You bent over to pick up a book in the school hall and your underwear was all bunched up. They weren't Calvin Klein-perfect. They were kid-like and kind of ugly. But. I liked you. I liked you, you know, even with the small roll on your belly and that pimple on your cheek.
I always liked the way you walked. You had the proud about you. Your feet didn't stick out to the sides like a duck's. They were model-straight.
I never saw anyone pick on you so that was a good sign. And when we walked together outside you didn't bump into me a lot accidentally and you even touched my hand once or twice on purpose.
I'm a man now and I see you all still and sombre on that foggy night. The rain sits on your face as you tell me that your family has to move and now I can see that tear in among all those drops. I wish I'd swallowed it. I wish I'd done something gallant like fallen to my knees and kissed your hand like the boy who loved a boy who I was...
I miss you, my slob. I miss you so much.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Fuckin' Faggots!
An Ode to Brutish boys and Mean Mothers
Yet another innocent person has been laid to the ground by a homophobe and I’ve decided to write down a few things to make you see the world a little queerer.
The man, a father of two, 62 years old, was playing pool in a Gay pub when the man he was talking with suddenly punched him in the head. The victim, Ritchie Dowie, slammed into the floor head first and was rushed to hospital.
The attacker, 35, said he did it because "Dowie is a Fag! He touched! me!, and deserved! it! and deserved! it! and deserved! it...!"
Mr. Dowie is now permanently brain damaged.
This is what happens in the big world. Even the small world.
Homophobia has not been erased.
Homophobia.
Yes. That’s what this is about.
Now you’re probably about to click off, turn a page, flip a channel, go away...
(yawn)
You’re probably saying what I always said when I was a naive thirteen, seventeen, twenty three, thirty (keep going until you hit 120) year old love child, “Well, that doesn’t mean me. So bye bye …!"
So, just quickly, I’ll ask you,
How do you take on fear, anger and RAGE! mixed with a big dash of testosterone, all at once, without seeing it coming?
Depends on who, right?
Fists.
Defiance?
Running shoe escape?
Some will say Love…la la. (they’ll sway while they say it and get slightly misty-eyed).
Others will say, “I’ll fight them! We’ll fight them! We’ll stand up to them! Show them we’re not mincing nancy’s.!"
Still others will say, “Well”…(long pause)…(meditating on the question) “we would talk to them. Reason with them”.
Most will say, “911”.
The smallest group will say, “Scream bloody murder!"
Why the smallest?
Because for most, the primal man in us has been tamed. We react with reason. Reasonably well.
Okay, now let’s imagine that you have a boyfriend. You’ve been going out for about three weeks (long time for you). You’re in the ‘love zone’.
Everything is rosy red.
You’ve done the flippity flop in bed.
You’ve introduced each other to each other’s friends.
Now it’s the dance.
Small things together as a couple.
You start to go out ‘together’.
You start to make meals ‘together’.
You start to hold hands ‘together’.
Where do you hold hands?
And when?
It doesn’t make a difference.
Anytime and anywhere you hold hands, in the bright white light or dark hard night, you take the risk of having the shit knocked out of you.
Yes. I know. It’s pathetic.
But.
It’s true.
The world….the people….human beings ….are an unpredictable species.
Here’s the scene:
It’s sunset.
You’re by the (submit place here).
Could be a beach.
Could be a tree lined suburban street.
Could be in the Gay village.
You’re both doing the stare.
At each other.
Oblivious to the outside world.
It’s all him him him.
You reach out in the middle of a sentence and just grasp his hand.
Why?
It’s love, stupid.
Doesn’t matter.
You just…do it.
Or he to you.
You both saunter and talk and share and gab and might even go a little bit (P.D.A.) further.
Arm around waist.
You like that.
You do the same.
Isn’t life grand?
That little flower lady smiled at you both.
Said what a lovely couple you make.
She even gave you a free flower.
