Rosie Clare Shorter is a postgraduate student in Cultural Studies at Macquarie University.
Recently, I've been thinking a lot about apologies.
In February, I sat in on some planning meetings of a new Christian group, Equal Voices, who at that time were drafting an apology to LGBTIQ+ fellow Australians.
Then, around Mardi Gras, I got involved in a Facebook discussion in which a queer girl Christian told a straight man Christian that his words, though well intentioned, contributed to an archive of hurtful actions on the part of the church. He didn't seem to understand how this was possible, and what followed was an exchange of words over the nature of apologies.
As a Christian person who once thought it was impossible for someone to be both gay and Christian, I've been wondering how I might apologise for contributing to the hurt, discrimination and exclusion of LGBTIQ+ people by the church and in society generally. What form should an apology take?
If a person tells me I've hurt them, there are a variety of apology-like responses I could make. And while all of the responses do something, not all of them recognise the person's hurt or my responsibility, or allow for reconciliation between us.
I've learned that it is important to consider what our words do after we speak them. So reflect with me on what our words do when we apologise.
One possible response is denial, taking the form: "Look, you actually misunderstood me, that's not really what I said." Here, I ignore the other person's hurt and deny I did anything wrong, and the fault of bad feeling is then placed on the upset person. I go on saying, thinking and doing the same things, because it is the hurt person who read the situation incorrectly.
Next is mortification. I might say, "I'm so sorry, I can't believe I did that, I feel awful that you feel like this." Now the hurt person might feel tempted to say they weren't really that hurt, and not to worry about it. They might assume they overreacted, even though they're thankful for the apology. They could even apologise to me for making me feel bad. This kind of apology minimises the hurt of the upset person and makes me a supposed victim. We need to find ways of expressing regret that don't focus on our own shame. Otherwise, not only have I upset someone, I run a risk of emotionally manipulating and bulling them into thinking they hurt me.
Neither of these responses brings us close to reconciliation, and worryingly they could even become a form of gas-lighting. I know I'm going to try to avoid these approaches.
On the road to reconciliation are responses that I'm going to call, quick fix and band-aid apologies.
In a quick fix apology I say, "Hey, I'm sorry you feel like this." This apology has a silent "but ..." It is really, "I'm sorry you feel like this, but there isn't anything I can do about it. I see your pain, but I don't think of it as my responsibility." One feels obliged to say, "No worries," at which point we both carry on with our lives, though the situation may of course repeat itself later.
Band-aid apologies are similar, but they have potential. Here, I might say, "Look, I'm sorry you feel this way. It's not what I intended." This is a good starting point. We all make these kind of apologies all the time, and they do a lot to help us get on with our fellow humans. This kind of response allows me and my friend to stick a band-aid over the situation. She's upset, I can see that, I'm sorry the situation happened, but it was all a misunderstanding.
Yet, underneath band-aids we do often heal. I might follow up my initial comment with, "What can I say or do to avoid this happening again?" And then, my friend and I can enter into a dialogue and discuss the situation, and I can listen to them, and come to understand how my action was hurtful, at which point I might say, "I am sorry. I'm sorry my words hurt you." Now, at last, we have a true, empathetic apology, which I'm going to call (forgive me, it's cliched) a sunrise apology.
The sunrise apology is the start of new day. Whether we get there slowly or straight away, here we say, "I'm sorry my words hurt you. I'm sorry I hurt you." This acknowledges hurt, and that I said or did something that created hurt. Now, we walk towards reconciliation and growth. We can grow together. It's not simply the words that do the apologising, it is the actions that follow.
When my best friend, a Christian in his late twenties, came out a few years ago, I sat and listened to his story. Then, I began listening to and getting to know other LGBTIQ+ Christians. I've done this not simply to make up for previous inaction, but so that we could learn and grow together.
The idea that I and a friend, or two groups of people (say "the church" and LGBTIQ+ people, who in this binary are imagined to be outside of the church) can learn and grow together through shared dialogue, experiences and feelings (such as empathy for the other, or a common sense of injustice) is key to a relational understanding of identity. For me, part of apologising effectively means also embracing the idea of relational identity.
Instead of always defining myself against other people (where I only see the differences between, for example, straight, cisgendered people and LGBTIQ+ people), I can learn to understand myself through the relationships, values and conversations I share with others. This doesn't mean there won't be differences in our lives. There will always be difference, but instead of feeling threatened by it, I can acknowledge it and, over time, I can learn to relate to people across difference, in part because there will be other values and experiences we share.
Realising I had a best friend who was a gay Christian, but knowing we both affirmed and believed in the same faith, encouraged me to think again about what kind of person a Christian is. Seeing difference helped me to have a stronger, more robust and inclusive faith. Our friendship isn't held together by always having exactly the same opinions about sexuality and marriage. It is held - over time - by our shared love of God, our understanding of salvation, our commitment to social justice causes (and he's way ahead of me there) and, at times, a shared feeling of being disconnected from church, even though we've felt it for slightly different reasons.
For me, saying sorry is a starting point. Its why, after sitting in on those Equal Voices meetings, I did choose to sign the apology. However, if my apology is to mean anything, I have to commit myself, every week, perhaps every day, to knowing, listening to and conversing with people who are not immediately like me. If, by standing with people who I once thought did not exist, some of my views change, I hope my Christian experience, indeed my life, our lives, will be enriched.
If I've hurt you in the past, I want to stand with you now, and in the future. We are not enemies, we are neighbours, friends, family.
Rosie Clare Shorter is a postgraduate student in Cultural Studies at Macquarie University. You can sign the Equal Voices apology here.
