PeaceBang

Speaking Out Against Abuse When You See It

I am walking across Tremont Street from Dunkin Donuts (can’t rally without an iced coffee!) the other day and this big guy is totally cussing out a woman who walks alongside him looking all hangdog and scared. He’s using every vile word in the book and shouting at her. F this and F that as they’re hustling along.

Me, the dumb do-gooder and peacemaker, goes, “Hey Buddy. Whoa!” I figure if I can interrupt his invective maybe he won’t keep escalating into a more dangerous fury.

“Whoa WHAT?? Mind your own f-ing business!” he shouts at me.

“Whoa, watch your mouth and calm down!” I say, fool that I am.

“Shut the F up! It’s none of your f-ing business!” he says. And I say, “Yes it is my business! Keep your foul mouth off my streets!”

So then SHE gets in on it!! “You don’t know what’s going on! Mind your own business!”

Me: “Honey, this is what we call an ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, okay? And when you bring it onto the streets, it’s definitely everybody’s business!”

Her: (starting to cry) “You don’t know what’s even happening! You have no right!”
Me: I DO know what’s happening — and let me tell you this — this man is a violent nightmare and it doesn’t matter WHAT’s going on — you never, ever deserve to be talked to like this.
Her: (screaming) SHUT UP! SHUT UP!

Him: You think I give a F about that cloth around your neck? I don’t give a S—!

Me: (forgetting that I’m even wearing a clerical collar) Well, obviously!
(yelling after the woman) Get help! You’re going to need it!

So hey, that was effective, huh? Because what I managed to do was (1) enflame the violent dude even more (2) put myself in harm’s way and (3) make her feel protective of her may-an. Oh, great.

But then I remember one time eleven years ago when I was eating a sushi dinner in Rochester, NY and reading a book while eavesdropping on the (hetero) couple next to me. I couldn’t help it: they were like 7″ from my table. The man was tearing the young woman apart in the softest, most malevolent of tones, ripping to shreds her every idea and attempt to assert herself. He insulted her family in hypnotic tones, and when she feebly protested, he would lean forward and stare at her as though he was moments from plunging his chopsticks into her throat.

I was so terrified by what I saw that when I got to the theatre I called the restaurant and asked to be put through to Jennifer (I knew that was her name). They brought the phone to her.

This is what I said to her:

“Jennifer? This is the woman who was sitting next to you a few minutes ago reading. Just pretend I’m your uncle calling to let you know of a change in the party for your mom, okay? (she made frightened little sounds, but stayed on the phone) But listen to me: you are in a very abusive relationship and your boyfriend is a very dangerous person. I know you know this: I can see it in your eyes. He is trying to isolate you from your family so that he can tear you down and destroy you, and if you don’t get help, he will. I am really worried about you, and I want you to tell someone exactly how he treats you and talks to you, because I think he’s a master manipulator and no one has any idea how vicious he is to you. But I heard it and I saw it, and I really hope you get away from him. I’m going to let you go now, but I want to tell you that I really care about you.”

“Yes.” she said.
And then,
“Thank you so much, Uncle Barry.”
Me: “Be strong.”
Her: “Okay. (quavering voice) Love you, Uncle Barry.”

I think of her even today.

Tension and Fear Give Way To Elation: Marriage Equality

It was so tense waiting in the chambers for the votes to come in.
I was thinking about how devastating it would be to have to walk away from this knowing that thousands of families would be thrown into emotional and legal chaos if the process went forward to a popular vote. I thought about how drastic a measure it is to actually amend the constitution to exclude gay people from being able to get married. I felt sick. I was so angry and disgusted by the opponents on the other half of the room, and then angry with myself for feeling so incredibly hostile.

I thought about Biblical values, about the fact that a “biblical” marriage in the Old Testament sense often meant polygamy, and how God calls us into covenants with each other and God that make our lives a sacred story rather than a series of random events leading to the grave. I tried to remember if Jesus ever gave any teachings about marriage other than against divorce, and I prayed “Those whom God hath joined, let no man put asunder.” I tried to remember all the other purity laws from Leviticus (other than that thing about it being an abomination for a man to lie down with another man) that all the self-righeous people across the room had violated, and how Jesus himself adamantly challenged and violated all kinds of purity laws set down in Leviticus and other books of the Hebrew Scriptures. I fumed and chewed my nails.

