Andy Lien

When I was in high school, I was called “The Bulldog” by a real-life judge on the Mock Trial circuit.  I loved to debate.  I would wail on and pick at your arguments until they were annihilated.  It was a rush.  I was good at it.

One of the bigger arguments I can recall was when I took a resolution that I wrote for my 9^th grade Civics class to the School Board and requested that condom machines be installed in our bathrooms.  That was a little progressive for our conservative school district circa 1991, but I felt vindicated when I got to Macalester four years later and they were giving them out in candy dishes in the campus health center.

Condoms for high schoolers was a shocking concept.  I don’t recall being taken seriously at the School Board meeting, but I do remember being allowed to state my case.  I have to give the school credit for that—not only did my class vote this case to be the one to be presented to the School Board, but the School Board didn’t censor the presentation.  Kudos all around.

The request for condom machines was denied.  Providing condoms would lead to more teenagers having sex.

Would it?  No, it would not.  That’s fallacious.  Teenagers are already having sex; therefore, it would give them the safety measures that are necessary to do so safely.  Making condoms available doesn’t force or encourage someone to have sex—or even use them if they are having sex.  That was a preposterous argument, in my mind.  I didn’t want to see even an iota of validity in it, because I wanted to win my case.

Putting a bowl of candy on the table doesn’t mean more people will eat them and gain weight; it means more people can have candy.  Putting Bibles in drawers at hotels doesn’t mean people will have to convert to whatever religion the Gideons are part of; it means that you can look at a Bible if you’re bored or curious in your hotel room.  Putting bright green bikes out for rental on city streets doesn’t mean that we’ll all be forced to exercise and give up our vehicles; it means that you have a healthier option for transportation.

There are plenty such arguments like this that the 15-year old Andy could make.  All day long.  Until your ears bleed.

But, the 35-year old Andy has caught on to the validity of the School Board’s point.  Presenting an idea or option can be seen as endorsing it.

Allowing kids to take condoms is a stark contrast to condemning underage, premarital sex.  By not condemning teen sex, it implies that it can exist–it might be saying that it’s okay.  You won’t go to hell.  Shockingly, nothing at all might happen to you (especially if you use the condoms).

Is that how it works for coming out or approving same-sex rights and marriages?  By not condemning same-sex relationships, it implies that this community can exist—it might be saying that it’s okay.  People who are attracted to people of the same-sex won’t go to hell.  Shockingly, nothing at all might happen to you.

Where the two arguments depart is in the next step: encouragement.  Providing condoms for kids might encourage them to have sex: Not true. Acceptance might not mean encouragement.  Providing rights for people in same-sex relationships might encourage them to come out: True.

Right?

I hope so.

It’s like a problem posed in a Philosophy course.  Ethics, morals, dichotomies…a whole lot of grey area and conjecture.  I don’t necessarily hope that teenagers see a bowl of condoms as an encouragement to go have sex…but I hope that people who have been in the closet see acceptance of the GLBT community as an encouragement to come out.  The difference is that one argument might lead to an action; having sex.  The other argument might lead to the recognition of an identity; coming out as GLBT.

Teen sex is nothing new.  Same-sex relationships aren’t new either, but with some people, it seems like they just sprang to the fore.  And the subject is scary to those people because it’s unknown.  One of the many problems with this situation is that despite how long same-sex relationships have existed, people who are new to the concept are being allowed to vote on the subject.  They have followed the argument to the point that to allow these relationships could encourage them, but haven’t made the next step to see that coming out is good.  They don’t understand that encouraging people to claim their identity is healthy and it benefits our culture.  They’re mired in fear.

And, because they are afraid, they seek a fallacy of protection:

Put an amendment in the constitution limiting marriage to one man and one woman.  Tell the parishioners that their eternal salvation is at risk if they don’t stop seeking equal marriage rights for same-sex couples–bully them into choosing this legislation on their ballots when they exercise their right to vote.  By not allowing it, it won’t exist.

Really, “The Bulldog” might not be in retirement.  35 is a little young for that.  But, I appreciate that age has given me more perspective to be able to have more conversations than arguments.  Whether calmly or with a bite of debate, people need to be told the basics: There is a separation between church and state; this will not affect heterosexual marriages; accepting homosexuals will not turn you into one. And, really, bullies need to be called out on their shit.

