In solidarity with Orlando, in opposition to hate

Anti-Terrorism-Day-21-Maypulsestop gun violence

Many excellent viewpoints on Orlando have come out since the tragedy yesterday, many of them written by people more eloquent and insightful than me. I need to write about this, but I’ll keep it brief.

A colleague shared an article that especially propelled me to write this. It was a list of tips for allies and spoke to the importance of sharing sadness, outrage, love, and solidarity on social media, because when you don’t, those affected see that too. If this post might help one person who lost someone they loved, or anyone who feels shattered and afraid, it will have been worth doing.

Yesterday, I felt brutalized. My sense of the world as a generally safe and predictable place was stripped away, and like most of us in the new normal of gun violence and terrorism, it wasn’t the first time. I live in New York City where the sound of police and ambulance sirens are commonplace. Yesterday, every siren pricked up my defenses and paranoia. I even worried about the dangers of venturing out for my commute to work the next day.

Orlando had a deeper impact on me than 9/11 and the more recent terrorism in Paris, which is not to say that those events did not frighten me and make me cry for the victims. The difference was that Orlando was an attack on an LGBT institution, and I’m a gay man.

I grew up in fear of violence. I was bullied in junior high for being effeminate, had my property vandalized, and listened to hatred and faggot jokes and threats throughout my life. For about two decades, I watched the media debate whether or not people like me deserved the right to live our lives or even to exist in the United States. On balance, I’ve had it better than many LGBTs, due in part to my privilege as a white, middle class, cisgender guy.

Still, one of the first thoughts that occurred to me yesterday was: haven’t we been brutalized enough?

To me, Orlando felt more similar to Charleston. The difference may be hard for non-gay or non-Black people to understand. But when individuals succeed in carrying out the hate that simmers just below the surface of so many people on a daily basis, the terror carves us deeper. We hear it in the rhetoric of political leaders and religious leaders. We see it in the faces and reactions of people we encounter everyday. Orlando and Charleston are frightening reminders that hatred can come unbottled at any moment and strike us down in a hail of bullets.

I chose the three images above about Orlando with a purpose. None of them are more or less important than any other. They are equally vital to be addressed.

We need to condemn terrorism, bring its perpetrators to justice, and strive for non-violent solutions. Further, foreign policy must recognize the legacy of exploitation that has contributed to destabilization and powerlessness, an environment where radicalization and desperation thrive.

We must speak out about the humanity, ‘deservedness,’ and vulnerability of LGBT people, inclusive of LGBTs of color. We must stand against all forms of transphobia, homophobia and racism, whether they are based on political ideology, individual beliefs, or so-called faith. Believing in a punishing, hateful god does not make your condemnation righteous. It makes you a punishing, hateful person who needs to get his head on straight if you want to live in a pluralistic society.

We need sane gun control policies. There is no reason why anyone outside of the military or law enforcement should own assault rifles.

I realize those three images and messages still oversimplify the meanings of what happened in Orlando, as well as Charleston, Boston, and elsewhere. Another issue is mental health and others may be illuminated in the days to come.

For now, I needed to say that I cannot fathom what the LGBT community is going through in Orlando, but I’m with you all the way.

If you’d like to support the victims and their families, Equality Florida has created a GoFundMe project that has happily raised nearly $3 million dollars at the time of this post.

 

Opinion Piece: Has anti-gay hate and violence reached a critical mass?

Incidents of anti-gay violence and bullying have been shockingly frequent across the country.  On October 13th, a tragedy hit close to home.  A 14-year old attending a Long Island vocational school was cornered and beaten by four older students on a school bus.  You can check out the full story here.

For the past 16 years, I’ve worked at a Long Island not-for-profit that advocates for and provides services to lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender or LGBT teens.  It’s a cause that has defined my adult life in many ways.  I believe we all have a part in making the world a better place.  So many LGBT young people have no one to speak up for them, no one to care, no one to listen.

My work as an LGBT youth advocate crosses over with my work as a writer from time to time.  I started this site as a place where I take off my social worker hat and express myself creatively, but the onslaught of hate and desperate acts by LGBT teens has penetrated the dual worlds I inhabit.   Thirteen-year old boys are killing themselves under the weight of school abuse.  Gangs of teens are raping and torturing gay kids in their neighborhoods to maintain a street code of masculinity.  Politicians are spreading fear and hatred as a strategy to stir up votes.

