Brill Building

I enjoyed this series of videos of Van Jones visiting voters in Gettysburg, VA. It’s heartening to see someone from those “pundit vs. pundit” shows to get out and have deeper conversations with people outside of the media. 

Now, it seems that in all these videos Jones is the only person of color. While I think these videos can help people understand each other, I hope no one comes away from them with a skewed take on who should be reaching out to whom. It’s not on PoC to reach out to the white “silent majority,” an opinion I have seen expressed. That’s certainly not what these videos are saying. To continue my point from an earlier post, there’s an onus on members of the white “mainstream” culture to seek out and listen to marginalized voices. Read a book. You can get through Between the World and Me in two days. 

There’s another thing those in the white community must do. Confront those in your life with racist, sexist, and homophobic attitudes. Many of us have those people in our families. Hey, Thanksgiving is coming up. I am intimately familiar with the feeling of shutting down as some cousin spouts off ignorance about a community he’s never interacted with. You just put your head down and concentrate on the cranberry sauce until it’s all over. 

No more. 

We can’t afford to let ignorant statement to go unchallenged. I know it may be embarrassing or stressful to make such confrontations. I understand that in some situations it may not be possible to do so. But if it is possible,have the difficult conversations. Author Bailey Poland has a great Twitter thread on the how’s and why’s of such confrontations. Heed those words, and do what must be done. 

This was my first presidential election since becoming an open member of the LGBT community. It hurt. I am one of the many people marginalized and often despised by the Trump/Pence ticket and its supporters. But there’s another reason why the result hurts so much. I am nominally a white person, and as such I bear some responsibility for the result of this election. This is part of the “double life” I lead as a white male queer. I cannot escape it, although not for lack of trying. 

I’ve been accepted into most mainstream circles because I spent most of my life repressing my bisexuality. I wrote about that in-depth here. This is what I learned living a life that is defined by privileged but also the internalized oppression of homophobia, of which I only recently cast off.

I look at who voted in this election. I have many strong yet conflicted feelings because I know the type of people who voted for the Republican ticket. In many ways I am those people – and yet I don’t feel a part of them. I certainly feel disenfranchisement from the effect their actions. Yet I can never forget that this is the community I came from. I grew up in the Conejo Valley area of California. I was surrounded by white people who felt entitled to the top of the mountain, never questioned their entitlement, and acted offended when such an entitlement was challenged in even the smallest ways. I never felt that entitlement but at the same time, I cannot deny I benefited from living in that space. I was welcomed into it. Even as a sullen punk/goth teen who took a few steps out of the closet, I never lived under the feelings of fear and terror that women and people of color live under every day. 

I traded the safety of being in a completely privileged class to live a life of truth, to join the LGBT community. But even that is a privileged choice. I’m an adult living in Los Angeles. I do not face the dangers that many queer citizens, especially trans people, face. So with that awareness, and the awareness of how most people in white America think, I give you this.

White people: INCREASE YOUR EMPATHY. Even if you think you are fairly empathetic, check yourself, and see how you can do better. We can all do better. Seek out and listen to other voices. Do not feel that the expression of those voices is a threat to you. Growing up, I saw that particularly wrong-headed sentiment so many times. 

As your empathy increases it will be so worth it. It will change your life for the better in ways you cannot foresee. 

Here’s how I know. 

When I wrote my coming out piece, I heard from a few people who told me that it inspired them to come out. This reaction blows me away every single time. I could never imagine having that effect on people. The only way I can really grasp this idea is by putting it in this perspective: I was inspired by other people fighting to live in their truth, whatever that may be (especially racially and religiously). My coming out is a product of that inspiration. In turn, the product of that inspiration inspired others. It’s not about me as much as it about us. A continuum of truth and compassion. It was a difficult journey to join that continuum, and the difficulties certainly won’t end soon. But being a part of it is so much more personally enriching than living under the perceived safety of whiteness. Being a part of this continuum reminds me that we are all capable of great things. You, your friends, family – everyone. Never lose sight of that. Even in the darkest times, never lose sight of that.

One last thing. I see many people say that we should give Trump an open mind and a chance. I appreciate anyone striving to be genteel, but I believe such a sentiment is hollow—even dangerous—if we are not first providing an equally open mind for marginalized voices. Many have a lot to say right now. Start listening. I’m not saying you have to agree with everything. Don’t start an argument that someone has to “win.” Listen. It will change your life for the better.

