When allies blunder…

By Ann Thompson Cook

Consider the moment when a self-proclaimed ally says or does something insensitive or offensive.

What is your most likely response? Do you…
• Look the other way and say nothing?
• Chalk it up as more evidence that allies can’t be trusted?
• Give the person a piece of your mind?
• Write the person off?
• Suffer/hurt in silence?
• Gossip about the person’s insensitivity?
• Be embarrassed (or shocked) and lower your expectations for that person?

These are all perfectly normal, well-accepted (by society) responses to gaffes and blunders, insensitive statements, and offensive actions.

But do they build a movement? I think not.

It’s possible to transform someone’s insensitive or offensive action into a “teachable moment,” and I think we all stand to learn how to do that.

I had a particularly memorable “teachable moment” opportunity at a recent national conference of Methodists who are committed to LGBT equality. I had looked forward to a plenary at which a beloved retired bishop would be speaking—someone I hadn’t met, but who I knew was famous throughout the U.S. for his teaching, and to this group for his long-time support of LGBT people. 

About halfway through his talk, though, I was shocked to hear him mention the problem of clergy “playing with little boys.”

Afterward, I sought him out to speak about it.  I introduced myself and spent a few minutes getting acquainted and making the connection that I had grown up in the state he now calls home.

Then I told him that I was concerned about something he’d said that morning, and wondered if he would be open to my sharing it with him? He said yes and leaned in to hear what I had to say.

I told him that my concern was his use of the expression “playing with little boys” to refer to clergy sexual abuse. I said that I was pretty sure that there were men in his audience who had been abused by clergy, and that they hadn’t experienced it as being “played with.”

At first, the bishop denied having said that, and I quietly responded, “Actually, you said it twice” and waited for his recognition. Then I added that I knew it was a euphemism that used to be used, but now we know that it’s hurtful because it minimizes or discounts a very painful experience. He agreed, and we reflected on language that more aptly represents the reality of clergy abuse.

Soon it was clear to us both that this unexamined phrase would no longer be part of his vocabulary. He thanked me for speaking to him about it, I thanked him for his openness, and we parted.

The whole conversation took only a few minutes.