Do You Feel Safe in America?

Every day I dream not just of a safer America, but of an America where we do the right thing... I walked through the cornfields as a child, and whispered to the corn, “I will get get out.”

When Tyesha Miller was killed in 1998, I was teaching in downtown Los Angeles. She was diabetic and unconscious in her car, and her friend called for help. Four police officers opened fire and rained a hail of twenty-four bullets. Twelve hit her. Since she was unconscious at the time, she never woke up. The four policemen were cleared.

At a recent Aspen Institute event, Percival Everett talked about James and said that what brown and black people have in common in America is how they experience blue lights behind them when they are pulled over.

If you are brown and black, and you are pulled over by the police, you are not safe. If you are undocumented and you are stopped by a sheriff, you are not safe.

If you are white, you are more likely to be safe. Not guaranteed, but your chances just went up considerably, and the color of your skin will not be a reason for unsafety.

There is a lack of safety experienced, too, by others living within certain marginalizations: gender, sexuality, ethnicity. Worldwide, one in three women are sexually assaulted. Did you tell anyone? Many of us did not. Many of us covered up for our predators and went on with our lives and told ourselves we would be okay.

America is only a safe place to be for white men. It was never safe for black, brown, poor, and queer people, and now it is much less safe. In this country, we are less safe now, all of us who are not white men of power, than we have been since the founding of the country. It is a dangerous time to be a thinking American, a person of ideas.

Violence against queer Americans is also on the rise. At first, when my daughter came out, people would say to me, “If you could push a button and she would be straight, would you?”

And I’d say, “No. Unequivocally, no.”

And they’d say, “But she’d be safer.”

And I’d say, “Who wants to be safer?”

At the time, I thought, I’ve been walking away from safety all my life. But now, I’m thinking differently. When I left the Farm, I was walking away from safety as in fed, as in bed, as in clothing. As in we’re going to heaven, you’re not.

But I wasn’t safe because every day I was afraid. Of George. Of being punished. Of breaking the rules.

When I left, I still wasn’t safe, because out in the world, anything could happen. And it did. Bad things happen. You run out of money. You sleep in your car. Bad things happen.

My daughter’s life is an adventure of her choosing. I don’t want her life to be easy. I wouldn’t push a button so she could be in a calm, protected world. But I don’t want my daughter to be unsafe. There are people who hate mindlessly. There are people who hate anyone who is different. People who can accept gay, but not trans.

My son has been unsafe. In Laos. Cambodia. Nepal. Vietnam. India.

In my life, I have chosen risk over and over. We risked everything to start a publishing company. Keeping it going was wildly stressful, but we kept at it.

I cannot keep my kids safe. I want them to be strong. Independent. Compassionate community builders who know when to be fighters. But in my inclination for risk, there are limits. I wouldn’t suggest that my daughter and her wife move to Texas right now. The three billionaires who fund and control Texas politics have drawn a line comparing being gay to incest. To them, the two are one and the same. They want to outlaw gay rights.

I think the 1.7 million queer people in Texas are less safe than the 2.8 million queer people in California; hopefully, they make it through.

Several times, I have been to the Sharjah Book Fair. There are people who have told me that Tobi, our queer marketing director, could go there. Before I got on the plane, I researched the laws. I usually do before I go to a new country. I had the proper clothing. Tobi presents as a man. Tobi is a walking violation of Shariah law. As such, Tobi could go to prison for ten years or be sentenced to death. Not a risk worth taking. No reason ever to go to the Emirates or any country with Sharia law. Not necessary. I can go for Red Hen. Being in prison isn’t an adventure.

I like to choose adventure. I like to choose risk.

Now that I’m an adult—sort of—I am willing to choose to be safe, and to choose safety for others when the occasion warrants. But choosing safety is not an option for everyone.

I wish that those in this country who are black and brown did not have to feel that clutch of fear at blue lights mentioned by Percival Everett that means, We are unsafe. We are in danger. By the people paid to protect and serve. For no other reason than the color of our skin.

Every day I dream not just of a safer America, but of an America where we do the right thing, make the right choices. I walked through the cornfields as a child, and whispered to the corn, “I will get out.” I whispered to the stars.

I whisper now. “America, I’m not giving up on you. You can treat people better than this, come on, people are counting on you.” I hear the corn and the stars. America in all that.