Why is Gay Scary?

I have been asking myself this question for years now. And I still don’t have a perfect answer, mostly because it isn’t scary to me. Two people loving each other, regardless of their gender is something that I 100% support.

Spiders scare me.
4 million women a year abused by partners scares me.
Human trafficking scares me.
People toting pistols and making racist statements scares me.
Even the dark scares me.

But Homosexuality does not scare me.

Nonetheless it seems to scare a lot of people, and so I think that spending some time understanding why people are scared, might be a part of identifying ways to educate and reach out to them…..

I will speak to three general categories. I do not think that these categories are the only categories, and I want to make sure to acknowledge that there are most likely many, many other more subtle reasons why people are afraid of homosexuality.
But for the sake of conversation, I have chosen three.

1) Those who have diagnosable mental illness.
2) Those who are afraid of losing social privileges.
3) Those who have not had the opportunity to learn anything different.

1) In the first category you have people like Fred Phelps and Shirely Phelps Roper of the Westboro Baptist Church. This type of “anti-gay” psychology seems to be based on primitive projection and splitting. It is not difficult to tell that this group of people has very little insight or complex cognition skills. It is most likely that they are actually NOT scared of gay, but rather scared of their own issues and perceived “internal badness”, and needing a scapegoat on which to project their “sins”. Even FOX news thinks that these people are crazy.

2) The second category of people is one that is trickier to explain. This category is people who have gained or maintained some social power through some identity, and the culture’s acceptance of their identity as mainstream. For example, a man who has married a woman in a patriarchal setting has often gained certain privileges. He may be able to have the final say in marital decisions or spats, he may be considered the “leader” of the household, he may be exempt from certain tedious tasks like housecleaning and child transportation. IF “gay is ok” as I would propose, then Patriarchy is less important because a woman does not need a man to make decisions, and could potentially partner with another woman. This challenges the assumed power of gender constructs within straight relationships just by suggesting the validity of gay partnerships.
This is scary for category two people because it creates an “unknown” variable that challenges current standards of behaviors. For instance if a woman and a woman can partner, then it seems logical that a woman can be a “leader” when leadership is needed in a relationship. And if a man and a man can partner, it seems logical that at one point or another a man is capable of giving power away, being submissive to another’s will or view. In mainstream patriarchal relationships (and most potently in religious contexts), this is a HUGE fear. Without the dogma of gender roles, culture would need to literally be rewritten. As it stands in these types of contexts, the woman is the receiver or child figure, and the man is the provider or parent figure. Homosexuality challenges these false roles, and therefore is a perceived threat to power structures.

3) The last category is pretty self-explanatory. This is a group of people who have been indoctrinated to believe that God hates homosexuality. They are taught that it is “unnatural”. This can only be remedied through education, and dialogue with people who are gay and can teach about the “natural” progression of their sexuality towards the same sex. The problem here however, is that category three people tend to be somehow tied to category two people. This makes it very difficult for a category three person to branch out and consider different perspectives and opinions as it might mean the loss of a significant attachment for them.

I am very curious what other categories people have in mind when they consider the question, “why are so many people afraid of homosexuality?”

Irony.

According to a recent Gulfnews.com story, an Arab ambassador recently called off his wedding after discovering that his future wife had facial hair.

After quickly ending the betrothal, he then launched a lawsuit against the woman and her family claiming “emotional damage”, and asking for repayment for the gifts (over $120,000) that he had given his former fiancee before being introduced to her hairy visage. (The judge allowed the man to end the engagement, but did not rule for the woman to return ANYTHING given to her by him).

Still, the irony is delicious. Require a woman to hide her face and her beauty, THEN when she does not meet “beauty standards”, SUE her ass.

It is entirely mind-numbing that we live in a world where a man would feel entitled to sue a woman for being unattractive. A bride to be having facial hair is “emotional damage to a man”, but the incredibly damaging tradition of head-covering goes on all over the world.

