Walking the Line

I am wary of activism, largely because the idea of forcing a particular way of thinking on an unwilling person conflicts with my personal morality, even if the particular way of thinking is one I support. Do unto others sticks pretty firmly in my mind in these situations. I want to be able to live my life with the freedom to be who and what I am, and follow my own beliefs and ambitions. I don't expect everyone to agree with me or like me; just let me get on with my life. And I reciprocate.

Well. I hold up my end of the bargain, anyway.

Most of my family is pretty conservative. Extremely conservative. God knows how my little pocket of nuclear liberalism came to be, but the rest are your typical Gods, God and Government. The big shock was how accepting they were when I dropped the bombshell on them ten years ago. I've brought partners to family gatherings, and not much is said about the various tattoos, piercings and hair colours I show up with (I can't speak for what's said afterwards, but while we're there it's not an issue, and a lot of times in families, that's what it all comes down to).

There is the cousin who no longer speaks to me because I pointed out that white, heterosexual Christians actually aren't oppressed and that, if you want to drag the United States' founding documents into the issue, nothing even vaguely religious should be integrated with any government institution (schools, court houses, etc.). And her father who did the same because I, as someone who would be unable to afford insurance if I weren't already uninsurable because of a "pre-existing condition" (nice double whammy there; go me!), made a rather angry post about "conservative assholes" (generalised) who don't have to wonder if they can afford proper healthcare not having a legitimate stance to opposed a medical bill that would benefit an awful lot of people currently lacking adequate healthcare.

But those are the exceptions.

Me as an individual - their grandson, nephew, cousin is accepted even if he dresses weird, doesn't go to church, spouts those crazy liberal ideas about equality and is just as likely to show up with a pretty boy on his arm as a pretty girl - is accepted.

Me as a concept - an anonymous face in the mass of alternative religions, alternative lifestyles, anti-gun, pro-socialised government programs, pro-choice, queer, etc. - is not.

It's a difficult thing to manage. On some level, I realise that in voicing their opinions on issues that I support - specifically the ones that affect me like gay rights - it doesn't occur to them in the slightest that what they're saying has a direct impact on me, both in the grand scheme of whether or not I'll actually ever have all the same rights they do and on the more personal level of having someone who claims to love me say that people like me are sub-human.

I don't agree with a lot of the things my extended family believes. Hell, I don't even always agree with my mother's beliefs. But I accept that they are just as entitled to those beliefs as I am to mine and don't persistently try to sway them to the Sashi Side.

Of course, the thing everyone is talking about these days is Chick-Fil-A. I've actually gotten into arguments with gay friends about it because the media is doing what the media always does and I don't agree with that. It goes back to my initial statement. Forcing someone to follow a way of thinking against their will never works out well. What bothers me the most about everyone flocking to stone the company, though, is the number of (gay) friends and acquaintances who up until this point said "I don't care," about the ethos behind the company but, lo and behold! The media starts publicising boycotts and protests and over night "I don't care," becomes "I'm never eating there again".

It just feels a little too artificial, with a hint of witch hunt about it.

I don't support the company - for more reasons than just their stance on homosexuality - but I don't feel very inclined to join the current fray, either. Dan Cathy can believe whatever he wants to believe - and people who agree with him, or just plain don't care, can continue to go there. I don't personally feel the need to jump  in and try to destroy their business. Dan Cathy is not every employee of that company, and, having known quite a few who've worked for Chick-Fil-A, I feel pretty confident in saying that the majority of their workforce (being the crewpeople actually working in the stores themselves) probably aren't in positions where they can quibble about who exactly is signing their paychecks.

Returning to the subject of my family, while perusing Facebook one of my cousins - one of the newer acquisitions that I get along fairly well with - posted one of those silly meme pictures in support of Dan Cathy, and, I'll be honest, it hurt. This is a woman who said I always have a place in their home, who went out of her way to get to know me once she knew I existed, who is still trying to persuade me to move back to San Antonio, who stood with me at my father's funeral supporting a man who thinks I don't deserve to be treated like every other American citizen. I sat there for awhile trying to wrap my head around the concept. I tried to mimic the thinking in my head, to empathise in a way, and I couldn't. A lot of my friends - gay, liberal, alternative, poor, marginalised left and right - don't have  a lot of nice things to say about Christians in general and even while I know the loudest and most powerful saying indefensible things, when my friends start in I'm always there saying no, no - they're not all bad. You have to respect them if you want respect, because I think of the people in my life who hold those values and know they aren't bad people. Just different. In the end, all I came up with was this:

I try my best to ascribe to the 'live and let live' philosophy when it comes to the increasingly prickly arena of religion, politics, lifestyles, etc., but there are moments while watching people show their support for various opinions by happily clicking 'like' where I wonder if, that in the span of that mouse click, the friends, children, nieces, nephews, and cousins personally affected in their daily lives by that opinion cross their minds, or that by supporting that opinion they are effectively saying those friends, children, nieces, nephews and cousins aren't entitled to certain rights - in fact, deserve to be treated as less than. It's not about abstract concepts or philosophies. It's about a real, living, breathing, thinking, feeling human being that you go on vacations with, celebrate with, grieve with, love and are loved by. Maybe more people should think about that rather than competing for who gets to be the most right. 