Some voices that have helped me:

Ta-Nehisi Coates and his book Between the World and Me. Required reading for all Americans. 

The work of James Baldwin

Lindy West and her book Shrill

The Autobiography of Malcolm X

The podcast Politically Reactive by W. Kamau Bell  and Hari Kondabolu 

Roxanne Gay 

Laila Lalami

Hend Amry 

Showing Up for Racial Justice

I usually think of myself as someone with no religious affiliation, but that’s not really true. Living with depression meant I have found solace in worshipping the God of Negativity. I expect the worse to happen in all outcomes. While I think highly of individual persons, I believe people as a whole are a destructive force. I kept this negative outlook because I felt it was the only way I could live an honest life. Positivity is nice and sometimes necessary but, I thought, it requires one to lie to oneself. Negativity is authentic.      

So what does someone with that mindset do when faced with such overwhelming positivity, the authenticity of which cannot be argued? That’s the question I am trying to answer now.

A few weeks ago I was overloading on the negativity. The events of the past twelve months had built up to a particularly sorry state for me. I was laid off from my job last September. This was the only real career position I had held, a job I had had since graduating college. I’ve been looking for work both inside and outside the comics industry. I’ve had some great conversations with some wonderful people in the industry about possible work. But the fact is staff positions in comics are hard to come by. Outside the industry, it can be hard for potential employers to understand how the skills you developed in this niche field can apply to their work. It’s a problem I think we often see in the comics industry. That is, the ideas are often celebrated, but the people behind those ideas – and the work behind them – are, for a myriad of reasons, obscured and undervalued. 

My unemployment insurance ran out a few months ago. My savings ran out last month. The well was truly dry. My parents helped me out a little but they can only provide so much. Plus, there’s something particularly humiliating about asking parents for financial help at 33. Every time I did my mind flashbacked to seeing my birth certificate. When I was born, my parents were younger than I am now. That’s when the most negative thoughts occurred. The ones I direct towards myself. Was I worth this help? Was my entire life just a bunch of mistakes of my own making, leading me to abject failure?

When you’re in dire straits, everything is a math problem. I had to work out when I could drive and for how long because I never quite knew when I could afford to buy some gas for my car. Ironically, I set aside a longer trip to go see friends at a signing they had. On the way, my car shut down in the middle of traffic. The culprit was a broken fuel pump. A $600 repair, at a time when such a figure was incredibly elusive. While dramatic, that’s just one of the instances that built up dread and anxiety. Every time I asked for help it felt like was admitting to being the failure feared I was. That’s the most negative way I could interpret things, so that’s how my mind saw it.

As much as it hurt to ask for help, I had no choice. I set up a GoFundMe page, all the while thinking it too was doomed to failure. I reached out to some people who had used the serviced, and their words gave me encouragement. Still, I thought I would get nothing but criticism for this. I thought someone would say “shouldn’t the money go to something/someone much worthier?” I assumed some people wouldn’t believe me and accuse me of putting on a scam. Because most of my work in the comics industry had been in staff jobs instead of the main creative roles like writer and artist, that I had been “a suit,” I felt I would be met with derision (or, at best, apathy). But fuck it, things were so bad, I had little choice.

I haven’t faced any criticism for the GoFundMe. Instead what I saw was incredible generosity, many from people whose talents and intellect I am in awe of. I didn’t quite know what to think. The negativity I held onto almost all of my life was refuted. Here were little (and some not so little) acts of positivity, all of which were saving my life. Even the nattering nabobs of negativity that live in my mind couldn’t detect anything noxious about the support I was getting. No one had to help me. There is certainly no apparent reward for doing so. Well, no reward other than being a positive force in the life we all share. I am surrounded by people who want to be that positive force. They also, I suspect, want me to be a positive force as well.

In many cases, the people supporting me are former collaborators at my old job. Indeed, as an editor. I try to be as encouraging and helpful as can be. I feel this is what every editor in comics should try to be. I didn’t want my negativity to influence their work or outlook. I didn’t believe in myself, but I believed in them. Understand, working in comics means you see amazing little feats of inventiveness all the time. It was those little magic tricks that kept me going for eight years. I decided to do everything I can to allow others to achieve their best. While I worked hard under my belief in others their belief in me grew. I would hear comments to this effect occasionally, such as at conventions (of which I can barely afford to attend). But as time wore on, the negativity drowned them out. Now, I feel such a grand statement has been made, combined with the positive reception of my coming out piece, that the negativity has truly been discredited. Let’s hope. For right now, I am learning to live with a positive outlook. After what I’ve seen this past week, I don’t see how I can live an honest life and not do so.

