When I was in 11th grade, our English teacher assigned us to do a mock debate. We had to pick the topics ourselves, and on the day the suggestions were due I was out doing some kind of sports thing and came skidding into class just before the period ended to submit my picks. I had decided that the main function of this assignment was to teach us to use persuasive arguments in public speaking, and that it would be more fun for everyone if we had to persuade people of something harmless and ridiculous. My teacher took the paper I handed her and wrote "Cockroaches, kill 'em or keep 'em?" on the bottom of the board. And while she was writing I felt my stomach drop, because the rest of the chalkboard was filled with my classmate's topics, such as "ABORTION" and "GAY MARRIAGE" and "SOVEREIGNTY". I felt so stupid seeing my fluffy topics go up on the same board as those, and clammy-handed with dread at the realization that this would just be a week of people screaming at each other every 7th period.
My teacher paired us up randomly and assigned a topic. Ours was "Should gay people be allowed to adopt children?" There were only two rules: you had to research four points to argue, and you could not use the Bible as a source.
I took the "pro" stance, of course. I was raised by a community of teachers on the reservation, and among them were two lesbian couples. Donna and Dianne lived down in the hogan with no power or heat. One year, someone gave us a body-bag-sized sack of walnuts, and we spent the entire winter cracking nuts. We saved the shells for Donna and Dianne's wood stove, and on cold days Donna would come up to watch our VHS copy of Lethal Weapon 3 and crack nuts. She used to be a cop, so she thought it was funny to sneak inside and scare me (I was a latch-key kid and usually alone in the house), then unload her gun on the table. I loved Donna. She had a vendetta against the panther who would stalk her at night when she had to use the outhouse, and one day she accidentally shot herself through the leg while cleaning her gun ("Don't tell Dianne!" she said to my mother as she tied up her leg to stop the bleeding. "I think she's going to notice," my mother said). She never did get that panther. The other couple, Mary and Patty, adopted a couple of children stuck in the foster system. One of these kids told me she had seen her friend shot point-blank in the head with a pellet gun and killed, showing me a newspaper clipping. Mary and Patty took in older children with behavioral problems, because they had the education and experience as teachers to help the kids that nobody else wanted.
These were good, funny, loving people, and I didn't even know up until that moment that folks would think they shouldn't have had children. My best friend in high school was gay, and deeply uncomfortably with the debate topics. He was being asked to sit in that class for a week and listen to his own classmates argue against his decency and human rights. So I took this task seriously. My teammate refused to help because she didn't agree with the topic, so I went to the library and wrote notes on science, sociology, and child psychology. I was prepared. I was determined. And when I got up there to deliver my argument, the other team stood up and said, "Gays shouldn't have kids because the Bible says so." I reminded them that the Bible wasn't part of the assignment, and that the Bible doesn't even specifically address gay parenthood, and that we needed factual argument. I explained my points, they rebutted with "but the Bible says." As this went on I saw my friend in the front row, his fists balled up so tightly his fingers were white, staring at his desk and not making eye contact with anyone. I delivered my closing argument, I didn't choke or stutter, I thought I was doing a good job speaking coherently with facts and compassion and logic on my side, and then right at the end, the opposing team leaned back in their seats casually, and said, "Who here thinks gays should NOT be able to adopt children, raise your hands." And the entire class raised their hands. One or two of them hesitated, looked around, then raised their fingers weakly, but they raised them. The only person who did not was my friend, tight-fisted and perfectly motionless in his seat. He looked like he wasn't even breathing, he was trying to stay so still. They smiled at me and said, "See?"
And I did see. I got an A on that assignment and they got an D for not following instructions, but I lost that debate because it had been decided in the hearts of my classmates before I even stood up to speak.
I was completely heartbroken by that debate. I decided that the best way to make a meaningful difference is to do good for the people in front of you. Help people who need help, whether or not they like you or you like them. Be the person to break up a fight. Walk someone home if they feel unsafe. Stand beside them when they are facing something scary. Give them a safe place to sit and talk if they need one. Give them a glass of water or a bandaid or a cookie if they're freaking out. And we suck at it sometimes and we get scared or startled into inaction, but then we regroup and do better the next time. We can't make anything better without trying to be better.
There is only one important time, and that time is now.
The most important one is always the one you are with.
The most important thing is to do good for the one who is standing at your side.
(Tolstoy)
So many of us are absolutely gutted today, but just keep repeating those things.
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