The Immorality of a Donald Trump Vote: When Voting "On The Issues" Must Not Be Enough

I just read an article posted by a family member whose basic thesis was that, because both major party presidential candidates are irreparably morally flawed, the only choice a principled Christian (politically) conservative voter can make is to hold their nose and vote for Trump, because he is the only major party candidate with a slight chance of enacting the type of policies important to such a voter.

Often times in American presidential cycles, the two candidates who rise to the top of the major party primaries are viewed in this same "lesser of two evils" light (though arguably this year is exponentially more stark).  And normally, I'd agree with the general thesis of this article.  You disagree on a fundamental level with personal attributes and histories of the candidate, so you choose to focus on their expressed policy statements.  It makes a lot of sense.  The policies are what is supposed to be important anyways, so just forget all the political noise and personal chaff and vote based upon record and policy-focused statements.

In any other election cycle, I would have zero qualm with that thesis.  I've done it myself in the past.  You almost never get a perfect candidate.  So you can either focus on the personality and personal history stuff, or you can focus on the professed policy platforms of the candidate and ignore the rest of the noise.  Many would argue that the latter is the better way to go as an informed, educated voter.  And normally, I wouldn't say anything to the contrary.

But there is something fundamentally different about this year, about this choice.

There is a very false equivalency being raised in both the article that spurred this post and in much of the media narrative around this race.

Donald Trump is an incredibly flawed candidate and so is Hillary Clinton.  You could even make a list of the personal flaws of these candidates and these lists may be in the same ballpark in length.  So why not just chalk up the whole thing as a draw and focus elsewhere, right?

But there are two major flaws that Donald Trump has that Hillary does not.  And these two major flaws cannot be compared in any logical way with any of the many perceived flaws of Hillary Clinton.

First, Donald Trump is not just clueless but dangerously, willfully ignorant on policy.

Take for instance, Trump on nuclear weapons policy.  During the NBC Presidential Forum hosted by Matt Lauer on NBC last month, Donald Trump had no clue what the "nuclear triad" (air, land, and sea nuclear weapons) was.  Now, neither did I, but I'm not running to be the person with exclusive control over America's nuclear weapons.  Donald Trump is.  And, okay, the dude might have just been caught off guard and hadn't been paying that much attention to the basic of America's nuclear weapon system.  That happens.  And if Trump's cluelessness on nuclear weapons policy was only evidenced by this forum, I would just chalk it up to a momentary lapse.  But at the first Presidential Debate, the basics of America's nuclear weapons policy came up again.  This time, Trump was asked if he would continue to support the American "first use" policy (meaning America is willing to use a nuclear weapon offensively, as we've done in the past).  In response, Trump initially said he would not use a nuclear weapon first, and then literally within the same sentence said that he would never take anything off the table.  That one sentence is fundamentally contradictory, telling me that Trump still has zero idea what the very basics of America's nuclear weapons system entails.  And Donald Trump has not shown himself to be the type of person who actually cares to do the homework and figure out those basics.

I was recently listening to the Vox podcst, "The Weeds," and they were talking about Trump's apparent unwillingness to even try to be prepared.  They were talking about how, throughout history, there have been plenty of presidential candidates who didn't come into the race with a complete understanding of the basic functions of all the different policy areas on which they may be asked to address as either a presidential candidate or, potentially, as President.  But, historically, candidates who have done well, who have gone on to be major party nominees and then Presidents have always shown a willingness to do the homework, to become educated about a subject that comes up.

Take, for instance, President Obama and the Deepwater Horizon oil spill.  When he took office, Barack Obama didn't know much of anything about deep water drilling or capping a leaking oil rig.  But when the 2010 oil rig explosion and subsequent spill happened off the coast of Louisiana, Obama gathered people together who were knowledgeable and figured out the basics of the issue.  He then was capable of making a policy decision about what to do.  But before Obama could make any decisions about what to do in the aftermath of an issue for which he had no preparation, he had to do the work and understand the basics of that issue.  You or I may not fully agree with what he chose to do in the aftermath of that spill.  But we can know with certainty that he was making an informed decision.  How can we know this?  Because when then-Senator Obama showed his lack of knowledge on issues during the 2008 primary, when the same issues were brought up later, he had a much more well informed answer.  To me, one of Trump's unforgivable flaws is that he either refuses to or does not know how to become better informed on issues fundamental to the role of President of the United States.

We don't know what issues will face America from 2017-2020.  We can pretty much guarantee that there will be some completely non-partisan crisis that will arise (e.g. terrorist attack or natural disaster) that will require the President to make some decisions and show leadership.  In these instances, partisan policies don't matter very much, if at all.  What matters is that the President is capable of educating his/herself on the basics of the issue presented before moving forward.  Donald Trump has shown himself over and over again to be the type of person who can bluster on for literally hours on end without a single accurate substantive statement about how the topic on which he is blustering fundamentally operates.

In politics at large, but especially at the Presidential level, we have become so used to the candidates already knowing the basics that we only ask the candidates about their positions at the contested policy level.  But there is a whole system of knowledge that goes into making those policy evaluations.  Think of it like a tree.  The policy differences are the leaves that you see.  But those tree leaves do not exist on their own.  For instance, different health care propositions (the leaves) grow out of a vast root system that is a basic understanding of how private insurance companies, Medicare, Medicaid, hospital billing practices, current regulations, and a whole host of other health care related things all work.

If a president doesn't have any current understanding of or willingness to understand those root systems, they cannot be trusted to pick the right contested policy choices.  While someone behind the scenes at the Trump campaign may have filled in Trump's policy platform with policy leaves that look to be in line with a traditional Republican bloc of voters, Trump himself has no knowledge about the basics of the policies themselves.  When asked by Chris Matthews during the primaries if he supported the punishment of women who have abortions, Trump said "yes," even though that has never been the stance of Pro-Life individuals, and he later back-tracked saying he didn't mean that at all.

So if you think that there's some chance Trump will actually enact policies in line with your beliefs, you need to also realize that whatever he enacts will almost certainly be bastardizations of the true policy ideas you hold.  It will be whatever Donald Trump can spin off the top of his head based upon what he thinks the policy's name means.  He can't be trusted to do the work and figure out the basics of some new domestic or international challenge that arises during his potential presidency.  He'll react on gut instinct and then bluster on as if he actually understands anything that he's talking about, even though, through his bluster, it becomes painfully obvious that he doesn't.

And that brings me to the second fundamental flaw in a Trump presidency: Donald Trump's narcissistic and retaliatory temperament is too big of a risk when it comes to foreign policy.

While Trump's egotistical belief that he can single-handedly transform entire industries and his tendency to retaliate at the smallest personal slights can be fairly easily tempered or even reversed on the domestic side by the checks and balances known as the legislative and judicial branches, there is no build in check on executive diplomatic power.  And a Trump presidency would very likely have disastrous international effect.