Though it’s possible to conclude this story as a tragedy and loss for this woman, I have to wonder, if in this case, the woman didn’t actually win in the end. If she had in fact been attractive to his liking, she probably had to marry him, have his children, clean his house, and stroke his obviously frail ego for the rest of her life. I have to wonder (and hope) that this woman might have intentionally skipped her waxing appointment to sabotage this marriage.

It seems that this ambassador got what he was asking for by complying with a culture that hides the face of women…..one damn hairy lesson in reality.

I’d like to think that this woman has found the greatest, most loyal and protective lover of all, one that saved her from a life of marital servitude, and loss of dignity.

Prince charming isn’t a frog after all..rather, he/she/it is a mustache.

If I were a boy.

It isn’t often that I find myself inspired by an awards show. It isn’t often that I actually watch an awards show, but I have a roommate, so tonight, by default, I found myself on a couch with the Grammys.

To my surprise I found my passion for redefining gender reignited by a  Beyonce performance  of “If I were a boy”.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fzv-nOfm7hc

Beyonce exposes the “armor” of male gender identity in her male dancers, while simultaneously using that armor to represent the strength of women in her own costume, dancing, and the bravado of her voice.

The lyrics expose the nature of male privilege, while the performance inspired a strong feminine character in the midst of our culture’s character of emotionless masculinity.

Thank you Beyonce for reminding us of the reality of the gender gap, while simultaneously giving us hope to subvert it with strength and beauty.

“I’d listen to her cause I know how it hurts, when you lose the one you wanted cause he’s taking you for granted and everything you had got destroyed”.

A hero to honor.

Hero.

Sergeant Munley

The shootings at Ft. Hood remind each of us about our human vulnerability. People choose violence. Often. And often we are defenseless. But as we grieve the unfathomable violence perpetrated at Ft. Hood, I hope that we will also honor the unfathomable bravery of Sergeant Munley. A woman who risked her own life to end a day of terror for so many others. Her valor reminds me of how often I forget that courage is more powerful than destruction.

Here is an article that details her valiant efforts at Ft. Hood.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/07/us/07police.html?_r=1&th&emc=th

The ultimate distraction.

What keeps women from gaining 50 % possession of positions like CEO, professor, writer, politician, general, engineer, and physicist? What keeps women from debunking stereotypes that limit women’s behavior to sex, domestic upkeep, and motherhood?

We get tired from fighting “fat”  and “ugly” all the time. We get distracted by our love-handles and our outdated purses. We get sold on hours of waxing and primping and throwing money down the shopping drain.

Our lack of progress in society seems to be directly related to the time and money we feel obligated to invest in our physical appearance. Women are not stupid, shallow, weak, or unmotivated. Rather, we are hyper-motivated, incredibly deep, and brilliantly creative. But at root, we have been socialized to misdirect our motivation towards the futile and empty pursuit of  ”standardized beauty”. (Which just happens to be embodied  by impossible and limiting standards like being born blonde, caucasian, well endowed,  curve-less, with no appetite. Not to mention that you have to be born into wealth in order to even barely scrape by on keeping up with designer fashion)

And the worst part is, despite all of our energy and focus on these goals…..most of us are incredibly unsatisfied with our image/bodies/beauty. For all of the gazillions of hours that we are investing in our beauty status, we are not making gains on our confidence.

Here are some frighteningly-enlightening and disturbing statistics I found on http://www.endfattalk.com/stats.html about how our current culture of beauty obsession is affecting our-selves as women.

