Nomination are currently open for the 2009 Canadian Blog Awards and will close on Saturday, November 21st.
As you may know, the Queer Canada Blogs blogroll is choc full of excellent blogs written by talented bloggers… Now is you chance to show a blogger how much you appreciate their hard work, by entering their name into the running for an award!
Suggested categories include:
- GLBT (Obviously! Though I’m not sure where this puts those of us who identify as queer…)
- Overall
- Blog Post
- Blog Post Series
- Personal
- Family
- Photo/Art
- Humour
- Political
…And these are just the ones for which I’m nominating my favourite blogs!
Check out the full categories listing and fill out the nomination form at the CBA website.
We’re here, we’re queer, we’re taking over teh internets…
(want more on casual homophobia at trade school? see part 1 and part 2)
so yeah, last week i reached a breaking point with school, which unhappily coincided with having two puppies demanding attention and 4 am pee-trips to the great outdoors.
not enough sleep + 10 weeks of constant homophobic submersion = one fucking mad fg
the coursework itself is still great: i’m not racing ahead anymore but still keeping pace, and mostly enjoying the assignments. on a personal level, i also enjoy most of my classmates: i crack jokes, they laugh, i am redeemed for years of social exclusion in elementary school, we all win.
HOWEVER. every single fucking day, these classmates have declared things they hate to be “gay”, and insulted one another with “fag” or “homo” or even “fudgepacker”. WTF, PEOPLE???
i was going to write here all about my amazing success with calling classmates on their bullshit, but i couldn’t keep up. after the initial good interactions (of which i am happy to report there were several), i started getting a helluva lot of the following responses:
“i didn’t know you were gay.”
“it’s just that i always hear that sort of talk around me.”
“some of my best friends are gay and they don’t mind when i say that.”
“i didn’t know you’d hear me.”
double-yew tee eff. yeah, i realize that you’re uncomfortable cuz i’ve just pointed out that you’re behaving like a bigot, but please don’t try to foist responsibility for that bullshit onto somebody else.
like i said, i couldn’t keep up, and it was very very very wearing. especially since no one else ever says anything: they will chat with me during breaks, they will ask for my help on assignments, they will share jokes with me, but not a single one will tell another student to lay off the anti-gay comments.
so last thursday i talked to one of the supervisors, and basically had a mini-meltdown in her office. her focus was on making sure that i’d be able to succeed in the program, and so she offered to arrange a study space for me in the library: thanks, but no thanks. i *like* being in the classroom, i just don’t like being subjected to hate speech. besides, i told her, that wouldn’t change anything: these people need to know that queers are EVERYWHERE (whether you recognize us or not!) and they be told that it is unacceptable to talk the way they do, and they need to hear it from someone with authority.
on friday i was absent, because i was en route to the mainland, to rock out at the photovoltaics course.
the supervisor said that she’d talk to the whole program at morning roll-call that day, and make it clear that using homophobic language is grounds for dismissal.
not sure how it went, but today was a good day at school: people didn’t treat me any different, and i also didn’t hear any of the usual ear-pollution. if this keeps up, if these people learn that homophobia is unacceptable AND that queers are everyday classmates/coworkers/neighbours/etc. WHO WILL NOT SIMPLY SHUT UP AND DISAPPEAR, well then… i think we might just stand a fighting chance.
_classmate a, to classmate b_
what a FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAG!
_me, looking up from my desk a few feet away_
that’s completely inappropriate.
_classmate a_
oh! right! hey, i’m sorry… uh… sorry… i shouldn’t have said that… i never will again, okay?
_me_
yeah, cuz it’s completely inappropriate.
_classmate a, shrugging_
i’m sorry… it’s just that i was raised with that sort of talk all around me, and i just can’t help it, you know? but i AM sorry.
_me, in my head_
i don’t care if you were raised by card-carrying members of the n@zi party or the ku k1ux kl@n:in this classroom, you have no right to disrespect ANYBODY like that, GET IT? IT’S STILL COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE!!!
_me, out loud, as i put on headphones and immerse self in textbook_
yeah. well. huh.
