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being an ally

Simply put, sexuality is complicated.

In 1948, famed American sexologist Alfred Kinsey and his colleagues published "Sexual Behavior in the Human Male."The book includedthe Heterosexual-Homosexual Rating Scale, more commonly known as the "Kinsey Scale." Based on their subjects' sexual histories, Kinsey's team made a scale from 0 to 6, with 0 being exclusively heterosexual, 6 exclusively homosexual, and 3 being equal parts of the two.

Demonstrators march for marriage equality in Mexico City. Photo by Yuri Cortez/AFP/Getty Images.

People have learned a lot about sexuality since then, and we've had a sexual revolution for good measure. There are plenty of identities, orientations, and lived experiences other than homosexuality and heterosexuality. All are unique and valid. But the Kinsey reports forever changed the way we look at sexuality, so the idea that it's is a straight line or continuum persists. This explains why it's relatively common to hear people, on the topic of sexuality, say, "Everyone is a little bisexual."

Usually, the speaker's intentions aren't malicious, but that doesn't mean their words are harmless.

Perpetuating this myth erases the countless people who identify as bisexual or pansexual, orientations in their own right. Bisexuality is not simply the midway point between homosexual and heterosexual. Bisexual people have unique experiences, concerns, and issues that deserve to be talked about, addressed, and researched. If "everyone is a little bisexual," those issues are easy to overlook and erase, and that's not the only reason it's problematic.

A scene from the Mexico City Pride Parade. The signs read "Mom, I'm pansexual" and "Mom, I'm bisexual." Photo by Alfredo Estrella/AFP/Getty Images.

The M. Slade comic below was originally published on Everyday Feminism. It perfectly explains why, "Everyone is a little bit bisexual," often does more harm than good.

Comic by M. Slade originally published on "Everyday Feminism."

This doesn't mean you can't be supportive. Here's what you can do instead.

Listen.

Like Slade said in the comic, "It's not your place to find a label for your friend." If your friend, colleague, or family member comes to you with complicated feelings, your first responsibility is to be a compassionate listener. Just be a good friend. Close your mouth and open your heart. If you insist on speaking, "I'm here for you, whatever you need," is a good place to start.

Photo by WOCinTech Chat/Flickr.

Do your homework.

Seek out LGBTQ writers, authors, and podcasters for first person essays, novels, articles, and interviews. These are simple but effective ways to learn more about someone else's lived experience and provide some insight into communities that aren't always represented on TV, in film, or even on the news.

Photo by WOCinTech Chat/Flickr.

Be an active ally.

Being an ally is good, but being an active one is better. It's not enough to fave a tweet or change your profile picture on Facebook. Do your part to signal boost voices that often get ignored, like trans women of color and LGBT people with disabilities. March, write your legislators, and volunteer or support organizations already doing the work. Don't just tell your friends and family how much you care, show them.

Demonstrators pushed for President Obama to stand up for LGBT rights at a 2009 protest. Photo by Brendan Smialowski/Getty Images.

Yes, sexuality is complicated. Being a decent person is easy.

Keep listening, keep learning, and never stop doing your part to encourage inclusivity.

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I'm white. My adopted brothers are black. This is how their world differs from mine.

In 1969, my white parents adopted twin, 4-month-old African-American and Mexican-American baby boys.

I was born a year later, making us three children under 3 years old. And, boy, were we a handful.

This was just two years after the landmark United States Supreme Court decision invalidating laws prohibiting interracial marriage, and just five short years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964 outlawed discrimination based on race, forbid racial discrimination in schools, and allowed people of color to drink from the same water fountains as white people.

Many people over the years have asked me what it was like growing up with my African-American brothers as my “real” brothers.

The boring truth is that this was my “normal.” My brothers and I bickered and fought like the close-in-age siblings we were.

Image courtesy of Elena Kennedy.

Our circle of friends included other families who were also interracial. I didn’t even notice at the time that I was the only white kid in my first grade class until years later when I saw my class picture, and there I was — the only white kid, with a white teacher.

We lived in a pretty progressive town, Montclair, New Jersey. That year, the school system was creating “magnet schools” to help integrate the schools. So while I walked to our neighborhood school, my brothers were bused to the area of town that was primarily white to desegregate and improve integration.

