Monday Motivation: Honesty, Healing, and Hope

Waking up Sunday morning and finding out about the mass shooting at Pulse made my heart heavy and my spirit weary. As more details emerged about what happened and why, my devastation and disgust grew, along with my anger and feelings of just being done.

I'm Black. I'm female. I'm queer. Living a life where those three things intersect means living with the fact and the fear that there are people who wish death and damnation upon me simply for existing. There are people who would hurt, maim, or even kill me with no hesitation and no regrets because their hatred means more to them than my life. That's not me being paranoid; that's me being real.

There are days when I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired of living my life with an ever present awareness of my own mortality because other people refuse to acknowledge my humanity. Sunday was one of those days.

Then of course there are the "other" people. The people who would never stoop so low as to attack me physically because that's going too far and thus not okay. See, these people don't hate me, they just disagree with my "lifestyle choices."  They aren't bigots, they're "traditionalists" who just don't think I should have all the same rights as they do. They aren't transphobic, they're just using common sense to protect women and children from predators! They aren't racists, they're just tired of "overly sensitive" POC objecting to their  appropriation...I mean appreciation, of other cultures and calling out...I mean complaining about, things like accurate representation, diversity and inclusion. They aren't misogynists, they're just sick to death of the "feminist agenda". They can't imagine why anyone would accuse them of misogynoir for saying Antonia "Toya" Wright is Lil Wayne's baby mama but referring to Gwen Stefani as Gavin Rossdale's ex-wife. 

They won't plant a pipe bomb under my church, attack me with bottles and bricks for walking down the street holding hands with another woman, or outright say I belong in the kitchen barefoot, pregnant, and making sandwiches but they are no less dangerous than the people who would.

The reality is these are the people who agree with, support, and elect the hateful, hate filled politicians who then create bills and legislation to reinforce their marrow deep belief that because of my race, gender, and sexuality I am less than and they should have the legal right to treat me as such.

See, it's these "other" folks, these "reasonable" folks, who protect, promote, and pass down the toxic masculinity, homophobia, racism, transphobia and hate that produce the Omar Mateen's, Ronald Edward Gay's, and Eric Rudolph's of the world.

Let's be really, crystal clear about something: What happened at Pulse was a terrorist attack. What happened at Pulse was a hate crime. What happened at Pulse was a targeted attack on the LGBTQA community at large and trans and queer people of color in particular. It was evil. It was cowardly. It was heartbreaking and rage inducing.

What it's not is some unexplainable, isolated incident. Omar Mateen may well have been an ISIS sympathizer and supporter but make no mistake, his homophobia was home grown, right here in the good old U.S.A. There is an ugly, undeniable history in this country of physical, emotional, and legislative violence against members of the LGBTQA community. From bombings to bashings to raids to the refusal of rights and services the list of attacks, indignities and injustices we have endured here at home is long and shameful.

There are some uncomfortable, ugly truths about why this happened that we must confront. It's really tempting to pass the buck on this tragedy, otherize Omar Mateen and pretend he's someone else's problem, someone else's doing. But that would be a lie. He was our problem. He was our doing. We cannot blame this on ISIS. We cannot blame this on Islam. We cannot blame this on a "lone gunman" and we cannot cry that the devil made him do it. Having a hundred foot wall on the border and denying sanctuary to refugees wouldn't have kept it out and no matter how sincere they may be, offering up thoughts and prayers won't make it stop.

So what can we do?

We can be honest about how hateful, harmful, and potentially deadly all expressions of  homophobia, racism, and misogyny are. Whether it's a slur, a slap in the face, or a Sunday morning sermon, it all feeds into the monster used to justify the murder, maltreatment, and oppression of an entire group of people. It's not "just an opinion." It's not a "requirement of faith". It's not a "traditional value". It's hate and it's unacceptable.

We can exercise our right to vote, especially during mid-term and local elections which can be crucial. We can elect officials who will use their power to fight for the dignity and equality of all of their constituents rather than just a privileged few.

We can call out our church and community leaders when they are silent in the face of homophobic and racial violence.

We can hold our elected officials accountable for the choices they make and the causes they support. It's inexcusable that we have become a country where mass shootings are a regular occurrence. Igor Volsky's Twitter is a great place to start for those concerned with gun control and wanting to know which politicians accepted donations from the NRA and where they stand on the issue.

We can support local charities and outreach programs that are LGBTQA friendly, and especially those that are trans friendly. If you can't donate money, consider volunteering. If that's not possible, maybe the next you clean out your kids closet (or your own!) consider donating clothing, shoes, books, and toys that are in good condition (seriously y'all, I cannot emphasize this enough please make sure they're in good condition) or next time you do a grocery run pick up a few hygiene products (as someone who worked in a DV shelter I can tell you tampons, pads, diapers, and wipes are always needed and appreciated) and donate those.

We can be a safe space and support system for the people in our lives who are members of the LGBTQA community. We can listen, we can learn (and unlearn!), we can amplify (not speak over) the voices of those who might not otherwise be heard and we can give them our visible, tangible, consistent support.

Most importantly, we can strive to make sure that those who come after us do better. Whether it's our own child, or a younger sibling, or someone we're mentoring we have got to do everything we can to break the cycle of handing down hate to next generation.

We can let them know words have power and should be used for healing and not hurting.

We can teach them that doing things like calling someone by their preferred pronoun or respecting their gender identity isn't some imposition on religious freedom but is instead basic human decency.

We can emphasize the difference between tolerance and acceptance, steering them towards the latter.

We can instill in them the desire to empathize with and understand those who are different, rather than ostracize and fear them.

We can raise little boys who know it's okay to paint their nails or play with dolls, that pulling pigtails isn't "flirting but is actually disrespecting boundaries and not okay, and that they're allowed to express emotions other than anger without being ridiculed or called "soft".

We can raise little girls who know they have the only say in what happens to their body, that setting fire to themselves to keep another warm is never an option, who understand that choosing not to be a wife or mother is a valid choice worthy of respect, and who believe that they have the right to dream just as big, hustle just as hard, and be rewarded just as richly as their male counterparts.

Above all else, we can share with the children in our lives the understanding that love is love is love is love and there's nothing "sinful", or shameful or disgusting to be found in love.

XOXO,
Dylan