***
they say you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, which is why i usually work hard on addressing oppressive language with proactive techniques (“wow! you just said something REALLY offensive! let’s talk about it!”).
as i’ve documented before, sometimes i’m too tired and instead just disengage and avoid my classmates so that i never have to hear their homophobic (racist, sexist, transphobic, etc etc etc) bullshit.
sometimes, though, there’s this funny alternative, in which my head is overflowing with the things i WANT to say and yet i can’t, because it seems like if i have the energy to throw THAT down, i oughta at least TRY to engage in a proactive fashion so that this dude doesn’t just walk away thinking i’m a rabid homo with an axe to grind. i get stuck between the honey and the vinegar, both of which can be pretty fucking sticky.
buddy is 19 years old, the same age as my younger sister. we “bonded” on the first day when it was revealed that we share our first name, and since then have become frequent activity partners for the practical components of our course. he’s got some pretty messed-up ideas about the world, but then again, i did too when i was his age. hell, when it comes to some things, i still do.
i spent the better part of thursday morning with buddy, playing with scaffolding in the compound behind the electrical shop area. first we climbed to the top of the 10′ high tower, then disassembled it piece by piece. after it was all in pieces on the ground, buddy and i realized that among the supplies we’d been given from the tool crib was a full-body harness with clip-on sling. apparently, only one of us was supposed to be on the tower at a time, and we were supposed to be tied-in. huh. go figure.
a classmate walked past us in the compound, and had a brief conversation with buddy and i about how challenging the scaffolding assignment was. right as he opened the door to enter the building, he summed up his opinion about the whole thing by saying:
“yeah, you just gotta get it done, but it’s TOTALLY GAY!”
quick as can be, i put on the biggest grin i could, and exclaimed:
“hey! I’M TOTALLY GAY TOO!”
classmate paused and looked at me. “oh… uh… sorry…” he mumbled. then he closed the door behind him, and i laughed.
so this is how it’s been. i’m pretty certain most of the people in my program know i’m queer by now, but unfortunately it’s not cuz i’ve been able to casually bring up my partner or whatever (the canning? the bike fixing? what exactly defines my homo lifestyle???). instead, a couple classmates have been thoughtless enough to let loose homophobic language in my presence, and i’ve found the energy to address it.
the amazing this is, it’s going really well.
for the first time in my life, i’m calling people out on their stuff, and it’s working: they say something oppressive, i tell them how that affects me, they apologize, we move on. we don’t become best buds, but that’s not what i’m looking for here… the point it, any tension and defensiveness gets diffused, and i think they get it.
i’m crediting oldandmoldy for my new-found success in this area, because i’ve been following his recommendations from the last time i was struggling with direct oppressive bullshit in my life.
- own your judgments (even if you know your opinions are the truth, recognize that other people won’t see them that way, because they have their own truths; yours are based in your reality, and you need to take responsibility for this)
- ask questions (find out why people are saying/doing things, find out what their reasoning is, create a situation in which questioning accepted norms becomes a viable basis for conversation)
- speak from the heart (don’t rely on theory or logic to explain your point of view; focus on your feelings instead, and make it personal… for example, try approaching a homophobic remark with “as a queer, this makes me feel unsafe, because…”)
i’ve got more to say on this topic, because the story with the classmate (mentioned above) doesn’t end there: we later had a good conversation, and it’s happened in other ways with other students. also, buddy himself has been a riot, though he’s also been a good supporter… i’m pretty certain he’s never before had a queer person as a peer.
right now though, i’ve got killer cramps, so i’m going to drink raspberry leaf tea and moan on the couch for the next few hours.
…i really love rusty things.
(photos from tonight’s evening walk around town)
on a completely different topic, i’ve suddenly got a borrowed car arranged so that oats and i can go to the pride celebrations in our friends’ small town this weekend! it’s about a 3 hour drive away, and i’d thought we’d miss it, but things are working out. i’m stoked: having spent most of my life in toronto, and then in this city, i’m pretty used to pride festivals that are either huge and crazy or very full of ex-lovers, former roommates, and past collaborators from activist projects. the few times i’ve been to vancouver pride i’ve been weirded out by my anonymity, even though i know that most of those throngs are strangers to one another as well. this’ll be different though: i won’t know anyone except oats and friends, but the crowd will be smaller and more familiar to one another. will they welcome strangers? will they even notice that i am one? will there even be a crowd? do i have too many urban-centric ideas about what small towns are like?
should be an educational experience, even if it simply gets me to shut up and listen more.
also, there’s been talk of tubing down a river, which would be excellent because it’s stupidly hot.
i feel like i’m planning a party, a surprise party, only the surprise isn’t for any one particular guest: it’s for all of us.
