8220;Moms and dads, be afraid for your sons. There&#8217;s a &#8216;war on men&#8217; that started a long time ago in gender studies classes and in women&#8217;s advocacy groups eager to believe that men are toxic… Many &#8216;educated women&#8217; in the U.S. have drunk from the gender feminist Kool Aid.  Girls at Yale, Haverford and Swarthmore see themselves as oppressed.  This is madness.&#8221;</p>
<p>If you see something traitorous in this, a betrayal of my sister, I have come to identify with such people as Svetlana Stalin or Juanita Castro; coming out to speak plainly about a particularly harmful member of my family.  Loyalty can be highly destructive.  What about Muslims who refuse to speak out right now?  I was one of the silent but at last I&#8217;m &#8220;spilling the beans.&#8221; The girls have been up to something for years and it&#8217;s really not good. It&#8217;s evil. We should be sick to our souls over it.  I know I am. And so, mass destruction, the inevitable outcome of all socialist/communist experiments, leaves behind its signature trail of wreckage.</p>
<p>So much grace, femininity and beauty lost.</p>
<p>So many ruined lives.</p>
<p><em>Mallory Millett resides in New York City with her husband of over twenty years. CFO for several corporations, she is a long-standing member of The David Horowitz Freedom Center and sits on the Board of Regents for the Center for Security Policy. </em></p>
<p><strong>Freedom Center pamphlets now available on Kindle: </strong><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref%3dnb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&amp;field-keywords=david+horowitz&amp;rh=n:133140011%2ck:david+horowitz&amp;ajr=0#/ref=sr_st?keywords=david+horowitz&amp;qid=1316459840&amp;rh=n:133140011%2ck:david+horowitz&amp;sort=daterank"><strong>Click here</strong></a><strong>.   </strong></p>
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		<title>No Gun Ever Killed Anyone</title>
		<link>http://www.frontpagemag.com/2014/mallorymillett/no-gun-ever-killed-anyone/?utm_source=rss&#038;utm_medium=rss&#038;utm_campaign=no-gun-ever-killed-anyone</link>
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		<pubDate>Tue, 03 Jun 2014 04:51:04 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mallory Millett]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Daily Mailer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[FrontPage]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Elliot Rodger]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[homicide]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Kate Millet]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[mentail illness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sexual Politics]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.frontpagemag.com/?p=226834</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[What the story of feminist Kate Millett, the author of "Sexual Politics," tells us about Elliot Rodger.]]></description>
				<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><a href="http://cdn.frontpagemag.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/rodger1.jpg"><img class="alignleft wp-image-226840" src="http://cdn.frontpagemag.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/rodger1.jpg" alt="rodger" width="327" height="181" /></a><strong>Editor&#8217;s note: Feminist writer and activist Kate Millet, the subject of the following article, is best known for her 1970 book, &#8220;Sexual Politics.&#8221; </strong></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><strong>Reprinted from <a href="http://www.truthrevolt.org/">TruthRevolt.org</a>.</strong></p>
<p>In the 1970&#8242;s I was alarmed to hear that my big sister, Kate Millett, who had serious mental health issues which had agonized my family and her friends for many years, was organizing a group called The Mental Patients&#8217; Project in order to claim that the psychiatric community and society were &#8220;oppressing&#8221; people and &#8220;stigmatizing them with labels such as psychotic, bi-polar, schizophrenic, borderline personalities,&#8221; etc and unconstitutionally imprisoning them in hospitals thereby violating their civil rights.  We, as a family, had struggled for years with Kate&#8217;s issues, many times attempting to hospitalize her so she could obtain the serious help she so obviously needed. She was a brutal sadist, a violent bully at whose hands everyone about her suffered.  Throughout my childhood I was menaced and immeasurably traumatized, as I&#8217;m sure was Elliot Rodger’s younger sibling whom he, in fact, intended to murder.</p>
<p>At one point, in 1973, I found myself alone with her in an apartment in Berkeley, California where she did not allow me to sleep for five days as she raged at the world and menaced me physically.  I had come to Berkeley at her entreaty to appear in the UCB Auditorium as she screened a film we&#8217;d produced together in the summer of 1970 (another horror story too long to recount here) and which was, in part, a biography of my life along with two other women.  This movie (<em>Three Lives</em>) was the very first ever produced with not one iota of male presence.  Even the people who delivered food to the set had to be female and Kate was touting it as the first all-woman film production in history.</p>
