We must confront hate when it rears its ugly head
who teaches at a college in Manhattan wrote: ‘‘Is it really true that you are a homosexual? I hope not. Columns written by homosexuals inevitably have their own homosexual agenda and viewpoints and cannot be read with the belief that they are impartial. I do hope that the rumors about you are not true.’’
Rumors? They’re facts, though she has obviously encountered them in corners of the internet where being gay is regarded as a prompt for secrecy and a source of shame. There are many such corners, and they have plenty of denizens.
In movies, songs and greeting cards, I’m always hearing or seeing that love is forever and that it conquers all. Well, hate may be even more durable, and it has the muscle to fight love to a draw.
This is the kind of hate that President Donald Trump counts and draws on, the kind of hate that motivated the gunmen in El Paso, Pittsburgh and too many other places. But we’re having a discussion too limited — he’s a gardener tilling soil that’s all too fertile.
It was there before him. It will be there after. And while gentler words from the White House and a better president may affect how much grows in it and how tall, the ugliness will always take root and always flower.
If you live in a certain category — black, brown, Jew, Muslim, gay, trans — you know this, and you experience events like those of the past week not just as chilling reflections of the political moment but as sad testaments to human nature. You register some of our gauziest bromides as well-intentioned delusions:
"If only every white American knew and interacted with more black Americans. If only every straight person was aware and took stock of his or her gay relatives and friends. If only there were more mingling of Christians and Jews, of Jews and Muslims. If only the right leaders and the right thinking could reach and teach more people. If only, if only, if only."
Well, some people are beyond reaching and teaching. As best I can tell, a few of these gunmen were plenty exposed to diversity. It didn’t dim their righteousness or dissuade them of their rightness.
That’s not to say that we should give in or get used to it. We must do all we can to prevent its unleashing and weaponization. We must change overly permissive gun laws, take on a largely unregulated internet, push back at a public dialogue that abets the most destructive tribalism. We must punish acts of hate fiercely to make the haters think twice and to keep them in my inbox, armed with only words, and not in your child’s high school, armed with an assault rifle.
"I will also pray for your mother," the professor wrote. "It must be awful to have a homosexual son.’’
My mother died almost 23 years ago, after a long and hard-fought battle with cancer. She knew I was gay and took no less comfort from me because of it. She loved me no less.
A colleague suggested that I report the professor to her school’s administration, because she must have LGBT students. I won’t. If her bigotry was a force in the classroom, her students would most likely pick up on that and rightly complain.
She and the God-fearing engineer are a reminder that hate has no particular profession, no education level, no ZIP code. Its sprawl is as demoralizing as its staying power. Emily Dickinson wrote, gorgeously, that ‘‘hope is the thing with feathers.’’ Well, hate is the thing with tentacles. It holds people tight and refuses to let go.