Theoretically, if Trump were to unilaterally take America into a pointless personal war, Congress could potentially refuse to fund the conflict.  But if Trump's actions or temperament lead another nation or non-state actor to attack the U.S., no Congress would deny funding for a defensive war.

Trump fawns over compliments from the former-KGB operative and current President of Russia.  His ego cannot stand the idea of attacking someone who complements him, and Vladimir Putin knows it.  You better believe that Putin would play President Trump like a fiddle, which would then give Russia a free pass to continue their acts of aggression and even annexation of sovereign former-Soviet bloc nations.

Foreign policy is the one area the President of the United States has nearly unchecked power.  And not only does Donald Trump not understand the players or the issues, but he would allow his foreign policy to be guided by his own ego.  If a country sucks up to him or complements him personally, Trump will change his stance towards that country.  Trump has openly said that he would not stop North Korea's dictator, Kim Jung Un, from visiting the United States (drawing an arbitrary line at hosting a state dinner for some reason).  Conceivably, Kim Jung Un could stroke Trump's ego just the right amount for Trump to lift sanctions on North Korea, enable their further nuclear development, or even just in any way legitimize the brutal dictatorship in the international arena.

Conversely, what if Trump plays with fire by engaging with a dictator who strokes his ego just right, only to become offended when the ego-stroking ends.  Or what if the head of government for a stalwart ally like Great Britain, France, or Germany refuses to play to Trump's ego, insults him, or criticizes him?  It's not too far fetched to imagine that normal diplomatic relations with our closest allies would become strained, if not irreparably damaged, under a Trump administration.  And there's nothing that Congress or the Courts could do about it.

So why are these two Trump flaws so much different from the character flaws and policy disagreements of Hillary Clinton?  Because these two areas are both fundamental to the role of President of the United States and cannot be mitigated through legislative or judicial checks and balances.  You disagree with Hillary's views on abortion issues?  Make sure the Senate is strongly Republican so she can't nominate anyone pro-choice to the bench.  Don't want her to enact immigration or tax reform? Again, elect a Republican legislature to check her ability to do anything.

There are so many ways to curb a President's effectiveness on the vast majority of contested, partisan issues in a Presidential race.  Especially on domestic issues, a President can almost never act apart from Congress.  So having a President who agrees with you more than disagrees with you on the big domestic policy issues is not nearly as important as we make it out to be.  Or at least it doesn't have to be if you split your ticket (i.e. vote for one party for the presidency and the other down ballot).

But when being a President really matters, when a President's power cannot be curbed or balanced or changed, is when the unexpected happens, the stuff a President can't plan for but on which they need to be able to get up to speed relatively quickly.  That's where a President has the opportunity to save lives, comfort a hurting nation, and curb mass anxiety.  Is Donald Trump capable of that type of empathy?  Can he be trusted to make thoughtful, rational choices in the aftermath of some disaster?  Can Donald Trump be trusted to delve into a briefing binder on some unexpected national crisis and come out an hour later having gleaned enough to even ask the right questions of his advisers?  If Trump himself won't do any of the reading, does he know enough to get the right people to explain things to him?  Donald Trump fired his campaign policy staff three campaign shake-ups ago and hasn't bothered to hire anyone else.  Would a President Trump react to a 9/11 or a Deepwater Horizon oil spill or a Hurricane Katrina based solely on his gut reactions?

If the Army Corps of Engineers had sat down with a President Trump in the days before or after Katrina, would Trump have even listened?  President Bush's response to Katrina was disastrous enough.  I can't even imagine what a President Trump's response would've looked like.  What about to 9/11?  Would a President Trump have had the grace and courage and integrity of George W. Bush to remind the nation that this wasn't a religion that attacked us?  That there is no reason for mass fear of all American Muslims?  Or would a President Trump falsely claim that he saw Muslims celebrating on the White House lawn?

The Presidency of the United States is about more than just checking off a list of issue agreements versus disagreements.  It matters in huge ways that cannot be measured through an evaluation of policy platforms.  And normally, the individuals who get close to that office, the people who win major party nominations, without a doubt have those qualities needed to maintain international relations and manage unexpected crises.  No matter our policy disagreements with them, Al Gore, John Kerry, George W. Bush, John McCain, Barack Obama, and Mitt Romney all had these nonpartisan qualities essential to the role of President of the United States.

Do you honestly believe that Donald Trump does?  Would you trust him to comfort the nation and represent it abroad?

This is an argument about the realities of the Presidency, not about the "moral" questions regarding particular partisan political arguments.  But this is also a moral argument.  I cannot help but feel that it would be not just civically irresponsible but morally bankrupt to allow someone totally unequipped for the real and important role of President of the United States to win this election simply because that person has recently claimed that they agree with you on more partisan political issues than their opponent.  That's saying that you care more about the outward signs of compliance with your own belief system, no matter how obviously contrived those outward signs are, than you do about the welfare and future of the nation as a whole.

Scrutinizing Gender

Over the past weeks, I've heard a lot of people talk about the now infamous North Carolina "bathroom bill."  It's a new law in North Carolina that says a person must use the bathroom that matches the gender they were assigned at birth.  This all comes after the relatively recent phenomena of high profile celebrities coming out as trans (i.e. Caitlyn Jenner) or trans people becoming celebrities (i.e. Laverne Cox).  But these celebrities entering our national conscious does not make trans people feel "real" to the vast majority of people.  You don't ever have to imagine existing in the same space as a Laverne or a Caitlyn.  Most people can compartmentalize the existing of trans people into some foreign "other" category that they'll never have to actually deal with.

But now comes the "bathroom bill."  And celebrities and businessess and politicians and even sports teams condemning the bill and even boycotting the state.  And suddenly, people are being faced with the idea that *horror* a trans person might be sharing a bathroom with them.

And, of course, the right wing media hypes it up and tells horror stories of a creepy man putting on a skirt and wig just to enter a women's bathroom and assault some poor helpless woman.

So, first of all, lets get some things perfectly clear: there has never been a proven, documented case of someone using the cover of an anti-trans discrimination bill in order to sexually assault someone.  There have been cases of mentally ill or criminally deranged men entering women's bathrooms and assaulting them, and the timing happened to coincide with a state legislature's debate over a new bathroom bill, so the legislators co-opted the tragedy as fodder for their own views.  But those mentally ill or criminally deranged offenders?  They'd never even heard of the political debate that they had unwittingly become a puppet in.  There will also likely always be sexual predators who will assault people, and no law telling them what bathroom they are allowed to enter will suddenly stop them.

