white,
straight,
cis,
males...
You are privileged.
And we need your help.
You’ve heard this before.
I know it.
But have you ever listened?
A racial slur is thrown across the lunchroom.
The victim hardly winces,
but their breathing comes in sharp.
They walk out of the room,
nonchalantly
But you know it hurt them.
You’ve seen it before.
I’m sure of it.
You’ll see it again, there’s no way to avoid it.
The student was hurt,
they were scared,
and they were alone.
But have you ever done a thing?
You didn’t smile when the slur was said.
Or maybe you did;
but you didn’t stand up to the harasser... or go after the victim
to show you saw it.
Did you?
You’re in gym class, playing a game.
A boy misses a shot.
“You’re so gay!” someone yells. They mutter the f-slur under their breath, sure no one heard.
The boy seems fine. He doesn’t care. This is an insult that he hears everywhere.
He doesn’t care, but the student standing next to the insulter does.
They heard the slur.
They don’t feel safe.
They stand there, frozen,
voice stuck in their throat,
not wanting to say anything
afraid it’ll out them.
They go outside the gym, leaning against the wall.
You see them go.
You hear the insult.
Maybe you put it together, maybe you don’t.
You wonder for a second why it’s used as an insult.
Or maybe you don’t.
Do you do anything?
Or do you leave it be?
Do you forget it next period?
I know someone remembered it.
The person who went out in the hall.
I know it stayed with them for a
long
time.
After school, you’re hanging out with a group of friends.
They’re talking about someone.
“It” they keep saying.
You wonder who they’re talking about.
Then you realize.
They’re talking about a student in your Bio class.
They’re trans.
“It” they keep saying.
As if the student wasn’t human.
Something,
the twist in your stomach, maybe,
tells you that you should say something.
You stand there, doing nothing.
Because you guess it’s kind of funny.
They would never say that in front of the kid.
Then you realize the student’s walking nearby.
And by the expression on their face,
you know they heard what your friends were saying.
You look back at your friends. They’re still whispering.
You walk away, feeling sick.
You’ll talk to your friends tomorrow.
But you won’t say anything when they keep calling the student “it”.
You stop talking to the kid in Bio class.
You can’t figure out what to do.
You’ll forget about it over summer break,
never considering saying something to your friends about it,
Ever
Again.
Will you?
You’re older now.
You’ve got a daughter and a son.
The nine year old comes up to you
“Daddy, I want to be president.”
The expression on your face changes
for a second.
You didn’t mean for it to,
but she sees it.
The girl has seen this before.
You realize this.
To make her feel better,
you tell her, “You would make a great first lady.”
She turns away.
You start to apologize,
“I didn’t mean-”
but it’s too late.
She grows up
and works as a waitress for a while.
She goes to college,
she gets a degree in government
but she never does anything with it.
She doesn’t go to law school
like she always dreamed of.
You wish you had known what to say.
You wish you had raised her differently
And you ask yourself why you acted differently with her dreams
than you did with your son’s.
One day you become a grandfather.
You look at your granddaughter and you promise yourself
to try harder.