JOHN PAUL

I can’t say I know how he got there. Nor can I remember when he first appeared. It seems like all my life he’s been there, and I guess I never questioned why. But one day I gathered up the courage to address the man standing on my back, and our exchange went a little like this.

“Hello!” I call up to him. “How are you doing up there?”

“Splendid!” he replies. “You can see everything from up here!”

“Cool, cool,” I say. “I’m gad you’re enjoying yourself. If you don’t mind, though, I’d like to ask you a question.”

“Of course!” he says jovially. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well it’s been brought to my attention that you are standing on my back,” I say. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to stand up for a while and see things the way you see them up there.” 

“Oh…” he says, a change in his tone. “Well, I’d like to help, but I’d be considerably shorter if I step down from here. You see, I am somewhat taller with you lying there under my feet. I’m sorry, friend, but I can’t help you.”

I mull this over in my head. I don’t remember him pushing me down and getting on top of me. I don’t even know what it’s like to stand up - maybe it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I certainly hate to inconvenience this man who I barely know. All the same, though, I do think I’d like to try life not face down in the dirt.

“Well that’s just silly!” I say. “All you have to do is step down just a little bit. Then I can get up and we can stand together! The two of us! Maybe we can even go for a walk or something.”

“No,” he says plainly. “No, I’m afraid not. I feel badly for you, though! Things are great up here, but it sure would lessen my experience if I had to step down and share it with you. Sorry again!”

“That’s preposterous!” I shout. “You can’t just keep me down here! My back hurts and you’re really heavy and I’m starting to really not like you at all!”

“Oh!” he says, as if something just clicked in his head. “Oh… Oh my! How embarrassing, how embarrassing. I see why you’re upset, friend. Let me clarify. I certainly didn’t put you down there! No, not at all. My great-great-great-grandfather did! I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

Again, I think over what he just said. True, pushing me down is a much greater offense than simply standing there. Why, he probably had nothing to do with it! Still, you’d think the least he could do would be to… I don’t know… get off of my back.

“I understand,” I say. “It wasn’t you, but all the same, I’d appreciate it if you got off of me.”

“Hmm…” he says, mulling this over. “No.”

I am astonished at his cruelty. Would it really inconvenience him that much to step down so that I can breathe and stand up?

“That’s fucked up!” I say.

“Hostile…” he says. “Very hostile. I’m sensing hostility in you.”

“Yes I’m hostile!” I say. “I’m angry! I’m mad! I want you off my fucking back!”

“Language!” he snaps.

“Get. The Fuck. Off me!” I say.

“Well that’s not going to get you anywhere, is it?” he says. “You won’t convince me to do anything with that attitude.”

“I tried being polite!” I say, seething with rage. “It didn’t get me anywhere!”

“You attract more bees with honey than vinegar,” he says, blinking down at me.

I begin to feel that this is useless. Talking aout it isn’t doing me any good. So I start to shake and writhe and, with everything I have, try to push him off.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he says. “The hell do you think you’re doing down there?”

“I’m pushing you off,” I say. “I’m fed up.”

“This is violence!” he shrieks. “VIOLENCE!”

“Violence?!” I say, astonished. “What the actual fuck? You’re the one who won’t get off of me! This is your fault!”

“My fault?!” He says, genuinely surprised. “Ha! Don’t make me laugh! You’re the one causing a ruckus here, not me. You better calm down before I call the cops.”

I am perplexed at this. Surely, the police would understand that I am merely trying to get this person off my back and that my actions are justified. I continue my struggle.

“Okay buddy,” the man says, “I’m calling the cops.”

I’m not worried. The law is surely on my side, and when they arrive, I am actually relieved to see them.

“What seems to be the problem here?” they ask.

“This person here lying under my feet is causing quite a hullabaloo,” he says. “I feel very unsafe and I was hoping you could help me out here.”

I open my mouth to protest this, to maybe share my side of the story, but before I can, the police officer is in my face.

“Calm down, you!” he says, contempt in his voice. “Or I’ll be forced to take extreme measures!”

I keep my mouth closed.

“Good,” he says, and turns to the man standing on top of me. “Let us know if there’s another problem, sir.”

“Will do!” he says, smiling.

The police head out.

“I didn’t want to do that, you know,” he says to me. “You forced me.”

I sigh, brokenhearted. I look to my left - another man standing on someone else. 

I look to my right - same deal.

