Time for another one of those posts about word choice and meaning. Again, it would be best to read until the end before making a judgement. The concept of Gay Pride is one that I believe is completely counter to what those who express such pride actually know. Follow me on this...
Are you "proud" that you have two feet? Are you going to join a "BiFooted Pride Parade"? Are you going to wear shirts that are two feet long with a pair of feet on them? No. Of course not. OK, so you might just to spite me and try to prove me wrong, but that's not how this works. Well, why not? Isn't having the two feet you were genetically determined to have a reason for pride? No. It isn't. Did you choose to have two feet? No again.
Pride is great! Having pride in accomplishments is something to be admired. But you can't feel proud that the sky is blue. You had no control over that. You see, pride is something you feel because you succeeded at something. You can only succeed in doing things that have the possibility of failure. Pride is what you feel when you make a choice and it resolves in a positive way.
Therefore, to suggest that you are proud of being gay (or white, or male, or a dog) also suggests that you had a choice in becoming that. I have yet to meet the gay man or woman who said to me, "You know, I could have been straight but I really wanted to be gay. So I tried my hardest, worked on it, and finally managed to become gay." This is because gay isn't a choice. This is a central tenet of the entire idea; you don't CHOOSE to be gay, you just are. Yet, by declaring it "Gay Pride" then you are telling the world that you had a choice. This is the exact opposite statement that you are trying to make.
You can, and should, be proud of being open and accepting of alternative lifestyles. You should be proud to be actively supportive of your movement and working for change. But, being gay? That's not a choice. Just be gay. Nothing to be proud of. After all, you didn't really have a choice...
Friday, March 17, 2017
Tuesday, March 7, 2017
Casual Racism
Man, there is no way for me to know what direction my mind will go sometimes. This morning, while drinking my morning cup of coffee, I overheard someone on the TV say, "I thought they'd be darker." This triggered a twenty year old memory that has been plaguing my thoughts ever since. I figured it would make good fodder for the blog, so here goes...
First, for any that come across this blog who have not met me, I'm white. Descended from Scottish ancestry, with a little German thrown in for good measure, I'm about as white and white gets. I grew up in a firmly middle-class suburban family and never had to personally struggle through any sort of economic or racial hardship as a child. Still, my parents never showed any hint of racism, and I feel raised me right to judge people based on their actions, not their genetics.
In addition, as a teacher in a 30/30/30 school I have never consciously evaluated a student based upon racial, religious, or orientation. I believe my students would agree that they didn't feel that I was a person who they would consider racist, and I actively work AGAINST such prejudices in my classroom.
That said, recalling an incident from decades ago has reminded me there is more than "active" racism I must work against. About twenty years ago, I was an assistant manager at McDonalds. One day, I swear someone exploded in the men's bathroom. There was feces everywhere, including the walls and ceiling! As I was one of those who felt he had to lead by example, I assigned this "shit job" (English teacher pun!) to myself. It wasn't fun.
Later I was talking about it to one of my co-workers, a shift manager named Beverly. Beverly was a classy lady; a hard worker and pleasant personality. She also happened to be black. I clearly remember describing the scene in that bathroom and saying to her, trying to not say the actual word and be funny, "the walls were covered in something the same color as you." Even today I can remember the look on her face. I just described a woman as the color of shit. Why would I do that?
As I've grown older, I begin to understand more. I'm not racist, but society remains so. I didn't say that horrible thing because I was trying to belittle her because of her race. I said it because I had no idea that such a statement might be wrong as I was the definition of white privilege. I didn't think of how it would make her feel because I was completely oblivious to her situation. It never occurred to me that calling a proud (and rightly so) black woman the color of shit was harmful. Even today, it fills me with disgust at myself for having done that.
I need to do better. We all need to do better. It isn't enough not to be actively racist. Every joke that makes use of color, sexual orientation, religion, or any other stereotype as a punchline reinforces perceptions that I know I believe shouldn't be maintained. It isn't enough to just not be racist. I must make sure I also actively work against the social acceptance of such "casual racism" so as to make future generations not even consider doing so. And Beverly, wherever you are, I'm sorry.
First, for any that come across this blog who have not met me, I'm white. Descended from Scottish ancestry, with a little German thrown in for good measure, I'm about as white and white gets. I grew up in a firmly middle-class suburban family and never had to personally struggle through any sort of economic or racial hardship as a child. Still, my parents never showed any hint of racism, and I feel raised me right to judge people based on their actions, not their genetics.
In addition, as a teacher in a 30/30/30 school I have never consciously evaluated a student based upon racial, religious, or orientation. I believe my students would agree that they didn't feel that I was a person who they would consider racist, and I actively work AGAINST such prejudices in my classroom.
That said, recalling an incident from decades ago has reminded me there is more than "active" racism I must work against. About twenty years ago, I was an assistant manager at McDonalds. One day, I swear someone exploded in the men's bathroom. There was feces everywhere, including the walls and ceiling! As I was one of those who felt he had to lead by example, I assigned this "shit job" (English teacher pun!) to myself. It wasn't fun.
Later I was talking about it to one of my co-workers, a shift manager named Beverly. Beverly was a classy lady; a hard worker and pleasant personality. She also happened to be black. I clearly remember describing the scene in that bathroom and saying to her, trying to not say the actual word and be funny, "the walls were covered in something the same color as you." Even today I can remember the look on her face. I just described a woman as the color of shit. Why would I do that?
As I've grown older, I begin to understand more. I'm not racist, but society remains so. I didn't say that horrible thing because I was trying to belittle her because of her race. I said it because I had no idea that such a statement might be wrong as I was the definition of white privilege. I didn't think of how it would make her feel because I was completely oblivious to her situation. It never occurred to me that calling a proud (and rightly so) black woman the color of shit was harmful. Even today, it fills me with disgust at myself for having done that.
I need to do better. We all need to do better. It isn't enough not to be actively racist. Every joke that makes use of color, sexual orientation, religion, or any other stereotype as a punchline reinforces perceptions that I know I believe shouldn't be maintained. It isn't enough to just not be racist. I must make sure I also actively work against the social acceptance of such "casual racism" so as to make future generations not even consider doing so. And Beverly, wherever you are, I'm sorry.
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