Greta Christina

Here are 10 best Christmas songs for atheists

It's widely assumed that atheists, by definition, hate Christmas. And it's an assumption I'm baffled by. I like Christmas. Lots of atheists I know like Christmas. Heck, even Richard Dawkins likes Christmas. Plenty of atheists recognize the need for rituals that strengthen social bonds and mark the passing of the seasons. Especially when the season in question is dark and wet and freezing cold. Add in a culturally- sanctioned excuse to spend a month of Saturdays eating, drinking, flirting, and showing off our most festive shoes, and we're totally there. And we find our own ways to adapt/ create/ subvert the holiday traditions to our own godless ends.

Sure, most of us would like for our governments to not be sponsoring religious displays at the holidays. Or any other time. What with the whole "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion" thing. And some of us do rather resent the cultural hegemony of one particular religious tradition being crammed down everybody's throat, in a grotesque, mutant mating of homogenized consumerism and saccharine piety. But it's not like all atheists are Grinchy McScrooges. Many of us are very fond of Christmas. Some atheists even like Christmas carols. I'm one of them.

It is, however, definitely the case that, since I've become an atheist activist, my pleasure in many Christmas carols has been somewhat diminished. It's harder for me to sing out lustily about angels and magic stars and the miracle of the virgin birth, without rolling my eyes just a little. And I do notice the more screwed-up content of many Christmas songs more than I used to: the guilty self-loathing, the fixation on the blood sacrifice, the not- so- subtle anti-Semitism. I'm content to sing most of these songs anyway (except "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel," which always makes me cringe). But for some time now, I've been on the lookout for Christmas songs that I can sing entirely happily, without getting into annoying theological debates in my head.

So, with the help of my Facebook friends, I've compiled a list of Christmas songs that atheists can love unreservedly.

The rules:

Songs cannot have any mention of God, Jesus, angels, saints, or miracles. Not even in Latin. This is the key, the raison d'etre of this whole silly game. I'm not going to start making exceptions just so I can sneak in the "Boar's Head Carol." And yes, this rules out "Good King Wenceslas." Hey, I like it too, it's pretty and has a nice (if somewhat politically complicated) message about how rich kings should help poor people. But come on, people. It's about a Christian saint with magical powers. No can do. (I will, however, grant a "saints with magical powers" exemption to Santa.)

Songs must be reasonably well-known. Yes, this rules out some truly excellent stuff. Many of my favorite Christmas songs, atheist or otherwise, are on the obscure side: from the grisly, gothy, paganesque "Corpus Christi Carol" (I do love me some gruesome Christmas songs), to the simultaneously haunting and peppy "Patapan," to Tim Minchin's funny, touching, pointedly godless "White Wine in the Sun." But it's no fun singing Christmas songs by yourself. For a song to make my list, a reasonable number of people at your holiday party should be able to sing it... or at least chime in on the first verse before trailing off into awkward pauses and "La la la"s.

No song parodies. It hurts like major surgery for me to make this rule. Some of my very favorite Christmas songs of all time are song parodies: my friend Tim's hilariously on-target Christmas-themed parody of "Bohemian Rhapsody", "Christmas Rhapsody"; the entire "Very Scary Solstice" songbook from the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society; every Mad Magazine Christmas carol parody ever written. Song parodies are an excellent way to redeem a pretty Christmas tune from cringe-inducing lyrics, and many are just excellent songs on their own. But the idea here is that atheists can have a completely heartfelt, non-snarky love for Christmas music. So to make it onto my list, songs must be entirely sincere. (I will, however, give bonus points to classic Christmas songs that have spawned good parodies.)

Songs have to be good songs. A subjective judgment, I realize. And for the purposes of this game, one that is to be made entirely by me. Deal with it. I don't care how secular it is: "Suzy Snowflake" is not making it onto my freaking Christmas song list.

Bonus points: A song gets bonus points for not mentioning the word "Christmas." It's okay if it does -- I don't think the word has to mean "Christ's Mass," any more than "goodbye" has to mean "God be with you" or "Thursday" has to mean "Thor's day." But songs that have become widely accepted Christmas carols without even mentioning the concept get bonus points: for chutzpah, if nothing else.

And songs get bonus points for being written more than 100 years ago. I'm not a reflexive hater of modern Christmas songs; in fact, some of them I quite like. But some of the best stuff about Christmas music is the old, old, tunes: the soaring, haunting melodies and harmonies that resonate back through the centuries. If a song can do that and still not mention the baby Jesus, I'm sold.

So with these rules in mind, here are my Top Ten Christmas Carols Even An Atheist Could Love.

10: White Christmas. This is a funny one. I don't even particularly like this song: it's kind of drippy, and it lends itself far too well to unctuous lounge singers. But come on, people. It was written by a freaking agnostic. A Jewish agnostic at that. And it's become one of the most classic, wildly popular entries in the Christmas music canon. How can you not love an entirely secular Christmas classic written by a Jewish agnostic?

9: Jingle Bells. A bit overplayed, I'll grant you. But it's cheery, and it's old, and it's fun to sing. The second through fourth verses (you know, the ones nobody sings or has even heard of) are all about courting girls, racing horses, and getting into accidents, so that's entertaining. And the thing doesn't mention the word "Christmas" once. Heck, it wasn't even written as a Christmas song; it was written as a Thanksgiving song. You can happily teach it to your kids without worrying that you're indoctrinating them into a death cult. Plus it's spawned a burgeoning cottage industry of children's song parodies, in the time-honored "Jingle bells, Batman smells" oeuvre. (Tangent: Do kids still sing that even though "Batman" isn't on TV anymore?)

8: Sleigh Ride. For those who like jingling bells, but are a bit sick of "Jingle Bells" after all these years. Relentlessly cheerful. Lots of fun to sing, except for the weirdly tuneless bridge about Farmer Gray's birthday party.... but then you get back into the sleigh bells jingling, ring- ting- tingling too, and you're back in business. And no God, or Jesus, or even Christmas. Just snow, and singing, and pumpkin pie, and friends calling "Yoo hoo!" A trifle saccharine, I'll grant you -- a bit too nostalgic for a Norman Rockwell America that never really existed -- but still good, clean, secular fun.

7: Silver Bells. I'm sure I'm going to get roundly hated on for this one. Lots of people truly loathe modern Christmas songs, especially the ones in the drippy lounge- singer category. (See "White Christmas" above.) But I have a genuine soft spot for this one, for a very specific reason: It's one of the few Christmas songs that celebrates the urban Christmas. Most Christmas songs sing the bucolic joys of sleigh rides and forests and holly and whatnot... joys that are entirely outside of my own experience of Christmas. My own experience of Christmas is shopping and crowded streets and lavish decorations and electric light displays that could power a goat farm for a year. The very joys that "Silver Bells" is celebrating. And the tune is really pretty. Also it's in 3/4 time, which means you can waltz to it. So thumbs-up from me. If you sing it in a peppy, up-tempo beat, you can avoid the whole lounge-singer vibe pretty easily.

6: We Wish You a Merry Christmas. I was going to include at least one wassailing song in this list. Wassailing songs are among the finest secular Christmas traditions, and the general concept is familiar to a lot of people, even if the specific examples of it aren't. But alas, every single one of them either (a) is entirely obscure outside folk-nerd circles, or (b) mentions God at least once. Even if it's just in an "And God bless you and send you a happy New Year" context. I couldn't find even one completely secular wassailing song that'd be familiar to anyone who doesn't go to Renaissance Faires. So I'm letting "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" stand in for the "going from door to door singing and begging for food" wassailing genre. It's reasonably pretty, it's fun to sing, a lot of people who don't go to Renaissance Faires know it. And it celebrates two great Christmas traditions: pestering the neighbors, and eating yourself sick.

