Every now and then I forget that there are people in the world who, although they have never met me, believe that I deserve to die. Usually I go about my day taking this fact for granted. I wake up, and get dressed in the dark while C is still in bed. I kiss him goodbye, and he tells me to have a good day at work. I take the train downtown. I sit in an office. I take the train home. We have dinner. Maybe we watch a movie or play video games. We go to bed. Our lives are probably not unlike your own. Except that due to the roll of genetic dice, we were born into a minority group that is attracted to people of the same sex.
I was at the gym when I saw the news about a shooting in Orlando. Fifty people had been killed in a gay club. I was shocked and horrified, and then, when they started showing pictures of the victims, I began to weep. Admittedly it was not the first time I started crying while on the treadmill.
I thought to myself how lucky I’ve been to not have been the victim of such overt homophobia. After all, I’ve never been beaten up, fired, discriminated against, or, lord knows, killed for being gay. Yet. Then I thought about how fucked up it is that I feel lucky because the instances where I’ve been hurt and threatened for being myself didn’t result in something worse.
Just being yourself shouldn’t require an act of bravery.
The first time I ever encountered homophobia was at church. I was 12, and I’d already known I was gay for a few years by then. I was sitting in a pew at the small, Southern Baptist church in my small, southern town, half-listening, when the preacher started talking about homosexuals being a threat to the country and Christianity. I felt like I had been kicked in the chest, like the preacher was talking directly to me. It was the first time I’d ever been made to feel ashamed by the very act of my existence.
I don’t know what happened in the late 80s/early 90s (AIDS?) that made gay people the go-to villain for the religious right. I just know that the church never talked about homosexuality before then, but suddenly gays were the Christian boogeymen. People like Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson were blaming gay people for things like hurricanes, and floods, and the scariest part was that people seemed to believe these outlandish things.
I don’t know what other religions teach, because I grew up in a community that was entirely Christian, almost exclusively Protestant. I suspect that followers of Islam are similarly indoctrinated with ridiculous, medieval ideas. I know that a single, violent person doesn’t represent an entire religion. I can say that every Muslim person that I’ve ever known has been lovely, and tolerant, and warm toward me. I can say the same for most Christians that I know. To their credit, I’ve never met a homophobic Jew. I’m sure they exist, but if they do, they’re outside my realm of experience.
But I do know that when moderate and tolerant members of a religion don’t speak up when a Priest, or Pastor, or Imam, or Rabbi spread these hateful ideas, then they are also part of the problem. We’re told to respect people’s beliefs, even if they’re hateful. But silence in the face of hate is complicity.
I wish that I’d stood up back then, when the preacher first told me that I was an abomination, deserving of death. I’d have told him it was utter bullshit. But I didn’t. I was 12. I went home, and for the rest of my life, instead of getting up and putting on nice clothes on Sundays, I stayed home and played video games, and my life was the better for it.
In high-school, I was bullied a little bit, but no more, I felt, than anybody else. I did confront one of my bullies, and I asked, “Why do you pick on me?”
He said, “Because I think you’re gay, and I don’t want you to be attracted to me.”
Although I never officially came out in high-school, everyone knew that I was gay, and it didn’t seem to matter. I was still relatively popular (President of the Drama Club!). When the bully told me he was picking on me because he didn’t want me to be attracted to him, I wasn’t even mad. I just looked at him square in the eye and said, “Believe me, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” And that was that.
I don’t know why it should have worried him that a guy might be attracted to him. Especially me, since I was just shy of 5’5″ and barely over 100 lbs. It’s not like I could have forced myself on him. In retrospect I imagine he probably had some feelings that made him uncomfortable, and it was less about me and more about him.
I wonder if the shooter in Orlando had feelings of attraction to other men that, due to his indoctrination with idea that gay people deserve death, led to his lashing out, out of self-hate. Or maybe it had nothing to do with his religion. Maybe he was just deranged. We can never know his motivation, just the aftermath of his actions, the lives lost, the families destroyed, the futures wiped out of existence.
