On protests and being an ally

Every now and again, I chime in on current events, mostly social justice issues. I write stories that are not overtly politcal or educational, but I’m always aware of the two-way connection between literature (culture) and politics. Literature can deepen understanding of cultural diversity, or strengthen, even create harmful beliefs and attitudes. Beyond that, I’ve always cared a lot about social justice, in part because of my upbringing and later when I confronted stigma and prejudice quite personally as a gay man. Though my platform as an author is small, I’ll gladly use it to denounce bigotry and boost the signal of individuals and groups who are fighting the good fight.

There’s a lot to say about the White Nationalist “Unite the Right” rally, the deadly violence, and the counter-protest that happened in Charlottesville, Virginia last weekend. As the country moves forward by removing statues of “confederate heroes” that were installed across the South as symbols of white supremacy, a response to black progress in the Reconstruction Era and de-segregation in the 1950s and 1960s, it is sad though not surprising we are witnessing a backlash from whites. We don’t have to look to archived, black and white photos, grainy camera reel from a much earlier era, to see what mobs of White Nationalists look like. Their images – carrying torches, rifles, ugly placards – their sounds – reclaiming America, they’re everywhere in social media and daily newscasts, and a frightening reminder that social change does not come easily.

There’s also a lot to say about President Trump’s incitement of white nationalism during his campaign and continuing through his presidency. His speeches have been polluted with racist propaganda, sometimes remarkably overt in the case of his defamation of Mexicans, his calls for violence against media outlets and his political rivals, which dare to characterize him as racist. His slogan: Make America Great Again, is easily decoded as: Make America White Again, by both his supporters and his opponents. He foments distrust, fear, hatred of brown-skinned foreigners, Muslims in particular, with fake news narratives about the threat to white American safety.

Trump’s reaction to the “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville and the anti-racist protestors who bravely met them there (bad behavior “on both sides”) shows once again whose interests he represents. He defends the cause of preserving confederate statues, says the anti-racist, anti-fascist counterprotestors had no right being there, suggests they got what they deserved. It is not acceptable. The Resistance must fight even harder to oppose what I call an anti-human agenda because it encompasses so much, is targeted so widely: anti-black, anti-Hispanic, anti-immigrant, anti-Muslim, anti-transgender, anti-women, anti-poor, among others.

All of these things are important to talk about, and what’s on my mind the most are the courageous counter-protestors, one of whom Heather Heyer made the ultimate sacrifice. Those counter-protestors were black and white, and mostly white according to participants. That’s likely due to many factors such as the composition of the college town and the privilege of white folks to protest without the fear of police brutality (at least a lessened fear, without historical precedent). White anti-racist activists are no more righteous than black anti-racist activists, and by elevating their courage, their herocism, I mean in no way to suggest that, or to move focus away from the core of the “Unite the Right’s” intention, which was to terrorize people of color, to “put them in their place.”

Movements need allies, and that’s exactly who Heather Heyer was, an anti-racism ally. I hear this discussion a lot from friends and colleagues who are people of color. It’s time for white people to stand up, take responsibility for racism in our own community. Anti-racist work is hard. It’s sometimes deadly. Black people cannot do it on their own, nor can Muslim-Americans, nor transgender people. At times like this, I evaluate myself as an ally. I talk the talk, but do I walk the walk as much as I could? I confront racism when I hear it spoken, most recently in conversation with the owner of a newstand (which also led to deciding to buy my midday soda and snack at a different newstand). I have participated in Black Lives Matter protests and helped students use photography to promote anti-racist messages. I could do more. There’s no question about it.

This is one thing I had to do today: to honor Heather Heyer along with all of the counter-protestors from Charlottesville. They are national heroes.

Heather Heyer Memorial

Retrieved from cnbc.com

 

#TransgenderRightsAreHumanRights

In light of President Trump’s vow earlier this week to ban transgender people from serving in the military...

And in light of voices of support for such a move by congressional Republicans, feebly and disingenously cloaked as a cost-saving measure for medical costs…

And in light of Christian political groups seizing on the issue to foment fear and hatred of transgender people…

And in light of the U.S. Department of Justice, under Attorney General Jeff Sessions, mobilizing a legal strategy to enable bigots to refuse employment and services to LGBT people

And in light of mainstream media coverage that frames these issues as a reaction to Democratic “culture wars” and “identity politics” (how come transgender civil rights are “identity politics” while endless coverage of the forgotten, white male Midwestern factory worker is just “news?”)…

I decided not to write about all the reasons these people are wrong-headed and ignorant and basically akin to a rusted drain pipe spewing chemical waste into our drinking water. Instead, I wanted to share some stories. Some real life stories about transgender people serving in the military.