I didn’t really like that my big brothers and I wouldn’t be at the same school. I think, to this day, there are acquaintances of ours that know us separately and don’t put it together that we’re brothers and sister even though we have the same last name.

Although we were being raised in the same family, their experiences were separate and different from mine.

Out in the world, they were being treated differently than I was.

When we went to the same middle school, I remember us walking home together and noticing that one of my brothers said someone was looking at us funny. Billy and Toby would always notice who was looking at us funny, and I never ever noticed.

One time, my brother Billy was chased in a store for taking a shirt off the rack and running back to us to say this was the shirt he wanted our mother to buy. The store clerk followed in hot pursuit, thinking a theft was in progress.

Later, when Billy could drive, I remember him getting stopped by police on the parkway driving home, and the police looked over to the passenger side where my white dad sat and asked if everything was all right. My dad replied: “Yes, my son is just driving us home. Was he speeding?” We knew this was an odd traffic stop because, no, he wasn’t speeding.

Last year, I asked my brother to do me a huge favor and drive my son from New Jersey where we were visiting family to our home in Dayton, Ohio, (where I live now) — a 10-hour drive.

In order to drive my son home, we agreed it would be best to write and sign a letter saying my brother had permission to drive my car and was taking my son home to Ohio and include a picture of my driver’s license in case there was any trouble.

It made all of us feel better to know he had that note. It also made us miserable to write it. And we held our breath the whole way they drove to Ohio and until Billy returned safely back to NYC.

Image courtesy of Elena Kennedy.

My brothers go into the world as African-American men, and the world treats them as African-American men — with implicit bias, prejudice, and fear. I go into the world a white woman and I am afforded the benefit of the doubt and second chances.

When I went away to college in Ohio, people were surprised to learn that I grew up with African-American brothers.

“What was it like?” The question stumped me. It was just my normal. I didn’t know anything different to compare it to. Yet, I do know that it’s not everyone’s normal, and in some circumstances, people don’t interact with people of color in their daily lives.

Under different circumstances, I might have been a white person who didn’t regularly interact with people of color. I could have had an understanding of race taken from books, biased news reports, from TV or movies. Instead, I have agonized over my brothers “driving while black,” and I worry for their lives when they come to visit me.

I want to make the world safer and more fair for my family and yours.

Maybe now you’ll speak up when you witness something that seems unjust.

Maybe now you will see an uncomfortable interaction involving a person of color and you’ll think, "What if that were my brother or sister?"

What can you do? You can talk to your friends and neighbors about how you feel about injustices in the world. You can join a racial justice group in your town, your school, or your place of worship.

I am sharing this because I hope my story starts just one constructive conversation today that wouldn’t have happened otherwise.

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Non-Muslim students formed a protective circle.

Just days after the election, a Muslim student at the University of Michigan was approached by a stranger who ordered her to remove her hijab under threat that he would set her on fire.

According to Nusayba Tabbah, the internal vice president of the school's Muslim Students' Association, this was not an isolated event, but rather, an acceleration of an anti-Muslim climate on campus.

— (@)

In response, the school's Muslim students decided to reclaim their space on campus — a reminder that they have the same right to be there as any other student.

MSA program committee member Rami Ebrahim suggested the group gather to pray one of their five daily prayers, ishaa, in public. In doing so, the community would be making a powerful statement, letting those who seek to antagonize them know that they will not be bullied into hiding who they are and what they believe.

The Muslim Student Association held a group Ishaa prayer at University of Michigan, with two hundred non-Muslims standing guard in a circle around them
Posted by MSA National on Monday, November 14, 2016

A few non-Muslim friends were asked to circle around the group during the prayer as a show of solidarity. What they got was so much more.

"I was surprised and overwhelmed by the number of people there — both Muslim and non-Muslim," Tabbah wrote in an email. The crowd was made up of an estimated 300 people.

Mohammed Ishtiaq, University of Michigan’s Muslim chaplain, leads prayer. Photo by Benji Bear.

"It reminded me that I have a lot to be grateful for," she continued. "We are part of an amazing community that has repeatedly spoken out about the growing hostility towards Muslims and other minorities."

Photo by Benji Bear.

Solidarity and compassion for one another is crucial. Nobody should be made to live in fear because of their religious beliefs or skin color.

"We must not stand silent while facing expressions of bigotry, discrimination or hate that have become part of our national political discourse,” wrote school president Mark Schlissel in an email to students.

