Whether you are managing a team in your company, a committee in a non-profit organization, a classroom, or an online space, we have all heard about how important it is to have safe spaces. There is, however, a common misconception that spaces are safe, just because we say that they are. While it is crucial that the boundaries of what is and is not acceptable in any given space are announced, it is not enough to state the safety of a space alone to warrant it as such.

Safe spaces are, in fact, carefully and ruthlessly curated.

It might surprise some folks to hear this but I learned this fairly recently from a community member in a space I had built as part of an interfaith circle I co-facilitate. I think it is important for us to mark these turning points because too much of community organizing rhetoric is immersed in people just “needing to know” rather than reflecting the actual (often challenging) process of learning as we go.

At the beginning of the event, I proclaimed that this was a safe space for everyone to feel free to share their experiences, speak their minds, and be vulnerable – and I meant that. What I naively hadn’t taken into consideration was the other people in the space (it was a public event) and that they might not share my acceptance of others or the parameters of what I feel constitutes safety.

In fact, the community member who pointed this out to me made it very clear that her non-binary child would be unlikely to feel safe in a space dominated by members of conservative and orthodox religious communities who were fairly likely to shun them or worse. And she was right. Her kid would not have been safe there, because as soon as she said that, I looked around the room and I did note people who I remembered to be openly discriminatory and hateful towards such folks.

I was in a compassion bubble.

And it was, mercifully, popped. I suspect it has something to do with me never really having good boundaries as a kid and a tendency I have had my whole life to project myself and my worldview onto people around me. I thought I had gotten better at dealing with that but I was wrong.

Since that time, I have paid more attention to spaces I know are also considered “safe” and have taken note of how such a label came to be placed there. Several feminist groups on Facebook, in particular, have a long list of rules to follow and hurtful terms that are prohibited – and every new member of the group is supposed to read through this pinned post and then comment on it as acknowledgment of their having read and understood its terms. It is a social contract that is put front and center. When respected, the rules allow for authentic and vulnerable interactions to take place in a way that might otherwise be challenging or impossible.

It made me realize that not only was I assuming that everyone is as willing to accept other ways of being in the world as I do,  but I also had no safety plan in the event that something went wrong.

A safety plan is essentially a series of actions based on hazardous “what ifs” in any given scenario. This, of course, is based on what we deem to be unacceptable words or behaviours in a space, whether that be in person or online. And ultimately, the plan is in place in order to prescribe our reactions and, I would think, in order to overcome any fear paralysis or inability to act in the event that something very disturbing occurs.

I remember at the first Black Lives Matter – Edmonton town hall meeting, a young Black woman was voicing her opinion about the topic at hand and an old white man from the back of the room started yelling in a degrading manner that she ought to raise her voice and speak up when she’s talking to us. Everyone froze. You could feel how uncomfortable the room was. And without skipping a beat or a moment’s hesitation, one of the co-founders of what would become Black Women United YEG stood up and told that man to keep quiet or get out. She interrupted his very abusive tone and manner with such a fierceness, my mouth literally hung open. She then called out the folks who began apologizing for him, even as he showed zero remorse.

She knew what to do when the contract of the room was violated.

Why?

She had seen it countless times before. She could guess where this might be going and she knew that if she didn’t interrupt it, it might escalate. She knew that the first trespass is a violation of the sacred safety of a space. And she had zero tolerance for that.

I was in awe because I had grown up in a state of bewilderment that had gotten me into some pretty scary scenarios. I, like many others, had been socialized to diminish my intuitive voice, to ignore blatant red flags, and other such concerning self-permeability in the name of not making things awkward. The result was consent and boundary violations to my personhood, again and again. And I was never taught why this was happening or how to defend myself against it. I was confused and let down every time it happened.

Later, I was fortunate enough to take violence de-escalation training with the same amazing woman and one exercise in particular jumped out at me as memorable for the same reasons. We were instructed to put our hand on the leg of the person next to us and they were supposed to tell us to take it off in an assertive and vocal tone. As we went around the circle, all of us were laughing awkwardly and weren’t exactly as assertive as we should have been.

It was our social conditioning showing – the kind of conditioning that doesn’t keep people safe.

Rather than just doing the exercise as we were taught that it can be effective in stopping unwanted behaviour, we shrugged things off, unable to assert autonomy over our own bodies. That is, until it came to her turn. I put my hand on her knee and, again, without skipping a beat, she put the fear of God in me, growling for me to take my damn hand off her knee.

