As we say goodbye to Pride month, I’d like to take a quick look back at this moment. It’s not insignificant to me that this tiny rainbow pin ended up on my honor stole on my graduation day from Gordon College.
In my apartment building the day before, someone was going around with the little ribbons in a quite large, worse-for-wear Tupperware container, asking passersby if we wanted to wear one in solidarity with the LGBTQ+ students at Gordon. I can vividly remember the knot in my stomach that followed their offer. I wanted to wear one, but didn’t want to upset anyone or make it into “something.” I said no, thanks.
Fast forward 24 hours. All of us soon-to-be-graduates are gathered outside the cafeteria getting ready to walk. Another student comes by with ribbons clutched loosely in their fists. “Here, take one,” they say, pretty much forcing one into my palm. My nerves return, but as I look down at the rainbow so delicately twisted together in between my fingers, I understand—not so much in words but in my gut—that my comfort doesn’t matter. Representation matters. Community matters. I’m pretty sure I say out loud, or at least in my mind, “Okay, sure; what the hell.” And I ask my best friend Leanne to help me pin it to my lapel.
A year and a half later, I realized that I’m bi.
I understand—not so much in words but in my gut—that my comfort doesn’t matter. Representation matters. Community matters.
Can you imagine the guilt I would have felt today if I had refused the pin a second time? I bet you can imagine the pride I have for past Maggie. She was smart enough to recognize an important opportunity when it was pressed into her hand.
Here’s the thing. If I’ve learned anything lately, it’s that silence is unacceptable. Not taking the pin is unacceptable. It’s not Christ-like to distance yourself from other humans’ pain because it’s uncomfortable or “difficult” for you. (Not to say I don’t also struggle with this every. damn. day.)
Silence is unacceptable. Not taking the pin is unacceptable. It’s not Christ-like to distance yourself from other humans’ pain…
Please, for the Love of God and for Pride in Yourself, stand up and protect the marginalized and wounded people around you. In these days, this looks like saying the names of countless Black people and Black trans people who have been murdered and beaten down. It looks like relentlessly signing petitions, donating any extra pennies (or $100 bills if you have them), checking in with your LGBTQ+ friends and family to listen to and smother them with love, reading books and poetry by Black people, listening to and learning from marginalized voices, and so much more.
I by no means say any of this because I have it down pat. I’m not even entirely certain posting this is the right thing to do. I would like to share this part of my story as a queer person with you because it makes my chest burn when I think about it. And I feel so thankful for that angry spark in my chest, pushing me to do more. I’ll be praying that you have that same spark, and that we’re all on our toes, ready to seize opportunities to protect, serve, and listen in ways that might not radically change our lives right now, but will mean a whole lot more than we can fathom in the future.
I feel so thankful for that angry spark in my chest, pushing me to do more.
In the words of a queer Christian poet I so admire, Padraig O’Tuama, “Let our protest be our faithfulness.” I’m certain that includes faithfulness to our neighbors.
Originally posted on Instagram.