We all watched this screen:

We cheered for the legislators who changed their votes, and groaned, hissed and even boo’d the ones who said they would, but betrayed our cause in the end.

When it happened, it was so fast and so amazing. Joyful mayhem!

I only learned today, while eating a sandwich at Panera Bread, that my own Representative, Robert Nyman, did change his vote. I sat and cried on my sandwich, knowing that members of my own congregation had undoubtedly helped him become one of the nine Massachusetts legislators who changed their mind about the constititutional amendment. I know for a fact that one of my members had a long meeting with him on Wednesday. And I am gratified to think that one of my several letters and calls may have done some real good.

We chanted, “Thank you! Thank you!” and
after cheering our legislators I chatted with a lovely woman from a nearby town who would like to visit our church. She was one of the many people who stopped in the halls of the State House or on the streets to share the joy that day.

It was cool to see some of our senators and reps up on the balcony. I’ve never seen that before. I think they must have known they were making history and didn’t want to miss it.

This little guy didn’t know what all the fuss was about.

They Said It Was About the Democratic Process, But…

The high-minded opponents of marriage equality insisted that this was really a matter of legislative process. Of course it was really about hetero folks just not being able to stand the idea of two men or two women having at it in the privacy of their own homes. Because this wasn’t about the sanctity of marriage or families (if it was, why not work to outlaw divorce?), it was about genitalia.

(Some of the artwork featured on Beacon Street by these moral arbiters.)

[I just learned that the carriers of these signs were teenaged Slavs who bussed in from western Massachussets — being of Slavic ancestry myself, I wish I had gone over to say, um… hello? Maybe not. I heard they were saying things like, “We kill people in my country for this.” - PB]

Pride Theme: “Ask. Tell. Proud To Serve…”

I should add that the Pride Theme in Boston this year was controversial, because some saw it as a pro-military statement. As you can see from the website, it was not intended to be specifically about being out in the military but about g/l/b/t folk being out and integral in all walks of life. One woman was carrying a big sign that said, “Are you SURE your librarian is straight?” I thought that was great.

Still, I know of at least three people who stayed away out of protest, one grumbling that promoting “queer cannon fodder” was not his idea of Pride.

Please tell me I’m wrong about this, but I scanned the Boston Globe yesterday and didn’t see ONE WORD about Pride. I mean, heck, it was only attended by maybe tens of thousands of people, closing down downtown Boston for hours!! THAT’s not news!

And I must respectfully disagree with my dear friend Scott Wells about the “tacky” floats. I hope that Pride never becomes too staid and respectable. I hope it always maintains an element of heinie-shaking, outrageous, drag-queen striding, beads-throwing, raucous FABULOUSNESS. To me, the g/l/b/t community is our uptight, pornography-addicted, repressed, homophobic, misogynist society’s reminder that we are messy, flesh and blood BODIES. We are wild sexual beings who do not belong in categories and boxes, but in relationships and joyous, unapologetic incarnation of Who We Are!

Listen up: when I was a little girl and my parents were in the throes of an emotionally violent and miserable marriage, and my mother very much under the influence of some drug or another (mostly booze), my dad was an edgy workaholic maniac and my sister and brother and I were scared little ghosts in our house, do you know who it was that raised me? Inspired, inspiring, grounded, talented, loving, committed theatre and music homos who were there, day after day, providing a thrilling vision that I wanted to be part of, and who had the discipline, adult maturity and sense of responsibility that my OWN PARENTS LACKED. When my own parents were too unhealthy to show up for me, my music teachers were there EVERY day, sober, exacting and ready to work. My theatre director(s) was there EVERY night in the summer, guiding the cast and crew through weeks and weeks of rehearsals and into a triumphant opening night, giving us and the community the gift of fantastic theatre.

