The Pride Proclamation and the Mayor Who Didn't Blink
Come close, for there has been a "scandal" at Borough Hall, and Your Faithful Correspondent simply could not allow it to pass without comment — for what is a small town without its small dramas, and what is a Whistletown without her opinions?
It seems Mayor Leo Lutz, regardless of his own personal feelings on the matter, proclaimed June as Pride Month — which one would have thought should scarcely raise an eyebrow. But, Dear Reader, one would have thought wrong.
Enter a certain resident, who rose before Council on the 23rd of June with paper in hand and grievance in heart, to inform the room that while he believes every soul is equal in the eyes of the Almighty, he cannot abide that equality being celebrated quite so publicly. A curious sort of equality indeed, one that insists upon its worth, while recoiling from its expression.
The resident fretted that a rainbow flag might trouble the digestion of families en route to Hinkle's for a bite. One does wonder how the antique shops have survived this long, festooned as they are with banners of every other persuasion.
It is, this Author observes, a rather familiar costume that prejudice likes to wear: the language of love and equality draped over the belief that certain people ought to remain unseen and unspoken of. History does not look kindly upon such arguments, however gently they are read from prepared statements, and Your Correspondent suspects this one shall age no better than its predecessors.
Mayor Lutz, to his very great credit, did not blink. He reminded the room, with the steadiness of a man who has weathered a quarter-century of public service, that his personal feelings are not "material" to his civic duty, a sentiment Your Correspondent wishes more people in public office would take to heart. He stood upon two lines of the proclamation in particular: that all persons are created equal, entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness — and that our LGBTQIA+ youth deserve to live free of fear, reprisal, and bullying.
It is, this Author observes, a rather familiar costume that prejudice likes to wear: the language of love and equality draped over the belief that certain people ought to remain unseen and unspoken of. History does not look kindly upon such arguments, however gently they are read from prepared statements, and Your Correspondent suspects this one shall age no better than its predecessors.
Mayor Lutz, to his very great credit, did not blink. He reminded the room, with the steadiness of a man who has weathered a quarter-century of public service, that his personal feelings are not "material" to his civic duty, a sentiment Your Correspondent wishes more people in public office would take to heart. He stood upon two lines of the proclamation in particular: that all persons are created equal, entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness — and that our LGBTQIA+ youth deserve to live free of fear, reprisal, and bullying.
On these grounds, the Mayor said, simply and rather beautifully, "I will stand by it." The room answered him with applause, and Your Correspondent confesses she was rather tempted to applaud from her writing desk as well.
Let us be direct, Dear Reader, as this Author so loves to be: There is nothing especially pious about asking young people to conceal who they are so that no one's afternoon stroll is interrupted by the sight of a "flag." Faith, in its better and more generous moods, has always found room for love of neighbor; it is only in its narrower, more frightened corners that it finds reason to withhold it. A child who is bullied does not feel the comfort of anyone's theology — only the absence of it.
So, the proclamation stands, the Mayor stands by it, and Columbia, this Author is pleased to report, remains a town where decency has, for now, carried the day.
Let us be direct, Dear Reader, as this Author so loves to be: There is nothing especially pious about asking young people to conceal who they are so that no one's afternoon stroll is interrupted by the sight of a "flag." Faith, in its better and more generous moods, has always found room for love of neighbor; it is only in its narrower, more frightened corners that it finds reason to withhold it. A child who is bullied does not feel the comfort of anyone's theology — only the absence of it.
So, the proclamation stands, the Mayor stands by it, and Columbia, this Author is pleased to report, remains a town where decency has, for now, carried the day.
Until next we meet, Dear Reader, do try to extend to others the equal worth you claim to believe in. It costs rather less than a prepared statement, and flatters everyone so much better.
Yours, with love to Everyone,
Yours, with love to Everyone,
Lady Whistletown
♡♡♡
