A GAME OF CHICKEN

I suppose I boycotted chicken establishments twenty-seven years ago.  KFC, Popeye’s, Chick-fil-A,...it doesn’t matter.  I have never wavered since deciding to become a vegetarian.

Chickens, however, have become political pawns.  The outcry isn’t over how they are raised.  Instead, a chicken chain is the latest battleground for gay marriage.  Who’da thunk? (And wouldn’t “Church’s Chicken” have seemed the more likely proselytizer?)

Corporations have been making increasing forays into social politics.  Indeed, many have come out as gay friendly.  Sometimes it is a basic employment decision.  If the company is big enough and extends benefits to same sex partners, it is a newsmaker.  Some go further, participating in Pride celebrations and sponsoring other GLBT endeavors.  I have always applauded when corporations take a political stand—a human rights stand, if you will.  When they take the right stand (er, LEFT stand), of course.

It should come as no surprise that a corporate head should have a different opinion than me.  Chick-fil-A is a Georgia-based company, founded by a devout Southern Baptist.  The business is not open for business on Sundays.  Its express corporate purpose is, in part, "To glorify God by being a faithful steward of all that is entrusted to us."  (If chickens could talk.)

I am not shocked that company President and COO Dan Cathy recently publicly stated he supports “traditional family” and warned that “we are inviting God's judgment on our nation when we shake our fist at Him and say, 'We know better than you as to what constitutes a marriage.  I pray God's mercy on our generation that has such a prideful, arrogant attitude to think that we have the audacity to define what marriage is about."

Ah, yes, let the chicken wars begin.  In the comfort of an enlightened Canada, however, I thought I would watch from the sidelines, shaking my head at the Biblical wrath and quietly lauding the mayors, activists and average LGBT members who speak out and change their chicken sandwich habits.

But then I logged into Facebook this morning and things changed.  It got personal.  One friend from Texas had posted something about long lines at Chick-fil-A and ultimately going to Wendy’s instead.  Long lines at Chick-fil-A?!  Well, maybe in Texas, I thought.  I’d read that the company’s consumer approval rating had dropped dramatically.  But why would my friend even go to that restaurant?!  Her sister is a lesbian.  Corporate values or chicken cravings trumped real family values.

A gay friend in Boise posted something about a Kiss-in to counter Chick-fil-A Appreciation Day.  Both actions predictable.  I smiled as I envisioned same sex couples passionately French kissing.  I imagined the response:  loss of appetite, loud prayers, references to Hell and “hating the sin, loving the sinners.”

And then I saw my sister-in-law’s post.  “Chick-fil-A for supper before church tonight. Only 25 minutes in line plus 30 minutes to get food, and such a spirit of joy and happiness with the beyond max occupancy crowd! Chick-fil-A has long been a favorite of mine, so only too happy to support them again today!”  She later added another comment:  “Just saw our family on the news tonight--standing in line outside Chick-fil-A!!!”  And then my 19-year-old niece:  “Whoa seriously? We were on the news?”

My chest tightened, my hands shook.  The pride, the excitement,...I was repulsed.  Yep, this is personal.  In the pre-Facebook days, I would be blissfully ignorant.  I could say I long for the smiley face happiness of the ‘70s, but there were no gay rights then.

Of course, I should not be surprised by the posting.  My brother and sister-in-law are evangelical Southern Baptists.  Their children have been home schooled.  My brother spends his vacations building Baptist churches in the South.  Because there aren’t enough.  My sister-in-law refused to let my niece and nephew read my children’s novel when it was published because I misused God’s name.  (Can’t recall specifically, but I think there is a spot in the book where one of the characters says, “Oh, my god.”)  This is the family that sent me the video “How to Be Saved” as a Christmas present one year.  (To be fair, my Catholic sister got the same “gift.”)  My niece’s Facebook entries are usually biblical quotes.  I could go on and on and on. 

My immediate thought was to “unfriend” my sister-in-law.  Ha!  Take that!  Then I thought of posting a comment.  “So disappointed.  Seems corporate allegiance trumps actual family.”  I passed on both options.  Next idea?  Send my brother an email.  Yes, he had been there, too, likely in the driver’s seat.  Gotta get me some holy chicken. 

And then I thought of my mother.  She’s the one who tries to keep the family together.  She’s the one with the chronic sleep problems, the constant worrier.  I will not have an impact on my brother or his family.  We never talk on the phone.  I sent him a three-sentence Happy Birthday email last month, with the last sentiment phrased as a question, inviting a reply.  Nothing.  If it so happens that we both plan to go to the family cottage in summer, I make sure my stay does not coincide with his.  Last time our vacations overlapped, I didn’t like waking to see an apparel line of Jesus t-shirts every morning.  (Seriously.)   I see him once a decade, at most.  When my parents celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary two years ago, my sister-in-law noted it was the first time in twenty-one years we’d all been together.  And we’re a small family! 

