On our way home we discussed our favorite parts of the trip.
Mine was the Lincoln Memorial at night because he was my mom’s favorite
president. My ex’s was either the cherry
blossoms lining the Tidal Basin at the Jefferson Memorial or when her daughter
asked Senator Craig if he collected elephants. (His office was adorned with dozens
of them and the kid hadn’t immediately made the connection to the Republican
Party symbol.) Her daughter’s favorite part was visiting the Holocaust Museum.
When asked why, she said “the memorial was so beautiful but the holocaust was so
ugly. That ugly will stay with me and remind me what can happen when I choose
to do nothing.” She lauded the mixture
of learning about history but also how to shape the future. Smart kid, that
one.
We bought a poster for our house in the gift shop of the Holocaust
Museum. Let that oxymoron sink in: the
Holocaust gift shop. They sell books,
posters, magnets and other items advocating remembrance and equality. The 11x17
artwork depicted watercolor symbols for various causes including women’s
rights, environmental preservation, AIDS education, protecting wildlife, religious freedom, and
civil rights. Of the poster’s 15 symbols, two pay homage to gay rights. (I
don’t like the phrase “gay rights” and prefer “equal rights” but it aligns with
the artist’s description of her work.)
Beneath the colorful
swatches reads the following quote: The
hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in times of great moral
crisis, maintain their neutrality. – Dante
It’s easy to mistake
a soft voice for neutrality. I think some have done that with me over the
years, but I have never been neutral regarding equal rights. I have gone about
my advocacy in a way that is true to me. I don’t think equality will come in
shouting at society, churches and law makers about how persecuted I am, but
rather in showing how equal I am. Or rather, how equal I can be when afforded
the acceptance to coexist.
I say that, though,
never having experienced traumas that others have. I’m sure there’s room to
make me shout.
This week marks the one year anniversary of my coming out publically
at a City Council meeting as well as my first column in the Journal. Happy
Anniversary and cheers!
In my testimony last year supporting the non-discrimination
ordinance I said, “I’ve never hidden or lied about my sexual orientation. I’ve chosen not to talk about it. I’d
describe myself as living in a large walk-in closet with a lot of Hawaiian
shirts, Converse sneakers, and a half-dozen cow suits. It’s a closet with an
open door with a welcome mat if you’d like to come in and get to know me. “
That’s still how I prefer to live and work and much remains
the same although I’ve talked about it some and added a couple cow suits to the
closet.
I talked a year ago about
living in fear of losing jobs, friends, or housing opportunities, and while my
fear has faded over time, it’s still prominent for many. Today, I fear that
there is so much anger on both sides that discussion is becoming impossible.
Many in the LGBT
community lead with an understandable but unfortunate anger. The harshest words
I have ever encountered personally haven’t been from a fundamentalist Christian
or angry right-winger, but rather from within one of my communities.
A militant bisexual
woman years ago lectured me at a dinner party almost to the point of yelling
about how I ought to be living my life “loud and proud” and what a disservice I
was to the LGBT community for not being more vocal. I’m so much more than that.
Why should that be my loudest voice? She criticized my patience with critics while
testing my patience with her. I sat silent and stunned. I could feel my anger
swell, but didn’t engage because there was nothing to gain.
Dante’s “hell” is
harsh, but when anger or neutrality linger, an ugly stays.
No comments:
Post a Comment