5: Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Another in the "Christmas songs that are really about the entirely secular joys of snow and winter" oeuvre. I like this one because it's not about mucking around in the actual snow, so much as it is about staying the hell out of it. Canoodling in front of the fire where it's warm and dry -- there's a Christmas song for me! Plus it's about being in love at Christmas, which is a lovely theme... and one that, like the urban Christmas, is sadly under-represented. And it's another classic Christmas song written by Jewish songwriters, which always tickles me. Thumbs up.

4: Santa Baby. Yeah, yeah. Everyone loves to gripe about the commercialization of Christmas. I griped about it myself, just a few paragraphs ago. But it's hard not to love a song that revels in it so blatantly, and with such sensual, erotic joy. Cars, yachts, fur coats, platinum mines, real estates, jewelry, and cold hard cash, with the not- so- subtle implication of sexual favors being offered in return -- the reason for the season! Plus it has the class to get the name of the jewelry company right. (It's Tiffany, people, not Tiffany's!) And the only magical being it recognizes is an increasingly secular gift-giving saint with an apparent weakness for sultry, husky- voiced cabaret singers. (And who can blame him? Faced with Eartha Kitt batting her metaphorical eyes at me, I'd be pulling out my checkbook, too.)

3: Carol of the Bells. A trifle hard to sing in parts. But it's awfully darned pretty. No, strike that. It is stunning. It is lavishly, thrillingly beautiful. It has that quality of being both eerie and festive that's so central to so much great Christmas music... and it has it in trumps. It is freaking old -- the original Ukrainian folk tune it's based on may even be prehistoric -- and it sounds it. In the best possible way. It is richly evocative of ancient mysteries, conveying both the joy and the peace that so many Christmas carols are gassing on about. And it does it without a single mention of God or Jesus or any other mythological beings. Just a "Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas." I'm down with that.

2: Winter Wonderland. Yes, I know. Another modern one. Hey, what do you expect? Christmas got a whole lot more secular in the last century. But I unabashedly love this song, and I don't care who knows it. It has a lovely lilting saunter to it, a melody and rhythm that makes you physically feel like you're taking a brisk, slightly slippery winter walk with the snow crunching under your boots. It gets bonus points for being a ubiquitous, entirely non-controversial Christmas classic that doesn't mention the word "Christmas" even once. And it's another Christmas love song, which always makes me happy. I get all goopy and sentimental whenever I hear the lines, "To face unafraid/The plans that we've made." Sniff.

And finally, the hands-down runaway winner, the no-question-in-my-mind Best Atheist Christmas Song of All Time:

1: Deck the Halls. It's totally gorgeous. It's unrepentantly cheerful -- jolly, one might even say -- with just a hint of that haunting spookiness that makes for the best Christmas songs. It celebrates all the very best parts of Christmas: singing, playing music, decorating, dressing up, telling stories, hanging around fires, and generally being festive with the people we love. It's old as the hills: the lyrics are well over 100 years old, and the tune dates back to at least the 16th century, if not earlier. Absolutely everybody knows the thing, and even the folks who don't can chime in cheerfully on the "Fa la la la la" part. It's ridiculously easy to sing without being boring. Plus it's spawned one of the finest song parodies ever: "Deck Us All with Boston Charlie," from Walt Kelly's Pogo, a parody that's almost as beloved as the original song.

And it doesn't mention God, or Jesus, or angels, or virgin births, or magical talking animals, or redemption of guilt through blood sacrifice, or any supernatural anything. Not even once. Heck, it doesn't even mention Christmas. This is a Yule song, dammit -- and proud of it! If there are any gods at all who inspired this song, they are entirely pagan pre-Christian ones. Totally, 100% made of atheist Christmas win.

Honorable mentions. The 12 Days of Christmas. It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Up on the Housetop. Over the River and Through the Woods. Jolly Old St. Nicholas. The Christmas Song (a.k.a. Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire). I'll Be Home For Christmas. Frosty the Snowman. Here Comes Santa Claus. Jingle Bell Rock. O Christmas Tree. All these fit all my criteria, and would be perfectly reasonable additions to your secular Christmas songbook. They just didn't quite make my Top Ten.

So Merry Christmas, to everybody who likes to celebrate it! Enjoy your decked halls, your ringing bells, your food, your hooch, your snow, your staying the hell out of the snow and fooling around, your sleigh rides, your expensive jewelry, your neighbors who you're pestering with endless Christmas carols... and above all else, the people you love. There's probably no God -- so stop worrying, and enjoy Christmas!

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Here are 12 things you shouldn't say to grieving atheists

When you talk with people who are grieving, you want to make them feel better. At the very least, you don't want to make them feel worse. This isn't always true (as you'll find out in some of these stories). But in general, in the face of grief, the point of comfort and consolation is to relieve some small part of the grieving person's pain. And I'll assume that the last thing you want to do is add to that pain. The bad news is that, if you're a religious believer, the chances are excellent you've done exactly that.

You almost certainly have non-believers in your life. While many of them aren't public about it, around five to 10 percent of adults in the United States are non-religious. When they're grieving -- whether it's a personal death or a public tragedy—they want and need comfort. But the standard ways of dealing with death are often religious. When these are offered to nonbelievers, they typically don't help, and they often make things worse.

I've written before with advice about what nonbelievers what they want to hear when they're grieving. This is the flip side of that coin. I reached out to members of Grief Beyond Belief (the online support group for grieving nonbelievers), as well as nonbelieving readers of my blog and Facebook page, and asked them to share the things they heard from believers that they wish had never been said.

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1. "She's in a better place," or "She's watching over you." I understand this is often well-meant. The person in front of you is suffering: you want to help make that go away. But even many believers don't want to hear this. It minimizes their grief. You may be trying to say, "Here's a way to see this that might make it less painful," but what people often hear is, "Geez, this really isn't that bad, what are you complaining about?"

For atheists, this can be even more upsetting. River says that at the service for their atheist brother, "One of my brother’s neighbors kept going on about how he was 'in a better place,' and that obviously 'God had other plans for him.' My brother’s (nearly adult, and also atheist) children were appalled at that... What better place could he be than mowing the lawn or getting the stuff off of the high shelf for them?"

And Veronica says that when she heard people say, "You have a beautiful guardian angel watching over you now," her thoughts were, "In what world does that make any sense at all? She wasn't even a year old. Is heaven some place where you are suddenly full grown and all knowing and are tasked with protecting your family?"

This can be especially painful if the person who died was a non-believer, or if his life (or death) would have been considered sinful. When a trans/queer friend of Nala committed suicide, her mother tried to comfort her by saying "something along the lines of 'May Allah keep him in his mercy.' It set me off and I told her that he was exactly the type of person her religion and her god would condemn. She thought she was comforting me but really, she was just reminding me that my friend belonged in hell according to her beliefs."

When you offer a false consolation that we don't accept, it can actually underscore the harsh reality of our loss. When you tell us that death isn't real or permanent, and therefore isn't really so bad, it denies the depth of our pain. It makes it seem as if your main concern isn't our grief, but your discomfort in dealing with it or your wish to be right about your religion. And it emphasizes the differences between us, at the very time we most need to feel connection and continuity.

2. "God has a plan," or "Everything happens for a reason." Even many believers don't like hearing that death really isn't that bad, or that the death of their loved one was deliberately engineered by a god who supposedly cares for them. And this can be even harder on nonbelievers. Kallie has had multiple pregnancy losses: she says, "Talking about it as though there was some sort of destiny or master plan just reminded me that there isn't a plan. I might have more losses, or no more pregnancies, or never be a mother. It just felt like a hollow, bitter jab." Gary adds, "I especially can't stand to hear that things happen for a reason or that it was just her time, as if my closest friend was meant to be killed that night."

