Bless their hearts

Nearly four years ago, I got doxed. Back then, I penned this essay about the turbulent event but never published it since at the time I thought it gave the evil-doers undue power. However, because my dox is frequently weaponized against me by regime journos who think that by merely mentioning the despicable act carried out by well-paid antifa subversives somehow tarnishes me as a writer or a person, or by other self-serving folks who push forward a deceptive narrative of the past and now pretend that I was secretive about my blog, I’ve decided to finally make public this essay. Sunlight is the best disinfectant in dark times such as these.

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May 22, 2020

The leftists have done it, y’all. They’ve cracked the code. They’ve figured out through stunning detective work who Dissident Mama really is. And all it took was the meddling of a communist professor at a low-tier university. What a Karen.

Pleased to meet you, folks. I’m Rebecca Dillingham.

Many of my readers are already privy to this purportedly juicy nugget. After all, I’m proud of my work. Thus, everyone who means anything to me in my personal life already knows Rebecca is DM. This includes my family, as well as many friends in all the different spheres of my life.

But even my neighbors who aren’t already aware of the “big scoop” wouldn’t be shocked. We almost always fly a Confederate flag at our house, from the Choctaw Braves and Bonnie Blue flags, to the NC Secession and the Gen. Sterling Price flags. When anyone enters my home, they see plain as day the Southern art among the various other American historical images decorating our living rooms walls.

The priest at my OCA (Orthodox Church in America) parish has seen the same “contraband” and sprinkled it with holy water during house blessings. He along with my godmother and my husband’s godfather know I’m DM, as do plenty of our church friends at our small parish. In fact, my priest published one of my DM blog posts in the February 2019 parish newsletter!

And for those who haven’t been told during casual fellowship conversations, they too probably wouldn’t be surprised. I mean, I do typically wear my large A.P. Hill ring to Liturgy. He is my highest-ranking Confederate ancestor after all, so it sometimes serves as an intriguing conversation starter.

The lion’s share of friends in my homeschool community know what’s up. And those who don’t wouldn’t be stunned in the least, since I never hesitate in sharing anti-Lincolnian history when talking shop with the mamas. In other words, I ain’t skeered!

Regarding social media, I’d surmise that since most of the groups I’m in are brimming with high-intellect people, they’ve already put 2 and 2 together, especially since “Rebecca” will occasionally share DM essays if pertinent to the topic being discussed. And if it’s a group in which I’ve built a rapport with members, I’ll even say, “Let me know what you think about my newest essay. Love to hear your thoughts.”

Generally speaking, I’m the kinda gal who wears her heart on her sleeve. Sometimes I misspeak and must better articulate, and sometimes I hold my tongue (as all ladies must do on occasion), but people pretty much know where I’m coming from. Being cloak-and-dagger really isn’t my thing. Authentic is what I’m going for. And for most of my life, it has served me well.

I have nothing to hide. In fact, any horrible “skeleton” I may have in my closet probably roots back to my atheist-socialist-feminist days, when I was sprinting down that wide, soul-sucking, selfish, covetous, and debased path. Sure, I’m still a sinner, as we all are, but my belief in the one, true Orthodox Christian faith has helped set me on a better course.

Perhaps I’ll publicly confess to and atone for some of those past sins in a blog post about the evils of leftism and why all people should avoid the dangerous ideology. I’ve seen the dark side and know firsthand how stringently progressives rely upon groupthink to excuse their misdeeds and malevolence. It’s a secular-humanist religion that operates without impunity and, tragically, is given license from every institution to create social chaos and cause catastrophic ruin among the minority of dissenters.

As far as my writing is concerned, I stand by every word I’ve ever written for DM. I take blogging quite seriously because I know the power of words. Plus, I figured that my anonymity was most likely an impermanent thing, so I knew I’d better be damn sure about what I was saying and how I was saying it.

Moreover, I do have a degree in journalism, which impressed upon me the importance of thorough research, logical analysis, and careful editing before hitting the publish button. Even with my straight opinion pieces, my goal has always been to broach subjects which are taboo, ignored, or forgotten. My hope as a truth-seeker is to inspire the intellectually curious to think outside of progressive-defined “allowable opinion.”

Obviously, I don’t hold every view of every person I’ve interviewed, written about, or been affiliated with. My husband and I don’t even agree on everything. And I’ve even changed some of my own beliefs since picking up the DM mantle back in 2016. Lifelong learning is indeed a good thing.

As a journalist and a lover of history, I know fully well that guilt-by-accusation has been a tactic of totalitarians for a long, long time. It should never be tolerated by anyone who even pretends to care about real justice and freedom of conscience.

Part of the dox against me was my relationship with the “Southern racists” over at the Abbeville Institute and that “neo-Confederate” Dr. Boyd Cathey. I almost spit out my beer laughing when I read this supposedly “damning evidence” put forth by the devilish doxers last night. Truly, I am honored to even be mentioned in the same breath with either Abbeville and Cathey.

If the apparatchiks had really done their homework, they’d see clearly that I don’t run away from leftist-manufactured labels, since they’re simply bludgeons utilized to control people who have wrongthink. If we let the anarcho-tyrants control language and cower in fear when words are used improperly, we cede power to the very people who hate us and want to destroy our lives and livelihoods and to silence us into submission.