That big puffy garbage truck driver gave you a small wave…hell, he even smiled at you when you happened to look up and see him pass by in his massive smelly mobile.
The sunset, the temperature, the feelings welling up inside you.
Isn’t life ducky?
The first word hits you from somewhere.
You’re not sure from where.
You’re not sure it was the word that you thought it was.
But there was that strong, HARD,' K', that stood out.
It punctures the air.
Ricochets off the asphalt. Off the bricks. Off the closed windows.
You both or just one of you blinks and loses a fraction of concentration.
Just enough to make you momentarily blink.
It’s taken you unawares.
See that small slice of “Wha?”
It’s too little time to recover because then…
the second word.
Faggots!
The black equivalent has all but disappeared.
The N word.
Nigger.
The most powerful man in the world is an N.
But they only call him that behind his back now.
We’re trying to take Faggot back.
We laugh and tickle each other with it.
To become like Queer.
We’re a little more comfortable saying it to each other.
But then, 'THEY' don’t know that.
'They'.
Straight Males.
Sometimes Straight Females – slightly drunk, maybe jealous, joining in the fun of gang ridicule. Sometimes they’re the calming influence. Standing between us and 'them'.
Sometimes.
You see, mothers tell their sons to be! MEN! "Don't be a sissy boy!"
These women who raise homophobes. These women who smile and give and never hit. They just instruct...
'Them'.
Straight males.
Men between 18 and ?
Doesn’t have to be just straight men.
99.9% are.
A few self loathing guys who want to get the ‘eyes’ off them…but mainly it’s raging, angry, drunk or sober ("Rarely stoners, dude.") young males.
They can be short or tall. Big or small. Cute, beautful or ugly.
It doesn’t matter.
They are man. The male. The bull warrior. The young, insecure, uptight, running in packs, Raging! Male.
Now they have your attention.
There is almost no way you can avoid the fear that you feel creeping around your body up toward your now backward-thinking brain.
It can’t grasp insanity.
You feel a liquid thumping just under your ears.
The closing of your throat, and later, making you gasp, retch or even vomit.
Both of you cling maybe just a little tighter to each other. Smile. Even shakily laugh a little.
“Just ignore them”, you hear your brave self say.
Your boyfriend agrees.
Small “yeah”.
You may even look in their direction.
You keep walking.
Others around you, have noticed, have heard the yell.
They keep walking as well.
Immersed (it’s not about them) in their own moments.
You push yourself back into your former dangling words…
“Where were we?”
“Oh, yeah, you were saying…”
But.
You don’t get to finish.
You hear a rush of sound coming from outside your little sphere.
Feet slapping the concrete. Scream of tires (or was that you?)
Shouts of anger
Then ‘that’ word - FAGGOTS! again.
But it’s blurred, slurred with some other saliva’d words spat out in the frenzy of confusion and you turn and you see faces of men eye-diving on your body - contorted to a brutalizing hatred.
Your arms move upward instinctively like when you were a child defending itself from the bigger boys.
Now,
Do you have a heart of gold?
A chest of armour?
Fists of iron?
No.
You’re blood and bone.
You’re feeling their ragged clawing of conscience.
Someone has taught them hatred. Pure. Rage!
You’re hit. Punched. Torn. Kicked hard again and again. Spat on.
Now bloodied and broken
Streaks of light cross your eyes
Your hearing is pound-muffled
Coming back in spurts of mad voices
Body parts move without directives
No pain. Yet.
Just a mass of confusion
A moment of why? Who? How?
Cries...CRIES!...whimpers
Yours?
Where is he?
Your boyfriend?
Why are you on the ground?
Upside downtown.
You feel and see the bottoms of shoes.
You’re covering your face
But there is now a sharp pain here and there and there and down and up and over anddd...oh God help me! please! hepl m eeeeeee nhep’ehurhndn!...