These platitudes are especially painful when a death is unusually distressing. When people are struggling to cope with a violent, painful, slow, or premature death, we generally don't want to hear other people's rationalizations for why it was really okay. Travis spoke of prayers said by other family members when he and his wife were coping with a shocking murder within the family: "The gist of it was that while we don't understand your reasons, oh Lord, we're sure you had a good reason to do this. P.S. We still love you. I kept my mouth shut, but I wanted to scream." And Veronica says, "I'm sorry, but what kind of sadistic bastard includes a plan that kills a 22-month-old without warning in front of her mother and aunt? Even if there is a god with a plan, he can keep it next time. I want no part of this messed-up plan."

3. "Come to God now." Any sort of religious proselytizing is right out. It's emotional manipulation at its worst. It says to people who are grieving, Hey, you're feeling frightened, lost, and in shock? Here's a sales pitch. Maybe in your vulnerable state, you'll be more likely to buy what I'm selling." Again, it emphasizes one of the main differences between us, at a time when people most need connection.

But this is one of the most common forms of religious aggression that grieving nonbelievers deal with. As Wolfe puts it, "Fundamentalist Christians swoop in like vultures, trying to rack up notches on their godliness belt." James says that after his father's funeral, "A religious cousin told me my dad would wish I'd get right with god rather than be subject to eternal damnation. I don't believe any of that BS, but in the aftermath of burying the old man and early stage of handling the estate, it was painful."

Tommy says, "When my late wife had gone into the hospital (she would be dead a week later) her mom wanted to pray... in that prayer, I had suddenly become the lost sheep who had lost my way." And when Terry's grandmother died, "I was very angry when the person leading the funeral ceremony addressed my family specifically during the service to say that our grief stemmed from our own lack of faith and that we shouldn’t cry or express sadness at the loss because it would hinder my grandmother’s experience of this new type of existence... Even my Christian parents, aunts and uncles were angry."

It's especially creepy when people put their proselytizing words into the dead person's mouth. It's an attempt to manipulate people's grief and loss into guilt, often at the expense of an honest remembrance. When Sabine's deeply loved grandmother died, she was told, "She'll be in heaven, hoping against hope you change your ways so you can be reunited'... My grandmother went to church on special occasions, but was not particularly religious, it was a socially mandated event for her. I was so incensed at this woman's rewriting of my grandmother's religiosity, when she was barely cold, and her barely concealed glee at trying to make me feel guilty." And when Brianna's grandmother died, a cousin said she'd spoken to her in heaven: "[Grandmother] told me that her greatest wish is for you is to get right with God." Brianna now says, "It’s been almost 10 years and I still remember vividly the guilt trip that my cousin tried to lay on me."

3a: "This happened to bring you to God," or, "If you really loved the person who died, you'd come to God." This is a special version of proselytizing. It combines the message that the loss of someone we love is okay because it's part of God's plan, with the message that we're broken or evil if we don't believe. And it adds victim-blaming to the mix. If you tell us there's a God who deliberately kills people to persuade survivors that he exists, we obviously won't agree, but it's upsetting to hear that you think that. It's painful to hear you say this is our fault, and our grief is part of a lesson you think we need and deserve.

Niki tells the story of a colleague who died at the hands of her abusive ex. She stayed respectful of her office mates' need to pray -- but when a co-worker discovered that Niki was a non-believer, "she told me that our manager's death was God's way of trying to 'wake me up' to get right with him. The saddest part was just how heartless and cruel she made God out to be, taking away a young mother of three just to get me on his side."

4. "How can you stand not believing in an afterlife?" S.L. says that when her granny died, her mom told her "she didn't understand how I could deal with knowing I'll never see her again. Because of course the two of them are totally gonna meet up in heaven and pray for my poor burning soul someday." And Regina tells of a religious cousin who talked to her at length about "how hopeless it must be to not have that belief, and where can you get your strength from, and how would you deal with that... I'm struggling to not let that grief swallow me, and here she is pushing my face right into it."

When someone you care about is grieving, do you really want to bait them into a philosophical debate? Do you really want to make them explain their humanist philosophies of life and death? And do you really want them to tell you why they think your religion is unsubstantiated, illogical, self-contradictory, and ridiculous? It's hard to discuss atheism with believers without doing that -- but people who are grieving probably don't want to get into arguments, and aren't in a state to control their emotions when they do.

If you're close to a grieving nonbeliever, and you genuinely want to understand how they cope with death and grief, there are non-douchey ways to ask. "I know we differ about this, but I want to understand you better so I can support you..." "If you don't feel like discussing this, that's fine, but if you'd like to discuss it I'd like to know..." But don't ask it with incredulity, as if not believing in an afterlife makes someone a freak. And don't do it in an oppositional way, as if atheism is absurd. Don't make the grieving people in your life choose between getting in a fight or biting their tongue.

5: "There's something wrong with you if you don't believe." I wish I didn't have to spell this out. It seems like Grief Etiquette 101: Don't Tell Grieving People They're Evil or Broken. But it happens more than you'd think. When Mickey's Catholic grandmother died, her sister said after the funeral service, "How anyone could listen to that and not believe… you’d have to be heartless." Mickey says, "It still upsets me, a lot, that my sister basically considers me a heartless monster." If you want to console the people you care about, don't call them heartless monsters.

6: "He converted on his deathbed." Another piece of Grief Etiquette 101: Don't gaslight people who are grieving. Don't treat them like fools. And don't disrespect the memory of people who died by lying about them. "When we took my mother off life support," says Eric, "I stayed in the hospital room for about half an hour. I finally couldn't stand to see her like that anymore and left. Later a relative who stayed in the room longer told me that my mother opened her eyes and smiled at her and accepted Jesus into her heart. My mother; who was vocal her whole life that she was agnostic and despised organized religion. This relative was also grieving and I know she was dealing with my mother's loss as well. But she still tells that story. She told it at my mother's funeral... It is an insult to her memory."

People even tell deathbed conversion stories based on supposed visions or dreams. When Jeff's father died, he was told, "I had a dream your father was being welcomed into heaven, so he must have begged for forgiveness right before he died." "I was so angry at that," Jeff says, "because all my childhood the fear of my father going to hell when he died was lorded over me as a way to coerce me into believing, and then when he did die, they changed their minds about his outcome?! And of course you can't have any logical reply to comments like that because you're being 'insensitive.'"

If you want to believe that dead atheists converted so you can believe they're in Heaven -- fine. Lie to yourself all you want. But don't lie to other people. And if you want to comfort the grieving atheists in your life, don't tell us lies about deathbed conversions. Even if they were true, we wouldn't find them comforting.

7: "The person you loved is in hell." Seriously. People say this. When Mar's father died, one of his co-workers said that "since my father was in hell now she hoped the rest of us might be reconsidering our spurning of Jesus." When an atheist friend of D.N. died, a religious friend asked if he'd been a Christian. "I told her no, he was an atheist, and she (knowing I'm an atheist) tried to say that I was actually mourning the fact that he might be in hell." And when D.C.'s best friend died, they were told, "I know you're sad, but it's not good to cry over someone who is in hell."

Do I really need to explain why this is messed up? I guess I do. When someone is grieving, it is cruel beyond measure to tell them that the person they're grieving for was evil and deserves to suffer excruciating, unending pain. Even if you're talking to an atheist who doesn't believe in Hell, it's cruel to tell them that you not only believe in the torture of the person they love, but approve of it.

8: "There are no atheists in foxholes." No. No, no, no. This is a flat-out lie, and it's a vile one. The assumption behind it is that of the hundreds of millions of nonbelievers, none have ever experienced great suffering or loss. That would be laughable if it weren't so patently offensive, so blithely willing to deny our humanity and erase the reality of our lives. As Rebecca Hensler says, founder and co-moderator of the Grief Beyond Belief online support group, "Excuse me!? My baby died and I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and you are telling me that I would accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior if only something terrible enough happened to me?"

9: "I don't care that she was a nonbeliever; she's getting a religious funeral." If you're a believer, and you have requests about your funeral, I assume you'd want them respected. It's a final commitment in the social contract: requests about funerals and memorials are a dying person's last chance to be heard, to make a mark on the world, and to be remembered the way they'd want to be. When people ignore these requests, it says, "This ceremony has nothing to do with the person who died. We're not interested in remembering who they really were, and we don't respect them."

