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“Blaming therapy, social work and other caring professions for the confabulation of testimony of 'satanic ritual abuse' legitimated a programme of political and social action designed to contest the gains made by the women's movement and the child protection movement. In efforts to characterise social workers and therapists as hysterical zealots, 'satanic ritual abuse' was, quite literally, 'made fun of': it became the subject of scorn and ridicule as interest groups sought to discredit testimony of sexual abuse as a whole. The groundswell of support that such efforts gained amongst journalists, academics and the public suggests that the pleasures of disbelief found resonance far beyond the confines of social movements for people accused of sexual abuse. These pleasures were legitimised by a pseudo-scientific vocabulary of 'false memories' and 'moral panic' but as Daly (1999:219-20) points out 'the ultimate goal of ideology is to present itself in neutral, value-free terms as the very horizon of objectivity and to dismiss challenges to its order as the "merely ideological"'. The media spotlight has moved on and social movements for people accused of sexual abuse have lost considerable momentum. However, their rhetoric continues to reverberate throughout the echo chamber of online and 'old' media. Intimations of collusion between feminists and Christians in the concoction of 'satanic ritual abuse' continue to mobilise 'progressive' as well as 'conservative' sympathies for men accused of serious sexual offences and against the needs of victimised women and children. This chapter argues that, underlying the invocation of often contradictory rationalising tropes (ranging from calls for more scientific 'objectivity' in sexual abuse investigations to emotional descriptions of 'happy families' rent asunder by false allegations) is a collective and largely unarticulated pleasure; the catharthic release of sentiments and views about children and women that had otherwise become shameful in the aftermath of second wave feminism. It seems that, behind the veneer of public concern about child sexual abuse, traditional views about the incredibility of women's and children's testimony persist. 'Satanic ritual abuse has served as a lens through which these views have been rearticulated and reasserted at the very time that evidence of widespread and serious child sexual abuse has been consolidating. p60”

“Blaming yourself makes you feel in control of a situation. It makes you feel safe. If it’s Eton’s fault for this, then your brain tells you that he has the power. That’s scary. If he has the power, he could do it again, and it’s out of your control. So your brain twists things so you don’t feel so vulnerable. If you did this, then you could’ve stopped it. You can control whether it happens again. But you know that’s not true.”

“Blanca: Teresa recuerda que este es un pueblo chico, tarde o temprano le van a contar sobre ti. Teresa: Ya le dije que la gente aquí es mal hablada y él se la ha creído, que linda es su inocencia. Blanca: Teresa reacciona, ese tipo de hombres son curiosos, le preguntará a la gente de tu barrio y va indagar por tu familia. Tarde o temprano se enterará de todo tu pasado. Mujer, tú tienes una historia, tienes que contarle. Teresa: ¡Soy una mujer sin historia desde que lo conocí!”

“Blanket compassion will shift the distribution decisively towards the manipulative end of the spectrum, and may paradoxically decrease the compassion with which the genuinely despairing are treated: for they are apt to get lost in the great mass of pseudo-distress and manipulation, and often their conduct draws less attention precisely because it is less attention-seeking.”

“BLANKET On our bed there is a blanket It has been greeted by strangers Become a desert to missiles Filled with hurtful words and jealousy A pitched hillside Where hunched backs lay unmoving I’ve crawled into its darkness Night after night Dove into the wreckage With my lantern Hoping for some light At the end of this silent tunnel I’ve spooned with the grief Sifted through the ashes of our love Been reduced to the seasons Where people watch our bones As they lie down exposed Through our transparent cover Still warm among the cold winds But heavy with self-deception On our bed there is a blanket It has been greeted by strangers Become a desert to missiles Filled with hurtful words and jealousy A pitched hillside Where hunched backs lay unmoving”

“Blasphemy is just the fanatic's name for criticism. Charb writes wisely: 'A believer can blaspheme only to the extent that the idea of blasphemy holds any meaning to him. A non-believer, no matter how hard he tries, 'cannot' blaspheme. God is sacred only to those who believe in him. If you wish to insult or offend God, you have to be sure that he exists. The strategy used by minority group activists masquerading as anti-racists is to pass off blasphemy as Islamophobia and Islamophobia as racism.' The crucial distinction we must defend is between acts of imagination and acts of violence....Faith is not the enemy. Fanaticism is the enemy. It always is. But only a fool would deny that faith has been the seedbed of fanaticism in mankind's long and sorry struggle for the light. As much as at times we need to seek "solidarity" among unlike groups, we also need to "desolidarize," to "unsolidarize"—to put the people we know before the abstract categories we imagine. Come to think of it, making people, with all their flaws, fully visible while leaving generalized types alone is exactly what the caricaturist has always done for us. It's his special form of bravery.”

“Blasphemy (The Sonnet) Insan dertte olduğunda, Ne ben, ne sen - hep aynı. Birbirimize destek olamıyorsa, Ne insan, ne hayvan - hep aynı. İnsan merhameti unuttuğunda, Ne cennet, ne cehennem - hep aynı. İnsan insanın acılarına ilaç olamıyorsa, Ne insan, ne canavar - hep aynı. When another being is in pain, Only blasphemy is indifference. If we can't be cure to each other, It's not life, but derangement. Dünyanın gözyaşlarını silmek için gençliğimi bile feda ettim. Çünkü insanların gülüşünde ben kendimi kaybettim.”

“Blasts from the past were like the rooms one entered and re-entered in dreams: they would not stay nailed down. When you returned to them, they had changed - they suddenly had more space or a tilt or a door that had not been there before. New people were milling around, the floors undulated, and the sun shone newly, strangely in the windows, or through the now blasted-open ceiling, or else it shone not at all, as if having fled the sky.”