There is a sound like a small child’s toy siren that blocks out all other sounds. A sick buzz. Your eyes may be open or closed but all you see is a jet black darkness that mercifully holds at bay, the things that are going on that would make 'you' stop and pause if ‘you’ were walking by this person lying in a pool of their own blood and rocking drunkenly or mumbling nonsense.
Sounds return. Quickly. There is a disembodied feeling of “I’m not here, I can’t be”. You’re trying to regain a footing. Your head is moving. Inside and outside. You just blink your eyes to someone or something.
You’re babbling, you know. You taste your own blood. You touch your face and one eye sees thick crimson water. But it’s not water.
You rush words out to make yourself connect with yourself or someone. To make it all real again. There are voices. Some fast some slow.
And then, oh God, there is an unmerciful pain…
Everywhere
This is just the beginning.
From here on in.
You will never be the same again.
How the hell do I know? you say.
Well, I’ve seen the after ‘birth’.
The birth of fear.
From a man sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, another man standing next to him arms akimbo, face cut, blood dotted, shirt torn, breathless wonder spilling from his frightened mouth to anyone… Dazed and bleeding. Body shaking. People, we, around them, pointing, shouting for help.
"Three young guys came from behind and took them down to the concrete!"
They got away in a carrrrrr...!
They wouldn’t stop raining terror down upon these figures.
And everyone, except the stumbling innocent wounded fallen men on the sidewalk… is angry. The two men, the three or four people standing around, are trying to understand why we have to have this happen in our world today.
I can’t tell you what will happen.
To each comes a different journey.
Some will recover.
Some will not.
This may make you wince:
These men. These homophobes will attack anyone at any time if they see man as feminine, different.
If they see a drag queen with a deep voice talking to someone.
If they see a nancy boy flicking his wrist playfully in the street at his friends, "Hey girl!"
If they see a straight friend hugging his Gay friend.
If they see two straight guys hug goodbye.
If they see a woman with a crewcut hug her boyfriend.
Once upon a time, 'real time', two people, a dyke (short hair) holding hands with her mother (short hair) strolling downtown... were screamed at - "Faggots!"
If they see two men holding hands.
If they see men in a Gay bar, restaurant, club or street corner that they know is Gay, it will make them mad. Not angry. MAD crazy MAD.
Why?
Because to be feminine, a woman, is weak. It is the worst a man can be. That is what they think.
That is what they have learned or worse, have been taught.
These are true:
In New Jersey.
A girl with a boy’s crewcut was walking with her boyfriend. Holding hands with him.
They heard the word Faggots and were attacked. Mauled. Slugged senselessly.
The young men fled.
Got away.
The girl later grew her hair longer.
The two lovers limp in different places now.
Suburban skinhead punks funnel themselves into an Eastside Gay Pride celebration in Vancouver, B.C.. Happy people are out. Angry people too, with fists ablaze. Punches. Cuts. Arrests. On at least one of the attacker's arms is a swastika. They’re let go. No one stays to complain. No one follows this to a courtroom. The year is 2008.
In Edinburgh a man now limps permanently. Had to put a steel rod in his leg to replace shattered bone.
In Manchester a man sips liquid meals. Had to replace a part of his jaw. The year is 2008.
Two Gay men on vacation in a wonderful Caribbean country. They hold hands for a beautiful moment. In an ugly moment they are surrounded by mad men. One boyfriend is smashed over the head with a crowbar and now his boyfriend feeds just a body. The year was 2007.
"Faggot!" is heard shouted by all these men.
In 2008, people march in a Gay Pride parade in Budapest, Hungary.
Old ladies. Old. Watching. They hit gay people trying to walk in the parade.
Six young men surround one man and kick him and boot kick him over and over, until he lies in his own blood, unconscious, over.
A lesbian is punched squarely in the face by a man. A big man. Much bigger. More powerful than she.
She bleeds. She gasps blood. She falls to the pavement.
He walks quickly away.
A Gay and Lesbian Pride parade that was supposed to have over 3,000 people had 900 people.
2,100 Gay and Lesbian people were too terrified to march.