With hope and thanks,

Andy

I’m in love with this issue.  Look at it.  The people, the places, the pictures, the people, the people, the people. But, I have terrible timing. Just as we wrapped up the voting for the Lavender 100 and scheduled photo sessions with the Community Members, I went on vacation.  Big mistake on my part as I missed seeing—and meeting—some of these wonderful people in our pages.

I love people.  As the editor, my priorities are clear: the Editorial Calendar reigns supreme, then the columns, then the stories that we find as we live our lives.  Most of the people fall into the third wave of coverage—our lives.  This time, though, when my Editorial Calendar gives me the FAB 50, I made some choices.  I decided to give us more categories, more winners, more people…100 of them, to be exactish.  More lives, more conversations, more people.

But, what I missed while I was gone were the conversations.  No, I don’t personally do our interviews on a regular basis, but I do personally talk to people.  That’s my favorite part of this job.  And Kathleen told me exactly what I missed while I was gone.

Hope.  She told me that of all the people she met, the most common theme was the hope they had that the community can look past its differences and become more unified.  What?  In a year when “Minnesotans United” has taken such a prominent role as an organization and as a theme?  Yes.
We need to own that.  Unity.

This is a community that has been tied together by rather disparate similarities.  The requirements for membership are more conceptual than actual, being based on sexual orientation and gender identity (and more…or less, depending on who you talk to).  What we face on a day-to-day basis is different from person to person.  And, getting to know each other is how we begin to understand how we’re actually similar from person to person.  Circumstances may not be the same, but struggles and triumphs can be.  So, in this issue, these people are just the tip of the iceberg for who we can look to as role models in seeing not only how we are all so different, but also how we can find pride in our unity.

We want that, right?
With hope and thanks,
Andy

I’m sitting at my desk just hours before leaving for my first vacation since taking this job over a year ago.  I’m pretty much crawling out of my skin, in a good way.  I also feel a little bit sassier—fortified—in my new orange VOTE NO t-shirt.  In my size.  I know.  They didn’t apparently exist, but now they do.  I’m stoked.

My destination is Seattle, Washington, for a bit…and then I’ll go up (north) to check out Vancouver and Whistler in Canada.  Knowing that these are extremely GLBT-friendly places to go, believe me: this isn’t the last you’ve heard of my trip.  Like any writer/photographer/editor worth her salt, I’ll make sure the whole thing will be documented for you.

What I’m curious about is what kind of reaction my VOTE NO shirt will get as I travel.  I’m big, it’s orange; together, we’ll be a visual force to reckon with.  I anticipate conversations, particularly at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport today.  But, I also anticipate friendliness, particularly in Washington, where marriage equality is also at the fore, as well as Gay Whistler, where same-sex marriage is celebrated.

It won’t always be comfortable.  For one thing, I don’t wear bright colors.  Those of you who encounter me in the wild know that it’s rare to see me in anything other than black, though I do make an attempt to be more chromatic at our events than I do on any other day.  This bright orange shirt visually propels me into your eyeballs.  Then, VOTE NO.  It’s in your face but not demanding that your attention stay with it.  Glance at me, look away.  Go ahead.  The impression has still been made…and, with it, will be a smile.

I’m friendly.  My message is one about love.  It’s a little touchy-feely when you think about it: make love, not war.  I come in peace and I hope to be received in peace as well.

Similarly, this approach can be applied to a little problem we’re having in this campaign.  Have you noticed how many of us are preaching to the choir?  Multiple people have mentioned this to me, how even Lavender is speaking to a mostly friendly audience…so how do we expand the campaign?  Of course everyone thumbs-ups our VOTE NO posts on Facebook—if our circles are only the like-minded folks, it makes sense.  How can we move past the choir to include more people?

A bright orange shirt and a smile both help.

What could be the equivalent in effect, but without the change of wardrobe or head-turning color?

I have a possible solution.