The socialist-justice sleuths would’ve also stumbled upon the reality that I’m 1/4 Lebanese, so can I even technically be a white supremacist? Oh yeah, if Michelle Malkin can be pegged a racist by the same irksome bullies, I suppose anyone can be. (Note: I’m not distancing myself from my Western European whiteness. Rather, I’m only pointing out that facts aren’t a strong suit of the pinkos. But just for the record, I believe that it’s not only okay to be white, it’s pretty freakin’ great.)

Is it any wonder, though, why a chick in rebellion to the status quo might use a pseudonym in the first place? It’s hostile as hell out there, people!

Interestingly, the even larger “gotcha” was my interview with a friend who’s the admin for a reopen group. Ya see, that’s a “white supremacist” movement, the neo-Leninists say, and merely discussing it proves the progressive-devised narrative that anyone who disagrees with draconian shut-down measures and the government-designed decimation of small businesses and children is by default a “racist.” Don’t ya know, it’s best just to keep your mouth shut, citizen? Don’t wanna upset the commissars.

Honestly, I embrace my dox. It’s like a weight lifted off my shoulders, since I’ve been wanting to reveal to all my barely hidden identity for a while now. Previously, some wise mentors of mine advised against it, simply because I’m such small potatoes. “No need to stir an unnecessary pot,” they said.

However, I was already leaving a crumb trail for anyone who cared to look (as mentioned above by my candidness with friends and acquaintances). Furthermore, I had already divulged the names of the town where I grew up, my high school, and the current state in which I reside. The “About” page on the DM site even names my college alma mater, so it was only a matter of time.

Turns out, I’m exactly what I say I am on the that page: “Truth warrior, Jesus follower, wife, and boymom. Apologetics practitioner for Orthodox Christianity, the Southern tradition, homeschooling, and freedom.” One antifa freak concluded that since I described myself as a “retired mainstream journalist,” I must’ve abandoned the daily newspaper biz in order to become a mouthpiece for the “alt-right.”

Forget the fact I quit working before the birth of my first son in 2007, back when I was in my George W. Bush “daze.” Apparently, Twitter stalkers know more about me than I do. It’d be funny if it weren’t so potentially pernicious.

Recently, I’ve published a picture of myself and even a couple of my kids, who were posing with those “evil old white men” from Abbeville. My feature photo at the top of this essay is a nod to advancing this now full and unapologetic disclosure. Apparently, that’s what a dissident mama looks like, gang. The feature image is also a symbol of what we nonconformists are up against in resisting cultural Marxism and the ideology’s myriad of struggle sessions.

When my family and I visited the Gulag Museum in Moscow in early 2019, we saw up close the deadly consequences of Soviet Communism. The doors that were busted through to abduct people from their homes. The crosses smashed when Orthodox Christians wouldn’t worship the state. The tiny shoes left behind when toddlers were stolen from their parents. The words from diaries expressing the horror. The official Soviet plans typed up, explaining the forced labor and liquidation of anyone the snitches accused of hindering the fruition of “just society.”

We saw photos of the mass killing fields, like these we actually visited in Butovo, where people were shot for not being good comrades. At least at this “Russian Golgotha,” we know the identities of the murdered. But in many other places around Russia, the exterminated lie nameless beneath parking lots or on the edges of neighborhoods. No memorials. Only the memories snuffed out remain.

“Let God arise and our enemies be scattered,” we Orthodox sing in the Paschal Stichera hymn. We sing during every Divine Liturgy for the “victories of the Orthodox Christians over our adversaries,” while understanding that Christ has already triumphed over death and released His believers from Hell.

But we’re also called to pray for our enemies, even those who deceive, plot, steal, carry out aggression, and bear false witness. As St. Silouan the Athonite taught, “The man who cries out against evil men but does not pray for them will never know the grace of God.” Hence, the balancing act of a Christian walk.

Concurrently, I believe in self-defense, particularly in my Christian responsibility to protect my children, my neighbors, and other innocents like my dog. Therefore, I’m practicing an abundance of caution to secure my family’s life, liberty, and property. [Not even 10 days after writing this essay, the BLM riots were in full Kristallnacht mode. To experience a dox right at the apex of such anarcho-tyranny really sharpened my sense of clarity in understanding subtexts, pretexts, evil-doers, and the spirit of the age.]

Therefore, this Memorial Day weekend, which has Confederate origins (shhhh, don’t tell the leftards), let’s be bold, but loving. Even though highly unpopular, let’s not turn our backs on our imperfect ancestors, both spiritual and blood. Let’s refuse to hate them, our children, and ourselves. Let’s reflect and learn from their experiences and struggles, their grit and grace, their triumphs and tears. Let this holiday be a blessing.

This brings me to my dual-meaning headline. Sure, it can be a sassy Southern retort aimed at someone pitiful, but it can also be precisely what the words say.

So, while I will pray for my enemies, I will not ever capitulate to living in a gulag of the mind, heart, and soul. And if I ever get tossed in a real gulag for thought crimes or due to the lying tongue of the enemy, just know I’ll be singing His praises from my cell. Deo vindice, friends. God truly does vindicate.

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