“You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions.” Such is the launch of the monotonous Miranda poetry recited time and time again over the handcuffed arms of alleged criminals under the swirling bright blue and reds atop the cars of those out to convict them – sometimes rightfully, sometimes in error.
It is no secret to anyone that the lines between right and wrong blur frequently, generally aided by the vectors of pride, bravado, haste, fear and even innocence present in that singular arresting moment. The cacophony of crisis often wins over, and in recent years, we’ve seen a widening schism between freedom and authority, right and wrong – so much so that we’re lining streets, packing political offices, peacefully demonstrating or violently exploding. Black Lives Matter, #sitinforthe49, the Dream Defenders. These trying times don’t represent our first revolution – political or otherwise – but they do remind us that we ought to be looking out for each other more. We could try a little harder, listen a little more.
You think there’s no such thing as a social contract? You’re wrong. And nothing has proven that fact to Central Floridians more clearly than the fights and flights that have punctuated both the personal and political explosions in recent months. On the one hand, we have fresh memories of carcasses piled into corners in a local gay bar, lives lost and awaiting identification, sights, sounds, smells that have horrified families and authorities alike, according to reports. On the other, we have a growing sense that authority, in its broader terms, has been abused: Our state government has refused civil rights almost habitually; our federal government often close in tow on issues including LGBT freedoms, racial divides and economic inequality. We aren’t quite the perfect union, but we are a union nonetheless, one that flares up in times of tragedy – or, well, electoral democracy – but one that is much better displayed in our mirrored, one-on-one similarities than it is in our acrimonious differences.
At the risk of repeating myself – it happens – I’ve always wandered back to the tenet that we’re all better served by the most basic rules: Rules that don’t impede our realistic and harmless freedoms, but rules nonetheless. For me, it’s always been a case of, “if you hit me it hurts; if you help up, it inspires.” Of course, these utopian ideals even at their basest of levels can sound ridiculous, but, like a construction level applied to the human condition, they generally reinforce a center, a society.
The reason for all of this gauzy and longwinded prose set to the tune of “Sowing the Seeds of Love” is that this week, Watermark looks into the evolving relationship between our own minority community – the LGBT community – and those who walk around with the badges, firearms and clubs. If there’s anything that we learned from the frightening blue-and-red light show on Orange Avenue in mid-June outside of Pulse Orlando, it’s that catastrophes bring us together, give us a better chance to learn about each other. We shouldn’t waste this opportunity to be a better society.
In police and sheriff departments statewide, initiatives have already been launched (even prior to the Pulse incident) to build connections between the otherness of minority communities and the perception of uneven judgment from authorities. Black Lives Matter protests (and Stand Your Ground laws) have already taught us that this isn’t an easy subject to broach. Yet, still, we try. Tolerance isn’t enough, clearly. Equality is the only option.
If it seems like we’re traversing a dark road this summer, in many ways we are. But this issue – though stacked with some rancor about Donald Trump and Marco Rubio kowtowing to the religious right in Orlando, a heated political battle for a congressional seat in the Tampa Bay area and sundry other developments that make news so drearily newsy – also offers some hope and humor. We take a gander at the fantastic art of Orlando 73-year-old splash-painter Del Cain, fondly gaze upon the return of the Dixie Chicks, gaze into the face of THE Miss Divine Grace on issues of indentured servitude (or waiting tables) and welcome our newest columnist, proud trans-lesbian Maia Monet. Somewhere in the middle, a grilled-cheese sandwich debate involving bathroom bills pops up, and it’s awesome. There’s plenty to take in here in Watermark’s glorious guest room.
After all, we never remain silent. Not on our lives!
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