This is Why We Fight: We Fight to End the Silence

It's a very odd thing among allies, we never really feel like we belong. I want to help in this battle against the ridiculous people in the world who think some people are less than human because of who they love. But, who am I to fight this, I have been given all the privilege of being heterosexual in this world. A friend asked today (The Day of Silence) why it is that we (gay or straight) do this. I have heard several reasons throughout the years of my participation in the event: to stand in solidarity with those who must be silent about their sexual orientation, to stand with all of those who have been silent when they have been bullied, but I realized today that, intentional or not, it is designed to make you feel as alone as someone who can't be out might. That's obviously not something we allies can ever understand, but it seems similar. To their credit, my friends do quite a fabulous job of understanding what I'm trying to gesture or mouth to them, but without words, I feel very much alone. Perhaps that is because I rely so much on words to communicate. But even when I can write things for them, I cannot convey tone. The Day of Silence thus seems to be a particularly awkward event for an ally. Tonight, my school is breaking the silence with Pride Prom, but Pride Prom is not a place I feel that I belong, even though I know I would be welcomed equally. It feels so out of place to be that awkward straight girl in the movement for rights she has. It will never inspire me to stop, I still think this is one of the most important issues that will plague our country in our lifetime, but it does mean I am quieter (no pun intended). Less of a warrior, more support staff. And then I feel just as crappy for not being in it with everything that I've got. To be GLBT in our heteronormative, gender binary world is to be very alone, but to be straight in the queer community is very odd indeed. 

Where You Lead...

I will follow, anywhere that you tell me to; if you need me to be with you, I will follow where you lead (Carole King). I don't know how to tell someone that has never experienced a really genuine, lasting love from anyone but a mother that they are loved, wanted, valued, appreciated. How do you communicate to someone who has never known any better they they are not disposable? I can tell you that I'll always be here, they we will always be hear, but I know you've heard that before, and I know it's been a lie. How do we teach you to trust again? And how long can I keep telling you we aren't going anywhere before I'm just a crazy broken record and you just get annoyed? I've considered everything from sending a text every day to writing a blogpost you may or may not read. But I'm realizing the issue isn't that we need to learn to say it differently, but you need to learn to hear it differently. But how can you change ears that have been hurt so much. It's amazing that you aren't deaf to everything we ever tell you. You also have the added intrigue of being a challenge and me being stubborn. You will never get rid of me, or any of us. I am determined to prove to you that we will always be there. But you need to keep us in the conversation; tell us what you need, always. I love you, and I'll always be here, and you damn well better believe I'm never going to let you forget it. 

Collateral Murder

I’m mildly embarrassed to admit that I hadn’t seen it earlier, but in my contemporary media class we watched the Wikileaks video of U.S. helicopters in Baghdad shooting down about 15 unarmed civilians, including wounding two children. We watched it in class to discuss whether information of that nature should be available to the public on the internet, but that was not the part that bothered me. Nor am I troubled that members of the American military are rampaging around Iraq killing civilians. Actually, watching the video, it is not hard to see how the camera equipment the civilians were carrying could have looked like weapons. There is no doubt in my mind that the incident, while tragic, was an honest mistake. However, what deeply does trouble was the language and attitudes of the men talking about the “targets” they were killing. Reasonably, I have absolutely no right to say anything about this. I have never been in war, hell, I’ve never been in anything anywhere close to war. I do not know what it takes to stand in front of a another human being and kill them because someone above me somewhere deems them a treat. On a logistically level, I understand the necessity to dehumanize the enemy, but I recently listened to a ex-army speaker who said that he felt the enemy had been too dehumanized and thinks that American in general needs to recognize the common bonds of humanity a lot more. And after that, I can't help to think that we are not dehumanizing the enemy, we are just dehumanizing humans. I fully understand being relieved after an attack, I can even understand feeling some excitement for the conflict, it is an adrenaline rush, but I don't think I will ever be able to understand laughing when a tank intentionally runs over the shot-down body of a civilian journalist on the streets of Baghdad. There has to be a lone drawn somewhere for who is a person and who is an enemy. To be fair, that particular civilian journalist was legitimate thought to be an insurgent with a weapon. But I think we need to decide that the second someone dies they become a human again, regardless of what they were before. When someone is no longer a threat, they deserve just as much respect as anyone else, enemy or not. And as long as we keep dehumanizing the enemy, we can keep casually walking into war. War should never be casual. Death should never be casual. Two wounded children should never be casual. Fifteen bodies littering a Baghdad street should never be casual, certainly not casual enough to run over with a tank, and laugh. 

11 million

It really bothers me when people talk about the Holocaust in the context of 6 million Jews being killed. That is, don't get me wrong, absolutely true and atrocious, but 5 million other people died, gays, and gypsies and many other "undesirable" groups. We da a disservice to all 11 million if we pretend the Jewish population was the only one that suffered. Reasonably, they suffered at far greater rates than other populations, but that does not invalidate the experiences of others. I also think that if we stop framing the issue as Germans against Jews and start framing it as Hitler against humanity, we can find a lot more ways to come together and be stronger because of the Holocaust, rather than look back on it with resentment. 

