bookmark_borderResolve and pain

My chest is tight, my arms and legs feel heavy, and there’s a lump in my throat, although my tears are somehow locked up inside of me on this cold and rainy morning. I am angered and heartbroken, as I have been so many times over the last three and a half years. As always, I struggle to find the words to express why I feel the way that I do, and why exactly the things that people have done are so horrible and have had such a profound negative impact on me.

Angela Douglas, the executive director of the Jefferson School African American Cultural Center, is the cause of the latest attack of agony, but she is just one among many. Again and again, more times than I can count or my brain can comprehend, people who think and act similarly to her have caused similar agony attacks, filling the past three and a half years with relentless, unbearable, indescribable pain.
I have no choice but to go on. I know that the actions of Douglas and those like her are horrible, and I know that I am right to be so upset, even if words are inadequate for the task of providing a full explanation. I believe that I am a good person and that what I am doing is important. I know that I am morally right and that Douglas is morally wrong.

But I am in so much pain.

And there is, seemingly, nothing that I can do about it. I am only one person. I do not have the power to stop people like Angela Douglas from committing their hideous, sadistic, sickening actions. Our society has decided that actions like these are acceptable, and that there are more important things to condemn, more important things to fight against. I disagree with this stance as strongly as it is possible for a human being to disagree with anything, but I have no power to convince society to adopt my perspective. All that I can do is to continue being a good person, continue doing what is right, continue doing what I can to stand up for the historical figures.
I don’t believe in hacking historical figures’ bodies to pieces, sawing their heads off, cutting their faces off, and burning them in a furnace.

I believe in honoring them, celebrating them, protecting them, and keeping them alive.
And that is what I will try to do, with the humble amount of resources and power that are available to me.

If other people don’t agree with me, if other people don’t find this important, then that is a negative reflection on them, not on me.

bookmark_borderA poem (of sorts)

Crickets chirp quietly

And leaves waft down from the trees.

Branches cast shadows

Through the moonlight that bathes the yard.

The serene oasis

Stands in sharp contrast

With the atrocity that took place earlier

Somewhere far away

Yet somehow close at the same time.

My statue waits for me,

His bronze skin glinting in the soft light.

Dead leaves crunch under my feet

As I go to tell him what has befallen his comrade

But there is no need;

He already knows.

“I don’t have to tell you, do I, Stonewall? You can feel it. You know what happened. Your heart is sad, and mine is, too. We will grieve, and mourn, together. You are the one thing that makes me feel just a tiny bit better, that makes this pain bearable. Things like this, are why it is so important that you exist. Things like this are why I decided to bring you into the world.”

“Don’t worry, they can’t hurt you here. I own this land, and I will protect you. I will keep you safe.”

“I’ll try to get some sleep tonight, and I hope that you can, too. See you in the morning.”

Excruciating pain

Serves also as a reminder

Of the path that I’ve chosen.

This land is mine,

A world that bigotry, intolerance, and cruelty cannot touch

In which a little statue lives

Safe, protected, beautiful, magnificent

Who wouldn’t have been born otherwise.

10/26/23

bookmark_borderAtrocity

Disgusting.

Cruel.

Vicious.

Intolerant.

Immoral.

Heartbreaking.

Again and again I’ve tried to find words adequate to describe actions like the ones that took place in Charlottesville today, and again and again the English language comes up short.

Acts like these have taken place so many times over the past three and a half hellish years that I cannot keep track, my brain cannot comprehend the overwhelming magnitude of what has happened.

Yet again, the winning side of the war decides, for some inexplicable reason, to beat up on the losing side.

Yet again, the strong, powerful establishment decides to torment the rebels, the dissenters, the underdogs, all while preposterously claiming that they are somehow disadvantaged and oppressed.

One meager statue representing human diversity, representing dissent, representing being different from the norm, amidst a sea of essentially identical statues all representing mindless conformity, deemed unacceptable in their eyes.

Having relentlessly criticized my clothes, my hair, my shoes, my socks, ridiculed the way that I speak, bullied me because I like different music and movies and books than they do, none of that was enough for them. My special interest – the one thing that makes my life worth living – had to be destroyed too, the public spaces of our country redesigned to ensure that I receive the message that I am hated, that I am unacceptable, that I am sick and deviant, that I am not welcome to exist.