I wanted to applaud. I was in awe again.

But honestly, it just made me realize how let down we all are by what we have been taught and what has been deemed more important for the public school curriculum or for our households. Why isn’t it mandatory to teach folks about behavioural patterns of narcissistic predators and how they groom vulnerable people? Why aren’t we taught the typical behaviours of people with implicit bias or who are overtly racist? Why isn’t economic or labour exploitation taught in school so we can recognize it when it happens? Why aren’t we taught that our safety and that of our children and our colleagues and our community members is more important than anything else? More important than the customer always being right or the benefit of the doubt being awarded to one who just rubs us the wrong way. More important than the reputation of an organization in the event that it needs to cancel a meeting to keep its personnel safe. More important than the feelings of a sorry abuser whose behaviour never changes.

Why have we been taught to put our safety last? Everything comes before it: money, love, the feelings of the ones who harm us – even if they lack basic human empathy.

The answer to these questions is simple: systems that exploit are designed to be exploitative and they are upheld by those who benefit from them.

I have noticed, since drawing up rules and safety plans for the business I run and the committees I chair, that people tend to breathe a sigh of collective relief when the plans are brought out. They know how important these things are preemptively.

And the ones who huff and puff about them? I have my eye on you.

Next time, we will discuss practical steps to creating social safety plans, particularly in community organizing settings.


16265681_10154323322850753_2679466403133227560_nNakita Valerio is an award-winning writer, academic, and community organizer based in Edmonton, Canada. 

I was originally scheduled to start a new column, Freestyling Feminism, on topics related to intersectional feminism this week. My second blog for this column was going to be a light, introductory primer on “what is intersectional feminism?” However, it would be inappropriate to bypass for a later time as the outcomes of last night’s American election, and exit poll results suggest that the topic of intersectionality is more urgently relevant now.


58% of female voters voted for a candidate other than Trump. 47% of male voters voted for Clinton or a third party candidate. Only 37% of white voters voted for Clinton, plus 5% who voted third party.

53% of white women voters voted for Trump. 49% of college educated white voters voted for Trump, compared to 45% who vote for Clinton. White feminism did not bring about a female president and education did not stop white voters from electing Trump.

This election is obviously complex and it is impossible to find a definitive reason why America elected Trump. It is pretty clear, though, that racism was a strong driving factor. I certainly suspect that misogyny played a role, but more passively – it probably biased and intensified the way some people saw Hillary Clinton, and it allowed many people, including women, to overlook Trump’s misogynistic statements and history of sexual assault – but I don’t think that on the whole people voted for Trump in order to vote against a woman president. They voted for Trump because they were voting for racism and white supremacy. Perhaps we can charitably agree that this may have been unconscious in some cases, but at some point unconsciously responding to dog-whistle racism turned into intentional denial and self-delusion. The man has been openly and enthusiastically supported by the KKK, after all.

Liberals and progressives, especially white liberals and progressives, who are looking at this verdict[1] in horror, wondering what went wrong, what could have been done differently, and what can be done now, need to look at the magnitude and depth of the racism and xenophobia in their society and culture. Many of us still had faith that enough of America would be sensible that Trump’s seemingly insane rhetoric couldn’t win, and this has been an eye opener.

 [1] A weird slip into judicial language reflecting the feeling that America has been handed a sentence, not a government.

The next thing to do is to look at the movements already at work fighting these bigoted attitudes and systemic problems. Black Lives Matter, the land defenders at Standing Rock, the LGBTQ communities who fought for decades to win marriage equality, Planned Parenthood and activists who have been struggling to maintain basic reproductive rights. Groups like these are fighting for a better future every day, not just in the presidential race. There is turbulence but they are making change that matters and they know how.

It is time for white progressives to get in line and stand behind people of colour, queer people, Muslims, and other marginalized activists. White people don’t have the solutions for this, but we do have numbers and influence. Intersectionality now (always, but very critically right now) means white activists and allies putting POC’s voices, ideas, and solutions to the forefront. Listen and follow. Remember that your experiences of misogyny matter, but they don’t discount your white privilege and security; your experiences of homophobia matter, but don’t discount your white privilege; your class struggle and economic inequality matter but they do not discount white privilege.