Imagine, for a moment, that sexual predator you are so worried about assaulting some token woman in your life.  Imagine that he is following that woman, stalking her as she walks around a store, browsing for clothes, and keeps following her as she heads to another area of the store.  He's excited and planning his own sick plan, when suddenly he realizes that the other area of the store your token woman is heading towards is a restroom with a little stick figured, skirted person on it.  Do you really think, for even one iota of a second, that skirted stick figure will slow that predator down?  The ONLY thing that will slow that predator down is if there are other people visible in the area.  The state of trans protections or discrimination for use of public restrooms in that particular jurisdiction will not even factor into that predator's calculations, I can promise you.

But couching this debate in terms of "protecting" women from these "freaks" who "pretend" that they're women makes the whole thing nice and easy to scream about, to post memes about, and even to have some surface-level understanding of the arguments.

In practice, however, these "bathroom bills" are about something much more complicated and sinister.

Imagine for a second that you're a man waiting outside of the restrooms at your local movie theater, waiting for the woman you are there with to finish.  You see three different people entering that bathroom.  The first person has a short hair cut, loose flannel shirt, slim jeans, and Doc Marten boots.  The second person has long, flowing blonde hair, is wearing a skin tight dress and high heels.  The third person is wearing baggy jeans and a button down shirt, has short hair and no visible makeup or jewelry.

As you were scrutinizing the first person, you couldn't detect any hint of a chest, they had short, trimmed nails, but they moved passed you too fast for you to be able to tell if they had any hint of an adam's apple or a bulge in the crotch-area of their slim jeans.  So you can't tell for sure if this person is a man or just a butch lesbian.

As you were scrutinizing the second person, you definitely saw a chest, but you can't tell if it's fake or not.  You see a well done manicure, shaved legs, and a gorgeous figure.  But you also think you might see the faintest hint of an adam's apple.  Could this possibly be a trans woman?

As you were scrutinizing the third person, you can't see any shape whatsoever under their loose fitting clothing.  Their hair styling is indistinct, and they'r wearing a pair of bland sneakers.  Is this just a soccer mom with no time or care for personal style or is it a man sneaking into the women's restroom?

What do you do to protect your woman?  There might be men and/or possibly trans people entering the same bathroom where she is trying to pee in peace.

And in those moments of scrutinizing every single inch of these three human beings who were also just trying to pee in peace, you became the potential predator.  You scrutinized and policed these people's gender and made your own snap assessments of whether or not they were "woman" enough.  And if you decided that one or more of these people did not meet up with your own assessment of who can or cannot be considered a "woman," what would you have done?  Shouted at them to get out of the women's restroom because they don't belong there?  Followed them into the women's restroom in order to physically drag them out?  Contacted theatre security or police so that they can physically drag them out?  Physically attacked them for threatening your woman by trying to enter this bathroom?

Since these bathroom bills have entered the national discourse, a short-haired lesbian has been attacked and physically removed from a women's restroom by some people who didn't think she looked female enough.  A cis woman was arrested for using the "wrong" restroom when really she was just a soccer mom with not the greatest sense of style.  And since the beginning of the year 11 trans women have been murdered because of their gender presentation.

There are real concerns at play here.

Sexual assault is rampant in this country.  But it's not happening by people pretending to be trans so they can force their way into a certain bathroom.

The question of trans bathroom use becomes a little more tricky when you're dealing with high school and earlier educational settings.  But that conversation needs to be nuanced and compassionate, not based in fear and myths.

Trans people and people who do not conform to strict norms of gender presentation (including lesbians, and, yes, even soccer moms) are targets under these bathroom bills.  They are already targets.  Trans people and masculine-presenting cis women already face discrimination, harassment, and even violence.  The "protecting our women" line is a red herring and an excuse for state-justified discrimination against a group of people who aren't deemed "worthy" of the right to just pee in peace.

Love Letter to My Family

I've been on the road for two weeks now.  It honestly doesn't feel like it's been that long.  But it has.  I have now driven 3,482 miles, traveled through seven States and one Province, gone camping with three rambunctious children in the Colorado Rockies, been 17 stories beneath the Canadian Rockies, seen some giant U.S. Presidential heads carved into the side of a mountain, and, most recently, hit a deer.  And throughout all of this, and during all the little and big moments in between, my mind has been constantly churning a few different questions over and over again.

The one question that has been most prominent is simple, and it surprises me that I've never really taken the time to figure it out before: What does it mean to be a family?  The second questions is related and actually used to drive me crazy: What does it mean to be a Loewen?  I realized I can't truly answer the first question without first answering the second.  Because family means different things for different people.

I have this memory of my parents often saying to me "represent the Loewen family well," or something along those lines whenever I was going to be in certain places or around certain people.  That always bothered me, but I think I'm coming to realize that my parents never meant it the way that I took it.  I don't think they said it as a way of telling me that I could only look and act a certain way or I'd somehow disappoint or disgrace them.  That wasn't it at all.  I think it was about that name, our family, holding weight, having meaning.  I wasn't old enough by a long shot to understand any of that.

I was up in Calgary, Alberta and one night my cousin, Elizabeth, and I were talking about how, in western Canada, the name Loewen is widely recognized as being a Mennonite name.  This then launched a discussion about denominational differences and origins, etc.  But then Elizabeth said something that really stuck with me: "we're really just Mennonites in name and food only."  I laughed, but what she said stuck with me.  And, again, made me think about our name and about our heritage.

I used to feel this need, when talking about my family, to somehow separate myself from my Mennonite heritage.  But spending time with so many different members of my family who have come to be diverse people with wide-ranging views on any number of different topics, I've come to realize that, in some ways, that heritage does define us, through all of our differences.  And it is beautiful.

From a DNA-level love for basic, German-style meat and potatoes meals to a deeply ingrained appreciation for genuine hospitality to a complete inability to back down from a challenge (whether spoken or not).  Loewens are never total rule followers (you can pretty much always find us pushing the line, if nothing else).  We are sarcastic as hell and mercilessly pick on and torture the people we care about (I used to say sarcasm was my love language; now I just think it's part of my DNA).  Loewens are curious and love to explore and figure out the answers to problems (or even feel the need to confirm, for certain, that the problem cannot be solved).

This is who I am.  It's who my family is.  And I wouldn't change or trade it for the world.

I've spent years complaining about, criticizing, and even publicly accosting my own family.  I'm not saying there has been no value to any of that.  There were conversations that needed to be had, things that needed to be said, etc.  But the medium I chose was likely not always the wisest.

Loewens aren't always very good at confrontation.  That's in my DNA, too.