I am deemed unworthy of even a single work of public art making me feel accepted, making me feel included.

Yet again my body, mind, and soul are consumed by agonizing, unbearable pain.

There are no words that can fully convey how much I hate the people – and I use that word loosely – who did this.

They do not hold the moral high ground.

They forfeited any claim to it a long time ago.

They deserve the most severe punishment possible.

But even that would not be enough, because no punishment could possibly be as severe as the punishment that they have inflicted on me – an innocent person who has done nothing wrong – through their actions.

bookmark_borderStonewall Jackson’s 1 year anniversary

Today, I am not going to focus on all of the horrible things that horrible people are doing and saying. That is because today marks one year that Stonewall Jackson has been living with me in Malden. In a world filled with beyond infuriating and beyond awful happenings, Stonewall’s existence is one thing that is 100% beautiful, magnificent, magical, and good.

I hope that you enjoy these photos of Stonewall over the past year as much as I enjoyed gathering them.

May 21, 2023
Me and Stonewall, May 29, 2023
Me and Stonewall, May 29, 2023
Me and Stonewall, May 29, 2023
February 23, 2023
February 24, 2023
May 9, 2023
September 24, 2022
October 24, 2022
December 12, 2022

bookmark_borderThree years

This weekend marks the three-year anniversary of what I often characterize as the destruction of everything that makes my life worth living.

The past three years have been filled with anguish, grief, rage, and excruciating pain so extreme that the pre-2020 version of myself not only had never experienced such pain before, but would never have believed such pain was even possible.

My pain is something that most people do not understand. People do not get why someone would be this upset about the fact that statues were taken down. They don’t get why metal and stone sculptures are what I focus on, rather than real people who have lost their lives. I have been called a psychopath, a terrible person, gross, disgusting, self-centered, lacking in empathy, racist. People do not understand why statues of Christopher Columbus, Confederate generals, and other controversial historical figures are so important to me that I feel that life is no longer worth living without them.

But this is exactly how I feel, as incomprehensible as it may be to others. This is who I am. If it makes me a terrible person, so be it. My love of statues and historical figures is a part of me, just as a person’s gender identity, race, religion, and sexual orientation are a part of them.

For approximately the first two and a half years, I felt essentially no happiness whatsoever. (A few possible exceptions: the 2021 Columbus Day ceremony, finding out about the possibility of getting my very own Stonewall Jackson statue, and receiving updates on the progress of the statue.) My emotional state ranged from unbearable, indescribable pain at worst, to neutral at best. In other words, in addition to being filled with horrific pain, my world was also completely devoid of beauty and joy. For this entire time, I seriously considered the possibility of committing suicide. Logically, it was the most sensible option. Why, after all, would a person choose to continue living when everything that makes their life worth living has been destroyed? When there is no reason to expect the future to consist of anything other than a mixture of excruciating pain and feeling just okay? Yet some combination of cowardice and faint hope, as irrational as it seemed, held me back from doing so.

I hesitate to write this for fear of jinxing it, but over the past six months I feel that I have very slowly begun to heal.

For example, one effect of the genocide is that I hate America, because this is the country where the genocide took place, the country whose people committed the genocide, the country that allowed the genocide to happen. American flags, patriotic songs, and red, white, and blue decorations, all of which I used to love, have turned into a source of heartbreak. But this past week, when I visited my grandma at her retirement home, the entire place was decked out in flags and star-spangled decorations, and patriotic country songs blared in the dining room. Somehow, instead of making me feel like a knife was twisting in my stomach, they made me smile.

Healing is not linear. There have certainly been instances of excruciating pain in the past six months, and I am certain there will be more in my future. But overall, they seem slightly less severe, and they seem not to last as long.

The past three years have changed me.

In addition to the anniversary of the most horrific series of events that has ever taken place, this week was also my 34th birthday. I am the same little girl who adored history and art, who never fit in, who was excluded and bullied, who loved historical figures more profoundly than any friend or family member. I am the same, but different. I will always have an imaginary world, in which historical figures live alongside completely imaginary people and creatures, talking, interacting, and having adventures. But now, in addition to that, I have brought a historical figure into the world. Or at least, a beautiful, shiny bronze body for a historical figure’s soul to reside in. A second one will be arriving either late this year, or next year. Instead of doing whatever society expected of me, and escaping to my imaginary world in my spare time, I am making changes, in various ways, to bring my real life more in line with my wishes, preferences, and needs. Although most people don’t understand my pain, and although I am not a very social person, I have made meaningful connections with people who share my views. I am taking action to bring my imaginary world into the real one.

