Silence, Violence, and Survival

What a day last Wednesday (April 18) was!

Several of my introduction to LGBT Studies students were participating in the Day of Silence.

While I certainly respect their right and choice to participate in this action/protest(?), I’ll admit that I don’t fully understand it.

When questioned about their silence, participants are encouraged to offer the following information (printed out on a card, of course):

Please understand my reasons for not speaking today. I am participating in the Day of Silence, a national youth movement protesting the silence faced by lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people and their allies. My deliberate silence echoes that silence, which is caused by harassment, prejudice, and discrimination. I believe that ending the silence is the first step toward fighting these injustices. Think about the voices you are not hearing today.

I definitely like the idea of focusing on absence at the heart of this action. Too often the visible and the present are privileged, which historically has meant that lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer people--particularly those who often find themselves on the margins of mainstream gay and lesbian communities and movements due to their race, ethnicity, nationality, socio-economic class, disability—were continually overlooked.

And yet, to practice silence as the means to get folks to recognize absence…well, just seems a little strange. The goals of LGBT Studies that my course is based on include: “to express and advance the interests of lesbians, bisexuals, and gay men” (Abelove et al.); and, to “foster homosexual expression” (Schuyf and Sandfort). I can see how silence is a form of expression, but I guess I just don’t understand it because silence is so often what I’m trying to overcome and struggling against.

The Day of Silence website asks, “What are you going to do to end the silence?”

I guess for some, silence is the beginning to ending silence.

But then, I guess this beginning of my day is what made the rest of the day so interesting…

Following class I attended an event featuring Bettina Apthekar, speaking about her most recent book, Intimate Politics: How I Grew Up Red, Fought for Free Speech, and Became a Feminist Rebel. Most of Apthekar’s talk that afternoon centered around the very personal revelation that she shares with readers of her experiences of childhood incest at the hands of her father.

She spoke about the memories of abuse resurfacing in her adult life, and of not wanting to leave it out of the book because such an omission would not be in keeping with speaking the truths of her life. I thought about all the friends, lovers, and students that have shared their own stories of sexual and physical abuse with me over the years…and the courage and strength they demonstrated in those tellings.

From this event, I went to my campus’ Take Back the Night rally and march. After a round of speakers, we took to the campus sidewalks with the explicit goal of breaking the silence: making ourselves heard by chanting in unison about the power we have when we stand united, and the need to end sexual assault and violence.

The day definitely ended on a different note than it had began. But, in retrospect, the distance between Day of Silence and Take Back the Night isn’t all that far, really…

There’s more to life than safety

On the whole, I haven’t been one to jump at taking risks. In fact, truth be told, my propensities probably lean towards being overly cautious. I usually do what I can to resist change, and when I’m unsuccessful tend to be slow to adapt.

But, old dogs can learn new tricks…well, we can at least try!

I’ve been facing a number of changes lately, and hopefully I’ll be up to the challenges they present and will grow as a result. That’s the heart of what The End seems to want to convey, too—that living life means not always living in safety, away from the world, but rather in the middle of it all, possibly neighboring treachery.

As far as endings go, I thought The End ended up ending the best way it could—by pointing to the way in which we can never know THE whole story, but only ever parts, although because all our stories are intertwined even these parts are quite meaningful and substantial.

I only hope that with as my life comes closer to its end (as all our lives do every day) that more and more of my life’s parts join, maybe never whole, but always fuller and fuller.

Snicket, Lemony. The End: A Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Thirteenth. New York: HarperCollins, 2006.

(94-95) But if you live among people, whether they are people in your family, in your school, or in your secret organization, then every moment of your life is an incident of peer pressure, and you cannot avoid it any more than a [end page 94] boat at sea can avoid a surrounding storm.

(95-96) …if you try to avoid every instance of peer pressure you will end up without any peers whatsoever, and the trick is to succumb to enough pressure that you do not drive your peers away, but not so much that you end up in [end page 95] a situation in which you are dead or otherwise uncomfortable.

(163) When you think about something, it adds a bit of weight to your walk, and as you think about more and more things you are liable to feel heavier and heavier, until you are so burdened you cannot take any further steps, and can only sit and stare at the gentle movements of the ocean waves or security guards, thinking too hard about too many things to do anything else.

(222) Sooner or later, everyone’s story has an unfortunate event or two—a schism or a death, a fire or a mutiny, the loss of a home or the destruction of a tea set. The only solution, of course, is to stay as far away from the world as possible and lead a safe, simple life.

(288-289) One could say, in fact, that no story really has a beginning, and that no story really has an end, as all of the world’s stories [end page 288] are as jumbled as the items in the arboretum, with their details and secrets all heaped together so that the whole story, from beginning to end, depends on how you look at it.

(306) There is a kind of crying I hope you have not experienced, and it is not just crying about something terrible that has happened, but a crying for all of the terrible things that have happened, not just to you but to everyone you know and to everyone you don’t know and even the people you don’t want to know, a crying that cannot be diluted by a brave deed or a kind word, but only by someone holding you as your shoulders shake and your tears run down your face.

(322-323) One cannot spend forever sitting and [end page 323] solving the mysteries of one’s history, and no matter how much one reads, the whole store can never be told.

