It still seems an unwritten rule in establishment Washington that homophobia is at most a misdemeanor. By this code, the Smithsonian’s surrender is no big deal; let the art world do its little protests. This attitude explains why the ever more absurd excuses concocted by John McCain for almost single-handedly thwarting the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” are rarely called out for what they are — “bigotry disguised as prudence,” in the apt phrase of Slate’s military affairs columnist, Fred Kaplan.
-Frank Rich "Gay Bashing at the Smithsonian"
Dear Mr. President,
Frank Rich's column in the New York Times is worth reading, and not just for the brilliant and characteristically eloquent way he takes down the hypocrites crying "hate speech" about the Smithsonian's exhibit including "A Fire in My Belly." Beyond the cold political outrage, Rich draws a parallel between the deaths of bullied gay teens and the deaths of so many artists and the ones they loved to AIDS. His words convey a palpable helplessness, the frustration of watching from a distance as so many suffer and die needlessly as those in power condemn them, of listening as the hateful bullying from the right once is once again allowed to marginalize the gay community without objection.
I can relate to the way Rich feels. It's appalling to see the Smithsonian capitulate to the homophobic bullies on the right offended by art. And while Republicans in congress pile on their own objections, they continue to hold up repealing Don't Ask Don't Tell, and, as Rich notes, have yet to participate in the anti-bullying it gets better project. I think that common sense tells us a piece of art that some find offensive is far less deserving of the condemnation of members of congress than a national epidemic of homophobia and its attending death and suffering. I don't understand. I know I am removed from it, living in the privilege of a white-skinned heterosexual body. But I couldn't help but see the faces of my friends in the stories of the young artists dying of and losing loved ones to AIDS, of the boys giving up on life because they fear they will never live and be accepted for who they are. I see them in these stories and I ache for losing them and seeing their losses. Most of all, I feel angry. Angry that I cannot protect them from people like this, people with the power to help them who do nothing but make it worse and then have the audacity to get angry about their expressions of frustration. It is unsurprising that a religion wielded as a tool of oppression will become the target of criticism and frustration by those it oppresses.
Heterosexual Christians wrote the laws of this country. They have determined who can vote, who can marry, whose lives are worth funding research to save and who gets to serve in the military. It is long past time for it to be ok to make and display and honor art that expresses the pain at the damage that their system has caused. The Smithsonian made a mistake, backing down in the face of this manufactured controversy. I think it is time that you (and more of those with the power to change our cultural acceptance of homophobia) stood up and said so.
Mr. President you campaigned on the promise that life for gay and lesbian Americans would be better under your administration than under President Bush's. While there may be a limit on how many minds you can legislate into acceptance, there are unjust laws that are within your power to change. The alteration of this exhibit at the Smithsonian may seem like a small thing, but it is the latest in a long series of capitulations to the idea that not only is being gay unacceptable, being angry at the way the rest of the country treats you isn't either.
Please read Mr. Rich's column, Mr. President, and ask yourself if you are still fine doing nothing on this issue.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Showing posts with label bigotry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bigotry. Show all posts
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Day 322- HIV/AIDS
Hey all,
Today's letter is inspired by my friend and fellow blogger Joe, who wrote this inspiring (and upsetting) piece for The Body, a site dedicated to HIV/AIDS research, awareness and education.
Also,World AIDS Day is coming up on December 1st, so look for events in your area, or consider donating to a HIV-related cause.
Dear Mr. President,
I'd never met anyone that I knew to be HIV+ before I moved to Boise. My gender studies class required a service component, and I was assigned a volunteer project working with an HIV/AIDS awareness group to organize a World AIDS Day rally. (Specifically, we were asked to coordinate support from the local religious community, an effort that went about as well as you'd imagine in most of the ultra-conservative Idahoan churches.) My classmate and I made phone calls, gave presentations to religious groups, and, on December 1st, stood outside in a park with a local youth group, passing out candles and hot chocolate to a small crowd. We stood together, men and women, young and old, many races, gay, straight, HIV+, HIV-, Christian, Muslim, and Atheist. We listened to the stories of those who had been affected by HIV and we listened to those who confessed their shame at their own ignorance about it. We wore red ribbons. We remembered the dead. We prayed and we cried and we observed in silence.
