More Than a Friend ... an Ally

Growing up in the Deep South in the ’70s, I had a more diverse set of friends than you might imagine. One of my friends — someone I’d known since third grade — was someone I thought of as a good friend. As immature boys tend to do, we mercilessly kidded each other as a sign of (and they don’t make apostrophes strong enough for this) “manhood.”

Being Middle Eastern, the go-to jabs aimed at me were about the size of my nose or some ignorant heritage-related taunt. But my friend — the one I’d known since third grade — had an effeminate voice (far more cruel words were used back then), and he was teased even more relentlessly than I was.

There was a different tenor to the taunts aimed at him — the disdain was palpable. As his friend, I’d sometimes say, “Aren’t you being an ass about this? C’mon, back off,” and occasionally that would work... but not for long.

See, I was his friend — and that’s what friends do.

He wasn’t out in any way. No one at our high school would have dared. The threats — and honestly, the potential for violence — were real. Not just for him, but for any of his friends with the courage to truly stand up for him.

Going forward, I’d love to say I instantly became a super-ally — though that word wasn’t commonly used yet for the level of support we’re talking about — but I did want to do something. That first meant being firm in opposing the suppression of people, regardless of their identity. I tried to be clear and proactive, and as a fairly new dad, I knew that had to start at home.

As someone active in my church, it also meant making sure that our love for all neighbors drowned out the voices who treated that as a suggestion, rather than the core of our faith. I felt like I was doing all the right things, and I worked on myself not to become complacent.

But did it make a difference?

If the above sounded like a victory lap or a plea for a pat on the back, it's far from that. It did make me realize, though, that to make a difference in the lives of people who are being downtrodden and suppressed, you need to both understand them and be someone they can trust. Being an ally implies an active role — that you’re working together for a common cause. To work together, you need to know where they are, where we all should end up, and ensure a level of trust remains so that the alliance is strong and successful.

That was on my mind when I agreed to support Pride this year. Many thanks to Monica for making that crystal clear. I have a Shepard Fairey poster that says, Art Heals. Monica said she was amazed at how many people found the creation of the sari to be a healing process. Whether through art, service, protest, or however you feel led, may you be an ally for healing — for those who need it, for yourself, and for our land.