You know how many of us are just SO DONE and OVER the people from home? You know, the people we never have to deal with again unless we go home to high school reunions or run into them at the grocery store.  The people that we are even a little proud about being beyond…or for having left them behind.  Some of them aren’t proven to be intolerant, but they’re in that halo effect of a more narrow-minded childhood.  A painful young-adulthood.  A harrowing college experience before coming out.  Heck, a weird comment string on a shared friend’s Facebook post.  All of these are places that might leave us with a bad taste in our mouths in terms of dealing with people.  We write them off simply due to guilt by association.

I’ve noticed that there are the intolerant people and that there are the people who are still considering.  They’re very quiet people; they don’t comment or express “Like” over things, but they’re watching.  They won’t wear an orange t-shirt.  They’re the people who won’t stand on a soapbox, but will still be voting in November.

And they might VOTE NO.

Who are they?  I have my suspicions.  Think back to the people who were more neutral in your past.  The ones who you have had some sort of relationship with but wouldn’t call them close—the ones who you’ve encountered.  You could encounter them again…like on Facebook.  You could “friend” them.  You could have just as neutral of a relationship with them as you did the first go-round, but, this time, you’re different.  You’re open about your life and your goals.  You show them, kind of like wearing a t-shirt or putting up a lawn sign or posting a video on your own Facebook page, that you’re a person who they (still and now) know, who is negatively effected by this proposed amendment.  That you, by existing in their repertoire of people, deserve consideration.

Antagonism isn’t necessarily the way to go with these new-old friends.  Living and teaching by example is a less heavy-handed way of dealing with the issue of equal rights.  We’ve been talking about how telling our stories will make the difference in fighting this amendment—your Facebook page is telling your story.  And people are watching and taking notes.  Thankfully.

I’ve mentioned before how I’m from Cokato, a conservative community that’s west of the Twin Cities by about an hour.  I know there are people there who I’ve left geographically, but who I am happy to never say I’ve “left behind.”  They’re people who I can draw into the conversation simply by not letting up on this issue of VOTING NO.  They are people who I might not even know are part of the choir I’m preaching to.

Invite people into your choirs.  Preach by living your life.  Expand your circle of influence in a gentle way.  Or, heck, get your own blaze-orange VOTE NO t-shirt.

Whatever you do, don’t mistake all the thumbs-ups on VOTE NO posts as indicating a victory.  See them for what they are: encouragement.

With you…and with thanks,

Andy

I don’t usually go to the State Fair alone.  I can find something entertaining anywhere I go, but I enjoy things differently when I’m with people.  Especially true at the Fair, I like to sample and taste and judge my way through with friends or family.  I experience it differently based on whom I’m with; the niece and nephew like the Midway, my dad likes Machinery Hill, my foodie friends dissect the new cuisine.

This year, I went solo. On the schedule for the day, I knew I’d meet up with folks at Carnes and Liggett for the Sixth Annual Gay Day at the State Fair…and I planned to run into other friends later.  But, for the first few hours, I ambled around on my own terms.  Looking, observing, SWEATING.  Goodness, that was a hot day with a relentless sun.  I know—it was a summer Sunday.  A perfect one, really.

As I wandered, I thought about all the people who were there for the unofficial Gay Day at the Fair.  The dress code was hopeful—people were directed to get Vote NO shirts from Minnesotans United for All Families.  Great idea.  I scanned the crowds and saw one here and there.  Wander, wander, wander—there’s one.  Wander.  Wander.  Okay…there weren’t many.  I was disheartened.  There I was, taking a survey of a cross-section of our state.  People as far as the eye could see and nary a Vote NO shirt on one of them.  Was I looking at a representative sample of our state?  God, I hope not.

With crumbs and cream of Ole’s Cannolis still on my lips, I checked the State Fair App for where the Minnesotans United for All Families stand was located so I could go get my own Vote NO shirt.  Searching in “Merchandise,” I found out the stand was on Cooper, over by Dan Patch.  These names make sense when looking at a State Fair map…or when being a really good pointer, as I found out.

