When we were young, we all did cringe-worthy things. Few of us made it through adolescence without the burns and scars of youthful idiocy. (If you managed to make it through unscathed, please write a book about it.)
I was raised in a quaint little town on the South Shore in Massachusetts. Good schools. Good folk. Lots of places to explore. Very homogeneous. My parents were fine people, and raised my sister and me to appreciate everyone around us, to respect others, no matter their gender, race, orientation or income level, which was an easy theory to practice in a place where most people were like me. Slowly, things began to erode. Calling things "gay," shouting "faggot" and "cunt," or laughing at a rape joke becomes acceptable, because everyone around me acted like it's fine, leading me to think it was fine. Our gay and women friends didn't speak up, which we took as acceptance. In reality their silence spoke to discomfort and fear of being ostracized for calling us out rather than consent.
And then I entered the real world.
When I went to college, I still spent a large amount of time in my hometown, practicing with my band (who were all younger than me), hanging out with friends who hadn't graduated yet, spending the summer between freshman and sophomore year at home. It insulated me from understanding that this hate speech -- might as well call it what it is -- made me look like a horse's ass in front of my new friends and peers, who hailed from across the country and had, perhaps, grown to understand that speaking in such a way reflected poorly on that person. I said these things not because I was hateful, but because I was ignorant of their affect on those around me and those people's perception of me. Growing up has a learning curve.
Slowly, I realized that calling everything "gay" made me look immature. The crassness of saying taboo words did not impress those around me, so I cut it out of my vernacular, like one stops saying "like" before every statement. This seemed like a solid fix.
The other day, my friend Pat was telling me how in his neighborhood in New York, saying "faggot" in a social setting is immediate grounds for dismissal.
"Everyone just goes, 'Oh, hey, this person is clearly a shithead.' And everyone stops hanging out with them." Much the same way, I would imagine, most people would stop socializing with a white kid who said the n-word all the time.
In the winter of 2008, my band was slated to play a show with Bomb the Music Industry! and O! Pioneers. Because of a bad snowstorm, we didn't play. But I was in the city, so I still went. After the show, the bands were staying with some friends of mine, so I bought a couple cases of beer for us all to enjoy after the show. It was a dream for me, to hang out with musicians I respected and looked up to, and I wanted to make a good impression. Man, did I fucking blow it. After too many Steel Reserves (like I said, growing up has a learning curve), I shouted "faggot" at one of my friends. Everything was loud and drunken, and no one said anything to me about it, so I never gave it a second thought until a few years later.
Jeff Rosenstock of Bomb the Music Industry! agreed to produce an album my band was working on. One day, we were all hanging out, and Jeff brought up that instance to me.
"You know, I almost considered not working with you guys because of that."
I was beyond mortified. Someone that I respected so deeply thought that I was some trashy bigot, going around spewing hate speech, and believed this so much that he was nervous to be associated with me, all because of my cavalier use of hurtful words. I'm grateful that he gave me a second chance, but even today, the thought of this embarrassment makes me cringe.
But it's forced me go back and reflect on the other times I shouted garbage and didn't give it a second thought. There are days when I freeze up, my brain unable to function because of a memory of something stupid that I did or said. Laughing about Sasha Baron Cohen's Bruno soliciting Ron Paul for sex in front gay musicians I was playing a show with or referring to a punk band as a "girl band" because it was comprised of women. How I embarrassed myself and my friends with my carelessness, and how I hurt those around me. Cutting those words out of my vocabulary and distancing myself from that "humor" was a good first step, but I cannot undo those transgressions, so the ignorance of my younger days still plagues me.
I've been trying to make up for it by supporting friends who come up against this bigotry, sexism or assault. It is staggering to hear how often men cat call, molest, attempt to solicit, or shout hateful words at people I know and love. It makes my blood boil. And the men (because it's always men) who do this seem to think that it's acceptable, that it's just part of a person's existence to put up with this gutter talk.
The other night, I was walking home late after hanging out with friends. A young woman was walking some 20 yards ahead of me. As she made her way home, I saw 4 separate groups--groups mind you--of young men leer and mutter disgusting things at her. Several times, one man drove by her in a car, told her he was going to take her home, speed ahead, pull over, wait for her to walk by, and say it again. It was terrible to watch, so when I caught up with her, I apologized that she had to deal with that and asked her how a person could put with such disgusting behavior.
"It happens all the time. But it's late, everyone's drunk, and I'm walking alone. I just try to get home as quickly as possible. But fuck them. They're trash."
I'd heard my girlfriend, sister, friends and strangers talk about being cat-called, but I'd never seen it with my own eyes. It is a seedy practice, and I don't understand how these men can walk away feeling like it's acceptable to make another human feel so unsafe. The men on this night were of no particular group. They weren't just BC Bros or shit punks. They weren't just blue collar workers, hipsters or regular guys walking home. No one subgroup can take the blame for being singularly responsible for these actions--it's men. It's our brothers, the guys we drink with, the men we're smoking next to outside of a bar. They're the ones telling our women friends to "smile"; who tell our gay friends that they're not homophobes, but they just believe in a traditional marriage; who laugh at slurs and rape jokes on crappy TV shows, making them ever-more profitable and renewable; who called my mother a "cunt" when she'd broken down in the middle of the road on a cold, rainy winter day instead of trying to help. They're the ones we've been shrugging off for years.
It's irresponsible for us to sit idly by and let them carry on like it's acceptable. So what if we don't change the world by yelling at some drunk bro for telling a woman that her tits look great or calling our friend a fag. The response of "Whatever, bro, I was just paying her a compliment" or "I don't care if he sucks dick, I can say what I want" (both things that I've been retorted with) shouldn't dissuade us. It's not about changing that person, but about making those around them understand that such behavior is unacceptable and those garbage people will and should be called out for their ignorance. It's about making our friends or the recipient of this hate speech feel safe and not alone. It's as much about what we say as what we don't say.
I'm pretty sure it's mostly people who read this know me well, so you know the kind of man I am, and the boy I was. These things have been percolating in me for a long time now, and I needed to spell them out somewhere. I know this is not usually what I write about in here, but as I've said before, it's my blog so I'll write about whatever I'd like.
There's been a lot written lately by some very talented journalists and bloggers about this subject, and it's inspired me to try to make amends for my transgressions in this matter, and to talk about how I've grown and learned. Mostly, though, I want to apologize to anyone I've offended or hurt. I was a shithead, but I'm trying to do better. I hope you can forgive me.
-Rory Thomas Nolan
