Confessions: November 2016 Has Me at a Loss for Words

National Blog Post Month really didn't go well this year. In fact, it went better last year, despite our mold infestation and trying to close on a house owned by an incompetent, negligent, business un-savvy real estate speculator.

I haven't posted in about two weeks. I could try to blame hosting Thanksgiving and Sunday open dinner, but that's not the reason.

I could try to blame doing home repairs.

I could try to blame a stressful work schedule, or having to box up our antique booth, or any number of other things.

Most of you are compassionate. Most of you would give me a pass.

But I don't feel like I deserve a pass.

The truth is that I haven't been writing because I feel guilty and powerless after the results of the election.

I feel guilty that I didn't post about my concerns about a Trump administration. No, I don't have thousands of readers. No, this blog isn't a huge platform. But I do have readers. People here and there consider my perspectives.

And I didn't write because I thought that people already knew how dangerous a Trump presidency could be. I thought that my years of reading about Latin American dictatorships, of trying to understand what conditions cause revolution and political instability wouldn't matter, that people would write it off even if I explained it well, and I questioned if I could explain it well enough for people to see the parallels between Pinochet or Trujillo or the Perones or Bucaram and Trump. I didn't think he could win. I didn't want to rock the boat. I didn't want to sift through the comments on social media and moderate and defend. I didn't want to find out that more than zero of my associates support a bigoted, inept businessman for the head of state of a world power.

And if I continue in the vein of confessions, I haven't been writing because I've used up the energy it would take to write in calling representatives. I hate using the phone, but it's the best way to make elected officials listen. So it takes a lot for me to get up the gumption to do it. I haven't as much as I should. I see people who call every day, or more than once a day, and I'm in awe that they can. I'm in awe at how many voicemails they leave, that they  have a script, that they re-dial if the line is busy. It gives me hope to see their activism. But I also feel guilty that I don't match that level of advocacy.

I also feel guilty because I have so much privilege now that I might not be significantly impacted by many of the policies I anticipate being harmful. (Unless my wife or I are assaulted in a hate crime, which, you know, is now much more likely. So there's that.) We have so much privilege that we recently ordered a brand new couch for the family room at #fixerupperdetroit (our first brand new couch EVER - hooray for adulting). We don't really budget for grocery store purchases much anymore. We joke about "throwing money at problems," but we actually do, and it's great. It's so much easier than the "creative accounting" and "shrewd budgeting" and coupon clipping and waiting for sales and doing without and such that we used to do, and Rebecca's growing salary makes it okay. We're already married, and even if Obergefell v. Hodges and Windsor v. US are overturned, my marriage certificate will likely continue to be valid and recognized. We already bought a house at a reasonable interest rate, and Rebecca's salary will cover the mortgage even if we're underwater. We have the money to pay attorneys. We're White. We're Christian.

I feel guilty because we have a lot of privilege and because I've shirked what I perceive to be my responsibilities as an informed citizen.

But I also confess that despite my privilege, I feel powerless.

You see, I voted in the primaries. Carefully. Using research. Like, down to voting for former public defenders as judges instead of former prosecutors as judges because public defenders who become judges are more likely to support sentences that rehabilitate and restore.

I voted in the presidential election. Carefully. Using research. Like, down to comparing credentials for sixty-three Detroit Community School District school board representatives.

I voted, and I'm still terrified.


And now the research I'm doing is whether there's a such thing as personal political upheaval insurance. I'm trying to figure out if there's a financial advising firm that specializes in predicting the effects of political instability. I'm trying to figure out if we should try to pay of Rebecca's student loans faster or the mortgage faster if we need to mobilize or need cash on hand to pay bail for friends who are political activists. I'm trying to maximize the number of people who can stay in our house (or hide in our house) if the proposed Muslim registry happens and then turns into something more dangerous. I'm asking my wife to increase her disability insurance coverage so that we don't lose the house if she is incapacitated in a hate crime. I'm asking my family lawyer if we need to update any documents in case we end up hospitalized at a religious hospital that doesn't recognize our marriage and there's some form of "religious freedom" act passed that permits them to disregard my marriage certificate (yes, a bill like this already exists, and yes, Trump has said he would sign it).

Will all of these things happen? No, probably not. Do I know which ones will and won't? Of course not. No one really does. The outcome of this election was a surprise even to those who are far more educated on the subject than I am.

I've survived this far from a blend of privilege and preparing for the worst possible outcome I can imagine. I was lulled into  a sense of security when the economy was on an upswing and we'd mostly finished the major renovation and it looks like 80 hour weeks aren't going to kill my wife. I thought there wouldn't likely be another housing crash like the one in 2008. I thought it would get easier to be an out lesbian in a conservative state.

And I must confess: I'm at a loss. I don't know how to prepare for this many possible bad outcomes. Even with this amount of privilege.

So I haven't been writing. Maybe December will be better.

Confessions and an Invitation

When I woke up today, the first thing Rebecca told me was that Trump had won and the Republicans had taken Congress.

And I looked at her, and I said, "Trump has promised to pass FADA [the First Amendment Defense Act - essentially a nationwide RFRA like Indiana's], and he has the Congress to actually do it."

Make no mistake. This isn't an attempt to protect the first amendment. We already have the first amendment. There's no need to pile on or protect. The very language of FADA excludes my family. Mine. Rebecca and me. As in, it does nothing to protect us or our religion or our free speech.

And now I'm sitting in my living room under a blanket writing this. I'm staring at my dining room table where, just a couple days ago, people from multiple religions, races, socioeconomic statuses, and ages sat drinking cider and eating doughnuts. I wish more people had the chance to sit with such diverse groups (and took it).

I am scared. I am grief-stricken.

But I will keep looking at my dining room table that can comfortably seat 12 (and more if they like each other). I will keep my commitment to filling its seats, covering it in homemade dishes, and bringing people together in a safe space. We've dreamed of hosting a Sunday dinner, every week, for anyone who would come and abide in acceptance and love.