I don’t have personal stories. I retrieved these from various media. And at the risk of belaboring what’s probably an obvious point, I chose stories about servicemen and women because that’s been the national conversation this week. Obviously, every transgender person — military or otherwise — has a valuable story to be told, and their legal status is fragile across many contexts. We need to tell and listen to transgender stories every day, not just when they are under attack by our government, though probably, especially so then. That’s what I’m getting at.

Oh, and I do have one personal story. I’m reading Daniel Heath Justice’s “Indigenous fantasy epic” The Way of Thorn and Thunder, and it includes non-binary gendered characters, refered to as zhe and hir. I haven’t come by a lot of transgender fantasy fiction, but that’s something I’m making a priority to read more of.

So here are some transgender military stories I really like. The fight to realize human rights continues!

From Buzzfeed: The First Out Transgender Active Duty U.S. Army Officer

 

Transgender, at War and in Love

This short documentary shares the challenges of a transgender military couple, who are banned from serving openly.

 

Transgender military couple fears future after tweets from President Trump

DALLAS – A transgender couple with North Texas ties who’ve both served their country say they’re unnerved by President Trump’s call to ban transgender service members. Laila Ireland served the Army for 12 years. Her husband Logan is a Staff Sergeant, active duty with the Air Force, and a stream of tweets from the Commander in Chief put all their dreams in jeopardy.

Transgender In The Military: The Story Behind Their Camouflaged Identity | TIME

An estimated 15,000 transgender troops currently serve in the U.S. military. Each has risked dismissal from military service for revealing their identity. Directors Gillian Laub and Shaul Schwarz follow the stories of Maya Martinez, Landon Wilson, and Jamie Ewing.

The Jaguar of the Backward Glance

Chavin stirrup-spouted jar

Chavin stirrup-spouted jar from the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore. Image retrieved from Ancient History Encyclopedia http://www.ancient.eu/Chavin_Civilization/

I discovered this intriguing bit of werecat mythology while doing research for the forthcoming, final installment of my Werecat series: The Sim Ru Prophecy. In Chavin culture, a pre-Incan civilization that resided in the region of modern day Peru, potters made clay jars shaped like seated, curled cats. Like ancient Amerindian artwork elsewhere, the cat’s head is exaggerated, almost cartoonish, but the rosette spots are suggestive of the jaguar, which thrived in the region at the time.

According to archeologist Alana Cordy-Collins, a scholar of Peruvian pre-history, these unique jars are also an artifact of an ancient folk belief in human-feline hybrid creatures. In her essay titled: “The jaguar of the backward glance,” published in Nicolas Saunders’ Icons of Power: Feline Symbolism in the Americas, Cordy-Collins states that the jars represent shaman who possess dual souls and have the ability to take the form of jaguars. To the Chavin, a jaguar who is spotted looking over its shoulder is not a big cat but rather a shape-shifting shaman. They preserved that magical secret on their decorative wares.

When I read about that, I was reminded of the anthropomorphic world of Gregory Maguire’s Wicked saga.

“Are you a cat? Or a Cat?”

Jinns by the Ottoman Artist Mehmet Siyah Kalem

Jinns by the Ottoman Artist Mehmet Siyah Kalem, retrieved from Islam and Science Fiction http://www.islamscifi.com/jinns-in-islamic-art/

Werecat mythology is not so common in European cultures (to the benefit of werewolves), but there are imaginative werecat storytelling traditions pretty much everywhere else where cats can be found in the world. For example, in the Middle East, there’s the wonderful folk belief in the jinn, which can take the form of the cat, as well as other animals.

If you have dug into my Werecat series, you know that I took a lot of inspiration from ancient Mesoamerican beliefs and most especially the Olmecs. A lot about the Olmecs remains ‘unpacked,’ which makes their history and religion fertile ground for a fantasy author. Archeologists have yet to even understand their language. But their stone monuments, sculptures and glyphs include representations of human/feline hybrids, which has led to the theory that they worshipped a werejaguar god.

That was plenty enough for me as a departure point for creating the mythology behind Werecat. The main character Jacks learns that werecat ‘rearing’ originated from an Olmec king who sacrificed a jaguar cub at the altar of a feline god and then plunged the sacrificial blade into his own heart. The feline god was pleased and allowed the king to return to the material world as a hybrid creature with the power to shift from man to cat.

In the saga’s final installment: The Sim Ru Prophecy, Jacks must decode an ancient codex called The Bastet in order to appeal to an aboriginal feline deity before the codex’s secrets fall into the hands of werecat insurgents, or equally disastrously, humans, who would eliminate Jacks’ kind completely.