Yes, the gay boys in the theatre were flamboyant and yes, they were promiscuous — now that I think about it, why wouldn’t they be? Wouldn’t we ALL be, if society told us we were freaks and perverts and should never be LEGALLY or religiously allowed to marry and make a lifetime commitment? Think that little fact of broad societal disapproval might have anything to do with that? Dammit to hell!?

I hope the g/l/b/t community never, ever buttons up too much. When I see them out and out there — spiky-haired, bare-breasted women with fierce faces, gangly teens girls holding hands, boys in Speedos and Carmen Miranda headdresses doing the merengue on top a gaudy float, tranny babes teetering by on 6″ platforms, everything inside me hollers, “YES! YES! YES! TELL it! Bring it ON! Remind us all WHO WE ARE!”

My own two gay fathers, both serious classical musicians and life-long schoolteachers, would tsk at all the nonsense, but … the thing is, they’re just not as queer as I am.

Boston Pride: We’re Here, We’re Queer, I Think We’re Maybe Getting Used To It

I am becoming my mother.

Let me explain.

Shirley is notorious for getting wickedly lost on even the simplest outings, causing much ire and ridicule from her three obnoxious kinder. I think it’s high time I stopped teasing her, because I’m starting to get lost all the time myself.

Yesterday, for the umpteenth time, I phoned the director of my music ensemble to check in before a “gig” and learned that I was in the wrong part of town and at the wrong church. Oh, organized, together, moi!! Exhausted from teaching my intensive course all week and attending a special end of year board meeting the night before, I dragged myself out of bed at 6:30 AM and primped for our 9:00 AM concert at (I thought) a Methodist church in the vicinity of Old South Church in downtown Boston.

Dumkopf. I don’t know what planet I was on when I read the e-mail explaining the day’s details, but let’s just say that the church was nowhere NEAR downtown. At least I got the hour wrong, too — and had enough time to hail a cab (leaving my car in a garage near the original, wrong site) and get to the Union United Methodist Church in plenty of time.

The worship service was terrific. The Rev. Troy Perry, founded of MCC, preached and I fell asleep to the lull of his voice — he just spoke way too fast for me to understand and keep up with. Before I fell asleep (sitting up like a horse), he sure did get in some good licks. I’m sorry I missed the rest.

There was lots of beautiful music by groups like Coro Allegro and Voices Rising and the Men’s Choir of the Union United Methodist Church. There were Episcopalian and Jewish and MCC and UCC and all kinds of faith traditions represented — all except Unitarian Universalists, who were having their own service over at Arlington Street Church. This made me sad.

After the service, I had to take another cab back to my car (we were not anywhere near public transit, and I was trying to beat the big parade and get out of Dodge), and that turned out to be kind of a wash on the practical level but really glorious on the human interaction level, because I had an amazing Haitian driver who asked me what was causing all the traffic back-ups, and I told him, and we had an amazing conversation about gay issues and sexuality and the church. I was wearing my collar, so he knew I was a pastor.

As we drove around in circles and running into parade barrier after barrier, this beautiful man who kept referring to me as “honey” and “sweetheart” told me the story of his own father, a Protestant pastor in Haiti. His father used to go to small villages– where he would be warmly welcomed as a representative of the Church — and find a particularly attractive young girl whom he would select to take with him to Port Au Prince for (so he claimed) an education and further opportunities. The people of the village, so vulnerable and so certain of the pastor’s benevolence, would enthusiastically send their daughters off with him. He would then keep the girl as a sexual captive until he tired of her or she got pregnant, and then abandon her in the city. It seems that the pastor’s evil scheme was discovered when one of his victims drowned her child in desperation.

“The church is an assembly of sick people,” the cab driver said. He said he hasn’t been in a church since he learned about his father. And just tonight at a party, a 60+ year old woman I’ve known for years described over beers that she found out in her adulthood that she was the illegitimate daughter of a Catholic priest who, when he tried to run off with her mother, was persuaded by the Jesuits to abandon her and come back to the Church.