Indeed, all around me, there are people standing on top of other people. Some are even standing on many people piled high on one another. And I see many like me… the sad, dejected many, who struggle and sob and hurt. I look up at the man standing on my back and spit out some loose dirt in my mouth so I can speak.

“One day,” I say. “One day I’ll join you up there. And when I do, I won’t dare treat anyone the way you’ve treated me. I will carefully study my feet so that I know where I stand, and I will be vigilant to see if I am standing on another.”

“I wish you the best of luck with that,” he says, smiling wryly. “Truly, I do.”

To Chick-Fil-A, Truett Cathy, and the WinShape Foundation:

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you saying that I can no longer, in good conscience, patronize your establishment. Nor can I partake of your delicious, succulent, juicy chicken.

I mean, I would like to. Oh trust me, I would! But the beef (ha!) I have with you isn’t about your chicken. Your chicken is actually quite good. Your ongoing support of anti-gay organizations and hate groups, however, is what has left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

I had deduced that your business was religious - meaning I noticed it was always closed on Sundays and I just sort of guessed. And that’s fine. I live in Oklahoma and I know plenty of Christian businesses who do the same thing. That much never bothered me.

I never really knew what Chick-Fil-A’s opinion of gays was, but I probably wouldn’t have cared. You are free to have whatever rampantly bigoted views you choose to hold, and I have the right to call them just that. If one of the Chick-Fil-A cows were a homophobe, I’d hope he’d have the common courtesy to at least keep that to himself and we would be fine.

But then you had to do it to me. You just had to push me away. You went and donated $2 million, money that customers like me helped you make, to anti-gay organizations like the Pennsylvania Family Institute. These are people who have said that striking down Prop 8 was a direct hit to human civilization. They’ve said same-sex marriage threatens children, hurts families, and punishes society by caving in to a radical sexual revolution.

I’ve checked your tab, and apparently that’s not the only anti-gay organization you support:

• Marriage & Family Legacy Fund: $994,199
• Focus On The Family: $12,500
• Exodus International: $1,000

Oh, that Exodus International one is a low blow, Chick-Fil-A, because that group’s entire purpose is to eliminate and “cure” homosexuality like it’s a mental disorder.

And then you sent out a message saying you’re not anti-gay and that you respect LGBT people. But then, well, this:

http://news.change.org/stories/yes-chick-fil-a-says-we-explicitly-do-not-like-same-sex-couples

That’s an odd definition of respect. And you’re absolutely sure you’re not anti-gay?

Come on, just admit you don’t like me. It’s pretty obvious. You’ve given money to organizations who are actively trying to make sure I don’t get to enjoy the same rights as heterosexual couples. You have helped fund hate groups who, according to the Southern Poverty Law Center, are listed right alongside the KKK.

So I think you’ve made it pretty clear how you feel. Now here’s how I feel.

I refuse to spend my money at a business that supports hate, and I encourage others to do the same.

Maybe you think a small number of people boycotting won’t make much of a difference. And, you know, that may be true.

But when I think that even so much as a penny, a single freaking penny of my money went to Exodus International and helped fund their sick, perverse practices of “curing” gay people, it breaks my heart.

It makes me physically ill to think that a single cent of the money I paid to eat your chicken goes to a hate group who clearly disagrees with my very existence. And when I think, even for a second, that I have in any way helped a group who is trying to undermine my civil rights… well, it makes me want to puke.

And suddenly, I’m not so hungry anymore. No matter how tasty the chicken might be.

But hey, if you meant what you said about not being anti-gay, and if you’re half as Christian as you claim to be, then I’ve got a proposition for you.

Homelessness among LGBT youths is rampant, and charities and churches all over America are struggling to provide them with food, shelter, and a positive environment. Even if you think their sexual orientation is a choice, they are still human beings - and they are suffering.

Here’s one organization that could sure use some help:
http://www.aliforneycenter.org/

And even if you don’t feel like giving a monetary donation… I bet those homeless teens could really go for some free chicken.

Just a thought.

I certainly hope that you have read all of this and heard me out. I also hope that, one day, I may again enjoy one of your chicken sandwiches with extra pickles and waffle fries. It was my favorite!

Until Chick-Fil-A stops supporting these hate groups, however, my morals will simply not allow it.

Sign the petition!
http://www.change.org/petitions/support-lgbt-rights-and-tell-chick-fil-a-hate-is-not-okay

Watch the video
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1sJgHU2DNw&context=C2865dADOEgsToPDskJP3piHkFUqmvhpTd5Xm62F