Now is not the time for white people to search for new solutions or to lead movements. Now is the time for white people to throw their weight behind existing solutions and movements.

This is not just a Canadian scolding from across the border. Canadians should not be watching this election with smugness or relief. Canadian culture absorbs much of the influences and trends that American culture generates. More seriously, we need to recognize that white supremacy is equally as native to Canadian settler culture as it is to American settler culture built on slave ownership. The monster is under our bed too. The same xenophobic fears and attitudes that Trump exploited with his suggested ban on Muslim immigration, Harper grasped at when he introduced the idea of a niqab ban in the last election. Thankfully Canadians largely rejected that attempt – this time. The idea was there and it resonated, though. Similarly, the same rage and hostility we see in Trump’s core supporters is present in sections of Alberta politics. Most fundamentally though, the colonial white supremacy that the American nation was built on, is just a particular variety of the same colonial white supremacy that the Canadian nation was built on. We’re seeing the legacy of the former playing out dramatically in the United States right now, but we cannot ignore that there are similar things present in the foundation of our own society. We must not lapse into complacency in Canada just because the United Sates is more explosive in its dysfunction.

And finally, since I imagine many people woke up feeling shocked, helpless, and isolated after election day, wondering who their country really was – remember that Clinton won the popular vote. You are not alone.


lizElisabeth came to Edmonton to do a Masters degree in History at the University of Alberta after completing a Bachelor of Arts degree in Art History at the University of Victoria. Her research interests include medieval and early modern social and cultural history, especially issues around medical history and persecution. In the first year of her Masters degree, Elisabeth received the Joseph-Armand Bombardier Canada Graduate Scholarship from the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada, followed by the Walter H. Johns Fellowship, Queen Elizabeth II Graduate Scholarship, and the Field Law Leilani Muir Graduate Research Scholarship.She  presented at the HCGSA Conference at University of Alberta in 2016 and will be writing the entry on Leprosy in World Christianity for the De Gruyter’s Encyclopedia of the Bible and its Reception (forthcoming). She has worked as a Research Assistant at the University of Alberta, and as a contract researcher and writer for the Government of Alberta’s Heritage division. In addition to her work as a writer and researcher, Elisabeth works with the Art Gallery of Alberta and Latitude 53 Contemporary Visual Culture.

Edmonton Public Library ought to be ashamed of themselves. Last night, I attended their lecture series on Freedom of Expression headed by Salman Rushdie. For people who have come to know Rushdie’s work over the years, we knew what to expect from him: the cognitive dissonance experienced when trying to reconcile two images of a man – a brilliant and evocative writer and a public speaker who revels in blasphemies, insults and what has come to be called (glorified) “trolling”. I attended because I love some of his novels purely for the craft and I received a free ticket from a colleague of mine at the University of Alberta. I also wanted to see what he could possibly have to say that would fly with an open Canadian audience that prides itself on pluralism. What happened at the event, was far more sinister than anything I could have anticipated and is something that EPL should not be proud of.

Rushdie purported to be talking about freedom of expression and censorship – issues that he has built his personality cult around. And yet, his discourse on the subject is not very well-thought out and lacks significant nuance. That is, of course, giving him too much credit. It could just be that he actually believes that freedom of expression means never having any censorship whatsoever, including for spreading hate propaganda and denying that certain phenomena actually exists. Hard to believe that someone could buy that, but he does. Denying the Holocaust as a counter-argument to this “expression free-for-all” is the first thing that usually comes to mind as something that should (and often is) legislated against. (And before any ill-informed Judeophobes get up in arms, let me be clear: historical discussion is not denial. Ever.)

But Rushdie didn’t take his own argument to those problematic ends. Instead he blatantly denied that a different kind of harmful phenomena exists: Islamophobia. He dismissed Islamophobia (a word he allegedly “doesn’t like”) as a relatively recent innovation designed by Daesh (ISIS) apologists (see: all Muslims) to stop genuine criticism of Islam.

Excuse me? Sit down, Sir.

For people who live with the vile discrimination of Islamophobia every single day, dismissing their lived reality as part of a conspiratorial global Muslim plot to make the world more PC is part and parcel of the rest of the Islamophobia we endure daily. Rushdie’s reified Clash of Civilizations narrative wouldn’t even fly in an intro to Poli Sci class at the University so why the hell is EPL giving this fool a podium to spew it so unapologetically?

