Response to Celia Riley's Article on the Election of Trump - Part 1

Warning: this is a long one.

I just read this article by Celia Riley, and I strongly recommend that everyone read it because it's a fantastic response to the election of Trump as POTUS. As someone who's survived abuse repeatedly, I found myself agreeing with every word that Ms. Riley has written.

But ...

(Those who know me just knew there had to be a but in here somewhere!)

… there was a notable and significant absence from the roll-call of groups the author named. That isn't to say the ones she did name don't deserve to be there. Every single one does, and for very good reasons described at some length in her piece. But it does highlight a certain myopia which I think needs to be challenged.

And given her background (conservative Christian) and mine (LGBT, raised by evangelical parents) it shouldn't take too many guesses to guess why I noticed it, and why I was disappointed, but not surprised, to find it was missing. So I guess I have some thoughts about this.

Since they divide nicely in two, I'll put the second set in another blog post (I'll post it first, so scroll down on the front page of my blog) but firstly here's my response to Celia herself. And Celia (and any other conservatives reading this) I hope you recognise that I am trying to be respectful, and ask that you read this with an open mind and prayerful heart, and let God instruct you as to whether I am right or wrong.

Response to Celia Riley's Article on the Election of Trump - Part 2

Firstly, if you haven't read my other related post, I recommend you do so first. It's important to understand where I'm coming from, as otherwise some of what I have to say here won't entirely make sense.

So how should conservative Christians opposed to Trump act towards the LGBT community?

(Actually, you could easily remove the “opposed to Trump” part, because so most of this applies more generally.)

Celia's article, which inspired my two, has at its core a simple but powerful and important message: we do not have to reconcile with our abuser. This doesn't mean we shouldn't forgive them, as she pointed out; it means that those who have harmed us should not expect reconciliation, and we should never be under obligation to provide it. As someone who has been abused repeatedly, more often because I have a disability than because I am queer, it is something I agree with entirely.

However the election of Trump has altered the situation. It places two groups which have historically been at odds on the same side. Those two groups are the LGBT community, and those conservative Christians who, like Celia, recognise Trump for what he is and the threat he represents. I believe that, in this case, some form of reconciliation between these groups is necessary if we are to limit the damage Trump is capable of doing, and this means some understanding of the other side's perspective is required.

Specifically, I think that Christians need an opportunity to learn about and understand the perspective of the LGBT community, and why we view Christians as our abusers, because my experience has been that very few Christians have any real understanding of why we have spent the last several decades (longer than I've been alive) campaigning for the rights we are demanding.

This need to change.

Turning the Tables

This is for the regular Monday Flash Fic run by Helena and Brigham.

I sniffed the air as I walked along the landing. There was only one intruder, and he was feeling confident and... what was that? Anticipation. Excitement. He was looking forward to this.

As I rounded the corner to look down, the intruder had just started climbing the stairs. Whatever he was, he was no ordinary human, but he didn't look entirely like a wolf either. The arms and legs weren't so very different from my own, but the head was a grotesque caricature of a wolf. The lips were drawn back in a snarl of rage, and the creature's eyes and inch-long teeth gleamed in the light of my torch.

I remembered what Malcolm had said: not all werewolves were like Juan Pablo, totally indistinguishable from wolves in their shifted form. Some could only manage a partial shift. This one looked like some kind of nightmare hybrid, and it was coming at me fast.

There was no question of staying where I was. There simply wasn't room for Malcolm to maneuver. Not with these low ceilings. "Get out!" I shouted, then "window!" just to make sure Malcolm knew this wasn't the time to take the civilised route out through the front door.

By the time I reached our room, Malcolm had already jumped through the glass. I vaulted through, but wasn't quite quick enough. The intruder was right behind me, and moving fast.

I felt him grab me in mid-air, and sensed myself begin to react on pure instinct. My body was tearing into a million tiny pieces, and I was able to squash the urge just long enough to coil in midair, bringing the werewolf round me so that I landed on top.

Malcolm was a few yards away, having shifted on his way down. By the time the intruder was on his feet he was staring up into a gaping maw of four inch long razor sharp teeth. The bitter scent of self-recrimination rolled off the werewolf. We hadn't jumped through the window to escape him; we'd jumped because the bedroom was too small for Malcolm in his shifted form.

