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This is partly in response to Josh's blog entry Calling Bullsh*t in Open Source communities and Sarah Sharp's plea for No more verbal abuse. I think Linus Torvalds is being treated unfairly and is being abused for his frank, no bullsh*t, flowery quiky style of stating it. Many have accepted the axiom that Linus is a jerk, childish and needs to conform to the professional standard simply because we are too lazy to analyze the facts for ourselves and like many public figures Linus likes to give people a good show.

I think I am more qualified than most to judge verbal abuse and oppression when I see it. I'm the daughter of a black Nigerian man and a white American mother. I was born in Nigeriaand spent my youth there.I've been traumatized all my life both verbally and physically from all sides for being different in all kinds of ways. This trauma is most often inflicted by women who've told me to be quiet because I do not have the social skills to grasp what is happening. My lesson learned is your oppressor may be someone that looks just like you (or thinks he/she understands what you are feeling) and your ally just MAY BE a purple dragon living in a cave wearing a bathrobe.

It would be giving a false impression to say that Mrs. Collingwood hadenjoyed herself. She took a holiday like medicine, with a view to itsafter-effects, in order to enable her to return with renewed vigour tothe battle with immoral books and people who were not helpful and didnot live in closes. In order to attain this end as fully as possible shehad spent all her time out of doors, taking long strolls from breakfasttill lunch, and a walk with her husband from lunch till tea, on therecognised plan that the best rest for a tired mind is to strenuouslyovertire the body also. She had continually looked at the beauties ofnature also as part of the prescription, and had read a littleWordsworth as she would read a guide-book in a foreign town. In theevening, and sometimes if it was exceedingly wet, she would work, andhad produced three G. F. S. leaflets, one of which embodied her lectureon the Down[82]ward Tendencies of Modern Fiction. Another was called NoParleyings with the Enemy. In fact, when she and her husband returned,she might be said to be a match for anything.

Miss Fortescue followed him indoors, leaving Jeannie alone under thetrees. She was much annoyed at all that had happened, but she was alittle amused, and had a sense of being somewhat ill-used. Though shehad defended him, she thought Mr. Collingwood had behaved rather badly,the Colonel had behaved very badly indeed, and Mrs. Collingwood wasabsurd. However, she was going to deal with that lady, and Arthur wasgoing to deal with the Colonel, and there only remained Mr. Collingwoodhimself. Jeannie devoutly hoped he would have some glimmerings of tactabout him. If he looked awkward and uncomfortable, she would feel so,too, and really there was nothing to be awkward about. If she had donesuch a picture she would have snapped her fingers at any possibleconsequences, for she had the greatest respect for achievement of anykind. Certainly the picture was an achievement, and in her secret heartshe had a pang of exul[137]tation at the thought that she was like that.Jeannie was singularly free from self-consciousness, and in her naturethere was hardly a touch of egotism. But she wondered whether her sightof the picture had not given her some. In a way it had been a piece ofself-revelation to her. She had no idea that people saw her like that.Very possibly they did not, but here was a man who did. How could shesee him, she wondered? 2b1af7f3a8