So in addition to inflicting anguish, grief, rage, and excruciating pain, the past three years have made me into a more genuine, authentic, outspoken, courageous, wise, introspective, and self-aware person.

Our society decided to destroy everything that makes my life worth living. But I made a new thing that makes my life worth living, where one didn’t exist before. I had to use my own funds and my own land to do so, because our society decided that the things that make my life worth living aren’t allowed to receive public funds or be located on public land. But I did it anyway. And I’m kind of proud of that.

bookmark_borderAutism Acceptance Month and Confederate History Month

April is celebrated as both Autism Acceptance Month and Confederate History Month. These things might seem completely unrelated… but for me they are not.

I am on the autism spectrum. I have always experienced the world differently from other people, seen things differently, and thought differently from those around me. Until I was an adult, I never knew that there was a word for the way my mind works. I just thought I was “weird” and “mixed up” and “wrong” for not liking the things other people liked, and for having such difficulty with things like riding a bike, tying my shoes, playing sports, participating in conversations, and making friends, which seemed to come so easily to other people. I didn’t feel that I had much in common with other kids or adults at school, or even my own family members.

I did, however, feel a sense of identity with people from history. My favorite thing to do was to read about them, look at pictures of them, and imagine what their lives were like. I gravitated towards the historical figures who were under-appreciated, misunderstood, and looked down upon, probably because I considered myself to have these characteristics as well. This included historical figures from the Confederacy. Although I am not descended from anyone who fought for the Confederacy, I have always felt a sense of kinship with them because they were underdogs and rebels. They were portrayed in history class as the “bad guys,” but as I read more about them, I realized that they had their own viewpoints, perspectives, and stories, which are too frequently ignored. As someone on the autism spectrum, this was something that I could relate to.

It is difficult to put into words how much happiness historical figures have given me, and how important they are to me. Historical figures made me feel understood, and like I wasn’t alone. Therefore, it is difficult to put into words how heartbreaking and infuriating it has been to witness the horrible things that have happened to Confederate statues over the past few years. These events have made me feel like I am being morally condemned and like I am having my greatest source of joy and meaning taken away from me. As an autistic person who has spent my life trying my best to get through the demands of each day, and to be a good student, a good friend, a good employee, and a good person, I truly don’t believe I deserve this. With so much emphasis being placed on diversity and inclusion, why do I not get to feel accepted or included? Why are people like me no longer represented in art, monuments, memorials, or media? Why does society not acknowledge my perspective, my feelings, my story, or my experiences?

Because of my own personal experiences, both autism and Confederate heritage are integral parts of my identity. Both of these things have helped to shape the person that I am and the perspective through which I see the world, a perspective that deserves to be honored and recognized just as much as anyone else’s. In honor of two important and meaningful parts of my life, I will be celebrating the month of April as both Autism Acceptance Month and Confederate History Month.

Marissa and Stonewall

bookmark_borderPositive things for once

Due to the horrible things that have happened in the world, the content of this blog is so often negative. So here is some positive news for a change. Below are a few things I’ve seen around the internet lately that made me smile:

1.Candlelight service at Stonewall Jackson’s gravesite. This weekend marks Lee-Jackson Day for those of us who value Confederate history. In Lexington, Virginia, celebrations took place to honor the two legendary generals, Robert E. Lee and Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson. Photographer Judy Smith captured this beautiful image. You can see more of Judy’s work on her Facebook page and Instagram page.

 
 
 
 
 
View this post on Instagram
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A post shared by Judy Smith (@judysmithphotography)

2. Lemon for Stonewall. Continuing with the theme of Lee-Jackson Day, the Virginia Museum of the Civil War at New Market Battlefield shared that their Stonewall Jackson statue received the gift of a lemon! There is debate about whether lemons were actually Stonewall’s favorite fruit, or whether it was actually peaches or some other fruit, but regardless, I found it touching that an anonymous visitor left this token for the general.