I will start this Sunday. I hadn't planned to do it so soon, but we need it now. Please message me if you're interested in participating in a potluck to share the love and share the food.

When I have more than I need, I commit to building a longer table, not a higher fence.

A Lesbian Talks Toxic vs. Real Masculinity: Not About Brock Turner or Omar Mateen

Dear Men,

I want to start with the disclaimer that this post is about toxic masculinity, not real masculinity. I have lots of male friends - gay men, straight men, older men, younger men - see how I did that? Just the way I've heard people justify criticizing the LGBT community after invoking their friend status with a gay person or two.

Many of my male friends identify as feminists - they believe that women can and should do anything, and they support behaviors and policies that make that possible. They are nurturing and honest and strong - they exemplify real masculinity. This post is not for them.

 This post is also not for you, Brock Turner,  only because I have never met you. This post is not for you, Omar Mateen, also because I have never met you.

This post is for the following men, whom I've actually met:

This post is for you, wealthy White businessman seated next to me on a plane who, when you found out Rebecca and I were a married couple, propositioned me (or us? not exactly sure) to come stay with you and your wife, explaining that . . .  well, explaining things that I don't want to know about someone's marriage and bedroom situation when I just met you.

This post is for you, homeless man I gave a ride to the shelter (I'm not looking for accolades - it's just a thing I did because it was the right thing to do under the circumstances) who texted me later to tell me that you wanted to kiss me to show your appreciation, but didn't because I had said I had a girlfriend. (Note: I didn't say girlfriend, because I don't have one of those. I said wife. Multiple times.) When I told you that appreciation wasn't necessary, and corrected you that Rebecca is my wife, you asked me if she is "thick too." (For those of you unfamiliar with the term thick, here is a link to its Urban Dictionary page. While I realize that it was intended as a compliment, I'm not sure the term actually applies to me, or how you knew one way or the other, since I was wearing a long-sleeved cardigan over a full-length, structured maxi dress that day.) And then when I told you that this line of conversation was making me uncomfortable, you said you were just joking. (No, you weren't.)

This post is for you, ex-boyfriend who told me when I came out to you that I'm not a lesbian, I'm bisexual, because "no estabas fingiendo conmigo." (Roughly translated: "You weren't pretending with me.")

It's for you, different homeless man, who angrily insisted that I don't look gay after I mentioned my wife.

It's for you, male high school student who commented something vile in Arabic about a young female colleague within earshot of her while at the school.  She spoke Arabic, overheard your comment, and was justifiably unsettled and when I found out later, I insisted the student be in my class not hers because I have developed a thick skin. But I'm still rattled by it, months later.

It's for you, young man who tried to pick me up in the Bloomfield library cafe, and was shocked that I'm married, shocked that I'm 28 years old, shocked that I'm gay. You were no longer interested in seeing me again (to be fair, I was a little disingenuous in giving you my card, because the point was to teach you something). I believe your exact words were, "I shouldn't even be talking to you." Because in your head I belonged to my wife and couldn't belong to you. Probably not because I'm a lesbian and wouldn't be interested.

It's for you, student at one of the urban high schools I teach SAT prep at who grabbed my hair as I walked past in the hallway, held it to your nose, and announced that it smelled good, as though it's a compliment. As though it was your business.

I don't belong to you.

I am not for you.

I didn't put on this dress today for you.  I didn't wash my hair today for you. I didn't give you a ride because I'm interested.

I'm a lesbian.

That doesn't mean my marriage or sexual orientation is open for your validation or interpretation. Neither is my body. Even if you see us kissing. Even if I once upon a time kissed you. Even if you want to kiss me.

These behaviors and beliefs are not real masculinity.

And the belief that I do belong to you, or could someday, or that my marriage or body are open for your evaluation - it's a sickness.

It comes from a toxic version of masculinity that claims that real men own things. That men's opinions and values are more important than women's. That women only have value when they belong to a man. That men are inherently violent and lacking in self-control.

Except they're not. You're not.

I challenge you to meet men who are so confident in themselves that they can have a tea party with their daughters, fold their wife's laundry, take a step back at work and let women speak, refrain from propositioning or catcalling women on the street, understand that no means no. They exist. They are strong. Learn from them. And then be one of them.

Know better. Do better.

Terrorism and Tending Thyme: Response to Orlando

Yesterday, after learning about the Orlando terrorism of the LGBT and ally community, I shared links to posts last year about the similar terrorism of an African American church in Charleston. The two may not initially appear to be all that similar, other than that they were shootings, but both have hit me very hard.

The one in Charleston because as someone who grew up in the church, I view places of worship as sacred and safe space. Yes, even as a member of the LGBT community, even though some religious people are critical of my marriage. Churches are a place where people come together around a common goal and try to be more human, to celebrate creation and redemption and fellowship.

The one in Orlando because although I don't visit gay clubs or bars much, there's a comfort in knowing that they exist. They're there if ever I need a place to socialize, to hold my wife's hand in public without fear, to know that no one will say "whomever you love" or "I don't have a problem with" or "judge not lest ye be judged" or any of the other comments that make my marriage seem strange or less than. LGBT clubs are places of acceptance and celebration.

It's unsettling to know that in the span of a year, both types of spaces have been through attempts to terrorize and desecrate them.

And I thought about Motor City Pride yesterday, which I hadn't planned to attend because there's still so much to do at #fixerupperdetroit, which is most of my gay agenda right now. We bought the house and are struggling to rehab it to create another safe space, a place where everyone can come and eat and share.

The most revolutionary thing I could think of to protest the violence in Orlando was to plant my garden, standing in my yard with a shovel and a watering can and a flat of assorted herbs. With every shovel full and every sprinkling, I planned to be around until the end of summer, until next summer, until the house is rehabbed and the space is safe and the world is better. I thinned out the day lilies and irises that came with the house to give the others room to breathe. I pulled on work gloves and pulled up picker weeds that would hurt people or turn people away or choke out my beauties.

How the world would be different if everyone pulled up the picker weeds and planted thyme and sage and rosemary and basil instead.