Photo by Benji Bear.

Right now, more than any other time in recent history, we must stand on the side of acceptance; we must stand against bigotry. The Southern Poverty Law Center, an organization that tracks hate crimes and hate groups, has found the uptick in hate crimes to be greater in the current post-election landscape than even in the immediate aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. Since Election Day, the group has logged more than 400 events of harassment and intimidation.

Now is the time to be an ally to Muslims and other minorities, and that means taking action.

For one, it's important to educate yourselves and to help educate others. Tabbah recommends getting to know your Muslim neighbors, noting that many people who fear or hate Muslims simply don't know any.

Photo by Benji Bear.

Just as important: We can't let this type of bigotry and harassment become the accepted norm.

"I think it's important to speak out when we hear or see something wrong," Tabbah adds.

"We can't let ourselves become desensitized to hateful rhetoric because that just normalizes it."

Photo by Benji Bear.

We don't have to give in to a culture of fear. We can fight back. We can be a force for good in this world.

On Saturday, Nov. 12, Jesse Sanders and Josh Seifert stood hand-in-hand in Central Park.

The afternoon was colder than usual, but the couple smiled, warmed by the occasional sunbeam and the confidence that things were about to change for the better. Sure, they'd been engaged for a year, but this day, their wedding day, happened like a goodnight kiss: slow at first, then all at once.

Jesse (left) and Josh during their wedding ceremony. Photo by Karen Seifert/I Heart New York, used with permission.

Just days prior, the couple had no clue they'd be getting married so soon. Their quick wedding had everything to do with Donald Trump.

"We were big Clinton supporters so [the election] hit us very hard," Sanders wrote in an email. "We had been considering getting married sometime soon, but I don't want anyone to get the impression that we got married last Saturday out of fear. "

The future is uncertain, but love isn't. Photo by Karen Seifert/I Heart New York, used with permission.

Instead, they say they wed as tribute to an era of almost unimaginable positive steps for the LGBTQ community, diversity, and inclusion: from the election of the country's first black president and the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell to marriage equality reaching all 50 states. The happy couple wanted to be a part of it, especially with the future looking so uncertain.

"We don't know what the next historical era holds but so far, it is looking to be unsettling," he said.

After proposing one more time to Seifert, Sanders sent an invite to his friends and 3 million strangers to their wedding, which suddenly was just three days away.

Sanders, a member of the private Clinton fan group Pantsuit Nation, shared news of his impending wedding with the groups more than 3 million members. His post received thousands of likes and shares. When complete strangers started asking for an invite, Sanders went with it and invited the well-wishers to join him and Seifert at Sheep Meadow in Central Park.

Wedding guests signing the guest book. Photo by Karen Seifert/I Heart New York, used with permission.

"My husband is self-admittedly quite shy so when I had to break it to him that I might have accidentally invited 3 million people to our wedding, he was a bit shocked," Sanders said. "Once he started reading all of the love, his eyes welled up too and he couldn't say 'no' to inviting these strangers who wanted to share in our happiness. "

The day arrived and Josh, Jesse, their friends, and a few joyful strangers from across the northeast came out to celebrate in Central Park.

There were hugs, well wishes, presents, and even a handmade sign. One guest from Pantsuit Nation, Karen Seifert (no relation to Josh) is a photographer. She volunteered to take their wedding photos.

Josh and Jesse welcome complete strangers to their wedding ceremony in Central Park. Photos by Karen Seifert/I Heart New York, used with permission.

"The combination of friends and family we had known for such a long time and strangers who had simply been touched by our story gathered around me and the love of my life, watching us consecrate our union was the single most incredibly profound event I have ever experienced," Sanders said.

Friends, family, and strangers after the ceremony. Photo by Karen Seifert/I Heart New York, used with permission.

Of course, Jesse and Josh aren't the only folks from the LGBTQ community reacting with love and hope in the wake of this life-changing election.

Bethany Johnson of Springfield, Missouri, woke up on Nov. 10 with a knot in her stomach following the election. Johnson, a 37-year-old transgender woman, had recently moved back to Springfield, Missouri, and decided to take a small but hopeful step by sprucing up her white picket fence and painting her gate rainbow colors.

She started her project with gusto, but after a run-in with Trump supporters at the hardware store, Johnson got discouraged. She even considered dropping everything and moving to Canada. But after talking to some of her friends, she decided to stay and fight — not with fists, but with kindness.