Full disclosure here:  My brother and his family are the only relatives that do not officially know I am gay.  I haven’t told them and I am certain no one else has.  I wanted to maintain occasional contact with my niece and nephew, thinking they may become more enlightened later in life, if they ever stray from Baptist influence.  (It’s looking less likely as my niece just finished her first year at a Baptist university.)  Otherwise, I think the rest of the family thinks, “Why bother?”

And now a game of chicken leaves me questioning everything.  If I wanted to act solely for myself, I would comment on the Facebook entry, unfriend AND email my brother.  So satisfying.  My mother will be the one to suffer.  I have caused her much grief in life as the stubborn, wilful middle child, the one my father tiptoes around.  I have already written my brother off as much as possible without the family drama that comes from making it official.

The hurt I feel this morning surprises.  My gut says nothing good will come in passing on the hurt to someone else.  Maybe it is time for me to tune out the self-righteousness and take the higher ground.

HOMOPHOBIA ISN’T GOING ANYWHERE…NOT YET

Prejudice against gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgendered people continues in Canada. Last’s week’s overheard conversation at the gym only confirms this. “That’s so gay” is a common derogatory putdown still milling about with the equally offensive “Don’t be a retard” (an expression I recently heard my neighbor tell his seven-year-old son). Not enough thought is put into much of what we say. And then I worry that sometimes the thought was there all along.

For the most part, I think in Canada we’ve reached a point where people have learned to be discerning about when and where to honestly disclose lingering feelings of prejudice. I was pleased to see the headline “Underlying resentment of diversity poses challenges” in yesterday’s Vancouver Sun. Obviously not pleased with the continuing resentment, but glad that someone was calling our happy, largely tolerant nation on what lingers. (I wish the article had appeared on the front page rather than being buried on B7. Typically Canadian. Let’s make a point, but not make too big a deal of it.) The article addresses our country’s predicted increase of visible minorities and diverse cultural representations, not gays and lesbians, but the message applies to all who possess a minority status. When hatred and ignorance go underground, they go unchecked and can gain momentum in pockets of society.

Of course, we have it good in Canada, compared to in many other parts of the world. In much of Africa, GLBT people live in fear and continue to face oppression. As outsiders, we can attempt to bring issues to light and to create pressure to change laws and practices, but we can quickly be dismissed as foreign meddlers. That’s why Desmond Tutu’s op-ed piece, “In Africa a step backward on human rights”, in Friday’s Washington Post is so welcome. He outlines some of the hate policies against gays in parts of Africa and rejects the religious veil under which the haters justify themselves. “I would never worship a homophobic God,” he says. Simple. Powerful. Worth a read.

As an adolescent, I did not know anything other than a homophobic God existed. I grew up very connected to church. When my family moved to Texas, routines had to be reestablished and I was the one who insisted that we attend Sunday services each week. My mother and our minister were convinced I’d study theology and become a minister as well. As Episcopalians, we were in the tiny minority in our town, smothered by Southern Baptist dominance, their churches being the only public structures to outnumber Dairy Queens. In my teen years, I witnessed hypocrisy and life changing imperatives when it came to issues of sex— so many tales of sexual awakening stemming from church camps, so many risky abortions and doomed early marriages.

In university, my religious affiliation came unwound. Funny how being exposed to diverse thought put such clear beliefs into question. Morality without compassion felt hollow, self-righteous and, yes, hateful. I cannot count the number of times I heard people limit their own thought processes as they donned holier-than-thou expressions and stated that trite phrase, “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” I knew that “love” could not truly exist in the same sentence with hate.

Nonetheless, my favorite course in university was a study of world religions. In a place where I got the impression that all non-Baptists were going to hell—more than once I was befriended by a seemingly nice person who suddenly turned and grilled me on being “Saved” and “Born Again”—I was fascinated with the different views of divinity and the purpose of life.

Gradually, I pulled away from religion, in part due to feeling unwelcome as a gay man, but also on account of the troubling concept of a “moral war” and the guilt-ridden preoccupation with sin. More than anything, I felt religion impeded independent thinking. I could share a belief, but I wanted to reach it through logic and through consideration of practical implications rather than by way of “Thou shalt”.

Many people find comfort in religion. Wonderful. But religion continues to divide, to foster hatred under the umbrella of “freedom” and to justify inhumane treatment of people who are different. I am thankful that leaders like Desmond Tutu examine their religious views to ensure they are governed by love, without any trace of hate.

Homophobia continues in various degrees in Canada and throughout the world. I have become too quiet, too complacent tucked away in the boonies. An alarming gym conversation, combined with the brave, powerful words of a Nobel Peace Prize recipient, may provide a much needed wakeup call.