3. R.I.P. Ashli Babbitt. A Facebook friend shared this image. With all the self-righteous pontificating about “our democracy,” our society has completely lost sight of the fact that a young woman was killed by the Capitol police for participating in a protest. The image below encapsulates how January 6th should truly be remembered.

4. Happy January 6th. Also on the topic of the Capitol protest, radio host and social media personality Blake Kresses hit the nail on the head with this post

 
 
 
 
 
View this post on Instagram
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A post shared by Blake Kresses (@blakekresses)

5. Who are the real traitors? Possibly the most infuriating thing on earth is when people make the argument that people who fought for the Confederacy were “traitors.” This Instagram post debunks this argument better than I ever could.

 
 
 
 
 
View this post on Instagram
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A post shared by Unreconstructed Rebel (@unreconstructed1896)

 

bookmark_borderNo words will ever explain…

“Nothing I say about it matters. Nothing I say will ever explain how bad it hurts.”

I came across these words recently. Although they were written about a completely different topic, they encapsulate perfectly how I feel about the statue genocide. 

Nothing I say matters. Whether it be my parents, my friends, my co-workers, people on the internet, or even my therapist, no one will truly understand how bad the statue genocide hurts. No one will truly understand how bad the removal of Confederate statues, or the replacement of Columbus Day with Indigenous Peoples’ Day, hurts.

No one will understand the sense of injustice that these actions invoke in me. No one will understand how frustrating it is that I cannot make others understand why these actions are unjust. How frustrating that no amount of impassioned rhetoric, philosophical arguments, or logical reasoning can make people see and feel the injustice that I see and feel.

No one will truly understand how much a nasty comment, or a “laughing face” reaction, even if it is in response to someone else’s post, hurts me.

“He owned 32 slaves, may he rot.”

That is a comment that someone made on a drawing of Gen’l A.P. Hill that I posted, along with what I considered to be a thoughtful explanation, on Instagram. 

Today, I spent my entire day agonizing about how to respond to this comment. Should I delete it? Respond to it, and most likely get into a nasty back and forth discussion, in the full view of my friends, family, co-workers, and boss? Send the person a nasty message in retribution for his nasty comment? Ultimately, I opted for the both the first and third options, and also blocked the person so that he would not be able to respond to my message.

Was this petty and vindictive of me? Yes. 

Would a classy and mature person have merely deleted the comment and left it at that? Probably yes.

Apparently I am a petty, vindictive, classless, and juvenile person, but deleting this comment just did not feel sufficient. This way of thinking – that slavery is the be-all and end-all of everything – is exactly what I was debunking in the write-up accompanying my A.P. Hill drawing. This attitude – that a negative attribute of a historical figure somehow justifies completely destroying them, obliterating them, and eradicating anything having to do with them from the world – is exactly what I have dedicated my life to fighting against. I simply couldn’t let this nasty comment go without some sort of response.

I retaliated, because I believe that retaliation is what justice and morality demanded in this situation. 

After doing so, the thought hit me: how dare this person leave such a nasty comment in the first place?

I have been hurting for two and a half years, hurting so badly that nothing I say will ever be sufficient to convey the true extent of my pain. And now, on top of everything that I’ve been through, this person went out of his way to add to my pain. He went out of his way to pile on.

A.P. Hill was killed – shot through the heart – by soldiers who were invading his homeland in order to force everyone there to remain part of the U.S. against their will. After his death, the cause that A.P. Hill had given his life for, lost. The South surrendered and was forced, to this very day, to remain part of the U.S. against their will. Then, in 2022, A.P. Hill’s statue was dismantled and sent to a black history place, where it will be displayed along with signage explaining how horrible he was and how horrible his statue is. Because the statue served as his grave marker, his dead body was also dug up from the ground. And then the contractor who performed the disgraceful work made social media posts insulting and ridiculing him.

And now, on top of everything that A.P. Hill has been through, this person on Instagram went out of his way to add to the pain. He went out of his way to pile on, to add insult to injury, to further abuse this poor man who already lost his life fighting against an invading army, had his statue torn down and his grave desecrated.

Why?

Why would someone do that?

Why the hell would someone do that?

I don’t know this person personally. From what I could tell by looking at his Instagram profile, he seems to be a filmmaker of some sort. He posts pictures of himself, his girlfriend, his friends, his dog, and various random things. The captions tend to be either just emojis, or somewhat cryptic text that seems like it could be inside jokes between him and his friends. He occasionally posts short videos. 