Here’s a fact: polarizing rhetoric polarizes. They become self-fulfilling prophecies because they don’t describe the world, they prescribe it and in swallowing such quantifiably impoverished arguments, bigots allow the work done to reconcile alienated communities get thrown under the bus immediately. And for him to put all of this under the self-defensive, circular argument of “freedom of expression” is no better than the unreflective xenophobes I am accustomed to dealing with in much less distinguished settings.

At one point, Rushdie actually said he should have the right to disrespect religions and then proceeded to make an argument for the freedom to hate, coupled with jokes that emulated Trump’s pussy-grabbing sexual assault “quips” and quite literally made fun of transgender women for not having vaginas. He did this while painting the artist/writer as a victim of censorship to a room full of people who, astonishingly, swallowed his intellectually devoid argument and laughed along with his hateful one-liners, including politicians and senior city bureaucrats. As a writer, I was appalled.

Rushdie spreads hate under the mandate of anti-censorship so that any legitimate critique of his neo-liberal, anti-religion, secular homogenizing agenda is dismissed as either anti-modern or Islamist.

And isn’t that the tactic of every colonizer to dismiss his critics as being “uncivilized”?

In Rushdie’s Lilliputian world, I am simply a reactive, anti-modern because I don’t think we should give intolerant hacks the time of day – especially not to massive, sold-out crowds at a huge downtown hotel in our capital city. He would simply cry “Censorship” and believe that that should silence me. Point to my hijab and shout “extremist” because I disagree with him. And that should somehow silence me? The caveat of his argument about freedom of expression is that freedom of expression is for all except people who actually recognize how harmful hateful rhetoric is, who devote their lives to studying and preventing it, who don’t believe that people have an intuitive “bullshit radar” (if they did, they wouldn’t have been laughing so hard at his gay-bashing jokes last night and we wouldn’t be dealing with the gongshow of an American election right now) and who know how easily people are manipulated and made to hate by stories told in defense of their social position and power.

But this isn’t about Rushdie. At all. He is so predictable, it hurts.

We all know what to expect from this pandering neo-liberal fool who positively ejaculates every time one of his books is put on a banned list because he gets to self-fellatiate in front of global press audiences. We all know that virulent liberal secularist proponents are the least reflective and least self-critical non-thinkers on the planet. My God, they barely even know that they too operate under an actual cultural system that is not, impossibly, outside ”culture” itself while reifying Christianoform time, rituals and rhetoric unquestioningly as an allegedly non-religious zombie of the Western European tradition.

No, the real problem here is that a community institution, the Edmonton Public Library, attacked Canadian pluralism in bringing him here and simultaneously undermined the difficult and incredible work their staff does daily to establish safe spaces in their libraries for people of colour, Muslims, women and LGBTQ people. I won’t go so far as to say people like him should remain silent or be made silent because I don’t think that is the case. A community institution giving Rushdie’s blatant intolerance a speaking platform and a large audience is entirely another story.  I did not feel safe in an EPL-created space last night and I know a lot of other people who didn’t either. They ought to be ashamed of themselves. I know I am.

 

In the wake of the Orlando shootings, there has been a major backlash online and in the US Congress against prayers being uttered for the dead and their grieving families. Expressed as frustration for a lack of action, individuals have taken to calling out the “thoughts and prayers” syndrome that keeps the United States in a perpetual state of inaction on gun control and have further argued that the question is particularly being ignored in the case of Orlando because the victims were Latino, members of the LGBTQ community and killed by a so-called “Islamic” “terrorist”.

As a result, individuals who do feel compelled to pray for a variety of reasons have had to confront themselves and their intentions with regards to their status as allies of the LGBTQ movement. Is it possible to pray for the dead and their families to find peace and safety while still remaining active and vigilant in the struggle for the right to life of those in the community? Of course.

After the shootings happened, I started to see these “Policy, not prayer” posts online but they weren’t emerging from the pages of my queer friends. Rather, they came from the pages of militant atheists – the kind who push for secular homogenization at every single inappropriate turn without really realizing its deeply historically Christian origins. In this case, I became outraged. How dare they take the opportunity to push an anti-prayer agenda? Was I beginning to sound like the “War on Christmas” people?!

