Story(ies) That Blind Us

"A story might help you get through your life, he said, but it doesn't literally keep you alive - if anything, most often people who have power turn their story into a brick wall keeping out somebody else's truth so that they can continue the life they believe themselves to be leading, trying somehow to preserve the idea that they're good people in their small lives, despite their involvement, however indirect, with bigger evils."

The quote is taken from the brilliant new novel by James Hannaham, titled "Delicious Foods." As someone who firmly believes in the power of stories and as an avid literature buff, I was struck by the profundity of the statement in light of all our nation is going through at this moment, from the shootings at and burning of Black churches, seemingly belonging to another time, to the chronic killing of Black and Brown citizens and "mysterious" jail deaths of multiple women and men "of color." From the explosion of trans visibility and the violence they face, reflected in the ascendency of someone like Caitlyn Jenner, to the unprecedented acceptance experienced by the overall LGBT community, most notably with the legalization of marriage - stories matter now, more than ever.

Stories, of course, are not just relegated to the pages of fiction or poetry. We consume stories through a vast array of mediums such as movies and television shows, comic books, news reports and advertisements; our world is built on stories. They tell us what has happened, what's important, who the hero is and who is a villain, etc., though the stories we hear, rarely put the information in such crass terms.

Rather, the stories we hear now, go something like this: "White shooter grew up in a nice home and was a gentle boy. Plagued with various bouts of mental illness, he broke and committed this tragic act."

Or this: "Latino man is dead. The authorities are investigating whether or not he resided here legally. He had been arrested before for drug possession and had several misdemeanors on his record."

Or this: "Black trans woman found dead today. She faced several previous arrests on prostitution and public indecency charges and was found with drugs in her system."

These stories, or versions of these stories, are what we have become used to hearing and consuming daily.

For the people in power (in the case of the above stories, the people in power happen to be white and cisgender), these type of stories are often used to justify the daily institutional, social and interpersonal violence that people of color, immigrants, women, gays, lesbian, bisexual and trans people endure every day. These stories also assure those in power that what is being done is okay, and that they have no personal responsibility to change the story.

Indeed, as Hannaham argues, the stories become brick walls that we hide behind, resting comfortably in the false belief that we have done nothing to help create or perpetuate those stories, or that the stories told, have nothing to do with us.

Nothing could be further from the truth. These "stories" have everything to do with us. These stories help decide whose love is legitimate and whose is not, whose body is sacred and whose is not, and who lives and who dies.

Regardless of on what side of the equation you fall, each story has everything to do with you. Either you are being told a story that values you and is meant to protect you, or yours is a story that justifies oppression. Either way, you are a character in that story, no matter how minor your role.

We need new stories around race, class, sexuality, gender, HIV, violence and love. It is up to us to take on the task of writing those different stories and making sure that those we tell, act as bridges to connect, rather than walls to divide. I think this generation is hungry for new stories and tired of the same endings we have often seen. So, today, begin by questioning the stories you are told and by writing new and different stories. You might be amazed to find out what truth and love lie behind that hardened cover.