Please Stop Calling Me A Bigot and a Hater

The last few weeks in the news have been hate-filled. I watched as the governor of Indiana bumbled through spin control after news of his state’s RFRA (Religious Freedom Restoration Act) broke. I watched sound bite after sound bite of protestors holding signs and yelling “Go home bigots!” and “Hoosiers don’t hate!”

Those in support of the law and those opposed quickly galvanized. Indiana pizza shop owners, who expressed they would serve gay customers but refuse to cater a gay wedding, shut down after receiving hundreds of threats. The owners were hailed as the New Defenders of Religious Freedom and were inundated with donations. Their detractors hurled insults of bigotry, homophobia, and hate hiding behind religion.

The name-calling, threats, and social media shaming coming from both sides have shut down dialogue completely. Camps are talking amongst themselves but no one is talking to each other. I’m not a business owner in Indiana nor am I seeking gay-friendly wedding vendors. I’m a mom, a practicing Catholic, an American citizen, and a human being. What saddens me is that we, the media in particular, have gladly lumped people into “pro” and “anti” categories. All devout Christians are bigots and hate homosexuals. All gay people are intent on targeting businesses that refuse service and will bully or sue them into submission.

What a two-dimensional, dismal perspective of fellow humans.

What’s especially distressing is the labeling. I am not a bigot simply because I hold religious beliefs, nor am I a hater. According to the Catechism of the Catholic Church, “Deliberate hatred is contrary to charity. Hatred of a neighbor is a sin when one deliberately wishes him evil.” (CCC 2303) How could I hate someone I don’t even know? And even if I did feel personally affronted, my faith tells me hate is sinful.

I don’t hate people who believe differently from me; my religion expressly forbids it, and as a loving human being living in a democratic country, that word isn’t part of my vocabulary. The media firestorm has suggested, however, that I am worthy of hate because I am a person of faith. A bigot is “a person who strongly and unfairly dislikes other people, ideas, etc.” (Merriam-Webster) or “a person who is intolerant towards those holding different opinions.” (Oxford) Frankly, those terms seem to better describe those who so casually throw them around.

Please don’t assume to know me. Please don’t put me in a very tiny box by using vitriolic labels. “Peace cannot be attained on earth without safeguarding the goods of persons, free communication among men, respect for the dignity of persons and peoples, and the assiduous practice of fraternity.” (CCC 2304) Have we lost the ability to respectfully disagree?

Trying to see this from both perspectives, I imagine going to an other-than-Catholic-owned bakery here in California. I order a cake for my daughter’s confirmation and request the cake be decorated with a dove and the words “Sealed with the Holy Spirit in the Sacraments.” I ask for the cake to be delivered to the post-confirmation party in our parish hall. The owners say, “I’m sorry, but we can’t support this activity and don’t feel comfortable serving you.” Would I be surprised, a little shocked, even? Probably, but would I assume the owners were haters and bigots? Of course not. Would I lambast them on social media or hire an attorney? Of course not. I would simply take my business elsewhere. That’s how a free market operates. I don’t need the government to force someone to do something on my behalf that violates her deeply held beliefs.

If we could stop listening to the media and start listening to each other, there would be more understanding. If we could stop asking the government to fight our battles and instead “practice fraternity” by dialoguing within our communities, people wouldn’t be so quick to draw lines in the sand. Most importantly, if we could stop calling names and talk like open-minded adults, even the perception of hate would dissipate.

And if the label throwing must continue, I’ll just remember what my mom taught me when I was a third grader. “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words …” Wait. No. Words can really hurt me.