the intrepid mae callen has invited me to get involved with her queer canada blogs project, and i’m thrilled. at the moment, i’m working on expanding our geographic diversity by searching out blogs from every province and territory. this means skimming hundreds of blogs, which sets my mind reeling with a million and one questions about sexuality, identity, and place.
what about those LGBTIQ2 folks who don’t personally identify as queer, even though that’s the label i would use to describe them?
similarly, what about the canadians who no longer live in canada, or the bloggers who are only in canada for a brief job contract?
and by using “canada” as a boundary, are we not upholding a colonialist construct that flies directly in the face of my commitment to anti-oppressive practice?
besides which, how do we diversify the age range of our blogrollers and address issues of accessibility?
etc etc etc!!!
as opposed to being frustrated by all this problematizing of what at first glance appears to be a simple project, i am excited. i’m feeling the possibilities here, seeing the opportunities for dialogue, and looking forward to the conversations and debates that are going to come from this.
i must say it again: i am excited. the blogroll has now reached 111 blogs, and i am giddy at what i see on the feeds: we’re here, we’re queer, we’re blogging, and we’re COMPLEX AS HELL.
as a queer, i find that too often i am called upon to counter misinformation and plain ignorance about sexual and gender diversity. it’s an old story, perhaps more common when looking at issues of race: the oppressor calls upon the oppressed to educate them about their oppression, instead of taking the time to educate themselves about how they benefit from structures of power (here’s a bit of audre lorde to help you along with the idea). as part of this phenomenon, people seem to think i can speak for all queers… which of course i can’t, cuz i don’t even know very many: i only truly know myself, and my experiences. i can’t speak for the rest.
more importantly, it’s not my job, and i don’t want to do it.
however! i’d be pleased to recommend that any and all inquiring minds check out a single webpage, where they can get the latest in personal insight from many many MANY real-life queers… who may very well be living next door.
having a party.
***
got a recommendation for the queer canadian blogroll? send it to queerblogs at gmail.com!
i just returned from the library with a massive bag of books! hurrah!
homophobic software “bugs” aside, i really do love this electronic age because of how much it simplifies my access to that great analog joy: a paperback novel.
after the incident a couple days ago, i sat down at my computer and did some research. with the glbtq encyclodia’s excellent page on queer literature in australia and new zealand as a starting point, i then explored the offerings at our books (where they even have a facilitated borrowing system! that’s so great!), and finally, went through the listings from spinifex press. every time i came across an author who’d written a novel about australian queer women, i looked her up in wikipedia, and then public library catalogue itself. after an hour, i’d ordered copies of over a dozen books, most of which were available and so immediately sent to the local library branch.
picking them up this afternoon, i felt very triumphant… but this was quickly tempered by a lingering frustration, because i feel like it should be so much easier than this.
i realize that if this were 20 years ago, i’d be damn lucky to even have found these novels in the first place: yes, that’s true, and i’m grateful to those whose activism has preceding mine. but this isn’t 20 years ago, and i’m an uppity queer brat who has taken her liberal environment for granted, and i’m not prepared to settle for a small pile of books that were difficult to track down.
the local library has informational bookmarks recommending novels for fans of joanna trollope (ugh); how hard would it be to do the same for queer fiction?
rant rant rant.
on to the books! here are the contents of my haul:
- cold fever by lyn denison (1998)
- dreams found by lyn denison (2004)
- always and forever by lyn denison (2006)
- working hot by kathleen mary fallon (1989)
- figments of a murder by gillian hanscombe (1995)
- car maintenance, explosives and love ed. by susan hawthorne, cathie dunsford, and susan sayer (1997)
- all that false instruction by kerryn higgs (1975)
- love upon the chopping board by marou izumo and claire maree (2000)
- darkness more visible by finola moorhead (2000)
i cheated a little, because these are by a new zealander:
- the journey home/te haerenga kainga by cathie dunsford (1997)
- manawa toa/heart warrior by cathie dunsford (2000)
- song of the selkies by cathie dunsford (2001)
- ao toa/earth warriors by cathie dunsford (2004)
i also picked up the conversations of cow (1985) by suniti namjoshi because a) it sounds good, b) she used to teach at the university of toronto, and c) she’s published by spinifex and is partners with australian author gillian hanscombe (from the list above), therefore is associated with australia.