Neo Nazis were organized and dangerous.
All 3,000 of them and their …kind.
3,000 police protected the marchers.
I can tell you worse.
But I won’t.
It won’t be pictures.
It won’t be news footage that makes you get angry and get up.
It won’t be stories.
If this does not make you (fill in this blank with your own self-centred little reply).
It will be a fist hit.
You could be one of us. Or a friend. Or a parent. Or a bystander. A kid. A teen. An adult.
What I’m saying is that this …THIS …effects everyone.
We live in a world of gay authors who have millions of straight fans.
We live in a world where three fags can give fashion tips to straight people watched on mainstream television by millions of straight people.
We live in a world where there are openly homo politicians. Mayors, Senators, Ministers.
Where Queer and Lesbian actors are seen and loved by millions of straight people.
There is hope.
We now live in a world where the most powerful leader in the world is black. And he has said, And I quote, “Their voices can make a difference. It’s the answer spoken by young and old, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, Gay, Straight, disabled and not disabled.” Unquote.
One day, !All gay, all out! 24 hours a gay!
But for now, 'They' can come into 'Our' bars and drink and hug and slow dance... with eachother.
'We' cannot go into 'their' bars and dance, slowly, face to face, loving arms around and around body to some body. Penis to penis. Vagina to vagina. We would be hounded and pounded.
We are still hated. You can be out to some of the people some of the time but not out to all of the people all of the time.
We get on nerves.
The insecure males. The secure males.
The insecure females. The secure females.
The religious right.
The religious left.
Even the religious middle hole. The holier than thou.
We Gay people are powerful and decrepit.
Nothings and somethings.
Vulnerable and almighty.
We have changed and continue to change the manufactured fabric of the world.
For this we and our friends and allies are degraded.
We are compared to dogs, pigs, monkeys and shit.
We are disowned.
We are shunned.
We are spat upon.
We are punched.
We are beaten.
We are tortured.
We are raped.
We are shot.
We are hung by ropes until dead.
We are mutilated and our bodies left to rot.
By our families. Our own families.
In the United States of America, around 18% of all hate crimes are sexual orientation- biased. Here in Canada we’re a little more open-minded with 11%. In B.C. the most victimized group is Gay men, followed by people of colour and religious groups (Dept. of Justice Canada).
So. What can you do?
Stand or sit tall. When you hear a bad word said about us, stand up and say…something. When you see injustice, sit and write…something. And hold hands. Outside.
There are many of us G.B.L.T. people who have held hands with our boyfriends and girlfriends in the most dangerous of places and have never met any hostility. I’m one of them.
I’ve held hands:
on bicycles, in cars, on sidewalks, in stores, malls, restaurants, parks, movie theatres, on trains, ski hills, planes, beaches, buses, in schools, in offices, in libraries, at concerts, swimming pools, houses, houses of the holy - churches and synagogues and mosques, houses of Government, deserts and oases.
I will not be bowed...so far.
Yet another innocent person has been laid to the ground by a homophobe and I’ve decided to write down a few things to make you see the world a little queerer.
The man, a father of two, 62 years old, was playing pool in a Gay pub when the man he was talking with suddenly punched him in the head. The victim, Ritchie Dowie, slammed into the floor head first and was rushed to hospital.
The attacker, 35, said he did it because "Dowie is a Fag! He touched! me!, and deserved! it! and deserved! it! and deserved! it...!"
Mr. Dowie is now permanently brain damaged.
This is what happens in the big world. Even the small world.
Homophobia has not been erased.
Homophobia.
Yes. That’s what this is about.
Now you’re probably about to click off, turn a page, flip a channel, go away...
(yawn)
You’re probably saying what I always said when I was a naive thirteen, seventeen, twenty three, thirty (keep going until you hit 120) year old love child, “Well, that doesn’t mean me. So bye bye …!"
