Becky is my cousin, well maybe second cousin? We’re definitely related. Does anyone actually understand how we come up with degrees of cousin? What I do know is that Becky has been an absolute Rockstar throughout the course of this journey.
While in solitary confinement, I was faced with the very real prospect of having to surrender both of my dogs. By August 16th, I had already lost my cat, Stella, to a respiratory infection and cancer that she had succumbed to while I was inside the jail. The cost of boarding two dogs privately was mounting, and my parents were unable to take in my two wild boys. They reached out to Becky, who almost immediately agreed she would be happy to foster the dogs until my release.
What started as a daily check-in on the status of my furry loved ones quickly became a crusade as Becky came to learn about the history behind the cases, what led up to my incarceration in the Dane County Jail, and my “living arrangements” while there. Although other family members, including my parents, had already expressed outrage at the overuse of seg by DCJ, talking to Becky breathed life and hope into me. While I had been too angry to see anything other than flagrant inhumane and unethical treatment, Becky saw an outlet for action. Within a matter of days, the local media, Governor Tony Ever’s office, the Wisconsin DOC, the mayor’s office, the ACLU and other civil rights organizations, the UW Gender Studies department, and many more were already involved and in contact.
It is thanks to Becky’s efforts, compassion, motivation, intelligence, and refusal to back down that I am able to write this blog. As a result, Becky gets a permanent page on my blog. If it ends up full of glitter, I can’t say I’d be surprised.
Hello from Becky
Hello everyone, I’m Becky, and as Eli (sort of) said, we are second cousins, because we have the same great-grandparents. I live in Sun Prairie with my ex-wife/BFF, two dogs (Benji pictured above), and three cats. I enjoy scuba diving, crafting, organized chaos (preferably in spreadsheet format), and civil disobedience. Even at 39, I’m still figuring out which labels under the LGBTQ+ umbrella fit best for me, personally, but what I have known for the past 20 years of my life is that the Queer community is where I feel at home.
This has been a wild ride since day one, and while I may be currently be preoccupied with adding Oxford commas to all of Eli’s writing, we know there is still a long road ahead. The day that Eli got out of solitary confinement he told me, “I didn’t know how strong I could be.” That strength and determination can only go so far without a team behind him though. One man cannot take on these behemoths of law enforcement agencies alone. That’s why it was a no-brainer for me to help him. LGBTQ+ activism has been my passion for a long time, but this was the first time that the fight was happening in my own family.
What would the words I speak on behalf of the queer community, the t-shirts I wear, the donations and Facebook posts I make, what would any of that be worth if I didn’t step up and take on the injustice when it was happening to my own cousin? So I did what I felt was right in the moment, and I have no regrets about a single phone call or email, a single alarm bell I’ve raised. Because there are atrocious things happening right here in our own community, to citizens stripped of their rights and dignity by our own law enforcement officers, who we are told to trust for protection.
If there is one silver lining that has come out of this whole shit show, it’s this. I have an old cousin, who’s now a new friend. I’ve known Eli his entire life. He’s only three years younger than me, so when we were really young, I was the bossy older cousin that the adults made him play with at family gatherings. Those early childhood memories are really the only ones I have of us interacting much, however. Even when I spent a summer during college staying at Eli’s family’s house, I have only one memory of us taking an awkward trip to Subway together because his parents were encouraging us to hang out. Otherwise, we spent three months living together without talking. Solitary confinement breaks down your walls though, and it was only a couple days of check-ins about the dogs before Eli was sharing the reality with me, talking about the conditions he was being held under. I heard the pain in his voice. I know that this is a man who has been through more in his 36 years than most people could see in 10 lifetimes, and this was breaking him.
We became fast friends, and genuine friends, under vulnerable conditions. We found that we have more in common than we could have ever imagined. We’re both awkward weirdos who love octopi, Lego, and paint-by-number. We have very similar conversations with our dogs, similar tastes in music, similar warped senses of humor, and have both set goals to visit every National Park. We talked about everything from what pajamas the dogs were wearing to bed, to mental health crises and addictions. We talked about loss and grief, we shared laughs and fears. So while this whole experience has sucked, a lot, it did make a significant change in my life for the good as well. I already had a cousin, but now I have a friend as well. I’m here for the long haul. I have no delusions that this fight will be easy, but with your love and support, and a blog full of Oxford commas, we’re unstoppable. Let’s get ‘em Eli!
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