We visited my mom and brother last Christmas in Denver. We didn’t know then it would be the last time any of us celebrated the holiday there. My mom’s friends gathered at the progressive care facility my mom had tried unsuccessfully to lure my dad into moving to. There Michelle and I and about 20 of my mom’s friends gathered for brunch.
One of my mom’s friends–a person who has provided her enormous emotional and practical support since my dad’s death–wanted to share a story about a remarkable dialogue she had had with her much more conservative family members at Thanksgiving. They had found common ground on more issues than they realized–except of course about the character of the orange man. As a new member of the ladies’ group, the only man, and a college professor, my mom’s friend was eager to hear my opinion about an issue that united them–trans athletes competing in women’s sports.
It wasn’t exactly the sort of brunch topic I like to engage in with mostly strangers. I can rant, and that’s not polite. And I had more emotional feelings about the topic of trans rights at that particular time for personal reasons I may disclose in a separate post.
So, I tried to demur by saying that I didn’t think the issue was all that important. I mean the threat of climate change, a growing Russian threat, high housing and food prices, bird flu, and the orange man’s renewed political strength seemed like issues that affected all of us–and our children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren–more than this one.
That explanation didn’t fly. I learned later that my mom’s friend was known as an especially persistent questioner. Pressed to respond to “didn’t I think it was unfair?” I explained that I work at an institution of higher learning that values sports, men’s football in particular, more highly than any other activity. That priority is shared by a large number of loyal and properous alumni, and the focus on sports over academics has wide-ranging consequences.
But my mom’s friend knew that my dad had lettered in three sports all four years of high school. My dad went to college on a baseball scholarship, and our family, like many Denver residents had supported the Broncos for years, and more recently the Nuggets, Avalanche, and the hapless Rockies.
So, I went on to say that I understand why people want fairness in sports. I could see why people might think that a trans women could have biological advantages in some athletic activities1. But I said that separating competitors into sex-specific categories was itself unfair in a sense. Sure, it gives opportunities to girls and women that weren’t available before Title IX. But there are other solutions, like having fielding multiple teams that vary by ability level. If the goal is to maximize participation and competition, for all athletes, wouldn’t that sort of system be better for everyone? Why single-out the tiniest of minorities, trans women?
And then I made a professor’s mistake. I answered my own question.
I said that I thought the reason we were talking about this issue now was not because it’s especially important, or that we’re especially concerned about fairness in sport. We’re talking about it because it’s a wedge issue, designed precisely to distract and divide people into politically convenient groups of us and them. In a way, I was predicting the “she’s for they/them not you” ads that had such a powerful influence on undecided voters in the late stages of the recent campaign.
My mom’s friend wasn’t convinced, and the conversation moved on to other topics like grandchildren. The audience to our rather heated and longer-than-appropriate conversation was relieved.
Now almost a year later I return to the topic. The inspirations are two: That dreadful campaign ad, and a comment I did not appreciate about Palestinians made by one of the guys in an informal breakfast group I participate in. These reminded me about an assembly at Henry Junior High some 50 years ago when we were herded into the auditorium to watch this video by Bill Cosby:
So, you could say I was carefully taught to reflect on my own prejudice and work tirelessly to keep it from clouding my judgment and metastasizing into hate.
When we all fail at this task–with cynical encouragement–who benefits from the circular firing squad that results?
Footnotes
The research does not support this claim.↩︎