This weekend, I took my boy toy to the top of the Empire State Building to fulfill a lifelong dream of kissing someone at the top of said building and also to recreate a classic (and I use that term loosely) CW moment from Gossip Girl, as many of my friends have informed me after the fact. I don't really consider myself a hopeless romantic, and I am generally turned off by the cheesiness of typical romantic gestures (because these are things that end up on shows like Gossip Girl), but I would say now that I am clearly more of a hypocrite than anything else. Either way, it was vomit-inducingly adorable and special and that's all you're gonna get from me right now.
On our way back, we held hands and kept the cuteness alive. As we walked on the New York City sidewalks close to 2 AM, there was that moment that most every LGBTQISASFNAJSPL person fears: the potential hate crime. A man saw us holding hands, which is clearly very visually assaulting and I get it, and yelled something about us being "faggots," and then "how long did it take you to get here?!" This immediately indicated three things: 1) He was really homophobic; 2) Apparently we were late for his homophobia, or we had kept him waiting; and 3) Homophobe was on some drugs. Instantly, my guy turns around, almost chest-bumping the Homophobe and screams in the deepest and scariest voice I've ever heard: "WHAT!?" and the Homophobe continues to mutter something about "faggots" and something about how long it took us to get here (which genuinely makes me laugh every time I think about it - like, huh, you don't even make any sense!).
I immediately stepped back and had my hand on my iPhone, ready to call the police (or play a Lady Gaga song, or hit him with it, or videotape everything for evidence later when I was dead). The Homophobe left immediately after my knight in shining glittery armor checked him, and besides being slightly terrified, I have to say that I was super turned on by how hot and aggressive my rainbow knight was. Without skipping a beat, we held hands again, maybe kissed a time or two, and made it home safe and sound.
I don't know if every queer person actually does walk around with this fear in their head, or if I just assume it because I do, but what I do know is that it has the ability to profoundly affect your psyche, and by extension, your relationships. For example, I'm sure Michele Bachmann worries every night when her husband "goes out for milk" and returns three hours later smelling of lube and latex. What if tonight is the night he gets hate crimed?
Back in North Carolina, I was almost always uncomfortable showing any form of affection in public spaces that weren't 'safe' for me (i.e. gay bars). At the same time, I knew that I was letting fear override what I knew was okay and what I really wanted to do... which was hold someone's hand. It unnecessarily put me into a conflict with my more confident then-boyfriend who saw no danger in being affectionate. I hated it - a lot - and it removed so much of the fun of being cute and lovey, not to mention the opportunities for sex in public.
Since moving to New York, and since growing up a little bit too, I have learned to prohibit any irrational fear I have to inhibit my actions. I came to a sad resignation that if I was going to get beaten or murdered in a hate crime, it's not going to be because I brought it upon myself (and no - I don't think that showing affection, in any way, brings it upon someone to attack another person). Those kinds of situations are really out of my hands. At the end of the day, I'm going to walk around in a tankini and short shorts and "look super gay," and if me holding another guy's hand somehow elevates my chances for being attacked, oh fucking well. Go ahead and attack me, I will glitter bomb you.
When Lawrence King, a 13 year-old boy who wore gender non-conforming clothes to school, was shot twice in the head and killed in his 8th grade classroom, it wasn't his fault. The defense team of his killer is now on a "blame-the-victim" shtick that says Lawrence suggestively teased his killer and other classmates by saying "you know you want me," and would, in an 8th grade way, come on to them. So, in some Looney Tunes world, this helps to justify shooting someone twice in the head at point blank?
I'm not one to suggest people should bark up the wrong tree, but I'm also aware that Lawrence's behavior could have easily been a defense mechanism for coping with the bullies, including his killer, that taunted him endlessly. It could have been his way of trying to regain some power in the situation, rather than rolling over and allowing the harassment. Whatever the true story, he never brought in a gun to school to kill his bully.
So, yeah, it's remarkably unfair that as a queer person in this world, I am forced to second-guess the way I exist (with my appearance, behavior, actions, and things of that nature). And that being a white man in the queer world, I probably face the very least of the stigma. We all know that, and if you don't, then now you do. But...
