Stops #11 and #12: Abilene, TX - Hardin-Simmons University and Abilene Christian University

Just three hours away from Waco, the journey to Abilene in west Texas was our shortest yet on the bus, a welcome change from 10-12 hour travel days with cramped necks and kinked backs.  But we exchanged travel time for work, as no sooner did we arrive in town and check into our hotel than we were off to meet with faculty and administration from Hardin-Simmons University, our first of two schools in town.

Most schools we visit list “homosexual activity” in a prohibited list with other examples of sex outside of marriage – premarital, extramarital, adultery, etc.  But at HSU, homosexuality was listed in a clause prohibiting “acts of moral turpitude” and compared directly to the sexual molestation of minors.

I knew about the policy before going into the meeting, of course.  It would be silly to go to a school about a policy and not know anything about that policy, after all.  But it wasn’t until after we had spent thirty minutes chit-chatting, then twenty minutes eating, and finally begun talking about our reason for our visit to the school that it hit me.

These people work at an institution that equivocates who I am with the violent rape of a young child.

While the other riders did an excellent job of explaining to the assembled HSU representatives how that comparison was inaccurate and how harmful it was to the school’s students and staff alike, I sat in anger and fear.  My hand shook as I lifted a glass of water to my mouth, hoping to find my voice. The dinner ended, we were thanked for our time and thoughts, and we headed back to the hotel to prepare to meet with students the following morning, my heart still racing.

The next morning, we had two sessions with students and I feared a repeat of the previous evening – but rather than forcing us to spend any time justifying our humanity, the students actually seemed hungry for knowledge about what it means to be an ally for LGBTQ people.  They understood that their friends and peers were suffering in silence, and wanted to do something about it.  After our time on campus, we staked a claim at a nearby coffee shop and students continued to come and ask questions.  My voice was raspy from overuse by the end of the day, but I felt light – we had at last come to a place where we found allies who cared just as much as we did.

With no time to waste, the following day was a stop at another school, Abilene Christian University.  ACU was a stop on a previous ride and had responded well to the last visit by changing their policy, but they still listed ex-gay ministries as the only resource for LGBTQ folks on their counseling center website and would not allow the creation of a safe space on campus for queer folk to talk about their identities.

Emboldened by the previous day at HSU, we spoke passionately about the dangers of so-called reparative or ex-gay therapy and the urgent need for affirmation for LGBTQ identities among their students.  Through sessions with students, administration, and the counseling center itself, we told our own stories of being hurt by these therapies and by rejection from the church and our families.  We talked about rates of suicide attempts and homelessness among LGBTQ youth and how misinformation contributes directly to the spiritual and material suffering of current students.  We pressed for a commitment to take down the resources, to draft a plan to create safe spaces, for anything, but were met with a firm “we’ll consider it.”

At the end of the day, we felt frustrated yet again – we had done everything possible to make the danger clear and seemed no closer to progress in creating safety for LGBTQ students that before.

But guess what?  Four days later, the links were taken down.  And my heart beat a little faster then too.

Next up: Springfield, MO.

Stops #9 and #10: Clinton, MS (Mississippi College) and Waco, TX (Baylor University)

After the mid-way point at Belhaven, our next two stops represented for me the truest tests of our resolve (as I understood it at that point, at any rate).  Mississippi College in Clinton, MS and Baylor University in Waco, TX are both Southern Baptist schools the Equality Ride has visited in years past, and both places at which riders not only got arrested but received poor treatment from the police.  During our first training back in January, we were told stories of cavity searches, solitary confinement, and bail posted at ten times its normal rate for riders caught chalking on campus pathways or stepping too far onto university grass.  As we approached them in the itinerary, MC and Baylor gradually became the two "big bads" in my mind - the ones I knew could really hurt us, the ones of which I was really afraid.

Mississippi College was first, just a few miles from our last stop. Through extensive and careful negotiations with the school's administration, Jason (the MC stop planner) had ceded the possibility of civil disobedience (crossing onto the private campus against their wishes and getting arrested in order to raise media awareness and illustrate the injustice of the policies).  In exchange, MC had promised to allow and even promote two off campus events for its students to attend: a community service project in conjunction with Belhaven and the Equality Ride, and a forum with diverse perspectives about faith and sexuality held at a nearby church.

We were excited - the ride had actually visited MC twice before and each time it had been scarring for both the riders and the school, so being allowed to engage with MC students in real dialogue and service would have been a major breakthrough.  But about a week before we got there, we discovered that not only had the events not been promoted to the students in any way whatsoever (as in, the students had no idea they were happening at all), but that the church hosting the panel had been pressured by the school to go back on its commitment.