As a promotion for the release, you can get started on the series for free. Just sign up for my mailing list at the top of my sidebar, and I’ll send you a copy of The Rearing (Werecat, Book 1).

 

Writers Resist: Some FAQs

A peaceful transition of power?

Hell, no!

Normalizing the new presidential administration?

Hell, no!

That’s why I’m joining with thousands of writers across the country and around the world in the Writers Resist: #WriteOurDemocracy campaign. I believe we have truly reached a critical moment in U.S. history, and I know that expression gets overused, but this is what I mean.

The incoming president and vice president fought their way into office through the ugliest, most deceptive, most misogynistic, most anti-environment, anti-democratic, most fear-mongering, most-anti-press, most Islamophobic, and most racist campaign we have ever seen (I probably left something out there, so feel free to help fill in the blanks). Our incoming Republican congress has vowed to aggressively dismantle universal access to health care, turn back tax reform that promotes economic equality, criminalize women’s reproductive freedom, weaken voting rights and ethical accountability for elected officials, and reverse legal rights and protections for LGBTs. (I probably left some things out there as well).

So here’s the critical moment: we can call it a “popular mandate,” or “all’s fair in war and politics,” and fall back in a conference room to analyze what went wrong with the campaigns of fair-minded, progressive candidates in hopes of doing better in the midterm elections in two years. Or, we can raise our voices to decry the incendiary rhetoric, tactics and ideas of the present administration, and demand a better way, right now.

Here’s the statement of purpose from Write Our Democracy’s website:

Write Our Democracy is an initiative to gather writers in response to the growing public cynicism and the alarming disdain for truthfulness threatening to erode our most dearly held democratic principles. Originally launched as Writers Resist, the movement inspired nearly 100 worldwide events on January 15th, 2017, which mobilized writers and focused public attention on the ideals of a free, just, and compassionate democracy. These events will remain an important facet of our mission.

Our country was founded on brilliant writing. As writers, we have tremendous power to influence hearts and minds and impact policy. Together we can leverage that power in non-partisan, highly targeted ways to renew and amplify the core values of liberty, justice and respect that were written into the source code of our democracy.

Our nation was intended to evolve, not devolve. To best protect and defend against further erosion of social justice and democratic process, we believe there are three essential arenas in which writers can best exert influence and inspiration: we must elevate the narrative surrounding democracy; better educate young future citizens; and mobilize writers who want to put their pens into political practice.

Our democracy is at risk, but its renaissance is within our grasp. The founders of our nation conjured and codified their magnificent political experiment using the very same tool that every writer alive today uses in their craft — language. We are equally capable of using finely wrought phrases to inflame a renewed love for the principles that we hold dear in our quest for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.The time is at hand for us to put our skills to the test to Write Our Democracy.

I wrote my first resistance article about a month back. For this dispatch, in support of #WriteOurDemocracy, I thought I’d write a piece answering some FAQs that I’ve heard in RL and social media.

Aren’t you protesters just sore losers because Hillary Clinton lost the election?

No. First, you should understand that the protests since the November presidential election have been multifarious. Some have focused on protecting the rights and dignity of immigrants. Some, such as the Women’s March on Washington, have been organized broadly around human rights. Some are concerned specifically with preserving health care for Americans of all incomes.

The protesters themselves are diverse in terms of political affiliation. Certainly, based on the inclusion of these issues in the 2016 Democratic National Convention’s platform, it is not surprising that many democrats are protesting, as many of them did in response to Trump’s inflamatory rallies, speeches and tweets prior to the election. Some protesters are registered independents. Some are Green Party or socialists. Some are republican, and some voted for Trump and are alarmed by the direction of his administration since the election (e.g. dismantling health care insurance). Some did not vote at all.

As for me, yes I voted for Hillary Clinton. I voted for Barry Sanders in the democratic primary. But neither of those candidates are why I am protesting Trump’s inaugaration. I am protesting his dangerous propagandizing, what he has pledged to do when in office, as well as the agenda of the Republican congress which is already underway.

If you’re not sore losers, why are you using #NotMyPresident as a slogan?

I can’t speak for every person who is expressing themselves with #NotMyPresident, but from the people I have talked to and seen interviewed in the media, their goal is to show their rejection of the values and direction Trump stands for rather than to uplift Hillary Clinton. They want to show that the election results do not validate and endorse the hateful treatment of Muslims, Mexicans, sexual assault survivors, and disabled people, which was a principle rallying tactic by Trump; and they want to stand apart from the racist and xenophobic individuals and groups (e.g. White nationalists) who exalted in his election.

