A vacation with a side of hate crime

We went camping to escape the world’s problems and the world’s problems found us anyway. Plus: Dolly Parton, Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma, and new music from a friend.

Vol. 91

In This Issue: ESSAY | NOW READ THIS | MOVIE REC | LISTEN UP | FINAL FRAME

Some weeks, the world just kicks the emotional shit out of you. 

I’m talking about Dolly and Tim, yes, but I’m also talking about experiencing a hate crime. All in the same week. All while I was trying to take a damn vacation to unplug and reset from the many and varied ways the world seems to be working overtime to overwhelm us.

I’ve been working through a lot of sometimes conflicting emotions about it ever since. It’s not that I’m not keenly aware that we live in a society where things like this can and do often happen (with apologies for the double negative). Still, the only way to live your life is to hope that it won’t, and go ahead doing the things you want to do, with the people you want to be with, in the places you love.

So my partner and I spent months anticipating and preparing for our annual camping trip to Rock Island State Park. If you’re not familiar with it, Rock Island is a secluded island off the tip of Door County in Wisconsin. No cars, no bikes, very little infrastructure, and it requires taking first a car ferry to Washington Island and then a small, people-only ferry to Rock Island itself. It’s a gorgeous, serene oasis in Lake Michigan, with a white sand beach and crystal blue waters, towering cedar and hardwood forests in the middle, and a beautiful old stone boathouse and lighthouse.

Our group of friends–a mix of adults and kids and queers and straight allies–has been going there every summer for years. The effort is always worth it and we’ve never had any real problems before.

This year, we had a smaller-than-usual crew due to scheduling conflicts. My partner and I joined our friend and her 8th grader, plus another close friend. As we’ve done before, we flew a rainbow Pride flag at our site. This year, we even found a good branch to use as a flagpole and planted it in a pile of rocks on the beach just feet away from our tents at our campsite. We’re a bunch of happy queers and it’s nice (and important) to use to show other folks that nature is for everyone.

The second night we were there, though, just after we all went to sleep in our tents, I heard footsteps on the rocks by the flag. People don't typically walk there at all, let alone at night, so I thought it was odd but decided to stay comfy in my sleeping bag instead of giving into my paranoid thoughts and going to see what they were doing. Unfortunately, when we got up in the morning, we found out: someone had set fire to our Pride flag.

It may seem like a small, stupid or thoughtless act to some. That’s exactly the response I was worried we’d get from people when we reported it. I grew up in the ‘90s, after all. I’m used to having queer and trans people’s concerns and objections downplayed, gaslit, and/or ignored.

After all, we weren't physically harmed in any way (thankfully). There are worse things in the world happening to other people.

All of those thoughts and imposed excuses swirled in my head and still, I was just incredibly upset. When I realized what had happened my stomach dropped. The mood shifted dramatically and immediately. That someone felt the need to go out of their way to specifically seek out and enter our space after dark to destroy a symbol of LGBTQ equality, something that was not theirs and not hurting anyone, was a very particular and violent choice.

The incident honestly made us feel pretty unsettled and unsafe, so we talked about whether or not to stick out the rest of our campsite reservation. We couldn't know if that person would come back the next night to escalate the situation. They obviously had seen the flag during the day and come back on a moonless night specifically to target and burn it. It just wasn't worth sticking around to risk finding out what else they might do, especially since we had no way of knowing who they were. It was also just hard to want to stay there, no matter how much we wanted to and no matter how much the stubborn part of me didn’t want to give the bigots the satisfaction of running us off. But our safety, especially that of the non-binary kiddo in our group, came first. So we left.

Now here's where some light comes in: We reported the incident to both the campground host and a DNR official. Part of me--the one that's lived thru too many instances of being a queer person in this world being told that my/our experiences don't matter, aren't that bad, or that we deserve it--was prepared for all manner of deflection or even somehow having it turned around to be made out like we had done something wrong.

Instead, both people were horrified by what had happened. They immediately said that it was wrong and that they were upset that anyone would do it, and agreed with our concerns. They asked us what we needed and offered everything from having someone patrol our site at night to a full refund of our camping fees (the latter of which they did without us even asking).

Our friend also posted about it to the park's Friends group and there was an absolute deluge of comments, most of which were supportive. There were some loud jerks, for sure, but they at least got roundly scolded by others. 

That only continued once we were back on the mainland and talking with local folks. We did our best to find some joy in nature and community for the rest of our vacation, despite having to relocate (and being fortunate enough to be able to do so). I’m immensely grateful to everyone who reached out to offer support, and to my partner, who handled the many phone calls with the DNR and local police to get the case opened and rolling.

