Queerly dearest,
So, the tagline of The Good Men Project's website is "The conversation no one else is having." No, really. Do they think they're alone in this?
The mind boggles.
As my partner—a very good man—and I were discussing just this morning, finding good, white, cisgender male role models in the U.S. media today is challenging. Just look who our president is. (On second thoughts, maybe don dark glasses and don't.) That said, good, white, cisgender men totally exist. I know some, as it happens, and, in the spirit of forgiving white, cisgender men who've caused issues in my own life, I've been trying to notice good cis dudes as often as I can—acknowledge them, see them, hear them, give thanks for them.
They exist. No convo needed.
But you know who I see on a daily basis, when I sip a glass of water on our front steps, just to give my freelance eyes a break? Not white cis dudes. Nope, they're rarely around. Instead, it's me and the bunnies. They scamper in front of my path or sit in the garden, nibbling grass, or rush away from me as if I'm the bogeyperson, which, in bunny terms, I probably am. And I love them so much that we exchange a word or two.
The conversation no one else is having? That's me chatting with bunnies.
"Hi there, bunny," I say, sitting on said steps. "You're not a misogynist, are you?"
"Nope," says the bunny. "I've no idea what that even means."
"Then let me ask you this," I say. "Seen any decent white cis dudes, lately?"
"Huh?" says the bunny.
"I'm meant to be seeking out decent white cis dudes," I explain. "It's a way for me to heal, you know? I spend so much time complaining about misogyny that it's eating me up. So I'm trying to give my attention to decent white cis dudes—you know, those guys who go out into the world and stand up for the rest of us, or try their best to treat us with respect. Those good, kind, decent guys."
Bunny watches me, fixedly, nibbling grass. "Go on," they say.
"Guys who will actually use my they/them pronouns," I go on, "without complaining or asking me to explain who I am. Guys who don't do horrible things to others. Peaceful people. You know?"
"Look," says the bunny. "Here's the thing. I'm just a bunny. I eat grass. I bounce around. I live in a warren behind your home. Words like misogyny? Haven't a clue. But I do know this. At the end of the day, you've just got to be who you are. If you're a bunny, be a bunny. If you're non-binary, be non-binary. And if anyone tells you you're not a bunny or non-binary or a decent white cis dude doing the best that he can, then they're very, extremely, disappointingly wrong."
"And what do you do then?" I ask.
The bunny looks right into my eyes. "You shit on their foot," says the bunny.
This, queerly dearest, is the conversation no one else is having.
Poop on misogyny, queerly dear,
Star
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