Well, after some reflection: no, I don’t think that is the case. I wrote a rant about it on my Facebook and came to realize that it was more about accepting one another and how we grieve in the world:

“Can people stop with the passive aggressive posts telling people to stop praying and instead make policy changes for people in Orlando?

First of all, a lot of people who are praying are abroad and have zero capability to influence American domestic policy.

Secondly, who exactly are you speaking to? Politicians who only offer prayers but don’t change policies? That’s fair enough but then that message needs to actually get to them…not be posted on Facebook as yet another aggressive secular campaign on the uselessness of prayer. We get that you don’t think prayer does anything and that’s fine. Don’t tell believers how to grieve and help, especially when many of them are from within the LGBTQ community and this is how they mourn what happened yesterday.

Lastly, praying and public policy change are not mutually exclusive actions. And I think I am the living embodiment of that principle so it’s fair for me to put that on the line. If you want me to stop praying, you will definitely have me stop public policy work as well. And I’m doing a lot of it, alhamdulilah. Prayer gives me hope that the actions I engage in will be acceptable and successful.

Not everyone exists in this world in the same way you do. As I think Orlando fully exemplifies. If there is a lesson to take from the bloodbath of hatred, it’s that homogenizing narratives of how people should be and what they should do are always harmful and violent.

And I have to say, that given how much of the religious establishment has been cursing the LGBTQ community, well, forever… it is a little refreshing to see people praying for this long-oppressed community many of whose members consider themselves believers too or might have been if they hadn’t been so harshly outcast and demonized. And even if not, it’s still a necessary change in the dynamic between these 2 communities where many individuals live on the ambiguous faultlines between them.

Let’s all engage in some deep acceptance of one another. Division serves no one except those who thrive on hegemony and are served by it.

‪#‎prayersANDchange
‪#‎orjustprayers
‪#‎orjustchange
‪#‎orlandoshooting

I’m done now.”

Immediately after I posted this, a gay friend of mine shared a “Policy, not prayers” image. I felt sick to my stomach and realized that while I had been addressing the militant atheists, I had failed to think about it from the LGBTQ perspective. He later removed it after he saw my rant; however, the conversation that followed was very eye-opening for me and helped me remember that prayers, however well-meaning, may be uncalled for by individuals in the LGBTQ community and may even be received with revulsion as they conjure up remembrances of “pray the gay away” and other traumatic interactions between queers and especially Christian far-right groups. Ultimately, you do not need to make your prayers public.

What you do need to make public, however, is your action. And after Orlando, there is no longer action and inaction. There is only action and tacit acceptance of the systemic oppression and violence against minority groups. If you are against social injustice for some groups, you have to be against social injustice for all. Period. Full stop.

In checking in with my friends in the LGBTQ community, I learned some very important lessons about being an ally and how to make your action meaningful (however local it has to be):