  • “81% of 10 year olds are afraid of being fat. 51% of 9 and 10 year old girls feel better about themselves if they are on a diet” (Mellin LM, Irwin CE & Scully S, 1992)
  • “More than 2/3 of women ages 18-25 would rather be mean or stupid than be fat and over 50% would rather be hit by a truck” (Martin, 2007)
  • “Fashion models are thinner than 98% of women.” (Smolak, 1996)
  • “As many as 10 million women are suffering from anorexia or bulimia. That’s more than are suffering from breast cancer.” (National Eating Disorder Association)
  • “63% of women in Brazil have considered having cosmetic surgery to enhance their appearance” (Dove, Beyond Stereotypes: Rebuilding the Foundation of Beauty Beliefs)
  • “Half of all women in Japan have avoided going to the doctor because they feel badly about their looks and more than half have avoided going on a job interview for the same reason” (Dove, Beyond Stereotypes: Rebuilding the Foundation of Beauty Beliefs)
  • “31% of Spanish girls dieting to lose weight are not overweight.” (López-Guimerà, Fauquet, Portell, Sánchez-Carracedo, & Raich, 2008)
  • “After three years of Western television, the rate of purging in Fijian girls, went from 0%-11%. And now 74% of Fijian girls report feeling too big or too fat.” (Becker, Burwell, Herzog, Hamburg, & Gilman, 2002)

Rather than putting our energy towards dreams, and ambitions, we aspire to be thin. And what really ends up being thin is our confidence, our sense of self, and often, our portfolios.

What if we committed even half of the time we allot for body obsession and exchanged it to pursue progress and creativity. Shit would change. I tell you what.

So I say to this powerful, and demeaning distraction (the fear of the fat), to this charge to be impossibly empty, and boring, and trophy, I say to this insideous fear driven obession….I hope that we can all (men and women alike)….stand together in unison, exposing the destruction of this cycle and yell at the top of our lungs….

WHAT THE FAT IS GOING ON HERE?

Documentation.

It is imperative to document any form of abuse, pushing, hitting, stalking, grabbing, restraining, threatening etc. If it isn’t written down, the court does not consider a reported event legitimate and witness testimonies become a pallid game of he said she said.

And if the abuser is a senator…..

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/25/nyregion/25monserrate.html?_r=1&th&emc=th

he can make a really really bad excuse:  ”I slipped and fell and the glass broke on her face”. Right, and that’s why you didn’t go with her to the emergency room eh?

Most victims are too scared to document at the time of an abuse event and have often been manipulated into believing that they deserved the abuse. This makes it even more important for anyone who hears the story to WRITE IT DOWN and date it. Send yourself an email, or send it in a letter to your grandmother. Whatever you do, make sure that you document any report of abuse. Otherwise, the lack of documentation will be used as a mockery of the victim’s testimony.

Facebook Gender-Bender

I was looking at my 13 year old sister’s  Facebook page today to check up on the youngins, and keep up with what’s hip with the youths, and I spotted a quiz titled, “how boyish/girlish are you?”. Naturally, I took the quiz.

Turns out that both me and my sister are androgynous.

I had three distinct reactions to this quiz.

1) How AMAZING that a quiz is allowing kids to identify their masculine and feminine qualities, and allow for the fact that all people have personality traits that have been classically assigned to one or the other gender. Even the idea that people have qualities of both genders is truly progressive….

but then in reading the actual quiz, I had reaction#2

2) What the??$#%$?^%$^?%$# The quiz assigns behaviors that are aggressive/violent/criminal as “boyish”, and behaviors that are passive/boring/ as female. Ergh. No wonder domestic violence is the number one cause of death for females in America.

3) I LOVED that there was a question where the kid could identify themselves in whatever way they pleased. This allows for self-identification of gender/personality traits as opposed to gender assigned by sex organs.

Here is the quiz in its raw form…..Any other reactions?

How Boyish are you? And how girly are you?

1. What do you do in spare time?

Play outside with friends and pick flowers

Play with dolls

Listen to the ipod or mp3 player

Prank people

Play videos games

2. On a scale through 1-5, how would you say that you act like a girl? (Be honest)

3. On a scale through 1-5, how much would you say you act like a boy? (Be honest)

4. Someone takes your chair? What do you do or say to them?

Get off or else!

GET THE F$%*@ OUT OF MY F$%*@ING SEAT YOU F$%*@ING MORON!

Go to another seat. Who cares?

Push him off. I had it first.

Sit in another seat and watch him.

