There’s a wonderful clip of Democratic Vice Presidential nominee Tim Walz speaking before the Human Rights Campaign this past weekend. He says, “It’s easy to be an ally when it’s easy to be an ally. What really matters is knowing who’s going to be at your side and stand up when it’s hard.” He said this after sharing an anecdote about stepping up to be the advisor to the Gay-Straight Alliance at the high school where we worked as a coach and teacher in the ’90s.
I was a teacher then as well. I worked in elementary school and we didn’t have GSAs at the time. Still, I’m not sure I would have stepped up had I been asked. In some regards, Coach Walz was bolder than me. I would like to think I would have done it, but I know I would have at least hesitated. I would have told myself it would be easier for a straight coach to take on the role. Coach Walz married his wife, Gwen, in 1994. Any whispers about him being gay (since he supported a gay club) would not have gained traction and, even if they had, he could easily shake them off. He was a straight man, no doubt about it.
I, on the other hand, was openly gay on staff. It was easy at that particular school since three other gay men were on the faculty. One of them zeroed in on me on my first day subbing at the school before I landed a regular position. I was not out among students and parents. One parent suspected I was gay and, during the first week of school went to the principal to demand that her daughter be assigned to a different grade seven classroom. The principal acquiesced. The episode shook me. The student really liked me from my days subbing at the school. I know she’d have been highly motivated in my class and she’d have thrived. But mama was a homophobe and the principal liked “problems” to go away ASAP.
I became more closeted at all the schools I worked at thereafter. There wasn’t another gay colleague on any of those staffs. I never shook that worry that someday everything might blow up on me. Multiple parents would complain, students would be in the know and snicker constantly in class, my credibility tarnished by a distraction. What if a student made a false allegation? I never came out again to any group at any school. I felt certain staff knew and many parents as well but no one raised the subject and I grew resentful of always having to make what felt like dramatic reveals about my sexual orientation in any area of my life. I grew very adept at handling gay putdowns when students would try to belittle one another. These were teachable moments and I never shied away from them. I was an unofficial ally, but I never stepped up specifically as a role model.
Hats off to the Coach Walzes of the world. Hats off to the queer teachers who had photos of their partners proudly displayed on their desks. (Most of my years, I didn’t have a partner. Pics of my schnauzers assumed prominent spots on my desk instead.)
Whether it is for students or for adults who identify as something under the LGBTQ+ umbrella, allies are still vital. Allies need to be seen and heard now as much as at any point in my lifetime. We have had allies step up during the AIDS crisis, when the right to work in the military was at stake, when protections from housing and employment discrimination were up for debate and when gay adoption and marriage equality were at play.
Queer rights remain at issue. For my entire life, they have been used for political purposes to drive a wedge between voting blocs, to divide based on differences rather than to unite in spite of them. (Oh, how refreshing it would be to be embraced and accepted, once and for all! In my lifetime? Still a dream.)
Now is a time to forsake timidity—my old standby demeanor—and embrace the boldness within us. It is time to actively support the queers with the biggest target on their backs: trans and non-binary folks. It is time to engage in conversation to better understand what trans people are up against. If you don’t have a trans friend or acquaintance or if they don’t feel like bearing the weight of educating everyone for whom they are the token trans friend/acquaintance, then there is plenty that can be read through podcasts, firsthand blogs and published memoirs. Dig a little. Get out of your bubble.
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I fully believe that denials of trans rights will embolden haters to rollback other queer rights. Pride festivals, most of which are over and done with for this year, create an illusion of acceptance and may instill a sense of complacency rather than empowerment. Look at our numbers! Bigger than a Trump crowd!
On the macro level, Pride celebrations are easy events in terms of queer participation and allyship. (Yes, at a micro level, a questioning or newly out person makes bold steps attending any Pride function. I shook with both excitement and fear—what if I’m on news footage?—when I went to my first parade.)
Globally, there are swings to the right, as happened recently in Germany and as I fear will happen in the next Canadian federal election. All eyes seem to be on the U.S. right now and the stakes couldn’t be higher in terms of free press, democracy, women’s rights and, yes, LGBTQ rights. Trans people are being played in a political version of Fear Factor with ludicrous talk about girls losing places on sports teams, children undergoing operations while at school and, still, invasions of bathroom spaces. Indignancy about pronouns gets tossed in, too. All this goes unchecked in conservative media, for many their chosen—and only—source of “news.” All this also riles up those who don’t know queer people, who don’t hear about queer experiences, who don’t see how much alike queer people are to them.
It's time for queers to do a little bonding. It’s also time for allies to have the conversations that queers get shut down from having. This would be one of those times that Tim Walz is referring to as when it’s harder to be an ally. These talks can make a difference, maybe not with too-far-gone Uncle JD (don’t bother; just keep away to protect your sanity), but with sheltered cousin Ken and good-at-heart neighbor Carol.
When my parents, who live in Texas, visited in June, I talked about more of my own negative experiences. I got very specific about what felt like homophobic harassment on several occasions with U.S. Border Patrol agents. I talked about my trans friend who has gone through a momentous year in terms of their journey to live their true identity. I talked as well about how trans people are being used as pawns.
At first, my parents tried to shrug things off. “Oh, that’s just Trump,” and “We vote based on other issues.” But I persisted. They have the privilege of shrugging because they are not targeted. But this rising culture of hate is deeply personal to me and choosing to vote based on other issues does not send a clear message that hate will not be tolerated. It tacitly allows it. These politicians take my parents, lifelong conservatives, fiscally especially, for granted. In the pocket. Without taking a stand, or at least not voting in certain political races, homophobe-pedaling politicians keep the traditional conservatives while riling and building up a base that does respond to unchecked allegations of They/Thems taking over the country, somehow taking something away from lowercase them.
Eventually my parents said, “We didn’t know.” (They are Wall Street Journal readers rather than Fox News watchers.) I knew this was the right moment for me to say with conviction, “It affects me. This is personal. This affects your son and so many other people just trying to live their own normal lives.”
It got quiet after that. When people truly listen, they also need time to process.
Did they shift?
Maybe? A little bit?
I had my say. I know that. It’s time for LGBTQ+ people and our allies to step into this harder time, to make sure loved ones living in conservative bubbles hear another side. Truth. It’s time to be polite—shouting and putdowns aren’t going to create forums for listening much less lead to progress—but resolute. LGBTQ+ issues matter. Our advocacy, as queers or allies, is essential.
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