It's been a while since I have been to church. I do make exceptions for weddings and funerals, but I find myself antsy and, more importantly, unwelcomed. And this from the mouth of a woman who never sat in a classroom without a crucifix on the wall. Catholic grammar school, Catholic high school and then a Jesuit college. I don't know why it took a singular moment for me to stop attending mass with my mom when she comes to visit, but it did. A year or two ago, I read about a church in Maine that, for several weeks, passed two baskets. We used to call them 'special collections.' This one in particular was not at all special. The church was raising money so that it could fight a gay rights initiative in that state. I believe they did it for several weeks running. I bet they raised a few bucks.
And so here I am at church. And I'm actually feeling pretty good about it because (a) St. George's is an extraordinary congregation and (b) because I control the message. And (c), I have a few things to say and this setting seems quite right for them.
This morning I'd like to talk about what I think of as the "get out of jail free card" in the world of intolerance and bigotry. I'd like to talk about bullying in its broadest sense – not simply the obvious personal kind but the institutional variety as well. I want to offer some of my own observations about the success of the LGBT movement and what I think lies ahead. And be forewarned. I never speak to a group without calling them to action. It's great that you are here, listening to me but it is what you do with what you hear that matters the most.
So first a bit about me.
I live in Montclair with my partner of 30 years. We were among the earliest migrators to Montclair from Park Slope. We personally take credit for Montclair being the gayest suburb on the planet (well, maybe tied for gayest with Maplewood) on the planet.
We came here to have a family. And we did. We have three kids. Our eldest is 22 and in 1993 she became the first kid in the state of NJ to legally have two mothers as we secured NJ's first second parent adoption. Boy / girl twins followed. They are now 17 and juniors at Montclair High. Our 17 year old daughter is an out lesbian, so as our oldest daughter Scout notes, there is only one person in our household who likes boys.
Religion has been an important backdrop for the story that is our family story. I met Eileen in 1981. There were bullies everywhere we turned. Starting in the Oval Office - his name was Ronald Reagan. Our families were bullies too. Unsupportive is the kind word to use I guess. My mother goes to Mass nearly every day so perhaps I need say no more. Except to say there were a few years with no contact. Eileen's parents were Holocaust survivors. They survived thanks to an extraordinary inner strength and a profound belief that things could change. They attempted to apply this to Eileen's sexual orientation.
Eileen and I planned a family together. We spent the necessary time required to get our ducks in a row. Our first duckling, Scout was born in October 1989. Of course I remember the day well. But not just because I met Scout for the first time. It was also the first time I'd met Eileen's parents. For eight years they had managed around it. More accurately, we'd allowed them to manage around it. Picture the scene. I'm in the elevator at Mt. Sinai and being the nice girl I hold the door for an older man racing to the elevator. I recognized him from pictures. But Eileen's dad had never seen a picture of me. I introduced myself and congratulated him on the birth of his granddaughter. We rode the rest of the way in silence.
In the twenty five years I knew Eileen's mom, she never said my name out loud. The first time I set foot in Eileen's family home was the day her mom died. When Eileen's dad passed away, the rabbi neglected to mention three of Ben Opatut's grandchildren. Because the rabbi didn't know they even existed.
And while I joke that Eileen's parents learned persecution from the master, I am clear that there is more to it than that.
Our parents, like so many who consider themselves deeply religious, believe they have permission to discriminate, persecute – there are a lot of synonyms. You can choose your own.
Permission is granted and your ability to cast judgment, discriminate, and yes, bully comes when a religious institution hands you your special card. It's your "get out of jail free card," your "you are off the hook" card. It is what I call the "deeply held religious belief card or for short, the DHRB card."
My 85 year-old mom plays bridge twice a week. She is a walking poster child for the power of bridge to ensure that you stay sharp as a tack (long after people are kind of beginning to hope you might miss a few things from time to time). Anyway, she taught me about the trump card. That card you play that causes everyone else to fold.
In the eight years I ran a national gay rights organization, I cannot tell you how many times someone dropped the DHRB card down on the table and expected me to fold. Bill O'Reilly, Jerry Falwell, talk show host Dr. Laura Schlessinger. I can't tell you how many LGBT people and their straight allies become absolutely paralyzed when they see that card hit the table.