Do we all live this way? I have to wonder if Lawrence lived with the same kind of fear that I do. I'm sure he felt something like it, but hopefully at 13 he would have never thought his life was in danger. I wonder if he made a decision not to let that fear affect his behavior, and if that is what cost him his life. Not because he was wrong for doing so, but because collectively, we have sadly created and perpetuated a culture that presents the illusion that he was wrong. How do we end that?
I got into a 3 hour debate with a co-worker once about two of our little baby lesbian youth who were in a relationship. He happened to see them out and about and displaying affection openly. He came to me to see if I would approach the youth and talk with them about safely displaying their affection while in public. I couldn't bring myself to do it. Both my co-worker and I were coming from a place of love and concern, but I was more concerned with not being another person to tell them that what they were doing is wrong. I couldn't even bring myself to frame it as "you're not wrong, society is wrong, but still - you have to adjust your behavior as though you're wrong." I could not do that.
I don't want to perpetuate in any way something so categorically ridiculous. It is one thing to walk down the street naked, slobbering all over your partner. (And I could even get into a hypothetical debate and say that really, there is no actual harm caused to anyone else in doing that, even. It's just bad decorum unless you're at Burning Man.) It's another thing for a same-sex couple to be able to walk down the street holding hands, or to give a kiss when it feels right, or to embrace without a moment's hesitation. And I don't think that a gay man to approach a straight man is in any way offensive. What is offensive is that by telling young people to "be careful" in showing affection publicly, or by unclasping your girlfriend's hand because people are looking, or by wearing long cargo shorts instead of sequined pink booty shorts (God help us), we are complying with the fallacy that any of those behaviors are "wrong."
Now, don't get it twisted. I don't want to be a martyr for this cause, and I don't think you should be either. I don't want another person to be harmed in any way for being who they are. But how do we move forward? How do we confront those sometimes very legitimate fears without going out on a limb? For me, it came in a moment when I decided that I would be okay with the consequences, whatever they may be. It's totally extreme, but I like to think I would be okay if I was beaten to a bloody pulp by a homophobe for holding my boyfriend's hand. Clearly I would be in a lot of pain and eventually write a book about it and make some serious money, but I would also be a bloody pulp full of dignity and self-respect.
Some might see that as a grim outlook on the world, and I don't really believe that's what's in store for me. Instead, I choose to see it as a freedom that no law can guarantee me. The simple and invaluable freedom of respecting who I am enough to hold hands with another boy.
Edited to add: This entry is heartbreakingly relevant, unfortunately.
On our way back, we held hands and kept the cuteness alive. As we walked on the New York City sidewalks close to 2 AM, there was that moment that most every LGBTQISASFNAJSPL person fears: the potential hate crime. A man saw us holding hands, which is clearly very visually assaulting and I get it, and yelled something about us being "faggots," and then "how long did it take you to get here?!" This immediately indicated three things: 1) He was really homophobic; 2) Apparently we were late for his homophobia, or we had kept him waiting; and 3) Homophobe was on some drugs. Instantly, my guy turns around, almost chest-bumping the Homophobe and screams in the deepest and scariest voice I've ever heard: "WHAT!?" and the Homophobe continues to mutter something about "faggots" and something about how long it took us to get here (which genuinely makes me laugh every time I think about it - like, huh, you don't even make any sense!).
I immediately stepped back and had my hand on my iPhone, ready to call the police (or play a Lady Gaga song, or hit him with it, or videotape everything for evidence later when I was dead). The Homophobe left immediately after my knight in shining glittery armor checked him, and besides being slightly terrified, I have to say that I was super turned on by how hot and aggressive my rainbow knight was. Without skipping a beat, we held hands again, maybe kissed a time or two, and made it home safe and sound.
I don't know if every queer person actually does walk around with this fear in their head, or if I just assume it because I do, but what I do know is that it has the ability to profoundly affect your psyche, and by extension, your relationships. For example, I'm sure Michele Bachmann worries every night when her husband "goes out for milk" and returns three hours later smelling of lube and latex. What if tonight is the night he gets hate crimed?
Back in North Carolina, I was almost always uncomfortable showing any form of affection in public spaces that weren't 'safe' for me (i.e. gay bars). At the same time, I knew that I was letting fear override what I knew was okay and what I really wanted to do... which was hold someone's hand. It unnecessarily put me into a conflict with my more confident then-boyfriend who saw no danger in being affectionate. I hated it - a lot - and it removed so much of the fun of being cute and lovey, not to mention the opportunities for sex in public.