Unfortunately, it's distressingly common for nonbelievers' last wishes about funerals and memorials to be ignored -- especially when it comes to religion. Mary Ellen has attended several religious funerals for nonbelievers, and says there's a depressingly common pattern: "The memorial is used as a venue for believers to validate their own beliefs at the deceased's expense. At one service (set up as a secular one, in a funeral home without clergy), a speaker from the individual's former (Mormon) congregation pointed out that the deceased was now finding out just how wrong he'd been about God and Jesus. The son was well aware of his father's atheism... it can't have been consoling for him to hear his dad ridiculed in this way." Kyle confirms this: when his non-believing brother was dying of leukemia, he says, "My mother mentioned to him that she was thinking of organizing a memorial service at her church. My brother was somewhat angry and specifically asked my mother not to do such a thing. After he died, she arranged the service anyway."

Even explicitly secular services will sometimes be disrupted by religion. Donna tells of a friend who held a nonreligious memorial for her teenaged son: even though she requested that there be no discussion of religion, people still sent cards with religious content, several people expressed religious sentiments (and loudly complained about the request not to express them), and one person sent a cross made of flowers. As Donna puts it, "The service shifted from a remembrance of her son’s life to a group of Christians complaining vehemently that they were being harmed because they could not comfortably express their faith in the home of an atheist woman who had just watched her 16-year-old son die."

Yes, funerals and memorials are for the living. And that includes the living who want to remember the deceased as they were, and who want their last wishes respected. Xavier describes the funeral of an atheist friend, where a pastor spoke about how life is useless without God. "It felt (like) a public betrayal of his friendship with her," he says. "It felt like he wanted to have the last word."

10: "I'm praying for you." I know this is often well-meaning. And I know that for many believers, saying this in difficult times is almost automatic. But if you say "I'm praying for you" to a grieving person who you know is a nonbeliever, they may not hear, "I'm thinking of you and care about you." What they will very likely hear is, "I don't really know you very well, or care about the things that are important to you." And it's likely that they'll hear, "At a time when you most need connection, I'm going to emphasize one of the big differences between us."

When grieving nonbelievers speak about religious stuff they wish people hadn't said, this one comes up again and again. Charlotte: “I’m praying for you both.” Donna: “You are in our prayers." Bill: "I'll pray for you." Judy: "Tell us how to pray for you." (Judy adds, " I know what I wish I'd said: 'silently.'") If what you mean is, "I'm thinking of you and I care about you" -- say that. You don't have to add that you're thinking about your god.

11: "You're not part of this." I haven't heard many stories of believers saying this directly. But when groups of grievers -- families, co-workers, circles of friends -- focus every piece of their outward grieving on religion, it can make the nonbelievers in their midst feel like outsiders. Sam lost several close colleagues in the attack on the World Trade Center. When he was repeatedly told "they're in a better place," he says it was "like eating a cold ball of lead. It doesn't sit well and you're forced to just bear it because it's not the time to argue about whether an afterlife exists... The worst part of any of this was the feeling of isolation during a time that was very difficult." And when Sabrina's friend died, the other mourners around her spoke incessantly of religion, even saying her death was a good thing because she was in Heaven. "I was also grieving," she says, "except I was all alone in that crowded house."

I'm not asking believers to shut up entirely about their religion. I'm asking them to remember the nonbelievers in their lives. What grieving people mostly need is connection, a reminder that they're not alone. So think of ways to include them. Don't shut them out.

And finally:

12. "Why should any of this bother you?" When nonbelievers talk about how troubling they find this religious "comfort," we're often chided for being ungrateful. "People mean well," we're told. "Can't you focus on what they meant, and not on what they said or did?" It isn't just believers who chide us: some atheists do it, too. They themselves don't find religious language upsetting when they're grieving: they see it as well-intentioned, and they're willing to accept the intention and ignore the religious stuff they don't believe in. And they don't see why everyone else can't deal with it the way they do.

But not everyone grieves in the same way. And not everyone feels the same way about religion. If you don't understand why many grieving atheists find this language upsetting -- go back and re-read the rest of this piece. It spells it out pretty clearly. The point of consolation in the face of grief is to, you know, console the grieving person, and make them feel slightly less awful. Well-intentioned pain is still pain. If you can avoid causing more pain to people who are grieving, shouldn't you work to do that? If your attempts to console the grieving do cause pain, and your response is to get defensive and hostile, guilt-tripping the grieving person and making it all about you -- what does that say about your intentions?

And if you don't know whether the person you're talking to is religious -- bear that in mind. You don't know. The number of nonbelievers is significant and growing, and many are in the closet. As Dennis says, "My advice to Christians (this is America-centric) is not to assume that the grieving parties are receptive to your religious expressions and rituals. If you haven’t seen them at your church on a regular basis, then inserting your own religion during a time of grieving is inconsiderate."

There are plenty of things you can say or do to help people who are grieving: "I'm so sorry," "This sucks," "They were a wonderful person," "Here are some good memories I have of them," and "What can I do to help?" You can say these things to people of any religion, or people with no religion. If you're sincere about wanting to help, these are a good place to start.

READ: Religious Trauma Syndrome: How some organized religion leads to mental health problems

'How can you be moral?': Here are 9 questions you don't need to ask an atheist

Asked of Hispanic-Americans: “Are you in this country legally?” Asked of gays and lesbians and bisexuals: “How do you have sex?” Asked of transgender people: “Have you had the surgery?” Asked of African Americans: “Can I touch your hair?”

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7 things people who say they're 'fiscally conservative but socially liberal' just don't understand

"Well, I'm conservative, but I'm not one of those racist, homophobic, dripping-with-hate Tea Party bigots! I'm pro-choice! I'm pro-same-sex-marriage! I'm not a racist! I just want lower taxes, and smaller government, and less government regulation of business. I'm fiscally conservative, and socially liberal."

How many liberals and progressives have heard this? It's ridiculously common. Hell, even David Koch of the Koch brothers said, "I'm a conservative on economic matters and I'm a social liberal."

And it's wrong. W-R-O-N-G Wrong.

You can't separate fiscal issues from social issues. They're deeply intertwined. They affect each other. Economic issues often are social issues. And conservative fiscal policies do enormous social harm. That's true even for the mildest, most generous version of "fiscal conservatism" -- low taxes, small government, reduced regulation, a free market. These policies perpetuate human rights abuses. They make life harder for people who already have hard lives. Even if the people supporting these policies don't intend this, the policies are racist, sexist, classist (obviously), ableist, homophobic, transphobic, and otherwise socially retrograde. In many ways, they do more harm than so-called "social policies" that are supposedly separate from economic ones. Here are seven reasons that "fiscally conservative, socially liberal" is nonsense.

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1: Poverty, and the cycle of poverty. This is the big one. Poverty is a social issue. The cycle of poverty -- the ways that poverty itself makes it harder to get out of poverty, the ways that poverty can be a permanent trap lasting for generations -- is a social issue, and a human rights issue.

If you're poor, there's about a two in three chance that you're going to stay poor for at least a year, about a two in three chance that if you do pull out of poverty you'll be poor again within five years -- and about a two in three chance that your children are going to be poor. Among other things: Being poor makes it much harder to get education or job training that would help you get higher-paying work. Even if you can afford job training or it's available for free -- if you have more than one job, or if your work is menial and exhausting, or if both of those are true (often the case if you're poor), there's a good chance you won't have the time or energy to get that training, or to look for higher-paying work. Being poor typically means you can't afford to lose your job -- which means you can't afford to unionize, or otherwise push back against your wages and working conditions. It means that a temporary crisis -- sickness or injury, job loss, death in the family -- can destroy your life: you have no cushion, nobody you know has a cushion, a month or two without income and you're totally screwed. If you do lose your job, or if you're disabled, the labyrinthine bureaucracy of unemployment and disability benefits is exhausting: if you do manage to navigate it, it can deplete your ability to do much of anything else to improve your life -- and if you can't navigate it, that's very likely going to tank your life.

