After attack, coming together

By Craig Moreau

Many of us have either witnessed or taken part in expressions of rage and calls for action in the wake of the beating of two gay men near Rittenhouse Square on Sept. 11. Even though I've only been a Center City resident for a year, this attack made me realize just how much I care about this town, the neighborhood, and the strangers I pass by every day.

In fact, those strangers became a little less strange. As a gay man in a relationship who often walks the same streets as the victims, there was the immediate association that many felt: It could have been me. I understood the anger and fear I saw on Twitter and blog posts. They said what I was thinking. They represented the strangers I pass on the side streets and sit next too on SEPTA buses. After reading their posts, I knew I was part of a larger group that felt disgusted and angry and demanded justice. I was part of Philadelphia.

Often, at work, that sense of belonging is not present. I'm a college instructor, and my job has me standing in front of classrooms of mostly freshmen. I am often quite alone in terms of my identity. One of the most effective methods I have to access my students, who are not my peer group, is showing empathy with the perspectives they might bring with them into the classroom and how those perspectives might be different from, or similar to, my own.

That can be a challenge. Many of them, often by virtue of their age alone, have never had their identity challenged. Thus, they often fail to question who they are or where they come from. The moments I live for as a teacher are when I can see the horizons of such students unfold and become more complicated. I get a rare chance to see young adults realize that they are but one person among many different people and that those differences are opportunities to learn. Once students see this, they are much less likely to justify acts of violence based on difference (whether based on class, gender, sexuality, race, or any other feature) because they see just how unexceptional they actually are.

In the days and weeks after the attack, I hope that we Philadelphians can hold on to our connectedness and become educators for our community. We educate by having a gayborhood with rainbows on the street signs, by holding hands in public, and by dressing in ways that don't fit gender binaries. When we let our freak flags fly, we demonstrate our presence. In doing so, we educate others not only about who we are, but who they are, too.

We shouldn't have to wait until the Pride Parade and Festival in June or for the next group of bigots to attack someone to understand our power. In this moment, as we come together bolstered by fear and anger, let us take stock of the fact that we're never really alone in Philadelphia and that we've built something pretty spectacular here.

However, the attack on Sept. 11 is a fresh reminder that, despite what we've built, as a community we are still in danger. That's why it's important that we show ourselves as a community of Philadelphians who do not tolerate violence or homophobia. In our resolve, we create something powerful and something that changes those around us. We make students out of those who don't understand variety, those who believe their identity makes them superior, those who think 12 against two justifies violence. There is still much to learn, and much to teach.

We don't need to wait for acts of violence or epidemics to fuel our activism. We have every day to show our empathy. Whether you call this pride or power, make your voice heard and your body seen, this day and the next.

If repetition is the mother of learning, eventually, if we keep showing up to teach, especially for our visitors from the suburbs and elsewhere who may not understand or appreciate diversity in the ways we do, we raise the odds they might witness something that makes them stop and think. Sometimes, that's all we can ask for.