Night of the living frat boys (or “So I threw the rock!"*)

I’m running a little behind on things this week because I’ve been sick since Saturday (happy Mother’s day to me!).  Slowly but surely I’m on the mend and now I finally have the energy to write about my run in with the “frat boys” on Friday night. 

Portrait of me at age 17

Just to be clear before I get started I hate confrontation.  My hands shake, my heart races and my whole body goes on alert.  That being said, I have gained a reputation for being mouthy.  On that note….

Last weekend was the wrap-up for the Hot Docs, documentary film festival for which Howard and I volunteer every year.  Of course, since we had Mae we do fewer shifts and watch fewer films but it’s still something we love to do.  This year I was able to see one film, and as luck would have it my mom was in town so we were able to go together.  The film was “Who Took the Bomp”, a concert film following Le Tigre on their last tour.  Great film, great band and great to spend an hour and a half in a theatre full of feminists and queers. 

As we exited the theatre – handily located in the dreaded ‘club district’ – and walked towards the streetcar stop we passed a large group of tall, white, twenty-something men.  Given my history I am never comfortable with that particular kind of posse but I was too busy chatting about the film to pay much attention until I heard, “Hey Chinaman, where’s (insert crappy nightclub name here)?” (full disclosure, my hands are shaking just writing about this and did I mention that Howard is Chinese?).

Howard didn’t really hear the first part but I did so I looked at the guy and said, “Are you kidding me? What did you call him?” to which he replied, “you heard me.”

Various expletives were tossed back and forth to the delight of his friends and ending, inevitably, in him calling me a lesbian.  So goes the script for every confrontation between an outspoken woman and some moronic straight boy (except for those precious moments when they call you a bitch or a slut instead).

Since I had Mae I don’t have a lot of these run-ins anymore because I’m not usually in those places around those people.  If I do have a conflict it’s because someone is being an ass towards children or parents. As we walked away the tears began to flow, I hate that I have to do that, I hate even more that my daughter will one day be faced with the same ignorance and forced to learn how to pick her battles.

As Howard and I started to debrief he talked to me about how he’s changed since he became a father.  Now that he’s a dad he’s much less inclined to mouth off to people because he has to think about Mae and having her dad get beat up is not in her best interests.  I agree with him and admire that he has had that insight and I do pick my battles more carefully now.  In that situation I wouldn’t have wanted him to speak up because they would be far more likely to get violent with him on a public street than with me.  All they have to do to save face when I get uppity is berate my sexuality, but if a man calls them out, “them’s are fightin’ words”. 

When Howard told me “it’s not worth it” to call them out I asked him, “How many times have you had something like that happen to you?” and he said “Not many”

It’s been hundreds for me.

The simple fact is, that despite what some may believe, I don’t speak up every time.  Sometimes I don’t have the energy and sometimes it really isn’t worth it.  But when you spend your life confronted with that kind of behaviour you either speak up or shut down.  When I tell people about these incidents they say, “Why bother? You’re not going to change their minds” and my answer is always the same.  I may not change their minds, but someone has to let them know that it’s not acceptable to treat people like that. If enough people call them out on their public displays of hate then maybe they’ll be the ones deciding it’s “not worth it”.

When people are allowed to be loud and public with that kind of hatred and ignorance we are all complicit in creating a climate of fear for those who are the target of that hate.  When I was at a subway station one day and some guys were yelling about “them damn n-----s” I told them to keep their racism to themselves. It’s not going to change their minds and it likely won’t keep them from doing it again but at least everyone else on that platform heard someone say, “this is not okay”.  As important as it is for me to stand up when people aim their figurative guns at me or my family it is that much more important for me to speak up when they aim them at others.  It should not be on the shoulders of the object of hate to speak up against it.  I know what bystander apathy feels like and so I refuse to be a bystander. 

Now that I’m a parent it is that much more relevant because as much as I don’t want my kid to be bullied, it is equally important that she not be a bully or a bystander.  While I may hate those confrontations I know I would feel worse if I said nothing.  As a parent I believe it is my job to raise a daughter who can do the same.  If I don’t do it myself, how will I ever teach it to her?

*Reference to "Night of the Living Rednecks" by Jello Biafra