A.G. Gancarski
Chevara Orrin, a “chief creative catalyst” with We Are Straight Allies, is a dynamo of social justice activism. Jacksonville residents know well her tireless passion and advocacy. And increasingly, Orrin is getting a national profile.
Wednesday, for example, finds Orrin in Washington, D.C., giving a speech to, of all groups, the National Security Agency.
“June is Pride Month,” Orrin said, and she is speaking on the subject of “continuing conversations through overcoming barriers.”
An appropriate topic for Orrin, the daughter of civil rights legend who has wrestled with her own internal conflicts regarding how that legend preyed on his family. The contradictions between the sanitized public persona and harsh personal reality have animated Orrin’s activism through its myriad phases, including her current one: trying to raise awareness for and support of the expansion of the Human Rights Ordinance to Jacksonville’s LGBT community.
It’s been a hard sell. Despite public polls saying there is conceptual support for HRO expansion, the process has been more complicated.
Outside lobbyists, brought in to sell the expansion to the council, got handshakes and smiles galore, but tangible support eluded them during the hearings the city council started, then truncated, this year.
Orrin’s approach currently is more targeted than holistic: to make the case for HRO expansion to people living in council Districts 7 through 10, ahead of an expected re-introduction of legislation later this year.
For Orrin, the HRO debate coincides neatly with her time in Duval County.
“When I moved to Jacksonville,” Orrin said, “the HRO failed by one vote. People were sobbing on one hand, cheering with Confederate pins on the other.”
Of course, the people in the aforementioned districts lack a predisposition to Confederate flags. They are predominately African-American.
But they are also culturally conservative, and wary of the potential consequences of HRO expansion.
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A couple of weeks back, Orrin’s group held a meeting at District 7 Councilman Reggie Gaffney’s Community Rehabilitation Center.
It was contentious for one person, who left during an extended discussion of transgender people. But a couple of dozen others stuck around and became educated on the issues.
On Wednesday, Orrin is in D.C. talking to the NSA.
On Tuesday evening, however, she was at the Legends Center in the heart of District 10, talking to a crowd of mostly black women, more than a few from that generation where deviation from being hetero-typical simply wasn’t discussed.
The crowd, which included two aides to council members who aren’t necessarily linked to full-throated HRO support, talked in a “safe space,” so their names won’t be used in the following accounts.
But the stories are genuinely chilling in parts, and life-affirming in others, reflective of a culture dealing with the gap between proscribed versions of reality and life as it actually is lived in 2016.
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There was an older lady, with white hair, who talked of her three granddaughters, aged 18 to 22.
All three are lesbians. And the family reaction is mixed.
“Some of the family looks down on them, and some accept them,” she said.
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And then there was the lady whose sister was a lesbian, working at a Burger King in North Carolina, where anti-LGBT discrimination has been codified into statute by the state Legislature.
“They didn’t promote her,” she said, and “once they found out she was lesbian, she moved.”
Now in Atlanta, she’s gotten her promotion.
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Of course, some problems aren’t solved as easy as moving.
A woman talked of her gay uncle and his rejection by his family.
She met this uncle in her 30s.
The uncle, and his husband, showed up to her father’s funeral.
“Did he know that the next time he would see his brother, he would be in a casket?”
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And then there was the lady who discussed the finite limits of being a “straight ally.”
“We all have power as an individual, but in the bigger scheme, you don’t have power.”
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And then there was the daughter of a “fire and brimstone” preacher, who had to find her own way on accepting the truth about her own son.
“All of us are from the same culture, and it’s a taboo topic. You just don’t talk about it.”
Her son, meanwhile, required a different take.
“I knew growing up he was special, but I tried to make him who society would accept him as. I remember shutting down on him,” she said, when she found out her son was gay.
“God works in mysterious ways,” she said. She volunteered at JASMYN, a “place outside of my comfort zone” which deals with the issues faced by LGBT youth, many of whom are of color.
“That let me know how my son was feeling. That was the turning point in his life.”
She continued on: “We have to change our mindsets. We don’t have to agree with what they do, but we need to make sure they are protected as people and have the same freedoms and rights as we do.”
Then she spoke to the older people in the room.
“Just remember what it was like when water hoses were turned on you.”
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The stories continued.
A baby born with male and female genitalia, “more boy than girl.”
The decision was made to select the female gender for the pretty baby.
However, the pretty baby grew up, and her characteristics were more masculine than feminine.
“Needles and needles and needles … she died,” the speaker said, “at the age of 28.”
“They changed her gender as a baby.”
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One woman spoke of her experiences distributing flyers.
“There was just a rejection of this workshop. One guy balled up the flyer, used a derogatory term.”
There are others, to be sure, who feel that way.
And the battle for We Are Straight Allies is to change one heart and one mind at a time.