Here’s a personal essay by writer Debra Lobel that addresses this issue really well.

Shouldn’t people like you and Meryl Streep stick to entertaining people rather than waging political rants?

Thanks for putting me in the same sentence with Meryl Streep. But no, I don’t think actors, artists, writers, athletes, and other public figures are beholden to any different standard than any other human being when it comes to standing up for social justice. I have been impacted personally by the threats to LGBTs articulated by the campaign. Trump chose as his running mate a politician who has a proud history of defaming and persecuting my community, and Trump himself changed his position on marriage equality in order to appeal to religious homophobes. Moreover, as bystanders to bigotry, we have a choice to be silent, walk on like nothing happened, or to condemn the perpetrators and to support the targets. I will not ignore attacks against disabled people, Muslims, Mexicans, sexual assault victims, or any other group. They are my friends and my family.

On the contrary, I feel that public figures have an added obligation to speak out on these issues as they have a platform that reaches thousands, even millions of people and are thereby well-positioned to facilitate positive change. When writers such as Stephen King, J.K. Rowling, and Anne Rice publicly condemn the president’s actions, they probably have far more impact than elected officals like Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren, not that we don’t need the voices of our politicians too.

Plenty of people disagreed with President Obama’s positions, but they didn’t take to the streets to protests his election in 2008 and 2012. Why can’t you people respect the political process?

I’m afraid that’s a bit of revisionist history. Trump’s election has spurred unprecedented protest in terms of quantity, but the tradition of post-election protest is hardly owned by one political party. The election of Obama in 2008 in particular saw a rash of White nationalist protest and racist violence, including images of the president hanging from a noose.  You may also remember the Birther movement, which sought to discredit Obama’s legitimacy, and the insurgent Tea Party did indeed organize protest rallies across the country.

That’s not to say this election’s protest is tit-for-tat. But we live in a democracy, and free speech and dissent are critical aspects of maintaining that system. Furthermore, the logic for postponing protest until after the inaugaration is faulty. The sooner we can stop the Trump agenda from being enacted into law, the better. It’s far easier to prevent than to dismantle laws and policies that have already been put into place.

But Trump was fairly elected. Aren’t you undermining the democracy you espouse to value so much by protesting his legitimacy?

As I mentioned before, the post-election protests have been multifarious, and in my view, mostly aimed at social justice issues rather than the president’s legitimacy. There certainly has been increased discussion about the fairness of the Electoral College system versus honoring the popular vote (Clinton won that by 3 million+), and some elected officials such as U.S. Representative John Lewis have called Trump illegitimate due to Russian interference in the campaign as well as timed statements by FBI Director James Comey to discredit his opponent.

While I think that position has merit and warrants further investigation, as for me and many of the protestors I know, I’m galvantized to protest Trump based on the issues at stake through his rhetoric and campaign promises. Whether he was legitimately or illegitimately elected, I will stand with those who oppose injustice, irresponsibility and attacks on vulnerable people.

So what good is protesting going to do at this point? Trump’s already in office, as is a bicameral, conservative Republican congress.

There’s a famous expression by Margaret Mead: “Do not doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed it is the only thing that ever has.” History bears this out. For example, people will probably ascribe the 2012 Supreme Court decision that made marriage equality the law of the land as the turning point in the LGBT civil rights movement. And the action of the Supreme Court was enormoulsy important, but it never would have happened without the local-level, even street-level protests that changed public opinion and exerted pressure on elected officials, and in this case, politically-appointed officials.

Protests have impact. I would argue that they already have. Mike Pence has publicly dialed back his anti-LGBT positions in reaction to outrage from our community. Republicans are facing enormous pressure from their constituents to handle health care reform responsibly. Trump has shown he is more impervious to challenge, but there can be no doubt that the many voices of dissent have had impact on public opinion, and he will have to govern responsibly if he endeavors to redress his growing unpopularity. Yes we can, folks. Protest and #resist.

 

 

 

 

Writing in an age of resistance

resist

I haven’t shared my thoughts on the U.S. presidential election here at my website, though those of you who follow me on Twitter have seen that I have had plenty to say. I also wrote this piece on #BlackLivesMatter and opposing Trump back in July. My political beliefs are not hard to find, and I suspect they have not alienated many of my readers. To me, especially in these times, the stakes for remaining silent dwarf the stakes for speaking out.