(3-4) “You’d think we would have had enough treachery for a lifetime,” Klaus said, “but there’s [end page 3] more to life than safety.”

Fidelity

Fidelity isn't a feeling, it's a decision.

Perfect Opposites.
Dir. Matt Cooper. 2004

Definitely not a romantic sentiment, but does that make it any less truthful?

Besides, since when is choice a liability?

Or, perhaps I'm simply having Queer as Folk flashbacks and channeling Brian's sentiment that what matters most is who you choose to come home to (not all those who you might cum with).

Sisterhood

When I think about “sisterhood” in a feminist context, my thoughts wander back to some imagined 1970s wymmin’s collective that lived out their politics in group housing and (over-)processed everything trying to make sure that everyone’s voice was heard; oh, and of course I think about the women of color who were always part of the sisterhood, but at times not recognized as such. In a familial context, having had only brothers, sisterhood never made much sense to me. When it comes to friends, I certainly have had women as close friends that feel as dear to me (if not dearer) than family, but it’s never occurred to me to think of these people as sisters.

I don’t know if any of these things have to do with how much I’ve enjoyed Ann Brashares’ series Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, but I do know that with each of the four books in the series, I’ve felt deeply touched.

The latest in the series, Forever in Blue, once again took me on an emotional journey. Brashares has a way of writing that makes her characters come alive, and better yet, come alive in relationship to one another.

Interestingly, or perhaps tellingly, I seem to love best the books that depict strong relationships between the characters. In life I’m such a loner some times, I guess it does make sense that I have the opposite taste for the lives I like to read about.

Those who can’t do teach? Those who fear to do read?

While I’d love to continue to read about the journeys of Bee, Carmen, Lena, and Tibby, it seems quite certain that this fourth book is the series’ last. In that sense, the arc of this novel was different from the previous ones, and necessarily so. In some ways the pace of the book was slower…but that’s to be expected when things are coming together to end I guess. Nevertheless, the individual development that each character brings us along for is as touching as ever; maybe even more precious than before because of the complex struggles that each faces, and the ever growing physical distance between them all.

Forever in Blue was just one of my recent book buys for my Spring Break. Coincidentally(?) another of those books includes The End of the Lemony Snicket series featuring the Baudelaires. It seems as if I’ve unwittingly started my spring with endings…

And soon to come is J.K. Rowling’s end to the Harry Potter series. I’m excited to read the next installment, but also trying to avoid the series’ end enough that I haven’t pre-ordered my copy just yet.

I guess this Spring I’m supposed to learn to better deal with endings, whether I like it or not!

Brashares, Ann. Forever in Blue: The Fourth Summer of the Sisterhood. New York: Delacorte Press, 2007.

(17) Sometimes you hung up the phone and felt the bruising of your heart. It hurt now and it would hurt more later. The conversation was too unsatisfying to continue and yet you couldn’t stand for it to end.

(41) Lena didn’t feel lonely easily. Somehow, knowing she had friends was enough to keep her happy. She didn’t actually have to talk with them or see them all the time. It was like other things: So long as she had an aspirin in the cabinet, she didn’t really need to take one. So long as the toilet was readily available, she could wait until the last second to use it. As long as the basic resources existed for her, her needs were small.

(43-44) Desire was just the dumbest thing. You wanted what you wanted until it was yours. Then you didn’t want it anymore. You took what you had for granted until it was no [end page 43] longer yours. That, it seemed to her, was one of the crueler paradoxes of human nature.

(100) She looked at her painting in a new way. At first she was so disgusted by it, she could barely look at all. But then she settled down. She tried to relax and see better and deeper than she had before. She felt like a track runner who was pushing herself to break a five-minute mile only to have somebody tell her it could be done in four. If it could be done, then she had to reframe her sense of possibilities. She had to at least try.

(161) In some ways it had been easier not wanting it. But the wanting felt good. Even if she didn’t get it. Wanting was what made you a person, and she was glad to feel like a person again.

(244) When you remembered to forget, you were remembering. It was when you forgot to forget that you forgot.

(258) “You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you mad.” –Aldous Huxley

(273) Love was an idea. Northing more or less. If you lost the idea, if you somehow forgot it, then person you loved became a stranger. Tibby thought of all those movies about amnesiacs where they don’t even know their own spouse. Love lives in the memory. It can be forgotten. But it can also be remembered.

(307) It was so hard to live the right kind of life, even if you knew what it was.

(379) Rather, Carmen had felt an ever-growing awe at the wisdom of the Pants for knowing how to bring them together. For knowing that absence is sometimes more powerful than presence.

The Days are Longer, and the Fountains are Wet

Thank goodness, Spring has sprung!!

I don’t know if it’s just that Easter is fast approaching, but I have certainly been feeling a sense of renewal lately.

There have been a number of physical manifestations…sunset is happening later and later in the day, trees by work which I’d seen bare so long that I couldn’t remember what they looked like with flowers have bloomed, the infamous cherry blossoms around the tidal basin are out full force, there is water in area fountains, and more and more people are getting outside more to just be. I almost feel like I’m back in southern California (well, except for that whole ocean waves and being beach side details!)