When I got out of that cab, exchanging hugs and a kiss with the driver, I knew I couldn’t just leave the city. So I stood on the Beacon Street across from the UUA headquarters with two adorable engaged women from New Hampshire to watch the whole marvelous spectacle of gay, straight, black, white, Latino, male, female, transgendered, transsexual, bisexual, Out, Queer humanity parade by.

One young man pranced over to me and put a strand of gaudy beads around my neck, saying, “HERE you go, Father!”
Another lei’d me with a rainbow wreath, saying, “Here you go, VICAH!”
A group of men in soccer shorts trying to do some kind of stunt involving a kind of tricky cheerleader move messed up and blamed me, claiming that I made them nervous. We pointed at each other and laughed and yelled in mock accusation.
A cute young man zipped around distributing condoms and quite pointedly passed me by. “HEY!” I yelled. “Religious people aren’t allowed to be sexual???” He ran back to me without missing a beat and pressed three packages of condoms into my hands, grinning and holding his hand over his mouth in the classic “oops!” position. I accepted them in the spirit of hope that never dies, and a lot of laughter.

Please don’t tell me I’m perpetuating stereotypes by using words like “pranced.” Have you ever been to Pride? There’s a WHOLE lotta prancing and dancing, preening, strutting, vamping and shaking of booties going on. There were “Dykes on Bikes” and drag queens in feathered showgirl costumes, and PFLAG groups of proud parents and an old, eccentric woman carrying a sign that said, “My daughter is bisexual, so I’m TWICE as proud!”

One man held a sign that said, “I’m proud of my heterosexual parents!”

There were Montessori schools and local elementary schools marching behind banners, which reduced me to a mess of tears. The woman I was standing next to asked nicely, “Is this your first Pride?” “Nnnno,” I blubbered, “I just don’t remember seeing any school groups befo-(sob)-o-o-re!!”

Our governor, Deval Patrick, marched by and I cheered for him until I was hoarse. If you didn’t know, he has been working overtime to make sure that an anti-gay constitutional amendment isn’t made possible by a ballot initiative that our legislature is scheduled to vote on this coming Thursday. I love this man.

Unitarian Universalists were out in force, marching behind congregational banners and looking old and almost entirely very white and slightly tired. I was so proud to see the many banners, but wondered: where were our younger church members? We can’t expect the same people who marched for Civil Rights in the 50’s and 60’s to be the only ones carrying our banners today. I assume that some of the younger UUs were marching with other organizations. I hope so.

I saw tons of people that I know: my local Methodist colleague, an Episcopal priest buddy who popped in out of the crowd and threw herself into my arms, locking her legs around my waist and scaring the wits out of me. Stephanie, I’m sending you my chiropractor’s bill, you maniac! I saw ANTS seminarians (and laid stealth smooches on some of them), and other UU colleagues and various friends from various organizations and activist groups I’ve worked with over the years, and it was very moving to be there. I saw an old pagan acquaintance marching with the Queer Pagans. I met her about 12 years ago when she was just becoming “she” and had been thrown out of her house by her parents and was living with transsexual Wiccan friends of mine at their place in Somerville. Seeing her marching along looking healthy and safe and happy was amazing. I yelled her name but she didn’t hear me.

And when the two smiling men rode by in a convertible draped in a “JUST MARRIED” banner, I had to grab my soaked hankie again.

After the last float had gone by, I went to have some lunch at a pizza joint in the heart of downtown. When I walked in draped in beads and Pride stickers and a rainbow lei, still wearing my clerical collar, a group of five police officers sharing a pizza gave me a direct stare that bordered on the hostile. As I walked by them to order my sausage sub (no remarks, please — I know), I said in a totally casual tone, “We’re here. We’re queer. Get used to it.”

They sure did get interested in that pizza real fast.

P.S. A PeaceBang Kiss of Peace to Rev. Martin D. McLee of Union United Methodist Church.

Boston Pride 2007

There is so much to say, but I won’t have time until later tonight. Happy Pride!!