When I moved to DC, HIV/AIDS was so prevalent and awareness campaigns so widespread that discussion caused considerably less controversy. Perhaps this was because DC is more progressive, or simply because it is more difficult to dismiss a disease as the sole property of an ostracized community when it affects your neighbors, your friends, your family and a staggering number of those you pass on the street every day. That my own life was not directly affected allowed me the luxury of forgetting that attitudes across the country are not so enlightened. That many still think of AIDS as either foreign or self-inflicted. That many still refuse to educate themselves about the stark reality. Years later, when my boyfriend's mother (herself a former nurse) warned her son away from me, claiming my tattooed skin put him at risk for AIDS, I was reminded that this lack of basic understanding was just as widespread in Seattle as it had been in Boise.
Ultimately I am lucky that I've only had one person treat me the way that people with HIV/AIDS are treated all the time. For all of my attempts to laugh off her ignorant remarks, I felt frustrated and angry that she would cite the mere risk of this disease as a reason for her son to stay away from me. But I didn't have to live with that feeling for more than a few days; I didn't have to live with that feeling while also balancing a fear for my own life and the frustration of my own failing health. I can't begin to imagine what that would feel like. Like most Americans, I don't think about it that often.
Today I was reminded by a particularly eloquent essay that many are not so lucky. Especially among GLBTQ youth and communities of color, even the search for a cure can come hand in hand with the worst racist, classist and homophobic practices of our history. HIV/AIDS awareness, education and research is important to all of us, even if its direct effect on our lives isn't obvious.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Today's letter is inspired by my friend and fellow blogger Joe, who wrote this inspiring (and upsetting) piece for The Body, a site dedicated to HIV/AIDS research, awareness and education.
Also,World AIDS Day is coming up on December 1st, so look for events in your area, or consider donating to a HIV-related cause.
Dear Mr. President,
I'd never met anyone that I knew to be HIV+ before I moved to Boise. My gender studies class required a service component, and I was assigned a volunteer project working with an HIV/AIDS awareness group to organize a World AIDS Day rally. (Specifically, we were asked to coordinate support from the local religious community, an effort that went about as well as you'd imagine in most of the ultra-conservative Idahoan churches.) My classmate and I made phone calls, gave presentations to religious groups, and, on December 1st, stood outside in a park with a local youth group, passing out candles and hot chocolate to a small crowd. We stood together, men and women, young and old, many races, gay, straight, HIV+, HIV-, Christian, Muslim, and Atheist. We listened to the stories of those who had been affected by HIV and we listened to those who confessed their shame at their own ignorance about it. We wore red ribbons. We remembered the dead. We prayed and we cried and we observed in silence.
When I moved to DC, HIV/AIDS was so prevalent and awareness campaigns so widespread that discussion caused considerably less controversy. Perhaps this was because DC is more progressive, or simply because it is more difficult to dismiss a disease as the sole property of an ostracized community when it affects your neighbors, your friends, your family and a staggering number of those you pass on the street every day. That my own life was not directly affected allowed me the luxury of forgetting that attitudes across the country are not so enlightened. That many still think of AIDS as either foreign or self-inflicted. That many still refuse to educate themselves about the stark reality. Years later, when my boyfriend's mother (herself a former nurse) warned her son away from me, claiming my tattooed skin put him at risk for AIDS, I was reminded that this lack of basic understanding was just as widespread in Seattle as it had been in Boise.
Ultimately I am lucky that I've only had one person treat me the way that people with HIV/AIDS are treated all the time. For all of my attempts to laugh off her ignorant remarks, I felt frustrated and angry that she would cite the mere risk of this disease as a reason for her son to stay away from me. But I didn't have to live with that feeling for more than a few days; I didn't have to live with that feeling while also balancing a fear for my own life and the frustration of my own failing health. I can't begin to imagine what that would feel like. Like most Americans, I don't think about it that often.
