Remembering Lawrence King

[filkertom]

huskiebear just told me about something I hadn't heard about, or if I did it didn't register. Something she saw on Ellen.

Something horrible.

It's about a fifteen-year-old kid in Oxnard, CA named Lawrence King. Friends called him Larry. He was openly gay, and it's been reported that he sometimes "dressed in a feminine manner". It seems as if, in anticipation of Valentine's day, he told another male student, Brandon McInerney, that he had a crush on him.

Four days later, McInerney shot Larry in the head.

There are, of course, tributes and presidential candidate statements and religious controversy (read the comments section of that last one -- it's absolutely fascinating, and more than a little revealing about the conflict within the Catholic community). But one thing I noticed which hit me a little hard... something which already influenced me awhile back, and which steered the lyrics of one of my songs.

Lots of people are talking about "tolerance".

And RIGHT FUCKIN' THERE is the problem.

I can't remember where I saw this, it's not an original thought with me, but... you tolerate something which is wrong. The word "tolerance" itself implies the wrongness.

And, goddammit, it is not wrong to be gay.

It is not wrong to have a crush on somebody.

It is beyond wrong, certainly inclusive of wrong but also way the hell beyond, to commit violence on someone for having a crush on you. Or just being gay. Or "dressing in a feminine manner".

Again and again and again we go over this, a zillion times and more, played out like consecutive train wrecks. Unless you are their partner, someone else's sexual choices do not affect you in any way. (If you feel compelled to say What if it's a stalker or a rapist or a child molester? I'll metaphorically smack you upside the head. Those are crimes of violence and power and control and terror.) If someone tells you they have a crush on you, and you don't return it, you say, "I'm sorry, I don't feel that way." Or, if you're a fourteen-year-old boy, maybe you freak out, or maybe not, or maybe you discover something about yourself, maturity, sexual identity, humor, who knows.

You do not go get a gun and shoot the person in the head.

The word is not "tolerance". It's "acceptance". People are different, and unless their differences directly affect you it's not your problem.

But no. Two lives, two families are destroyed. Because somebody taught Brandon McInerney to hate.

This is the greatest reason to fight for gay/lesbian rights, for acceptance. Because "tolerance" may be better than outright hatred, but it's nowhere near enough. And it's getting too easy for some people to commit violence on others because of differences, real or perceived. People have to be shown that the differences are not that different, or not that important, or not anybody else's business.

Rest in peace, Larry, and condolences to your family and friends. May some good come from your tragic loss.

ETA: fixing up the wording here and there.

ETA 2: Adding a link to a report at Think Progress about the Ellen episode. Goddamn it, I wept.

Comments

[pandoradeloeste.livejournal.com]

Our history teacher in grade school used to get off on telling us that she knew how to reduce each and every one of us to tears, but she didn't because she was just that nice. A few years later my brother had her and said she would openly count down the years until she could retire. (By some miracle he came away from her class loving history - I think he's even majoring in it now.) Personally I think she chose the wrong profession - dominatrix might have been a better choice. Or maybe (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bOtMizMQ6oM&NR=1) dentist (http://youtube.com/watch?v=iAKYQjpDtpA).

[filkertom.livejournal.com]

I had some really tremendous teachers in grade school -- Mr. Brown, the 2nd grade math teacher, the first black person I actually knew, was prominent, as was Mrs. Black, the sweet white-haired old lady who read to us in the auditorium every day, and Mrs. Staviarski (spelling is probably wrong) in 3rd grade, who nobody liked but by damn her job was teaching proper English, reading and writing and spelling and grammar, and she was great at it.

And then there was my overall 2nd grade teacher, whose name eludes me, who brought her sister to school one day. Flush with pride over my recent IQ test, I introduced myself and said, "I'm smart!" And my teacher pulled me aside later to tell me that I shouldn't tell people I'm smart because they wouldn't like me.

And then there was Mrs. Nowak, the Iron Bitch of 5th grade Science at Dixon Elementary, who once slapped Paul Brown for talking when he shouldn't have been -- slapped him so hard he got a nosebleed. And he cried as she grabbed him and held a wet cloth to his face to stop the bleeding and berated him for the situation.

And then there was George Ford Magnet Middle School in Detroit, where I was beaten up a lot for being a goofy-looking nerd ("Goofy" was my nickname for two and a half years) and even the principal, Dr. Betty Ritzenhein, whom I loved and who thought I was the bee's knees (yeah, that's right, I was Principal's Pet), couldn't do much to help me, and I ended up being saved only when Dr. Rice started up the Chess Club and it turned out I was tied for second-best player in the school.

And then there was the Spanish teacher there, a lovely young woman who was a lousy teacher. Three years of that class, and I have a fine appreciation of Latino-African-American beauty, and I can about count to twenty in Spanish.

And then there was my 10th grade Geometry teacher, who (without the term existing at the time) was absolutely a MILF, a gorgeous petite blonde lady who knew how the hell to look good, and classy, and soft-spoken, and iron-willed when she needed to be because she had a class full of smart-alecks going through puberty who were in no way immune to her appearance, and damn she knew her subject, and knew how to teach it and make it stick in your head, very possibly the best instructor I have ever had. The by-the-book shmuck the next year was such a comedown, I dropped out of his class.

Teachers, being people, are like everyone else. And there's not an easy way to shop around for 'em.

[pandoradeloeste.livejournal.com]

And then there was Mrs. Nowak, the Iron Bitch of 5th grade Science at Dixon Elementary, who once slapped Paul Brown for talking when he shouldn't have been -- slapped him so hard he got a nosebleed.

o_O That can't have been legal - corporal punishment wasn't outlawed that long ago, was it?

(Sick, smart way to make sure the kid doesn't tell anyone that his teacher hit him - shame them into silence by saying a) it's all their fault somehow, or b) quit whining, you big baby, I didn't hit you that hard. I saw our music teacher slap a kid and use option B.)

[filkertom.livejournal.com]

That's basically what Nowak did. She did it in the middle of class. She was a real case -- nobody liked her, and I, the science nerd of the school, didn't want to be anywhere near her classroom.