People on TV often perpetuate this idea that friends are better than family because they'll accept every part of you, without question or compromise.  And, sure, it's true that friends usually don't put up nearly as much of a fuss about a whole bunch of different things as your family might.  But that's because you choose your friends based on any number of different sets of values, interests, needs, and desires.  They also change over time.  But I take issue with this idea that friends are "better" than family because of this ease of acceptance.  Yeah, family is a lot harder.  They challenge you and stand up to you and disagree with you and argue and fight and cry and hurt a whole hell of a lot more than friends do.  But they are also permanent.  And if you're one of those lucky few, like me, to have a family that is truly permanent, in all senses of the word, there is nothing better.  Certainly not friends.

My family (and now I'm mainly speaking about my immediate family, namely my parents and brothers) and I disagree about some really important things.  We fight and we get angry and hurt and upset and we talk and we cry and we hug and laugh and love and, at the end of the day, we figure it out.  It might be slow and difficult.  It doesn't always come easy.  But nothing can ever or will ever be a big enough fight, a big enough disagreement on a big enough issue to make me turn away from them.  Not because the issues aren't big enough or the disagreements aren't vast enough.  But because I know them.  And I know us.  And I know we'll figure it out.  I don't yet know exactly what that'll look like.  But, you  know what?  It doesn't even matter.  Because I know their hearts.  And I know how they'll try.  And I know they'll change.  And so will I.  Because that's what family does.  They do what is necessary to love each other, to respect each other, to figure out the boundaries.  At least that's what my family does.

That's another thing about us Loewens: we stick around.  We fight for this family.  We have each other's backs and we never give up on each other.  We're always there for each other.  And we always truly, genuinely, care about what's going on in each other's lives.  It doesn't matter if what's going on may involve things with which we personally disagree.  We're family.  We want to know why each other are hurting or happy or sad.  And we'll be there for each other, as best we can.

My family isn't perfect.  No family is.  There are definitely things about my family, beliefs that they hold, that, if I could, I'd change in a heartbeat.  But those differing beliefs don't change the fact that my family has always, 100%, loved me and been completely there for me through every single thing that has ever happened in my life.  Even when I was being unquestionably and undeservedly horrible to them.  Even when I do things of which they fundamentally disapprove.  None of it matters.  None of it changes their love for me, their dependability, their amazing fortitude and grace.

I'm definitely still working on that last one.  I think I got a shorter measure of Loewen grace in my DNA for some reason.

I get it now.  What my parents meant when they invoked the Loewen name.  I'm proud to call myself a Loewen, to be a part of this incredible family, both big and small.  I just hope I can one day live up to it.

I can also genuinely say, for the first time in a while now, that I want to and am ready to go home.

I Am Not A Sin

I am gay.  It is an essential part of who I am.  It defines me.  I didn't pick it up one day and decide it looked like a fun thing to try on for awhile.  I also can't just decide to put it down.  My queerness is essential to who I am.

And yet, and yet, and yet...

I hear nearly every day the mantra of "love the sinner, but hate the sin."  How can that be?  How can you love me but hate who I am?  Not what I do.  Not choices I make.  But who I am?

I hate analogizing sexual orientation to race because it's incredibly essentializing and misses a lot of points, but I do think it has some value here: you cannot claim that being black is a sin, but still truly love black people.  It doesn't work like that.

I saw on a Facebook comment the other day, in response to a post with a link to Matthew Vines explaining his interpretation of the major Bible verses used to condemn homosexuality, that the commenter could not even finish reading Matthew Vines' words because it made them sick to their stomach.

I wanted to comment and ask if they really had a problem with his Biblical interpretation skills or just with the conclusion he was coming to.  More specifically, was it contemplating the particulars of gay sexuality that was making this person physically ill?  Did it really have anything to do with esoteric discussions of Biblical interpretations?

I've talked to my Dad a few times, not a lot because it's painful all around, but a few times, about our differences on this issue.  And one thing he's said several times is that he just doesn't and can't understand it, and he lists off that he doesn't get it theologically, mentally, emotionally, or biologically.  I always want to go, really?  I expected the theological objection.  I disagree with it and think it's invalid, but I was expecting it.  But it made me wonder, how much of people's ostensibly religious-based objections to gayness have anything to do with actual, earnestly held theological beliefs and how much has to do with ignorance, fear, and yeah, a gut-level disgust with something that they personally don't and can't understand?

Pretty much all straight people don't and can't understand why homosexuality would be appealing.  Doesn't matter if they're true allies or not.  They don't and can't "get it."

Well, of course not!  There's a very simple reason behind that: they are straight!  They were born that way.  As in, they don't (and can't) understand sexual attraction to the same sex because they simply are not attracted to the same sex.

Guess what?  I feel the exact same way about the opposite sex.  It doesn't make sense to me.  Now, of course, for myself and a whole heap of other gay people out there, there's this little thing called compulsive heterosexuality that forced us, from the earliest of ages, to think straight relationships were our only option.  So, yeah, I spent most of my life contemplating what it would be like to be in a romantic relationship with the opposite sex.  It never felt good or right in any way.  But I thought about it.  A lot.  Because that's what good Christian girls are supposed to do, supposed to think about.  Not only that, but because of internalized homophobia, I actually tried to convince myself it was what I wanted.  I spent years doing that.

Imagine, just for a second, being a straight person doing the same thing your entire life: contemplating and trying to force yourself to be excited for the prospect of one day engaging in a relationship with someone of the same gender as you.  Feels uncomfortable, if nothing else, right?

Straight people probably don't think about their sexual orientation as being integral to their identity.  In fact, I know that they don't.  They don't have to spend years trying to figure it out.  It's just assumed.  They don't have to explain it to anyone else.  Again, it's just assumed.

Anyways, back to my point: I'm gay.  And it's part of who I am.

So when you say that being gay, or acting on same sex attraction, or however else you want to word it is a sin, you aren't just attacking my actions or my choices.  You are attacking who I am, at my very core.

Last time I posted on here, I called for a conversation with my parents.  We have had a conversation, and we're still trying to figure out how to dialogue about any and all of this.  None of us are good at it.  It's all very painful and awkward and it feels like we never get anywhere.  There was this one moment during that conversation where I got frustrated and I was crying and as I walked over to grab a Kleenex, I just half-shouted "when will you just accept that your daughter is fucking gay!"  My dad said "that's not helpful," and, yeah, on a big level, it wasn't.  We were trying to have a dialogue on a subject that is emotional and awkward and hard to talk about all around.  And it's never helpful when someone gets angry or curses or yells in those situations.

But, at the same time, there is just so much truth to it.

My parents and I can talk theology in circles until our heads explode.  But I honestly don't think that theology is at the root of the disconnect.  I think a disagreement about whether or not gayness is innate is at the true heart of it. And I don't know how to get past that.  I truly don't.  I can cite experts who make clear that being attracted to the same gender isn't a choice.  I can cite incredibly in-depth research regarding how the church has not always condemned gay weddings, and has at times (back in the Middle Ages) even performed them.