Today I was reminded by a particularly eloquent essay that many are not so lucky. Especially among GLBTQ youth and communities of color, even the search for a cure can come hand in hand with the worst racist, classist and homophobic practices of our history. HIV/AIDS awareness, education and research is important to all of us, even if its direct effect on our lives isn't obvious.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Day 292- Superheroes and soup
Dear Mr. President,
Growing up I often wished I could be Catwoman. The fact that she's kind of a villain never bothered me. She was a cat. That was cool enough. I'm still mad that my mother wouldn't let me go see Bat,am Returns. (Never mind that I was 6 at the time and probably would have had nightmares. Totally irrelevant. That's right, mom, I know you're reading this.) I certainly can't claim the same level of childhood fascination with superhero mythology that most of my friends can, but I have a healthy enough appreciation for the world of superheroes that I was pleased to see the Islamic world is sending us 99 more. I was even happier to see you recognize this effort to present an alternative face of Islam to youth of this country and, perhaps just as importantly, to Islamic youth.
Predictably, the racist, bigoted radical right has problems with this. Lots of problems. Hilarious amounts of problems. So many problems that Muslim superheroes are now a bigger threat than Campbell's soup. Can Pam Geller, Robert Spencer and all of their ilk just give up the charade and admit that they don't like Islam in any form? Because superheroes and soup are pretty harmless things to start with, and making them halal isn't going to lead to the Islamic Republic of America. My favorite quote of all this hysteria is from Carol A Taber, president of Family Security Matters who says
Hilarious. The level of backlash to these 99 superheroes (each named for one of the 99 attributes of God,) and the dogged insistance by the right that you are advancing a radical Islamic agenda would be funnier if it wasn't so catching among voters of a certain political persuasion. Because people who believe that you're helping the terrorists or that you're a secret Muslim or that Campbell's soup supports Hamas and the Muslim Brotherhood unfortunately are just as good (and sometimes better) at making it to the polls on election day as those of us who know this is all absurd, and that is frightening. I don't know how to change their minds, I don't know how to talk to them, I don't know what the answer is for dealing with people like that. I like to think charitably, that every one is generally reasonable and good and trying to do the right thing. And then I read the news.
How do you maintain your faith in the American people when faced with the overwhelming influence of people like Taber and Geller and Spencer and Beck? Have you kept that faith intact these last two years?
If you have, I think the only rational explanation is that you must have some kind of superpower yourself.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Growing up I often wished I could be Catwoman. The fact that she's kind of a villain never bothered me. She was a cat. That was cool enough. I'm still mad that my mother wouldn't let me go see Bat,am Returns. (Never mind that I was 6 at the time and probably would have had nightmares. Totally irrelevant. That's right, mom, I know you're reading this.) I certainly can't claim the same level of childhood fascination with superhero mythology that most of my friends can, but I have a healthy enough appreciation for the world of superheroes that I was pleased to see the Islamic world is sending us 99 more. I was even happier to see you recognize this effort to present an alternative face of Islam to youth of this country and, perhaps just as importantly, to Islamic youth.
Predictably, the racist, bigoted radical right has problems with this. Lots of problems. Hilarious amounts of problems. So many problems that Muslim superheroes are now a bigger threat than Campbell's soup. Can Pam Geller, Robert Spencer and all of their ilk just give up the charade and admit that they don't like Islam in any form? Because superheroes and soup are pretty harmless things to start with, and making them halal isn't going to lead to the Islamic Republic of America. My favorite quote of all this hysteria is from Carol A Taber, president of Family Security Matters who says
It was Vladimir Lenin, the founder of the Bolshevik party, who said, "Give me four years to teach the children and the seed I have sown will never be uprooted." The election of our dhimmi president guaranteed the forces of radical Islam at least four years to sow their seeds
Hilarious. The level of backlash to these 99 superheroes (each named for one of the 99 attributes of God,) and the dogged insistance by the right that you are advancing a radical Islamic agenda would be funnier if it wasn't so catching among voters of a certain political persuasion. Because people who believe that you're helping the terrorists or that you're a secret Muslim or that Campbell's soup supports Hamas and the Muslim Brotherhood unfortunately are just as good (and sometimes better) at making it to the polls on election day as those of us who know this is all absurd, and that is frightening. I don't know how to change their minds, I don't know how to talk to them, I don't know what the answer is for dealing with people like that. I like to think charitably, that every one is generally reasonable and good and trying to do the right thing. And then I read the news.