Of course, immediately after that, the same cousin posted another picture from an LBGT group. Trying to work out the thinking that led there completely short-circuited my brain. 

Day 11: Challenge

Challege #5


Incorporate the themes of gender roles and power.

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He’d started following her over a block ago. She’d felt his eyes crawling over her as she crossed the street by the market. She tightened her grip on her bag, raised her chin and walked faster.

          There were plenty of shadowy alcoves for someone to conceal themselves in. Even more buildings left empty and abandoned. The few streetlights that still worked flickered ambivalently against the night. Anything could be waiting in over a hundred different places.

          He wasn’t in a rush, but he was gaining on her. And the motel was still six blocks away. She had to make a decision.

          At the next corner, she ducked down the side street, her hand already feeling around her bag. Just as her fingers brushed the silver hilt, a hand clamped over her mouth while an arm wrapped around her waist. Her squirmed and clawed at the arms pinning her.

          ‘Don’t,’ hissed into her ear. The sound of her native tongue was enough to stun her. ‘Be still.’

          She hadn’t heard her own language since they’d come to this place. Her brother had happily abandoned all their customs in favour of assimilation. He either didn’t care or didn’t notice how much she still needed the old ways.

          A few moments later, the man who had been following her came into view, and she realised how stupid she’d been. Her captor had pinned her arm with her hand still in her bag. Still holding the knife. She would show them their mistake.

          The man stopped at the corner and turned in a slow circle. He looked right at her and his eyes slid away again. Shrugging, he jogged across the street and went back the way he came.

          She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but she didn’t need to find out. The muscles were tensed and ready for the slightest give in her captor’s grip. It’d been so long since she’d had a good fight; she was almost excited.

          And then her back was slammed against the wall, knocking her bag to the ground. Her lungs seized, but she swung her knife through the air anyway. There would be time to breathe later.

          His hand locked around her wrist. The knife fell to the sidewalk. He stood with his face centimetres away from hers. Heat radiated from his skin, fuelled by the dark fires in his eyes.

          He shouldn’t be able to move that fast. He shouldn’t be able to sneak up on her. His eyes shouldn’t burn like that.

          ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ he asked, his voice low in his throat.

          She looked up at him, defiant. Forced herself to meet those eyes. To see him and not just the target points. As his features worked themselves into a familiar pattern, anger surged through her. An attack could have been forgotten; this was unforgivable. ‘I don’t answer to you,’ she said.

          ‘The fuck you don’t.’ He stepped back, pushing a hand through his shaggy hair. ‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he muttered, lighting a cigarette. ‘Look. I’m responsible for keeping you safe, so when I tell you something, you damn well better do it.’

          ‘I don’t need a man to defend me,’ she said. ‘Men are weak.’

          ‘Oh, yeah?’ He grinned at her. She hated that look. He was too damn cocky. ‘You didn’t do so well against me, did you?’

          ‘You’re not a man,’ she said tensely. Her face flushed, but she forced herself to stay in control. A queen never lost her composure.

          ‘And you’re no queen,’ he countered. ‘Not anymore.’ He took a drag from his cigarette, then used it to gesture around the street. ‘Here you’re just another dumb little girl in a short skirt about to get herself killed wandering around shitty neighbourhoods after dark.’

          She had personally led her army to victory in thirteen battles by the time of her coronation. She had been the only undefeated champion in the sparring circle. There wasn’t a warrior, alive or dead, who matched her skill. ‘I could have handled him.’

          ‘And made an even bigger mess for me to clean up.’ A few more drags on the cigarette, and he sighed. ‘Look, I get it. And it sucks, but you can’t be you anymore. Not if you want to make it here.’

          ‘And “making it” here is letting men push me around?’

          His smile verged on a laugh that didn’t quite form. ‘Not exactly, but you can’t slit their throats just because they piss you off, either,’ he said. ‘And you do what I tell you.’

          ‘In my kingdom, I could have you killed for even speaking to me. I could even kill you myself, if I chose.’

          ‘Next time we’re in your kingdom, you can kill me as many times as you want,’ he said. ‘Just make my life easy while we’re here.’ He looked up at the derelict buildings and a grin snaked across his mouth. ‘In my kingdom.’

          She crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down. Even for a man, he made a pathetic warrior. He relied too much on tricks and gimmicks. But he knew this place and she didn’t. ‘Why is it that the women in your kingdom let the men just do as they please?’

          This time, he did laugh. ‘When someone figures that out, I’ll let you know.’