Never Walked In High Heels

Everybody knows about the American church in the UK. The second I mention a concept like the separation between church and state, my entire class rolls their eyes. They don’t believe there is such a thing. The irony is of course that the Founding Fathers left the Old World in hopes that there could be a place in the new world where government and religion never mixed. Clearly, that place is not America.

The American Church prefers to throw up its hands and say we’re not responsible for where modern government takes us. How could we ever hope to accomplish our goals with this sort of distrust? The truth is, I think that the American Church, despite its own opinion(s) of itself will prove to be under as much judgment as any other institution, should we ever be fortunate enough to meet the face of God someday. The following is a list of three simple shortcomings, or to use more dramatic language “sins” that the American church will have to answer for someday.

Number 1: A lack of access- The story about Jesus healing the paralytic after he was lowered down through a hole in the roof has particular significance to any church. Despite commercials saying that in churches, sitting congregations have their door “open to all,” a shocking number of churches have no physical access for those of us with disabilities. Many of them hide behind the idea that their building has “historical significance” and therefore is so old that they cannot be made accessible; this of course, given my physical disability, angers me to no end. It’s not even that the building itself is inaccessible, which does irritate me, but the fact that God’s house is suddenly not open to all. Many buildings all over the world are inaccessible to those of us with physical limitations. But if the church is reflective of God’s love and is supposed to be a model of morality, how can they ever justify their existence when they refuse to build a simple ramp to get into their sanctuary?

Number 2: Lack of Compassion- There is a genuine sentiment that suggests that all sinners who have not come to God are somehow inhuman and thus unworthy of value. The way that the American Church has handled the issue of homosexuality is appalling. Forgetting that Christ died for us while we were yet sinners, they then expect non-believers to uphold the morality, which we are only given when we willingly accept and follow Christ. To expect anyone to act like a Christian before he knows the face of God is like expecting a slave to behave as a free man while his ankles are still in shackles. There is an unreasonable expectation that people—all sinners—should be able to clean themselves up for the sake of not being repulsive when they first set foot in church. Thus, whenever people of certain lifestyles first try to come to God, God’s own people shun them.

Number 3: A Lack of Initiative- Here is the church’s biggest fault. Routinely we expect the government to behave like the Church and solve issues that should be of heart and mind with the law. The aforementioned debate on homosexuality is a prime example as are other issues such as the legality of marriage and abortion. The American Church has somehow fooled itself into believing that it is Washington’s role to make laws according to what is moral or immoral, rather than the church attempting to impact lives on a personal level. The influence of day-to-day morality through a higher government surely will never sit well with God. As Christ said, “Pay to Caesar what is Caesar’s” So too did he understand the difference between church and state. The two would never be a substitute for each other. Why then have we fooled ourselves into thinking otherwise?

I don’t know where this idea of the Founding Fathers ever being “Christian” came from, but their Christianity was certainly not of the same ilk as ours is today. If you look at the Constitution it is not a moral document, it is not the Ten Commandments, and it leaves individuals the freedom to behave (both socially and privately) as they wish. The American Church seems to have forgotten that we are a nation made from people who believed that there is a God, a God who gives us the freedom to behave as we wish, in conjunction with those Constitutional liberties. In assuming that America is a Christian nation, the Church has given up its own powers to understand morality, and act compassionately towards others with the hope that the government will take care of it all for them, and in this way the church has aimed for government dependency as much as the America population has.

It’s three AM on a Saturday morning in London. The light of the outside metropolis shines into my flat like some surrogate moon unsuccessfully trying to lull me into a slumber. And even though I have shut the curtains, turned the other direction, and taken a sleeping pill, sleep is nowhere to be found.
Most people in my situation have been more than acquainted with the night. A Chicago native now calling Las Vegas home and London my workplace, I am currently living as a nocturnal creature to say the least. Add to that the fact that the stage is my office and my networking consists after show drinks with actors and I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise I’m up at this hour. After all, I just came back from a show tonight called Bent.

Bent was first preformed in 1979 and latter turned into a movie in 1997. Max a promiscuous gay man is taken to a Nazi concentration camp with his partner Rudy. While Rudy is beaten to death on the train, Max quickly discovers that he will be treated slightly better by denying the fact that he is gay and convinces the Nazi officers that he is Jewish. When it was first produced, Bent helped paved the way for historical research on the horrific treatment of homosexuals in the holocaust. 

Small wonder I can’t sleep.

Many people forget that before the Nazis went after the Jews, they rounded up others, namely the homosexuals and the disabled. This group was how Hitler perfected his methods of mechanically, often by trial and error. Overall, these deaths were the slowest, most gruesome, and least humane out of any during the regime. Largely forgotten about in history books, it is yet another example of how people can’t stand what they refuse to understand. 

As a disabled woman I have learned that there are two things that most humans want to be absolutely clear on: physical ability and sexuality.  Yes, there are other factors as well, but nothing globally labels you as second-class status faster than these two issues. Even in a world so hell bent on making things easy, painless, and accessible, few dignities are granted to those of us who have no homeland to begin with. There is no country of queers anymore than there is a kingdom of cripples. Those of us who were made to challenge categories and classifications are constant wayfarers. Which is why, I suppose, I have always felt a tremendous kinship with many gay men. Many of them, like me, refuse to apologize for their non-conformity. It would be easy to say we camp it up, make differences sexy and glamorous but that would be simplifying a very difficult struggle which continues today as much as it ever has. 