How do you maintain your faith in the American people when faced with the overwhelming influence of people like Taber and Geller and Spencer and Beck? Have you kept that faith intact these last two years?
If you have, I think the only rational explanation is that you must have some kind of superpower yourself.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Monday, October 11, 2010
Day 284-Politics and our obligations to others
Dear Mr. President,
As tragic stories of youth suicide continue to dominate headlines and conversations, I am hearing more and more questions about the extent of our responsibility for another person's actions. Can an individual be bullied to death, and, if so, can the bullies be held responsible? I don't think that suicide is an act that generally occurs as a response to an isolated event or individual. The smaller problems that pile up and eventually overwhelm a person may never be cited as a reason for suicide but can play an equally significant role. So while Carl Paladino's very public and very bigoted remarks may not, on their own, drive any gay youths to take their own lives, he, and others like him, play a role in creating the hostile environment that feeds bullies and overwhelms struggling teens. (That he made his remarks in the wake of a series of brutal hate crimes against gay men in New York City makes his ignorance even more appalling.)
Back in January of this year I wrote to you about a friend who had taken his own life as a high schooler. It's been more than 8 years and I still find myself questioning the way I treated him, the way I spoke to him, and how much responsibility I bear for his death. It's the kind of haunting doubts that no amount of reassurance will ever relieve. This recent national conversation about teen suicide and bullying has brought all of these old feelings to the surface once again. I feel like my life since I turned 16 has been an ongoing struggle to use my guilt toward better, more compassionate and more useful ends. My inclination toward wallowing helps no one, unless I apply that grief toward improving the way I treat others.
Similarly, our national reaction to these recent suicides is equally meaningless if we don't allow these feelings to lead to anything more helpful than shock, grief and outrage. It is easy to lay blame for these deaths on those who failed in their obligations to these young people as individuals. We do have a responsibility for the way we treat the people, which is obvious enough with those we encounter directly. But we seem to neglect that obligation when it comes to those we don't. For me, this is where the political becomes personal. Our values, our policies, our acceptance of or indifference to discrimination and bigotry all contribute to the very personal tragedies of those dead children. Paladino can spew his hateful remarks at a concept ("homosexuality" or "the homosexual lifestyle") and, because he isn't speaking about individuals, it becomes socially acceptable. (He has since even laughably tried to insist he isn't homophobic, and assertion he'll be allowed to make because people believe he attacked a concept and not a person or people.) But no matter how any one spins it, what Paladino said is just as hateful, just as damaging, and just as unfit for American political discourse as the words of the bullies who pick on an individual child for being gay. The words have the same source and the same consequence, the only difference being that one is taken, at worst, as a political misstep, while the other is potential grounds for legal action. This disconnect is not reserved for gay rights issues; children are bullied for looking, talking, or acting different, for being poor, for being immigrants or the children of immigrants. In a country where being an ethnic or religious minority, an immigrant, or dependent upon social services for survival are constantly vilified or shamed in political discourse, I don't think it's a stretch to say that our children are learning their bullying behaviors from accepted national prejudices.
I've been lucky, for the most part, in that my life has been helped along by a number of caring and compassionate strangers. People who have treated me with kindness and compassion far outnumber the ones who have been hurtful or sexist or willfully cruel. I think that while bullying and cruelty may be inevitable facts of human nature, we generally want to be responsible in the way we treat one another. We want to be kind to their neighbors and the people they encounter in daily life. Which is why, for example, opponents of gay rights often cite their own gay friends/relatives/employees/acquaintances as evidence that they don't hate gay people, they're just talking politics. We have a much easier time discriminating against concepts or groups than individuals. But I don't think this relieves us from the obligations we have to other people, even if we never meet them, even if we never know their names. While I'm not saying that any one opposing gay marriage should be held accountable for the deaths of gay teens, I do feel that they shouldn't be allowed to avoid an appreciation for the real implications of their positions. They aren't just taking a side in a political debate; they are advocating a legal and social bias against people, against the very same friends and relatives they ostensibly treat with compassion and kindness.