Confessions on A 4-Year Anniversary: I never meant my wedding to be a revolution

Today, Rebecca and I celebrate four years since our spiritual wedding ceremony.

I can't say that I meant to my wedding to be a revolution. I can't say that at the time it was intended to push back against cultural norms, or to be a feminist revelation, or to be an example of every gay wedding.

And yet, I think it was those things. At least for some people. Two of my friends who identify as members of the LGBT community commented that it was the first gay wedding they had been to. In fact, one of them who is now in a serious relationship sometimes calls me for relationship advice. Another fills me in on his escapades, while lamenting the fact that he has not yet found his helpmate.

Others commented that they had attended in part to see what a lesbian wedding was like. I'm pretty sure our lesbian wedding was not a great model of other weddings, as we dispensed with many, many of the trappings that others have upheld - centerpieces, favors, white dresses, traditional bridal party, alcohol, fine china. We had bundt cakes instead of tiered cake, in part to stay on budget (in part as a nod to My Big Fat Greek Wedding).

How I loved this tiny raspberry chocolate bundt from Nanna's Sweet Treats in Mason, MI! 

Deviled eggs . . . so good. We had a lot left over after this, and the venue let us take them home. I'm not sure that was good for our cholesterol levels . . .

This was a beautiful fruit salad. We tried to have lots of options because so many of our guests had dietary restrictions. A buffet line of simple foods meant everyone could have a full, happy tummy.

We called it a commitment ceremony for months ahead of time. The minister (who was not the minister at our own church because our church might have fired him for performing the ceremony)  insisted upon calling it a wedding. That meant something.

Maybe it meant everything.

After four years, I am feeling as though we have become the old married couple, although part of me feels that it was just yesterday, perhaps because my marriage has been recognized in the state of Michigan for less than a year still.

Maybe because I know so few gay couples who have been married longer than we have.

Or maybe it feels like it was yesterday because my marriage is still not considered sufficient to many of the foster/adoption agencies across the state, and the state thinks that's fine, even if it means that vulnerable children don't find forever homes.

I didn't mean for my wedding to be a revolution, but the world made it one. The political reality made it one. The refusal of a marriage certificate made it one. The refusal of the rights associated with that marriage certificate, like spousal insurance, increased student loan cap, and tax advantages made it one. I didn't mean for it to be a revolution, but in some ways it had to be one, if I wanted the marriage to mean something.

And it doesn't just mean something.

After four years, it still means everything.

2 Years Later: Straight Privilege in Wedding Season

About two years ago, I published a post about straight privilege during wedding season. A lot has happened, but a lot hasn't, so I've published an updated list for your consideration during the next few months, as weddings kick into high gear. Although same-sex couples can now be married in all 50 states, you may be surprised at the number of challenges many still face.

Same disclaimer applies: This list is compiled from a number of comments I have heard from straight people about upcoming weddings or things that I have seen at straight weddings in the past. They are NOT a reference to all straight weddings NOR are they taken from one specific straight wedding. Certainly, straight weddings are not without their difficulties, and to straight couples getting married, there are real issues. I do not mean to claim that having a straight wedding constitutes a stress-free experience. Nevertheless, LGBT couples face unique challenges that I hope will be highlighted in this list.

For most straight couples:

Finding a state-sponsored officiant such as a county clerk or judge doesn't involve finding someone who doesn't object to their relationship on moral grounds.

Finding a venue doesn't involve finding a place of worship or hall that doesn't object to their relationship on moral grounds.

Venues, caterers, bakers, clothing salespeople, etc, don't assume that a member of the couple to be married is actually a member of the bridal party.

Venues, caterers, bakers, etc don't refuse service based on a moral objection to the wedding.

Guests do not attend the wedding to see what "a straight wedding" is like or so that they can claim that they are tolerant/venturesome.

RSVPs do not include judgmental notes about the morality of the upcoming nuptials.

Parents, siblings, and close friends can be assumed to come.

The bride is allowed to at least occasionally be a "bride-zilla" to them without reflecting poorly on the entire sexual orientation community she belongs to.

If people choose not to come, the explanation is generally financial or reflects prior obligations.

If people choose not to come, the decision is rarely blamed on the couple's "choice" to belong to the LGBT community, fall in love, and commit to each other.

Parents may want to add additional people to the guest list, rather than trying to hide the ceremony.

The couple will not feel obligated to ask for permission to invite certain family members or family friends for fear of offending them or the parents with an invitation.

Once the wedding is completed, straight couples can assume the following:

They can tell people about their marriage/spouse without fear of reprisal in the form of employment or housing discrimination.

They can post pictures of their wedding without fear of reprisal in the form of employment or housing discrimination.

They can post pictures of public displays of affection without a backlash.

They will not have to be concerned about how future court decisions could affect the status of their marriage.

They will be able to adopt from most private agencies consistent with their religious beliefs if they have the funds to do so.

They will be able to adopt from the foster care system as long as they meet requirements.

Their family and friends will not pray for them to get divorced.

Their family and friends will invite both spouses to family gatherings and holidays.

Have another to add? Comment below!

Mississippi on my Mind

Friends, we recently celebrated the end of state-wide bans on same-sex couples adopting children. Mississippi's ban was overturned, in a victory that will help many children find forever homes.

Those who are not as cynical as I rejoiced.

I hoped for the best. But I knew that the pipeline contained a lot of setbacks, given that there has been an agenda, ever since the Supreme Court ruled in favor of marriage equality, to restrict rights to gay couples as much as possible.

Less than a week after the end of state-wide adoption bans, Mississippi passed one of the most devastatingly homophobic, discriminatory, bigoted, harmful bills into law that the United States has ever seen. It allows medical providers to refuse certain services to LGBT members of the community. It allows state officials to refuse to license marriages, even when it is their job to do so (see my article from when Kim Davis made this a thing). It intensifies housing discrimination.

