Day 3 p.1

I know it's rather presumptuous of me to write Part One of a blog, when I haven't even taken time to write both parts yet. But I woke up this morning with two distinct ideas in my head, and would rather split them up than write a schizophrenic blog. Of course, I have certainly done so in the past. Just not on purpose.

Pedestals.

Something a good friend wrote in the "comments" section of an earlier blog forced me to examine a few things, and not exactly without some painful realizations. I suppose any realization that's worth anything is at least a little painful

It was recently brought to my attention that there has been a consensus that I have felt "disdain" for those who moderate this forum for some time now. Which struck me by surprise, because I did not and do not feel that at all. If anything, I have been guilty of a bit of hero worship. Putting people on pedestals, as it were.

Which is its own pathology, I know.

I have recently read the biography of Harvey Milk (and have been basically browbeaten by Richard to go see the movie, even though it lacks my requisite vampires, zombies or space battles). Digging a little, I discovered something that should come as a shock to no one. Milk was flawed. He was often intemperate, yet brilliant. He was often so absolutely certain he was right; he was blind to the strength of those who opposed his causes.

I see a lot of parallels here, with recent events. We assumed that Proposition 8 in California would fail because, riding the heady wave of Obama's charisma, we felt that the world, the entire world, was moving steadily and surely in the direction of progress, of unity, or acceptance that transcended the condescending "tolerance" and actually seemed unstoppable. And sadly, we utterly and thoroughly misjudged the capacity, the strength, of those who would have us blotted from the face of the earth - or at the very least, constrained to a second (or third) tiered position in society. To perpetuate the stereotypes perhaps, because people are comfortable with them.

I don't know all the reasons, and I suspect many of them were far more cynical than ideological. Such is usually the case.

But the thing is, we believed we were right, and that our righteousness would surely triumph on it's own merit. Individually, some people warned against such Quixotic ideations. Almost to a person, they were dismissed as naysayers, buzzkills, and so on.

I confess I too believed the proposition would not, could not succeed. And was dismayed to think that the vote would even be close. Surely it would lose by a landslide, right? Surely the "Bradley/Wilder effect" would not extend to that. People who claimed to love us as friends, siblings, sons and daughters, moms and dads, coworkers, would not, in their secret heart, harbor such fear and resentment. But sadly, when the curtains were drawn on the voting booth, it looks like that was exactly how it went down.

It seems that we held this time, this moment in history, on a pedestal. It was a moment of unprecedented transcendence. We elected a person of color for president! We became wiser in the war on drugs. In some states, we had already sanctioned same sex marriage. But the one basic flaw of a tolerant people is that, too often, we are tolerant of intolerance. And such was the case with the campaign for Proposition 8. We let it happen for a long time, because in our idealistic hearts, we thought it was impossible to succeed, regardless of the slick and savvy ad campaign, of all the money pumped into it by the Mormon Church (and some rather unlikely allies within our own extended community).

And like the warning sirens announcing an approaching tsunami, the news of overwhelming and shockingly unilateral support for Proposition 8 came too little, too late. An effort was mounted, and money poured in, but it was not nearly enough time to strategize a real rebuttal to the lies and propaganda. And more to the point, the gay community was, as others have far more eloquently pointed out, without enough decisive leadership to do what was needed, what was most effective, when it was time to do it.

So we lost. And until the California Supreme Court makes a decision (early March, I hear), those already married are in limbo, and those who had begun to plan nuptials have had to put those plans on hold, perhaps for a long time. We had, as a people, put our compatriots, our fellow citizens, our families and coworkers and friends on a collective pedestal, and thought that, in the end, they would certainly do the right thing, the honest thing, the loving thing.

And we were, are, sorely disappointed. Angry even. And rightfully so.

One thing I have learned, though obviously do not implement it as much as I would like, is that intemperance cannot be overcome with more intemperance. For one thing, truly spiteful and angry people will always win the battles. They are, after all, professionals at the sport. Those of us who remain amateurs are outgunned, outshouted, and often scapegoated. Our anger can never reach the seething hatred of those who oppose us, unless we are willing to become vessels of rage ourselves. And when that happens, there is no difference at all between our own selves and those whose ideals we oppose.

Because it’s not really just about marriage. It is about accepting and caring for one another, even when we do not agree. It is about treating others with dignity, even when we are not afforded the same. And yeah, sometimes that’s WAY too tall an order. I myself am guilty of intemperance, especially in support of my friends. Especially when confronted with perplexing hatred and rage. I forget, more often than not, to step back and remember that much of that comes from fear, from insecurity, from ignorance that goes way beyond “not knowing the facts.”

We are called upon to be better people than that. And we should, I think. Be forgiven if and when we do not always succeed. But this relies on someone, somewhere up the food chain, to be better in that moment than perhaps we were. To see our actions not as indicative of a pathology, but a gut reaction to a slight. How many times have we been in traffic, and honked our horns or muttered/screamed/sang obscenities at the driver who impedes us – only to find, when we pass the offender, and glare at them, that they are an elderly woman or crying man, whose own circumstances and situations are far more complex than we gave them credit for being.

And for a moment, most of us feel at least a twinge of guilt. For not taking into consideration the circumstances behind our objectified opponent. Of course, when the same person continues to weave, and endanger others, it really is our responsibility to see them taken off the road, hopefully by a call to the police or other authorities. But in the heat of the moment, many of us don’t think to do that.

And you know? We should be forgiven for it.

Even the nicest of us have moments of anger, of rage. And those who voted against is last November should not be treated poorly. Simply reminded, in as compassionate a way possible, that their actions were wrong, and must be legally and socially overcome.

Collecting a list of enemies is easy. Converting them into friends, though far less rewarding to our primal brains, is much harder.

Back to my own situation for a second, I certainly wish that someone in authority had taken the time to discuss this perceived “disdain” in private. Because there was no disdain. Like I said, if anything, I had placed them on pedestals – and held them perhaps to a higher standard. Frustrated that this standard was not always met, I reacted as though they were Greek Statues, and not living flawed people who grapple their own personal demons of which I am not aware. There is always much more to the story, to any story. And my monkey brain does not always factor this in.

I try though. I try not to honk, nor to curse or objectify. In the car or online. When I succeed, no one knows (which is, I guess, the point). When I fail it looks spectacularly bad, I suppose. I certainly cannot promise an end to intemperate behavior on my part. But I try to take the higher road, and I try to be nice and honest. My hot buttons, deceit and duplicity, are hard to control. But even those, with enough practice, might show improvement.

We will not overturn Proposition 8 with an equal amount of anger or rage, however justified. Like many things, the most effective strategy is likely to be the least gratifying one. Instead of taking the hateful protester’s sign and jabbing them through the eyeball with it, in a George Romero moment of pure visceral gratification, we might be better off, in many circumstances, simply embracing them, or sitting quietly in front of them, and try to wrap our heads around the person who is so damaged that a show of love which does not impact them at all should be so strongly opposed. What happened, and how can we, as a unified community, make it better.

Easier said than done, and we ought to forgive those who, in the heat of the moment, take the Romero route. They are just being human. Pedestals topple, people reveal their own true selves. And the trick is, if we really like them, to do so in full knowledge of the flaws. In a way, people like Harvey Milk were MORE heroic for having flaws, and for succeeding so greatly in the face of them, to do such good whilst grappling his own instincts and demons. Like we all do.