Bonnie Tinker

Yesterday I read Bonnie Tinker was dead. 

 

Bonnie was struck and killed by a mack truck, crossing the Virginia Tech campus, while attending a religious convention.

http://www.roanoke.com/news/roanoke/wb/210566

Her death shocks me.

I met Bonnie Tinker in the early ’90’s, at a hot, dusty Pride. Later we worked together at the Powell’s phone bank against Measure 13, and even later still, we sat together during the pre-Iraq war meetings of local peace activists.

I’d like to write about her life; her girlhood, her education, how she met her wife, what led her to a life of thankless activism and the care of others. I don’t know her well enough for that. It would be cliche of me to say that I wished I had known her better. We lived often parallel lives in the same city, but they touched infrequently. That was fine for us both.

Even so, her loss feels so huge.

For me, Bonnie was an ever-reliable voice of reason. She offered me water at that first Pride, and we talked about favorite sunscreen lotions. She struck me as kind, pragmatic, and cautious. I had no idea that she was such a prominent community member. At my first Measure 13 phone bank shift, she helped resolve an argument between other volunteers. Then she suggested we take a break and eat. When everyone else wanted to focus on politics, Bonnie would look at human need.

That became even more apparent during the anti-war demonstrations in advance of the invasion of Iraq. That multi-organizational, multi-faith group held together by a thread, and rarely a planning meeting finished without a skirmish.  Bonnie was often a target. The small group of men who vied for position of “leader”, or at worst “host” of those meetings were always looking for a way to establish themselves. Picking on the one out lesbian who came to the meetings regularly was something that few of the majority white, heterosexual, church and organization representatives seemed to object to.

Bonnie battled through. When the attacks were personal, she ignored them. When the integrity of Love Makes a Family was questioned, she defended it, every time. When someone made a good point, she loudly seconded them. In every meeting she attended, Bonnie made a difference to many.

I felt stronger, knowing that she was there. It wasn’t just me against a room. I knew that if I needed it, even though we weren’t friends, and we lived very different lives, Bonnie had my back.  

I think she made everyone she met feel like that.    

Like the reasonable woman she was, Bonnie eventually found the political cost of working with such a group too much, and retreated. She never fully disappeared, but her statement was clear.  I liked her better for that. Staying involved would have been the classic tactic of a minority organizer. Bonnie knew better.

I will miss her.

Queer life, and queer politics in Portland have changed since Bonnie first stepped up. Today we have institutionalized lobbying groups, a blogosphere, bars all over the city, and it almost feels safe to be recognizably GLBT in downtown during Pride week. Almost. And no farther North than Stark st. 
This year we had five reported gay-bashings or harassment downtown during Pride.

We still can’t get married, attend the church of our choice, work where we’re qualified, or live in large parts of our metro area. 

The shiny bumper stickers and expansive ad campaigns by those lobbying groups don’t seem to be working. Every once in a while, when our basic freedoms are attacked, those groups act as a hub and a gathering place for people to respond. Then they fade back into the world of politics.

Human need still exists. Bonnie saw that need. Love Makes a Family was an active community member from day one- doing everything from picnics to marches. They’ve connected families, worked in schools, and held support groups. To be fair, many people have shaped and sustained LMF.  But for me, Bonnie  was like a one-woman cavalry; just knowing she was there made me sleep better at night.

Bonnie is totally irreplaceable. 

 

I’d love to imagine that if everyone reading this who misses her were to honor Bonnie’s memory by working to make Portland a place for all of us, we could fill the void she has left.

We can’t. 

That silly, cheap question pops into my head: “What would Bonnie do?”. 

It’s an easy answer: She’d try, and give it her best.