The result of all these things bouncing around my head is an editorial published today by the Long Island Herald.  Has anti-gay hate and violence reached a critical mass? I hope it has.

On Complex Villains – Fred Phelps

I recently came across a fascinating story about the Reverend Fred Phelps of the Westboro Baptist church.  Jon Michael Bell interviewed Phelps and his family in the mid-90’s, but his reporting, under the book title “Addicted to Hate”, was never published due to a dispute with the publisher.  Bell’s short, nine-chapter book circulates the Internet like a viral video.  It caught my eye because I’m drawn in by stories with complex villains.   I tend to view people as multi-dimensional in my life and my writing.  Tell me someone is “bad,” and I’ll spend hours working out the counterpoint.  The same goes for saints and heroes.  I guess I don’t like being told how I should think, and I believe there’s humanity in every individual, no matter how despicable their choices and behaviors.  That doesn’t mean I don’t believe in personal responsibility, punishment or making amends.  But I feel that by casting folks as pure evil, we miss an opportunity to understand human nature and ultimately to learn from it.

Most people know Fred Phelps as an audacious, gay-hating evangelist.  He coined the motto:  “God Hate Fags,” and turned it into a communications campaign.  He pickets the funerals of people who died from AIDS, and he protests memorials for hate crimes victims, most famously Matthew Shepherd.  His views are too extreme for even anti-gay Christian groups like Focus on the Family.  He calls these slightly tolerant folks “fag-enablers” or “fags” themselves.  He’d be a frightening guy if he hadn’t become a caricature, lampooned on late night talk shows, Howard Stern and, of course, Jerry Springer.   “Family values” Republicans dismiss him as a fringe element (Phelps actually campaigned for Al Gore in the 1980’s), and he and his family/congregation (they’re pretty much one in the same) have been barred from entering the UK.

What people might not know is that Phelps had a career as a civil rights attorney in the 60’s and 70’s and helped overturn Jim Crow laws in the Midwest.  He even received an award from the NAACP  in 1987.  Phelps was since disbarred for harassing a female witness and perjury, but he’s an intelligent, well-educated man.  It makes me wonder what was the turning point for this guy?  What led him to launch into a monolithic campaign to save America by destroying gays?  He doesn’t conform to our comfortable beliefs about what makes a person homophobic – lack of education and/or ignorance.  I find it very hard to believe that Phelps intellect cannot grasp the concept of human diversity, the fact that homosexuality is not communicable, that AIDS comes from a virus, not a class of people.

When reporter Bells interviewed Phelps’  adult children, some of the answers came out.  Two of his sons and one daughter describe terrifying scenes of domestic abuse directed toward them and their mother.  It was physical and not surprisingly verbal.  One of Phelps’ sons believes that Phelps turned his rage toward gays after his kids were too old to abuse.  They paint a portrait of a sadistic man intolerant of any deviation from his authority, and they believe that their siblings who remain loyal to their father (Phelps has a total of 13 children) haven’t come forward about the abuse because they are living in fear.

The picture coming together for me is a person who is paranoid-delusional with a persecution complex rooted in deep-seated insecurity.  Phelps attacks those he’s afraid of – children he will one day be unable to control and gays who challenge his shaky hold on masculinity.  Somewhere in his development, I think Phelps’ sense of self was deeply fractured, an injury he could only repair by creating a fantasy of self-importance with conspirators always threatening to bring him down.   Even when Phelps was working for civil rights, colleagues remember him as fiercely oppositional, a crusader; it was always him against the world.  Maybe Phelps was victimized himself as a child.  Maybe the abuse was sexual, which is why his rage turned toward gays.  None of this is so extraordinary really.  There are plenty of people with similar psychological profiles in our mental health system:  narcissistic or borderline personality and bi-polar depressives.  From a diagnostic standpoint, there is plenty of evidence of Phelps’ maladaptive coping.  It lost him his job and his relationships with his family and most certainly many friends.  One of his sons also reports that Phelps abused crystal meth.

Still, Phelps manages to function better than most folks with severe mental illness.  He’s a functional delusional, not a one-dimensional monster, but dangerous through his destructive acts toward others and himself.  A great inspiration for storytelling.