But if a person can't get past the mental block surrounding the physical and biological mechanics of gay sex...then I honestly don't know where to go from there.  It's like trying to explain why seafood would be appealing to someone like me who gets nauseous at the sight and smell of it.  It just doesn't compute.

But here's the major difference: I don't think that eating seafood is wrong simply because I don't like it and don't understand why or how anyone could.

My parents believe that monogamous heterosexual Christian marriages are at the centre of  God's plan for humanity.  They've built their lives around that belief.  They counsel couples and teach classes on how to better fit within that model.  So I think this whole thing is harder for them than most, because their straight Christian marriage is so central to who they are, too.

But if I were to keep telling them that their marriage, their love is a sin, that they are hurting themselves and each other by continuing it, they would be hurt.  And offended.  Because it defines them.

Well this, my gayness, who I love, it defines me, too.  And I can't change it.  Believe me, I tried.  I tried for the longest time.  I hated myself for this.  I hated being around others like me.  Other gay people made me so incredibly uncomfortable.  Because I knew.  But I couldn't let myself go there.

But now I'm here.  It's been well over two years now.  I've embraced and celebrated who I am.  I've found someone to love and build a life with.  I can even get married now.  In every single state in the entire country (!!!!!!!).

So I guess what it comes down to for me is this: don't try to to claim that you love me, that you want what's best for me, or that you in any way respect me, if you are going to then turn around and say that who I am is a sin.  I can't change anyone's minds about the theology, and I definitely can't make anyone understand attraction to the same gender.  But when you say that being gay (or acting on same sex attraction or whatever slightly nicer-sounding thing you want to say) is a sin, you are saying that I am a sin.

I am not a sin.

Furthermore, when the Church and every single Christian who has ever uttered the phrase "love the sinner, hate the sin" perpetuates this belief, they are telling me, every member of the LGBT community, and every other ignorant and/or bigoted person out there that we, the queer community, are not human.  We are sins.  So it's okay to not serve us at your restaurants, to not let us into your hardware stores.  It's okay, because we are sins.  It's okay to deny us marriage licenses, while granting it to every twice divorced person and every atheist marrying a Christian and every other person who walks through that door.  Because that twice divorced person may have sinned, but they are not a sin.  That Christian may have sinned by marrying an atheist, but they, themselves, are just a human who made a bad choice.  A gay person, however, is, inherently, a sin.  Until they stop being a sin, they cannot have civil rights.  They can be discriminated against.

How long does it take to get from denying basic civil rights like marriage licenses and equal employment opportunities to enacting actual, physical violence?

Harvey Milk.

Matthew Sheppard.

Sakia Gunn.

Brandon Teena.

Lawrence "Larry" King.

CeCe McDonald.

And what kind of effect does calling LGBT people "sins" have on LGBT young people?

Tyler Clementi.

Leelah Alcorn.

Adam Kizer.

Jadin Bell.

If you think calling LGBT people, who they are, at their very core, a "sin" has absolutely nothing to do with LGBT suicide rates and violence against LGBT people, I challenge you to think a little harder about it.  Think about it this way (and, again, I don't like to compare, but it's useful here): if there was a very strong narrative in this country that being black was a "sin," don't you think that the KKK, the Aryan Nation, and other hate groups would feel that much more comfortable carrying out their heinous acts of violence?  And don't you think those people who called being black a "sin" would have blood on their hands too?  Even if they never once enacted physical violence against a black person?  Wouldn't it also be harder to make the argument that that violence is wrong? (I could go on and on about how distrurbingly close to the truth each of these statements are, but that's for another post entirely...)

When you call gayness a sin, you are saying that I, because of who I am, am less than you.  I am not human.  I am "sin."

There's nothing Christian about that.  Believe what you want for your own lives.  But don't call me a "sin."  And stop deluding yourself into believing that you can label me "sin" and still claim to love and respect me.  It's not possible.

I am not a sin.

Growing Up

I just graduated law school.  That's right, I can officially call myself a lawyer.

I still have a long road ahead of me.  There's bar prep and then taking that grueling two day long test, then waiting (way too long) for results, and then somewhere in there I have to hit the ground running to try and get a job.

It's all happening.  It really is.  These are the things I've been dreaming about and preparing for since I was fourteen years old.

Something else really, crazy big is happening, too.

This amazing, thoughtful, talented, generous, beautiful girl.  And I am completely in love with her.  I can see myself building a life with her someday.  And it's been so amazing, this journey I've been on with her for the last few months.  I don't think I have the words to describe just how much she means to me, but I'm gonna try.

Do you know all these cheesy rom-coms about people falling in love with their best friends after dating all the wrong people for so long?  Yeah, this was nothing like that, and yet I'm dating my best friend nonetheless.

We knew each other from work. And by knew each other, I mean we had sat in the same room with a bunch of other interns a couple of times.  We never even made eye contact and so (despite my awkward best efforts), we never did the stereotypical "I see you, too" queer person head nod thing.

I didn't know it then.  I never would've guessed or imagined that that girl would change my life.

Like so many bored and slightly lonely people out there, I used Tinder off and on over the past year or so.  Never too seriously.  I talked to a handful of people and went on a couple of dates, but, back in February, I was literally only on there because I was bored.  I wasn't looking to start anything, mostly because Tinder is a strange, strange universe full of shallowness, awkwardness, and weirdly amusing shenanigans.  So I was bored.  And, while I would sometimes take my time in reading people's profiles and looking at their pictures, that one day in early February, I was just in a particularly bored and antsy mood and I just swiped right on pretty much everyone for a couple of minutes.  I would like to make up some sweet story about how I saw her picture and felt butterflies or something corny like that.  But that wouldn't be true.

I once tried telling her this part of the story and she told me to just stop digging...

So, no, I don't have a specific memory of that one magical right swipe.  But, man, am I glad I did swipe right.

She immediately recognized me (for reasons that are hers, not mine to tell) and messaged me with something along the lines of "yay for another lgbt intern at our work."  Being the awkward idiot that I am, it took me two whole days of non-stop messaging and one completely fabulous date to realize that she wasn't just "networking" with me...

Yeah, I'm that much of an idiot.

So I kept seeing this girl, and she kept telling me how she likes to take things slowly and that we weren't going to label whatever this was.  Even though I already knew I was falling for her, and falling hard, I told her I understood, and that was fine.  I didn't want to scare this amazing girl away.

Thankfully, she actually sucks at taking things slowly.

Within basically a half a month of that first fateful Tinder message, we were "official."  And, let me tell you, as I dated this girl and got to know so many amazing things about her, I not only fell in love with her, but she became my best friend.  I can tell her anything and everything and I feel so incredibly comfortable around her.