In college I belonged to the university’s LGBT group. During orientation my sophomore year, our group had a booth along with all the other groups on campus. I remember one girl bouncing up to the booth manned by myself, and another guy who, I suspect she thought was cute. I remember when she asked the name of our group, and I said, “Gay, Lesbian, and Bisexual Aggies,” there was a look of horror on her face, and she didn’t say anything. She just slowly backed away. I thought it was funny back then, that she seemed to think being gay was something you could catch.
A straight guy on the school’s track team who was in my French class came up to me to say hi, and maybe to ask about an assignment. Later, when I saw him in class, he said that after he’d talked to me that day, he’d been harassed by members of the Corps of Cadets who’d shoved him and called him a faggot. I was mostly amused that the only person who was gay-bashed at my school, that I heard about anyway, was straight.
I had a t-shirt back then that said, “Nobody Knows I’m Gay.” I wore this shirt a grand total of twice to school, and both times I ran into a girl I’d gone to high-school with. The second time, she made a point to tell me that even though she thought my lifestyle was disgusting, she still loved me. Because this was twenty years ago, I can’t remember now if I told her to go fuck herself, or if I just thought it.
Around that same time, I was driving my first boyfriend to a study group. When we were stopped at a red-light, we kissed. I looked in the rearview mirror, saw the police car behind us and said, “Uh oh, a cop just saw us.”
“It’s not like we were sodomozing.” He said. Back then sodomy was still illegal in Texas.
But after I dropped him off, the cop car kept following me. It followed me for several blocks, and then it pulled me over even though I hadn’t done anything wrong.
When I asked the cop why he’d stopped me, he said, “Just a routine check.”
He looked at my license and registration. He ran my plates. He didn’t give me a ticket, and after a while he let me go. He followed me for several more blocks, and I understood it for the threat it was. He was intimidating me because he could. Because he had a position of authority and I did not. Because I had made the mistake of kissing my boyfriend in public.
If something like that happened to me today, I would have gotten his name and badge number, and at the very least have filed a complaint about him. But I was 19 and scared, and easily intimidated.
The same boyfriend and I were holding hands in downtown Bryan, TX. A gruff looking cowboy stormed up to us, and we braced ourselves for some kind of assault. We were both completely caught off guard when, instead, he said “I’m really glad that y’all are able to be so open.” And then he turned and walked away, leaving us bewildered.
Then my friend Andy killed himself because his family wouldn’t accept him.
Then Matthew Shepherd was tortured and beaten to death, and tied, naked and bleeding, and frozen to a fence.
Then Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was repealed.
Then Christians in America funded a campaign in Uganda to kill gays.
Then some Muslim countries continued to punish homosexuality with death.
Then the United States Legalized Gay Marriage.
Then a terrible shooting happened in Orlando when a Muslim man walked into a gay club and killed 50 people. And as a country, we can’t even engage in an adult conversation about gun control, about religious extremism. We can only bluster at our right to bear arms, and the idea that you must respect people’s beliefs. Well a belief is just a thought, and if your deeply held beliefs don’t stand up to scrutiny, if they crumble when confronted with facts and the modern evolution of our understanding of ourselves and our world, then maybe you should re-examine your deeply held beliefs.
After the gym, after crying, after laying in bed with C and tracing the fine, dark hairs of his arm with my fingertips, I make my Sunday phone call to my mom. She doesn’t refer to the news, because she doesn’t acknowledge anything connected to being gay, my relationship, C, any of it. But I know that she saw it, and I know that she’s worried because she ended the call with, “Be careful, there’s a lot of meanness in the world.”
And then she told me that she loved me.
I still live in hope that time will change even her attitude. That one day she’ll accept me for who I am. That she’ll ask how C is doing. I have the same hope for my country and the world. When I was in college, I never thought that gay marriage, or marriage, as we now refer to it, would be legal within my lifetime. But people’s attitudes continue to evolve. Maybe religion will catch up, or maybe it will be discarded as a relic of the past.
If being gay means that just being yourself is an act of bravery in an often hostile world, the most active way for me to help change the world for the better, is to continue to be myself.
To let people know, every now and then that I exist.