Now look, I don't want folks messing with my deeply held religious beliefs. I don't believe for one minute that I was born with a black mark on my soul. I am a member in good standing at Temple Ner Tamid in Bloomfield NJ. I really like to think that if I am especially good that I might get a chance to get another ride through life --- I am so enjoying this one. So don't you go messing with me on these things I hold dear (or hope for dearly).
But when the DHRB card is played as "cover," the only fool is the one who folds. It is time for us to shout from the rooftops that a DHRB card gives no one an ounce of permission, an ounce of power to wield against minorities. And it is never a free pass to bully.
I have no doubt that many of you followed the trial of Dharun Ravi, the Rutgers student who had secretly filmed his roommate, Tyler Clementi, in his words "making out with a dude." This appeared to be the straw for Mr. Clementi who took his own life. Mr. Ravi was convicted of charges of bias and intimidation and sentenced to 30 days in prison. At first blush, you find yourself thinking "30 days?" The judge ruled that the incident was not hate based and could not fathom incarcerating Mr. Ravi with murderers and rapists. My point of view? Dharun Ravi is not a murderer; he is a bully. Like one of many bullies that Tyler Clementi faced during his young life.
Tyler Clementi's family can take some degree of solace in knowing that their son's tragic death spawned the "It Gets Better" movement launched by author Dan Savage. I'm sure you have all seen one or more of these videos. My 17 year old just finished the book – a compilation of the most moving narratives.
Dan was one of the first folks the media turned to for reaction to Ravi's sentencing. Dan captured the sentiment of many of us when he said:
What was he told about being gay growing up, by his faith leaders, by the media, by the culture?" Mr. Savage said. "Ravi may have been the last person who made him feel unsafe and abused and worthless, but he couldn't have been the first.
Ravi was one in a long line of bullies in Tyler Clementi's life. And as Dan said, those bullies were not just standing by his high school locker. Many of them were standing in pulpits.
My friend Cindy Sherman (the guidance counselor, not the artist) is in charge of the anti-bullying initiative at Bloomfield High School. She pointed me to websites that she uses in working with teachers and students. A particularly good one is easy to remember: stopbullying.gov.
What is it exactly? Bullying? "An imbalance of power to control or harm others. The use of this power REPEATEDLY."
Goodness. We can probably all look inward and see ourselves in that definition at one time or another.
I learned on this site that there are three kinds of bullying --- verbal, physical and what they call social or relational bullying --- damaging someone's reputation or relationship, spreading rumors, embarrassing in public, telling others to shun this person. I guess this was largely Ravi's crime. And it's the easiest and most cowardly because you don't have to have the nerve to say it directly to someone's face.
This social bullying is not just an individual crime as Dan Savage points out. It's an institutional crime. The government, schools in states that are hardly as progressive as New Jersey. And yes, houses of worship. As I see it, playing the DHRB card is a prime example of social bullying. And along with a deep seated fear of difference, is at the core of homophobia.
So as a result, this is what we hear:
"The Bible tells me that homosexuality is wrong and so I am sorry but I don't think you should be teaching my kids."
Sure, I know there are kids throughout the state of Florida languishing in foster care but the (PLAY THE DHRB CARD) homosexuality is wrong and kids should not grow up in gay households.
You get the idea.
Here's the other important thing I learned about bullying. Standing behind every harassed child is a whole lot of clueless adults.
I'd like you to consider that statement as it relates to the road to LGBT equality. Standing behind every LGBT person? A whole lot of clueless people. Our job? Well there are certain folks we'll never get. But converting the clueless is the path to victory. How? By sticking out.
I think gay and lesbian people walk this fine line. We want to tell these stories. We want folks to know the realities. But we want to fit in, to be treated like everyone else. We want to be just another couple at the neighborhood barbeque or the cantor at the synagogue. But in order to get the rights we deserve we have to talk. A lot. We need to tell our stories. We have to stick out.
And the challenge in that is so many of us never thought we'd ever even get the chance to fit in that we worry about risking it by sticking out.
I get that there is a risk in sticking out. And some people think that you can't live behind a white picket fence and stick out at the same time.
I'm here to tell you that you can.
And I'm here to tell you that we must. Or we will not win. Unless we tell our stories, we will not win. Until we know our facts, we will not win. Until we make ourselves a little uncomfortable, we will not win. Until we are willing to make others a little uncomfortable, we will not win.
