Should we not be "ready"?

It's only been 4 days since Michael Sam's coming out, but he's attracted all three rings of the media circus; suffice to say, there's very little I can add at this point that hasn't been said. We've heard his life story, heard supportive words, and heard ugly words. And predictably, we've heard some completely batshit crazy words.

Personally, I think the gasp-prone media (including the gay blogosphere) tends to get too caught up in the worst of the worst. Twitter has more than 200 million users: should a few dozen homophobes (or trolls) really surprise us at this point? We'll always have those people. By the same token, Rush Limbaugh has made a lucrative career spewing offensive sewage, and is probably better left ignored at this point (already my policy with a certain Kansas organization).

No, what we should really be worried about is not the solid homophobic fringe but the squishy middle, which unlike the fringe rejects the label of bigotry while legitimizing it all the same. Specifically, we should be worried about people like former NFL coach Herm Edwards, who worries about the "baggage" Sam will bring into his prospective team, and how he will.

When you go into the draft, look at it this way. Let’s say Michael Sams (sic) is not a gay player, but he’s a player that has some issues, off the field issues. The thing you talk about in the organization with the GM and obviously the owner is, can we handle this guy? Can we handle the media that’s going to come along with his situations?

He’s bringing baggage into your locker room. So when you think about Michael Sams (sic), all the sudden, can the players handle the media attention they’re going to get when they get the question asked, 'Are you OK with a gay teammate?

The by now much-ridiculed Sports Illustrated piece also squishes around in the middle, with one of the anonymous NFL officials saying a gay player would upset some precious "chemical balance" in football locker rooms. Frank Bruni's column on this piece does a good job of dismantling the locker-room fear-mongering. 

The broader problem here, though, is that the people interviewed don't technically say there's anything wrong with a gay person playing football, but rather that the NFL just isn't ready for a gay person to play football. They have no problem with gay people, but you know, lots of other people do, so maybe we shouldn't do it for now.

Nothing about this is new.
Slavery is bad, but the South just isn't ready to get rid of it.
I don't have a problem with gay marriage, but the country just isn't ready for it.
There's no reason a black man can't be president, but are we really ready?

Surely in a year or two we'll have plenty of people asking if we're ready for a woman president.

These kinds of questions often get passed around in the media as legitimate — after all, these people aren't bigots! — but they really aren't. If we're really at the point where gay rights are accepted, and considered rational, and held to be morally just, should "readiness" matter? Moreover, if a person thinks bigots' readiness is a legitimate concern, doesn't that imply at least a little bigotry in that person?

The question should not be whether or not we are ready. The only question should be whether it is right to exclude a man from football for his sexuality. Period. Nothing else. Because readiness doesn't arrive out of thin air. Readiness only comes when we challenge people and put their attitudes to the test. 

Frankly, if we always have to ask if we're ready, we'll never really be ready for anything.

Excess and Allies

Allies are good. We need them. To be sure, social causes must stem from the voices of the afflicted, but when those voices join in chorus with the justice-minded unafflicted, they are no doubt amplified. LGBT rights have progressed not only because  LGBT people themselves fought for their rights, but because straight allies have pitched in, recognizing that it's just the right thing to do.

Which is why I try not to get on Macklemore's case too much, especially since he's already come in for his fair share of flak on a number of fronts anyway. I think he genuinely means well. But no matter how well-intentioned Sunday night's matrimonial spectacle was, it seemed to miss a few marks. 

The mass marriage ceremony, and the success of "Same Love" more broadly, have been taken as cheering signs of progress. To an extent they are. In 2004, being anti-gay was enough to tip an election and ban gay marriage in 11 states. In 2014, it's legal in 17 — and could soon be legal in all 50 if the Supreme Court weighs in. Polls are consistently showing majority support for marriage equality — but therein lies a problem.

The Grammys show may have been a sign of progress, but it's hardly a courageous to take a stand — if it's even a stand at all? — for an issue that's essentially won over public opinion. Particularly when the polls also show opposition to marriage equality is demographically doomed and quite literally dying. 

Furthermore, I have to wonder if the intentions behind the Macklemore-Madonna spectacle entirely were in the right place. As The Atlantic's take on it points out: 

...the mass marriage that took place to Macklemore’s "Same Love” and Madonna’s “Open Your Heart” towards the end of the night Sunday wasn’t really for the people getting hitched. They were props. It wasn’t really for gay rights either. Any public good that potentially came from the moment—maybe someone at home changing their attitudes about same-sex marriage—were side effects. The main reason for the nuptials, it seemed, was to give the musicians on stage and recording-academy members a chance to announce themselves as good people.

The LGBT community needs allies — on issues extending far beyond marriage equality. But we need allies that recognize their role as allies: offering support, offering resources, without using the community as a prop for their own attention or self-comfort. In short, allies who remember who they're fighting for.

This isn't a new occurrence among LGBT allies: consider Cory Booker's showy and sorta awkward marriage officiating in October, or when the It Gets Better Project became a requisite campaign stop for every straight Democratic politician, making the project's original point sort of murky. Nor is it an occurrence unique to LGBT allies: it seems that most social justice causes attract people who get too caught up in the fashionableness of the cause. 

Which isn't to dismiss allies, or to condemn Macklemore and other showy allies as entirely ill-intentioned and harmful. Allies are good. We need them. But we also need them to be humble. We need them to remember that this is about our community, to truly remember that we are human beings with needs and rights and voices, not anonymous props in an abstract cause. 

We need allies. But we already have ourselves — we don't need those allies to replace us.