"I realized that it is wrong to leave people here who will be doing the work for the society I want," Johnson said in an email.

She got up and met her neighbors, handing out homemade biscuits and telling them how fearful she was. But reaching out and meeting people face-to-face helped.

"I came home after talking to all of those people and I painted my fence and my gate," she said.

Photo by Bethany Johnson, used with permission.

But for every story of love, hope, and kindness in the wake of the election — like this wedding or the rainbow fence — there is also a story of fear and concern.

Following Trump's victory, Jessica (who preferred not to use her last name) in Georgia is frightened and feverishly scraping together money and legal counsel so her wife can legally adopt their son in case their marriage is thrown out in the courts.

"We're legitimately scared for our family," she said.

It's unknown what Trump, Congress, or the Supreme Court will or won't do for LGBTQ citizens. But if the Republican platform is any indication, representatives at every level and branch may try to roll back the clock on civil rights.

Rainbow-colored lights shined on the White House to celebrate the Supreme Court ruling in favor of same-sex marriage June 26, 2015. Photo by Mark Wilson/Getty Images.

These weddings, fears, and fences prove that we need to turn our emotions into action this year.

"We can be mad about the election or mad about things that have been said by people on both sides," Johnson said. "But that anger has to turn into some kind of positive action for all of us eventually."

It might be meeting your neighbors. It might be attending a stranger's wedding. It might be painting a fence, or volunteering in the community, or making preparations for the months to come to protect yourself and others. But mostly, it will be listening — really listening — to people who feel marginalized and left behind by the new administration.

"...If you are not a person of color, you do not get to decide what racism is. If you are not LGBTQ, you do not get to define homophobia," Sanders said. "Ask them what you can do to help. Don't make assumptions. They'll tell you what they need from you."

But what I hope we don't forget as we walk forward is the possibility of this moment in the sun.

The possibility that exists between these two men, hand in hand with the one they love most.

Photo by Karen Seifert/I Heart New York used with permission.

"Channel the negative emotions into positive change," Sanders said. "Look at your fellow man with compassion and look for every way you can help."

Imagine you're on the bus or maybe out walking in the park, when you see someone bothering a Muslim woman nearby. What do you do?

Marie-Shirine Yener, a French artist and activist who also goes by the name Maeril, has some ideas.

"I have witnessed, during the last months and years, the number of hate-motivated actions against Muslims increase rapidly," said Maeril, who is of mixed Iranian, Turkish, Kurdish, and Armenian descent, in an interview with The Independent. "I felt like I had to try to do something with what I have, and that is drawing and writing."

Maeril created a how-to guide to help people stand up against anti-Muslim sentiments, which have been on the rise since the attack in Paris.

Her rules also apply to harassment against other marginalized people, too: Muslims, Sikh, or Indians, and any people of color who are targeted as a "terrorists."

"The recent burkini bans crystallized Islamophobic hate even more and I felt like I really had to try and do something about it," Maeril told Mic. "Some people don't intervene when they witness harassment, because they have no idea what to do. I wanted to change by offering clear and safe steps for the sake of the person harassed."

Here are her suggestions:

All images by Maeril/Tumblr. Used with permission.

Engage conversation. Go to them, sit beside them, and say hello. Try to appear calm, collected, and welcoming. IGNORE THE ATTACKER.

2. Pick a random subject and start discussing it. It can be anything: a movie you liked, the weather, saying you like something they wear and asking where they got it...

3. Keep building the safe space. Keep eye contact with them and don't acknowledge the attacker's presence. The absence of response will push them to leave the area shortly.

4. Continue the conversation until the attacker leaves and escort them to a safe place if necessary. Bring them to a neutral area where they can recollect themselves; respect their wishes if they tell you they're OK and just want to go.

With Islamophobia on the rise once more in America, it's even more important for us to turn our words into action, to build solidarity with our Muslim neighbors.

According to FBI statistics, hate crimes against Muslims in the United States increased by nearly 67% in 2015 compared to 2014 — the worst it's been since right after the 9/11 attacks. Hundreds more crimes were reported in the days immediately following the 2016 presidential election too, not unlike what happened in the United Kingdom after their vote to leave the European Union.

We've seen the hate laid bare now in ways we never imagined. So, for me, I'm hoping to make it clear that I won't stand for that kind of bigotry or discrimination against my fellow Americans.

