A few days ago, there was a demonstration outside of my school. It was nothing that big, really; just a few people standing in a circle with signs by the entrance, right outside of the property line. They weren't even chanting. They just stood there in a little circle, while car after car drove past them. The signs they carried bore a couple of different slogans. God Hates You was one, in huge, bold letters. Obama Will Eat Your Babies was another, displayed across a picture of the president covered in blood. They didn't scream at the cars driving past them, didn't rant and rave, didn't make much noise at all. They stood there for around 20 minutes, then left quietly and politely. From what I heard, they might have been smiling.
Hate has many different faces. There are the obvious ones, the ones contorted by fear and loathing, acting as the mouthpieces for the suppressed anger in their hearts or the hearts of others. These are the Neros, the Hitlers, the Ngezes. There are the sly ones, who stand before the world and cover their slurs in euphemisms and religion, describing themselves as concerned citizens or soldiers of God. These are the David Dukes, the Joe McCarthys, the Rush Limbaughs. And then there's everyone else; the silent face of hatred, the average men and women who's paranoia and xenophobia stand out starkly against their otherwise unassuming lives. They push the obvious and sly ones before them like sacrificial offerings draped in silk and rubies. Then, when they are struck down and denounced by the rest of the world, the average ones slip back into their lives as if nothing happened. When the word "Nazi" is said, we immediately think of Hitler; we hardly ever think of the German citizen.
That's what these protesters from Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, are; average people. They aren't particularly vocal in their hatred. They have a website, yes (the pleasantly named godhatesfags.com), and their leader, Fred Phelps, appears from time to time on the news ranting about the gays or the war in Iraq. But for the most part, they just bus from place to place and picket gay rights parades, soldiers funerals, things associated with the country of Sweden, and numerous other events. They don't cause a fuss about it, like some organizations do (the Klan, skinheads, Al Quaeda, ect). They do it as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, as if it were a part of their daily lives, which it is. The members of the Westboro Baptist Church are merely the latest in a long line of concerned American citizens, who had loving relatives, comfortable homes, and a side hobby of rabid intolerance. They are driven by the same peculiar evil that caused white men to lynch black men in the evening and the walk home for supper, that made parents tell their children that they should denounce friends and teachers with "un-American" ideas, that inspires an entire congregation to spend their lives driving around the country to protest the extension of man's ultimate expression of love to everyone, regardless of sexual identification. Its a kind of hatred that's as American as apple pie.
I can't imagine that kind of hatred. I'm a loving guy by nature. I love my family, I love my friends, and I love good people, regardless of religion, race, or sexuality. That's not to say I don't hate people. I do. Its just that hate for me is a temporary emotion, a brief surge of something ugly that just as quickly passes away. I can't extend hatred towards someone for very long; maybe a week on the outside. But these people at Westboro, their lives are built around hatred. They wake up, go to work, eat dinner, play with their kids, read a book, fall asleep, all while virulently hating a huge amount of people. Every day. For their entire lives. I can analyze them and form opinions about them all I want, but I doubt I'll ever be able to really understand them. Honestly, I don't think I'd want to.
J.R.R. Tolkien once asked, "What can men do against such reckless hate?" I wish I could say I knew. I wish I had some idea of how to stamp out intolerance, whether it be education of the youth, or the greater exposure of different cultures, or something else entirely. If anything, it may be choice each one of us has to make, and in the end, no amount of education or acceptance can change it. I just hope we have the strength to make the right choice.
I just hope.
And if I'm right, mama, you'll have to sing to me,
But if I'm wrong then I won't be in your way,
And if I find myself at the mercy of the law,
Won't you free me on my judgement day?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
A Little Unexpected
Something neat happened to me today.
I was in a PetSupermarket with my dad over near the New Hope Commons Shopping Center. We were looking for a collar for my dog; she kept on breaking out of her current one and running amok through the neighborhood, causing as much terror and mayhem as a 12 pound daschund possibly can. We gave up after a couple minutes when we realized that we didn't know our dogs neck size (which, of course, all good pet owners should know), and decided instead to look at some of the animals. They were all in the front of the store, on a large round table divided into sections by thick panes of glass; the parakeets over here, the rabbits next to them, a couple of guinea pigs over to the right.
My dad was taunting some bemused looking ferrets, when I looked through the glass and saw two guys at the counter. One was standing back, looking around at the store and occasionally glancing to the cashier at his left. He wasn't anything special; just a tall black guy in a pair of black shorts and a wine red baseball cap. The second guy was talking to the cashier, who was nodding and occasionally pointing to things in the back. The guy was tall, skinny, and that kind of black that almost looked Hispanic. He had a long face, topped off with a coal black Yankees hat, and some strange pointed earrings jutting out from his ears. He looked extremely familiar, which was odd, because I don't know that many tall, twentysomething black guys. I was staring intently at him, when he glanced over to the pet table. Our eyes locked for a second, and I thought Wow, he looks a lot like Danny Greene.
