What a response to my last column! To date, it was my most discussed and viral piece. And most of that response was disgust and virulence. But still, I am always happy to foster dialogue.
Unfortunately, I was not presented with any decent counterarguments, and alas have no rebuttal to give. However, I was presented with a nasty logical fallacy, which I feel must be addressed.
This will be a column on debate etiquette. Though not entirely. This will also be a column devoted to my very favorite subject: my egomania.
Friends, if you find yourself in a discussion on any given topic, I give you this one piece of advice: don’t fall prey to the ad hominem attack. From either side. Don’t do it and don’t succumb to it.
What is an ad hominem attack? Well, in Latin the phrase means “to the man” (man being the general term for a person). In the realm of philosophical debate, the phrase means to flip an argument from the topic at hand to addressing the flaws in the presenters of the topic instead.
As an example, let’s get back to the frustrating response to my column. My argument was basically about my abhorrence of pretending words deliver real harm intrinsically when there are very true actual harms which deserve more attention.
There are a few good counterarguments that could have been waged against me. I have looked into them on my own, and some of them have altered my viewpoint. Things like psychological proof of the effects of violent verbiage, or how certain people on the autism spectrum can’t respond properly to verbal stimuli. Or even how making a comparison between horrible things does not take away anything horrible about their natures. Et cetera.
But alas, I was not presented with any of these. Instead, I was told I am wrong simply because I am young, have no friends and am inexperienced.
Huh? What? What does that have anything to do with the subject? What in the name of Sweet Satan Buddha Christ am I supposed to do with that attack? How do I even respond to it?
Being the charming little vain cactus needle I am, I use it as a chance to talk about myself, of course! Not only to show off the irrelevance of my personal experiences, but also provide tongue-in-cheek sarcasm to those who think they can wipe me away with an insult so easily.
I will keep this short. Unfortunately.
First off, I am 28-years-old. Not old, but not young either. Not to me anyway. Not only does every bone in my body ache when I wake up in the morning, but I have done my very best to live my life according to the mantra: it is not the years in your life which matter, but the life in your years.
Those 28 years have been quite full.
I grew up in three different dysfunctional, abusive and alcoholic homes. Neglect in my youth led me to not only pursue adventure wherever I could find it, out of boredom, but also gave me the chance to become a “victim” of a “child predator” (quotes to remind me to bring this up in another column). I came out as gay when I was 12 and immediately started experimenting with sexuality. By the latter half of my 13th year, I had become a prostitute and developed a slight drinking habit.
I lost my first boyfriend to AIDS when I was 16.
After nearly flunking out of high school and becoming a pot head, I joined the Marine Corps in 2005.
Again, I craved adventure. I had the shit beat out of me at boot camp for being gay. Not that I said anything, since Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was still in full force. I just had that air about me.
I deployed to Iraq in 2006-2007, and I have so many experiences from that part of the world that I could write a dozen books about it. I might.
When I came home, I was stationed in Kansas City around 2008. I became a part-time lot lizard (look it up), while still in the Corps under DADT. I also met the former love of my life, whom I almost married.
In 2010, I moved to Albuquerque, where I worked in recruiting and spent a considerable amount of time in Ciudad Juarez and the Navajo Reservation. I also worked as a go-go dancer and a drag queen. I had stopped hooking by this point, but was also struggling with a sex addiction. I had an HIV scare, and my boyfriend gave me syphilis.
He tore my heart out in 2013, the year I left the Corps, lost a dear father-figure commanding officer to suicide, had my car stolen by Mexican drug mules, and moved to Bowling Green.
And now, aside from occasional nefarious trips to Detroit and Toledo for stuff, I am living the quiet life of an impoverished college student. I eagerly await my next adventure. Whatever pops up, really.
I have depression, anxiety, PTSD and three illegitimate children. That I know of. I’ve been raped multiple times, assaulted a number of times, and attempted suicide four times. Luckily, I have no STDs or other diseases. My knees are shot, but I am mostly capable so long as I don’t have to walk too fast.
That’s me in a nutshell. And you know what? None of it matters. I may never be the subject of a college course in which my life must be discussed. I might run for a political office, so I could be discussed there.
But otherwise, if I bring up a subject in my columns that is separate from my personhood, I would like it very much if dissenters could avoid the ad hominem.
Counter my words. Don’t counter me.
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