Being Safe

After much deliberation, I called the police and told them what had happened. It wasn't a big deal, all things considered. A guy had called my church, upset that the local meeting of the Democratic Party happens at my church. In his opinion, it violated our 501(c)(3) status. Yeah, it doesn't. I answered his questions, he kept asking the same questions, so I said, "I've answered your questions, sir. I'm hanging up now." 

"You can't hang up on me," he replied. "I'll come take you out." 

Because, well, I'm me, I answered, "Did you just threaten me?" He backed down. 

"No, no. I'll take you out of your job." He apparently doesn't understand church polity very well. We hung up soon after. I used *69 (yes, it still works!), got his number, called the police and gave it to them. I still have great love for the officer who said, "Well, he's getting a talking to." I had no doubt about that woman's ability to carry her weight and then some in a male-dominated profession. 

I let a few church people know what had happened and a few Democratic Party folks know what had happened so they could be prepared should the dude show up at church. That was the end of it. 

It's the only time in my life I've been threatened. I've been uneasy, sure, but never threatened. The worst part of that reality: it's a place of privilege. 

I had the privilege of growing up in a two parent household. Once, I saw my dad pick up a chair to throw at my mom; he threw it at the stove instead. Gently. My dad is 6' 4" and a farmer. If he'd felt like breaking the chair to smithereens that day he could have, no tools required. My mom doesn't even remember this. That's all the violence that ever occurred in my home in the eighteen years I lived there.

I have the privilege of being white. The police respond when I call. When I drove an old pick-up truck, cops would drive on past once they saw who the driver was. I've been questioned in a store once; I was carrying a backpack. It took me a few minutes to realize that the clerks were worried I might be stealing, when they asked me so many times if I needed help.

I have the privilege of being cisgender. Sure, I'm female and that has its own problems. I'm pretty sure people are quicker to help me, though, because I'm female. They carry things for me, and open doors, and while that's it's own kind of sexism, it also means that most every time I ask someone for anything viewed as help, they give it to me. And maybe it's time I stop elaborating and just make a list of the things that give me privilege in society: being straight, being born in the US, speaking English, being Christian, being well-educated, and my income bracket. 

All of those things have nuances of course. A lot of them were things in which I had no choice. The things that are a choice were easier because of the things that weren't. And they all had up to one and only one pretty mild instance of being threatened. They all add up to me always being safe. 

Being safe should not be a sign of privilege. 

Yet, I'm so aware that it is. I knew it before this weekend. Forty-nine people murdered in a nightclub makes it all the more evident. They were forty-nine people who were murdered for being other, by someone who was also other. How long would it take if we talked about all the facets of sexual orientation, gender identity, race, and religion wrapped up in one horrible event? 

I'm in one of the places with terrifying rhetoric about the LGBTQIA community and the Muslim community. One of the preachers claiming the shooting at Pulse was sent from God is right here. (I must say that he is perverting Christianity at every opportunity.) We have English only laws and Joe Arpaio. Just two days ago, I passed a sign in a store window touting their ability to defend themselves, "Nothing inside is worth dying for." There was an image of a human shaped shooting target riddled with bullets to prove their point. What we say about each other and do to each other is terrifying. 

Can't we at least agree that being safe is not a privilege? Even if you find someone deplorable, can you still see that person deserves to be safe? I don't think that's a Christian value or a Muslim value or a Buddhist value. I don't think it's the value of Democrats or Republicans. I think it's the bare minimum expectation of simply being a human walking around on this planet all together. 

For the love of all that is ordinary--going to work, going to sleep, seeing people you love--can't we agree that being safe is not a privilege?

In the meantime, I'll go back to worrying about my friends for whom being safe is a privilege.