I moved from a small town in Northwest Tennessee to sunny California last March, in hopes that I could find a place to have a life. A place where I could walk down the street without fear of a brick being thrown at my head or a cross burning in my front yard. Some of you may think that things like that don’t happen anymore, but I am here to tell you, they do. What does this have to do with “coming out?” Let me tell you…
Last year, as I walked in the Fresno Pride Parade with my new friends, I heard an MC make a statement that almost made me laugh. “Look at this group from Porterville. We’re so proud of them. If you think it’s hard coming out in Fresno, try coming out in a town with a population of only 50,000.” When I came out, the county (not just the city) had a population of less than 10,000. When I moved to California last year, I was living in a town with a population of 874 people in a county with 7988 people (as of the 2000 census). Ladies and gentleman, I was the local “gay boy.” Back there, being gay can be a death sentence. I don’t know how many of you personally know someone who has been a victim of a hate crime and killed for their sexuality, but I have known several.
I’ll tell you my story in a moment, but since they can no longer tell theirs, I’d like to take the time to tell you for them. (I’ll exclude last names.) Joe, who became Josephine, lived his life as a woman from the time he graduated high school until his death 10 years later. Everyone in town was aware that Josephine was once Joe, and most people avoided her for fear of catching “the gay.” There were however, many people who taunted and beat her on a regular basis. Josephine’s employer fired her because people refused to shop in the store while she was employed there. In turn, she lost her vehicle and home, and eventually came to live under a bridge near the edge of town. In the winter of 1989, Josephine was found beaten to death under that bridge. I won’t get into details, but I will say her funeral was closed casket. No one ever spoke of her again.
Matt was a straight A student, a member of the honor society, a striker for his schools soccer team, and had won the Presidential Scholarship to John Hopkins University, with the hopes of entering into AIDS research. He graduated Valedictorian of his class, and in his graduation speech, he told a crowd of family and friends that he was gay and proud of who he was and who he would become. Matt never saw the sunrise. He was shot in the back of the head 3 hours after his speech. The police covered it up, stating it was an accident.
There are others that I could tell you about, but you get the point. Matt’s death came two years before I told anyone that I was gay. I struggled with the idea from the time I was 12 years old until I woke up one day and said, “I can’t do this anymore.” At the age of 15, I came out to one of my best friends. At first, she looked at me with this blank look, and then she said, “Well, I figured that, but I didn’t want to say anything.” She was the only one who knew for many years. During my college years, I gradually told more and more people, including my mother and sisters. Some people haven’t spoken to me since, some threatened my life, some called me a pedophile, and a few…a small few, remained close. At the end of 2005, everyone knew that I was gay, except my father, who (after being told more than once) was still in denial. I had been fired from jobs, forced out of my home town, and listened to death threats via emails, phone calls, and notes left on my vehicle. I was a school teacher for almost 10 years, and daily had parents file complaints against me that I was trying to recruit their children into my aberrant lifestyle. I have been called every foul name under the sun and worse. I’d like to tell you that I handled those situations with poise and grace. I’d like to tell you that I killed them with kindness and that they eventually accepted me. Sadly, I cannot. I met their ignorance, violence, and closed-minded bigotry with strength, fearlessness, and conviction. I stood up for myself, for Josephine and Matt, and all the gay men and women that I had come to know over the years and said, “Fuck you. I don’t have to take this. Come and get some.” When people started to realize that I was no push over, they slowly left me alone. In 2008 the final straw fell, when a good friend of mine was beaten within an inch of his life for posting his sexuality on myspace. I went to the hospital, and I barely recognized him. I lost my temper, all since of logic, and my self control, and I hunted down the boys that had done that to him and returned the favor. That night, I realized that I had become no better than the people who hated me. Some people told me I was justified in what I did, and while I’m not above beating the shit out of some jack ass who thinks it’s cute or “okay” to threaten people for being different, I’ve come to use the power of my words to make a difference.
I’ve told the stories of Josephine, Matt, and others like them to groups all over the South, hoping that maybe someone will finally get it. I’ve told my own story many times over, searching the crowds for one person who was willing to take a stand. I always come away feeling fulfilled and proud of who I am. So, I say all that to say this…Coming out is not easy. It’s not about choosing who you are, it’s about accepting it. It’s about standing up to a world of hate and misguided beliefs and saying, “I’m proud of who I am.” Don’t do it because someone tells you that you have to. Don’t do it because “It’s the right thing to do.” Do it with pride and purpose. Do it for yourself. And if you’re afraid of what people will think or do, if you’re afraid of repercussions and consequences, if the thought of being honest with the world is tempered with fear for your own life…know that there are others like you in the world. Take comfort and know that you’re not alone. That’s why there are people like me. I am strong enough to fight for you, I am loud enough to speak for you, I have love enough to hope for you, and I am not alone.
