NJO: "Benjamin Wetmore: A mentor of mine; a genius", said James O'Keefe in an interview in September 2009. So let's take a look at some of the wisdom of this certifiably mentorial influence on James' life.
Today, from November 2008, "One recent crazy night":
A friend asked me to go record a meeting of radical homosexuals at a public meeting, and so I went. It was held at a government high school, after-hours, and the discussion of choice was on how best to structure homosexual activities in middle and high schools. I drove up and parked, walked inside and had a hard time discerning where to go. I saw a man walking with purpose, and decided to ask him. I asked him if he knew where the meeting was being held, and he prompted me to give him which one it was. I told him it was the GLBT one, and he prodded further. It seemed as though he wanted to screen me to see if I was actually going to the meeting or if I was an outsider. After I passed his informal test, he said he was going that way and that I could walk with him.
He was an older man, and the perfect expression of every stereotype of government school administration. He had an underlying personal tension, and his skin even had that awkward dark tint of a man in small authority. His short white hair were little yardsticks of his creativity, suffocated no doubt from years of bureaucracy. It feels awkward to write that, since I'm sure he's a 'good man' and 'everyone around him likes him' and it's uncouth to talk of people in such a way. However, he was also going to give the welcome to a group of people spreading perversion to kids, so I don't feel too bad about it.
As we walked, he asked me what all the initials meant. Never once in my life have I been hit on by homosexuals nor been confused for one, so I tried my best to play along. I avoided being too over the top with the lisp though, not because it's inaccurate, rather, I just didn't think I could pull it off.
I sat down in a cafeteria and tried to look busy. I had arrived early, and the head organizer approached me, surely I looked suspicious. She was nice, but was clearly probing for who I was with. I said half-truthfully that I was writing a story and a part-time journalist. She then left me, as I sat in this long awkwardly extended rectangular cafeteria and proceeded to deal with the refreshments.
Time passed and no one arrived. I thought it odd. Then I realized that everyone had left. The meeting was elsewhere and they decided to leave me in the cold. I wandered around the school for a while, pacing the linoleum, breathing in that strong cleaning agent that every school overuses, and passed the empty classrooms looking for the room I was supposed to be in. I covered almost the entire school, and was about to leave when I saw a very obviously gay man enter the building.
I decided to follow him.
He was lost as well, however, and he was even a speaker. We ran into the same principal and he gave us better directions. Together we walked to the right room, through the maze of the needlessly complex laid out school.
I arrived at the right room, finally, only about 15 minutes late. I entered a room full of homosexuals and transsexuals. They were of all ages, older, middle-aged, younger and even, sadly, high schoolers. I sat there as comfortably as I could, awkward from the environment and also from those tiny blue chairs that all schools buy. In a room full of perverts I started dissecting my own sexuality. A degree of introspection that I can't turn off kept racing in my head and I thought about my similarities to this group rather than my obvious differences.
They were fellow human beings, deserving of respect and rights. But they had serious problems as well. The several men dressed as women and women who had been surgically altered to be men clarified my mental confusion. But, strangely, even sitting there realizing that they were all perverted, I started identifying with them after a time. My own little Stockholm syndrome kicked on surprisingly fast. It's such an amazing topic to politicize and publicize, that I think it lends itself to conversions so easier.
These groups and these interests never promote stable sexual behaviors or lifestyles. The Theology of the Body, a popular Catholic teaching about sexuality, never enters their minds. If abstinence is taught, it's presented as a joke, as something totally unrealistic. Rather, one's taught to do whatever feels good, and to treat the symptoms later, never the disease. In the case of AIDS, that becomes literally true: don't adjust your behavior, agitate for cures to the disease because the behaviors can't be changed.
Which isn't even to say that homosexual behavior must be changed. But if homosexual partners were monogamous and faithful, there would be a next to zero chance to catch AIDS.
One's sexuality is at the core of their identity, and yet so unthought of, so taken for granted. Homosexuals say that and mean that one should 'question' it and eventually become homosexual. I mean that in the sense that stability and order exists because most of us don't question it, and probably shouldn't. So many questions have unfirm answers, and the process of asking a question can lead to doubt. For instance: if you trust someone 100%, and someone asks if you've heard that they've stolen from someone, even though you may still trust them, your trust was never the same. Simply the act of asking the question has changed your opinion. Such is the affect of suggestion, something this group has mastered.
I sat for 90 minutes as they talked about increasing the number of gay-straight alliance groups in high schools, middle schools, and further 'improving' the curriculum in elementary schools. The power of suggestion to tell 11 year old kids that perhaps they're "different" because they're gay.
No, I have nothing in common with these people. And after realizing and appreciating what was going on, it became quite easy to retain my resolve.