So, just quickly, I’ll ask you,
How do you take on fear, anger and RAGE! mixed with a big dash of testosterone, all at once, without seeing it coming?
Depends on who, right?
Fists.
Defiance?
Running shoe escape?
Some will say Love…la la. (they’ll sway while they say it and get slightly misty-eyed).
Others will say, “I’ll fight them! We’ll fight them! We’ll stand up to them! Show them we’re not mincing nancy’s.!"
Still others will say, “Well”…(long pause)…(meditating on the question) “we would talk to them. Reason with them”.
Most will say, “911”.
The smallest group will say, “Scream bloody murder!"
Why the smallest?
Because for most, the primal man in us has been tamed. We react with reason. Reasonably well.
Okay, now let’s imagine that you have a boyfriend. You’ve been going out for about three weeks (long time for you). You’re in the ‘love zone’.
Everything is rosy red.
You’ve done the flippity flop in bed.
You’ve introduced each other to each other’s friends.
Now it’s the dance.
Small things together as a couple.
You start to go out ‘together’.
You start to make meals ‘together’.
You start to hold hands ‘together’.
Where do you hold hands?
And when?
It doesn’t make a difference.
Anytime and anywhere you hold hands, in the bright white light or dark hard night, you take the risk of having the shit knocked out of you.
Yes. I know. It’s pathetic.
But.
It’s true.
The world….the people….human beings ….are an unpredictable species.
Here’s the scene:
It’s sunset.
You’re by the (submit place here).
Could be a beach.
Could be a tree lined suburban street.
Could be in the Gay village.
You’re both doing the stare.
At each other.
Oblivious to the outside world.
It’s all him him him.
You reach out in the middle of a sentence and just grasp his hand.
Why?
It’s love, stupid.
Doesn’t matter.
You just…do it.
Or he to you.
You both saunter and talk and share and gab and might even go a little bit (P.D.A.) further.
Arm around waist.
You like that.
You do the same.
Isn’t life grand?
That little flower lady smiled at you both.
Said what a lovely couple you make.
She even gave you a free flower.
That big puffy garbage truck driver gave you a small wave…hell, he even smiled at you when you happened to look up and see him pass by in his massive smelly mobile.
The sunset, the temperature, the feelings welling up inside you.
Isn’t life ducky?
The first word hits you from somewhere.
You’re not sure from where.
You’re not sure it was the word that you thought it was.
But there was that strong, HARD,' K', that stood out.
It punctures the air.
Ricochets off the asphalt. Off the bricks. Off the closed windows.
You both or just one of you blinks and loses a fraction of concentration.
Just enough to make you momentarily blink.
It’s taken you unawares.
See that small slice of “Wha?”
It’s too little time to recover because then…
the second word.
Faggots!
The black equivalent has all but disappeared.
The N word.
Nigger.
The most powerful man in the world is an N.
But they only call him that behind his back now.
We’re trying to take Faggot back.
We laugh and tickle each other with it.
To become like Queer.
We’re a little more comfortable saying it to each other.
But then, 'THEY' don’t know that.
'They'.
Straight Males.
Sometimes Straight Females – slightly drunk, maybe jealous, joining in the fun of gang ridicule. Sometimes they’re the calming influence. Standing between us and 'them'.
Sometimes.
You see, mothers tell their sons to be! MEN! "Don't be a sissy boy!"
These women who raise homophobes. These women who smile and give and never hit. They just instruct...
'Them'.
Straight males.
Men between 18 and ?
Doesn’t have to be just straight men.
99.9% are.
A few self loathing guys who want to get the ‘eyes’ off them…but mainly it’s raging, angry, drunk or sober ("Rarely stoners, dude.") young males.
They can be short or tall. Big or small. Cute, beautful or ugly.
It doesn’t matter.
They are man. The male. The bull warrior. The young, insecure, uptight, running in packs, Raging! Male.
Now they have your attention.
There is almost no way you can avoid the fear that you feel creeping around your body up toward your now backward-thinking brain.