We do not know what will happen when the new presidential administration and Republican-controlled congress takes over in January. But we know the Trump/Pence platform is an aggressive plan to deport immigrants, repeal low cost health insurance for the uninsured, turn back environmental protections, and defeat progress with tax reform to the benefit of millionaires and corporations. Those are scary proposals that must be fought to protect human rights and economic justice, and sadly they are familiar themes in American politics.

What I see as an immediate threat, already underway through Trump’s campaign and post-election, is the de-legitimization of facts and pluralistic values, with the specific goal of disempowering immigrants, people of color, women, and to an extent LGBTs. That’s also a familiar strategy in American politics, but I don’t think we’ve ever seen it used to so blatantly, at least in my lifetime. Trump was an amazingly successful provocateur of White American self-interest, perhaps particularly among working-class, rural voters, though that’s a narrative of the election that I suspect is overplayed (in many states, Whites of all income levels went for Trump).

The economy is a disaster and only going to get worse.

Illegal immigrants are pouring over our borders, stealing our jobs, and endangering our lives with crime and terrorism.

Universal health care is an unfair burden on the middle class that is crippling our economy.

Rampant voter fraud in (Black) inner cities is disenfranchising White Americans.

None of those talking points are true, but the truth did not matter. I’m not sure whether we should be demanding a recount or demanding a psychological autopsy on Trump voters. I suspect we would find that White economic and social insecurity pushed Trump to the winning side of the Electoral College.

That insecurity was fomented by racially-charged misinformation. And it’s incredibly dangerous. We have already seen White anger acted out post-election through white nationalist graffiti and attacks on Muslim Americans and Black Americans, a disturbing trend across the country and right where I live in New York City. The triumph of fear-mongering propaganda has prompted many to wonder if we are on the cusp of a fascist regime, as discussed by political observer, linguist and author Noam Chomsky. Trump’s so-called “populist” and more so nationalist and anti-immigrant campaign has counterparts in Europe. It has created anxiety around the world.

In author circles, an interesting question that has emerged is how can literature help during times of oppression and resistance? Author Vaughn Roycroft wrote about the subject back in September in an excellent POV piece for Writer Unboxed titled: “The Importance of Storytelling in Turbulent Times.” In that article, Roycroft talks about the power of storytelling to bring about collectiveness:

“Stories inform our worldview, and create a common basis for our interconnectedness. Our stories define us. And it’s what we share that defines our humanity.”

Humanity. That’s something we definitely need more of. Literature reaffirms our humanity, and not just through explicitly political stories. Stories introduce us to different worlds, different people, different perspectives. They enhance interpersonal understanding. They help us see ourselves in different ways. Stories can be powerful tools to expand the notion of self-interest. They take us on a journey wearing someone else’s shoes, and have the potential to build empathy and relatedness, which is key to recognizing the benefit to the individual when all of us are treated fairly and with dignity.

This question of the role of literature came up at the recent Queens LGBT Book Night, where I was asked, along with the other panelists, what can books and writing do for us as we resist and protest?

I think the most important thing that anyone can do, author or otherwise, is join the movement to fight misinformation with truth and stand up for the dignity of Muslims, people of color, women, immigrants and LGBTs. Writers can make important contributions to that effort by virtue of our ability to articulate well-reasoned arguments, as well as our ability to research. Journalist Lauren Duca recently wrote an exceptional op-ed for Teen Vogue: “Donald Trump is Gaslighting America,” for example.

I also talked about the role of literature in nurturing the soul. Many of us are wounded by this election. It was a rejection of democratic values. It was an affirmation of racist, xenophobic, and misogynistic rhetoric, and it left many of us wondering: how safe am I?

I don’t think that literature can solve that problem, but I do know it can renew us and make us stronger and better fortified to fight. When I read a good story, and as a fantasy author, I’m often reading fantasy, something happens inside me that is a bit hard to describe. Whether it’s through wonder, surprise, pathos, or the intelligence of ideas, I feel a sense of hopefulness. Maybe it comes from experiencing the power of possibilities. Unlikely heroes can triumph. Even when everything is stacked against us, we can solve epic problems. We have the ability to understand and have impact on our world. In social work, borrowing from one of my heroes Lawrence Shulman, we call it “strength for change,” the belief that “no matter how hopeless it seems, there’s always a next step.”

I’m not saying necessarily we need more stories with happy endings. Oftentimes, the most satisfying stories leave things in a gray area, which I find is true to the complexity of the world. It’s up to the reader to imagine what happens next. Yet by inspiring us to imagine, we are empowered. And I guess that’s what I mean by literature nurturing the soul. It activates the imagination and gets us in touch with our essential optimism. Surely that’s not a little thing as we resist the wave of reactionary furor that has beset our country. We need to refuel our belief in hope.