I'm not someone who makes friends easily.  When I do become close with someone, it's usually fairly instantaneous.  There are two other people in my life who I have instantaneously clicked with.  And when I click with someone like that, I immediately know that they are going to mean something to me for the rest of my life.

So, yeah, there's this feeling I get when I meet someone new and I just "know."  It's always been like that with her.  Maybe not from day one, but definitely since we put labels on things.

She's let me express parts of myself that I've kept hidden for a very long time.  She helps me bring out my inner little kid.  She might even one day see my hyper side.  She challenges certain thoughts I've resigned myself to and encourages me to have faith in myself, despite my issues and scars.

She lets me love her and do my best to protect her, even when I know that's not something that comes easily to her.

There are parts of parts of my life that I've learned to compartmentalize.  I do this because of certain priorities that I've chosen to have in my life.

This post is about growing up.  And part of growing up is realizing when you have to speak up, when to confront situations that aren't healthy.  And part of growing up is realizing when you have to change some priorities in your life.

I've mentioned my family a lot on this blog.  My family, specifically my parents, and I have been through a lot together.  They've stood by my side through twenty years of school, through countless doctors appointments and random, seemingly inexplicable medical issues, and through unspeakable physical pain.  My mom, through so much of that, has been equal parts my compassionate companion and emotional punching bag.  I'm not proud to admit that last part.  I think I've tried to apologize for that, but here's the thing about my mom: she has the wisdom to realize that that wasn't me, and that I honestly didn't even realize I was doing it.  So she took it in stride.  And never left my side (even when I thought I wanted her to).  My dad has always been my rock, the voice of reason, and the one who can always calm me down.

My parents and I also carry around some major baggage in our relationship.  Throughout my life growing up, but especially in high school, I felt that my parents would not truly love and accept me if they knew what I really thought,  how I really wanted to act and speak.  So I hid myself away and became increasingly bitter and angry and depressed.  I eventually became suicidal, and blamed my parents.  I'm not rehashing this to try and refocus blame or even to explain any of it away.  From my perspective, that's our history.  And it took me a very long time to get to a point where I could accept the fact that they do, in fact, love me unconditionally.

Whether or not they accept me, truly, accept me, is still a work in progress, especially since I came out.

In fact, I know that they don't accept me.  My dad told me soon after I came out that if and when I start dating someone, he will never invite my girlfriend into his home because to do so would be to display "approval" over our relationship.

That hurt.  It hurt so much (and still hurts so much) that I shut down and stopped talking, really talking to my parents again, to a certain extent.

I love my parents so incredibly much.  They have been there for me through an incredible amount.  And I know that they love me.  I also know that they do want what's best for me.  But the problem is that their version of what is "best" for me is nowhere near my life.

In fact, there's a giant fucking chasm between the two, and I don't know if anything will ever be able to close that gap.

I've been dealing with accepting and processing all of this for a couple years now.  And I honestly thought I was ok with the status quo.  With the "don't ask, don't tell" life we had set up.

Part of growing up is facing some harsh truths.

This isn't okay.  Any semblance of a good relationship my parents and I have is a farce until they are at least willing to accept the fact that this is the life their daughter is pursuing, it makes her happy, and nothing is going to change that.

More to the point, the status quo is hurting my parents, it's hurting me, and it's hurting my girlfriend.

There are so many little things that are different now that hurt so much.  When my two oldest brothers met and started dating their now-wives, my parents were engaged and wanted to meet and get to know these amazing women that my brothers would one day build lives with.  When we had family dinners or even went up to Canada to visit extended family, the women my brothers were seeing were welcomed with open arms.  When my grandpa died a few years back, my sisters-in-law weren't able to make it, but they were more than welcome to attend the memorial service.  And anytime there was a graduation in the family, my brothers' girlfriends-turned-fiances-turned-wives were expected to attend, if they could.

I graduated from law school yesterday and my girlfriend wasn't there to celebrate with me.  Not because she didn't want to.  She would've loved to be there.  But I made the choice to not force an incredibly awkward meeting between this amazing girl that I'm in love with and my parents, the two rocks who have stood by me through it all.

I shouldn't have to make that choice.  But I did.  And it sucked.  For me.  For my girlfriend.  For my family.  Because they're missing out, too.  They're missing out on this huge journey that I'm embarking on,  and they're missing out on this amazing girl that I am hopelessly in love with.

They know so little about her.  They don't know about her adorable obsession with pigs (or the fact that she wants to teach their grandson how to oink properly).  They don't know how she caught on to Dutch Blitz (my family's card game obsession) faster than anyone else I've ever seen try and learn.  They've never played Dutch Blitz with her.  They don't know about the cat we rescued together or our amazing bowling skills (actually, Grandpa Scheerer would likely be disappointed by our horrible bowling skills if he were still  here, but still...)

They don't know how happy she makes me.  With just a look, just a smile, just a simple #luff text message.  It's hard for me to be happy.  I lived so much of my life wallowing in the dark, hidden places.  I felt a measure of this happiness when I first came out.  But like I said then, that was more about finding peace (at last).  I have that here, too.  But I also have happiness.

But then I go home.  And I can't let my heart gush over with all the things I want to tell my mom about this amazing girl.  I can't tell my girlfriend, "my dad really isn't intimidating or scary at all, I swear!"  I can't get excited for the first time my dad cracks one of his incredibly dry and hilarious jokes around her and she realizes there's nothing to be afraid of.

I also spent so much of my life nervous about my dad finally revealing that he actually is in the CIA when I finally start seriously seeing someone and he breaks out the interrogation tactics.  Because I'm his little girl.  And he wants to protect me from ever being hurt.

That's what I don't get.  I don't understand how someone who has always vowed to do everything in his power to protect me would let his religious-based, moral objection to the gender of my significant other stop him from being my dad, stop him from wanting to protect me.  I definitely don't get how he could let himself hurt me like this.

And I know I have utterly failed at communicating any of this to my parents.  But every time I tried to even mention the tiniest morsel, like saying what we were doing that weekend or telling them something funny that happened, both my parents just shut down, stare straight ahead, and then change the subject.

I want so badly for my parents to understand and accept that this isn't about morality, it's not about religion, it's not about their convictions.  It's about real life people who are hurting.  It's about their daughter who dreads coming home half the time because she knows that the moment she walks in the door, that happiness she felt all weekend is going to evaporate the moment no one asks about this girl that has stolen her heart.

I love this girl, and I want to build a life with her.  I want my parents to be a part of that life, I really do.  But part of growing up is re-evaluating your priorities.  I would never cut my parents out of my life.  That's not in any way what I'm saying.  But there will come times, there will be life events, seasonal celebrations, and just everyday family gatherings where, if they don't start engaging in and, yes, accepting, this part of my life, they will stop being my top priority.