5. Which one of these movie genres would you prefer?

Comedy

Adventure

Horror

Sci-Fi

Action

Dear Lea

Lea! Check your F*ucking Voicemail- as seen on the outside of a tent near Burke Gillman Trail...contents of ten=one man

Today I ran into this tent on the side of the Burt Gillman Trail just under I-5. It reads: “Lea! Call your F*!king voicemail”, and there is a heart with a question mark, as if to indicate that Lea needs to make a choice as to whether or not she wants love from this particular gentleman. (I use the word gentle-man loosely of course)

Dear Lea,

I assume you’ve checked your voicemail.
I assume that you are aware that this gentleman is looking for you.
I could be wrong, but…
He sounds angry.

Fucking angry.

And I bet he was angry before you stopped returning his calls.

If someone had that level of anger and entitlement to accessing me, I wouldn’t want to call them back either.

So, I just wanted to say,

I hope you don’t check your voice mail, and I hope that you don’t run into this gentleman today, or read his scare tactic, tomorrow, or the next day.
I hope that you are safe.
And far.
From this anger.

Because no one ever deserves to be treated like that.

Progress.

Progress.

I am obsessed with progress.
I can’t get enough.
I never feel enough, and it is getting so bad, that I feel guilty enjoying anything that can’t be explained as an effort towards some GREATER GOAL.

I have the damnest time knowing how to just be.
How to sink my feet into the sand and let the grains of my life move aimlessly between my toes.

I know how to have, to do, to gain.
I know how to feel unworthy, and labor after a bigger sense of me.
But in the end, I have no clue how to fill my own shoes.
How to delight in the big that I already am.

When I am not having, or doing, or gaining, I feel that I am Failing. Flailing. Falling.
And so I constantly compare myself to the myself that I think I should be, and the yourself that I think you are, and I know that I have missed out on us both.

I rarely have time to enjoy the life that I am, the moment that has me, and the yous around me.

Instead I go.
Around.
And.
Around.
And.
Around.
Myself.
And these expectations that I feel.

And so I move things. I move my status, or my furniture, and I hope that I have progressed.
But when nothing moves the next day, or the next, I feel that I have relapsed into some sad state of no-progress, for which I should be punished with depression and a good dose of self-contempt.

Today I am thinking though, that very little of the doing, and having, and gaining has ever been progress anyway.

That I have just been running around in circles and blurring the beautiful scenery with my speed of my fear of inadequacy.

And the scenery has been beautiful. I know it has. I know there has been love, and compassion, and justice, and kindness. And maybe someday I will be able to surrender to it. And be taken over, and regress into a delicious state of gratitude and rest.

I’m still here….
somewhere between the running and the blurring….
somewhere beneath the progressing and the self-doubt…..
and hoping that today my vision might be a little more clear and a little more here.
Just taking in the scenery. You. And. me. Here.

Beyond Oreos

 

Delightful treat or Distraction from progress?

Delightful treat or Distraction from progress?

I was just in Hawaii for vacation last week. It was a beautiful time for me to rest and enjoy the unbelievable sunshine and landscape of Lanai Island. I got time to recharge and to re-set myself in hopes of resting and coming back to work with fresh insight and a more centered sense of self and a more clarified vision of purpose.

The time was incredibly valuable. I got to enjoy my friend Megan for several days and remember pieces of myself that I have been too busy to entertain lately. I also got time to reflect on myself as just myself (and not as a therapist, or a roommate, or a girlfriend, or a daughter), and to simply be and rest. I found myself overwhelmed with gratitude for the people in my life and the person that I have fought to become. (Also I got a lot of sleep, ate a lot of pineapple, read inspiring literature, and swam with wild dolphins. Boo Ya.)

