Speak Up? Or Stay Down?

These past few days have left me wondering about the kind of person I am when it comes to defending myself and my views. I've always felt inadequate in this area, constantly berating myself for not speaking up when it was the appropriate time, out of fear that I was going to make a mountain out of a molehill, only to be left with a nagging feeling in my stomach for my cowardice, or to make up for it with worthless backtalk within the safety of my friend circle. Other little things, like not picking up fast enough on an insult or bigoted remark drive me up a wall for hours, days!

I am not the victim of a highly local cold front as a result of my walking away from a racist comment from my mother. We've gotten into arguments before regarding her unnecessary spewing of racist sentiments (usually about Black Americans, sometimes about Jewish people) and she knows I can't stand her bigotry. My mom was the first person to call me a nigger, and has accused me of being racist for merely talking about race. One would think she had a screw loose, but she feels justified in her comments because she has lived it--lived Black ignorance, lived Jewish stinginess. So really I'm just ignorant in her mind for not facing up to reality. Anyway, I had just made the simple observation that the Obama birth certificate incident was purely racist--and she agreed!--when the conversation switched to the post office, and how she'd never received any forwarded mail from NY. Of course it was the fault of the primarily Black post office, and not the overflooded postal system in general, or her error--it was "those people", who are "lazy" and "don't work". I said, calmly, that "you know I don't like when you say racist things" and she replied "so? I'm saying it! I don't care" in her typical "it's my house and I can do/say what I please" fashion. I'm not contesting that, but the lack of respect for my anti-racist beliefs is so hurtful. And she knows it upsets me, so why not opt to keep the peace? My standing up for myself cost me a decent tension-free morning. Now we're walking around avoiding each other.
Standing up for myself has not always resulted in a negative outcome. This past Tuesday, I was unfortunately caught in a problematic situation with a man who found me attractive. I had called him on a whim, to be nice, and he ended up touching me way too much, attempted to kiss me (when it was CLEAR I didn't want him touching me), and called me sweetie as only a condescending playboy will do (he was also approximately 15 years older than me). He kept offering all these stories about how all the women who wanted him, the orgies he turned down, and the co-workers who became morose when he stopped hugging them on a regular basis. The man's ego was suffocating. On top of that, he had the nerve to offer me a story about how he'd challenged his Women's Studies' professor by turning her lecture on male privilege on it's head--"have you ever thought about the fact that it's the women who raise the men? The mothers who let their sons do what they want?" To add the final cherry, he told me the professor replied, I hadn't thought of that.

OH PLEASE.

At first I'd gotten on my soap box, but realized it was simply pointless. This man was convinced that his farts smelled like roses and I simply wanted to part of it. He asked me if we could be friends, and I managed to tell him no. It was an accomplishment for me, since I often find it hard to cut the last string--even after all that. But when I told him no, we can't be friends, please don't contact me, I felt great about myself. I felt that I finally stuck up for my ideals and not my code of civility. It was brilliant and I felt like I could do it again.

But isn't there a time and place? I mean, it's easier to stick up to a stranger than to your parents or friends. This same week, I also ended up saying nothing to homophobic comments. A guy friend was getting annoyed with his 2 year old son for watching Barney--particularly the I Love You song. When the son asked, "Where's Barney?", dad replied "He's dead. That's what happens to gay dinosaurs." The son burst out crying. When another person in the room asked "what did he die of?", he replied "AIDS". Under general circumstances I may have said something, but I was emotional from having dropped my gf off at the airport and having just had a vicious call from my mother. I wasn't in the mood to bring my environment down to my emotional level. But the other thing was, I knew I would have no support whatsoever. The other people in the room would stay silent, perhaps roll their eyes in that "There goes Mitsy" way, and I would be left looking like the gay crusader in a hopeless case. What kills me is that dude and I have a pretty good once-in-a-while friendship. He knows that I'm Queer. So what gives? Why spew this hatred around your son? Why get mad if he wears any non-manly color (ie yellow, baby blue, pink, obvi)? Why get mad if he sings I Love You? (He can also sing Empire State by Jay-Z, sooo...) But importantly, when should I step in? When should I just let it go? When should I just laugh? When should I protest?

What type of person do I want to be? The kind who always defends her ideology, or picks and chooses her battles?

To be continued....


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