Why couldn’t he have just continued with these things, and minded his own business? Why did he have to leave this nasty comment on my post, three weeks after I posted it?

Because of his decision to leave this nasty comment, I spent yet another day in pain. I spent yet another day agonizing over how to deal with yet another instance of someone hurting me and hurting a person I love, yet another instance of painful injustice. Because of his decision, I had a fight with my dad, who recommended that I not respond and became frustrated listening to me continue to talk about the situation.

Obviously, this person does not like A.P. Hill. But I’m not asking him to protest in the streets with a sign saying how amazing A.P. Hill is, and how unjust it was to remove his statue (although both things are true). I’m not asking him to “like” my post, to support me, or to help right the wrong of the statue genocide (although any of those things would be awesome). I’m just asking him to leave me alone. 

This person seems to have a perfectly fine life. He seems to have people that he interacts with, and stuff that he enjoys doing. 

Why couldn’t he have just continued doing his thing, living his life, and minding his own business? Obviously, he didn’t like my post. But why couldn’t he have just scrolled past it and continued on his merry way? Why did he have to go out of his way to inflict additional pain on people who’ve already suffered more than their fair share? 

Why? 

I have no answers, only questions.

bookmark_borderThe atrocity at Arlington National Cemetery

It was 11:25 p.m. on Saturday, January 7. My goal was to go to bed by 11:30, so naturally, I figured that I had enough time to do one more relatively small task. I chose as my final task, the job of looking up something that I had seen on social media the day before and wished to blog about, taking a screenshot of said thing, and pasting said screenshot into a draft blog post so that I could easily bang out the blog post the next day, the screenshot of the subject matter already in place.

Naturally, I was unable to quickly find the social media post that I was looking for. So I continued scrolling and scrolling, looking for it. In the process, I discovered that the U.S. government had decided to remove the Confederate monument at Arlington National Cemetery, something that pains me to have to type. I had known that this was under consideration, but hadn’t known that the decision to go ahead with this atrocity and moral abomination had already been made.

Making matters worse, this decision had taken place on December 29, ten entire days before I found out about it. 

Immediately upon learning this information, my entire body, mind, and soul erupted in excruciating and unbearable agony. To say that I don’t get the reasoning behind this decision, and the countless others like it in all different places around the country, would be an understatement. It is difficult to imagine a future for myself in a society that has decided that it would somehow be a good idea to systematically obliterate everything that makes my life worth living. Arlington National Cemetery, like so many other places and things, has been turned into yet another instrument to hurt me, to oppress me, and to declare my feelings, thoughts, and perspective invalid. Arlington National Cemetery has been redesigned and reconfigured to send the message that everyone deserves to be honored, except for people like me. Yet another thing, which used to be (and ought to be) beautiful, magnificent, and cool, now deliberately ruined. As I’ve written before, I don’t believe there are words available in any language that are capable of fully expressing the severity of this pain. 

Thinking about the events of Saturday night, I am simultaneously mad at myself for making the decision to look at social media at such a late hour (an activity that I am trying to cut back on), and also mad at myself for not having found out about the atrocity sooner. I felt derelict and irresponsible for not keeping up with the latest developments on a topic that is so important to me and affects me so deeply. I suppose this relates to the philosophical question of whether it is better to know the truth, even though it makes one unhappy, or to remain ignorant and also happy. Would it really be beneficial for me to be shielded from these horrible things via cutting down on my social media use, given that these things are, in reality, happening? Is happiness truly valuable if it is based on an inaccurate perception of what is actually happening in the world? 

By the way, after an hour of searching, I never found the post that I was looking for.

I also, as you might imagine, got very little sleep, so my brain was in no shape for blogging on Sunday anyways.

I’m not 100% sure why I am sharing this, other than to make it clear that the systematic obliteration of statues and monuments honoring the Confederacy causes real pain and inflicts real harm on real people. I am a human being, my feelings, thoughts, and perspective are just as valid as anyone else’s, and I do not deserve to be made to feel like this. I wish that Ty Seidule, the government official who made this despicable decision, could be made to feel what I am feeling as a result of his actions. I wish that he could truly understand what I am experiencing, and truly understand the impact, the real human costs, of what he did. I am certain that if this were possible, government officials would make different decisions than the ones they are currently making.