Also, ironically, being poor is expensive. You can't buy high-quality items that last longer and are a bargain in the long run. You can't buy in bulk. You sure as hell can't buy a house: depending on where you live, monthly mortgage payments might be lower than the rent you're paying, but you can't afford a down payment, and chances are a bank won't give you a mortgage anyway. You can't afford the time or money to take care of your health -- which means you're more likely to get sick, which is expensive. If you don't have a bank account (which many poor people don't), you have to pay high fees at check-cashing joints. If you run into a temporary cash crisis, you have to borrow from price-gouging payday-advance joints. If your car breaks down and you can't afford to repair or replace it, it can mean unemployment. If you can't afford a car at all, you're severely limited in what jobs you can take in the first place -- a limitation that's even more severe when public transportation is wildly inadequate. If you're poor, you may have to move a lot -- and that's expensive. These aren't universally true for all poor people -- but way too many of them are true, for way too many people.

Second chances, once considered a hallmark of American culture and identity, have become a luxury. One small mistake -- or no mistake at all, simply the mistake of being born poor -- can trap you there forever.

Plus, being poor doesn't just mean you're likely to stay poor. It means that if you have children, they're more likely to stay poor. It means you're less able to give your children the things they need to flourish -- both in easily-measurable tangibles like good nutrition, and less-easily-measurable qualities like a sense of stability. The effect of poverty on children -- literally on their brains, on their ability to literally function -- is not subtle, and it lasts into adulthood. Poverty's effect on adults is appalling enough. Its effect on children is an outrage.

And in case you hadn't noticed, poverty -- including the cycle of poverty and the effect of poverty on children -- disproportionately affects African Americans, Hispanics, other people of color, women, trans people, disabled people, and other marginalized groups.

So what does this have to do with fiscal policy? Well, duh. Poverty is perpetuated or alleviated, worsened or improved, by fiscal policy. That's not the only thing affecting poverty, but it's one of the biggest things. To list just a few of the most obvious examples of very direct influence: Tax policy. Minimum wage. Funding of public schools and universities. Unionization rights. Banking and lending laws. Labor laws. Funding of public transportation. Public health care. Unemployment benefits. Disability benefits. Welfare policy. Public assistance that doesn't penalize people for having savings. Child care. Having a functioning infrastructure, having economic policies that support labor, having a tax system that doesn't steal from the poor to give to the rich, having a social safety net -- a real safety net, not one that just barely keeps people from starving to death but one that actually lets people get on their feet and function -- makes a difference. When these systems are working, and are working well, it's easier for people to get out of poverty. When they're not, it's difficult to impossible. And I haven't even gotten into the fiscal policy of so-called "free" trade, and all the ways it feeds poverty both in the U.S. and around the world. (I'll get to that in a bit.)

Fiscal policy affects poverty. And in the United States, "fiscally conservative" means supporting fiscal policies that perpetuate poverty. "Fiscally conservative" means slashing support systems that help the poor, lowering taxes for the rich, cutting corners for big business, and screwing labor -- policies that both worsen poverty and make it even more of an inescapable trap.

2: Domestic violence, workplace harassment, and other abuse. See above, re: cycle of poverty. If someone is being beaten by their partner, harassed or assaulted at work, abused by their parents -- and if they're poor, and if there's fuck-all for a social safety net -- it's a hell of a lot harder for them to leave. What's more, the stress of poverty itself -- especially inescapable, entrapped poverty -- contributes to violence and abuse.

And you know who gets disproportionately targeted with domestic violence and workplace harassment? Women. Especially women of color. And LGBT folks -- especially trans women of color, and LGBT kids and teenagers. Do you care about racist, homophobic, transphobic, misogynist violence? Then quit undercutting the social safety net. A solid safety net -- a safety net that isn't made of tissue paper, and that doesn't require the people in it to constantly scramble just to stay there, much less to climb out -- isn't going to magically eliminate this violence and harassment. But it sure makes it easier for people to escape it.

3: Disenfranchisement. There's a cycle that in some ways is even uglier than the cycle of poverty -- because it blocks people from changing the policies that keep the cycle of poverty going. I'm talking about the cycle of disenfranchisement.

I'm talking about the myriad ways that the super-rich control the political process -- and in controlling the political process, both make themselves richer and give themselves even more control over the political process. Purging voter rolls. Cutting polling place hours. Cutting back on early voting -- especially in poor districts. Voter ID laws. Roadblocks to voter registration -- noticeably aimed at people likely to vote progressive. Questionable-at-best voter fraud detection software, which -- by some wild coincidence -- tends to flag names that are common among minorities. Eliminating Election Day registration. Restricting voter registration drives. Gerrymandering -- creating voting districts with the purpose of skewing elections in your favor.

Voter suppression is a real thing in the United States. And these policies are set in place by the super-rich -- or, to be more precise, by the government officials who are buddies with the super-rich and are beholden to them. These policies are not set in place to reduce voter fraud: voter fraud is extremely rare in the U.S., to the point of being almost non-existent. The policies are set in place to make voting harder for people who would vote conservative plutocrats out of office. If you're skeptical about whether this is actually that deliberate, whether these policies really are written by plutocratic villains cackling over how they took even more power from the already disempowered -- remember Pennsylvania Republican House Leader Mike Turzai, who actually said, in words, "Voter ID, which is gonna allow Governor Romney to win the state of Pennsylvania, done."

Remember former Florida Republican chairman Jim Greer, who actually said, in words, "We've got to cut down on early voting because early voting is not good for us." Remember the now-former North Carolina Republican official Don Yelton, who actually said, in words, that voter restrictions including voter ID were "going to kick Democrats in the butt." Remember the Texas Republican attorney general and candidate for governor Greg Abbott, who actually said, in words, that "their redistricting decisions were designed to increase the Republican Party's electoral prospects at the expense of the Democrats." Remember Doug Preisse, Republican chair of Franklin County (Ohio's second-largest county) who actually said (well, wrote), in words, that Ohio Republicans were pushing hard to limit early voting because "I guess I really actually feel we shouldn't contort the voting process to accommodate the urban -- read African-American -- voter-turnout machine." (And no, the "read African-American" clarification isn't mine -- it's his.) Remember... oh, you get the idea. Disenfranchisement is not some accidental side effect of Republican-sponsored voting restrictions. Disenfranchisement is the entirely intentional point.

And on top of that, you've got campaign finance laws saying that corporations are people, too -- "people" with just as much right as you or I to donate millions of dollars to candidates who'll write laws helping them out. When you've got fiscal policies that enrich the already rich -- such as regressive tax policies, deregulation of businesses, deregulation of the financial industry -- and you combine them with campaign finance laws that have essentially legalized bribery, you get a recipe for a cycle of disenfranchisement. The more that rich people control the political process, the richer they get -- and the richer they get, the more they control the political process.

4: Racist policing. There's a whole lot going on with racist policing in the United States. Obviously. But a non-trivial chunk of it is fiscal policy. Ferguson shone a spotlight on this, but it isn't just in Ferguson -- it's all over the country. In cities and counties and towns across the United States, the government is funded, in large part, by tickets and fines for municipal violations -- and by the meta-system of interest, penalties, surcharges, and fees on those tickets and fines, which commonly turn into a never-ending debt amounting to many, many times the original fine itself.

