Politics these days have become so divided and divisive that it’s become the norm to view the other side of the aisle as “the enemy”. People are being told to “pick a side” and that there’s no room for middle ground. We here at Phetasy believe that there are a lot more people in the middle than politicians and the media would have us believe.
We’re collecting stories from the ever growing number of people who are finding themselves Politically Homeless and posting them here on Substack. If you have moved from conservative to liberal, or liberal to conservative, if you feel you’ve stayed in the same place and your party has swerved drastically away from you, if you had a moment that awakened you to the insanity and hypocrisy on both sides, if you keep your mouth shut anytime a political topic comes up because you’re afraid your opinion will cause you to lose friends or your job, you’re not as alone as you might think.
Our goal is to shine a light on people’s earnest, individual experiences and show them they’re not alone.
Some letters have been edited for clarity and brevity. If you’re politically homeless and would like to share your story, please email us at iampoliticallyhomeless@gmail.com. All submissions will remain anonymous.
Letter 66:
August 31, 2022
I've been a feminist since I was a girl, growing up in the 70s, wearing out the grooves on my Free to Be You and Me record. I come from a family who bucked racism and protested against Vietnam and for gun control. Before I was old enough to drive, I rode my bike by myself to a nearby park to attend a picnic for the National Organization for Women. It was a small group, set up under a pavilion with a grill, mostly bemused adults much older than I was. Just as we were getting ready to play Throw the Pie at a photo of Phyllis Schlafly, the Klan pulled up--three pick-up trucks filled with people standing in the truck beds, wearing their white robes and pointy hoods. It was surreal. The police were close behind them, and convinced them to leave fairly soon. It made a big impression on me, as you can imagine. This was pre-Internet and cell phones, so no photos, alas. Didn't even make the news.
I was on the first girls' soccer team at my high school, largely just to be part of the first women's something, and when I went to college I spent much of my free time at the Campus Women's Center, which hosted speakers & concerts (Gloria Steinem, Sweet Honey in the Rock). I started lobbying our state legislature on reproductive rights.
I went to work in a female-dominated field, living in progressive cities and states. I voted, but didn't think much about being more politically involved than that, until the summer of 2016 when two friends (in different cities) both tearfully told me about their tween daughters wanting to wear binders. I had no idea what they were talking about. When I learned more, I was appalled--the idea of restricting one's body seemed like a huge step backwards--what happened to body positivity? loving your body the way it was? Why were these girls fleeing the womanhood that my generation fought for, one where we weren't ashamed of our looks?
The more I read about childhood transition the more concerned I was. It seemed clear to me that this was a social contagion--I'd seen them before, when suddenly there were people finding "recovered memories" of sexual abuse, or when pre-schools started suspecting teachers of abusing pre-schoolers through Satanic rituals. When I heard that Planned Parenthood was starting to prescribe hormones to teens, I had to speak up. Though I'd contributed to Planned Parenthood for years, I felt I had to stop because of this. I wrote a letter to the national and local chapter to tell them why I couldn't contribute, describing my grave concerns over this, and signed it, with all my contact information, but I never heard back.
I didn't think much about it until I received an invitation from the local PP chapter for a breakfast to celebrate the opening of their newly re-modeled clinic. The invitation was in an email addressed to me and two other women, one of whom I knew through my job. I live in a small rural town, and had been the local public library director for 4 years, so I am a fairly visible person. I thought it was a nice gesture on their part to reach out to me, and I sent in my $25.
Later that morning I received a call from PP on the library phone (not a number I'd provided). The woman I spoke to offered a refund on my ticket, and referred to the letter I had written. She said they could not separate my donation out from the funding for their transgender services. I said I understood that to be the case, and that I do support their general mission, and that I would still like to go to the event.
“But are you saying I am not welcome?” I asked.
She said, “No, I think it is best that we refund your money.”
And I said, “Wow, okay.”
My guess is that the invitation was an accident. Still, I am surprised that they would take such a hard line against me, as I am a known entity--it's not like I would be someone smuggling in fake aborted fetuses in protest, to strew about the pancake station. They figured out who I was, they called me at my job. And while my original letter was strong, I had made no threats, nor used any obscenities. I signed it, I put my address and phone number on it, I was hoping to open a dialogue.
This made me very sad. And it's only gotten worse. The Dems have really hammered on the "people with uteruses" side of things, and seem to brook no disagreement. I don't think woman is an umbrella term. It's not a club you can join. And that makes me a bigot, a transphobe, a trans-exclusionary radical feminist.
I am homeless.
Some letters have been edited for clarity and brevity. If you'd like to share your story, email us at iampoliticallyhomeless@gmail.com. All submissions will remain anonymous.
From Lefty To Nowhere - Politically Homeless