Title : Homophobia is a murder weapon
link : Homophobia is a murder weapon
Homophobia is a murder weapon
During my senior year in college, he had made a friend I'll call Ray .
When people saw me on campus with Ray, it was like wearing a bracelet from a secret party I did not know existed. The people were nicer to me than they were before they knew he knew. They were more forthcoming.
Then one night, Ray invited me to hang out. "Put on something nice and let's do something," he said. I'm obligated. Miami was beautiful and freer than he had ever been in my life. I wore a dress that was just as brown as me, and a pair of heels beige with hair blowing in the wind. He turned on campus, and I jumped in the car, curious as to why he was not taking.
"Oh, we're waiting for someone."
Soon, three boys and three of my "new friends" -hopped in the back seat.
"Let's roll!"
And you have, of.
He took us out to the borders of Miami, possibly beyond, and for a club with long white textiles hanging from the ceiling. There were stairs black lights, possibly a password for entry, and a girl very green brown tagging along four very non-green men who were clearly familiar with the place.
The interior took me by surprise, was a gay nightclub. I mean, it was pretty similar to any other club have ever attended, that is, if you have ever had the pleasure-except there was a lot of men. bright clothes, drum dancing, drinks flowed, a typical club.
Ray and the guys sat me at a table along the wall. One of them brought me a drink.
we danced, laughed, talked, people watched and enjoyed ourselves. After a while, however, I began to see people who I recognized from the campus. Many of them, my "new friends".
I started to feel like a CD that was jumping to the same part of the song- "I did not know you're gay!"
"Well, you know now!"
All kinds of people who served in all kinds of capacities on campus were there. Language to describe it would be clear to me only a decade later :. That was his "safe space" to be themselves, free trial, free of shame for being gay
Months later, I meet another man, Sam, who had come to learn lived a double life, and feeling a great fault. His brother, a family man with a loving wife and children living constantly gave him pain for not being like him. "When are you going to get your life together? What about you? You're so fucking gay sometimes," accompanied by a punch or a frown, and never coming to an end. Sam's sister, his mother, who never harassed him like this, but never intervened on their behalf, either. Years of torment about his alleged homosexuality by not having a family and being a man pricked like his brother. During all that time, he never realized that Sam might actually be gay, as if it were a horrible disease that must be eradicated with words and cruel blows.
Sam finally found a woman who fell in love with him, and eventually became pregnant. A happy story, sure, but Sam still said cheerfully their original lifestyle, culminating in a very heated argument between him and his girlfriend when she found her profile on a website gay dating, where proudly announced its status sexual HIV negative and "likes" and "dislikes." the two agreed: he had to stay away from her and the child, and she would not reveal what he had found his family.
historySam is a complex problem. It went on for years, leaving his family believes was straight and women gather around him to hold off the comments, while maintaining a true hidden love, also known as his "roommate."
Yesterday, I spent half the day sitting with Sam's death certificate in my hands. He was found dead by his "roommate" after an overdose of opiates. His mother asked me to search for the mother of his child, and ensuring that all received what was due both their heritage and their pension. She left a note on the envelope of the fat from the documents she mailed me, asking me to apologize to her on his behalf, he did not know what caused the split between them, but the family recognized her son for being the only part of him that he had left. He begged me to get a picture of it.
"roommate" Sam that ultimately marginalized himself instance and their relationship on Facebook after his death, had the non-unique habit of writing letters to Sam on Facebook, even knowing that Sam was gone. Let these heartfelt letters to him, a painful form of performative pain in the hope that someone empathize with him in his time of grief, but would label what appeared to be the Facebook page secondary Sam. When you click on, I saw pictures love text covers advertising as the answer, the key, stronger than all, overshadows everything. I also saw missives about being honest and sincere with the people you love.
When I think of Sam and Ray, my heart aches. When I think of the shame he felt Sam, for decades, the belief that something was wrong with him for not being the model citizen his brother insisted on it, I feel chest pain. To have someone who constantly loved using this part of his humanity desperately wanted him recognized as something negative, something pejorative, that insulates you from the people most wanted. Worse, it made him feel that something was wrong with people who were gay like him. Teammate Sam regretted letting his humanity of his family. He knew that Sam needed someone besides your partner. He needed people who loved to love, not who thought it was.
Ray had his community. Ray had people he could come with those who could explore the world. was not in isolation was not relegated to hide his humanity. He had people who loved and people who you could love, people you trust and learn. He built circles of friends who saw who he was as a person, and I wanted anyway. That's what the nightclub that led me to symbolized by him and many of the other people who came to me that night. My presence there was a way of welcoming me to the family.
and be sure, they are family. They support each other. They love each other. They are often seen and even though you may be tired of the same faces every weekend, he is happy to see those same faces. At least know they are alive. You know that the outside world did not come to them, because that's what makes exit to the outside world exists outside our small community require to look and act and think like them. And if you do not, you should be ashamed.
Brene Brown, writing about the shame in his brilliant book Daring greatly , made it clear: "Shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience to believe that we are defective and, therefore, unworthy of love and belonging. "
byinside the walls of the club, there was no pressure from the outside world. No need to feel ashamed of who you are or who you love. No pressure to change. No brothers drilled to make a man out of you. Nobody pushing the lipstick on his face with the hope that you will look like a girl for once. No blocking its composition in a safe to keep out of it, because that's not for children. One making them feel like their differences mean that deserve to be isolated, inhumane treatment for a human being is building for connection and community.
Imagine what the space feels like, today, after a heavily armed Omar Mateen entered a nightclub in Orlando well populated and opened fire. The father of the gunman told a story of how Mateen was angry to see two men kissing in Miami, furious that would have the audacity to show affection in front of his young son. Apparently his love was a shame. They should only show in isolation.
But those of us who loved Sam, the real Sam, you know what seems to believe that their love is "shameful". To hide. To see only in isolation. We see what it does to people. It is a slow death. Sometimes, as in the case of Sam, that death is self-inflicted. Sometimes, as in the case of what happened in Orlando, it is not.
Homophobia kills in many more ways than a madman with a gun. It kills in the slow and tortuous path of shame and internalized pressure of external forces, demanding to be something you're not. It kills in the way that prevents you work where you want, where you want to study, receive health care that reflects their needs, toileting that best suits your needs. Leaves people for fear that kind of punishment they might face for being "different" in public. In 2013 alone, some 2,000 hate crimes against the LGBT community were reported, with an average one out of five every day. Untold numbers, however, are not reported because people fear the consequences of "coming out" rather silent. How many more we lose to suicide, fighting to end the pain? How many self-medicate, hoping to erase that pain, if only for a moment? How many are self-medicating with an overdose?
How many more have to lose before we realize the truth? Homophobia is a murder weapon, and carrying him against people who claim to love every day. Put your feet up in arms not only those who require bullets or magazines or cases, but those who force people to hide who they are. Not only weapons that have life, but those who make people feel like the only way out is to take your own. The lives of our loved ones'-yours and mine-are at stake if we do not.
Image Credit: Andreas Krispler / Flickr
Dedicated to the memory of my dear Sam; You can finally be at peace with who you are, wherever you are.
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