Two Sides to Every Story

Like every other kid who grew up in evangelical Christianity, I loved the Focus on the Family radio drama Adventures in Odyssey, an inventive and often hilarious program that taught lessons about such diverse topics as, "Handling the power of media responsibly" and "Dealing with an alcoholic parent."

I can still remember the episode entitled Two Sides to Every Story. A brother and sister are home alone when, in a series of mishaps, their TV catches on fire. Each sibling tells his/her side of the story—each painting his/her own actions in the most saintly light possible, while basically blaming the other for the catastrophe.

My childhood, right here

The episode dramatizes the brother's story, then the sister's story, then what really happened. The lesson of the episode: "Considering another person's point of view."

 It's a good lesson.

I was reminded of this principle when I saw Franklin Graham's response to Naghmeh Abedini and her revelation that her husband, recently released hostage Saeed Abedini, has abused her throughout the marriage (I say "has abused," because the implication is that his abusive behavior is ongoing).

He says,

Other than God, no one knows the details and the truth of what has happened between Saeed and Naghmeh except them. There’s an old saying that there are at least two sides to every story. I can tell one thing for sure—not everything that has been reported in the media is true.

Oh. Okay.

According to Graham, there are certain truths that are simply unknowable—it's a classic, he said, she said, would-you-do-it-if-Jesus-were-in-the-room type of situation.

Unlike God, we were never in the room when Saeed abused his wife, so we can never say for certain that he did—and should therefore withhold judgment.

Graham, however, fails at his own test. Let's break it down, shall we?

"There's an old saying" (older than God?) - Start with a cliche

"...that there are at least two sides to every story." - Transition into irrelevant but profound sounding idiom

"I can tell one thing for sure—" - Wait a minute—you know the truth? You just said it was unknowable. What happened to "Other than God"? Are you God?

"...not everything that has been reported in the media is true" - Aggressive use of the passive voice that sounds like a denial, but actually comes out as an admission: "not everything" means some of it is true, but you refuse to reveal what exactly. Why? What do you have against truth, Franklin Graham, especially since you are apparently in a special position to know it.

The original idiom and the Adventures in Odyssey episode of the same title both teach that there are two sides to every story, and that the truth lies somewhere in between.

However, when it comes to facts, there is only one side to the story. I'm going to put it in the active voice, because I can:

He abused her.
He did not abuse her.

It's that simple. They can't both be true. Abusers and those who defend them use confusing language to divert attention from this True/False binary. It's either/or, not both/and.

Potentially, Graham actually means:

• He abused her, but it wasn't that bad.
• He abused her, but there were extenuating circumstances that either justify or excuse his actions. 
• He abused her, but she deserved it. 
• He abused her, but only emotionally and mentally, not physically. 
• He abused her, but he suffered too, so it's all good.

Alternatively, he is indirectly asserting that:

• He did not abuse her, therefore she is lying.

But he never comes right and out and says that. Because that would make his meaning clear. And nothing is worse than the precise and transparent use of the English language.

Graham asks us to withhold judgment (what with the whole not being God thing), but he himself passes judgment—he goes from "no one knows . . . the truth" to "I can tell one thing for sure—not everything that has been reported in the media is true" or in other words, I know the truth, but I'm not going to say it here.

There's this false sense of balance in "There are two sides to every story," as if you are setting yourself up as the impartial judge waiting to hear both sides of a case. When in reality, Graham means that there is one side to the story, and that is his side, Saeed's side, the abuser's side.

It would be so much more honest to say some version of, "She's a lying, crazy b***."

Now that's a story I've definitely heard before.

A Story Worth Fighting For

I never imagined it would be this much of a struggle to be the hero of my own story, the lead in my high school play, the center of my own narrative.

No one and nothing prepared me for this. Not college. Not courses in feminist, post-modern, post-colonial, or Marxist theory. Not reading Doestoyevsky, the Bronte sisters, Donne, Shakespeare, or George Eliot. Not all the papers I wrote about hybridity, syntax or laughter. Not being good at school or good at my job. Not praise from teachers, employers or peers. 

Nothing. 

Part of being the hero means you get to have layers. So, for example, one of the most jarring things about inhabiting my identity is the baffling (to me) denial that I have a past. That things have happened to me. Not only that things have happened to me, but that I've been affected by these things that have happened to me.

At every fresh encounter with a new person, I'm assumed to be (supposed to be) a blank slate. 

As if you were the first stranger to tell me to, "Smile." 

The first white guy to call me "exotic." 

The first person to ask, "So, where are you from?"

The first man to speak to me in a condescending tone of voice about something technical. 

I'm told that I'm "cynical." That I have a bad attitude. That I "hate white people."

I feel like part of being human is learning from the past, taking in experiences that repeat themselves over and over again, making sense of these experiences and even molding them into a narrative. 

Like any three-dimensional character, don't I deserve a back story too? 

Like Marx said, history repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce. But sometimes it seems like even laughter is not allowed to me. Because to laugh is to have a distinct point of view that sees the cracks, the contradictions, the absurdities of the status quo. 

I think I can say that I've paid a price for not aquiecsing to the dominant narrative. And as I fight for my story, I can't help but feel like I'm fighting for my life. That if I don't have this, I have nothing. That if I don't fight for my story, no one else will.