<p>Having had my youth overshadowed by Kate&#8217;s irrationality I warily traveled West and the moment I spotted her in the airport knew I &#8220;was in for it&#8221;.  As she barreled across the airport&#8217;s expanse it was clear that she was in the throes of her illness and my heart throbbed with the desire to turn and run.</p>
<p>During the speech after the screening she fell apart onstage before a packed assembly of fawning admirers. It was a standing room only audience.  In fact, they had to schedule a second screening at the last minute, as the response had been huge. As I sat next to her lectern during her incoherent ravings I witnessed the pained looks of confusion as they swept across those faces like a small gale whipping up across the top of a sea; at first tiny ripples gliding across the surface.  They were polite until the realization took shape that she was making no sense whatsoever.  People began glancing at each other, whispering a little then turning to one another with more energy, politeness gone, as some began to get up and leave.  Soon many were slipping out and that was followed by a mad dash for the exits.  She was babbling and shouting incoherently whilst I nodded and pretended every word made perfect sense.  I could not bear to betray her in public.  I sat there feeling my heart melting through my chest and draining into my belly with an indescribable sick empathy.  Her humiliation was unbearable as the gale whipped up to a force ten and with one last enormous surge we were left in an empty room.  The second screening was cancelled.</p>
<p>We returned to her apartment in relative silence.  I was trapped with her in an unfamiliar place. I knew not one person in Berkeley.  I was afraid to sleep for fear of awakening in a deadly pool of blood with a knife in my back. She stayed awake for five days babbling, ranting and wouldn&#8217;t allow me to sleep.   She was seeing &#8220;little green men&#8221; and her eyes were literally rolling around in their sockets.  Never have I been more alone and terrified.  However, love and concern for her and any others she might harm prevented me from leaving.  Unable to abandon her, I stayed and whenever possible reached out by phone to other family members/friends in far flung places such as NYC, Minnesota, Nebraska pleading for advice and help.  One such conversation was with Yoko Ono, a good friend of hers, who called to check on Kate and from whom I tearfully begged advice.</p>
<p>Kate, herself, has written several books on this part of her life (<em>Flying</em>, <em>The Loony-Bin Trip</em>) chronicling the &#8220;oppressive&#8221; actions of our family, vilifying us for our deeply worried attempts to aid in her obvious sufferings. So I am telling no &#8220;tales out of school&#8221; as she herself has documented her own struggles with sanity although she consistently claimed, &#8220;mental illness is a myth&#8221;.  &#8220;Many healthy people&#8221;, she said, &#8220;are driven to mental illness by society&#8217;s disapproval of unconventional behavior and by the authoritarian institution of psychiatry.&#8221;  Really?  Tell that to the families of the nineteen who suffered and died that Friday in Santa Barbara&#8230;..never mind, it&#8217;s all just an illusion, a myth.  Let’s examine and “have conversations” about the violation of the civil rights of these nineteen innocent families.  She has called me and our other sister, Sally, plus family members, cousins, etc. vicious names, demonized us, and written reams of counterfeit versions of &#8220;the truth&#8221; concerning these matters.  These are published works, which rest in the Library of Congress for all time and which slander our names as people who were petty and malicious and because we &#8220;hated her politics&#8221; were trying to shut her up and lock her away.  By the way, many in our family agree for the most part with her politics and so this accusation is absolutely absurd on it&#8217;s face. However, she is a famous writer and thus a recipient of the immunity fame seems to bestow.</p>
<p>And, speaking of the affected innocent victims: later, she wrote a book about her lesbian lover at that time.  <em>Sita</em> was the title.  This woman committed suicide in response to Kate’s “homage.”</p>
<p>Our elder sister, Sally, eventually came from Nebraska to the rescue, as it was imperative I return to NY to join a European theatrical tour for which I was contracted.  She managed to get some temporary care for Kate, which sufficed for the moment.  Within time, our mother and a lawyer nephew managed to take Kate to court in Minnesota in order to secure her &#8220;commitment.&#8221; Anyone who knows Kate Millett knows the depth of her shrewdness which she used to bring in a NY lawyer and, in her unglued state, she stood up for herself as only she can and to our great horror prevailed in that courtroom walking out, unrestrained, to spend many more years, lurching about the world to continue her damaging and irrational antics; her genius for chaos.  Subsequently, she boarded a plane for Shannon, Ireland and upon arrival locked herself in the Ladies Room preventing anyone from relieving herself for twenty-four hours until the Shannon police broke down the door and committed her to an Irish psychiatric institution.  She got word out to some of her Irish feminist loyalists who smuggled her out through a window and she escaped to be on the run making her way back to NYC.  Many of her friends in the US were now involved and other interventions were arranged which she also managed to elude, quoting The Constitution to police and ambulance drivers. These efforts were as fruitless as Elliot Rodger’s encounter with Santa Barbara police.  The police are no good at this.  If only they had gone into his room; looked at his weapons and his homemade videos!  Who would doubt the word of desperate, caring parents about the condition of their own child?</p>
