My ability to communicate when it comes to a topic that I am passionate about (which is just about any topic that I am interested in discussing) becomes almost non-existing. Most people must give me the benefit of doubt or dismiss me all together. I have become used to the dismissing. Particularly because I am not good at speaking or writing in an inductive way, it is part of my learning disability, one that has been hindered further by a poverty that gave me a poor education and kept me around people who were not privy to middle-class language and nuance, or more specifically, the ability to speak in white-American-middle class approved code. I am now still not around it because I cannot surround myself with people that I don’t understand or even if I were receptive which I guess I could be if I tried hard enough, I am not willing to tolerate their disdain when I am repeatedly told how obtuse I am.
It is also my personality type to a fault. I know what I know. I cannot tell you what, I just know. I can however tell you most definitely what I don’t know, because people who know what they know know for certain when they do not know. Of course it will work against me if it turns out that I do not in fact know what I insist that I know, and that is always a threat because when I cannot prove thorough speaking/writing that I know what I know then it is concluded that I don’t know what I am claiming to know. To complicate the matter, I most often know what I know through instincts and senses and our culture/society is not big on crediting instincts.
For example, the persistent male cop who has a gut instinct is trusted (to a degree) and is followed and respected accordingly, so is the male president who knows his course is right even though every thing around him says he is wrong. The female who says it (whatever it is at that time) is what it is because her instincts tell her so is labeled a quack, angry, must be suffering from a rape, or at one time a witch and murdered because of the infer threat her instinctual assertion invokes among the insecure. Or to bring that to 2008, dismissed because she cannot get her thoughts into understandable soundbites. “Quickly bitch, give me the soundbite code, are you on my side or their side, it is us or them.”
I don’t care though, because I know what I know, I can feel it. I am not Cassandra. Although I do love Cassandra and will fight for the Cassandras of the world until the day I die.