I've lived in the same small town in lower Alabama, about as south as you can venture before hitting the Gulf of Mexico. In an area often viewed as the heart of the civil rights movement, the loudest majority is that of white, Christian, socially and fiscally conservative Republicans.
My journey as I've shaped my own social and political beliefs has not been an easy or natural transition, especially as a liberal Christian in an environment that projects the two identities as mutually exclusive. Over the past few years, I've evolved into a self-awareness of my privileges as an able-bodied, straight, middle-class white person. It doesn't mean that I am ashamed of who I am, but that I acknowledge the history of systemic oppression and my role in changing the future. Sometimes (a lot of times) that role means seeking out the best way to contribute to a conversation that is not all about me.
I'm not here to talk about my thoughts and prayers for the victims and families affected by the shooting at the Pulse Club in Orlando, Florida. I'm not here to contribute my condolences or Facebook statuses that will soon fade with the next headline. American needs my awareness, my voice and my action. Sympathy cannot undo a hate crime or prevent another one from happening. It's not enough.
I'm here to openly confess that I haven't said enough. While I completely support the LGBT community in theory, I haven't always felt that way and I only talk about my stance with those who agree with me (hard to find in this town). Up to this point, my alliance has been driven by my convenience, not by passion or necessity. But my drive for social justice cannot afford to be convenient. How can I call myself an intersectional feminist if I can't even stand up for my LGBT brothers and sisters to a homophobic classmate or church member? On June 12, fifty people died. But across the nation, people are still dying. Everyday, youth face rejection by their families and their religions, depression, homelessness, just because of their identity. Everyday, adults face legalized job discrimination, the politicization of the details of their lives (right down to which bathroom and which businesses they use) and violence, just because of their identity. People are dying: literally, but also spiritually, and I'm only just now vocalizing it.
My county's commission refused to lower American flags to half-staff at county buildings in honor of the victims of the Pulse shooting, despite orders from both President Obama and Alabama Governor Robert Bentley. (If the worst mass shooting in history is not a threat to national security, I'm not sure what is.) I've seen posts on social media with well wishes to the families and "rest in peace" to the victims by the very same people who preach that the people that share their "lifestyle" will burn in hell.
I refuse to align myself with this bigotry under the guise of sympathy. I refuse to tap into the idea that alliance can be compartmentalized. America is still a battle ground for civil rights and the Deep South is no exception. Now is not the time to back down because to remain silent is to enable hatred. Now is the time to speak up, even when it isn't convenient for me.