And it likely means that adoption agencies will discriminate against LGBT applicants, meaning that the state will return to a de facto same sex adoption ban, given this language in the version signed by the governor:

The state government shall not take any discriminatory action against a religious organization that advertises, provides or facilitates adoption or foster care, wholly or partially on the basis that such organization has provided or declined to provide any adoption or foster care service, or related service, based upon or in a manner consistent with a sincerely held religious belief or moral conviction described in Section 2 of this act.

I can't speak for the LGBT community in Mississippi, so I don't know how they feel about being refused service at restaurants or florists.

Here is what I can tell you.

Children with special needs are overwhelmingly stuck in the foster care system and group homes in the United States. When they are adopted, they are much more likely to find a forever home with a same-sex couple. So are children above the age of six. So are ethnic and racial minority children. Straight couples generally* do not prefer to adopt children from these backgrounds. Preventing gay couples from adopting hurts those couples - but it hurts these vulnerable children waiting for families more.

Rebecca and I are not interested in visiting a place where we could be refused service at a lunch counter, or where the legislature and governor are more interested in protecting discrimination than finding homes for their children.

In fact, yesterday, Rebecca vowed never to set foot in Mississippi, even en route to someplace else. I wish I could say that Michigan is substantially better, but my home state seems to be in a race to the bottom right now.

*Yes, I know people who are anomalies here, and I'm sure you do too. Of course, one possible solution would be for all straight people to adopt special needs children so that there are none left for the gay couples to need to adopt. This isn't happening and is unlikely to start, though I would be thrilled to see many of my straight couple friends consider adopting out of the foster care system.

Dear Houston: You Just Cut off your Nose to Spite your Face

Most of my readers have probably already heard that Houston voted down a measure barring discrimination for a variety of groups, including (but very much NOT limited to) the LGBT community. If you haven't, read the HuffPo piece here.

I could write about the constitutionality of voters deciding whether people should have rights (hint: a majority voting to oppress a minority isn't constitutional, and it's not what the Founding Fathers intended for democracy). I could write about gerrymandering, the attempt in many places to disenfranchise certain voting blocks, or the inaccurate campaign to convince voters that this measure was somehow about allowing men in women's bathrooms.

Instead, I want to point out the hypocrisy of this single-issue-voter, reactionary conservative mindset to withhold protections from the LGBT community, share which other groups are left vulnerable, and assert that this will have an impact on the perception of Houston and the willingness of young professionals to relocate there.

So, here's the list of other groups who are now unprotected in the name of allowing people to discriminate against my group, and reasons this is horribly hypocritical:

Race - if we want to say that everyone has an equal opportunity, that racism no longer exists, or that White privilege isn't a thing, then no one should be bothered by this. If you're still trying to protect people's right to discriminate based on race, well, then, admit that the Civil Rights Movement isn't over.

Age - If you say you love senior citizens, if you're opposed to physician-assisted suicide, if you believe that the elderly have much to offer and should be protected, well, why wouldn't protecting them make sense? And if you believe "kids these days" need to work hard, why wouldn't you want them to have opportunities for employment and safe housing?

Pregnancy - Big one here, Houston. If you're pro-life, you have to be pro-pregnant women. Protecting them from discrimination in employment and housing might be the single easiest thing you can do to reduce the rate of abortions.

Sex - again, do you want to admit we still need feminism? Or do you want to pass something that you're effectively arguing is unnecessary, in the name of getting protections for the other groups on this list you purport to care about?

Color - see Race comment.

Disability - if every life matters, then protecting the disabled is our duty as humans, and as adherents of any religious background.

Military Status - our military serves every day to protect us. Isn't it time to protect them? If this measure would keep even one active member of the military or veteran from homelessness, wasn't it worth passing?

National Origin - Houston is an incredibly diverse city. Kind of thought y'all would want to keep that up.

Ethnicity - see Race comment.

Religion - believe it or not, the Constitution guarantees freedom of religion, and this would actually protect all the Christians that the right is claiming are under attack, if they really are.

Sexual Orientation - So this was what you supposedly actually objected to. I obviously disagree, but that's not the objective of this post.

Gender Identity - See Sexual Orientation comment.

Genetic Information - You know who has different genetics? People with certain predictors of breast cancer. People with Down's syndrome. People with Huntington's. If the Right is actually pro-women and pro-women's health, pro-life, pro-disability, again, why would they pass up the opportunity to protect such groups?

Marital Status - this is a critical one for many women. Marital status has been demonstrated to be a point of discrimination in situations like hiring and promotion. Again, if you're truly pro-women, pro-pregnancy, and pro-life, why not pass this?

Family Status - want to truly be pro-family and promote family values? Preventing discrimination here would be a key step. Allowing employers or housing offices to discriminate against those with children isn't pro-life, pro-pregnancy, or pro-child, since guess what? Most pregnancy end with a child and a change in family status.

I have already spoken to people who refuse to move to Michigan because of a lack of these kinds of protections. In fact, my wife and I refuse to relocated to Texas given the disregard for civil rights there (and maybe you think that isn't a loss, but I happen to know you have a shortage of people who can care for pregnant women, and my wife is a family med physician with a lot of training in managing pregnancies and deliveries. I also know that you have a teacher shortage, especially in ESL and bilingual, and I'm looking to get back into public school education.).

So maybe, if you could set aside the details about people that you don't like and look at the bigger picture, you would see a world that's a little more just, a little kinder, and a little more principled.

Dear Ben Carson: Who's a Homophobe if You're Not One?

I stirred up a lot of controversy with my post Speaking the Truth in Love, about those who deny their bigotry while insisting that the LGBT community should have fewer rights than everyone else. In it, I assert that people believe

• "that it's not possible for "nice" people to be bigoted..." but "if you believe that discriminating against people based on their presence in any minority group is okay, particularly if you believe that solely because you cannot imagine the world otherwise, you are a bigot....the honest thing to do here is for you to acknowledge that your position is prejudiced. The honest reaction is that you prefer to be prejudiced and accept the label of bigot/homophobe."

So I'm calling Dr. Ben Carson out as a homophobe and asking him -

Who is a homophobe, if you are not? What is homophobia, if you personally do not espouse it? Is the only way to be a homophobe to actively physically assault members of the LGBT community? Or to support imprisoning them/killing them? 