I don't want to have to make that choice.  And I know that I shouldn't have to.  I know we need to have a conversation.  I also know that my parents need to meet this girl.  That meeting her doesn't mean that they've changed their moral or religious views.  It just means that they love and accept me and want me to be happy.  And that they want to be engaged in my life.  But mostly, it involves them making the choice to stop hurting me and hurting us.

Limitless

I recently got a hair cut.

Not that uncommon for me, especially recently.  I love trying new styles and going edgier and edgier without crossing the line into unprofessional for my line of work.

What makes this hair cut different, why it spurred me to dust off my semi-annual blogging shoes is because of what it exposes.

You can see my scar.

The scar I got at 11 years old when a neurosurgeon cut into my head.  The scar that ended the pain I had been living with for months.  The scar that meant my rescue.

I've had this scar now for more years than I lived before I got it.  It's part of me.  But I don't think I ever really wanted it to be.  Yeah, the medical struggles I went through as a kid were something I'd bring up in casual conversation.  I'd randomly and sarcastically say that my brain is too big for my skull and I have the scar to prove it.

But it wasn't something I really, truly wanted people to know about me.  And I think I finally know why.

It's because I didn't know what it meant about me.  And I think cutting off my hair, exposing the visual proof of what I went through, what I survived, this piece of me that shapes so much of who I am is actually forcing me to come to terms with it all.

But, you know, it's not actually about exposing to the world the fact that I had brain surgery.  What's so different about leaving my scar exposed is that it forces me to think about what I went through.  About the pain.

Chronic pain is a singular experience.  I don't think anyone who hasn't lived through months and then years of uncontrollable, debilitating, life-altering pain can ever grasp the impact it has on a person's life.  You just don't get it till you do.

When I was 11, I dealt with chronic pain for 4 months.  It started August 1st, 2002 and ended November 22, 2002.  And it changed me.  When I was 20, in my junior year of undergrad, I started on a journey of chronic pain that wouldn't stop for nearly two years.  It started in March of 2011 and wouldn't finally stop until January of 2013.  And that journey changed me more.

Those are facts and dates that I know and even talk about if it comes up in conversation.  But I don't often stop, sit, and think about what it actually means for me.

You know with bar applications due this week and work supervisors giving me their tips and tricks on studying for the bar, the topic of how difficult the bar is has come up quite a few times.  And quite a few times I've heard classmates or co-workers or supervisors tell me that taking the bar exam will be the hardest thing I ever do in my life.

I honestly have to stop myself from laughing every goddamn time I hear it.

I know I haven't been there yet, I know I have no clue how time/life-consuming studying will be.  I know that I have no clue how mentally, emotionally, and physically draining actually sitting down and taking that test will be.  I don't know.

But I do know this with absolute certainty: on my list of hardest things I've gone through in my life, it won't even rank in the top 5.

There's something about living with chronic pain that gives you the confidence to understand exactly how far you can go.  I didn't think I could make it.  But then I did.  And now I know.  I know exactly how much I can take.

I know that I can make it through the most grueling academic transition of my life (first semester of law school), all while barely being able to walk or even use my hands.  I made it through first year while hopped up on a huge cocktail of medications, medications that enabled me to show up to class, but that was about it.  My mind was so gone half the time, both from the mind-altering effects of the drugs and the emotional and psychological drain of the physical pain, only slightly dulled by the meds.  I couldn't concentrate in classes.  There was one night I got home from class and the pain, which was normally just in my arms and legs, extended to the rest of my body.  My neck was stiff and I couldn't move.  It was like I was paralyzed.  I might have even been on my way.  I had to be rushed to the ER so they could give me IV dilaudid (read: drug store heroin) and then a lumbar puncture (i.e. my worst fear on the face of the planet).  I went home and then got up and went to school the next morning and started again.

I made it through.  I made it through the chronic pain and the academic load, and on top of all of this, I was struggling with and finally coming to terms with my own sexuality.  By the end of my first year of law school, I had come out, to myself, to my closest friends, to my family, and finally to everyone else.  I had surgery on my spine and side to finally alleviate the pain.  I slowly but surely recovered from that shunt surgery.  I weaned myself off of all the medications I had been relying on to simply keep moving for the prior two years.

I made it through the most grueling, physically painful, emotionally and psychologically draining year of my life.  And then I kept moving.  Because that's one of the things that chronic pain teaches you: you can't stop.  You can't pretend that the pain isn't there, but you can't put your life on hold just because it hurts.  You have got to push forward.  Which is exactly why I don't often stop and take stock of what my journey through chronic pain has taught me.  Because life keeps going.  So did law school, and I had to catch up.

But then I chopped my hair off.  And I realized that everyone I encounter, when they look at the back of my head, will know that something has happened to me in the past that has shaped me, that has forever altered me.  And, you know what?  Before I went through that two year long chronic pain journey, I never would have had the confidence to show off my scar.  But now I do.  Now there's very little that I don't have the confidence to do.  Because, as I said, I know my limits.  Which is to say, I know that I don't have any that I can't push through if I need to.  I know that you strip everything away from me and I'll keep going.

Burn This B**** Down

"Burn this bitch down! Burn this bitch down!"

These are the words Mike Brown's step-dad shouted over and over again right after the grand jury announcement.  He has since apologized.  His wife, Mike Brown's mom, has said that he was just full of emotion, but he didn't really mean it that way.

Well, I gotta say, why the fuck not?  Why not burn the whole thing to the ground?  Let us empty our prisons, our police stations, our courtrooms, our prosecution offices, then burn the whole damn thing down.

That's honestly seeming like a good option at the moment.

I posted this quote from a Jezebel article on Facebook yesterday:

We knew Ferguson would burn. We prayed it wouldn't, but we knew that the protests that have taken place over the past 108 days have been an accumulation of emotion, deep disappointment, and anger. Last night, along with all the other days and nights in Ferguson since Mike Brown was killed, was a culminated response to years of violence and oppression and racism and injustice. You're a fool if you think protesters were only protesting against Darren Wilson. They were protesting for Mike Brown, of course, but also for Trayvon Martin and Renisha McBride and Danroy Henry and Fred Hampton and Medger Evers and Emmett Till.

In the comments, I said:  "And if you're a white person complaining about the property damage last night, but don't know the names of the martyrs listed here, then you have no right to talk.  Open your eyes to the violence inflicted on black bodies before you moan about the violence done to store windows."

I also re-posted a status update from Andrea Gibson that said, in part, "If your sympathies lean towards Darren Wilson -- a murderous systems OWNS your humanity."

Needless to say, I haven't been the most popular person in my social media circles recently.  I've gotten in some pretty heated discussions with family members and even some acquaintances I haven't talked to in years.  I've been pissed off and filled with grief and despair and hopelessness.