Well, this dampened our spirits considerably.  So instead of the forum, we spent the afternoon standing outside the main entrance to the school with signs protesting the policy.  A group of riders wrapped themselves in caution tape and duct-taped their mouths shut, the words "gay," "lesbian," "bisexual," "transgender," and "queer" written across their shirts - representing how the school's policies silence their LGBTQ students every day.  Another group of riders held rainbow balloons, then popped them one by one as the names of LGBTQ youth who had killed themselves were read, representing the violent way their lives had ended due to the silence and rejection policies like MC's represent.

Although MC had not upheld its end of the deal, we upheld ours and remained off campus grounds throughout the demonstration.  Just one local TV news crew came, and newspapers reported the next day that our visit had been "quiet" and "low key."  We had some good conversations with students and locals that came out to see us, most of whom said this was a good step forward.  But was it?  No one got arrested, sure, but the policy is no closer to changing and students are still suffering.  Was it a step forward, or was it simply less messy?

Still unsure of the answer, we left Mississippi and made our way to Texas.  After a gloriously rejuvenating Easter weekend in Austin involving bars, restaurants, live outdoor music, dancing, and an outdoor swimming pool at just the right temperature, we landed finally in Waco and prepared ourselves for Baylor.

Baylor was going to be different this year as well.  Although the school's policy was no different and they would not work with us on creating a forum or event, they did allow us on campus to approach and talk with students.  We arrived at school grounds at 9 in the morning and spread out strategically, then began trying to have conversations with students.

Many people simply ignored us (which, I'll be honest, I usually do to folks wth petitions or who want to interrupt my day with conversations I don't want to have).  Some were willing to talk until they found out who we were, then walked away smirking, or perhaps suddenly in more of a hurry than before.  And a few people actually did stop and talk.  Like always, these conversations ran a gamut, from folks who didn't the know policy and were shocked by it (including a clause that prohibits even straight allies from advocating for LGBTQ people or issues) to folks who fully supported it and wanted to save our misguided souls.

The overriding feeling I got was that, regardless of their position on the issue, no one thought anything could be done about it.  Everyone felt disempowered, voiceless.  It's just the way things are, they said.  The school is too powerful.

An open mic-style event afterward lifted our spirits and gave us hope that queer life in Waco was no lost cause, that fierce beauty arises amidst unimaginable resistance every day.  But the questions remain: what about Baylor?  What about their students?  One student told me that, as a bisexual  on campus, she felt like her "soul is being sucked dry" by the oppressive silence at the school.

At both schools, this year's ride seemingly made headway by receiving recognition from the schools that previous rides had been unable to get.  But were we simply less messy?  Had the schools simply learned that the best way to deal with us was to give an inch, and leave us with no leverage to go the remaining mile?  As always, I guess my hope lies in the hearts of the folks we actually got to talk with, in what they will choose to take from our stories and love.  It's up to them now.

*****

Two weeks later, we have gone to four more schools and are gearing up for our last two.  But as it turns out, MC isn't done with this issue - they are flying two riders back to Mississippi to be part of an on-campus panel on homosexuality.  Please pray and send your love to these riders who will be vastly outnumbered by folks with PHDs in a very public setting, that their message of hope, truth, and love will be heard by those who need it most.

Stop #8: Jackson, MS - Belhaven University

At our first training back in January, each rider was assigned a stop to organize during the trip. What this means for me is that I had been working on our stop at Belhaven University in Jackson, MS for about 2.5 months by the time we actually got there on March 29th. Naturally, I was a little bit anxious that things would go smoothly and productively.

Mostly, they did. We had a lovely day on campus filled with conversations with students, faculty, and staff and interspersed with lots and lots of great food. Far from the hospitality for appearance’s sake it felt like we had received elsewhere, it seemed that the folks at BU really wanted us there to have conversations and talk about the issues. We – the folks at the school as well as us on the ride – learned a lot and walked away with new friends. We were also able to do a service project with a group of students the next afternoon, and had two awesome potlucks at community churches with lots of networking opportunities. Success!

Aside from the “usual” discomforts of folks pulling out the same passages of the Bible and urging us to reconsider our sinful ways, and (especially for the non-Christians among us) prayers for our souls and salvation, we also experienced a special kind of tension in Jackson – a place that in many ways is the heart of the Deep South. A city with 85% African-American population and also one of the poorest major cities in America, in a state where racism both remembered and present in a fashion unseen anywhere else. A place where the Freedom Rides made a stand and are still remembered with fear and anxiety. And, it turns out, a place where the only LGBTQ affirming spaces are largely white.

A fellow rider, a person of color, pointed this out to me and requested that I allow one of the smaller events to be optional, to give folks a break from the pressure of being so identifiably different all the time. Upset that I had failed to account for this in my planning, I responded initially by saying no and justified my response by saying it would be rude to the folks who were hosting us. My response was rooted in my ego as well as in ignorance of what it means to be a person of color anywhere, and especially being a person of color doing something like the Equality Ride. My response was racist.