plus, one non-fiction to bump up the nerd factor: cyberfeminism: connectivity, critique and creativity (1999) by susan hawthorne and renate klein. i may be away from the internet for the better part of the next two weeks, but i’ll be reading about it.
in case you’d like to continue getting righteously angry regarding the accessibility of queer books through public institutions (or lack thereof), check out this link that julia posted in the comments of my last entry:
in other news, oats arrives tomorrow morning for a 3 week visit and i’m so excited i can barely talk. eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Filed under: Activist, Critic, Feminist, Queer, Reader, Sailor, Scifi Fan, Writer
i like to read. not a shock, i know.
i like to read books from a variety of genres and on variety of topics. in fact, i’ll read just about anything available. when given options, i’m especially fond of science fiction, travelogues by women, non-fiction historical narratives, and how-to manuals.
lately, i’ve been reading about australian history, australian women in antarctica, aboriginal australian experiences, and bike trips in australia, with a harry potter novel thrown in to lighten everything up a bit. with a holiday coming up next week, when i’ll have 12 days away from my computer, i decided that i wanted some good fiction to enjoy at the beach.
so, off to the library.
i went to the fiction section, and was quickly overwhelmed, because it was all ordered by author and i wasn’t in the mood for the long browse that may have been necessary for me to find something appealing.
well, i thought to myself, what do i want to read? i want a novel, i decided, about australian queer women. i would like to have a better idea about the lives of dykes in this country, and anyway, if there’s romance in a novel, it’s easier for me to enjoy it when i don’t have to change too many pronouns in order to identify with a protagonist.
i went to the public computer terminal and entered “lesbian fiction” into the catalogue search field. a new page appeared, with a large black square in the middle: under the image of an exclamation point, it read “oops! you’re not allowed to look at that!”
wtf?
i went back, and tried just “lesbian”.
same result.
maybe it’s under “gay”, i thought… but all that garnered was a ton of results such as under “gay men – health” and “gay men – relationships”, etc etc etc.
i tried “lesbian” again.
this time, the warning message read “if you keep this up, there will be consequences”
consequences?
if by “this”, they meant being queer, then yes, there seems to be a “consequence”: i have to deal with homophobic bullshit from software at the public library.
for a moment, i was at a loss for what to do. on one hand, i wanted to just say FUCK IT, and leave, because i shouldn’t have to out myself in order to find a good book.
but on the other hand, what about the folks coming in to the library who are questioning their sexual identity, or supporting someone who is? they’ll be even less likely to seek out a librarian’s help… i know, because i spent most of my coming out days in the library.
i took a deep breath, calmed my righteous anger and fear, and found a librarian to join me at the computer. as politely as possible, i told her what i wanted and what searches i’d tried. she told me that it was “a bug in the system” for the public catalogue terminals, and tried the same searches, with the same results.
i gave an awkward little laugh and said, “a bug? hmmm… yeah, all i could think was that that’s kinda offensive!”
she tried on her own computer, where there are no blocks (or “bugs”), and said that all she could find were some short stories. i thanked her, and went to get them: it was a collection of contemporary lesbian love stories, all by american and canadian authors.
le sigh.
i returned to the public terminal and searched the catalogue for something by emma donoghue. her novel hood is just about my favourite book, but i’ve missed the rest of her work. happily, i found one of her books. also, a sarah waters novel: i’ve never read anything of hers, but it’s been recommended. in the catalogue, i saw that they also had laurie j. marks’ elemental logic trilogy, which i’m tempted to re-read.
after examining the catalogue some more, i realized that there were no subject tags on any of the fiction listings. this made me feel a bit better, if only because queer novels aren’t the only ones lost in the multitude of themes. however, it also annoyed me, because it is inefficient. what if i was on a real nautical kick, and wanted some sea-going adventures to compliment my love of c.s. forester’s hornblower? how would i find out about patrick o’brian?
that’s a misleading analogy, of course. there is a very big difference between wanting a book about sailors and a book about queers. last time i checked, sailors aren’t being mocked, abused, legally oppressed, or murdered for being who they are.
i believe that fiction plays a vital role for queers learning to accept ourselves. when i was coming to terms with my sexuality, a self-help book on “how to come out” (or whatever) was the last book i’d have taken from the library: it was too forthright and intimidating. but jane rule’s after the fire? that was easy, because the story wasn’t “real”: joining the protagonist on her journey allowed me to explore the concept of my queerness without forcing it into fact before i was ready. through fiction, i could delve into the lives of queer women and become familiar with them at a distance that still felt intimate.