My family has this tradition at thanksgiving dinner of going around the table and saying what we're thankful for.  I'm having a hard time figuring out how to answer that question this year.  I am so goddamn privileged.  But I can't and I won't claim to be grateful for benefiting from the oppression that kills people who don't look like me.  I won't say that I'm thankful for my education opportunities and for my good job prospects or even for the health and safety of my family.  Because every single one of these things are, in one way or another, benefits I enjoy without any effort or thought because of the systems of oppression that own the soul of this country.

I think I've reached a breaking point.  For awhile now I've been wondering how I can be a prosecutor, be a cog in this system, in this prison industrial complex that owns our country.  I spent this past summer working for the State's Attorney's Office at the misdemeanor and traffic court a few minutes from my house.  I actually seemed to get my love for prosecution back over the summer, and I was blissfully grateful.  Part of the reason why I didn't struggle with my moral opposition to the system as much over the summer was because I honestly thought that fining people for driving without a license or having a small amount of weed couldn't possibly be feeding into the system.  Who could it harm?  It's just a fine.  It's just a bit of community service.  That isn't contributing to a racist system.  They're guilty.  They didn't have a license.  They were legally stopped.  They violated some minor traffic law.  They had a bit of weed on them.  I'm not sending them to prison, so who cares?  It's not like I'm sentencing people disparately based on their race (or the types of drugs used most predominately by a particular race).  So I'm morally clean, right?

Yeah.

That was some ignorant, privileged, bullshit.

We live in a country that funds huge parts of its government functions through the criminalization of every day actions.  We live in a country where it is perfectly constitutional for a cop to pull someone who looks like they might be "up to no good" over as long as the cop has the pretext of a petty traffic offense.

And let me be clear: every single cop in this country can find a petty traffic offense any time that they want to.

Failure to yield.  Failure to signal.  Improper lane usage.

I can't tell you how many cannabis possession police reports I read through over the summer where the pretext for the traffic stop and then the search was "improper lane usage."  All this means is that the cop thinks (or claims) that the driver crossed over a traffic line too early or too late or something.  No one really knows or cares, because there's no way of proving it one way or the other, and chances are that the cop is going to throw out the ticket for the alleged violation if the stop doesn't yield more.

And every cop has pre-conceived notions of what type of person, what type of driver, they should be looking to for one of these pre-textual stops.  And this isn't because every cop in this country is a hateful, racist asshat.  It has nothing to do with personal hate harboured by individual officers.  This isn't a cop problem.  It's an American culture problem.

It's not about whether or not the shooter is racist, it's about how poor black boys are treated as problems well before we are treated as people.  Black boys in this country cannot afford to play cops and robbers if we're always considered the latter, don't have the luxury of playing war when we're already in one.

When the announcement was read Monday night, I threw my computer.  I physically collapsed on the floor.  And I cried.  I cried for so many reason.  I cried because of the injustice for Mike Brown.  I cried because I knew this decision would tear the Ferguson community apart.  I cried because I know, or at least have some clue, about the pain and grief and despair that would be felt by black people across this country.  I cried because I knew that, to them, the decision said that the death of an unarmed black boy at the hands of a cop isn't even worth the question, isn't worth the effort of a trial, isn't worthy of an attempt at justice.

I also cried because my brother and sister-in-law are in the process of adopting a son from Africa.  I cried for my future nephew.  Because he will be a black boy growing up in this country.  I cried for him.  Because no matter what we do, no matter how well my brother and sister-in-law raise him, he will still be a black boy in America.  Unless the current culture and climate that criminalizes black bodies changes quickly and drastically, my little black nephew will have to one day be told that, when faced with a cop, he needs to "be strong.  Be smart.  Be kind, and polite.  Know your laws.  Be aware of how quickly your hands move to pocket for wallet or ID, be more aware of how quickly the officer's hand moves to holster, for gun.  Be black.  Be a boy.  Have fun.  Because this world will force you to become a man far more quickly than you'll ever have the need to."

One month ago in South Carolina, a state trooper pulled up behind a young black man, Levar Jones, in a gas station.  The trooper claims that he saw Jones driving without his seat belt.  The trooper asked Levar Jones for his ID.  Jones, who had already parked and exited the vehicle when the trooper approached him, immediately reached into his vehicle for his ID.  This young black man was doing everything in his power to comply with the officer's instructions.  When Jones reached into his truck, the trooper shot him.  Because the culture we live in today tells everyone, cops included, that young black men quickly reaching into an unseen area probably means that they are reaching for a gun.

This whole incident was caught on the officer's dash cam.  The most haunting part of the whole exchange to me was that even when Jones is lying on the ground, bleeding, trying to figure out what happened, he's still saying "yes, sir" every other word, being as polite as humanly possible, and complying with every single order and instruction of the Officer who just shot him.

It terrifies me to know that my future nephew could be Levar Jones.  One day he could be doing his job, stopping for a snack at a gas station, only to have a cop pull up behind him and ask for his license.  My nephew could be strong, smart, polite, and kind.  He could be perfectly compliant, say "yes, sir" with every other word.  He could lean into his vehicle to grab his license.  And, still, his quick, compliant actions could be misinterpreted by the cop as a dangerous attempt by an inherently dangerous person to get a weapon, to endanger the officer and the public.  And that cop could shoot my future nephew.

My future nephew could be Trayvon Martin, walking down the street in his comfy, mostly white neighbourhood with his hood up, headphones in, talking to a friend on the phone.  And some random vigilante could see this black boy, not fully fitting in in the neighbourhood, and call the 911.  Or follow him.  Or shoot and kill him.

My future nephew could be spotted by neighbours in his own home, and those neighbours could call the police, thinking that this black boy doesn't belong in this white home, in this white neighbourhood.  The police could arrest and pepper spray my nephew, thinking he was burglarizing his own home.  That's exactly what happened to DeShawn Currie, a black teenager, when he walked into his home, where his white foster parents lived.

When they were teenagers, my brothers had airsoft guns, and sometimes they carried them around.  I'm terrified that if my future nephew does the same thing, and a cop sees him with it, he will be shot.  I doubt my brothers every faced that fear.  But my future nephew will.  Tamir Rice, a twelve year old black boy was shot and killed by police in this exact situation.

These are just a few of the stories, a few of the realities of black boys in America today.  I hope and pray that these realities change long before my future nephew arrives in this country, long before my future nephew becomes a teenager, a young black man assumed by far too many people to be a danger, to be a criminal, to be "up to no good" simply because of the colour of his skin.

I don't know how to live in this world.  I don't know how to fix this.  And I don't know how to make this treacherous, oppressive world safe for my future nephew to come into.