It can’t grasp insanity.
You feel a liquid thumping just under your ears.
The closing of your throat, and later, making you gasp, retch or even vomit.
Both of you cling maybe just a little tighter to each other. Smile. Even shakily laugh a little.
“Just ignore them”, you hear your brave self say.
Your boyfriend agrees.
Small “yeah”.
You may even look in their direction.
You keep walking.
Others around you, have noticed, have heard the yell.
They keep walking as well.
Immersed (it’s not about them) in their own moments.
You push yourself back into your former dangling words…
“Where were we?”
“Oh, yeah, you were saying…”
But.
You don’t get to finish.
You hear a rush of sound coming from outside your little sphere.
Feet slapping the concrete. Scream of tires (or was that you?)
Shouts of anger
Then ‘that’ word - FAGGOTS! again.
But it’s blurred, slurred with some other saliva’d words spat out in the frenzy of confusion and you turn and you see faces of men eye-diving on your body - contorted to a brutalizing hatred.
Your arms move upward instinctively like when you were a child defending itself from the bigger boys.
Now,
Do you have a heart of gold?
A chest of armour?
Fists of iron?
No.
You’re blood and bone.
You’re feeling their ragged clawing of conscience.
Someone has taught them hatred. Pure. Rage!
You’re hit. Punched. Torn. Kicked hard again and again. Spat on.
Now bloodied and broken
Streaks of light cross your eyes
Your hearing is pound-muffled
Coming back in spurts of mad voices
Body parts move without directives
No pain. Yet.
Just a mass of confusion
A moment of why? Who? How?
Cries...CRIES!...whimpers
Yours?
Where is he?
Your boyfriend?
Why are you on the ground?
Upside downtown.
You feel and see the bottoms of shoes.
You’re covering your face
But there is now a sharp pain here and there and there and down and up and over anddd...oh God help me! please! hepl m eeeeeee nhep’ehurhndn!...
There is a sound like a small child’s toy siren that blocks out all other sounds. A sick buzz. Your eyes may be open or closed but all you see is a jet black darkness that mercifully holds at bay, the things that are going on that would make 'you' stop and pause if ‘you’ were walking by this person lying in a pool of their own blood and rocking drunkenly or mumbling nonsense.
Sounds return. Quickly. There is a disembodied feeling of “I’m not here, I can’t be”. You’re trying to regain a footing. Your head is moving. Inside and outside. You just blink your eyes to someone or something.
You’re babbling, you know. You taste your own blood. You touch your face and one eye sees thick crimson water. But it’s not water.
You rush words out to make yourself connect with yourself or someone. To make it all real again. There are voices. Some fast some slow.
And then, oh God, there is an unmerciful pain…
Everywhere
This is just the beginning.
From here on in.
You will never be the same again.
How the hell do I know? you say.
Well, I’ve seen the after ‘birth’.
The birth of fear.
From a man sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, another man standing next to him arms akimbo, face cut, blood dotted, shirt torn, breathless wonder spilling from his frightened mouth to anyone… Dazed and bleeding. Body shaking. People, we, around them, pointing, shouting for help.
"Three young guys came from behind and took them down to the concrete!"
They got away in a carrrrrr...!
They wouldn’t stop raining terror down upon these figures.
And everyone, except the stumbling innocent wounded fallen men on the sidewalk… is angry. The two men, the three or four people standing around, are trying to understand why we have to have this happen in our world today.
I can’t tell you what will happen.
To each comes a different journey.
Some will recover.
Some will not.
This may make you wince:
These men. These homophobes will attack anyone at any time if they see man as feminine, different.
If they see a drag queen with a deep voice talking to someone.
If they see a nancy boy flicking his wrist playfully in the street at his friends, "Hey girl!"
If they see a straight friend hugging his Gay friend.
If they see two straight guys hug goodbye.
If they see a woman with a crewcut hug her boyfriend.