It feels amazing, actually, to feel the sun shine on my skin, literally re-energizing and re-invigorating me (and others, too). I’d say the air is different, which is true, but considering all the pollen, I’m not too sure it’s different in the best way.

In any case, though, I wanted to take this moment to think about renewal.

Years ago I finally completed my tattoo of a phoenix rising from flames. For a while, I had just the band of flames…but when circumstances came about that changed my life dramatically, I knew it was time for a change…for a memorialization of the things that had passed, and for all the new things yet to come. I was reminded recently of this tattoo (I know, hard to believe that I couldn’t think of something so visible, but it happens!) and wanted to try and hold onto that invigorated feeling.

I thought then, and thankfully am remembering now to focus on where I’m going and not be stuck on where I’ve been, and to know and trust, and have faith that I will get there. How silly I was to forget, even temporarily, that we’re all changing all the time, and that we have such potential in life.

Glasswear Studios

Glasswear Studios' jewelry ROCKS!!!

I Am Not Myself These Days

There are lots of books out there that I’m scared to read. Mostly, it’s the fear that the stories they tell will ring too true that keeps me away. Some might call this behavior illustrative of denial; I like to think of it as part of my survival strategy.

Okay, so I’m being slightly dramatic here, but only to make my point clear!

A friend of mine recently read Josh Kilmer-Purcell’s book, I Am Not Myself These Days, and raved about it. I love being able to share books with friends, and even better if we talk about them afterwards. Perhaps not so ironically, however, I’ve found that doing an advanced degree and spending a lot of time with school folks limits the number of people I know who read for something other than “work.”

I’ve been trying to get outside a bit more, especially now that you can feel that it’s Spring, but there is something that I have always loved about curling up with a good book. So, what did I do for my Spring Break this year? Yup, I stayed at home and read. It was great!

I started with Kilmer-Purcell’s memoir. When my friend first told me about it, I went and looked for it, and tried to find out what it was about. I was actually surprised at what I found, and perhaps even more surprised that this particular friend was telling me about it. (We’ve shared other books before, but none quite like this.) Just goes to show what I knew about this friend…I think that’s what I like about sharing...I learn just as much about things as I do about my friends and myself.

In any case, it was exactly one of those books whose descriptions instill fear in me (maybe more on these fears later). But, when my friend handed me the book, it was almost like he was saying that I would be okay, that whatever the book presented, he knew I could stand up to it. I didn’t necessarily trust myself on this matter, but I did trust him.

I’m learning that it’s the people that challenge me…challenge me to push against my own boundaries and comfort zones, so that I can keep growing, that I love the most. I hope I’m that person for other people…

What does this have to do with I Am Not Myself These Days? Nothing.

Everything.

The book is about learning about ourselves…with and through others, while we grow and change, losing things along the way, but ultimately gaining ourselves. It’s about the different types of relationships people have with each other, and cultivating the kind of relationship you want with yourself.

Some of my favorite passages:

(39-40) It makes me wonder, what’s the point of thinking twice anyway? The only possible outcome of double thinking is that you invariably end up negating whatever it was motivating you in the first place. Forcing yourself to think twice about [end page 39] something is just admitting that somehow you are instinctively stupid, and that repetition is the only thing that will save you from yourself.”

(113) Do I have a growing callus over my threshold of abnormality? Or have I simply redefined normal? Maybe normal is whatever feels good where nobody gets hurt.

(184) A relationship is an accumulation of shared history.

(250) Process. I liked ritual. Tradition. Sinking into what you expect. Exactly what you already know is going to happen happens.

(257-258) It’s impossible to conspire [end page 257] by oneself. Secrets that reside only in the mind of one person aren’t really secrets. They’re unspoken fears. It takes two to conspire.

(263) Christmas in not about giving; it’s about feeling deserving, the warm innate joy of knowing good things will come to you, that forever someone will provide.

(282) After months of wrestling with vagueness, I am as relieved at finally knowing what I am expected to do as I am petrified of having to do it. Once again I am reminded that I am, and have always been, only what is expected of me. And at least now I have a purpose again, a concrete goal, even if it’s only to not be around anymore.

(294) This man who does not share a single gene with me and doesn’t recognize anything he’s familiar with in my eyes yet is trying to begin to love me nonetheless. And the wave is here. And he lets go of the raft because he’s smart enough to know that holding on to someone is not always the same as keeping them close.

(298) I try to make myself realize that I have learned the difference between right and wrong. That there is such a thing as right and wrong. But instead I’ve learned that these are things—this “right,” this “wrong”—these are things that we are told. Simply told to believe. These are things we have not tested. And while most of the things we are told may be true, it is not until we have tested them, taunted them, flaunted them, that we truly know they are right. Or wrong. Or true. Or false. Or somewhere in-the-fucking-between. And I think I know now a little better which is which. And I also know I’ll never quit testing this world. I’ll never rely on common knowledge. Or common denominators. Or even common sense, for that matter. To do so would be too, well, common.

Kilmer-Purcell, Josh. I Am Not Myself These Days, A Memoir. New York: Harper Perennial, 2006.