That was it. He turned back to the cashier and pointed to a row of cages, and my dad made a remark about the chinchillas looking like crosses between rabbits and rats. The ferrets went back to sleep about a minute later, and we walked out of the store.
My dad stopped right outside the door and looked around. I glanced back through the big show window and said, "You know, that guy in there looked a lot like Danny Greene."
My dad chuckled. "That's probably because he is Danny Greene."
At that moment, the door tinkled open, and Danny Greene walked out.
My dad stood there and smiled. "Great job, Danny", he said, then stretched his arm out towards the only UNC player ever to score more than a thousand points in his career. For one bizarre moment, it looked like he was going to punch him. Then Danny Greene smiled a bit, reached out, and gave my dad a fist bump. "Thank you, thank you", he said, and then he walked away, loping off to his car like one of those old flightless birds you see in Discovery Channel specials.
I didn't get a fist bump. I was standing near the trash can the whole time, thinking Holy shit, my dad just got a fist bump from Danny fucking Greene! You could say I was a little star struck.
Driving home a couple minutes later, my dad told me Danny was probably getting something for his pet snake. "Cool", I said, which is really the only thing you can say to such things. I then mentioned that Orlando Bloom had been in Brightleaf Square the other night.
"Really?" asked my dad. "How do you know?"
"A girl from school got her picture taken with him. It's her profile on Facebook."
My dad sighed a little. "Now, thats a shame."
"Why?"
"Well, that poor guy's just finished shooting a movie, and he's tired, and he wants to get something to eat. But when he goes to the restaurant, there's, what, 50 teenage girls asking for a picture." He adjusted the rear view mirror a bit. "He'll never have any more privacy."
The car turned onto the highway, and I wondered how many artists really wanted fame. Then we saw a sedan stuck in a ditch, and we talked about that instead.
We'll make a film about a man who's sad and lonely
And all I gotta do is act naturally.
I was in a PetSupermarket with my dad over near the New Hope Commons Shopping Center. We were looking for a collar for my dog; she kept on breaking out of her current one and running amok through the neighborhood, causing as much terror and mayhem as a 12 pound daschund possibly can. We gave up after a couple minutes when we realized that we didn't know our dogs neck size (which, of course, all good pet owners should know), and decided instead to look at some of the animals. They were all in the front of the store, on a large round table divided into sections by thick panes of glass; the parakeets over here, the rabbits next to them, a couple of guinea pigs over to the right.
My dad was taunting some bemused looking ferrets, when I looked through the glass and saw two guys at the counter. One was standing back, looking around at the store and occasionally glancing to the cashier at his left. He wasn't anything special; just a tall black guy in a pair of black shorts and a wine red baseball cap. The second guy was talking to the cashier, who was nodding and occasionally pointing to things in the back. The guy was tall, skinny, and that kind of black that almost looked Hispanic. He had a long face, topped off with a coal black Yankees hat, and some strange pointed earrings jutting out from his ears. He looked extremely familiar, which was odd, because I don't know that many tall, twentysomething black guys. I was staring intently at him, when he glanced over to the pet table. Our eyes locked for a second, and I thought Wow, he looks a lot like Danny Greene.
That was it. He turned back to the cashier and pointed to a row of cages, and my dad made a remark about the chinchillas looking like crosses between rabbits and rats. The ferrets went back to sleep about a minute later, and we walked out of the store.
My dad stopped right outside the door and looked around. I glanced back through the big show window and said, "You know, that guy in there looked a lot like Danny Greene."
My dad chuckled. "That's probably because he is Danny Greene."
At that moment, the door tinkled open, and Danny Greene walked out.
My dad stood there and smiled. "Great job, Danny", he said, then stretched his arm out towards the only UNC player ever to score more than a thousand points in his career. For one bizarre moment, it looked like he was going to punch him. Then Danny Greene smiled a bit, reached out, and gave my dad a fist bump. "Thank you, thank you", he said, and then he walked away, loping off to his car like one of those old flightless birds you see in Discovery Channel specials.
I didn't get a fist bump. I was standing near the trash can the whole time, thinking Holy shit, my dad just got a fist bump from Danny fucking Greene! You could say I was a little star struck.
Driving home a couple minutes later, my dad told me Danny was probably getting something for his pet snake. "Cool", I said, which is really the only thing you can say to such things. I then mentioned that Orlando Bloom had been in Brightleaf Square the other night.
"Really?" asked my dad. "How do you know?"
"A girl from school got her picture taken with him. It's her profile on Facebook."
My dad sighed a little. "Now, thats a shame."
"Why?"
"Well, that poor guy's just finished shooting a movie, and he's tired, and he wants to get something to eat. But when he goes to the restaurant, there's, what, 50 teenage girls asking for a picture." He adjusted the rear view mirror a bit. "He'll never have any more privacy."
The car turned onto the highway, and I wondered how many artists really wanted fame. Then we saw a sedan stuck in a ditch, and we talked about that instead.
We'll make a film about a man who's sad and lonely
And all I gotta do is act naturally.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
