Definition: an earlier event or action that is regarded as an example or guide to be considered in subsequent similar circumstances.
My heart hurts. The world. The nation. My current city. It reminds me of that feeling I would get after I left the church. After I was confronted multiple times for being gay. After the pastor told me that I could not work with children, be involved in music, be a leader in ANYTHING, then the straw that broke the camels back - could not speak to certain people. I was heartbroken. How he, a spiritual leader in the community that I loved, saw me as a threat. Saw me as an outsider. Someone who didn't belong. He bullied me out.
Now whenever I walk into a church I look around in distrust at the smiling faces. Fearful that they look at me in recognition that I'm different. And that they too believe I don't belong.
That's what the world feels like now.
And I know it's not completely true. Not everyone voted for Trump. Not everyone who voted for Trump believes... blah blah blah. But there is a sense of unease. This uncomfortable haze of distrust. Disbelief.
I have friends who are debating whether to get married now instead of later, just in case. There are talks in a queer facebook group looking for self-defense classes, offering pepper spray for those who cannot afford it, offering rides or to walk together in groups, just in case. A friend is considering marrying our mutual friend so they can stay in the country, just in case. So much fear. My friend's wife was wrongfully terminated from her job, I cannot even completely explain why because it sounds so stupid to me. They confronted her after she cried while a co-worker spoke about their fears after the election. They said it was an inappropriate show of emotion. Then they proceeded to ask her when she was going to leave the organization. Now my friends are talking about leaving. Moving some where else, possibly out of the country.
Because the devil was given a megaphone. And I didn't believe anyone was listening.
And subsequently the pandoras box of internet trolls was released into real life. The people who used to hide in the shadows now say these things in the light.
I hid the first week. Not intentionally. I didn't even realize I was hiding till I finally went out in public and realized I was searching the restaurant for other people of color. Looking around to make sure I wasn't the only one. That I wasn't alone. Just in case.
A friend and I spoke tonight about it. Is the fear justified? Or are we just scared. So far no one I know has had racist slurs slung at them. No one I know has been told to "go back home". I have not been attacked by a gang of homophobes. But there have been stories. Reports. Fear runs the halls.
I even considered moving back to Los Angeles for a lightening fast moment.
But as the fear was about to take form into a panic attack, and my thoughts turned to my xanax for help, I realized something. I cannot hide. We cannot run. We should not flee. Because if we gather and hide, who is left to challenge those who are left? Who will be left to penetrate the bubble? To protect the generations who come after us? This is the time to stand tall, proudly, in the spotlight, because they will never believe we belong if we don't claim our space. Claim our rights, our land, our humanity. I am a human being, and I belong here just as much as you do.
It's time to get involved. I admit I was politically complacent. "Oh it will work out." But it didn't this time. So I'm signing up. To volunteer within groups of color. To volunteer for gay rights. To educate myself on how to protect my trans brothers and sisters. It's time to get to work.
Protect each other. Fiercely defend each other. For the weak, the poor, the marginalized. I will fight for you, and I'm asking you to fight for me too.
It's a call to arms my friends. And our weapon is us.
"In 1988, President Reagan signed the Civil Liberties Act to compensate more than 100,000 people of Japanese descent who were incarcerated in internment camps during World War II. The legislation offered a formal apology and paid out $20,000 in compensation to each surviving victim. The law won congressional approval only after a decade-long campaign by the Japanese-American community." Carl Higbie I think this should be your precedent. The US recognized this was a mistake and said they were sorry. We will not let this shameful mistake happen again.