This is What a Feminist Looks Like

I went to my second National Young Feminist Leadership Conference this weekend (and dragged along a friend). Last year, it was the most empowering, energizing thing I had ever been a part of in the fight for women's rights (human rights). This year, however, it was strangely defeating. Last year we got to talk about progress and things that still needed to be done, but this year we were forced to discuss ridiculous issues like the defunding of accessible birth control, Personhood laws, and referendums on women and the GLBT community across the nation. The real problem is that I don't know how to fight something I can't understand. I cannot fathom how anyone thinks defunding basic health needs like birth control is a good idea. In this, freeist of countries, women are not allowed the freedom to control their own health. Nope, 83 percent men decide that for us. Abortion: I can sit down and have a reasonable discussion with people that oppose it because I can totally understand their argument. However, even when I try to read conservative stances on the birth control issue, I cannot begin to understand it. Perhaps I ought to fram this as an economic issue, because, quite frankly, I think it is ridiculous to legislate morality in any contexts. Birth control, for one year, including all of the necessary medical visits and prescriptions, costs less than $1,000 annually for one woman. A pregnancy, costs at least $8,000, assuming there are no complications. So let's pay $8,000 to deliver a baby that a woman is not prepared for, that may go into the adoption system, or is at the very least likely to require welfare, food stamps, or other assistance from the government to become undereducated (because, be real, education is NOT equal), and get pregnant young because they weren't adequately educated about sex? Pro-choice is not pro-abortion. Anyone pro-abortion is a sadistic freak. But I am pro- healthy, competent, informed, empowered women that can make the tough choices (and they are tough, no one engages in this lightly) they need to to best serve themselves and their families. I am pro- open society that is willing to talk to women about their bodies and their choices. I am pro- ending unwanted pregnancy, but face it, as long as people don't have access to birth control and comprehensive education about it, there will be unwanted pregnancies. Abstinence only might sound great to you, but it doesn't work. I know Catholic, and young, and atheists, and unmarried, and Buddhist, and single, and adult, and feminist, and conservative, and intelligent, and college-student, and liberal people, from every walk of life, having sex. We can't keep pretending that if we don't talk about it too much it won't be an issue. I met some fabulously strong women from Catholic University this weekend who can be kicked out of their university housing if they are caught with birth control on or off campus and can be expelled if they are caught having sex. Welcome to the 21st century, Vatican. Sure, It would br great if young people weren't having sex at age 13, 14, 15, 16, but THEY ARE. And they aren't going to stop. If you are pro-human, you are pro-birth control. It's high time we start accepting it. 

You're Going to Get Angry

Last night in Intro to Social Research, our professor, MNF, said to us, after a lecture on surveying the previous week, that she had now permanently corrupted us and we could never take a survey again without being annoyed. It made me think back to my first sociology class ever (well it was actually a Women's Studies class, but as far as I'm concerned that is just a specific genre of sociology). Professor Jill Shultz said to our motley group of 18, night-class, community college women, "At some point in the class things will click, and you're going to get angry, and once you're angry, you'll never be not angry again." Now, I have always considered myself a feminist and pretty up on GLBTA issues, so I sort of passed it off at the time thinking I had already experienced that. Over the last year it has been less of a click and more of a simmer, so maybe it had already clicked and is now just intensifying, but I find it increasingly hard not to be angry and the ridiculous injustice I see in the world around me. From SB1070, to Shaima Al Awadhi's murder, to human trafficking, to Rick Santorum's misogyny, to rape culture, to the extreme poverty that still exists in America: I am mad. And I am mad so often. I presume people often think I take myself to seriously, but I don't know how to feel any other way anymore. I don't know how to look at something horrible, know I can barely make a dent in it, and be okay with that. I expressed this to MNF last semester during her office hours and she seemed put off. You're young, she said, tackle what you can and just be happy that you did that. "You don't have to save the world right now," she said. But, the thing is, I always feel like I do. I find it incredibly hard to let it go when people  say "That's so gay!" on their Facebook pages (yes, I have been known to message them and ask them to revise their language). Because if I can't change the world the only thing left in my power is to make little changes in the world around me. I suppose I'm just going to have to accept the anger, and accept that no one gets it.

Children are Colorblind

We often hear people say that children are colorblind. That children make friends without consideration of race and ethnicity. The moment when the world fills with color must be the most depressing moment of a child's life, even though they do not know it yet. I have long since lost my colorblind lens. And sociology has made color even more pervasive in my life. Rarely can I look at an issue and not see it undeniably framed by race. But I had a moment the other day, when I lost another tiny piece of colorblind. Now, admittedly, if I had ever paid much attention or thought about it, I would have seen the colors in this story a long time ago, but I never had any reason to think about it. In my Writing for Communication class we had the producer of the Kojo Nnamdi come in as a guest speaker. She pulled up the website for the show and I realized, for the first time, that Nnamdi is black. Now, my mom and I have listened to Kojo in the car for years and I suppose I never definitively decided he was white, but I was distinctly surprised when he wasn't. I doubt I'll get that feeling again, but I wish I could. It's simultaneously glorious to realize you never noticed and depressing to realize you just lost that spark of innocence. I remember my mom telling me when I was about 12 and going to a NAACP meeting that it would be a good experience for me. I didn't really understand that at the time, but I went to a multicultural event at school last week and was one of about 10 caucasians in a room with about 200 people. It is a very strange feeling to be a minority. It feels so awkward, you don't belong. And I only had to feel like that for three hours.