I am not a casualty of war.
It’s weird, seeing that written out. How could I possibly be the casualty of a war? I’m a middle-class, educated, white American whose life has been largely free of violence. I have the privilege of not living in fear of the moment the next bomb might hit my house. I have the privilege of not wondering if the next police officer who sees me on the street will shoot me because of my skin color. Generally, I have a lot of privilege.
Yet, a week ago, my dad told me that someone out there thinks that I am a casualty of war. It didn’t make sense to me. I’ve never even been in a real fight, let alone a war. I couldn’t wrap my head around why someone would think that description applied to me. That is, not until I heard what kind of war this person was speaking of.
You see, this individual was the pastor of a Baptist church that I attended when I was young. The war he spoke of wasn’t some physical conflict in a foreign country. It wasn’t even a reference to any kind of physical conflict at all. He told my father that I was a casualty of a “war with the Devil” because I am gay.
With that statement, my former pastor tried to invalidate my entire existence. He tried to tell my father that I was a helpless victim of an evil power beyond my control, simply because of who I am. Yet, I’ve never felt as if I were a part of any war until that moment. He painted me as a victim of his enemy, which really meant that I was his enemy. If I’m a casualty of some “war with the Devil”, then when I speak, it’s the “Devil’s” voice that must come out, right?
The thing is, my dad didn’t agree with him. My dad doesn’t know much about my gender and sexual identity; it isn’t something he’s quite ready to talk about, but he knows that I don’t speak with the “Devil’s” voice. He told my former pastor that and used his voice to cut through the silence and the oppression. He used his voice to make sure mine would be heard. This is how you fight privilege; and, now, because of my father…
I am not a casualty of war.