Hurt, Fear and Moving Forward

Rainbow Crosswalk

Gillian Cornwall, c. June 2015

It's me. My Voice. One Voice. 

I won't say it's "just" me because none of us are "just" anything. I am one who has stood, at times alone and at times with many, through 35 years, or more, of advocacy and activism. I say "or more" because even when I was a child I had to fight for a space to be myself rather than the person who others wanted me to be. At school, at camp, at home, at work, at play - for most of my life I have had to expend an uncommon amount of energy vying for space to be myself instead of just being and doing in the realm of what someone else sees as "normal" or fitting in. It has set me back in career and financial resource and continues to set me back. Over time, I have been labelled as a trouble maker more than a change maker. Rest assured, I would love to live without the "trouble." I'm bloody tired.

On a Thursday afternoon this past June, within the stretch of three hours, I went from a) listening to a few members of the LGBT* campus community calling me a perpetuator of violence when I spoke and cut the ribbon at a campus pride crosswalk opening to b) listening to the sound a raisin makes when you squeeze it at a mindful meditation workshop. The juxtaposition of these two events in such a short space of time does not only appeal to my sense of irony but also to my sense of how we traverse difficult encounters.

Until this post, I have not responded publicly or directly to these community members to let them know I will not carry the label they yelled at me that day. I am not "perpetuating violence." I am putting down their label: "perpetuator of violence." It does not fit who I am nor the path I have travelled.

The folks using this term indicated that painting a rainbow crosswalk on our campus is dangerous because it will lead community into the false assumption that the campus is safe for members of the LGBT* community when there is still work to be done and spaces on campus that are not safe for some. They feel the crosswalk gives a false sense of safety and will potentially leave LGBT* community members more open to acts of unexpected violence than if it were not there. For my part, I do not think that this is the case. I do not feel a rainbow crosswalk anywhere means I am safe or not safe. I don't think it reasonable to think that lines on a road could prevent violence, hate or subjugation of a people. I do think it marks an intent of advocacy, hope, and a recognition of some hard-fought battles surrounding issues of equity and work toward diversity.

There are quotes from the crosswalk protesters in this Martlet article.

It has taken me months to consider my response. I have been afraid to speak because I felt afraid, silenced and unheard by the protesters and I have been afraid of the response I might receive from them. I feel they made assumptions about me and my beliefs without knowing me, asking me or listening to what I had to say. I am tired of being afraid. I was not asked to participate in the interview or article produced by The Martlet newspaper. My speech and video of the speech are available in my blog article, Walking the Path of PRIDE.

I would like to point out that not only am I a staff member at my school, but I have been a student (non-credit), a step-parent, a volunteer and a teacher. I am a multi-faceted person and I do my best to listen, learn and help others in my community daily.

While it has been over 3 decades, I remember being 20. I remember how hurt I was and how angry that no one recognized that hurt. I remember that, sometimes, the only way I could express that fear, hurt and anger was to yell or to act out - repeating aspects of the violence to which I had been victim throughout my young life. When young voices are silenced by their families, their elementary schools, high schools and communities, they can disappear from us forever or, at times, strike out hard and fast.

I have experienced both silence and acting out in anger. I was silenced for years. Obviously, I still am at times. It's cumulative. It builds up. It erodes us. I have faced beatings while people walked by doing nothing to stop it, some staying to watch or to cheer the queer bashers. I have been sexually harassed and not spoken up because my experience was laughed at, negated, or I was told: "Oh, you know how people can be. I'm sure they didn't mean any harm." I've been pushed down and punished for the times I have stood up and spoken up. It has cost me jobs though I don't think I could ever prove it. I have been verbally, physically, sexually and emotionally abused because of my gender and sexual orientation. I certainly know that the work is not over. I am still doing the work everyday. I have been doing the work for my whole life and I will continue to do the work because I have seen the difference it makes and the cost is secondary to the path I hope to have cleared for those who come after me. I honour and respect those who forged a path ahead of me. I honour and respect myself, though, at times, that too is eroded.

We must listen to our children, celebrate their difference, their questions, their fears and their hopes and dreams. We cannot expect our children to be what we want them to be, what we perceive as right for them to be, or even what we perceive to be their easiest path.

For our university students, I believe we can teach skills some may never have had the opportunity to learn in their childhoods. We can teach ways of love over ways of fear and acts of kindness over acts of aggression. For if we do not make space for this in the education of our young people, who will? I believe in protest but I do not believe in unkindness or thoughtlessness as a way of bringing people together to affect positive change. I do not wish to shame anyone or say anyone should not be heard. I did everything I could to create a space for the protesters to speak on that day and they did speak. They had time at the microphone. I only knew of their desire to speak an hour before the ceremony and then made every effort to seek them out and listen to what they had to say.

I was asked to speak at the event to represent the Positive Space Network on campus - a visible network of students, faculty, staff and alumni who are working to make the University of Victoria a more welcoming and inclusive space for people of all genders and sexualities. I had the support of the PSN to speak at this event and I am proud to have done so.

We must continue to teach the history of activism, not just in Canada but worldwide, so we hear and understand the voices raised before ours, with ours and those that will follow. So much has been done toward equity, diversity and inclusion and so much remains to be done. To most people with whom I have spoken, this campus rainbow crosswalk represents that journey:

• the difficult path so many have walked to date in order to make it better for those who have followed, 
• where we stand individually and together in this moment, and 
• the long view ahead at what must be accomplished. 

The work ahead must be done by everyone - equity and activism can no longer be relegated to the marginalized groups affected. We must stand together as a community and support equity and diversity with solid goals and financial and human resource. I believe in the work I do and will keep doing all I can with positive intent - despite my missteps, errors, failings and through the dissent.

Personally, I was saddened and hurt by some of the behaviour and words during that protest, by the meanness of some of it, because it has been a very long path for some of us, a lifetime's difficult journey. To be negated and to know that some of the LGBT* community activists and advocates who were there felt negated or shamed - that's unkind.

The issues mentioned at the microphone by one of the protesters were valid and many of their concerns, such as a university policy on gender, are issues I, too, have been raising since another Canadian college came out with an excellent policy.

It was the protesters lack of knowledge of who I am and the lack of knowledge of the histories of the people who were there that was inconsiderate and subsequently harmful. I feel they engaged in the very assumptions against which they rail. Not to be seen as valuable to, or worthy and knowledgeable of, the LGBT* community I have served for my entire adult life was harmful to me because I do see you, I do hear you and what you have to say has always meant something to me.

Let us light the path for one another, offer words of kindness and support to those who are on their way and let us think before we say someone is perpetuating violence without knowing the work, history and beliefs of those at whom we are yelling. I am pleased that the event has brought greater attention to LGBT* issues on campus, but I am not comfortable with the means by which it has happened.

If you are at a public institution, remember, as school starts for the fall term, it is not something separate from you, you are that place. Whether you are staff, faculty, student, alumni or larger community, it is yours. We have chosen to be part of a community and, within it, we have rights AND responsibilities. We need to know our policies and work together to change them when they no longer serve us well. We are our schools, our governments and our communities. I hope we can all learn together, within a culture of kindness and respect, to manifest change and inclusion. 

-Gillian Cornwall, c. September 6, 2015.

(Note: Apologies for the portion of text in lighter grey, 
it's a default from posting on the mobile application...)

Self Portrait

Gillian Cornwall, c. June 2015