Don't believe me that he is a bigot? Read this and tell me if he could be otherwise:

• “Obviously you don’t understand my views on homosexuality. I believe our Constitution protects everybody regardless of their sexual orientation or any other aspect. I also believe marriage is between one man and one woman. There is no reason you can’t be perfectly fair to the gay community.” 
• “They shouldn’t automatically assume that because you believe that marriage is between one man and one woman that you are a homophobe. This is one of the myths that the left perpetrates on our society and this is how they frighten people and get people to shut up. That’s what the P.C. culture is all about and it’s destroying this nation.”
• Also, Carson signed the National Organization for Marriage’s presidential pledge, which demands support for a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage, the reversal of any policy that recognizes same-sex couple’s marriages, 

• and the end to any nondiscrimination protections for LGBT people. 

(this is all cited from a Think Progress article about Ben Carson's views of non-straight sexual orientations). 

Advocating the removal of rights from gay people via creative legislation is bigotry, especially now that the Supreme Court has ruled. Believing that people should be fired solely for being (or even just seeming) gay is bigotry. Believing that people should be denied housing simply for being gay is bigotry.

As I have already said, I don't hate bigots, but I do have a problem with the bigoted lifestyle.

And I don't think bigots should get to represent or lead groups they are trying to hurt.

Luxury of Believing We Couldn't Lose my Brother

I thought, after my brother's death, that it wasn't preventable, that there was nothing we could do and nothing we could say, and nothing anyone could have done to save him. That it was his time. None of us thought that he would commit suicide. None of us truly, in our hearts, believed that it was possible that we could be living without him.

And I thought, no family could possibly anticipate this. No family could anticipate that their son would be dead. No one could possibly live in fear of that and go on, given what I know about how awful it is to go on when something like that happens.

And then I read about Tamir Rice. About Sandra Bland. About Trayvon Martin. Mike Brown. Amber Monroe. About so many more. I read an article about a woman validating her right to be an "angry Black woman." And I read about African-American families instructing their  children how to behave with the police. How not to be pulled over, because if they are anything could happen and they could be anticipating a life without their children. I read about teaching these children, often so so much younger than my brother was, how to behave in this world that  treats them like they are not people, and I think, that 

these people do anticipate something awful happening. 

Even when it shouldn't, they live with one hand in the idea that something bad could happen. That they must take precautions. And even with those precautions, bad things keep happening, and they keep being blamed. The victims keep being blamed despite everything they have been doing to avoid this. And I think, my readers, my dear readers, how awful it must be to live in a situation where one anticipated that this might happen, aware that they may have to live without their brother, dear sister, their father, their best friends, their loved one, and they did what they could to prevent it, because they believed that it could happen, and they were not successful, and then the mainstream media, the White patriarchy blamed them. 

Whites maligned them, treated them like entertainment, like a news story, treated them like any sin they ever committed justified this death.

Whites watch them struggle to survive waking up every day into their worst nightmare and instead of doing something to stop one more family from having to live through this destruction, society makes it worse.

And I think, what a privilege that we never had to assume something bad might happen to him. What a privilege that in his death, one that might've been filled with rumors, or judgments, given some of the circumstances, everyone said lovely things about him and told us the wonderful stories and we were filled with the happy memories of his life, and every transgression ever attributed to him was set aside for that time. That should not be a privilege. I wish for us that we had believed we might really lose him. Maybe, now, I think that there is a reality somewhere where everything is different and a million tiny things added up means that he survived and thrived, but that if he didn't at least we would have hugged him a little more, called more often, treasured him more.

I wish for others, though, that the world would view the death as a tragedy. My brother's death may not have been preventable, but Trayvon Martin's and Mike Brown's, Sandra Bland's, Amber Monroe's, so many other's deaths were. Their families suffer untold pain on top of what I know. Every family that loses someone too early carries the pain, the emptiness, the loneliness that I know. And they suffer with the knowledge that there is a reality somewhere where everything is different and a million tiny things added up means that their loved one survived and thrived.

And this is why I call for improved gun policy, for better mental health care, for racial justice, an end to transphobia and homophobia. Because to me, it's not just a philosophical argument or a principle. It's not just a slight increase in my tax rate. It's life or death for many. It's joy or suffering for families not so different from mine. 

When You Say: I Have Gay Friends . . . So I can't be a Homophobe

I often hear people say, "My <<insert family member or other consort>> is gay, so I'm not …" and what follows is always the use of that gay person as a talisman to ward off <<probably not specious>> accusations of homophobia or bigotry, then followed by a negative stereotype or judgment about the gay community. Many times I've been told, before or after a statement like this that I don't count in that stereotype (see post On being a unicorn).

And I realize that in other conversations, I'm probably being used as that talisman. I'm probably the <<insert family member or other consort>> to prevent tenable accusations or "PC" challenges to the statement. My experience or opinion may be considered to apply to all members of the LGBT community or I may get a special pass.

Tokenism at its finest. It's easier to know one gay person than to get educated, easier to take my view than learn multiple ones, and easier to forgive me my faults because I am named and have a face.

But I am not a token or talisman or representative of an entire community. Please don't use me that way. Especially if you're trying not to look prejudiced as you withhold rights from my community. 

I try to be fair and understanding here, and I try to present a well-rounded view, but I'm not actually a unicorn. I have feelings. I have flaws. You're allowed to think so and say so, about me specifically. It might hurt, but not as much as if you imply that I don't belong in the community where I belong.

But if you're saying it about an entire community, like I said in Speaking the truth in love, and you want to make my community suffer (yes, that's what withholding civil rights does), you're a homophobe, which means you should probably evaluate if you're being a good <<insert family member or other consort>> to the token you're holding up. 

Because I have some very prejudiced friends, but that doesn't mean I approve of the bigoted lifestyle.

