Damage control

The human psyche is a fragile thing.

I was going to start that sentence with, "At the risk of being called a snowflake...", but then I decided I don't give a flying rat's ass if anyone does call me a snowflake.  Or "woke."  "Snowflake" has become some kind of jerk code for "someone who cares deeply how others feel," and "woke" for "awareness that others' experience and perceptions are as valid as my own, even if I don't share them," and on that basis I'm happy to accept the appellation of Woke Snowflake.

The fact is, all of us, even Un-Woke Non-Snowflakes, can be hurt.  It's all too easy.  Whether we react to that hurt by crying, retreating, laughing it off, or getting angry, the fact remains that none of us are impervious to what others say and think.  It's why dealing with bullying is so critical, and the correct response is not to tell the victim "toughen up, develop a thicker skin, grow some balls," or whatever, all things I was told repeatedly when I was a child.  Unsurprisingly, none of that sage advice had the slightest effect, other than letting the bullies know that no one was going to do a damn thing about it.  It's amazing the number of people who don't recognize this for what it is, which is a game of "blame the victim."

For what it's worth, the correct response is for someone with appropriate authority to tell the bully, "This stops, and it stops now.  I will be watching you."

It's why when I was asked a while back what were the three most important words you could say to someone other than "I love you," my response was, "You are safe."  I never felt safe when I was a kid.  And if you don't think that leaves a mark on someone that persists into adulthood, you are sadly mistaken.

It's why I was sickened by the revelation this week that British actor Kit Connor, best known for playing the character of Nick Nelson on the lovely coming-of-age series Heartstopper, was being harassed online by "fans" who accused him of "queerbaiting" -- pretending to be queer (or being cagey about it) in order to benefit from the cachet of being associated with the LGBTQ community without committing himself outright.  Connor ignored the accusations for a while, but they became so strident that he got onto Twitter on Halloween and posted:

The number of ways this is fucked up leaves me not knowing where to begin.  Apparently part of the firestorm started with photographs of him holding hands with actress Maia Reficco, which adds a whole nasty gloss of "bi people in straight-presenting relationships aren't actually queer" to a situation that is already ugly enough.  I find this infuriating (for obvious reasons); we bisexual people are under no obligation to meet some kind of queerness litmus test set by someone -- anyone -- else.

The deeper problem here, of course, is that nobody should ever push someone to come out before they're ready.  Ever.  This sort of thing happens all too often with actors and musicians, and not just about sexual orientation but about everything.  Fans become desperate to peer into their lives, as if somehow enjoying their skill, talent, and hard work when they perform justifies forgetting that they are real humans who need privacy and have the right to reveal about their personal lives exactly what, when, and how much they choose.  At the far end of this horrible scale is the phenomenon of paparazzi, parasites who are fed by fans' insatiable appetite for lurid details, accurate or not.

The worst part in this particular case is that the lion's share of the accusations of queerbaiting Connor faced came from people who are LGBTQ themselves.  People who should fucking well know better.  People who themselves have undoubtedly faced harassment and discrimination and unfair social pressures, and now have apparently forgotten all that and turned on someone whose only crimes were (1) playing a bisexual character in a television show, and (2) wanting to come out by his own choice and at his own time.

How dare you force someone into this situation.

I can only hope that Kit's trenchant "I think some of you missed the point of the show" drove the message home with these people.  I also hope that the harm done to Kit himself, and potentially to his relationships (whatever those are), doesn't leave a lasting mark.  To the fandom's credit, there was a huge groundswell of people supporting him unconditionally and decrying what had happened, and with luck, that did enough damage control to lessen the pain he endured.

So for heaven's sake, people, start thinking before you speak, and realize that words can do incalculable harm.  Keep in mind that humans are fragile creatures who deserve careful handling.  Always err on the side of compassion.

And if you can't do all that, then at least have the common decency to keep your damn mouth shut.

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Stepping into Pride

A dear friend of mine sent me a message a couple of weeks ago.  It was a recommendation to watch a recent Netflix series, and read the graphic novel that inspired it.  "Trust me on this," she said.  "This is the story you and I both needed when we were teenagers.  You'll love it... but you might want to have kleenex handy."

The show (and book) are called Heartstopper, by Alice Oseman.  And my friend was right on all counts.

It's the story of two boys in an all-male school in England -- one of them gay (and out), the other bisexual (and, at least at the beginning, closeted).  The story of their deep friendship, mutual attraction, and eventual falling in love is sweet, beautiful, and charming.  I'm not usually someone who picks up young adult fiction, and even less romance fiction; but Heartstopper had me in the palm of its hand right from the beginning.  The "kleenex" part of my friend's comment wasn't because it's in any sense a tragedy; there are (of course) some bumps in the road, and a few of the couple's classmates are bigoted, homophobic assholes, but by and large, it's a heartwarming and upbeat story about overcoming inhibitions, finding happiness, and being open to the world about who you are.

