SPEAK OUT

Writing in chalk on the schoolyard sidewalk

Heather Jobson, a graduate student in English at the University of Cincinnati, was one of four women arrested October 8 for writing queer-affirming slogans on sidewalks across the campus. The following essay in defense of her actions was printed in the UC student newspaper the News Record.

by Heather Jobson

We all wrote different things, and each of us has our own complex political, social, and personal basis for what we wrote. I was the first to write and "Bulldaggers, I love you" was the first thing I wrote. I wrote it in memory of a woman I saw this summer whose name I'll never know.

I had gone to court to support my neighbor at his hearing. Near him, at the side of the courtroom where the others from the jail were cuffed, sat an attractive woman with short cropped hair. She looked strong, but scared: I thought she was a dyke. The bailiff brought her before the judge, and she stood below him, nervously swaying back and forth.

"But this isn't the first time," the judge, who was reviewing her file, remarked. "What's this about assaulting an officer?"

"He called me a bulldagger!" she blurted out. And then she was crying, hiding her face in her hands. Her shame and frustration were so palpable I could sense it from where I was sitting. And I was both angry and sad. She should know how many women love her, I thought, the bulldagger in her. More people should have told her, "I love you," meaning the bulldagger in her too.

And she should not be ashamed.

"Well is that any reason to hit him?" the judge said, and that was the end of it. She was assigned some sort of punishment and they removed her from the room. When I looked for her in the hallway, they had already taken her away.

But I remembered her Sunday night, when I wrote "Bulldaggers, I love you."

When one's sexuality serves as the basis for discrimination, as in this society, it ceases to be only a private matter and becomes a political, and thus public, concern. When gay men and lesbians can legally be fired from their jobs, or denied housing, on grounds of their sexual orientation or preference, then their sexuality is political. Witness Issue 3; witness the recent attempt to abolish the Advocate from library shelves; witness the two gay men who were charged with "creating an obscene display" for holding hands in Eden Park.

The importance of coming out, of accepting and expressing one's devalued or denied sexuality, stems from both the political and personal arenas. When I do not attempt to hide my lesbianism from you, I am saying, “I am okay. I do not expect any prejudicial treatment from you. If you do not like me, so be it. But I am not afraid." In this manner, heterosexism, the assumption that everyone is straight, is weakened, and the institutional systems which legitimize discrimination against gays and lesbians are challenged.

Many people do not realize the extent to which heterosexism is ingrained in our society. Heterosexuality is flaunted on billboards, TV, magazines, in church, etc. To see and hear the type of relationships in which one exists or to which one aspires mirrored and encouraged daily is a privilege only afforded straight people. That Jodi Pittman (columnist for the News Record) found, "Two girls kissed here and liked it!" to be objectionable is interesting, given the openly heterosexual climate which I've just described. "Two girls kissed here and liked it!" is important to read on Coming Out Day because it challenges queer invisibility and presents a positive image of active lesbian sexuality. In a society where institutions like the Episcopal church permit only celibate gays and lesbians into the priesthood, yet ordain both celibate and sexually active straight people without hesitation, the proclamation of active queer sexuality is a powerful political statement. In a Society where queer sexuality is consistently

mocked and devalued (and I refer you to Monday's edition of the News Record for pertinent examples), "Two girls kissed here, and liked it!" is socially important.

Coming out is important personally for different reasons. At the very least it allows the lesbian or gay individual to live more honestly and with dignity and self-respect. Or sometimes just to live. I wrote “coming out saved my life" on the sidewalk by the fieldhouse. I wrote it because it is true, and because I am not the only one. I wrote it so that others who are struggling might pause and consider just what it might take to live. I wrote it in a spirit of celebration and as a means of hope for others. It should have been written by bars and churches, drug dens and fraternity houses, and steep cliffs with loose railings in back country U.S.A. But we are only four women.