It's hard to explain how validating and healing the vast majority of the reactions have been for me (and, I think, all of us). And there's a part of me that's sad that I was surprised, but that's just...based on a very real history of experiences that went the other way. Even now, maybe especially now because of the heat aimed at queer and trans folks by the current administration, I don't necessarily expect overwhelming support. I'm glad to have (mostly) been wrong.

Nevertheless, I think I'll be sitting with some feelings about this for a good long while. I'm angry that someone took time to ruin our vacation for us, in this place we come to for how special and peaceful it is. I’m angry that we live in an era of violent pushback against the incredibly modest gains we’ve made for LGBTQ+ rights and safety. I’m sad knowing that there are still too many people out there who think that threatening and/or attacking others who are different is somehow acceptable or that it makes them feel strong.

Nature is for everyone but there are still some people in this world hell-bent on gatekeeping it from others, even by violent means (and I know this incident is small when compared to other ongoing violence being done, trust me). 

We were driving home when news broke about Dolly Parton’s death. As sad as I am about her leaving this earthly plane, I’m also letting all the stories about her incredible life and work wash over me like a balm. The way she positively impacted so many different people across the globe is nothing short of miraculous. She led with an improbable but deeply necessary mix of confidence, humility, work ethic, and an abiding love for humanity in all its forms. That is a life well-lived. Her clear moral compass is something well worth emulating.

We will be going back to Rock Island next summer, hopefully with even more friends. We’ll fly our Pride flags. In the meantime, we’ll seek some kind of accountability for the people who decided to choose hate. There’s been a development in the case that makes it far more possible to figure out who was responsible. Finding forgiveness in my heart is one thing. Actions should still have consequences. They fucked with the wrong queers.

Most importantly, I’m going to fight to keep my heart tender and open, in spite of some people’s best efforts. I’m going to keep trying to find where and how I can bring some light to other folks’ lives, no matter what. That’s what Dolly would do. That’s what we all can do.

P.S. Re-reading this superb essay by Tressie McMillan Cottom about Dolly from 2021 and you should, too: “The Dolly Moment.”

Now Read This.

“Madison’s body camera discourse and the endless cry of ‘if-only’” [Scott Gordon]

The bodycam discussion is pointedly not about preventing police from killing more people. It is not about making sure that people facing the problems Corey Ruiz faced get what they need, instead of getting a long cycle of punishment and neglect that ultimately makes them far more likely to have a violent encounter with police.

(Ed. Note: This is from a great new, hyper-local newsletter called The Yahara Flyer from friend and former Tone Madison editor Scott Gordon. He’s offering snail mail copies for paid subscribers, too! I might steal that idea some day but regardless, get on it!)

“Six Problems with Talking About the ‘Ethical’ or ‘Responsible’ Use of AI” [Emily M. Bender and Decca Muldowney]

…just because the problems are real doesn't mean the solution is beneficial, effective, or worth its (not always externalized) costs. 

“The Washington Post fired me. I fought–and won my job back.” [Karen Attiah]

Women journalists, and particularly Black women journalists who cover anything related to race, politics or gender, statistically receive more hate and abuse online. The Post’s logic would impose a double burden on us, not only to be subject to that abuse, but to be held responsible for the threats against us— to the point where we could be terminated.

Movie Rec

I’d been looking forward to this movie ever since I saw the premise and cast announced months ago, so I pounced when it finally came to theaters in Madison this month:

“Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma” is the sapphic queer psychosexual horror homage of my dreams! Gillian Anderson! Hannah Einbinder! It’s a gory, darkly funny, deeply loving homage to the slasher fics of yore and to physical media, movie theater candy, and queer/trans sexual embodiment. 

Directed by Jane Schoenbrun, this is the third entry in their “Screen Trilogy,” after “We’re All Going to the World’s Fair” (which I have not yet seen) and “I Saw the TV Glow” (which I liked but is very heady, whereas this new entry feels the most fully realized and more accessible).

Thank goodness for queer artists.

Listen Up!

Maddie Batzli, aka dear friend and lead singer/songwriter of LINE (who I’ve been drumming with for a few years), has a new project under the name Milo McCray and just released their first single, “Every August.” It’s chilled-out and catchy synth pop about the fears and thrills around making big life changes. Give it a listen and follow along as Maddie/Milo gets ready to put out a full synth pop album, too!

Final Frame.

Some good memories from Rock & Washington Islands.

‘Til next time.

Take care of yourself and of each other. Free Palestine. Abolish ICE.

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NOTE: The opinions expressed in this newsletter are solely my own and do not necessarily reflect those of my employer.