The tears that well up when I even think about the story of Nick Nelson and Charlie Spring are, for me and my friend both, largely because of how long she and I lived in fear and shame.  We were denied the opportunity to explore that part of ourselves; not only to relax and have fun dating, but even to figure out what it meant and get comfortable with who we are.  It was longer for me.  At least she came out publicly as a lesbian fairly young.  It took me until I was fifty-two even to come out to friends.  That's thirty-seven years of being terrified that anyone, even the people who loved me, would find out that I'm attracted equally to men and women.

The first few years, it was not only fear of ridicule or ostracism, it was fear for my safety.  Southern Louisiana in the 1970s was not a safe place for LGTBQ kids.  I know four people in my graduating class (not counting myself) who came out as queer later in life, and none of them even gave a hint of it until after graduation.  If you think it's a significant likelihood that you'll get the shit beaten out of you in the locker room if people find out, why in the hell would you not keep it a secret?

Things are better now.  Thank heaven.  My last year of teaching, three years ago, there were several kids I knew who were out as queer or trans.  But we still have a very long way to go.  A teacher friend of mine in Texas has had to create an Amazon wish list of books that have characters that are queer, non-Christian, or are people of color, because in her state, school district after school district are taking those books off library shelves, denying kids access even to finding out that there are people who aren't straight, white, and Christian.  Apparently, now it's considered "woke" (how I have come to fucking hate that word) to provide a way to say to non-majority kids, "Hey, it's okay.  You are okay.  Be who you are."

Ugly bigotry, while less than what I experienced when I was a teenager, still is all too common.  Just in the last week I saw two posts on social media that made that nauseatingly clear.  One said, "If I ever see a 'trans woman' in the girls' bathroom, I'm going to punch him in the face and tell the judge I identify as the tooth fairy."  The other said, "Men are from Mars, women are from Venus, and any other genders you pulled out of Uranus."

Hurr-hurr-hurr.  It sure is funny to threaten one of the most marginalized groups of people in the United States with violence, and to deny that anyone other than cis/heterosexual people even exist.

Still and all, we're making progress.  Slow and incremental steps, but progress.  My teacher friend's extensive Amazon wish list was cleared out and is on the way to her as we speak -- it took less than twelve hours for her friends to purchase every damn book she asked for.  I may have been late to the game, but I now can say to anyone, "I'm queer/bisexual" and not give a flying rat's ass what they think about it.  Florida governor Ron DeSantis pushed for sanctions on Disney, the state's premier attraction and biggest money-maker, because they balked against his pet project, the "Don't Say Gay" bill -- and Disney responded by opening a new line of queer-themed merchandise called the "Pride Collection," which is about as close as a corporation can come to a collective raised middle finger.

Tomorrow is the first day of Pride Month, and there's a lot to feel good about.  Even so, in a lot of places, it seems like we're regressing, not progressing.  Irrespective of my own sexual orientation, I don't understand why, exactly, people are so determined to control what consenting adults do in the privacy of their own homes.  Why it's just fine to have young adult fiction with heterosexual romances and marriages, but even depicting a queer couple is "ramming wokeness down everyone's throats" and "turning kids gay."  Why the GOP, who pride themselves on their "get the government out of the private sector" stance, are A-okay with the government trying to stop businesses from establishing policies ensuring acceptance and equal rights for LGBTQ employees and customers.

Pride lasts for one month, but pride lasts forever.

So, yeah.  I cried hard during the scene when Nick and Charlie kiss for the first time.  I'm not ashamed of that.  It's okay to get all emotional when a scene is sweet and touching, which this surely was; it is not okay that some of my tears were because of the fact that at that age, I would never have had the courage, nor even the opportunity, to experience such a thing.  Hell, there was no queer fiction accessible back then, neither books, nor television, nor movies.  I didn't even know such relationships existed.  Note, by the way, that this lack of positive role modeling didn't make me any less queer; all it did was make me ashamed and terrified of being queer.  (Due to my completely dysfunctional upbringing, I was also terrified of having a relationship with a girl, but that's another story entirely.  Suffice it to say that during much of my life, I have been very, very lonely -- and am fantastically fortunate to be in the warm, nurturing, loving marriage I now have.)

It's kind of summed up in the poignant line from Nick, when he realizes he needs to claim his identity, and his chance for love: "I wish knew you when I was younger, and that I'd known then what I know now."

In conclusion, to the increasing number of straight people in the world who are 100% accepting of us non-straight types, thank you.  To my queer friends, keep being strong, keep being defiant, keep being who you are, and happy Pride Month.

And to the homophobes, you can take your ugly, antiquated bigotry and shove it up your ass.

Sideways.

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