Once upon a time, 'real time', two people, a dyke (short hair) holding hands with her mother (short hair) strolling downtown... were screamed at - "Faggots!"
If they see two men holding hands.
If they see men in a Gay bar, restaurant, club or street corner that they know is Gay, it will make them mad. Not angry. MAD crazy MAD.
Why?
Because to be feminine, a woman, is weak. It is the worst a man can be. That is what they think.
That is what they have learned or worse, have been taught.
These are true:
In New Jersey.
A girl with a boy’s crewcut was walking with her boyfriend. Holding hands with him.
They heard the word Faggots and were attacked. Mauled. Slugged senselessly.
The young men fled.
Got away.
The girl later grew her hair longer.
The two lovers limp in different places now.
Suburban skinhead punks funnel themselves into an Eastside Gay Pride celebration in Vancouver, B.C.. Happy people are out. Angry people too, with fists ablaze. Punches. Cuts. Arrests. On at least one of the attacker's arms is a swastika. They’re let go. No one stays to complain. No one follows this to a courtroom. The year is 2008.
In Edinburgh a man now limps permanently. Had to put a steel rod in his leg to replace shattered bone.
In Manchester a man sips liquid meals. Had to replace a part of his jaw. The year is 2008.
Two Gay men on vacation in a wonderful Caribbean country. They hold hands for a beautiful moment. In an ugly moment they are surrounded by mad men. One boyfriend is smashed over the head with a crowbar and now his boyfriend feeds just a body. The year was 2007.
"Faggot!" is heard shouted by all these men.
In 2008, people march in a Gay Pride parade in Budapest, Hungary.
Old ladies. Old. Watching. They hit gay people trying to walk in the parade.
Six young men surround one man and kick him and boot kick him over and over, until he lies in his own blood, unconscious, over.
A lesbian is punched squarely in the face by a man. A big man. Much bigger. More powerful than she.
She bleeds. She gasps blood. She falls to the pavement.
He walks quickly away.
A Gay and Lesbian Pride parade that was supposed to have over 3,000 people had 900 people.
2,100 Gay and Lesbian people were too terrified to march.
Neo Nazis were organized and dangerous.
All 3,000 of them and their …kind.
3,000 police protected the marchers.
I can tell you worse.
But I won’t.
It won’t be pictures.
It won’t be news footage that makes you get angry and get up.
It won’t be stories.
If this does not make you (fill in this blank with your own self-centred little reply).
It will be a fist hit.
You could be one of us. Or a friend. Or a parent. Or a bystander. A kid. A teen. An adult.
What I’m saying is that this …THIS …effects everyone.
We live in a world of gay authors who have millions of straight fans.
We live in a world where three fags can give fashion tips to straight people watched on mainstream television by millions of straight people.
We live in a world where there are openly homo politicians. Mayors, Senators, Ministers.
Where Queer and Lesbian actors are seen and loved by millions of straight people.
There is hope.
We now live in a world where the most powerful leader in the world is black. And he has said, And I quote, “Their voices can make a difference. It’s the answer spoken by young and old, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, Gay, Straight, disabled and not disabled.” Unquote.
One day, !All gay, all out! 24 hours a gay!
But for now, 'They' can come into 'Our' bars and drink and hug and slow dance... with eachother.
'We' cannot go into 'their' bars and dance, slowly, face to face, loving arms around and around body to some body. Penis to penis. Vagina to vagina. We would be hounded and pounded.
We are still hated. You can be out to some of the people some of the time but not out to all of the people all of the time.
We get on nerves.
The insecure males. The secure males.
The insecure females. The secure females.
The religious right.
The religious left.
Even the religious middle hole. The holier than thou.
We Gay people are powerful and decrepit.
Nothings and somethings.
Vulnerable and almighty.
We have changed and continue to change the manufactured fabric of the world.
For this we and our friends and allies are degraded.
We are compared to dogs, pigs, monkeys and shit.
We are disowned.
We are shunned.
We are spat upon.
