Issue 55: My Privilege Has Been An Embarrassing Illusion
When pride flags are being vandalized at elementary schools, what's next?
After I got Chase off to school today and was back home with Emma, I checked my email on my phone, charging near the kitchen table. I opened a message from Chase’s elementary school with the subject line “Vandalization in Garden.” I figured an angsty teenager had tagged a flower bed with something illegible or innocuous. Instead, I saw this:
My eyes began to well. I was so confused; I looked closer to read the words written on the flags. I won’t bore you with my tears, but they came fast and hot down my cheeks as I read it again. And again. And again.
I’ve been unemotional since Trump took office in January. In hindsight, I think there was a part of me that didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of my pain. I devoured the news, cataloguing the cruelty, the belittling, the erasing, the defunding, the demonstrable unfurling of democracy, the audacity of the speed at which it was unfurled. I shook my fist in group chats, shook my head in disbelief. But my anger was an interim stand-in for despair. Today there is only deep sadness.
I live in a progressive neighborhood in a progressive town in a progressive county in a progressive state. Our community is welcoming, open-minded, and kind. And still. And still. I feel shame because I know this happens all over the country every single day; this specific hate is not unique or special or deserving of extra attention. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to write this because it feels acutely self-indulgent but it also feels urgent and necessary and maybe meaningful to someone else whose nose is suddenly against the window of horrors that so many others have been inside looking out of. My privilege has been an embarrassing illusion, a silly and naive place upon which I’ve rested my laurels, a blindspot to the overwhelmingly obvious reality that the rhetoric of our current administration is dangerous to everyone everywhere and the hate is spreading like wildfire. Trump, over half of our elected officials, the bulk of his cabinet, his allies and his loyalists are spewing destructive narratives that will soon turn our kids—our beautiful, curious, wise, inherently inclusive kids—into judgemental, hateful, exclusionary adults.
I imagine to myself what someone might say to justify this destruction, what mental gymnastics they have to do to right this in their own mind. Whatever rationale lives within them, there is but one truth to remember: hate speech written across a flag meant to encourage inclusivity is not activism, it’s not resistance, it’s not protest. It’s lazy, it’s demeaning and it’s ineffective. I believe in our right as Americans to hold individual opinions on various political matters, but to me this incident—one that occurred at an elementary school, aimed at invalidating an emblem of inclusion on a campus that may be the only place a child experiences that inclusion outside of home—is so far of bounds, the game must be called off at once.
Our kids—all of them, everywhere—deserve to grow up in a nation that accepts them for who they are and who they want to be, in community that allows them to live freely and fully in the realization of their truest selves. Selves that, mind you, are not harming anyone else and want nothing but to exist in peace. Anything less than this is unacceptable.
To now understand that it took a tangible event at my five-year-old’s school for me to take action is something I’ll be untangling and grappling with for awhile. I also know that sometimes we only feel the pull toward battle after our own kin is forsaken, and that joining the revolution can be as important as starting the revolution.
I don’t know exactly how to move forward, but I tried to do the next right thing by reaching out to our elementary’s principal to see how I can get involved, and by marking the city council meetings on my calendar. I’m going to talk to both my local and far-away friends about what they might be doing, or what has felt meaningful to them and their families in response to the political climate. I’ll ask those directly affected by this hate—the ones meeting with lawyers to discuss their rights and the potential invalidation of their marriage, the ones applying for foreign citizenship because they fear for the safety of their kids—how I can show up better for them. I’ll continue calling my reps. And I’ll find a way to relay to my children the importance of love and inclusion and kindness and decency and human rights over and over every day for the rest of my life. The only thing we want as human beings on this planet is to be known and loved just as we are. The fact that this sentiment has become a political battleground brings me to my knees tonight.
Tomorrow, I stand.
A few small, beautiful things to ease our hearts
“When I say I’m trans, I don’t just mean my gender identity. I mean I’m dreaming of a different world that is more delicate, and definitely more fun.”
Window
Hope makes itself every day
springs up from the tiniest places
No one gives it to us
we just notice it
quiet in the small moment
The 2-year-old
"kissing the window" he said
because someone he loved
was out there
-Naomi Shihab NyeSarah Blondin’s meditations always bring me peace. Her book, Heart Minded, is lovely.
“American woman is trying her best” - because laughter will keep us going. (Equally hilarious part 2 is here.)
There is nothing in this world that gives me more hope than watching people create art.
Making some of your own will do the trick, too. ✨
If there’s something you’ve done to get more politically active, or even small habits or actions you’ve adopted that have felt like a force against this madness, will you share them in the comments?
Well this is disheartening. We're going to a protest Saturday. Text me if you want to meet up.