Throughout history it has been those that weren’t privileged which have reshaped the world. Much of American history has been the redefining of the phrase “all men are created equal” to include what those in power originally hoped to exclude.  The days that homosexuality was a social taboo exactly what was allowed the Nazis to take citizens into the concentration camps. And so, those of us who have public battles at the very least ensure that such silence does not happen again. Better to be in the middle of controversy than taken away in silence. At least with the commotion we force the world to slowly propel itself forward. 

It is a little later and the black sky has grown silver. Even the light outside of my window has now gone off. But I still cannot sleep.  This is pointless. I get out of bed and put feet on the ground. I walk to my front door and check the lock before I go to the couch. Still no sleep. 

I open the newspaper to an article about fetal testing to avoid possible ‘’problems’’ as a child. As always, there is much discussion as to what these ‘’problems’’ are. Where do we draw the line when it comes to avoiding problems? Genetic defects? Disability? Race? Homosexuality? Sound familiar?

My phone rings and I jump from the start. It’s from a mate across the city calling to tell me about his date with his new boyfriend. Neither of us were expecting me to be up at this hour. He talks and I listen to the sound of his deep voice, feeling instantly relaxed. Even though he takes longer than I do to get ready to go out, tonight I am thankful for his confidence, something that I often miss from straight men. Sometimes, I’m in awe of his masculinity. He invites himself over to make an early morning cup of tea. As soon as I hang up the phone I look out my window, the sky is bright red. 

We are everywhere, the others. We are the ones who turn the wheel of history, ensuring that no one is comfortable until everyone has the same dignities given to them. Progress is not made by the actions of those who are sitting in their leather armchairs, it is made by those of us who fight for things that never should have to be a fight in the first place. We have no homeland, but the strength we have ensures that things will change and we will gain the rights that should be ours. Until then, I am reminded of what a more contemporary gay playwright says what an ideal world ought to be. “Everyone in Balenciaga gowns with red corsages, and big dance palaces full of music and lights and racial impurity and gender confusion… Race, taste and history finally overcome.”

Good luck in your own fight to make that happen.

I used to spend my mornings with a man I called Mordichai. Much like the character he is named after, he was a long-time outcast in his family and would, no doubt, be considered one by my own relations if they had ever bothered to meet him. I would sneak into his room before classes began and try to warm my hands, wounded from a combination of the harsh Chicago cold, and the reality of living in a wheelchair. Looking to him for a combination of wisdom and simple sanity, I would sit at Mordichai’s desk to write, to read, or simply trying to sort through the inner workings of an eighteen year old’s brain.  Each year I grew a year older but it seemed as if he did not. Rather, with each passing year we became closer in age and a learned more of his reality and he learned more of my secrets. 

Becoming a woman alongside Mordichai and his partner provided me with grace and an added level of support to the already strong scaffolding that my parents gave me. They were a couple with whom I would disagree fiercely and still know that I was loved… perhaps loved even more because I had the strength to disagree.  As time went on, our conversations revolved more around big topics, which were out of my grasp when we first met and I was fifteen. Questions of freedom and liberty, morality and common good haunted us some nights as our meeting venue changed from his classroom to the fireplace in his own home. I was now living independently, working part time, and continuing with my education at the university level. 

And as questions became easier to grasp, the answers grew increasingly slippery. Until one day it occurred to us both that our America is not limitless, and the entitled freedoms that we were promised in the Constitution have yet to be delivered in full. My world had to stop at the first unpaved road I came upon so long as any wheelchair could not cross it. And for him and Tom, what was everyone else’s private business was still held in court, waiting for a decision that seemed obvious to me.  

In many ways, I am jealous of the media’s attention to Mordichai’s issues over my own. And who can blame them, the image of an angered drag queen will no doubt get more viewers then a group of paraplegics crawling up the steps of the Capitol building at an abrasively slow rate.  What’s worse is that as a disabled person, my rights are constantly pitted up against other causes, such as the new environmentally-friendly taxi cabs which, in order to save on fuel,  have been made so small that no wheelchair will ever be able to fit inside. It’s an either  / or society. Where Mordichai’s right to have his partner visit him in the hospital gets debated on national television, and in the same week the American with Disabilities Act gets stripped by the Supreme Court and nobody notices. 

“This is why you’re a writer. That’s why you need to always have your pen, and hands that are at the ready” Mordichai’s voice echoes in my ear. To give a voice to a community that it still voiceless sometimes feels like trying to remove barnacles with one’s bare hands. To find my own voice on top of that challenge can prove to be as effective as a screen door on a submarine some days. Sometimes I think we all wish we could finish growing up before the troubles come. 

I went back to visit Mordichai a few weeks ago. He is getting older, even though it’s not always obvious. The winter wind is nowhere near leaving Chicago in April and I can feel a film of salt covering my hands as I come inside. He asks me how I am, and I don’t know where to begin. When did life scatter to a thousand different directions? I start with the most obvious, “My hands hurt from this horrible weather. How do you stand it?”

“I’m not in a wheelchair,” he begins. We all have that one thorn in our side, which we wished to have removed. And yet it painfully stays there to shape our world. 

Without speaking he gets up and leaves, only to return will a bottle of lotion that smells of sandalwood. He puts some on my hands and rubs it in. He starts muttering about how I should be taking better care of myself, about how I only have so many units of energy per day to spend and I should be more selective in the battles I fight. Sometimes having him around is like having a second father. I argue with him, if for no other reason then it’s my role to do so. It doesn’t matter because we’re both convinced we are right. I need my hands so I can go places and be just like everyone else. He stops me there.

My hands, he reminds me, should be used in a way nobody has ever  used them.