This is, for all intents and purposes, a tax. It's a tax on poor people. It's a tax on poor people for being poor, for not having a hundred dollars in their bank account that they can drop at a moment's notice on a traffic ticket. And it's a tax that disproportionately targets black and brown people. When combined with the deeply ingrained culture of racism in many many many police forces -- a police culture that hammers black and brown people for the crime of existing -- it is a tax on black and brown people, purely for being black or brown. But Loki forbid we raise actual taxes. Remember the fiscal conservative mantra: "Low taxes good! High taxes bad!" High taxes are bad -- unless we don't call them a tax. If we call it a penalty or a fine, that's just peachy. And if it's disproportionately levied by a racist police force on poor black people, who have little visibility or power and are being systematically disenfranchised -- that's even better. What are they going to do about it? And who's going to care? It's not as if black lives matter. What's more: You know some of the programs that have been proposed to reduce racist policing? Programs like automatic video monitoring of police encounters? An independent federal agency to investigate and discipline local policing, to supplement or replace ineffective, corrupt, or non-existent self-policing? Those take money. Money that comes from taxes. Money that makes government a little bit bigger. Fiscal conservatism -- the reflexive cry of "Lower taxes! Smaller government!" -- contributes to racist policing. Even if you, personally, oppose racist policing, supporting fiscal conservatism makes you part of the problem.

5: Drug policy and prison policy. Four words: The new Jim Crow. Drug war policies in the United States -- including sentencing policies, probation policies, which drugs are criminalized and how severely, laws banning felons convicted on drug charges from voting, and more -- have pretty much zero effect on reducing the harm that can be done by drug abuse. They don't reduce drug use, they don't reduce drug addiction, they don't reduce overdoses, they don't reduce accidents or violence that can be triggered by drug abuse. If anything, these policies make all of this worse.

But they do have one powerful effect: Current drug policies in the United States are very, very good at creating and perpetuating a permanent black and brown underclass. They are very good at creating a permanent class of underpaid, disenfranchised, disempowered servants, sentenced to do shit work at low wages for white people, for the rest of their lives.

This is not a bug. This is a feature.

You don't have to be a wild-eyed conspiracy theorist to see how current U.S. drug policy benefits the super-rich and super-powerful. It is a perfect example of a "social issue" with powerful ripple effects into the economy. And that's not even getting into the issue of how the wealthy might benefit from super-cheap prison labor, labor that borders so closely on slavery it's hard to distinguish it. So people who are well-served by the current economy are strongly motivated to keep drug policy firmly in place.

Plus, two more words: Privatized prisons. Privatized prisons mean prisons run by people who have no interest in reducing the prison population -- people who actually benefit from a high crime rate, a high recidivism rate, severe sentencing policies, severe probation policies, and other treats that keep the prison population high. It's as if we had privatized fire departments, who got paid more the more fires they put out -- and thus had every incentive, not to improve fire prevention techniques and policies and education, but to gut them.

Privatization of prisons is a conservative fiscal policy. It's a policy based on the conservative ideal of low taxes, small government, and the supposedly miraculous power of the free market to make any system more efficient. And it's a policy with a powerful social effect -- the effect of doing tremendous harm.

It's true that there are some conservatives advocating for criminal justice reform, including drug policy reform, on the grounds that the current system isn't cost-effective. The problem with this, as Drug Policy Alliance Deputy State Director Laura Thomas points out: When you base policy decisions entirely on whether they're cost-effective, the bottom line will always take priority. Injustice, racism, corruption, abuse -- all of these can stay firmly in place. Human rights, and the human cost of these policies? Meh. Who cares -- as long as we can cut government spending?

6: Deregulation. This one is really straightforward. Deregulation of business is a conservative fiscal policy. And it has a devastating effect on marginalized people. Do I need to remind anyone of what happened when the banking and financial industries were deregulated?

Do I need to remind anyone of who was most hurt by those disasters? Overwhelmingly poor people, working-class people, and people of color.

But this isn't just about banking and finance. Deregulation of environmental standards, workplace safety standards, utilities, transportation, media -- all of these have the entirely unsurprising effect of making things better for the people who own the businesses, and worse for the people who patronize them and work for them. Contrary to the fiscal conservative myth, an unregulated free market does not result in exceptional businesses fiercely competing for the best workers and lavishly serving the public. It results in monopoly. It results in businesses with the unofficial slogan, "We Don't Care -- We Don't Have To." It results in 500-pound gorillas, sleeping anywhere they want.

7: "Free" trade. This one is really straightforward. So-called "free" trade policies have a horrible effect on human rights, both in the United States and overseas. They let corporations hire labor in countries where labor laws -- laws about minimum wage, workplace safety, working hours, child labor -- are weak to nonexistent. They let corporations hire labor in countries where they can pay children as young as five years old less than a dollar a day, to work 12 or even 16 hours a day, in grossly unsafe workplaces and grueling working conditions that make Dickensian London look like a socialist Utopia.

And again -- this is not a bug. This is a feature. This is the whole damn point of "free" trade: by reducing labor costs to practically nothing, it provides cheap consumer products to American consumers, and it funnels huge profits to already obscenely rich corporations. It also decimates blue-collar employment in the United States -- and it feeds human rights abuses around the world. Thank you, fiscal conservatism!

***

This list is far from complete. But I think you get the idea.

Now. There are conservatives who will insist that this isn't what "fiscally conservative" means. They're not inherently opposed to government spending, they say. They're just opposed to ineffective and wasteful government spending.

Bullshit. Do they really think progressives are in favor of wasteful and ineffective government? Do they think we're saying, "Thumbs up to ineffective government spending! Let's pour our government's resources down a rat hole! Let's spend our tax money giving every citizen a solid-gold tuba and a lifetime subscription to Cigar Aficionado!" This is an idealized, self-serving definition of "fiscally conservative," defined by conservatives to make their position seem reasonable. It does not describe fiscal conservatism as it actually plays out in the United States. The reality of fiscal conservatism in the United States is not cautious, evidence-based attention to which government programs do and don't work. If that were ever true in some misty nostalgic past, it hasn't been true for a long, long time. The reality of fiscal conservatism in the United States means slashing government programs, even when they've been shown to work. The reality means decimating government regulations, even when they've been shown to improve people's lives. The reality means cutting the safety net to ribbons, and letting big businesses do pretty much whatever they want.

You can say all you want that modern conservatism in the United States isn't what you, personally, mean by conservatism. But hanging on to some ideal of "conservatism" as a model of sensible-but-compassionate frugality that's being betrayed by the Koch Brothers and the Tea Party -- it's like hanging onto some ideal of Republicanism as the party of abolition and Lincoln. And it lends credibility to the idea that conservatism is reasonable, if only people would do it right.

If you care about marginalized people -- if you care about the oppression of women, LGBT people, disabled people, African Americans and Hispanics and other people of color -- you need to do more than go to same-sex weddings and listen to hip-hop. You need to support economic policies that make marginalized people's lives better. You need to oppose economic policies that perpetuate human rights abuses and make marginalized people's lives suck.

And that means not being a fiscal conservative.

People who say they're 'fiscally conservative but socially liberal' just don't understand these 7 things

"Well, I'm conservative, but I'm not one of those racist, homophobic, dripping-with-hate Tea Party bigots! I'm pro-choice! I'm pro-same-sex-marriage! I'm not a racist! I just want lower taxes, and smaller government, and less government regulation of business. I'm fiscally conservative, and socially liberal."

How many liberals and progressives have heard this? It's ridiculously common. Hell, even David Koch of the Koch brothers has said, "I'm a conservative on economic matters and I'm a social liberal."

And it's wrong. W-R-O-N-G Wrong.

You can't separate fiscal issues from social issues. They're deeply intertwined. They affect each other. Economic issues often are social issues. And conservative fiscal policies do enormous social harm. That's true even for the mildest, most generous version of "fiscal conservatism" -- low taxes, small government, reduced regulation, a free market. These policies perpetuate human rights abuses. They make life harder for people who already have hard lives. Even if the people supporting these policies don't intend this, the policies are racist, sexist, classist (obviously), ableist, homophobic, transphobic, and otherwise socially retrograde. In many ways, they do more harm than so-called "social policies" that are supposedly separate from economic ones. Here are seven reasons that "fiscally conservative, socially liberal" is nonsense.

