Reconciliation

Picture it: 11 p.m. on a warm summer night in the small town of Dickinson, North Dakota. It was July 20th, 2007. I was arriving at my local Walmart Supercenter to join the line of excited shoppers waiting to snag their copy of the final installment of the Harry Potter series at its midnight release party.

Everyone was all smiles, and sharing their predictions and hopes for what would happen in the final installment of the beloved series. For a decade, the stories of the boy wizard’s quest to prove that love does, in fact, win in the end captivated us all, and we were with him to the very end.

For the next two days, I left my bedroom only to use the bathroom or snag something to eat from the kitchen. This had become the ritual every time a new Potter book had been published, and my family knew well enough to leave me alone and not ask any questions until I was finished reading.

I’ll never forget the feeling of sheer joy and excitement that would consume me any time a new book or film adaptation was released. Those precious moments waiting in line at the bookstore or anticipating the moment the movie theater lights would dim stand out as some of the most exciting moments of my younger years.
The author of the series truly outdid herself in writing one of the most welcoming fictional environments I have ever experienced. It sounds silly to say, but I really put my faith and trust in the author. She carefully crafted this universe to be a loving and welcoming safe haven for all who chose to hop aboard the train to Hogwarts. The years went by and I met more and more people who had been positively impacted by these stories. I couldn’t help but wonder– why is it that so many readers, particularly young people who seemed to be just a little “different” from the masses, had a tendency to find these stories so captivating? Why did we talk about these characters as if we truly knew them? What was it that made this series so magnetic to so many people?

We talk a lot about “safe spaces” in the LGBTQ+ community, and how they are vital to our perseverance through difficult periods in time. These spaces can be just about anywhere– and really anything– that offer that peaceful break from discrimination or hatred in any form. Safe spaces aren’t always physical rooms we enter/exit, but rather they are any place or “thing” that truly offers us a place to feel at peace– and therefore paves the way for us to truly be our most authentic selves.

I wouldn’t have been able to articulate it at the time, but this particular book series was among my personal favorite safe spaces during adolescence. The books touch on themes of standing up against tyranny and oppression, speaking up for what’s right– even when the opposition outranks you in power and status, and that love always wins over hatred.

We saw ourselves in these characters. We longed for the love and community that was evident within the pages of these stories. We felt the emotion in our hearts, and we hoped beyond measure for a day in which we could see love conquer the evils of the world in which we truly lived.

Thus, imagine my sincere disappointment when, in 2020, the author of such a forward-thinking, all-welcoming series publicly outed herself as someone who embodied the very evil she once wrote so intricately about. Her comments began as suggestive and coded, making fans of hers scratch their heads wondering if they’d perhaps misunderstood her. When she doubled down on these comments and clarified that she does take issue with those who are different from her, it became clear that we could no longer look to her as a trusted ally.

This, I’m sure, is unfortunately all too familiar for many of us in the LGBTQ+ and other marginalized and underserved communities. How do we reconcile our love for someone after we discover they’ve behaved in a manner not in accordance with who we believed them to be?

This is a question to which I don’t currently possess many answers. We’ve likely all felt the sting of learning that a loved one has voted in a manner that actively works against us. It burns us deeply when we speak up for communities under attack, only to be gaslit and scoffed at by those we thought shared similar values. The haunting phrase of “we can disagree and still be friends” is never far from earshot when matters of human rights are on the table.

When our very existence feels attacked by people we’ve trusted, believed in, confided in, and felt inspired by and safe with– how do we make sense of it?

Is it possible to ever reclaim spaces that were once safe, but now feel tainted? Or do we have to create new places of peace in the absence of a former one? Is it possible for us to grieve the safety we lost, while still honoring the memory of it in a way that doesn’t continue to harm us?

How can we heal from wounds inflicted by those we once trusted?

You’ll likely hear me say this a lot on this blog, but we have a vast community of love at our fingertips. Despite how alienating being in the LGBTQ+ community can feel at times, it also is one of the most uniquely loving places to be on the planet. Despite the spats we sometimes have with one another, at the end of the day we are united in our efforts to live authentically and safely.

Just because a space, person, book series– or whatever else comes to mind– that once was safe no longer holds that same value doesn’t mean we can’t move forward with some powerful truths. 

We can still hold on to (and love) the joy that someone or something once gave us before it became hurtful.

We are valid for feeling grief over the hurt caused by someone or something we trusted.

We can turn our disappointment into something more beautiful than pain. The wound will ache for a time, but it can become something beautiful– and shape a brighter path forward.

I think back to the Ben that lived two decades ago reading those books for the first time– eyes lit up with stars. I sometimes wonder how he would’ve felt had he known the true nature of the person whose words captivated him, and gave him a place to escape from the harsh realities of the world. If he had known, and the Ben of today could say one thing to him now, it would be this:

“It’s okay to feel a sense of wonder and betrayal at the same time. Both of them are very real. But ask yourself this…which one can you do more with?”

Until next time,

Stay strong.

Stay together.

Stay in the light.

-Ben the Blogger