I know I’m a good week behind as far as throwing in my two cents on this issue, and honestly, it wasn’t even something I thought I’d be voicing any kind of public opinion on at all. I don’t feel like I pay anywhere near as much attention to what’s going on in the world as I think I should, so it’s very rare you’ll hear me make any kind of comment on current events. Obviously, though, unless I had pulled a Thoreau and retreated to the woods somewhere for a couple years, hearing about the Zimmerman trial verdict this past week and all the varying viewpoints seemingly everyone had to share was pretty hard to miss … even if I’d been completely oblivious and ignorant of events (which, I’m pleased to report, I was not), I would have, at the very least, seen Trayvon Martin’s name, photo, and the popular black hooded silhouette graphic pop up in my Facebook feed enough times to connect the dots. Still, beyond a simple share of a short, sweet, to the point memorial article on the Acceptance Revolution Facebook page, I didn’t expect to weigh in on anything either way. But then I got to thinking and googling, and eventually, one thing led to another.
A couple months ago, I gave a little Facebook nod to Sam Killermann of It’s Pronounced Metrosexual for his thought-provoking article, “Being an Ally: Between a Rock and a Hard Place” , in which he discussed the difficulties of being a trans* ally as a cisgendered man, not only because of the “rocks,” aka the homophobic and transphobic hate mailers, but also because of the “hard places,” trans* people who feel that, as a cis person, Killermann “should stay out of the fight for trans* rights.” He discusses the expected impact of the hate speech and name calling, as well as the less-expected rejection by those whom he is trying to fight alongside. While I’m not yet “known” enough to have encountered either, that provided me with some serious food for thought.
With all the “I am Trayvon Martin” posts and profile picture changes to that black-hooded silhouette in displays of solidarity cropping up this past week , I remembered that article and started thinking about something that occurred at my Off the Mat, Into the World training a year ago as well. During one of the exercises, one woman at the training shared some of the struggles she faces as a woman of color and got understandably upset when another participant – a blonde, blue-eyed, upper-middle-class type – alleged that she could relate because her fiancé was black. In a check-in session later on in the workshop, the first woman passionately and tearfully explained her view of the difference between being an ally and showing support versus claiming to understand or relate to something that hasn’t been your own personal experience, and it made a ton of sense: expressing solidarity and support is one thing; claiming to understand an experience that could never happen to you personally is downright insulting to those facing that particular struggle … and in fact, I’m always careful to disclaimer anything I speak or write on that hasn’t been my own personal experience for those very reasons. With that flicker of memory in mind, I got inspired to google the phrase “I am not Trayvon Martin,” and – albeit late to the “party” – I stumbled across this beautiful post, courtesy of Colorado high school music teacher Bob Seay. His closing statements convey exactly the reason why I started this website, and, at least from my understanding of things based on his writings, why Killermann identifies himself as an ally as well. As Seay so eloquently put it:
“You don’t have to be Trayvon Martin to know this is wrong. You don’t have to be black, or young, or a ‘troubled student’ or a pot smoker to know this was murder. And you don’t have to be the parent of Trayvon Martin to know this was a gross miscarriage of justice.
Let me be more blunt: This type of injustice will continue until enough guys like me — guys who are not Trayvon Martin — have had enough of it and finally say ‘No more.’
You don’t have to be Trayvon Martin.
You just have to be human.”
The “Not Trayvon Martin” movement has evidently received its share of criticism as well. And although NYC columnist Daniel Greenfield’s points that if he were shot, “There would be no rallies for me and no t-shirts with my name on it. No one would be talking about how they are me or aren’t me … [and] no one would care what brand of candy I was carrying or what I was wearing or where I was going,” are probably pretty valid ones, I, for one, happen to disagree with his overall view of the issue, specifically his dismissal of these displays of solidarity, simply writing them off as “liberal idiocy [involving] white college kids apologizing for their ‘white privilege'”. On the contrary, I’m inclined to agree with Seay that it’s important to say “no more” to injustice everywhere, no matter who we are.
I am a white, working class female who presents in accordance with my assigned-at-birth gender role. I pass for heteronormative, so the only flak I’m ever going to take is from someone who finds out about and disagrees with my self-proclaimed queerness in regard to my dating preferences. I am not Trayvon Martin. Nor am I Gwen Araujo, Brandon Teena, Larry King, Angie Zapata, or any of the countless other trans* people who have been murdered simply for being who they are. But I know the difference between right and wrong, justice and injustice. I can recognize hatred and intolerance when I see it, and I have no qualms about saying outright that I believe educating oneself about differences and that which we don’t understand beats the hell out of making assumptions and snap judgments and writing people off any day of the week. So I happen to appreciate Seay’s view that, “You don’t have to be Trayvon Martin. You just have to be human.”
This is the first post where I’ll be including a video because I really feel that several of the lyrics in this song speak to the core of what I’m trying to say here better than I can express on my own: “We’re one, but we’re not the same; we get to carry each other.” And, in my opinion, if we’re really “doing it right,” we’ll recognize that, lift each other up, and realize that, truly, “Love is a higher law,” than anything else we can come up with. As far as I’m concerned – and call me crazy or naïve on this one – love and acceptance is what all of this is all about … and all that really matters when all is said and done.
© Kristin Despina for Acceptance Revolution, 2013