We are doing something wrong.

By Jillian Owens 

 

I frequently go through phases of writer’s block. During a recent creative drought, a couple of fellow writers reached out to me via email to check in and make sure all was well and to offer words of encouragement. The Columbia writer’s scene is a kind and gracious one.

One told me I just needed to “get sassy” about something.

I don’t get sassy about much anymore. I no longer want to start revolutions. I’d rather just start a new book. The older I get, the more my resting state leans towards an even keel.

But not today.

The shooting in Orlando makes me angrier and sadder than I can remember feeling in my life. I want to gather the victims and their families. I want to hold them close and keep them safe.

The LGBTQ community has been and continues to be marginalized and mistreated at a level that should make us all ashamed for not being more outspoken in our advocacy and acceptance of these people. I have several gay friends and I like to think I’m a supportive ally. But I could be doing so much more.

I was disappointed in a few of my looser social circles where no one even talked about what happened. “Yay Brunch!” posts dominated social media from the same people who have expressed sympathy for the victims of other shootings in recent past.

When Utah Lt. Governor Spencer Cox recently addressed a vigil, he articulated what I had been unable to put into words.

“I believe that there is a question, two questions actually, that each of us needs to ask ourselves in our heart of hearts. And I am speaking now to the straight community. How did you feel when you heard that 49 people had been gunned down by a self-proclaimed terrorist? That’s the easy question. Here is the hard one: Did that feeling change when you found out the shooting was at a gay bar at 2 a.m. in the morning? If that feeling changed, then we are doing something wrong.”

My friends are amazingly tough people. They can find the humor in having to “play straight” for a work event. They’re capable of forgiving parents and other family members who have shamed and ostracized them throughout their lives. I know very well that I don’t possess that level of strength or patience.

I can’t imagine not being able to take my lover’s hand in public, or mention going to a restaurant with my partner to a coworker, or just be myself without fear of something bad happening to me. I like to dress a little differently and have some eccentric hobbies, but I can indulge in these things without fear of being physically harmed in public. That’s the privilege that comes with being straight. And that’s not okay. And I’m not going to pretend it is.

My friends and I met later that day in a halfhearted attempt to watch a baseball game that no one really paid attention to. The conversation turned to what they could do to encourage people to accept them and not be afraid – to stop hating them.

“We should really be more active in our volunteer efforts in our community. If people see us doing more good, it might change their perceptions.”

“I feel like I need to be ‘out’ with more people now. A lot of people like me and have no idea that I’m gay. If they realize someone they know and like is gay, maybe it’ll change their minds.”

“How do these people not realize that we’re just like them?”

I have no way of understanding the lifetime of hurt and fear my friends have carried the weight of for their entire lives, and will very likely continue to carry until they die, hopefully in a country that, by then, will have learned how to be at least a little more kind.

There’s no sense to be made of this recent tragedy.

But I’m going to be a better advocate for my friends. I’m not going to shy away from difficult conversations with people in a much too xenophobic South. I will hold them close and do whatever I can to keep them safe.

 

MidlandsLife is published on Fridays on MidlandsBiz.