This post reflects my opinion on recent events concerning the polygamist cult raid in Texas. The thoughts and opinions herein expressed are my own and in no way reflect those of the idiots who want to frame these events as religious freedom or parenting issues. The rape of underage girls is always a criminal act, calling it marriage can’t erase that stain. Fomenting an atmosphere in which this is acceptable is a criminal act; facilitating said rape by “giving” your children over to be raped is a criminal act. The state of Texas absolutely did the right thing in taking children out of this atmosphere. More than that, the great state of Texas did its job, correctly, by protecting their most vulnerable citizens from predatory adults.

Don’t bother commenting if you don’t agree wholeheartedly with my first paragraph. Apologists will not be tolerated.

As a mom, and more so as the mother of a daughter, and as a Christian, this story ignites my outrage. Look, I’m not categorically opposed to polyamoury, provided all the people involved are over 18 and all are giving informed, enthusiastic consent. That, of course, precludes children who shouldn’t even be exposed to this. There may be some people out there who grew up in such a household or who are raising children in such a household, and these people may tell me that everything is just fine and dandy. But I think that’s just too much information for kids to have to process. Honestly, the less I knew about my parents’ sex lives the happier I was. I knew they had the two of us, but beyond that, just ick.

But we’re not talking about consenting adults here. According to this story in The Salt Lake Tribune, many of the women and children removed want to return to the compound. A lot of people are going to seize on this and say, “It can’t be too bad, they all want to go back.” Children want to do all sorts of things that are bad for them and that we, as adults, must keep them from doing in order to keep them safe and healthy. I have a five-year old that would drink pop and fruit-flavored sugar-water all day, but I don’t let him. He also wants to cross the street all by himself, but since he can’t yet be trusted to look both ways and be careful, I don’t let him. I have a three-year old that likes to climb into the kitchen and turn the faucet so that it floods the countertop and pass-through, but I don’t let her. She also likes to eat crayons and would go through a whole box, but I don’t let her. Children do not have the judgment and knowledge necessary to make the best decisions all the time.

Those we might be tempted to think of as the consenting adults in this story, the adult mothers of these children, are neither consenting nor adults. In order to give consent there must be other options open to the person giving that consent. If there are no other options, then it is forced, obligatory. If the person in question cannot even conceive of other options, because of a lifetime of indoctrination, then there is no consent. The poor girl whose cry for help started everything was reportedly told that if she left she would have to cut her hair and wear makeup and have sex with a lot of men. So she could either leave into a strange and terrifying (to her) outside world or endure being raped repeatedly by an older man and be forced to bear his children. When the choices presented to her were equally horrifying, she was robbed of consent.

The other problem with the supposedly grown women who wish to return is the slippery concept of “adult.” What makes a person an adult? It can’t be calendar age alone. Some people are adults at 18, some at 25, some not until they have children of their own. And we all now the perpetual adolescents, the ones who never make that last leap into adulthood. I’m a grown-up, but I can’t tell you the exact moment I grew-up. But looking at it from a parent’s perspective, I can tell you what I want for my own children. Assuming I do a halfway-decent job at parenting, when they leave home and set out to make their fortunes in the world, my kids will be willing and able to make decisions and take the responsibility for those decisions. They will be able to decide on an educational and career path and be happy and fulfilled in their work. They will be able to successfully navigate in an often confusing world that can offer many pitfalls. As for more prosaic concerns, they won’t leave my house unless they know how to: cook a meal from start to finish, sew a garment from start to finish, wash and fold and put away laundry, iron, clean a house, balance a checkbook, make a budget, do minor home repairs, mow a lawn, get estimates for major home repairs, any of a number of things that adults need to know how to do but that I had to learn the hard way. And none of this “man’s job” or “women’s work” nonsense; their father is a much better cook than I, but I’m the one who puts stuff together. I guarantee that not a single woman coming out of that compound knows how to be a functional adult in this society. When you have been told your entire life that you are inherently less-than, that you need to leave all the decisions to the wiser, be-penised people of the community and household, that you are good for nothing except sex, housework, and baby-making–and here’s the kicker–and you buy into it, then you are not a competent, consenting adult.

These poor women have been so beaten-down, so dehumanized, so brain-washed that they didn’t rise up in a maelstrom of maternal fury at the mere suggestion that their little girls be handed over to men to be rape victims. I don’t know if they willing gave up their daughters like lambs to the slaughter, but they sure didn’t try to stop it. And they sure seem anxious to get back to that insular life. To that cult.

When I was growing up in the seventies and early eighties, Jim Jones and Guyana were current events not some distant memory. Cults were a very present danger; and I learned, in church, how to recognize and guard against cults. This polygamist group out west exhibits most, if not all, of the signs of a cult. To call them a sect implies that they are just another facet of christianity but make no mistake, this is a cult and these victims will need to be deprogrammed. It is a cult, call it a cult.

Here’s my deal, no matter how brain-washed a mother may be, if she doesn’t violently repudiate the rape of her children but instead meekly accepts it and even encourages it, she does not deserve to keep her children. By wanting to take these endangered children back into that compound, those mothers are stamping their approval on and actively encouraging the sex slavery of their own children. They know what will happen to their daughters because it happened to them.

My proposal to the state of Texas is: let these children stay with their mothers only if the mothers will undergo counseling and agree not to go back to the cult. If any of the mothers have so little regard for the well-being of their children that they would knowingly take them back into a life of rape and abuse and unending child-bearing, then their children should never be returned to them.

Real mothers don’t “keep sweet”, real mothers fight like tigers to protect their children.

No, not that. Ok, not only that.

The kids are with my folks this weekend. My parents took them to Easter services today, doubtless trying to de-heathen them. So here we are, Hubby and I, a couple of old smoothies on the loose. Last night we went out for dinner and then went to the bookstore; and today we went to the coffee shop, then on to a leisurely drive, and a late lunch. You know what we did the whole time? We talked about the kids.

Going out for meals without having to keep two unruly children occupied is a rare treat. And a trip to the bookstore without spending the whole time in the children’s section? My idea of heaven. But my favorite part was the drive. We ventured further south than we usually do, and even visited the new, partially completed Tulsa Hills shopping area. By the way, very little is open on Easter Sunday. But we eventually drifted back towards more familiar parts of town.

One of my favorite neighborhoods in Tulsa (aside from the one we live in) is the Riverview Neighborhood. With the quirky Spotlight Theater and large and charming McBirney Mansion, which is now a B&B, Riverview is a very diverse area. There are lots of cute houses and swanky apartments. The only thing lacking is a convenient grocery store. And the only thing lacking on the drive were two very demanding and loud children.

Hubby and I talked about them almost the whole time. About Pumpkin’s favorite movie (101 Dalmatians) and how uncanny her puppy imitation is; about how big a boy Monkey is becoming. And about how nice it was to be able to drive without someone saying, “Are we going home yet?” or “I’m hungry, I thought we were going to lunch!” Long, leisurely drives are totally lost on preschoolers and toddlers.

We spent the entire weekend trying to figure out what we used to talk about before we had kids. I tried, valiantly I might add, to steer the conversation to politics or religion, but somehow we always ended up talking about the kids. During our drive I tried to stay on topic with in-fill development and all the exciting growth happening in town. It was a bust.

Tulsa is home to some really wonderful architecture. And my boy wants to build cities when he grows up, so every neat building inspired some comment like, “Monkey would love that!”

What will we talk about when the kids are grown?