Freedom of Religion: Please Stop Saying I'm Discriminating Against Evangelicals

I've been hearing a lot of concern that churches will face repercussions if they continue to oppose marriage equality. A few people have been fear-mongering by suggesting that ministers will be forced to perform same sex marriages that violate their theology. I have heard it mentioned that churches may lose their tax exempt status or that religiously affiliated institutions such as hospitals and universities may lose government funding. I have heard that Christian businesses (a misnomer, since a business can't be religious, only the person owning it can) will be forced to close if they don't serve same sex couples.

I have seen these things a lot. There are really two options in terms of where they come from. One is an intentional effort to push the concept of Christian Persecution Complex (CPC), or the idea that Christians in the United States now are being persecuted and are in danger. For an article that addresses CPC, click here. The other option, and in many cases, I think the more likely one, is that many US citizens lack civic literacy to understand the implications of the Constitution. It is beyond me to remedy that fully.

I have ended up in discussions about this often, with different individuals. This blog post is an attempt to synthesize some of these issues, although I know that one blog post is hardly sufficient; that said, it's a lot closer to sufficient than a Facebook comment. For more info about why I keep writing this type of blog entry instead of answering individual questions or discussions, please see On Being a Unicorn, where I explain my theory behind the relatively active readership of this blog and an additional post on the emotional repercussions for me of being bombarded so frequently with requests to weigh in, entitled Your Questions: My Answers.

So where to start? I'm not sure, so at this point, I'm going to pick something, start there, and see what happens.

Christians are being persecuted for their beliefs. It's no longer safe to be a Christian in the United States. Christians are the real victims.

Let's address this anecdotally, since the availability of statistics outlining the likelihood of the LGBT community to experience homelessness, poverty, uninsured status, unemployment and underemployment, etc, as well as much higher threat of physical violence seem not to matter in this societal debate. It is not my job to educate you on these issues - Google them if you need to or check out Equality Michigan, Human Rights Campaign, Freedom to Marry, or any number of other sites dedicate to this issue. (Kat Blaque makes a much better argument on your responsibility to educate yourself on these issues, if you truly care about the LGBT community, than I ever could.)

I have been a committed Christian since I was five years old and a member of a Christian family my whole life. I attended camps on apologetics training (basically, how to share Christianity to get people to follow Jesus) more than once in high school and participated in Bible study and church throughout college and most of grad school. I still attend church regularly, and though I no longer identify as Evangelical with a capital E, I strongly believe in the teachings of Jesus and their power to transform.

I am also gay. And gay affirming. I believe that my marriage is a Biblical picture of the concept of a helpmate and also of a family teaming up to pursue the Great Commission put forth in the Gospel of Matthew (and throughout the New Testament). I know some readers disagree with me on that particular point, but I make it to lead you to another:

I have never been persecuted as a Christian, not really. 

I have been worried about it. I have perhaps thought that I was. But I have never lost an opportunity because of my faith. In fact, I have gained many. I have never been unsafe for my religious views. No one with power over my life has made decisions that changed my outcomes for the negative because I was a Christian. And I attended public schools and universities for all twenty years I have been in formal education. I have never worked for a religious employer that I can currently recall; all my jobs have been in the secular world. I have not hidden my faith - most people know that I regularly attend church, and some even know that I am Protestant. And when it comes down to it, I don't think very many people in the United States have been persecuted for following Jesus. I think I'm the rule here, not the exception.

On the other hand, I have faced discrimination as a member of the LGBT community.

I have avoided coming out at work in certain schools because I feared that students would verbally attack me and/or have their parents call to complain. I have avoided applying for jobs at certain companies or in specific cities. I have avoided looking at rental housing in specific areas. I have been turned away at governmental institutions when applying for paperwork such as an accurate drivers license, resulting in concerns as outlined in my post "It Happened." I have been subjected to questions on highly personal issues of my sexuality, I have been hypersexualized and propositioned, I have been "teasingly" mocked. Rebecca skipped applying to certain hospitals for residency because they would not have recognized her marriage or given me insurance when it would be promised to heterosexual spouses. (Incidentally, whatever else I say about Henry Ford Health, their HR policies for LGBT families are great.) I fear that in an emergency I would be taken to one of the Detroit area Catholic hospitals that is closer than some Henry Ford facilities and that Rebecca and I would face discrimination, as a family we know did within the last year. Yes, a Catholic hospital. A Christian, supposedly pro-family institution discriminated against a family in crisis. 

And you know, I count myself fortunate, because I have never been violently attacked and likely never will be, but I know LGBT people who have been or who have been close, just for being Gay/Trans. I have never been fired, but I know LGBT people who have been, just for not being Cis/Straight.

You cannot convince me that Christians in general, or even Evangelicals in particular, are being persecuted. You cannot convince me that the LGBT community is NOT being persecuted. I have seen the statistics, but I have also lived both. If anything, the LGBT community is being persecuted because of beliefs of a specific subset (and a very specific and shrinking one, at this point) that have been codified into law despite separation of church and state, despite laws against violence, murder, despite in some cases job requirements, legal requirements, etc.

I defend your right to believe whatever your interpretation of Scripture using your version of exegesis says. I defend your clergy's right to refuse to marry whomever he likes. I defend your church's right to gather and worship in the way they see fit, your right to parent as you see fit, even your right to teach your children that my family/marriage is "less than." But I will not agree that you are persecuted. It is not your right to maintain positive public opinion, nor is it Biblical.

I am not persecuted as a Christian. I am persecuted because of my same sex marriage.

MI Hate: Keeping the Government Out of Marriage

Dear Michigan Republican Legislators,

Last week, the same day news hit of a devastating terrorist act in Charleston in which a vicious racist took the lives of many faithful, I found out that you are again trying to undermine my family. Since you know that it is likely that the Supreme Court will rule that your state same-sex marriage ban is unconstitutional, or at a minimum that you must accept my out-of-state marriage certificate, you are looking for other ways to keep me from having equality.

You've looked to other states to get ideas. Currently, a favored one seems to be to set up a bunch of smaller laws, rather than one large ban, designed to make my life hard. You'd like to reduce my ability to adopt foster children (a move that hurts the foster children much more than it hurts me).