We are punched.
We are beaten.
We are tortured.
We are raped.
We are shot.
We are hung by ropes until dead.
We are mutilated and our bodies left to rot.
By our families. Our own families.
In the United States of America, around 18% of all hate crimes are sexual orientation- biased. Here in Canada we’re a little more open-minded with 11%. In B.C. the most victimized group is Gay men, followed by people of colour and religious groups (Dept. of Justice Canada).
So. What can you do?
Stand or sit tall. When you hear a bad word said about us, stand up and say…something. When you see injustice, sit and write…something. And hold hands. Outside.
There are many of us G.B.L.T. people who have held hands with our boyfriends and girlfriends in the most dangerous of places and have never met any hostility. I’m one of them.
I’ve held hands:
on bicycles, in cars, on sidewalks, in stores, malls, restaurants, parks, movie theatres, on trains, ski hills, planes, beaches, buses, in schools, in offices, in libraries, at concerts, swimming pools, houses, houses of the holy - churches and synagogues and mosques, houses of Government, deserts and oases.
I will not be bowed...so far.
The Leash
You've all seen them. You may have one, yourself...or two...because they're so tiny.
She was standing on the sidewalk in front of a bar. It was eleven A:M. She looked to be in her early sixties. Her skin was pallid. Her hair, firecracker cut. She wore a bright yellow rain slicker over a dowdy blue print dress and sat recklessly, teeter tottering on the seat of her electric scooter. She was smoking a cigarette and around the wrist of that hand, was a leash.
And there, on the end of the leash was one of those small dogs. It's fur was long and windblown. Its tongue was sticking out. It was being choked. The poor thing couldn't get into a comfortable place because the smoking woman was holding her hand up too high.
She was staring at the swirling smoke, perhaps seeing images. I was sitting behind a stalled, battered truck in the middle of thick, pea soup traffic. The truck's engine was turning over and over, the driver, I guess, panicking.
I rolled down my window and whistled. She never moved. That's when I saw.
Her eyes were glazed. She was somewhere, but not...there. I don't know where. The dog was there too. Both needed the other. One for food. The other for a collar to cry on.
The dog kept struggling, trying to get more air, even if it was nicotined. The woman kept yanking up the leash to get a better suck on her cig. She had those desperate fish lips, that some addicted smokers get - puckered, anticipating the smooth death curl down the windpipe. I was about to get out of my car and race over to her when the truck in front of me suddenly jumped to life just as the drivers behind me were getting antsy and starting to punch their fists on their horns.
There was nowhere to go but forward.
She was standing on the sidewalk in front of a bar. It was eleven A:M. She looked to be in her early sixties. Her skin was pallid. Her hair, firecracker cut. She wore a bright yellow rain slicker over a dowdy blue print dress and sat recklessly, teeter tottering on the seat of her electric scooter. She was smoking a cigarette and around the wrist of that hand, was a leash.
And there, on the end of the leash was one of those small dogs. It's fur was long and windblown. Its tongue was sticking out. It was being choked. The poor thing couldn't get into a comfortable place because the smoking woman was holding her hand up too high.
She was staring at the swirling smoke, perhaps seeing images. I was sitting behind a stalled, battered truck in the middle of thick, pea soup traffic. The truck's engine was turning over and over, the driver, I guess, panicking.
I rolled down my window and whistled. She never moved. That's when I saw.
Her eyes were glazed. She was somewhere, but not...there. I don't know where. The dog was there too. Both needed the other. One for food. The other for a collar to cry on.
The dog kept struggling, trying to get more air, even if it was nicotined. The woman kept yanking up the leash to get a better suck on her cig. She had those desperate fish lips, that some addicted smokers get - puckered, anticipating the smooth death curl down the windpipe. I was about to get out of my car and race over to her when the truck in front of me suddenly jumped to life just as the drivers behind me were getting antsy and starting to punch their fists on their horns.
There was nowhere to go but forward.
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