An example. My nephew got married last year. Timothy Garry (did I mention that my family is Irish?) and his fiancée asked me to officiate their wedding. I was flattered and disconcerted all at the same time. But of course I said 'yes.' It went well. I did a really good job. And I wonder how many people there took note of the irony. I could marry my nephew but not Eileen.
Later, at the reception, there was this lovely moment. They asked all the married couples to come on to the dance floor. In increments of 5, they asked couples to remain on the dance floor if they'd been married 5 years, then 10 years, then 20, then 25, then 30.
Did we fit in or did we stick out? Eileen didn't want to hit the dance floor. "Married" they said, she whispered. I saw my brother, the father of the groom, looking at us, hopeful that we would join. And then Eileen did what she does so well. She paused. A good long time. At least it felt like that. Long enough for many eyes to turn in our direction. Progressive eyes. Pot smoking college buddies of my brother. The eyes of my Republican siblings. The eyes of my very Catholic mother. I watched as they connected the dots. Some of them perhaps mindful that I had just officiated the wedding. Eileen waited long enough to make everyone just a little bit uncomfortable. And then she stood up. And as the only same sex couple on the floor and one of the last remaining standing couples, we stuck out and fit in all at the same time.
So I guess what I am saying is this. It is time for those of us who are out to REALLY come out. To stick out. To make people a bit uncomfortable. To go out on a limb. To refuse to fold when the DHRB card gets played. To tell our stories.
To use a metaphor that should resonate here, the choir needs to study the sheet music, know it cold and sing at the top of our lungs.
And then we need to ask our straight allies to come out and sing, too. To come out as allies, to stand with us. Without our straight neighbors, family and friends, we will not win.
But we have a lot of work to do. Because far too often, straight progressive allies are either too complacent or are far too often are ill informed. Maybe we have misled people into thinking we have things we don't really have. Maybe it's not easy to tell a progressive they don't know everything. I'm not sure.
Well-meaning, progressive people have said to me: the struggle for gay equality is THE civil rights issue of our time. And when I then mention that the United States Commission on Civil Rights, the independent commission responsible for pushing LBJ toward the Voting Rights Act of 1964 does not include gay rights issues in its docket, those same people are stunned. As far as I'm concerned, if you fancy yourself progressive, you don't get the title without doing the work.
My current favorite straight progressive person who walks the walk? Vice President Joe Biden. First off, I ran a gay rights organization for nearly a decade (GLAAD) that was all about the power of media to change hearts and minds. So I'm kvelling when Biden says that Will and Grace had more influence than many other things in changing attitudes about LGBT people. But he doesn't stop there. Then he speaks from the heart, indicates his support for marriage equality and wins the prize for making people uncomfortable. In this case, every senior official at the White House. I love Joe Biden.
This is what it will take. And by the way, even when we lose, we win. An opportunity to argue about what is just and right and fair, even if we lose in the short term on certain issues, is an opportunity to be visible, to open up a few eyes and equally as many hearts.
One last story - The success of The Avengers at the box office has led me to consider the notion of superpowers. And my thoughts about superpowers strayed to my sexual orientation. I imagined that many people would see it as my kryptonite. As a liability. Something to overcome. And I could understand why. We are an unprotected minority – second class citizens.
But I do not believe that my sexual orientation is my kryptonite.
I see it as my super power.
I would guess that a lot of folks, gay and straight, would think that if gay people were given one wish, it would be to become straight. Not me. Not now. Not ever.
You see, I have a perspective and a view of the world that is clearer and enriched by my difference. I take less for granted. Eileen and I created our family with intention. We had to be bold. We chose to stick out. We made choices that were not easy. I came out to my parents and traveled a journey with them that enriched every member of my family. And I am a stronger person having dealt with Eileen's parents who, in 25 years, never spoke my name.
It is because of my difference that I have found my voice. That I have chosen work that matters. And that my commitment to social justice feels so urgent.
These are the kind of gifts that come with diversity.
And by the way, the movement for gay and lesbian equality IS the civil rights movement of our time. It presents us all with an opportunity to speak out, stand up and to do something. I think that may be why they call it a movement.
Thanks so much for having me here.
© 2012 Joan M. Garry
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