Another favorite, though, seems to be that "the definition of marriage should not be within the realm of the federal government.” Meaning, essentially, that from this point forward, religious institutions are free to define marriage however they like, a minister must perform wedding ceremonies, and marriage certificates should have nothing more than spiritual significance.

Sure. I can see that argument. But if marriage is purely religious, and the government has no right to define or regulate it, then let's burn all government-issued marriage certificates, including yours. Let's say that the government no longer recognizes any marriages at all, including yours. Let me tell you what would happen, since I lived for a year and a half with only a spiritual marriage covenant, and still live with limited legal recognition:

1. Your employer would no longer have standing to provide your spouse with health insurance.

If your spouse doesn't work, or works part-time someplace without insurance, he/she (probably she, given the number of stay-at-home moms in the conservative community) will be significantly more likely to have to purchase insurance on the exchanges, use Medicaid, or go without. You have no legal way to prove who this person is to you, so an employer offering health insurance is purely a goodwill gesture, not a requirement. You may have to change employers to find one that offers this goodwill, or if you are searching for a job, you may have to turn down positions to make sure that your partner will be covered.

2. Your tax situation will be incredibly difficult.

Taxes are already difficult, but let's imagine - you no longer get any deductions for being married. You'll have to determine who owns which assets, who pays which bills, and if you have children, who gets to deduct them if that deduction continues to persist. On top of income tax, estate taxes will be much higher because the government will not automatically assume your spouse should be entitled to your property.

3. You will have to fill out extra legal documents to make sure the right person makes your health and financial decisions if you're incapacitated.

You may have done this already, or you may not have. But even if you have, be prepared to have these documents filed and to carry them with you at all times, since just telling hospital staff someone is your spouse will no longer be sufficient to convince them that this person has standing to make medical decisions. If they'd prefer, and you don't have your documents, they can call a parent or sibling to make your decisions instead.

4. If your children are not biologically yours, get ready for a legal mess.

For couples with infertility or who want to adopt, or in a situation of divorce or a challenge of custody, your marriage certificate will no longer be sufficient to demonstrate that you have a legal right to be listed as a parent. Second parent adoption might be impossible - you may have to choose which spouse should be listed as the sole guardian of your child. If you can have second parent adoption, you will have to contact agencies to find out whether your spiritual marriage will help or hurt you.

Of course, there are lots of other issues. I think these four give you a pretty good idea what kind of convoluted trap you're setting not only for the LGBT community, but for yourselves. While I'm at it, let me mentioned that an ordained minister performed my spiritual marriage ceremony, and I know several others who would do the same for a legal one if I needed. So not only are you being petulantly childish, but your ploy is likely to be relatively ineffective.

How about we pass a roads bill instead?

Confessions: I Changed My Birthday on Facebook

It's not that I mind getting older. In fact, for the most part, every year has been better than the last.

It's that my birthday is a reminder that another year has passed, and my home state still does not recognize my civil rights. I changed my registration today at the Secretary of State, and when I asked whether the fees to change my registration and license to my married name when SCOTUS rules that my rights have been violated for the last year and a half, I was told that I would have to pay the fees over again, just a few weeks after paying them. (Fees add up to about $100, which I could obviously use for many other, more worthwhile things.)

I thought about risking it and not doing my registration until the very end of the month. But I'm a law abiding citizen and that doesn't sit well with me. So I guess I can wait until SCOTUS finally gets around to doing its job and forces Michigan to recognize a marriage that Michigan has passed over for month after month.

So my birthday is a reminder that my marriage means less than the marriages of heterosexual couples. My life, my being, my rights mean less. Which means that, at least for a couple more weeks, my birth means less.

To what date did I change my birthday? To June 30, which is what I perceive to be the last possible day SCOTUS could finally do its job. If they rule against me, I suppose I can delete the date altogether, until the equivalent of Brown v. Board overturns what would be the modern equivalent of Plessy v. Ferguson.

If SCOTUS rules favorably, I think I will probably just change my voter ID so that my name is changed with the state, and then continue using my passport card for everything, including at my polling location. I'm not the one most inconvenienced by this - those who have to locate my birthday on a passport card and listen to the story of how my civil rights have been consistently violated are actually more inconvenienced. And at that point, the deluge of congratulations that I managed to get born and live another 28 years will feel less empty, I hope.

Baltimore, Wedding Cake, and Heartache

Dear readers,

The last few days have been highly emotional ones.

The demonstrators in Baltimore have brought to light even more oppression in the United States, and at the same time, a select few people have further damaged a city that was already struggling.

The Supreme Court has heard oral arguments on marriage equality. Issues of religious liberty continue to spark explosive debates about the balance of following the legal system in place in a nation while expressing one's religion freely - and this will not be decided by the outcome of the marriage equality case in front of them. In addition, I've been continuing to see, or perhaps even seeing more of, discussions justifying reparative therapy and putting forth the notion that it's possible to "pray away the gay," framed as though this and many other cliches are not tired repetitions of the same harmful notions that have caused the suicide, substance abuse, and despair of so many whose prayers weren't answered.

I don't have answers for this. Every time I think I have a knot untangled, I realize that one of the loops was actually ensnared in a bigger knot. But I have seen a small glimmer of hope packaged in a Facebook thread, so I'd like to share it with you. I think that it exemplifies many of principles I had hoped for in my post about bringing civility to online discussions. I'm going to share it with you with the names redacted to initials (if you were involved in this thread and would like your full name included, let me know):

My initial post:
"I have no good words for today. My heart hurts to see the ‪#‎baltimore‬ ‪#‎blacklivesmatter‬ push for equality when I selfishly want 24/7 coverage of ‪#‎lovemustwin‬ ‪#‎scotus‬ ‪#‎marriageequality‬ because the outcome of that benefits me. My heart hurts to see how slowly we're arcing toward justice. Let's join together to pray for equality and peace, beloved humans."