Making my way to the little orange Vote NO booth was easier planned than done.  Turns out, it had the longest line that I would stand in at the entire Fair.  What a great problem to have!  Here were my people!  They were walking away with t-shirts and fans and buttons and stickers. When it was my turn to get my goods, I confirmed that what I’d heard was true—they didn’t have a t-shirt in my size.  (I’ve told you before how I’m a large Nordic woman; it makes sense that I shop for dress shoes with the drag queens and could probably tussle over t-shirts with the bears.)  I’m hopeful that they’ll order some larger shirts for the larger people—there are still two months left for us to wear them (and we make for more impressive walking billboards…I’m just saying). So, I dejectedly left with a Vote NO fan and went on my merry way.

Because of my Vote NO fan, I wasn’t really alone the rest of my time at the Fair.  In the blazing sun, that fan was used and abused.  No fewer than ten times, I was stopped and asked where I got the it. Each time, the person asking surprised me.  An older woman, a younger couple, a punky kid who didn’t look like he should care.  I got schooled just by letting myself notice who was noticing the Vote NO fans.  I did a lot of pointing, a bit of showing on the map, and a whole lot of hand gesturing to show where Cooper is in relation to other landmarks.

As I was walking to the parking lot where I’d abandoned my Jeep earlier in the day, I was stopped one last time.  This time, it wasn’t just surprise that halted me—I had to actually stop and understand what was going on.  A woman in a scooter was signing to me.  It took me a beat or two to realize it, but once I started watching her motions and reading her lips, it was clear that she was asking me where I got my Vote NO fan, though I don’t really know American Sign Language.  I paused and tried to mouth the word clearly as I pointed yet again in the direction of “Cooper.”  From her expression, it didn’t look like I’d conveyed it clearly.  I tried again, “COOOOOPER.”  Not louder, just more pronounced.  Nope.  Then it dawned on me.  I sign-spelled “C-O-O-P-E-R.”  She smiled and nodded.  I don’t know how I remembered the alphabet that I learned in elementary school, but we did it.  We had a conversation about Voting NO in a matter of a minute of time on a sweaty afternoon in August.

She signed “thank you.”  I returned the gesture, and we both went on our ways, smiling.

Looking around as she went the direction of the Vote NO booth and I went the direction of my Jeep, I felt a new sense of hope for November.  Though I still couldn’t see many Vote NO t-shirts in the crowd, I know knew that there were plenty of people feeling that sentiment…plenty of people wanting to show their signs of support for Voting NO.

And I remain hopeful.

With thanks,

Andy

Working with someone who’s just out of college is hilarious.  Okay, I’ll focus that to say that working with Kathleen Watson is hilarious.  She’s right out of Augsburg College with a mind as sharp as her wit.  She pretty much makes my head spin at times with an analysis here or an incredibly astute conclusion there.  I can hear a 22-year-old me in her statements, though I never got to work my gender analysis into my job (until now) since my first job was working for Twin Cities Public Television’s corporate subsidiary.  Her areas of study were theatre and English, but she lives the gender and sexuality aspect.  It’s part of theatre and English more now than ever.  One of her projects was about the “genderqueerness” of Orlando. She was steeping in cultural critique and now she’s working at Lavender.

I give Kathleen a look when she says words like “genderqueer.”  The look can be summed up succinctly in the language of her generation:

WTF. OMG. LOL.

Genderqueer?  No, I’m not laughing at it as a word or a concept…I’m laughing that I have no idea what she’s talking about.  I’m laughing because I’m out of the loop.  I’m trying to find humor in being left behind by academia.

Back in my day, we were still trying to spell “woman” as “womyn.”  I don’t think that ever took hold, transculturally. It was a landslide win to see the schoolwide shift from “freshman” to “first year” students.  That Introduction to Gay & Lesbian Studies existed and Women’s Studies was becoming an actual major (then to evolve to add the “Gender” and, finally, “Sexuality”) were huge. Now, with genderqueer, cisgender, and new pronouns like “ze” and “hir” (see page 28), I am left with my jaw hanging open at the new and unknown puzzle pieces in my lexicon.

Often, the only way I know how to handle being so far out of my element is to laugh…and scamper off to Google.  Thankfully, Kathleen has no problem teaching me what these words mean.  She doesn’t scoff or make an ageist comment—she’s a pro.  She tells me about them.  She teaches me.