<p>So when it came to my attention that as a result of these adventures she and a few cohorts had concocted a new &#8220;civil rights movement&#8221; for mental patients and in her characteristic ruthlessness was determined to &#8220;liberate&#8221; NY&#8217;s mental patients I was beyond appalled.  God help anyone who gets in the way of Kate and her &#8220;righteous indignation&#8221; which had already spearheaded the militant Women&#8217;s Liberation Movement.  This was to be called, “The Psychiatric Survivors Movement.”</p>
<p>Thus, as a result of Kate&#8217;s and her pals’ agitation back in the seventies psychiatric and mental health institutions were forever changed.  This culminated in the depositing on the streets of NYC thousands of confused, terrified and seriously disturbed persons left to fend for themselves in the mean streets of The City.  Most people were shocked but the hapless denizens of New York simply shrugged their shoulders and left these poor souls thus deposited to the whims and cruelty of teens, gangs and other bullies.  We&#8217;ve all read the accounts of sick and helpless people being kicked about, murdered, robbed and even set on fire.  Yet, due to my sister&#8217;s genius for chaos creation, no one, not even the Police Department can lift a finger of mercy to help these persons because it&#8217;s a &#8220;violation of their civil rights&#8221; to do so.</p>
<p>As they say, &#8220;As New York City goes, so goes the country.&#8221; And so it was as most of America followed suit and dissembled their mental health institutions and systems.</p>
<p>When I hear the multiple reports of this catastrophe in Santa Barbara my heart swells with sorrow over the people whose lives have been irrevocably altered by the actions of this very sick young man and when I witness (and how I do identify with) the agony of his family who tried so very hard to obtain help for him; the vivid story of Elliot&#8217;s mother going to the police passionately begging for help.</p>
<p>DO NOT start the usual vilifying of the NRA and the constant claptrap about guns.  Half of the people Elliot Rodger killed last weekend were felled by the knife.  What?  You want to confiscate all knives?  Or make people get permits to own a knife?  Most of the people injured were hurt by his car.  Shall we outlaw cars?  Let&#8217;s start thinking straight:  Do you seriously want to blame the instrument for the actions of the user?  We may as well blame the keyboard for the poison pen letter or the telephone for the obscene phone call or death threat!!! Make no mistake about it.  It&#8217;s not guns, not male chauvinism, not white male privilege or male rage.  It was the deconstruction of the mental health system in our country achieved in the seventies and eighties by a mad little gang of meddlers led in their mischief by Kate Millett.</p>
<p>Stop saying the warning signs were missed.  They were not missed.  The Rodger family was begging, pleading for help from therapists, the police; just as did my own family, my mother, my sister, Sally, my cousins, nephews and I intervened our guts out to absolutely no avail.  There is no system<strong> </strong>left in this country to deal with these traumas. This is a mental health issue and no more. We are surrounded by phony bleeding hearts who can coolly step over the sacred bodies of the wretchedly ill lying about our streets and sashay into a shop to eat a sandwich.  Shame on all of you and may an huge share of the blame fall upon the shoulders of the perpetrators of this mercilessness, my sister, Kate Millett, and her fawning, ghoulish band of &#8220;liberating&#8221; acolytes.  These people are the ones responsible for this chaos in our world.</p>
<p>Let the blame for these types of crimes lie precisely on the shoulders of persons who commit evil not upon the instruments used to do these atrocities.  One properly armed citizen could have stopped Elliot Rodger in his tracks and saved several of those lost lives and limbs.</p>
<p>My purpose in writing this account is to beseech, to beg, to plead with the reader to put your thinking straight about these matters.  Stop the hogwash about the instruments used whether they be guns, baseball bats, knives, or blunt instruments.  Think straight:  Behind each of these outrages is a sick, homicidal person hell-bent on destruction by any means possible.  We need to be able to restrain such people. We need an effective commitment process in order to help the mentally sick and to serve those whom they will inevitably kill, harm or maim.  God bless these nineteen families and may we all learn what we should have known all along: Something sane must be done with our mental health system!!</p>
<p>Last autumn, Kate Millett was inducted, along with Nancy Pelosi, into the National Women’s Hall of Fame.</p>
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