we need queer fiction to counteract the stress of homophobia, which is linked to the over-representation of queers in treatment for depression. for the health of the community, queer fiction needs to be easy to access, and public libraries need to assist with this task. an easy solution is the application of subject headings to all fiction, which increases its relevance to all library users: the sailors as well as the queers.
back to the “bug”. if the public library software won’t allow access to resources associated with a sector of society which is currently struggling for equality in the face of severe oppression, THAT’S MORE THAN A BUG. even if the blockage of results from a search of the word “lesbian” is a coincidence, the results are offensive at best. at worst, they are damaging, because they discourage people from finding help they may desperately need. hell, i’m out and proud, and even i got shaky knees at the prospect of having to ask a librarian for queer books!
my roommate said that a “bug” such as this warrants a sign next to each public computer terminal, which 1) explains that certain valid search words may incorrectly garner a warning, 2) states that the error will be fixed within a given time frame, and 3) directs clients to seek the assistance of a librarian should the error arise.
damn right!
i’m going to go write a looooooooong letter to the head librarian right now.
then, i’m going to use the internet to find some novels about australian queer women.
The Charles Town Library Society kept its books and maps in a room on Union Street. The keeper of the books sat at a desk at the entrance. He glanced at me quickly and turned away, as if from something distasteful.
“Ah yes, Mr. Lindo,” he said. “I’m afraid we don’t allow Negroes here.”
“Mr. Jackson, don’t you have a brother in the indigo trade?”
The library man carefully closed a book on his desk. “I’m sure nobody will object this one time, Mr. Lindo.”
“Good. We need some books by Voltaire, and your most recent maps of the world.”
The keeper led us to a table at the far end of the room, brought us two of Voltaire’s books and some rolled maps, and left us alone.
“Keep that fan going,” Lindo said.
“He’s not watching.”
“Use it anyway,” he said, “it’s hot in here.”
While I fanned him, Solomon Lindo untied a string around a large scroll.
“I have never seen so many books,” I said, looking around and wishing that women and Negroes were allowed in the library.
“They have a thousand books,” Mr. Lindo muttered, “and I paid for half of them.”
“Where are we?” I asked, pointing at the map.
“This is British North America,” he said, indicating a mass of land.
On the edge of the land, right up against a huge swath of blue named the Atlantic Ocean, Lindo put his finger by a dot, beside which was the name Charles Town.
“And here,” he said, “is Africa.” Across the blue sea, I saw a strangely shaped mass, wider at the top, curving in the middle and narrowing at the bottom.
“How do you know?”
“You can make out the letters if you look carefully. See here? A-F-R-I-C-A.“
“That is my land? Who says it has that strange shape?”
“The cartographers who make the maps. The traders who sail the worlds. The British and the French and the Dutch and the others who go to Africa, sailing up and down the coast, mapping the shape of the continent.”
On the map I paused over some squiggles in the form of baseless triangles. Lindo said they were meant to indicate mountains. I saw a lion and an elephant sketched in the middle of the land called Africa. I saw that it was mostly surrounded by seas. But the map told me nothing of where I came from. Nothing of Bayo, Segu, or the Joliba. Not a single thing that I recognized from my homeland.
“Here on this side of the water, in British North America,” I said, pointing, “it says Charles Town. I can see where we are. But there are no towns written on Africa. Only these places along the water. Cape Verde. Cape Mesurado. Cape Palmas. How are we to know where the villages are?”
“The villages are unknown,” Lindo said.
“I have walked through them. There are people everywhere.”
“They are unknown to the people who made this map. Look here in the corner. It says 1690. This is a copy of a map first made seventy-three years ago. They knew even less back then.”
I felt cheated. Now that I could read so well, I had been excited by the prospect of finding my own village on a map. But there were no villages – not mine or anybody else’s.
“Is there nothing more?” I asked.
Solomon Lindo looked at his watch, and said we had time for one more map.