First, I want to thank you all for the positive reaction for my last piece. I was scared to post it, but the reaction it received had a tremendous positive impact on my life. I have felt a level of confidence and comfort I thought would have eluded me forever. That doesn’t mean that my depression can’t sneak back up on me. That’s what I want to share with you here.

Last Thursday, I was seated for one of the first showings of CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR. I had a great seat and would soon be surrounded by friends and acquaintances, all there for a friend’s birthday. Happy times, right? Except as I sat there, a half-hour before the film started in a then-empty row, I was struck by the mind-demon. I was reviewing all the ways I had failed those close to me. Whether it was professional or personal, I decided the thing to do at that moment was to give myself a clip-show of the times friends gave me their best, but I fell far short of what I gave them in return. Why do I do this to myself? Sometimes I can be triggered by an event. Sometimes it’s nothing. Whatever the reason, this was my pre-show entertainment. But as I watched CIVIL WAR, I saw why I’ve been tempted by this type of thinking for so long.

I’ve been a fan of Marvel Comics ever since grade school, but it wasn’t until CIVIL WAR was nearly over that I realized why Marvel characters resonated with my depressive self. For all its reputation as a fun and exciting forum for heroic stories, the world of Marvel Comics is filled with self-hating sadsacks. CIVIL WAR in particular concerns itself with why the MCU version of Tony Stark lives with so much guilt. That emotional storyline runs right into the idea that The Winter Solider a.k.a. Bucky Barnes is, despite the good inside of him, a force of destruction in the world. At this point in his life, it’s something he’s well-aware of. The last time this version of the Avengers got together, Bruce Banner and Natasha Romanoff bonded over how they are both “monsters.” This kind of pathos has been baked into Marvel stories from the start. Ben Grimm of Marvel’s first family, The Fantastic Four, lived with self-disgust over becoming The Thing. He often lashed out at friends over his lack of self-worth, something many depressives can relate to. The angst levels up when you get to Marvel’s Not-So-Merry Mutants. Some of my favorite X-Men characters (Wolverine, Rogue, Magik) live with regret over the actions they may or may not be responsible for. The biggest Marvel character of them all is Spider-Man, and guilt is his driving force.  

This angst makes for great drama, as Marvel storytellers from Stan Lee to Chris Claremont to Joss Whedon can tell you. As I sat there in the theater reviewing my life in the saddest way possible, I was actually providing myself with a strange sort of mental comfort. For as much as I was stewing in regret and sadness, I was giving myself a narrative. We like narratives, it helps as make sense of life. But trying to make sense of life can often lead us to self-destruction. Why do we even have to try to have it all make sense? Let me talk about another Marvel Comics hero, perhaps the most unique of all.

Howard the Duck.

I purchased THE ESSENTIAL HOWARD THE DUCK in my early-20’s, and Steve Gerber’s stories about his signature character have since become some of my favorite Marvel stories ever. At the heart of Howard’s adventures is the idea of life being an existential “cosmic joke.” As Gerber said in 1977, the joke is “that life’s most serious moments and most incredibly dumb moments are often distinguishable only by a momentary point of view.” Living with depression often means that you’re compelled to order life, especially past events, in the most damning way possible. It leads one to live a life of both self-loathing and self-aggrandizement. It can be hard to choose another point of view.

By why choose a point of view at all? Why the compulsion to give your life a narrative? Once you choose one, why treat it as holy writ? Life is so sprawling and varied, it’s hard to say that is that it makes any type of sense. That’s not to say nothing matters. Quite the opposite. In the nonsensical life in which we live in, those moments of true human-to-human connection are something to be valued. Whether they were good or bad, important or trivial, (and often, they can be a little of everything), they are something to learn from as you continue. That’s the ultimate appeal of reading about characters with internal struggles. How do they rise above them and move ahead? That personal struggle may not be beat, but the hero can still go on. It doesn’t all have to fit together perfectly. Life doesn’t work that way.

Honestly, have you really sat down and tried to make sense of the continuity in Marvel stories, either the comics or films? The last thing you can say is that they make sense!   

(Images from HOWARD THE DUCK Vol. 1 #13, written by Steve Gerber, drawn by Gene Colan)