Since moving to New York, and since growing up a little bit too, I have learned to prohibit any irrational fear I have to inhibit my actions. I came to a sad resignation that if I was going to get beaten or murdered in a hate crime, it's not going to be because I brought it upon myself (and no - I don't think that showing affection, in any way, brings it upon someone to attack another person). Those kinds of situations are really out of my hands. At the end of the day, I'm going to walk around in a tankini and short shorts and "look super gay," and if me holding another guy's hand somehow elevates my chances for being attacked, oh fucking well. Go ahead and attack me, I will glitter bomb you.
When Lawrence King, a 13 year-old boy who wore gender non-conforming clothes to school, was shot twice in the head and killed in his 8th grade classroom, it wasn't his fault. The defense team of his killer is now on a "blame-the-victim" shtick that says Lawrence suggestively teased his killer and other classmates by saying "you know you want me," and would, in an 8th grade way, come on to them. So, in some Looney Tunes world, this helps to justify shooting someone twice in the head at point blank?
I'm not one to suggest people should bark up the wrong tree, but I'm also aware that Lawrence's behavior could have easily been a defense mechanism for coping with the bullies, including his killer, that taunted him endlessly. It could have been his way of trying to regain some power in the situation, rather than rolling over and allowing the harassment. Whatever the true story, he never brought in a gun to school to kill his bully.
So, yeah, it's remarkably unfair that as a queer person in this world, I am forced to second-guess the way I exist (with my appearance, behavior, actions, and things of that nature). And that being a white man in the queer world, I probably face the very least of the stigma. We all know that, and if you don't, then now you do. But...
Do we all live this way? I have to wonder if Lawrence lived with the same kind of fear that I do. I'm sure he felt something like it, but hopefully at 13 he would have never thought his life was in danger. I wonder if he made a decision not to let that fear affect his behavior, and if that is what cost him his life. Not because he was wrong for doing so, but because collectively, we have sadly created and perpetuated a culture that presents the illusion that he was wrong. How do we end that?
I got into a 3 hour debate with a co-worker once about two of our little baby lesbian youth who were in a relationship. He happened to see them out and about and displaying affection openly. He came to me to see if I would approach the youth and talk with them about safely displaying their affection while in public. I couldn't bring myself to do it. Both my co-worker and I were coming from a place of love and concern, but I was more concerned with not being another person to tell them that what they were doing is wrong. I couldn't even bring myself to frame it as "you're not wrong, society is wrong, but still - you have to adjust your behavior as though you're wrong." I could not do that.
I don't want to perpetuate in any way something so categorically ridiculous. It is one thing to walk down the street naked, slobbering all over your partner. (And I could even get into a hypothetical debate and say that really, there is no actual harm caused to anyone else in doing that, even. It's just bad decorum unless you're at Burning Man.) It's another thing for a same-sex couple to be able to walk down the street holding hands, or to give a kiss when it feels right, or to embrace without a moment's hesitation. And I don't think that a gay man to approach a straight man is in any way offensive. What is offensive is that by telling young people to "be careful" in showing affection publicly, or by unclasping your girlfriend's hand because people are looking, or by wearing long cargo shorts instead of sequined pink booty shorts (God help us), we are complying with the fallacy that any of those behaviors are "wrong."
Now, don't get it twisted. I don't want to be a martyr for this cause, and I don't think you should be either. I don't want another person to be harmed in any way for being who they are. But how do we move forward? How do we confront those sometimes very legitimate fears without going out on a limb? For me, it came in a moment when I decided that I would be okay with the consequences, whatever they may be. It's totally extreme, but I like to think I would be okay if I was beaten to a bloody pulp by a homophobe for holding my boyfriend's hand. Clearly I would be in a lot of pain and eventually write a book about it and make some serious money, but I would also be a bloody pulp full of dignity and self-respect.
Some might see that as a grim outlook on the world, and I don't really believe that's what's in store for me. Instead, I choose to see it as a freedom that no law can guarantee me. The simple and invaluable freedom of respecting who I am enough to hold hands with another boy.
Edited to add: This entry is heartbreakingly relevant, unfortunately.
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