So while we continue to grapple with the question of how much responsibility a bully bears for the actions of the bullied, I think we all ought to examine our own words and actions and the role they play in the long-standing and ongoing struggle faced by children and young people who are different. We have to keep our political positions in perspective, to reflect on the way the abstract translates to the tangible, individual, personal consequences. Because I believe that we can all do a better job of tending to one another, of making the already difficult undertaking of growing up just a little bit easier on every one.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
As tragic stories of youth suicide continue to dominate headlines and conversations, I am hearing more and more questions about the extent of our responsibility for another person's actions. Can an individual be bullied to death, and, if so, can the bullies be held responsible? I don't think that suicide is an act that generally occurs as a response to an isolated event or individual. The smaller problems that pile up and eventually overwhelm a person may never be cited as a reason for suicide but can play an equally significant role. So while Carl Paladino's very public and very bigoted remarks may not, on their own, drive any gay youths to take their own lives, he, and others like him, play a role in creating the hostile environment that feeds bullies and overwhelms struggling teens. (That he made his remarks in the wake of a series of brutal hate crimes against gay men in New York City makes his ignorance even more appalling.)
Back in January of this year I wrote to you about a friend who had taken his own life as a high schooler. It's been more than 8 years and I still find myself questioning the way I treated him, the way I spoke to him, and how much responsibility I bear for his death. It's the kind of haunting doubts that no amount of reassurance will ever relieve. This recent national conversation about teen suicide and bullying has brought all of these old feelings to the surface once again. I feel like my life since I turned 16 has been an ongoing struggle to use my guilt toward better, more compassionate and more useful ends. My inclination toward wallowing helps no one, unless I apply that grief toward improving the way I treat others.
Similarly, our national reaction to these recent suicides is equally meaningless if we don't allow these feelings to lead to anything more helpful than shock, grief and outrage. It is easy to lay blame for these deaths on those who failed in their obligations to these young people as individuals. We do have a responsibility for the way we treat the people, which is obvious enough with those we encounter directly. But we seem to neglect that obligation when it comes to those we don't. For me, this is where the political becomes personal. Our values, our policies, our acceptance of or indifference to discrimination and bigotry all contribute to the very personal tragedies of those dead children. Paladino can spew his hateful remarks at a concept ("homosexuality" or "the homosexual lifestyle") and, because he isn't speaking about individuals, it becomes socially acceptable. (He has since even laughably tried to insist he isn't homophobic, and assertion he'll be allowed to make because people believe he attacked a concept and not a person or people.) But no matter how any one spins it, what Paladino said is just as hateful, just as damaging, and just as unfit for American political discourse as the words of the bullies who pick on an individual child for being gay. The words have the same source and the same consequence, the only difference being that one is taken, at worst, as a political misstep, while the other is potential grounds for legal action. This disconnect is not reserved for gay rights issues; children are bullied for looking, talking, or acting different, for being poor, for being immigrants or the children of immigrants. In a country where being an ethnic or religious minority, an immigrant, or dependent upon social services for survival are constantly vilified or shamed in political discourse, I don't think it's a stretch to say that our children are learning their bullying behaviors from accepted national prejudices.
I've been lucky, for the most part, in that my life has been helped along by a number of caring and compassionate strangers. People who have treated me with kindness and compassion far outnumber the ones who have been hurtful or sexist or willfully cruel. I think that while bullying and cruelty may be inevitable facts of human nature, we generally want to be responsible in the way we treat one another. We want to be kind to their neighbors and the people they encounter in daily life. Which is why, for example, opponents of gay rights often cite their own gay friends/relatives/employees/acquaintances as evidence that they don't hate gay people, they're just talking politics. We have a much easier time discriminating against concepts or groups than individuals. But I don't think this relieves us from the obligations we have to other people, even if we never meet them, even if we never know their names. While I'm not saying that any one opposing gay marriage should be held accountable for the deaths of gay teens, I do feel that they shouldn't be allowed to avoid an appreciation for the real implications of their positions. They aren't just taking a side in a political debate; they are advocating a legal and social bias against people, against the very same friends and relatives they ostensibly treat with compassion and kindness.