"When The Levees Broke: A Requiem In Four Acts"

I saw most of this Spike Lee documentary the other night on HBO. If you get a chance, I hope you’ll see it.
The way I felt watching it reminded me of the way I feel when Lena Horne sings “Stormy Weather” in her “Lena Horne: A Lady And Her Music” Broadway recording. Something about the beauty in righteous rage that makes you cry and feel hopeful all at once. I can’t really explain it, but please see it if you can.

Here’s an interview with Lee:

http://tinyurl.com/yfogc4

MA Legislature Blows Off Ballot Initiative

I’ve been in a foul mood all day, holding my breath.

Now I’m in a much better mood, and breathing:

Glory, Glory, Hallelujah.

An Occasion for Not Gloating

While I have truly savored the high fives and excited conversations at church about the recent elections, I dread the coming of Sunday in the UUA when I anticipate how much gloating and triumphalism there may be expressed among our numbers.

I hope it’s not so. I hope that Unitarian Universalists will refrain — during worship and during fellowship — from assuming that all their church members are similarly elated about the mid-term elections. I hope that they will refrain from their favorite sport of demonizing and insulting George W. Bush and modeling a political loyalty that is graceless and arrogant. When we speak with vengeful glee about anyone, no matter how easy to vehemently dislike, we show our members, friends and visitors that we’re not so much people of moral discernment as we are people of aggressive partisanship.

I’m preaching to myself here, too, folks.

An election that creates so much opportunity for change in the land is cause for celebrating the democratic process, soberly reflecting on issues of accountability and responsibility, and praying for the strength to carry on with the task of “making the earth fair, with all her people one.” It is, I think, a time to give thanks to God for the gifts of intellect, freedom of conscience and the universal fellowship of all human beings within the larger interdependent web.

(Oh gads, listen to me with my “interdependent web!”)

When Bush took the office of president at the last elections, there was much wailing in UU land and among other religious liberals. We mourned, we rent our garments, we donned sackcloth and writhed around in ashes. That was understandable. But too many of our communities stayed depressed and beleagured, forgetting that to live out a joyful vocation in the world is not contingent on your guy being in office, but is contingent on FAITH: specifically a faith that love is still the operative creative force in the universe, that despite the political scene, we are blessed to be able to live out of that sublime source, and that no matter who’s in office, we are free to incarnate that creative force in all our dealings.

How many times during the past 12 years, and especially the grim past three, have I recalled to myself those wonderful words from “Carry On:”

Rejoice, rejoice,
we have no choice.

Be faithful, be gracious. Remember, as the Democrats stand poised to take back both the House AND the Senate, that absolute power corrupts absolutely, and therefore our vigilance and moral discernment is still, and ever, required.

South Dakota

And then there’s what happened in South Dakota:

http://www.argusleader.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20061108/NEWS/611080338

I have to believe that Unitarian Universalists in that state were instrumental in forcing this issue to the ballot. This is one of those instances where every vote really did matter, and where individual efforts were unmistakably important. God bless these South Dakotans for taking on a position that is so easy to morally condemn, and for being willing to face their virulent, irrational opponents and risk the violence and attack that so often comes with taking a pro-choice stance in an anti-choice community. No one supports abortion, per se. No one wants to have to come out and fight for the right to such a sad and ugly procedure. But they had to do it on behalf of dignity, privacy and ultimately life, and that takes courage. There is very little real victory in such a political victory, but they had to do it.

The article reports that the total votes for overturning the ban were 143,502 and the total votes voting “yay” for no abortion under any circumstances were at 117,885.
How many one-on-one conversations, testimonials and earnest exchanges happened around this issue to get people out to vote against this draconian, invasive and misogynist law? And in the meantime, while it stood, how many women and men lived in fear, faced a terrible predicament because of government interference, crossed state lines to procure an abortion, and felt owned and controlled by their local legislature?

To repeat the old cliche, if you’re against abortion, don’t have one. And “just say no” to sex with anti-choice men.