2 for Flinching

Acknowledging the phobias that run deepest.

Dearest reader,

As I sit under a starry sky on my patio, there is a lady bug presumably asleep on the sliding screen door, the moon is a 60-ish% filled backlight to the Gemini constellation featuring Jupiter, and Orion’s Belt not too far down from it.

This is the perfect night to return to writing some of the drafts that have been heaviest on my mind lately.

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Today, without getting into too many details, I found myself up in the wee-est of hours of the morning. Eventually, I found myself on Facebook, reading posts from people I had not seen for a while, talking about someone perpetuating various -phobias and -isms on their social platform.

I have walked with many crowds down that path.

Some paths kinder than others.

It called me to want to dedicate time tonight to finishing a post I had been brainstorming - unraveling some hopefully coherent thoughts about the process of learning about the roles I have played in favor of hatred, unlearning values that are not my own, acknowledging missteps and gaps on my lifeline, and practicing allyship along the way.

Maybe we won’t get to all of that, but as always, I hope you feel me.

I have been blessed to see many strong examples of allyship in my life, and I admire the courage and strength that is shown when people truly fight for the rights of marginalized people with not a single string attached.

I struggle with outright naming myself as an “ally” to any community I do not identify with, because I know how deeply meaningful allyship is to me for people who do not identify with me. Maybe that definition is overly romanticized/idealized, but it is a truth for me that equips me a value system that is easy to reference when in doubt.

Any time I have ever been in a room, heard somebody use someone’s incorrect pronouns, and stayed silent, sits in my stomach for a very long time.

Any time that I give a half-assed attempt to call out problematic language in a jovial conversation, it sits with me.

Perfectionism has many downfalls, I’m not sure this is one of them.

When I was a young(er) lad, if you were in the backyard, or on the playground, and someone acted like they were going to punch you, and you flinched, you got hit twice for flinching.¹

One of the most tired clap backs for someone calling someone or something out as homophobic is that

“I’m not scared…”

I don’t know man, it seems like you are.

You are so scared that someone might think that you are attracted to people of the same gender as you, that you refuse to drink Apple Martinis?

The very idea of 2 men kissing in a movie has you running to social media to ensure that everyone knows that you don’t like kissing men, and you are terrified at the idea of kids being exposed to that.

Yeah… sure seems like you’re “not scared,” as long as “that” stays over there.

Part of the process of unlearning requires you to take some hits to the chest. I am so thankful for the people in my life who put forth time and effort to educate me on the ways in which words that I used, and phrases I would parrot, had an innate ability to cause significant harm.

It’s not easy to hear that you have been a villain more often that you understood. It is essential though.

The thing is, it shouldn’t need to take people sharing deeply-rooted trauma, or putting on hour long workshops and TED Talks in order for people to understand. You shouldn’t have to personally know somebody of a certain identity to be willing to go to bat for them.

It’s also important to understand that identity has many intersections. The idea of this post originated about homophobia in cishet men, but it immediately makes me think about the first time I learned about misogynoir.

College environments are such an interesting microcosm of society, at such a critical period in the lives of some young people.

Being a part of BSU, we held general body meetings every Monday. Sometimes the meetings were fun, sometimes they were educational, on the best nights they were both.

I don’t remember who facilitated this particular meeting, but the topic was misogynoir as a member of misogyny’s family tree. I don’t even remember the exact order of how things transpired, but I remember the impact.

At that point in my life, I was 85% still one of those people who was questioning all these “made up words” (like all words aren’t made up). I had gotten aboard the misogyny/feminism train. I understood a lot more about the patriarchy, even if I still had some questions. I felt like I was doing the things.

Then some amazing Black Women leaders shed light on the fact that a lot of the times, these conversations center whiteness. I could rock with that too… It made sense that we needed to hold space to talk about how Black Women uniquely experience misogyny.

They further emphasized how Black Men perpetuate these -phobias and -isms, but we only make space to talk about how White Men perpetuate em.

Wait.. but..

It was tough to be in that room and hear people I claimed were sisters talk about how much of the misogyny they experienced came directly from Black Men.

I’m sure it was tougher for them to experience it the first times, and share it this time.

That meeting led to a lot of subsequent uncomfortable conversations within the Black community at that time. It even escalated to at one point, all the Black Men were kicked out the #BlackatUCSD GroupMe.²

Statements were made. Feelings were hurt. Community needed to heal.

Those uncomfortable conversations strengthened the relationships I have with Black Women in my life so much. Many of them were already strong, but a new dimension of connection was unlocked where include the elephants in our conversations.³

It’s crazy how much listening will do for you.

That’s why when I see a posts on social media about how ain’t shit men are, there is no primal urge to “NOT ALL MEN” somebody to death. When the women in my life got some shit to say about how shitty they feel men are, I proudly take it on the chest.⁴

To bring it full circle though, I’m trying to be much better at showing up in that way for all the other intersections in the dimensions of identity.

1. Instead of once from the fake punch I guess? What kind of shit is that.

2. Why was college so dramatic?

3. The best part? While they would never admit it on record because they are truly girls’ girls, some of the funniest conversations I have are with some of my friends who are women about shit they think women be “doing too much” or “going too far” about.

4. And don’t get it twisted, they not talking about me. They make it very clear. I’m a man though. It’s like a Celtics fan, I’m sure some of them are great. I’m friends with a couple, but hey!