So while we continue to grapple with the question of how much responsibility a bully bears for the actions of the bullied, I think we all ought to examine our own words and actions and the role they play in the long-standing and ongoing struggle faced by children and young people who are different. We have to keep our political positions in perspective, to reflect on the way the abstract translates to the tangible, individual, personal consequences. Because I believe that we can all do a better job of tending to one another, of making the already difficult undertaking of growing up just a little bit easier on every one.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Friday, October 1, 2010
Day 274- A tough week
Dear Mr. President,
Before I start in on tonight's letter, I just want to say that I watched your speech to the Gen44 summit last night and thought it was excellent. It was exactly the kind of old-school campaign speech I was writing you about yesterday, and so I should apologize for not having watched it before writing my last letter. I actually laughed out lout several times and would have cheered at the end, had I not been watching it at work in our bookstore's cafe with my headphones on and already disturbing the people around me. We need more of that, Mr. President, and not just because of the upcoming elections. There are even more important things at stake.
Tonight, a friend of mine from high school wrote a poignant blog post on the ongoing difficulties faced by gay Americans, A tough week in the struggle. In it, he discusses the tragic and high-profile suicides of several young GLBTQ Americans as well as several acts by celebrities and government officials showing homophobia is alive and well in our culture.
Repealing DOMA and DADT cannot wait. Changing our laws might not have saved the young lives lost this week, but it might go a long way toward changing the stigmas against gays and lesbians. The cruel bullying that led to the suicides this week comes from a culture that accepts and even normalizes homophobia. You can't change that, but you can change the laws that say our government agrees with that irrational fear. These archaic relics of our hateful past have no place in our modern discourse or in our modern legal system.
I've been following a number of these sad stories this week, but I've also seen another story posted and reposted by friends around the world. It's about a campaign aimed at gay youth called "it gets better." I went to a high school where being GLBTQ was not generally accepted. A number of my friends struggled with their identity as such at the time, and also with depression, fear, and bullying as a result. Some came out. Some stayed in the closet. All of them went to high school knowing that the taunts of their classmates reflected an accepted viewpoint of their society, endorsed by their own government. DOMA and DADT might be articulated in language that is more sophisticated than the crude taunts of high school bullies, but it comes from the same mean-spirited fear that ought to be a thing of America's past and not our present.
It has been a tough week for gay rights in this country, and a tragic week for the families who are suffering the loss of a loved one because of it. You're in a position to offer more than just your condolences, Mr. President, and I certainly hope you do.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Before I start in on tonight's letter, I just want to say that I watched your speech to the Gen44 summit last night and thought it was excellent. It was exactly the kind of old-school campaign speech I was writing you about yesterday, and so I should apologize for not having watched it before writing my last letter. I actually laughed out lout several times and would have cheered at the end, had I not been watching it at work in our bookstore's cafe with my headphones on and already disturbing the people around me. We need more of that, Mr. President, and not just because of the upcoming elections. There are even more important things at stake.
Tonight, a friend of mine from high school wrote a poignant blog post on the ongoing difficulties faced by gay Americans, A tough week in the struggle. In it, he discusses the tragic and high-profile suicides of several young GLBTQ Americans as well as several acts by celebrities and government officials showing homophobia is alive and well in our culture.
Repealing DOMA and DADT cannot wait. Changing our laws might not have saved the young lives lost this week, but it might go a long way toward changing the stigmas against gays and lesbians. The cruel bullying that led to the suicides this week comes from a culture that accepts and even normalizes homophobia. You can't change that, but you can change the laws that say our government agrees with that irrational fear. These archaic relics of our hateful past have no place in our modern discourse or in our modern legal system.
I've been following a number of these sad stories this week, but I've also seen another story posted and reposted by friends around the world. It's about a campaign aimed at gay youth called "it gets better." I went to a high school where being GLBTQ was not generally accepted. A number of my friends struggled with their identity as such at the time, and also with depression, fear, and bullying as a result. Some came out. Some stayed in the closet. All of them went to high school knowing that the taunts of their classmates reflected an accepted viewpoint of their society, endorsed by their own government. DOMA and DADT might be articulated in language that is more sophisticated than the crude taunts of high school bullies, but it comes from the same mean-spirited fear that ought to be a thing of America's past and not our present.
It has been a tough week for gay rights in this country, and a tragic week for the families who are suffering the loss of a loved one because of it. You're in a position to offer more than just your condolences, Mr. President, and I certainly hope you do.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
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