Response from L:
"It's not selfish when you're fighting for equality as well. It's sad that the rioters are getting more attention than the other 10,000 peaceful #blacklivesmatter protestors. Your battle matters as much as theirs, even though theirs is different because of recent events that have unfolded. Keep fighting for human equality and never think you're selfish about it, because you're not a selfish person."

My response:
"Although I'm obviously not rioting, and I don't support violence, I understand how they feel. They have peacefully protested for decades, tried to get the right to vote to change things, have tried the things that society tells them to do, and have seen little, or even no, progress. I'm hopeful, because marriage equality is in the courts and following procedure and may get recognition legally, but I'm fed up after just a few years in this fight."

Response from L:
"It sucks because violence doesn't solve violence. They feel they have no other option. They need a strong advocate to help lead them in a positive direction or else it's just going to get worse. We sadly live in a backward nation that has always seen skin color as a separator. At this moment it's a fight between the protectors of society and an entire race of humans. A strong human being needs to step up and become someone who is worthy of changing history for these misguided people. Social media also needs to stop televising the riots because it's only evoking fear and feeding society with hatred instead of inspiring change."

My response:
"I can't help feeling that they've had strong leaders, peaceful ones, more than most of us even know, and many have been assassinated. MLK was one of many. They don't need to come up with a leader. Society needs to change."

Response from R:
"There are many factors that have gone into these riots, as you have stated. Change is needed. Changes in police policy. Changes in the way we discuss our problems in our homes. Changes in visible Black leadership (because Erin is right, for every MLK Jr. and Malcom X there are many, many less visual leaders of the black community). And changes in our hearts. Because it isn't an us or them issue. It is a human rights issue.
And quite frankly, my heart hurts going on Facebook after these events. People just spew hate.
And Erin, I hope your change comes today. " (emphasis applied by Erin)

Power of Narrative: Take II

The topic for this post has been kicking around for a while, as some of you know from my last post. And I doubt it's going to take the shape it was originally intended to have. But it's my story and I'll say what I want to.

The winner writes the history books.

This statement is a cliche at this point. It speaks to the power of controlling a narrative, which to me points to the power that a narrative has.

Why, when we no longer encourage participation in the study of the humanities? Why, when we laugh at people majoring in literature, film, music, and say that they should learn how to ask, "Would you like fries with that?"

Why else have we created a culture where it is almost impossible to live as an artist, an author, a musician? Where those who choose these things are forced to take "day" jobs to make rent? Stories matter. How they are told matters. Who is the protagonist matters. How the plot is framed matters. How the resolution unfolds matters. There is a reason that Mario Vargas Llosa was both a writer and a politician. There was a reason that so many actors and filmmakers were blacklisted or jailed during the Red Scare. Suppressing narrative is one way of maintaining the status quo, of controlling people.

What story have I been thinking of lately? The Watsons Go to Birmingham. I don't know how many of my readers have read this book, but I suspect a lot. It's an incredibly compelling tale of an African American family during the Civil Rights Movement doing something that I would suggest most Whites take for granted - taking a family road trip. The considerations they must make along the way, in terms of where it is okay to stop, struck me, as a White adolescent who had never really experienced discrimination. I had never experienced anything like that. I didn't think I ever would. I was glad I had read it, but I can't say that I understood why it was so important that this book existed.

Just like, until 2009 or so, I didn't think I would experience the feelings as they unfold in Annie on My Mind, the story of an adolescent discovering that she identifies as a lesbian. I will be honest at this point: when I was assigned to read Boy Meets Boy in my diversity in children's literature course my senior year of college, I didn't even purchase it. No, I sat in the bookstore and read the whole thing in an afternoon, collecting sticky notes so that I could write my analysis later. This wasn't a typical reaction to the high price of textbooks in college. It was an attempt to avoid paying money to a gay author. To avoid rewarding a gay story with my straight, evangelical money. I still think there's better work out there than Boy Meets Boy, for very different reasons than those. But I'm sharing this behavior in case some of you haven't grasped yet how very anti-gay I was, until I realized that I'm . . . gay.

I believe that Rebecca's reaction to Annie on My Mind was that a book had "never spoken to" her as that one did. I have to say that at the time I agreed. I had never truly felt marginalized before. I'd been able to identify with a lot of characters in books. I'd felt, until then, that my story had been told, more or less. Then suddenly I noticed a plot twist in my personal narrative, just as the protagonist does, and my life changed, permanently, and I needed there to be a story like that. As a book worm, seeing a story at least somewhat like mine was soothing. It was comfort. It meant that I, too, could have a resolution, maybe not the same as the character's, but a resolution of the turmoil and conflict I faced.

Why is The Watsons Go to Birmingham on my mind right now? Because I suddenly feel that I might have to plan out road trips. Indiana passed a bill licensing businesses to discriminate against Rebecca and me for being a gay couple. They say it's about religious freedom. All I know is that I feel the need, now, if I were ever going to work an event in Indiana (which is possible - I almost did this past winter for my office), I would feel the need to ask the hotel I was booking if I would be turned away upon arrival if I showed up with my wife. I would be unsure where I was allowed to eat dinner. I would want to check what facility was hosting the event in a way that I really never have (sometimes, honestly, I feel like I work for the CIA - info is on a need-to-know basis). I wonder, perhaps, if I would feel like checking with my employer to find out if it is a good idea for me to teach there, even on a substitute basis. I would worry about going to my mother-in-laws antique booths in Amish country. I suddenly see my former straight privilege in a completely different light.

I'm not saying that I anticipate that my church will be bombed as one in The Watsons Go to Birmingham was. I generally don't fear for my life, and my concerns, I suppose, are details, inconveniences. For now. Unless Michigan passes similar legislation, which it is considering. But they are details, inconveniences I didn't face, until now. I thought that perhaps we were inching toward equality. I thought, perhaps, that the Civil Rights Movement had taught us something. I worry now that I am wrong. I worry that the story wasn't told correctly, or to enough people, or that maybe people didn't care enough about it.

I guess, for now, all I can hope is that sharing this story is more powerful than I realize.