Another Neurodivergent Queer Writes A Blog!

Two Cars of excited Palestinians drove past my house in the last two weeks, and I’m so excited about it. These moment of joy are worth sharing, so come savor them with me.

First, as I was having, let’s call it my “first” cigarette of the day, a guy my age drove by honking his horn in total abandon, his arm waving out the window. He was so unbridled in his joyous urge for me to notice him noticing the flag of his Homeland. I waved back, grinning, equally enthused that he noticed me noticing him, calling attention to the hardships his people suffer paid for by billions of US tax dollars annually. He sat at the stop sign at the end of my road for a while, not because of traffic but out of a shocked excitement. I waved a few more times. He eventually turned off toward wherever he was aiming for next, but not without more excited little honks and even more energetic waving. I happily returned his wave until he was out of sight a second or so later.

And just last night, a family in a van pulled over and called to me as I was inspecting the plants while I smoked, let’s say, my “fifth” cigarette of the day, and they asked me why the flag, and I froze for a minute. What do I say? As I thought for a few quick seconds, the back windows of the van rolled down too (I tried to hide my amazement that van windows did that now) revealing two children in the middle and two girls my age in the back also staring at me along with the guy driving and another woman in the passenger seat who I took to be the Matriarch. Hasn’t happened yet, so really what the hell am I supposed to say that will be genuine? So I said, “Well, I guess, it’s for you! So you know that I’m concerned about what’s happening to y’all, and because I want other people to be thinking of you, too! It’s not right, what’s happening, and it’s even more outrageous that we’re paying for it.” Then they asked me about my other flag. I gulped. How to make the Progress Flag meaningful to typically heterosexist people? (I know the contradiction, and the awful reality of the contradiction, of a pride flag flying with a Palestinian flag.) I said, “It’s a progress flag; it’s about including everyone,” because it is. They seemed ok with that and thanked me, profusely. I thanked them for stopping, urged them to have a great evening, and went back inside.

But I had a feeling there was going to be more on their way down from Sentinel Peak, and there was. Their van pulled in again, and the guy waved me over.

“Can I give you something?” He asked.

I was confused. I haven’t done anything worthy of a gift! So I said no, no, you don’t have to do that. But he said “if I gave you something from Jordan?” and I realized this meant something to him enough to offer a stranger a gift from Jordan. Humbly, blown away, I accepted. “That would be very kind,” I managed to stumble out. I couldn’t remember gifting protocol, whether I was supposed to refuse three times, or was that only for tips when I was a bagger at a grocery store?

He asked if he could take a picture of it with his family “to send to our family back home.” Obviously, I was very accommodating. I am even more blown away: it is meaningful enough that it will mean something to people I may never know halfway around the world.

Did I say a few really stupid things? Oof. Nothing offensive, but enough to’ve caused a little flutter of panic. Foot in mouth is so much worse cross culturally. 🤦‍♂️ They were gentle, forgiving, and gracious, just happy that someone knows something about what’s happening over there and for the recognition of their humanity and their rights.

He asked if I’d been to Palestine. My heart ached. I long to be able to travel the Fertile Crescent and the Levant. I’ve shed actual tears thinking about what it would be like to glide through the marshes of southern Mesopotamia, modern Iraq. Just the other day I read an article documenting their depletion. Even the great marsh between the river two rivers is drying out now: it too is merely dust and shattered lives. And I would give almost anything, honestly, to be able to sit down in amicable open conversation with Mediterranean women. Obviously I’d talk to men, too, but the power wielded by matriarchs is what really fascinates me.

Interestingly they were totally dismissive of my PhD in Ancient Greek stuff. Hahaha!!! I could tell as soon as he translated what I’d said to his mother (whose English was good, but didn’t include something as silly as ‘ancient Greeks’), she rolled her eyes as her head inclined sky word: there’s no time for that kind of frivolity in a world where money matters. I’m the special kind of twisted: I live for the kind of energy that dismisses frivolous passions: it’s grounding, seriously pragmatic. I imagined she was saying a silent prayer of thanks to’ve not had a son like me to deal with. Mediterranean Mothers mean business—I’ve been saying it for years. She was very clearly in charge: when she said ‘let’s go,’ it was time to go, no debate.

But before they left, they made friends with my German Shepherd, who loves groups of women because there’s always special pets from them, and he gets especially excited over ‘lil peoples’ (children).

The only thing is, I realized—of course after they pulled away—that I don’t think I remembered to thank them in advance for the mystery gift offered. I’d quite forgotten about it after they got out for the picture of my flag-draped porch. (And just now I realized I should’ve also offered to take the picture for them 🤦‍♂️ Gods! I am so bad at peopling!!!) But I’m thinking if anything were to come in the mail, there’ll be a return address, so I can definitely express my gratitude that way. Crisis averted.

I gotta say, as a person who grew up wanting to just be recognized as a person worthy of acceptance, interactions like these are probably the best of all possible encounters.

In contrast, a few minutes later—as I had, let’s call it, my “fifth-and-a-half” cigarette—a white guy in a huge showy truck without even a speck of working dirt on it glared at me as he drove by. I grinned and nodded my head welcomingly: he may not like it, but I’ll recognize his humanity and what worth is his, even as he begrudges me mine. My flags aren’t for him anyway: he’ll never have to know the emotions necessary to prompt a person to offer a stranger a gift for the barest act of public recognition.

Somehow I’d like also to have the democratic Afghan and democratic Iranian flags up, too, since I’ve got them. At some point, somehow—especially since the Iranian flag with the lions is linked with the still on-going peoples’ revolution touched off by the murder of Jina Amini, and I’ve heard that there are a good many Afghan refugees in Tucson. But this involves a feat of imaginative engineering quite opaque to me, so we’ll see.

Anyway… This was one of the interactions I’ll carry with me to the end. And by the way, this is why it is valuable to hang the flags of oppressed peoples from your home: this small gift of recognition is extremely meaningful to those who lack it.

---

Couple parting notes:

(1) I am anti-oppression. I am anti-settler-colonialism. I am anti-genocide. However, I am not anti-Jewish-people. (By the way, Palestinians are Semitic, too, soooo tell me who’s acting antisemitic in that colonial genocide? Erasure is a form of genocide as potent as any other.) I am not even opposed to a state of Israel—so long as it respectfully coexists with the Palestinian people whom they refuse to allow as equals in a single state on their own land stolen from them. I don’t care who is doing it: I am opposed to what is happening to Palestinians. I am opposed to our own federal policy of sending billions in aid to Israel annually when they are using that money to militarize against those whose land is being stolen out from under them. I recognize the humanity of every Jewish person, as should be beyond question. It is beyond terrifying to me that we are at this place where I have to make this statement of non-hatred.

(2) I was almost going to take down this Palestinian flag a few months ago because I’ve heard a few times now that white supremacists have taken it over as a stealth symbol of their cause (i.e., they’re using it to mean ‘anti-Jewish-people,’). I find myself literally nauseous at the idea of being mistaken for a supremacist. Ptuh ptuh ptuh—like spoiled milk! But I’ve left the flag up, because despite whatever childishness those deeply misguided people think, this flag represents real people. This is about human beings. So now my Palestinian flag does double duty: waving to Palestinian passersby, and flipping the bird to the supremacists. And that’s a double message I can support.

---