The intruder was so focused on his own foolishness, and my boyfriend's sudden increase in size and toothiness, he didn't see me give in to my own urge to shift.

A sharp snort from Malcolm was enough to send the intruder back on his ass, where the nine-inch claws on Malcolm's feet became more immediately apparent.

I began pulling myself back together, and turned to face them as I rose up from the gravel. Malcolm's head feathers fluffed and fell in inquiry.

"I think you made your point," I said. "He's not the scariest monster around."

Malcolm shrank back into his human form, the feathers withdrawing into the skin and dark hair sprouting to take their place. "Neither am I babe," he said, looking at me pointedly. "Oh, and you missed a few." He nodded at the gravel around me. I was surrounded by a seething mass of driver ants heading towards my bare feet.

The werewolf stared in increasing horror as my ants began crawling up my legs, gradually merging into me as they moved. Then he looked up, eyes bugging. "Seriously? You're a freaking army ant shifter?"

"And my boyfriend is a Utahraptor dinosaur," I said. "You werewolves are so passé."

555 words.

Angels in Shaggy Coats

Helena Stone and Brigham Vaughn run the Monday Flash Fic group on Facebook. You get given a picture to use as inspiration for 500-word flash fic. This is my first one.

 The Great Mother does not communicate indirectly through smell or sound or sight or touch. She creates thoughts within the mind. Not words, just the knowledge of what she wants of you. So when the Great Mother told me to go to howling-rock I didn't question it.

Not even once I'd recovered from the shock.

It was soon apparent I'd not be travelling alone. "You too?" I asked my sister, hurrying to catch up with her.

We arrived, and someone was already there. One of you, sitting, his rear limbs hanging over the end of the rock.

Intimidate. Not the word; the emotion and sensation of the action.

I was confused. The creature had done nothing to us, and your kind are dangerous. You can kill from a great distance. Wisdom told us to avoid contact.

Intimidate.

We do not disobey the Great Mother. So, with a glance at my sister, I moved onto the rock, releasing a low growl from my throat.

The creature stiffened, the short hair on the back of its head shifting subtly. It turned, and I saw and smelled its terror. It said something, tried to edge its way along to where it might escape, but my sister moved to block its path.

It began making the strangest sound, and liquid gushed from its eyes. Was it unwell? Something told me we were here to save it, but I could not see how, and now I feared it was close to death and we would fail in our purpose.

My sister headed away from us, perhaps given some new instruction. I sat and watched the creature.

Friendship.

If I didn't know better, I'd have thought the Great Mother was insane. But if the universe had gone mad, that would not have been the first sign.

Friendship.

The Great Mother really wanted me to make nice with one of you. One I'd been threatening and cursing just seconds earlier. But I am obedient, so I gave a little whine, lay down to show submissiveness, friendliness.

After several minutes the creature made a sound, but I could not yet comprehend your language. I could understand an outstretched hand though, and the pleasant tone of its voice, so I moved closer to sniff. Moments later I was discovering a new pleasure.

Your kind are dangerous, but your affection is wonderful.

My sister returned with a couple of pikas in her mouth. Food, and I needed it. The creature did not seem interested in sharing our meal, even though I could smell it had no food with it and we were a long way from any of your kind.

"Why?" I asked the Great Mother as the three of us walked down a short while later.

Wished to fall from sacred place. Asked for sign, should not end life. Could not let this one die yet.

I could not understand why our new friend would wish to end itself, much less how my actions might help.

Showed not ready to die. Showed love comes in many forms.

We reached the lake, and I smelled death. Death caused by one of your death-throwers. Two of your moving machines were on the wide black stinking-stone path, and inside one was the husk of one of your kind. Small, young, and covered in its own blood.

A death-thrower leaves a distinct scent on everything around it for days afterwards, but there was none on our friend from howling-rock. Another of you had done this.

Had our friend found its child's empty husk and seen only the end of its own life, seen no other future? I do not always understand your kind, cannot understand that reaction, but it is the only explanation I can think of.




624 words, so a little over the limit, but cutting down was not easy!