“To make laws that man cannot and will not obey, serves to bring all law into contempt.” — Elizabeth Cady Stanton, 1860
Over a century ago, Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s quotation was addressed to those who mattered: men. Stanton knew she was working to represent the voices that would change the world, those of women, those who were marginalized, by playing within the rules of the time.
That aside, her basic teaching was that it doesn’t matter who makes the rules, but rather whose story, whose voice, will truly control the narrative and thus the law.
The NHL, in consultation with the NHL Players’ Association, decided that the no Pride-tape policy was simply an off-shoot of the sweaters being removed from the 250 theme nights, to avoid dissension in the dressing room and distractions in the media. It is a fair point, well intended, but it also misses the point. These differences of opinion and respecting our differences are the path forward.
There have always been assumptions about who matters. Whose voice is heard, who decides. One of the consequences of being powerless is that the powerful don’t really need or want to know about you. But that is changing. The world is filling with more people, more voices and more possibilities, and if those in power don’t share in this growth, like empires, nation states and leaders before them, they will vanish. The invisible will not tolerate being subjectively minimized. In short, they won’t accept a gag order.
We cannot know if we are lying to ourselves if we do not see and hear others. The stifling of expression — that is tyranny. The forced smiles all around to protect private interests is not democracy.
Imagine telling LeBron James he could not wear Pride tape. F1 driver Lewis Hamilton, a seven-time world champion: Would they tell him not to wear his Pride helmet? Would the NFL retract its, “My Cause My Cleats” initiative? Would MLB cancel Pride nights? Won’t happen because whose story this is remains the same as it ever was, it’s the athletes’.
However powerful the IOC thought itself to be, Tommie Smith and John Carlos wearing Black Power gloves on the medal podium in Mexico City 1968 stood for something far greater than a medal or an anthem or an Olympic Games. They stood for their rights. Like Jackie Robinson, who marched in the name of civil rights in 1958. Roberto Clemente and the Pittsburgh Pirates, who missed opening day to attend the funeral of Martin Luther King Jr. Like Muhammad Ali, Billie Jean King, Colin Kaepernick, Luke Prokop … an unbroken line of unbroken promises. A promise by these athletes not to let bad leadership bully the truth.
Asking questions is fundamental to democracy and it’s neither aggression nor imposition.
Rebecca Solnit, in her book, “Recollections of My Nonexistence,” posed a series of questions: Where do you stand? Where do you belong? Is your existence justified in your own eyes, enough that you don’t have to retreat or attack? Do you fear the ground being pulled out from under you, the door slammed in your face? Do you not stake a claim to begin with, because you’ve already been defeated or expected to be if you show up? What would it feel like to be there, when there is nothing more or less than the space you inhabit?
The NHL, its board of governors, the NHL Players’ Association, have they asked themselves these questions? If they had, they would know how this ruling feels to those singled out. I do believe there is a willingness to revisit the rule.
The leaders ought to hear what the 2SLGBTQ+ and allies are saying. In our deepest reflexes and emotions, we feel we are being pushed away by a rule we cannot obey.