1: Poverty, and the cycle of poverty. This is the big one. Poverty is a social issue. The cycle of poverty -- the ways that poverty itself makes it harder to get out of poverty, the ways that poverty can be a permanent trap lasting for generations -- is a social issue, and a human rights issue.

If you're poor, there's about a two in three chance that you're going to stay poor for at least a year, about a two in three chance that if you do pull out of poverty you'll be poor again within five years -- and about a two in three chance that your children are going to be poor. Among other things: Being poor makes it much harder to get education or job training that would help you get higher-paying work. Even if you can afford job training or it's available for free -- if you have more than one job, or if your work is menial and exhausting, or if both of those are true (often the case if you're poor), there's a good chance you won't have the time or energy to get that training, or to look for higher-paying work. Being poor typically means you can't afford to lose your job -- which means you can't afford to unionize, or otherwise push back against your wages and working conditions. It means that a temporary crisis -- sickness or injury, job loss, death in the family -- can destroy your life: you have no cushion, nobody you know has a cushion, a month or two without income and you're totally screwed. If you do lose your job, or if you're disabled, the labyrinthine bureaucracy of unemployment and disability benefits is exhausting: if you do manage to navigate it, it can deplete your ability to do much of anything else to improve your life -- and if you can't navigate it, that's very likely going to tank your life.

Also, ironically, being poor is expensive. You can't buy high-quality items that last longer and are a bargain in the long run. You can't buy in bulk. You sure as hell can't buy a house: depending on where you live, monthly mortgage payments might be lower than the rent you're paying, but you can't afford a down payment, and chances are a bank won't give you a mortgage anyway. You can't afford the time or money to take care of your health -- which means you're more likely to get sick, which is expensive. If you don't have a bank account (which many poor people don't), you have to pay high fees at check-cashing joints. If you run into a temporary cash crisis, you have to borrow from price-gouging payday-advance joints. If your car breaks down and you can't afford to repair or replace it, it can mean unemployment. If you can't afford a car at all, you're severely limited in what jobs you can take in the first place -- a limitation that's even more severe when public transportation is wildly inadequate. If you're poor, you may have to move a lot -- and that's expensive. These aren't universally true for all poor people -- but way too many of them are true, for way too many people.

Second chances, once considered a hallmark of American culture and identity, have become a luxury. One small mistake -- or no mistake at all, simply the mistake of being born poor -- can trap you there forever.

Plus, being poor doesn't just mean you're likely to stay poor. It means that if you have children, they're more likely to stay poor. It means you're less able to give your children the things they need to flourish -- both in easily-measurable tangibles like good nutrition, and less-easily-measurable qualities like a sense of stability. The effect of poverty on children -- literally on their brains, on their ability to literally function -- is not subtle, and it lasts into adulthood. Poverty's effect on adults is appalling enough. Its effect on children is an outrage.

And in case you hadn't noticed, poverty -- including the cycle of poverty and the effect of poverty on children -- disproportionately affects African Americans, Hispanics, other people of color, women, trans people, disabled people, and other marginalized groups.

So what does this have to do with fiscal policy? Well, duh. Poverty is perpetuated or alleviated, worsened or improved, by fiscal policy. That's not the only thing affecting poverty, but it's one of the biggest things. To list just a few of the most obvious examples of very direct influence: Tax policy. Minimum wage. Funding of public schools and universities. Unionization rights. Banking and lending laws. Labor laws. Funding of public transportation. Public health care. Unemployment benefits. Disability benefits. Welfare policy. Public assistance that doesn't penalize people for having savings. Child care. Having a functioning infrastructure, having economic policies that support labor, having a tax system that doesn't steal from the poor to give to the rich, having a social safety net -- a real safety net, not one that just barely keeps people from starving to death but one that actually lets people get on their feet and function -- makes a difference. When these systems are working, and are working well, it's easier for people to get out of poverty. When they're not, it's difficult to impossible. And I haven't even gotten into the fiscal policy of so-called "free" trade, and all the ways it feeds poverty both in the U.S. and around the world. (I'll get to that in a bit.)

Fiscal policy affects poverty. And in the United States, "fiscally conservative" means supporting fiscal policies that perpetuate poverty. "Fiscally conservative" means slashing support systems that help the poor, lowering taxes for the rich, cutting corners for big business, and screwing labor -- policies that both worsen poverty and make it even more of an inescapable trap.

2: Domestic violence, workplace harassment, and other abuse. See above, re: cycle of poverty. If someone is being beaten by their partner, harassed or assaulted at work, abused by their parents -- and if they're poor, and if there's fuck-all for a social safety net -- it's a hell of a lot harder for them to leave. What's more, the stress of poverty itself -- especially inescapable, entrapped poverty -- contributes to violence and abuse.

And you know who gets disproportionately targeted with domestic violence and workplace harassment? Women. Especially women of color. And LGBT folks -- especially trans women of color, and LGBT kids and teenagers. Do you care about racist, homophobic, transphobic, misogynist violence? Then quit undercutting the social safety net. A solid safety net -- a safety net that isn't made of tissue paper, and that doesn't require the people in it to constantly scramble just to stay there, much less to climb out -- isn't going to magically eliminate this violence and harassment. But it sure makes it easier for people to escape it.

3: Disenfranchisement. There's a cycle that in some ways is even uglier than the cycle of poverty -- because it blocks people from changing the policies that keep the cycle of poverty going. I'm talking about the cycle of disenfranchisement.

I'm talking about the myriad ways that the super-rich control the political process -- and in controlling the political process, both make themselves richer and give themselves even more control over the political process. Purging voter rolls. Cutting polling place hours. Cutting back on early voting -- especially in poor districts. Voter ID laws. Roadblocks to voter registration -- noticeably aimed at people likely to vote progressive. Questionable-at-best voter fraud detection software, which -- by some wild coincidence -- tends to flag names that are common among minorities. Eliminating Election Day registration. Restricting voter registration drives. Gerrymandering -- creating voting districts with the purpose of skewing elections in your favor.

Voter suppression is a real thing in the United States. And these policies are set in place by the super-rich -- or, to be more precise, by the government officials who are buddies with the super-rich and are beholden to them. These policies are not set in place to reduce voter fraud: voter fraud is extremely rare in the U.S., to the point of being almost non-existent. The policies are set in place to make voting harder for people who would vote conservative plutocrats out of office. If you're skeptical about whether this is actually that deliberate, whether these policies really are written by plutocratic villains cackling over how they took even more power from the already disempowered -- remember Pennsylvania Republican House Leader Mike Turzai, who actually said, in words, "Voter ID, which is gonna allow Governor Romney to win the state of Pennsylvania, done."

Remember former Florida Republican chairman Jim Greer, who actually said, in words, "We've got to cut down on early voting because early voting is not good for us." Remember the now-former North Carolina Republican official Don Yelton, who actually said, in words, that voter restrictions including voter ID were "going to kick Democrats in the butt." Remember the Texas Republican attorney general and candidate for governor Greg Abbott, who actually said, in words, that "their redistricting decisions were designed to increase the Republican Party's electoral prospects at the expense of the Democrats." Remember Doug Preisse, Republican chair of Franklin County (Ohio's second-largest county) who actually said (well, wrote), in words, that Ohio Republicans were pushing hard to limit early voting because "I guess I really actually feel we shouldn't contort the voting process to accommodate the urban -- read African-American -- voter-turnout machine." (And no, the "read African-American" clarification isn't mine -- it's his.) Remember... oh, you get the idea. Disenfranchisement is not some accidental side effect of Republican-sponsored voting restrictions. Disenfranchisement is the entirely intentional point.