On our third day, we were at the pool and I was reading the global updates section in Ms. Magazine and reveling in more gratitude in regards to the privilege that I hold as a woman in the U. S. The updates told of countries all over the world where women are still oppressed in shockingly overt and violent ways. (One update in particular highlighted the young girl who was stoned to death at a sporting event in Somalia because she was considered an adulteress for having been gang raped by three men earlier in the week.) I was humbled by the incredible freedom that I have had as a Caucasian American woman to find my voice, choose my partners, leave unsafe situations, access birth control and health care, and have a community of women who are free to openly meet and encourage one another. (Thank you Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan, and Heinrick Ibsen and Lucy Stone and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Eve Ensler, and Virginia Woolf, and and and and and and and and and and)…

And just as I was about to share the sentiment with Megan, irony caught us by the earlobes and we were distracted by the conversation next to us. (Poolside eaves dropping is one of our favorite vacation hobbies). There were two younger girls, who appeared to be around eighteen (they were in their first year of college), and a mother, who appeared to be forty five going on thirty. All three women met the prototypical beauty archetype: they were thin, white, had striking facial features, were without goiters, and wearing designer labels. I felt like we were watching an episode of “The Hills”.

I am not sure how the conversation began but these women were talking about dieting. The younger girls were saying that they wanted to lose weight so the mother started giving them tips about how to drop pounds. She whipped out her portion controlled low calorie snacks and talked about the ways that she avoids “bad food”. One of the younger women asked the question, “so, is it better to eat one Oreo everyday in a week, or seven Oreos in one day?” Megan and I laughed audibly. Was she serious? Was this question really plaguing her? The sad part was that it was. This young woman was obviously dealing with body dysmorphia and some form of eating disorder. The mother replied with confidence, “all seven Oreos in one day”. What?

And the conversation only got worse, at one point the two younger women were stating that they really preferred the look of “disgusting skinny”, and the mother agreed, except of course when the “knees start to look knobby”.

Snap-Just like that I was sobered into remembering that the battle for women’s progress in the United States is still going strong, it is just being fought on a different kind of playing field. Women in America are not being massacred by men throwing stones on soccer fields as is the case in Somalia, but they are being massacred by their self-contempt towards their bodies and the psychotic standard of beauty that promotes self violence in the form of starvation, self-induced vomiting, maxed out credit cards, and distraction from greater purpose.

The extreme level of self-disgust and self-hatred that women experience towards their bodies is a result of a beauty standard that promotes FRAILTY as the holy grail for female achievement. Women are taught to be aroused by their own demise, and to desire their position in the world to be that of a thin waif standing next to a man with substance. I have personally known this violent oppressor, and I have had to wage an incredibly long and tiresome war to learn to love my body. Regardless of the work that I have done to grow into a woman who believes in her self-worth, I was aware that as I was pitying these young women for their self-hatred and food obsession, I was also envying their itsy bitsy bodies. Some part of me still instinctively moves towards self-deprivation and starvation as a way to be “beautiful”, and therefore a legitimate and desireable woman.

And I know intellectually this this is hogwash. I know intellectually that my beauty lies within, and my sense of self is my move towards progress and influence. But it is buried deep in my blood to lust for a lie that steals my power away from me. Because the idea that my value is in my ability to allure a man, is something that has been embedded in my unconscious and is more powerful than mere thoughts. The beauty obsession runs deep in western women and does its work to divide us from each other and distract us from our progress as people.

So as I left the poolside, I was reminded of the complexity of gender oppression and the many faces that patriarchy holds. I may not be in danger of being stoned death for being raped, but my body is in danger of starvation at the hands of a sexual beauty standard that promotes emaciation as a desired outcome. And as a woman who has stood up to an abusive man, I know that rocks are not always necessary for a stoning to take place. The war to be free, to be equal, to valued, is still raging around me, and in me, and I can only hope, through me.

I find myself again, at a sort of beginning, humbled by my humanity, grateful for the many privileges I have, and hungry to continue to grow more roots and more trunk and more branches to reach out to women around me and share the good news, that we are already valuable beyond measure. So what do you think? Would it be more effective to spend one hour a day every day dreaming for equality and justice, or all seven hours in one day? I’m thinking one hour every day and at least a couple of Oreos to boot. (With milk of course)