But it's up to all of us, as individuals, to take action against hate wherever we see it. Only then can we can actually come together to build stronger, safer communities.

The other night as the votes rolled in, I started to get really upset my parents were seeing what was happening.

It sounds weird, but those were my first thoughts. And they’ve been sticking with me. It’s partly my own damaged psyche, but I feel ashamed this happened.

My dad survived the Holocaust, lost his entire family, fought with the partisans, and is a full-fledged hero. My mom survived Kristallnacht 78 years ago. She escaped to a children’s home in France and eventually made her way to America, where she’s been working to help educate people and end prejudice against all types of people for her entire adult life.

They endured the absolute worst life could offer. They saw the worst in their fellow citizens right down to their next-door neighbors. Imagine bad — it was worse.

But somehow, they’re not angry people. They’re not hateful.

They are good, smart, deeply aware of international issues, and news junkies. They’ve never looked away from the world, no matter how bleak the view.

After all they’ve encountered, it pained me that they were home watching the same results as I was. I thought maybe their experiences could help put this election into perspective — and maybe even make me feel a little better.

I called my dad, who's seen it all. He’s experienced loss; he crawled on his hands and knees from his town to the Polish forest where he survived alone for months; he fought back; he came to America with nothing; he made himself into a remarkably successful real estate developer and philanthropist.

After we shared our common disbelief at the choice Americans made, he told me he didn't understand how people could have voted for Trump.

I called my mom.

Her message was clear: “Yes, it’s a bummer, but the real message here is that we all need to become activists. Today.”

She thought back to her experiences as a child. “You know, maybe if we had organized and fought back against Hitler’s rise right from the beginning, we could have prevented what happened. We could have made it more difficult for him to do what he did if we hadn’t waited and just assumed that ‘this too shall pass.’”

I’m not arguing that Trump is Hitler. He’s not. I hate the constant comparisons and feel they are counterproductive. Trump deserves a chance to lead. But he can do a lot of damage to progressive values and important democratic institutions in a short time.

We can look forward to 2018 and 2020, but in the meantime, we should all become activists and make it as difficult as possible for him to enact policies counter to our values.

If we don’t, this too shall not pass.

At the end of the conversation, my mom said, “Sorry, I don’t think I did a very good job of cheering you up.”

Pretty amazing, right? She thought it was her job to cheer me up.

Don’t underestimate the resilience of good people. Don’t underestimate your own power to make things better.

And don’t forget to take my mom’s advice. She’s almost always right. It runs in the family.

'Let your whispering become a violent roar. Let us know that you won’t leave us to fight alone.'

I am a black, queer woman.

And on election night in America, I was made perfectly aware of just how much many Americans are not ready for me.

In all honesty, I am not truly surprised by this election's outcome — hatred has always been embedded in the fabric of this country's design. America has never been the one to admit its faults. I often feel like we believe that if we don’t talk about a problem, then there won’t be a problem. As George Santayana, a Spanish philosopher, once said, “Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

Never owning up to our hatred and intolerance of anyone not white, rich, Christian, or male, is exactly what Trump tapped into to win this election.

Trump played on the fear of the unknown, and America allowed it.

He should have never been taken as a joke in the first place. He should have never made it this far. But he did, thanks to the media and the people who live here.

Now, many of us, minorities specifically, must be prepared for whatever monstrosities are thrown our way. We must prepare for warfare. Mental warfare. Psychological warfare. Physical warfare. We must keep our heads up and faith high.

Protesters gathered outside Trump Tower in New York on Nov. 9, 2016. Photo by Drew Angerer/Getty Images.

So, allies, what do I need from you this week?

Minorities might be strong, but we’ll need you too. I know that you might not know how you could help us. I know that you might feel guilty. But I need you to not allow this to deter your activism. Get involved. Help us fight the fight. If you are deterred, fight harder — this is what we are used to. Look out for us. Continue to go to protests. Continue to defend us. Have our backs.

Let your whispering become a violent roar. Let us know that you won’t leave us to fight alone.

In these trying times, we need to unify more than ever before.

We need to collect ourselves and focus on how we will overcome. The country has made a mistake, but we can brave the oncoming storm. We may be in America, but we are not of it. America has allowed hate to consume it, but we will not allow hate to consume us.