When I realized this, I was crushed. I just didn’t know what to do. We worked it out eventually, on a personal level at least, but I was left with the realization that in my desire for things to run smoothly I had failed to meaningfully confront racism yet again. I had neglected to account for the experiences of folks who are different from me – a unique kind of hypocrisy when I’ve had the audacity to confront so many people at the schools we’ve visited with similar truths. The log in my eye is bigger than I thought, it would seem.

I am still satisfied with much of our experience at Belhaven. I really do believe that some folks we talked with will be allies for LGBTQ people at that school and that our message of God’s affirmation and love for all God’s children was received. But here, at the halfway point in our trip (8th of 16 schools), I am learning all over again of the inadequacy of my approach. If I could go back and repurpose those 2.5 months, I would. But I can’t.

All that’s left is tomorrow.

Next: Mississippi College in Clinton, MS.

Stops #6 and #7: Daytona Beach, FL and Atlanta, GA

Stop #6: Daytona Beach, FL
After our stops in North Carolina, we headed down to Daytona Beach, FL. With a school, Bethune-Cookman University, featuring a policy that discriminates against LGBT students and a community deeply immersed in conservative United Methodist traditions, we knew we had our work cut out for us. The riders who planned the stop had been relentlessly trying for months to make contacts in the community, reaching for any kind of dialogue. Yet we were met with a resounding wall of silence as the school and dozens of churches and community organizations steadfastly ignored us over months of attempted contact. Friends, friends of friends, and professional contacts who at first were excited to welcome us mysteriously stopped returning emails and phone calls. With three days to go until our arrival, we had just one event firmly scheduled, a community service project with a local organization. But two days before our arrival, we were informed without explanation that we could no longer serve.

Still we came. We tried everything we could think of to reach out to the community and engage in dialogue, from walking up to tourists to talk to attending services at other local churches to flyering outside of the college's campus to spending time in our Equality Ride gear in local restaurants, and we did have a few good conversations. But the silence surrounding LGBTQ issues and identities remained, as other disturbing questions arose.

For example: a white police officer approached a white woman in our group as she flyered on a corner near the college's campus and informed her that she appeared to be a prostitute, and that anyway we (a group comprised of about 60% white people) were in "a dangerous neighborhood" and should probably leave. The university, by the way, is an HBCU (Historically Black College or University), and the woman is transgender. How would the situation have been different if she had been a person of color, or if more of us were people of color, or if she had not been transgender, or if this were a predominantly white school and more of us were people of color?

We left Daytona, many of us disheartened and discouraged. We had done everything we could think of, and yet it didn’t seem enough. I left feeling like we had failed the school, the community, and ourselves not just in our attempts to let LGBTQ students know they are affirmed and loved, but also in our stated goal to address racism, classism, sexism, ableism, and other forms of oppression in a meaningful way. But how? How can this possibly be done?

Stop #7: Atlanta, GA - Morehouse College
Morehouse College, another HBCU, is located in the heart of Atlanta and is often considered “the black Harvard.” An all-male school famous throughout the world for producing black leaders in many fields – including Martin Luther King, Jr. – Morehouse’s significance to the black community cannot be overstated. The fact that most white people in America are not familiar with Morehouse (or at least, its significance) is itself an indication of the racism still inherent in our social structure.

We came to Morehouse to address a new policy, implemented last fall, regarding dress code – which made it clear that “a Morehouse man” could not wear clothing associated with women in class or school-related events. Let me be clear that Morehouse is a fairly progressive school in a lot of ways – they actually do have a group for gay, bisexual, and queer men on campus (“Safe Space”) that does a lot of important things, and as a school is working to create a more inclusive community surrounding GBQ issues and identities on campus. But the dress code policy, created in response to several students who were wearing female clothing around school, clearly discriminates against gender variant folks as well, including transgender people (the “T” in LGBTQ).

We were welcomed onto campus, met with administrators, given a tour, allowed to approach students in dialogue, and invited to participate in another campus event. We largely felt welcomed and heard. Yet during some of my own conversations throughout the day, it became increasingly clear to me the limitations I faced as a white man in being able to understand and address the oppressions facing black men. The demonization of black masculinity has a long history pre-dating slavery and is clearly manifested today in a multitude of ways in this country (see: the incarceration rates for black men). As a white man, who am I to come to this place and begin a conversation about gender identity and expression?

Despite a lot of great conversations, I did not find an answer to that question that satisfies me. Perhaps there isn’t one. Certainly not an easy one.

I know there are no easy answers to the questions raised in Daytona, either. Justice is messy, complicated, and frustrating because people are messy, complicated, and frustrating. Yet we have to try anyway.

And tomorrow, I will try again.

Next up: Mississippi.