This entry may offend some. If you are easily offended, I recommend skipping this one. It is also a bit long as it covers quite a few thoughts from my recent experiences. There are a few primary stories/thoughts in this entry and then my musings on them. The first one happened a few months ago.
I was visiting with my mother and my step-father to his childhood home. Also known as my step-grandmother’s house. Is that even a real thing? I don’t know, she’s a lovely lady; very sweet. I was there visiting and many other people were there as well including my step-father, one of his brothers, his nephew, his nephew’s daughter and several others.
It was the last two that the focus of this experience is focused upon. The nephew’s daughter is adorable, just right around two years old; an absolute doll. Her father is also generally a good guy that I have gotten along with in the past. He is a bassist (like myself) in a local band that if I remember correctly, I liked. Despite being in the music “business”, his love doesn’t extend to all other members of the music community.
His daughter had a doll of some sort. It actually may have been a Justin Bieber doll, I’m not quite sure. In any case, she believed it was Mr. Bieber. Now as I sit here writing this, listening to The White Stripes, there is no love lost between Mr. Bieber and myself. Until I saw an episode of Glee a few weeks ago I could not have recognized a single song of his. I am no fan of his by any means, but I am a fan of love and acceptance.
The point of this tale resides herein. As the little girl was playing with the doll her father, and her grandfather I believe (my step-uncle?) were asking her if Bieber was a “homo” and trying to get her to say this. Now I understand getting little kids to say things is often a funny way to amuse yourself; but this was the teaching and indoctrination of hate and in my eyes probably fear as well.
Those of you who know me know that I am rarely at a loss for words. I was stunned. I didn’t know how to respond. I felt morbidly uncomfortable and just did not know how to proceed. As an experiential & social justice professional, I find that it is imperative to reflect of situations that I can learn from. I don’t know that if this were to happen again how I would handle this situation. I have not been back since, which is not strange as I don’t go there often, but in a situation where I already feel awkward and out of place how can I hope to make a point that is respected, heard and understood.
I have for a long time been a proponent of the LGBT community for many reasons. This summer during the day when folks were supposed to wear purple in solidarity of anti-LGBT bullying and in remembrance of those young people who took their own lives due to anti-LGBT bullying I took a stand. I dyed bandanas purple and everyone at my place of work, full-time and adjunct instructors, folks younger than me and folks my father’s age wore these bandanas. I delivered a speech before dinner to a group of more than 100 students and teachers, middle school and high school students alike about the importance of why we were wearing purple and what they can do to make a change. It was quite powerful. There was a young high school student who was out to his peers, and he was very happy that we did this and so were many of the teachers.
In a time when things ARE changing (DADT, DOMA) how can we begin to fight the smaller battles on the home front? It reminds me of the attitude toward the LGBT community in Taiwan (from how it was explained to me when I was there by locals). It’s a concept many folks are familiar with, and it brings remembrance of George Carlin. NIMBY. Not in my back yard.
Now, these are good people, my step-family. Ann Braden, a civil rights activist from the south that began to be active in the 60’s is my inspiration in this case. There is a fabulous song about this woman by the alternative hip-hop band the Flobots. Check the lyrics and the song itself. It’s wonderful (as is the band). An excerpt of the lyrics that reminds me of this situation is below:
Imagine the world that you’re standing within
All of you neighbors and family friends
How would you cope facing the fact that the flesh on their hands was tainted with sin
She faced this everyday
People she saw on a regular basis
People she loved in several cases
People she knew were incredibly racist
It was painful but she never stopped loving them
and never stopped calling their names
And she never stopped being a southern woman
and she never stopped fighting for change
She saw that her struggle was in the tradition of ancestors never aware of her
and continues today the soul of a southerner born of the “Other America”
Check out the Flobots preforming the song live here.
It seems that many of us who fight for change and work and live as social justice allies have family and friends, people we love in several cases, that are incredibly phobic of folks that are different. Does this affect your work, and how? How do you recover from this potentially energy-draining and difficult situation?
Me? I left. I haven’t really spoken about this situation to anyone save for a few friends. My mother, whom I was sitting near knew I was very upset. She generally tries to calm me down when at my grandfather’s (her father) house when phobic epitaphs are being spewed. This time was no different. I am personally very good at challenging students that I work with and my peers and colleagues on their thoughts related to social justice and acceptance (notice I didn’t say that unhealthy t word, tolerance) but I am very bad at it with my family, perhaps the place I should start. Can an old dog learn new tricks? What are your thoughts?
