More than 48,400 women and girls in the state of New York are at risk of or have undergone FGM, estimates the Population Reference Bureau.Meanwhile, NYC's mayor is busy hunting down hateful statues.
And the AHA Foundation — a global activist group fighting for an end to violence against women — says these terrifying and brutal procedures are happening right under our noses.
Senior director Amanda Parker told Metro US: ‘With that number of at risk women and girls from communities where FGM is practiced in the state, with a large concentration in New York City, we are deluding ourselves if we think it’s not happening right in Manhattan.
Saturday, September 23, 2017
"Little girls are being ‘cut on kitchen tables’ in Manhattan"
Via Instapundit: Some practitioners are happy to perform brutal female genital mutilation (FGM) procedures on little girls on kitchen tables in New York City, warns a leading organization.
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I was thinking of leaving this on the Al Capone thread, with the question of what kind of kitchen tool might be a fit for him? Or posts revealing Capone's bent, angst and crudities? A garlic press? Nut cracker? Gristle left on the floor for hungry dogs to gnaw? A pantry worm?
Then this post on kitchen tables, bringing to mind the implements used to destroy, remove, and mutilate human flesh, the tools who accept and perform FGM, those who prefer rigid thinking to sifting and the poem fits here, too.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PNXKycVEkPQ
When our English teacher gave
our first writing invitation of the year,
Become a kitchen implement
in 2 descriptive paragraphs, I did not think
butcher knife or frying pan,
I thought immediately
of soft flour showering throught the little holes
of the sifter and the sifter’s pleasing circular
swishing sound, and wrote it down.
Rhoda became a teaspoon,
Roberto a funnel,
Jim a muffin time
and Forrest a soup pot.
We read our paragraphs out loud.
Abby was a blender. Everyone laughed
and acted but the more we thought about it,
we were all everything in the whole kitchen,
drawers and drainers,
singing teapot and grapefruit spoon
with serrated edges, we were all the
empty cup, the tray.
This, said our teacher, is the beauty of metaphor.
It opens doors.
What I could not know then
was how being a sifter
would help me all year long.
When bad days came
I would close my eyes and feel them passing
through the tiny holes.
When good days came
I would try to contain them gently
the way flour remains
in the sifter until you turn the handle.
Time, time. I was a sweet sifter in time
and no one ever knew.
"Sifter" by Naomi Shihab Nye,
They're afraid of women being happy.
No wonder they're nuts.
How can feminism stand idly by while this barbarity goes on in our own country?
Because they're afraid of them. They need them to stuff the ballot boxes, but they know what happens when they take over.
They're the sheep who hopes to be eaten last.
Lem said...How can feminism stand idly by while this barbarity goes on in our own country?
Cowardice. It's a lot safer to go after straight white male Christians.
"Hey, we eat on that."
- cartoon caption of boy walking in on couple getting it on, 1970s
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