  1. You need to be quiet and listen. This might be hard for you. I will admit it is hard for me because I’m used to talking a lot. But you have to do it. The best way to learn something about a group that you do not belong to is to listen to the people who do belong to it. You might be surprised to find that they actually belong to your group and to the other group – something you may not have conceived of before. Being quiet means quieting your mind too: don’t be waiting to respond. Don’t be editing what they say. Hear them out. Hear their perspective. You don’t have a right to tell them if their experience with oppression is genuine or not. If you haven’t changed by the end of the conversation(s), you aren’t doing it right.
  2. You need to recognize your privilege. That’s right. Have you felt like shutting off your Facebook and telling the evil world to go away? Must be nice to just shut it all off without having to live the reality of discrimination every day of your life. Yup, I said it. While I’m all for self-preservation and activists taking periodic breaks from action and social media to replenish themselves, you can’t totally tune out. People who are discriminated against do not have the luxury of just turning the violence in the media off – they live it. Also: if you are a religious person and you are thinking, “Well, I’m not gay and I don’t know anyone who is, so I’m really lucky I don’t even have to think about what I would do or how I would deal with this” then you seriously have an entitlement problem. Since when is the fact that something “doesn’t affect you” a justified reason for not giving af while people are suffering? Eat your privilege. Eat every last bite of it and get to work.
  3. You can share ways that you understand their pain, but know that you do not fully understand their struggle. In a conversation with a trans friend of mine, I was giving examples of ways that Islamophobia and Queerphobia are similar: people hate us so much they want to kill us, we never know when we will be the victims of verbal or physical assault, our oppression is compounded by factors like what socio-economic strata we live in, our declared gender, what we wear and the colour of our skin. While this relatability brings us closer together, these experiences do not dovetail perfectly. Recognize that their experience is unique. If you add the fact that a queer person is also a Muslim or Christian, you have an intersection of possible discrimination which makes them far more likely to be lashed out at.
  4. This is not about you (at least not right now). Similar to number 3, remember that it is not.about.you. Way too many Muslims I know were crying foul at the media trying to portray the Orlando shooter as an “Islamic” “terrorist.” This includes hundreds of prominent Islamic scholars who took the time to issue a formal statement on the shootings but spent more than half of it defending the fact that this lunatic idiot didn’t represent Islam. Why in the hell are we pandering to Islamophobes when anyone with half a brain in their heads knows that OF COURSE HE DOESN’T REPRESENT ISLAM. This happens every single time a shooter has an Arab-sounding name. Every. Single. Time. And while that sucks and is worthy of both future action in the form of education initiatives and some condemnation (especially when so-called “political hopefuls” stand to capitalize on it to the detriment of everyone else), recognize that your condolences for the lives lost should come first. Yes, even if you are Muslim. Especially if you are Muslim. As a colleague of mine put it: the life of a child is like a universe to its family and on that horrible Sunday in Orlando, 49 of those universes were extinguished. If the first thought in your mind is to be defensive about how the media portrays Islam, you are not doing this step correctly.
  5. You need to speak the hell up. This is the final step and the most important. To illustrate how important this is, I first need to tell an anecdotal and seemingly unrelated story. Back in December, just after the height of the Islamophobia of the Conservative Party federal election campaign died down with their total decimation at the polls, I organized a Women’s Safety Class at a local mosque to give Muslim women the tools they need to de-escalate violence and remain safe. Rachael Heffernan – a four stripe black belt – taught the class and among many memorable things everyone came away with was a very important point about what your job is as a victim of harassment and possible violence.

Someone in the crowd mentioned that when someone harasses them, they are worried about freaking out because they don’t want to portray Islam improperly and they don’t want to incite the other person to violence against them. Throughout the class, Rachael had been pointing out that more often than not, acting crazy (“like a cat in a pillowcase”) or being unafraid to scream GET AWAY FROM ME as loud as possible usually does the trick against perpetrators because they are looking for passive individuals to bully. Now, if you are concerned about doing that and then having that person extrapolate your self-preserving behaviour to mean that all 1.7 billion Muslims act like cats in a pillowcase…well, as Rachael put it: you can’t cure stupid.

A harasser is a harasser. They are going out of their way to make life difficult and uncomfortable and even hurt you. You owe them absolutely nothing. In this instance, your only job is to GET HOME SAFE. That might mean being the cat in the pillowcase or it might mean remaining silent. Whatever you have to do, do it guilt-free: Just get home. Throughout the rest of the safety class, Rachael shared inspirational stories with us (like the one about a woman who beat her attacker while shouting “I have three kids and I am going home!”) as we continued to chant I’M GOING HOME as our safety mantra.

The same idea can easily be applied to members of the LGBTQ community who face harassment, discrimination and violence with alarming frequency. Just get home. Lobby and be an activist when violence is not a very real possibility. But getting home? That’s your only job when facing an attacker.

But that’s not the job of the people around you, your allies. Their silence is not permissible in my view. Collectively, they have no right to just stand on by. It doesn’t even have to be a situation in which they witness violence against you. It can be (and should be) standing up to everyday micro-aggressions like calling someone a faggot or making gay jokes or using gay as an insult – whether or not an LGBTQ person is even in the room. If you aren’t doing this, you are not an ally. It doesn’t matter if conversations at work or at home become uncomfortable. It doesn’t matter if you lose friends. Who wants to be friends with someone who hates and condones aggression against oppressed minority groups anyway?

You don’t have to attend Pride to support your friends, just like they don’t have to come to the mosque or wear hijab to support you. You don’t even have to agree with each other on anything but you do have to respect each other’s dignity and right to safety. It says a lot about the ally-status LGBTQ community that my gay and trans friends have been the biggest supporters of Muslims as we continue to be scapegoated in Canadian and American elections and, most poignantly, that one of the first things to come out of the Orlando shootings was the “Queers against Islamophobia” campaign. They stood up for you. Will you stand up for them?