Try That in a Small Town – Void Engineer

Based on true events.

A black student, resolved never to let them
make him feel lesser, is expelled when he
stuffs slurs back into the mouth of some
privileged white kid. The white kid finds a
rally coming to his aid, pouring out
sympathy for the injuries delivered by the
savage, the tiger, the animal, the thug he
provoked—they’re just so loud and violent.

In the same breath, kids on the football
team reenact the brutal qualities of their
fathers as they wrap stones in sheets of
paper and chuck them at the queer kids
when the adults aren’t watching, and I
swear, these mother fuckers are never
watching. This way, when the queer kids
open up their wrists in the hope of ‘better
luck next time,’ the adults can claim they
never saw it coming.

In a classroom, Mr. Peterson, a nominally
qualified science teacher, tells the
brown kids that systemic racism is a lie—
racism, he tells them, ended with the
civil war, biology was settled in six days,
and the most important question you can
ask yourself is: is there life after death? I
wonder if he knows the number of kids
racing to uncover the answer because of
people like him.

The spirit of cruelty is alive and well, here.
Cultivated by a system and culture caught
up in the march of June 1929, when over
three-hundred klansmen made their way
down Draper Street to insist this small
town is for whites only—with the exception
of that one black family they allow to live
on the outskirts to prove to the world that
they’re not just a bunch of bigots.

Broken mirrors and skipping records have
a lot in common with this place. We are unable
to see ourselves with any honesty,
unable to get up and change that goddamn
minstrel tune we’ve been playing since
1873. We’re afraid to look up because the
trees have eyes. We know this because we
hung them there, like the brown Christ we
nail to a tree annually, on every Good
Friday. Is it a wonder, then, that the image
of breaking the shells of rainbow colored
eggs is lost on us?

Look, there are a lot of things you can try
in our small town, just not love or
compassion or mercy or acceptance,
because that—that is just some anti-
American, communists bullshit, and we
don’t take kindly to that sort of thing
around here.

This photo still enrages me. I took it in the summer of 2021 outside Kingsburg City Hall. The sea of, mostly, older white faces, armed with American flags, Bibles, and an illiterate understanding of American history were joined by far-right hate groups such as the Proud Boys, 1776ers, and others, to oppose a Pride Month proclamation in the City of Kingsburg. The grueling three-hour spectacle saw these “patriots” engage in anti-patriotic and dog-whistle-laden rhetoric.

The American flag was weaponized and used in a manner not dissimilar to the symbols of hate waved about by white supremacist hate groups. In a display of irony, many of these white (and Evangelical) individuals spoke to the American flag as being all inclusive while actively seeking to exclude what they understood to be a social other, an enemy of America. Several opined they would be called bigots as they spewed bigoted speeches to oppose recognizing Pride month in their small town.

I couldn’t help but notice how many referred to passages in the Bible with the same fervor of those who had once used scripture to justify segregation, bans on interracial marriage, to stand against feminism and the right to vote for women, justify slavery, ignore police brutality and murder, etc., etc., etc. It was the same tired arguments to scapegoat their little god as the source for the hate they called love.

Others appealed to a slippery slope argument, claiming that allowing the Pride flag to be flown would cause all manner of requests for other flags to be flown. This argument, of course, is born out of ignorance. First, such requests are not being made. Second, the only ones who seemed to want to fly other flags were those who came to oppose both Pride Month and the flying of the Pride flag–and the flags they proposed were ones of hate and intended intimidation–the same sort of bullshit that saw statues of Confederate generals and figures erected all across the south during the 1960s Civil Rights Movement.

This particular moment sparked a radical change in my personal life. I, along with several others, joined with the council member who proposed the proclamation to organize and host a Pride celebration in the City of Kingsburg–which we did with great success. But also, I found it incredibly important that I weaponized my white privilege and my less-than-humane past to confront the white supremacy, bigotry, and systemic bias deeply embedded within my community and the communities surrounding my own.

This turning point made it clear that I could not simply be silent on matters of marginalization and oppression. I must act. Whether that means helping organizations that combat injustice, calling state and federal representatives, or simply calling out fucked up behaviors in the public space, I have to act.

It has been a long journey, and there is still much work to be done, but, in a way, I am glad I was forced to confront this evil head on. It’s made me a better, more compassionate, and a more loving human.