Simply by being in an academic climate recently, she knows more.  And, being that I left the academic climate in 1999, I know less.

Sort of.

It’s not that I know less, it’s that my knowledge is outdated.

And, by never going to college, it doesn’t mean that someone knows less in terms of experience, but it does in terms of theory.

What does theory have to do with life?

Arguably, not a whole lot.  It’s good to know what has happened and why, but we’re still going to live life how we live it, whether or not we know the theoretical basis behind what we’re doing.  Some of it’s history, some of it’s theory, and some of it is trivia.  The world goes on turning while students have the privilege of attending classes and pontificating about the problems of the world, perhaps detachedly.  But, because they may not be experiencing what they’re studying, does it mean that they know less, too?  Yes.

And that’s where we come in.  It’s up to us to fill in the blanks that theory left.  They have a whole lot of knowledge, but they don’t have as much context or experience.  Their perspective is both wide open and pigeon-holed.

This issue contains a Survival Guide for students, which also applies to the rest of us who aren’t in school.  We can all take those tips and accept or reject them as applicable to our lives.  But, what’s more, our columnists offer survival tips in every issue.  Yes, whether attending school or not, we can all learn from what our writers put out there for us to read.  Ms. Behavior gives advice; that’s a pretty easy one in which we can find guidance.  Justin Jones examines love using the metaphor of a waltz lesson; his words resonate with our romantic hearts.  Jennifer Parello lets us learn from her (or her girlfriend’s) mistakes.  Ellie Krug pretty much broke my heart in her piece about the Envy of not becoming the person she is now…earlier.

We teach the students.  The students teach us. We never really graduate.

The theoretical leaves the books and gets tested.  The conversations leave the classrooms and happen organically.  Everywhere.

We learn.

And laugh.

And for that, I’m grateful.

With thanks,
Andy

I may have to ask forgiveness instead of permission for this quick letter; Brent Fourre (right, pictured with his sister) doesn’t know I’m writing this. This time last year, I’d been to a couple of Lavender events but was barely beginning to recognize the usual suspects. Then, I went to the Renaissance Festival and saw a guy who I was certain I’d seen and asked to take a picture of him and his friends—and he recognized me back. Such was the start of our mutual recognition society, which I bolstered by stalking him on Facebook just to surprise him by knowing his last name when I saw him at the next event. Relationship building.  Or just being creepy. You decide.

At last night’s First Thursday at Loring Kitchen & Bar, Brent good-naturedly stepped out of a picture with his friends, and we laughed about how often his picture is in the magazine and on the website. I made the point that the odds are good—he’s at so many events and is very involved in the community. Then, I told him privately how I thought of him and his job as an American Sign Language Interpreter when I was watching the interpreter at Dan Savage’s show (signing about sex is almost more funny than talking about it). He laughed, too, but then told me about a recent challenge he faced in his interpreting.

As pictured in the Lavender Lens on page 14, the Red Ribbon Ride that raises money and awareness for the various AIDS organizations in Minnesota held its closing ceremony on the steps of the State Capitol.  Brent was there as a rider and also as an American Sign Language Interpreter.  Just as we had been giggling a moment before, we turned solemn as he recounted how he’d ended up interpreting a video at the Closing Ceremony that included his own story. He powered through interpreting the story of his own partner of 16 years dying of complications of AIDS. He marveled at how the story he told to a camera when registering for the ride was broadcast in its entire two minutes for everyone to see and hear. I marveled that he made it through the telling—twice—in two languages and in front of an audience.

We spoke of how carefully he crafted his words and thoughts to be respectful to the audience and how, in speaking to other members of the media, he cautioned that AIDS is still a force to contend with.

I had no idea. This was all new to me. But, I am grateful to have had the chance to learn more about Brent, not in a video at a Closing Ceremony, but at a happy hour. Someone who was already a familiar and friendly person showed more of his facets and I—along with the people at the Red Ribbon Ride—are fortunate to know more about him.

The point I’m making is that even though I curate stories for people to read and see in these pages and online, sometimes the stories just need to be gotten from each other, in person.

And I’m grateful for each and every one that I get to hear.

With thanks,

Andy