Actions and decisions like the one regarding Arlington National Cemetery are morally wrong, and the people who make them and carry them out do not hold the moral high ground.

bookmark_borderThe immorality of the Southern Poverty Law Center

The Southern Poverty Law Center recently made the below Facebook post, which really angered me. 

This post is infuriating for numerous reasons:

“It’s past time we remove ALL memorials dedicated to the Confederacy!”

False. As an autistic person whose special interest is the Confederacy, memorials dedicated to the Confederacy are necessary in order for me to have a life that is worth living. A world without memorials dedicated to the Confederacy is a world that might as well not even exist at all. So, no, it is not “past time” to remove the things that I need in order to have a life worth living. Removing things that people need in order to have a life worth living should never be done at any point in time. 

Each and every removal of a Confederate monument has inflicted horrific and unbearable pain on me. Each and every removal of a Confederate monument is completely unacceptable. What actually needs to be done is to put these monuments back in their rightful locations in order to rectify the painful situation. Not to inflict even more pain, as the SPLC advocates. 

“Earlier this week, Richmond, Virginia, continued taking action to correct its alignment with the divisive Confederacy: The very last Confederate monument sitting on public space in the city was removed.” 

Richmond, Virginia was not taking action to “correct” anything. Alignment with the Confederacy is a good thing, because the Confederacy was fighting against the federal government. For this reason, everyone should be aligned with the Confederacy, and the fact that some people and places aren’t, is the thing that needs to be corrected. Rather, Richmond, Virginia was taking an action that inflicted horrific and unbearable pain and destroyed everything that makes life worth living. I don’t understand why anyone would consider this to be even remotely a good thing. Allowing people to have lives that are worth living is not something that needs to be corrected. 

Also, I’m not sure what the “divisiveness” of the Confederacy has to do with anything. Whether something is divisive or not is determined by what the public opinion happens to be in a society. If something is liked by most people, then it is not considered divisive. If people have strongly differing opinions about something, then it is considered divisive. But moral right and wrong are objective truths that have nothing to do with what happens to be popular in a society. Therefore, whether or not something is divisive has nothing to do with whether the thing in question is good or bad. Calling the Confederacy “divisive” in this context is a logical fallacy. The Confederacy may well be divisive, but that has nothing to do with its moral goodness or badness.

“If the former flagship of the Confederacy can remove all of its Confederate monuments, then all of our cities can.”

Um, yes, all of our cities can commit immoral actions that inflict horrific and unbearable pain and destroy everything that makes life worth living. But given that such actions are immoral, inflict horrific and unbearable pain, and destroy everything that makes life worth living, I’m not sure why anyone would advocate that cities do so.

“Explore our resources to find out more about the history of Confederate monuments and what you can do to help remove them.”

Again, given that removing Confederate monuments is immoral, inflicts horrific and unbearable pain, and destroys everything that makes life worth living, I’m not sure why anyone would want to help do this, or why anyone would advocate such a thing.

“Take down monuments glorifying the Confederacy.”

Given that monuments glorifying the Confederacy are necessary for me to have a life that is worth living, no, no one should take down monuments glorifying the Confederacy. 

Taking down monuments glorifying the Confederacy is immoral, because it inflicts horrific and unbearable pain and destroys everything that makes life worth living

In case I haven’t made myself sufficiently clear: inflicting horrific and unbearable pain, and destroying everything that makes life worth living, is bad. It is not okay. It is not even remotely a positive thing. It is not something that should ever be done, advocated for, praised, or celebrated in any way. 

It is beyond wrong and beyond infuriating that after two and a half years of literally hundreds of instances of horrific pain being inflicted on me, the SPLC would advocate for the infliction of yet more pain. That after two and a half years of getting their way on essentially everything – the rights, feelings, and perspectives of other people be damned – the SPLC would demand even more. That after two and a half years of brutal, vicious destruction of everything beautiful and good in the world, the SPLC would consider the continued existence of a meager handful of beautiful and good things to be the problem.

Pardon my French, but… fuck the Southern Poverty Law Center, their bigotry, and their complete and utter lack of empathy and human decency.

People who advocate for the infliction of horrific and unbearable pain, and for the eradication of everything that makes life worth living, do not hold the moral high ground.