Letter to the Editor: Get Out of the Bleachers!

Well, beloveds, here we are … getting close to halfway through 2025. I’m not sure how you’re doing, but I know how I’m doing. With each passing day, I’m wondering where my sense of shock and awe has gone. It’s time to get out of the bleachers, folks. I mean, it’s really past time.

I have a healthy concern for where this country is headed. Like many of you, I have asked myself over and over, “What can I do?”

What can we do? What can I do? What can you do, ally? Because there’s no more wall-flowering it. There’s no more sitting quietly in the background, nodding your head in agreement with what other allies are doing and allowing it to stop there. There’s no more hiding behind a keyboard, profusely agreeing with others but then living your life in support of those who are doing harm to the queer community. Those days are done. I mean, if you’re really an ally, those days are done, finished, over, not going back there, done.

Allow me to share with you what’s working for me, so far, anyway. See if anything resonates with you.

I don’t know where you are on the journey, but I can promise you that if you’re an ally reading this, I’ve walked every step you’re on. I see the younger generations doing a much better job than my generation has done, but there’s still discrimination all over the place that tells us the work continues.

For parents, family and friends, there is a bit of a “coming out” process, and it’s different for all of us. I get that. For me, it was some grief (I wasn’t going to see my son in some wedding getting hitched with a woman in a white gown. … Ok, that seems even silly to write now, with who and what I am, but I promise you that at the time, those grief feelings were very real). Then, worry (oh, the constant worry about him being the next Matthew Shepherd — Rest in Peace and Power, Matthew). Then, changing up the church we were going to (another story, another time). Then, the friendships that ended (oh, if I would have only known I didn’t need to be so sad at that time because, honestly, our friendships with queer folks are so much better and deeper and soul-filled — and the glitter!) Then, the acceptance and the determination and drive to make this world safer for all people walking planet Earth, especially those society has tossed in the margins, so cruelly and without a thought.

Somewhere along my own journey, I decided, nope, things are going to change in my own life in a big way, and that’s what I’ve done. Where are you in that journey, ally?

First, gather up with community. Right now. Have you sent your notes, messages, texts to your family and friends in the queer community yet? Telling them you’re with them, you love them and you’re not leaving them regardless of what comes down the street in this country? Have you told them you’re beside them in the fight? (I mean, trust me, it’s a fight — just ask any of your queer beloveds if they feel at peace right now.) Have you asked them how they’re doing? Have you had your lunch, dinner, coffee or theatre dates with them, and hugged and promised them there are millions of us allies with them and they’re not alone? Have you volunteered with queer-specific non-profits and shown up and listened and smiled and put a reassuring hand out? Have you asked other family and friends to get involved?

Again, now is the time to gather up with community and show them they’re not alone. For any of us who have ever been in the margins for any reason in our lifetime, we know it’s a very lonely place to be. To feel outcast, to feel like we don’t matter, to feel like society is, well, out to get us, to know many others are voting our rights away. However you can show up, please do. Lives are depending on it (take the time to check out suicide rates for the queer community).

Secondly, your beloveds are watching. Your children, nephews, nieces, neighbors, uncles, aunts, parents, extended families, the family across the street with two moms or two dads, the family next door who is a different color than you … they’re all watching. And listening. Now, this can be as simple as flying a Pride flag (which we do at our house — there’s no doubt to anybody in our neighborhood where we stand. And we live close to a high school. I always hope some of those high school kids see our flag and know they’ve got somebody in the community pulling for them). Or, gathering for a meal or a beer in the garage or whatever you can come up with to let others know you are a safe person and space.

How was the conversation at any of your holiday gatherings? Because your queer nephew who maybe isn’t quite out yet doesn’t want to be asked if he has a girlfriend yet. Your trans college-age relative who has a new name doesn’t want to be dead-named at a family function (or anywhere). Your niece, who so badly wants to play football, doesn’t want to be discouraged with the expectation that she’ll “settle down one day with a nice man.” (She may not be queer, but seriously, we women are so tired of being boxed in — ugh.) People are watching. They are paying attention. And the community knows who is safe and who isn’t. Are you throwing out safe energy, or are you that person who isn’t? There really isn’t any in-between. You decide who you are.

Finally, let’s get to the tough stuff. Checking our own privileges. So, allies, we live in these straight bodies; for me, it’s a straight, white body. That means from my first breath, I’ve been conditioned in certain ways that I see my life, my essence and my being. We’ve got to dig deep, explore our privilege and figure out real quick, as in right now, that’s not how the rest of planet Earth is living.

You need to start asking yourself the hard questions. Am I right? Am I on the right side of history? Where am I in this moral arc? Is there another possible way to see this? What about other people? What about my queer child who no longer wants contact with me? Who’s in my circle? Is this all about my money, or is this all about relationships? What is internal bias? Do I have it? (Trust me, you do, all of us white folks do.) What can I do about it? If we say we want to be part of the solution and not part of the problem, it has to start within each of us. And that means doing your own self-work first.

Now, there’s nothing in me that’s trying to shame you here, I promise (shame is gross). If you’re at a different part of your journey, that’s ok. I should say, that’s ok as long as you’re not doing harm. If you’re doing harm, it would be good to get your head out of your ass but hey, that’s on you, and I’m going to breeze right by you because the rest of us don’t have the time or energy to sink into you. We’re too busy putting our love, time, energy and dollars into making this world safer for our queer beloveds.

For the allies, I hope some of this is even a tiny bit helpful. Reaching out to my queer loved ones and asking how I can help or asking what I can do has been helpful. Checking my privilege on a daily basis is necessary. Asking myself how I can show up in this life is what I meditate on daily. I wish it were as easy as taking out a recipe card and following the recipe, but it’s not. It requires a commitment. It requires a lot of listening and very little talking. It requires showing up, pitching in, bringing your best self and being a team player. But I promise you it matters, now more than ever. Yes, my gay son was the beginning of my journey, but it’s turned into so much more. Because there are queer folks all over the world who are not able to live the life they were born to live because of fear. What can I do about that fear? What can you do? What can we do?

I know now, like never before, the only way I’m going to get through the future is with community. All of us working together, standing up for those in the margins, asking the hard questions, having the conversations and sometimes clearing out the people I thought were friends and finding other relationships. Hey, that’s just good, healthy boundaries. Truly, the time is this minute to get out of the bleachers and onto the playing field. Stop passively observing and start actively participating. Lives are depending on it. Folks, let’s do this. I’ll see you on the field!

Michelle Gunderson Bahr

Michelle Gunderson Bahr is Lavender’s Ally of the Year 2024 recipient. She is first and foremost an activist and advocate for the queer community. She is a mother who is especially proud of her gay son Cole and his husband Paul, along with being a wife and grandmother of 6. She is in private practice as a therapist in Scott County with a specialty in substance use disorder, receiving her Master’s degree in Human Development from St. Mary’s University of Minnesota. For several years, she has been an active speaker at metro area churches, sharing her journey as the mom of a gay son, along with serving for five years on the Board of Directors at The Aliveness Project. She has been the lead banner carrier for 15 years in the Ashley Rukes Pride Parade for Twin Cities Pride and is an active volunteer throughout the year with Twin Cities Pride.