Mapp of Africa, the second one said, Corrected with the latest and the best observations. I checked the date. 1729. Perhaps it would be better than the first. The map showed land in the shape of a mushroom with the stem shoved to the right. Near the top, I saw the words Desert of Barbary or Zaara, and below that, Negroland, and below that, along the winding, curving coasts, sections named Slave Coast, Gold Coast, Ivory Coast, and Grain Coast. There were tiny words scribbled where the land met the water, but inland was mostly sketchings of elephants, lions, and bare-breasted women. In one corner of the map, I saw a sketch of an African child lying beside a lion under a tree. I had never seen such a ridiculous thing. No child would be foolish enough to sleep with a lion. In another corner of the map, I studied a sketch of a man with a long-tailed animal sitting on his shoulder.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a monkey,” Lindo said.
This “Mapp of Africa” was not my homeland. It was a white man’s fantasy.
“There is some lack of detail,” Lindo said, “but now you see the shape of Africa.”
I said I had seen enough. After all the books I had read, and all that I had learned about the ways of white people in South Carolina, I now felt, more than ever before, that these people didn’t know me at all. They knew how to bring ships to my land. They knew how to take me from it. But they had no idea at all what my land looked like or who lived there or how we lived.
the book of negroes
lawrence hill
the subtitle to this post is “why the book of negroes should win canada reads“. in the annual competition for top honours in canadian literature, avi lewis (forever loved by those of us in the co-op movement for his film the take, made with naomi klein) is proposing that every canadian needs to read lawrence hill’s the book of negroes because it effectively tells a gripping story that runs contrary to the smugness of how canada countered slavery in the united states as the destination of the underground railroad.
i’m proposing that everyone needs to read this book simply because it demonstrates the way that geography functions as a tool of colonization, power, and oppression.
up the geographers!
>>> vote for your favourite and join the discussion over at the cbc website…
the amazing oldandmoldy called me this evening, to invite me to his “gratitude potluck” this sunday. yeah, it sounds hippy, but this is the west coast… what do you expect? of course we have dinner parties centered around appreciating all the excellent things in our lives!
i’m stoked, because it reminds me of the old anarchist seders that used to happen every passover in our local activist community… we all were instructed to bring food, a bottle of wine, and something that represents freedom to us. good times, especially for goyish kids like me who don’t generally celebrate passover, anarchist or otherwise, but have often had lots of friends who do. it was a chance to share the magic, and i always left feeling like i was home.
aside from the dinner invite, oldandmoldy and i talked about other stuff, including my thoughts about calling people out on words and actions that are sexist, racist, ableist, and/or homophobic.
as a way of contextualizing this conversation, i have to tell you: oldandmoldy and i disagree almost constantly. at the same time, we love each other: not despite our disagreements, but because of them. he is one of very few people i’ve ever known who understand and appreciate the incredible value of discussing everything. he exhausts me, but in a good way, because i know that he respects and cares for me even when i’m telling him that he’s wrong. i’m pretty sure he knows that i feel the same for him. we enjoy the challenge that we bring to one another.
oldandmoldy has done a lot of work with non-violent communication and men’s groups, so has a few thoughts about conflict. we seem to agree that a successful confrontation of sexist, racist, ableist, and/or homophobic words and actions is one in which the discussion moves forward into sharing of feelings, ideas, and connections… or something like that. at the very least, it’s a discussion in which participants feel like they’ve learned something new and maybe gained a different perspective, or at least acknowledged that different perspectives exist.
actually, “confrontation” is the wrong word: i think what we want to see is more like a… negotiation.
oldandmoldy’s advice on how to have a successful negotiation of sexist, racist, ableist, and/or homophobic words and actions is as follows:
- own your judgments (even if you know your opinions are the truth, recognize that other people won’t see them that way, because they have their own truths; yours are based in your reality, and you need to take responsibility for this)
- ask questions (find out why people are saying/doing things, find out what their reasoning is, create a situation in which questioning accepted norms becomes a viable basis for conversation)
- speak from the heart (don’t rely on theory or logic to explain your point of view; focus on your feelings instead, and make it personal… for example, try approaching a homophobic remark with “as a queer, this makes me feel unsafe, because…”)
i think these are excellent ideas, and i’m looking forward to trying them out next time i’m engaging in this sort of discussion. obviously, they won’t all work all of the time, but hey: nothing does! it was good to talk with oldandmoldy about this, especially because i know how particularly guilty i am of going against that third item… dammit, i love logic.
for another great strategy for approaching these issues, check out Carmen Van Kerckhove’s “How to Respond to a Racist Joke”. (i’d link to the original article at new demographic, but it doesn’t seem to be working at the moment…).
anyone else got suggestions, throw them in the comments.
