Principled Retreat

How much room should we give people who hold and express principles that violate our own?  

This sounds like an easy question, but like most things worth discussing,it can be more abstract.  What do we mean by “room”? Which people, exactly? How dramatic are the differences in principle? Do we have any hope in being a positive influence on one another? 

What about the co-worker who holds political opinions you don’t care for? No biggie.  Give a wide berth, don’t talk about that stuff at work, smile and nod.  Easy peasy. 

But what about the dear friend whose position wasn’t known to you while you were building what felt like a promising relationship, and then out of their mouth comes an intolerance that is at first stunning and then quickly evolves into a true conundrum?  Where’s the deal-killer line?  What are you willing to put up with?  When does your presence become a silent approval?  It’s hard to have a dear friend that you have to treat like an office co-worker with certain topics off-limits.  That seems to inherently limit the friendship. 

Everyone has to determine the line for themselves, but I believe some important considerations can be helpful guides. 

The first consideration is around harm and safety.  Obviously, if it feels unsafe, hightail it on outta there.  

The second consideration concerns the capacity for dialogue.  Are you able to have worthwhile and meaningful dialogue around this subject with your friend?  If not, well, how delicately do you want to have to dance every time you see them? 

The third consideration is your own energy.  You have the right to protect it, and if the friendship is becoming energetically exhausting for you because of this conflict, then you might need to step back.  

There is a fourth consideration I want to add that is especially important to me — if any of these would apply to a person not present, consider how important your advocacy role is to you.  For me, the line has always been clear.  If someone maintains a position steeped in bigotry, misogyny, homophobia, xenophobia, or racism, I don’t share space with them. Period. 

James Baldwin once said, “We can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist.”  I would add that we can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in anyone’s oppression, the denial of anyone’s humanity, or the denial of anyone’s right to exist. 

My approach may not work for everybody, and it’s probably a good thing it doesn’t.  We need people who stay in the fray and have the argument.  We need people who ease folks around to a new idea without being so absolute.  I appreciate those folks.  I need them because I can’t be them.  

But I’m an Aries.  We’re weird that way. 

Anyway

You had the perfect response
almost. I believed I’d be
safe with you, and I know you
believed I was. But almost
perfect can turn un-
certain in an instant, in
a word.

You listened to my story
with gentle eyes, eyes care-
fully set, and a mouth firmly
neither a smile nor a frown. You
wanted to be seen as taking
me seriously. I held your
attention with a panoramic
memoir of my life in love.
I offered my journey as
evidence in the trial of my
authentication. I explained
and explained and explained my-
self.

And you gave an almost perfect
response. It should have been
three words, but you added
a fourth, and that one word,
that fourth word turned a corner
you didn’t intend, I am sure, but
still, it careened right into
qualified acceptance, head-
long into good will with
a short half-life.

I love you
anyway.

I hear
Even though you’re wrong,
I love you
Even though you’re strange,
I love you
Even though you’re less than,
I love you
Even though you’re abnormal,
I love you.
Even though you’re weird,
I love you.
Even though you’re gay,
I love you.

To which I say,
(sigh)
I love you for trying
anyway.

Fresh Air

I feel a little sorry for people who never had
to come out,
who never needed to hold
a central fact of their very being as
a blood-oath between their future
and their past,
who never got to
learn the myriad twitchy codes that
taught one to discern who among them
was safe.

Those who never had the chance
to navigate the waters where family
got smaller,
and thus,
never entered the land with just one
law — you get to build your own.

Even as I write this, I hear
the plaintive wails of straight women,
“Oh, I know the codes, sugar” and cishet
men, “I got kicked out of the house at
18; all I know is a chosen family.”

And so I ask to them and you alike:
Have you come out?
Thrown off the mantle of the mask and
announced your authenticity to some you
fear you’ll lose?
Have you
put everything on the line in exchange for
answering the plea of your heart to live
honestly? To show up
openly? To be free?

I hope so that for you,
whoever you are stumbling
on these lines.

I hope so, that, for you.

For I feel sorry for the people
who never get to come out.

Nickie’s Reverie

“His hair is mmpl.”

“His hair is what?”

“His hair is mmpl.”

I will never know
what word describes his
hair, and so I change
my tack. “Whose hair?”

“Edwin.”

“Edwin? Who’s Edwin?”

“My teacher.”

You take no classes. You
have no teachers. I know
you are talking in your
sleep about someone you
won’t remember when I
ask you later.

I love that I know,
whoever Edwin is, he is
not a lover or a secret
or a problem.

I love knowing where
you lay your head each
night and where I
lay mine.

I love knowing that you
trust me so deeply even
your subconscious
tells me all.