In theory, civil rights are unalienable, or something to that effect. So long as you slide out of a cervix onto U.S. soil-and your parents have done the same-then the lofty ideals of the Constitution will present themselves to you.
In practice, it's a bit more like chutes and ladders. And you slide into more sliding.
The bottom of the chute resembles the very groups that you are fighting for; it looks invisible, much like them.
There is no end in sight when you are always standing. You stand outside, rain or shine. You stand up to the slurs that are thrown not in your general direction, but at yourself. And then you must stand, all day long, until the pavement upon which you perch has been incorporated into your very ankles.
Civil rights movements are so very incremental. As I have previously stated, "I see now how unbelievably hard people at HRC work to garner support so that they can pay for lawyers, lobbyists, and advertising, simply so that they aren't outnumbered by right wing organizations 5:1. It thoroughly disgusts me that ENDA has been introduced in every Congress since 1994 (with the exception of the 109th) and that similar legislation has been introduced since 1974, and it's STILL legal to fire someone in 29 states for being LGB and 34 to fire someone for being trans. I can't even wrap my mind around how many people must have come before me, working their asses off, pouring hours, days, weeks, months, and years into this effort, and we still don't have these fucking basic rights. It's so demoralizing."
And so, I am quickly learning that only certain types of people can be activists. For starters, they absolutely must be passionate about the cause. My two directors each work seventy-six hours a week, and literally don't have lives. I can't even imagine how dedicated they must be. It is a humbling realization.
If they are as disillusioned and jaded as I already am, they do an impeccable job of concealing it. That alone would be impressive.
I wonder how the activist manages to convert tedium, borderline poverty, and dejection into romanticism. How are they capable of adjusting their attitudes so that they are able to survive the opposition they face daily? What frequency do they tap into that sustains their longevity?
At first, I thought that it might be possible to find empowerment through humor. So in my head, I attempted to turn every negative interaction with a stranger into an opportunity for stand up.
"Gay need Jesus."
Gay smash.
"Oh. I'm self-employed. And I don't discriminate against myself."
Haha. Very funny. Actually, wait, no. You should keep your day job, you talentless soul.
"Do you have a minute for gay rights?"
"Uh-oh."
Spaghettios. Anyone ever notice how they look like assholes? Now I see this guy's point. Gay rights do elicit an "uh-oh." And we can't be serving our five-year-olds anal sex in a can. It's just not right.
"Fuck you, faggot."
Fuck you too! But only if we can invite David Bowie, Mick Jagger, and the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Because gay people are into all of that at the same time. The rumors are true.
"I'm not gay!"
Not even for James Dean? It's not a bad place to start. And he probably wouldn't complain.
"We're working to end discrimination against gay and transgender people in the workplace."
"What? Why would you want to do that?"
Same reason you're allowed to have a face, even though you shouldn't be.
"HRC partners give a small monthly contribution."
"Wait. I'm straight. I'm not a member."
"You don't have to be gay to be a member!"
It's a five star club and we will give you free towels with Meryl Streep's face stitched onto the front. Aren't you thrilled about being able to bask in the exclusivity?
And then, I saw that there were some positive encounters interspersed with all of the daunting effort. There was the guy who looked like a broey straight douche fuck, but was actually only straight, and thought it was ridiculous that anyone should be denied rights simply based on who they are. There was the young woman who, in spite of being soaked, exhausted, and broke, said that she would at least stop to hear hear what I had to say because her background in social work had made her sensitive to the plight of disadvantaged groups. There was the adorable old man whose progressive views completely defied what I was (erroneously) expecting from someone his age. There was a young man in a yellow sweater who did not know much about LGBT issues but was completely on board with all human beings having basic rights. And then there was the man with a thick Scottish accent, a shirt that said "Blow Me" above an image of bagpipes, and an affinity for the cause that was so infectious, it must have paralleled my own. He gave me $20 and ardently thanked me for what I was doing.
This is why I kind of feel like I'm in the LGBT military. I'm miserable without detesting what I am doing. Never in a million years could I use the word "hate" in reference to the type of work that I must engage in. This is why that, in spite of how taxing this effort is on every nerve in my body, I will never stop being a part of it. I honestly believe that what I am doing is important, and-in a sense of the word that artificially inflates the value of my own opinion-right.
I also know that what I am doing is the only path to legislative success. Much like when I experienced major trepidation prior to taking testosterone, I realize that the only way out is through.
And the activists that get the job done can only make it with the help of ordinary, average people. Many of the services that we take for granted, such as those that are provided by Planned Parenthood, are only available to us because activists are willing to do the grunt work that makes it possible for them to exist at all.
Whenever you are out on the streets of the city and make the decision that the gym you are headed to takes precedence over what the binder-equipped activist has to say, you undermine the urgency of legislative action and make it that much more difficult for us to overcome the opposition of groups like Focus on the Family and Christian Coalition, organizations that contribute on a weekly basis to discrimination. Freedom-unfortunately-is a marketplace, and it is only by treating ideas as commodities and exchangeable assets that must leave the lips of one and enter the ears of another that our liberty will have any value.
However, we don't only need the finances that give us the sustained and ongoing grassroots support that are required in order for every single campaign to be a success. We desperately need your time of day.
When you stare straight ahead as if the activist is not there, and walk right on by, our intrinsic motivation to do what it is that we do on a daily basis becomes ghostly, as well.
All it takes is one positive interaction to boost the morale of someone who has been standing up, against, and out, all day long.
That basic kindness goes a long way...the entire length of the Statue of Liberty's cervix, actually, just to be clear, in no uncertain terms.
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