And on top of that, you've got campaign finance laws saying that corporations are people, too -- "people" with just as much right as you or I to donate millions of dollars to candidates who'll write laws helping them out. When you've got fiscal policies that enrich the already rich -- such as regressive tax policies, deregulation of businesses, deregulation of the financial industry -- and you combine them with campaign finance laws that have essentially legalized bribery, you get a recipe for a cycle of disenfranchisement. The more that rich people control the political process, the richer they get -- and the richer they get, the more they control the political process.

4: Racist policing. There's a whole lot going on with racist policing in the United States. Obviously. But a non-trivial chunk of it is fiscal policy. Ferguson shone a spotlight on this, but it isn't just in Ferguson -- it's all over the country. In cities and counties and towns across the United States, the government is funded, in large part, by tickets and fines for municipal violations -- and by the meta-system of interest, penalties, surcharges, and fees on those tickets and fines, which commonly turn into a never-ending debt amounting to many, many times the original fine itself.

This is, for all intents and purposes, a tax. It's a tax on poor people. It's a tax on poor people for being poor, for not having a hundred dollars in their bank account that they can drop at a moment's notice on a traffic ticket. And it's a tax that disproportionately targets black and brown people. When combined with the deeply ingrained culture of racism in many many many police forces -- a police culture that hammers black and brown people for the crime of existing -- it is a tax on black and brown people, purely for being black or brown. But Loki forbid we raise actual taxes. Remember the fiscal conservative mantra: "Low taxes good! High taxes bad!" High taxes are bad -- unless we don't call them a tax. If we call it a penalty or a fine, that's just peachy. And if it's disproportionately levied by a racist police force on poor black people, who have little visibility or power and are being systematically disenfranchised -- that's even better. What are they going to do about it? And who's going to care? It's not as if black lives matter. What's more: You know some of the programs that have been proposed to reduce racist policing? Programs like automatic video monitoring of police encounters? An independent federal agency to investigate and discipline local policing, to supplement or replace ineffective, corrupt, or non-existent self-policing? Those take money. Money that comes from taxes. Money that makes government a little bit bigger. Fiscal conservatism -- the reflexive cry of "Lower taxes! Smaller government!" -- contributes to racist policing. Even if you, personally, oppose racist policing, supporting fiscal conservatism makes you part of the problem.

5: Drug policy and prison policy. Four words: The new Jim Crow. Drug war policies in the United States -- including sentencing policies, probation policies, which drugs are criminalized and how severely, laws banning felons convicted on drug charges from voting, and more -- have pretty much zero effect on reducing the harm that can be done by drug abuse. They don't reduce drug use, they don't reduce drug addiction, they don't reduce overdoses, they don't reduce accidents or violence that can be triggered by drug abuse. If anything, these policies make all of this worse.

But they do have one powerful effect: Current drug policies in the United States are very, very good at creating and perpetuating a permanent black and brown underclass. They are very good at creating a permanent class of underpaid, disenfranchised, disempowered servants, sentenced to do shit work at low wages for white people, for the rest of their lives.

This is not a bug. This is a feature.

You don't have to be a wild-eyed conspiracy theorist to see how current U.S. drug policy benefits the super-rich and super-powerful. It is a perfect example of a "social issue" with powerful ripple effects into the economy. And that's not even getting into the issue of how the wealthy might benefit from super-cheap prison labor, labor that borders so closely on slavery it's hard to distinguish it. So people who are well-served by the current economy are strongly motivated to keep drug policy firmly in place.

Plus, two more words: Privatized prisons. Privatized prisons mean prisons run by people who have no interest in reducing the prison population -- people who actually benefit from a high crime rate, a high recidivism rate, severe sentencing policies, severe probation policies, and other treats that keep the prison population high. It's as if we had privatized fire departments, who got paid more the more fires they put out -- and thus had every incentive, not to improve fire prevention techniques and policies and education, but to gut them.

Privatization of prisons is a conservative fiscal policy. It's a policy based on the conservative ideal of low taxes, small government, and the supposedly miraculous power of the free market to make any system more efficient. And it's a policy with a powerful social effect -- the effect of doing tremendous harm.

It's true that there are some conservatives advocating for criminal justice reform, including drug policy reform, on the grounds that the current system isn't cost-effective. The problem with this, as Drug Policy Alliance Deputy State Director Laura Thomas points out: When you base policy decisions entirely on whether they're cost-effective, the bottom line will always take priority. Injustice, racism, corruption, abuse -- all of these can stay firmly in place. Human rights, and the human cost of these policies? Meh. Who cares -- as long as we can cut government spending?

6: Deregulation. This one is really straightforward. Deregulation of business is a conservative fiscal policy. And it has a devastating effect on marginalized people. Do I need to remind anyone of what happened when the banking and financial industries were deregulated?

Do I need to remind anyone of who was most hurt by those disasters? Overwhelmingly poor people, working-class people, and people of color.

But this isn't just about banking and finance. Deregulation of environmental standards, workplace safety standards, utilities, transportation, media -- all of these have the entirely unsurprising effect of making things better for the people who own the businesses, and worse for the people who patronize them and work for them. Contrary to the fiscal conservative myth, an unregulated free market does not result in exceptional businesses fiercely competing for the best workers and lavishly serving the public. It results in monopoly. It results in businesses with the unofficial slogan, "We Don't Care -- We Don't Have To." It results in 500-pound gorillas, sleeping anywhere they want.

7: "Free" trade. This one is really straightforward. So-called "free" trade policies have a horrible effect on human rights, both in the United States and overseas. They let corporations hire labor in countries where labor laws -- laws about minimum wage, workplace safety, working hours, child labor -- are weak to nonexistent. They let corporations hire labor in countries where they can pay children as young as five years old less than a dollar a day, to work 12 or even 16 hours a day, in grossly unsafe workplaces and grueling working conditions that make Dickensian London look like a socialist Utopia.

And again -- this is not a bug. This is a feature. This is the whole damn point of "free" trade: by reducing labor costs to practically nothing, it provides cheap consumer products to American consumers, and it funnels huge profits to already obscenely rich corporations. It also decimates blue-collar employment in the United States -- and it feeds human rights abuses around the world. Thank you, fiscal conservatism!

***

This list is far from complete. But I think you get the idea.

Now. There are conservatives who will insist that this isn't what "fiscally conservative" means. They're not inherently opposed to government spending, they say. They're just opposed to ineffective and wasteful government spending.

Bullshit. Do they really think progressives are in favor of wasteful and ineffective government? Do they think we're saying, "Thumbs up to ineffective government spending! Let's pour our government's resources down a rat hole! Let's spend our tax money giving every citizen a solid-gold tuba and a lifetime subscription to Cigar Aficionado!" This is an idealized, self-serving definition of "fiscally conservative," defined by conservatives to make their position seem reasonable. It does not describe fiscal conservatism as it actually plays out in the United States. The reality of fiscal conservatism in the United States is not cautious, evidence-based attention to which government programs do and don't work. If that were ever true in some misty nostalgic past, it hasn't been true for a long, long time. The reality of fiscal conservatism in the United States means slashing government programs, even when they've been shown to work. The reality means decimating government regulations, even when they've been shown to improve people's lives. The reality means cutting the safety net to ribbons, and letting big businesses do pretty much whatever they want.

You can say all you want that modern conservatism in the United States isn't what you, personally, mean by conservatism. But hanging on to some ideal of "conservatism" as a model of sensible-but-compassionate frugality that's being betrayed by the Koch Brothers and the Tea Party -- it's like hanging onto some ideal of Republicanism as the party of abolition and Lincoln. And it lends credibility to the idea that conservatism is reasonable, if only people would do it right.

If you care about marginalized people -- if you care about the oppression of women, LGBT people, disabled people, African Americans and Hispanics and other people of color -- you need to do more than go to same-sex weddings and listen to hip-hop. You need to support economic policies that make marginalized people's lives better. You need to oppose economic policies that perpetuate human rights abuses and make marginalized people's lives suck.

And that means not being a fiscal conservative.

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