Chalk talk was an especially appropriate mode for these coming out messages. Chalk talk is colorful and celebratory—it's happy; it's out in the open, and it's environmentally safe-washes off with the first rain. Furthermore, chalk talk is a commonly utilized method for public "dialogue" on campuses nationwide.

"The NFL is full of queers," Marsha wrote by the stadium. "That's so true," Variedly said. "Isn't that cool!" Jen wrote by it. A group of guys that were walking some distance behind us read some of our earlier chalkings. "Damn Dykes!" they yelled. At least they got it right. I've been called a "whore" while holding hands with my lover, and it bothers me more when they can't get it right. Dyke, lesbian, gay-these aren't dirty words, and if they make you feel that way I suggest you figure out why. Still, these guys weren't acting friendly, and we took off towards CCM, just to be safe. But once we were out of sight of the men, Jen stopped and knelt down, began writing. We stopped to watch. "I don't want to be afraid anymore," she wrote.

As to charges of vandalism, writing in chalk on the sidewalk is not vandalism. I live in Clifton, and along the route I take to Revco there is "Fag" spray-painted on a fence. Further along there is a message that was imprinted in the sidewalk when the cement was still wet: "Kill Fags." This might be vandalism, but our statements were neither obscene nor violent. Outside McMicken, on a lamppost, the words "Trust Jesus" are painted in white. They've been there for a year and a half, at least. Now, I believe Jesus was a kindly gay man, and this may be vandalism, but I am not disgusted or enraged. While you may disagree with what I wrote, it was written with what is marketed as "sidewalk chalk," on the sidewalk, which is what children, artists, and fraternity/sorority members regularly do, without penalty.

But last Sunday at 10:00 pm I was arrested, along with three other women, for doing just this. Five armed officers were present at the arrest, after which we were cuffed and taken to the station. There we were placed in two separate rooms, cuffed to benches, frisked, interrogated, and lectured, only to be released five hours later, at 3:00

am.

I was back on campus by 9:00 am for class and work. While walking from work I noticed a tank truck had been driven into McMicken Square. A man stood there hosing away our words. How insulting, I thought. After all that sirens and guns and cuffs and cars and questions-all that and they couldn't even let it stay until National Coming Out Day came and went.

What a mismanagement of university resources! But they did a thorough job; the sidewalk was wet and bare. There wasn't a trace of what we had written there. But I remember. I wrote "Bulldaggers, I love you," and I remember why I wrote it. I wrote it to dispel self-hatred and shame, to affirm love and human value on what was then the eve of our national holiday-National Coming Out Day. I wrote it in chalk on the schoolyard sidewalk. And I am not ashamed.

NOVEMBER 24, 1995 GAY PEOPLE'S CHRONICLE 9

Among Friends

CELEBRATING DIVERSITY IN Craft and In People

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Holiday Flourishes

From the rugged harmonies of early-American shape-note songs to Randall Thompson's classic "Alleluia" and the popular harmonies of Irving Berlin, the Chorus's holiday concert promises something for everyone.

When What Time: Where:

How Much:

This Concert:

Friday & Saturday, December 15 & 16, 1995 8:00 p.m. each night

Euclid Avenue Congregational Church Euclid Avenue at the corner of East 96th Street Cleveland, Ohio (near the Cleveland Clinic) Free lighted parking next to the church

Season tickets at $30.00 (for the winter, spring, and pride concerts) are available from the chorus. Call (216) 473-8919

In advance, $12.00 from a chorus member or Advantix (Telephone 241-6000 in Cleveland, or 1-800-766-6048) Day of concert $15.00 from any source and at the door

This concert is an important stop for the Chorus as it sings its way to the Gay and Lesbian Association of Choruses Festival (GALA) in Tampa in July 1996. The theme for this year's season is "We Sing the Dream."

Join us at this "Most wonderful time of the year" North Coast Men's Chorus is composed of gay and gay-supportive men.

KR

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