I’ve thought quite a bit about the possibility that the Orlando shooter may himself have had repressed sexual and/or emotional desires for men. It’s as plausible as any other theory, and arguably the most plausible theory of them all, since my experience (and the experiences of others like me) is that the most virulent homophobes tend to have unresolved or closeted same-sex attraction.
Being yourself takes a lot of courage. And while I have no sympathy for someone who chooses to take the lives of 50 (or even 1) innocent human(s), the possibility/probability that he was somewhere on the queer spectrum and had to deal with a culture and society that made him feel damaged because he may have been physically or emotionally attracted to men must be discussed. And maybe those discussions should start sooner than later.
I’m certainly familiar with the consequences of not having that discussion. I’m not one of those people who “discovers” same-sex attraction later in life. I knew I liked guys before I even knew what sex was. It took many years before I was completely open about it, though. I am the first American born member of my family. My folks were moderately to extremely religious, mostly Catholics. Very old school West Indian/Caribbean/Hispanic culture. Gender rules were, largely, in place, although not always to the most rigid of extremes. There was certainly no positive discussion of alternative sexuality in the home. I heard the word faggot (or one of its derivatives) used occasionally. To give you a specific example, I had one family member in particular who was particularly religious and judgmental. She tut-tutted when I got my ear pierced at 16. And when I got clip-ons that made it seem that I had multiple piercings, she vocalized her objection. Never mind that I already had one foot out of the house and could not have cared less what she thought. A year later, when I officially moved out into my first apartment, her husband helped me move. He took one look at my roommate (who had blond dreads) and the guy who helped me move (who had a ponytail), went back home and reported to my family that my friends looked like faggots. Add in the environment in which I grew up (1980s/1990s Brooklyn) and the era in which I was raised (when many assumed that any sexually active queer man would die from AIDS), and the chances seemed to be slim that a well-adjusted queer life was even possible. It made sense to “play straight”, and I did throughout my childhood and teenage years.
There were a few events in quick succession nudged me slightly out of the closet. In the spring of 1994 (right before I turned 18), I had my first same-sex experience. Wanting to be secretive and not alert my co-workers of my indiscretions, I peppered my conversations with misogyny and indicated that I was dating (and sleeping with) a female colleague. A day after an angry conversation on the work floor, she called HR and accused me of sexual harassment, something she was absolutely within her right to do. I almost lost my job because of it, barely three months after I’d declared my independence. I was younger and dumber then, but it took that episode to begin to realize that maybe there was some value in not trying to live a lie.
Let’s backtrack a little-I was raised by committee, and my grandparents did most of the heavy lifting when I was very young. My mom went into the Air Force when I was a toddler and settled in Michigan with my stepfather. When I was 8, I moved out there to live with them. I lasted three years, coming back to NYC when I was 11. Thinking back on that time, the only real positive memories I keep are of the summers, which I would spend back with my grandparents in Brooklyn.
I can’t say this definitively, because I have a minimal relationship with my mother and no relationship at all with my stepfather. Even if I did, I think they would be loath to discuss this with me (and wouldn’t tell me the truth anyway). But I suspect that they may have had an inkling that I might be gay, and took steps to “man me up”. I was encouraged to get into sports (which I’m grateful for now as something of a sports geek). I was sent to speech therapy. I was told to change the way I walked, to not put my hands on my hips. I was discouraged from drawing (I literally got punished for it) or writing about music (see how that one turned out). Not only was I beaten regularly inside the home, but I had the shit kicked out of me regularly by the other kids who lived in my building. By and large, my parents turned a blind eye to this, and there’s a part of me that believes these kids were actually encouraged by my parents to kick my ass.
This isn’t particularly easy to share, and I admit to feeling somewhat guilty that I’m throwing some of my relatives under the bus. I also don’t want this to come across as self-serving or as a play for sympathy. I don’t want sympathy or applause for being stubborn and/or lucky enough to still be here. But I do know that struggling with one’s sexuality is difficult, and it’s more difficult when you’re a queer male as opposed to a queer female. Typical gender roles for men largely don’t make concessions for things like emotional maintenance and open communication, particularly when it comes to dealing with other men. Real men don’t express affection towards other men. That’s the reasoning a lot of closeted/DL dudes who are willing to take it up the ass but won’t kiss (straight folks, this happens a LOT) use. When you’ve been taught to believe that something about you that you can’t control is fundamentally wrong, and you fear the ostracism and ridicule that may come with it, to make your peace is not an easy task under the best of scenarios.
I could just have easily been one of those closeted/DL guys. In some ways, I was. The harassment episode eased me partly out of the closet, but not completely. Through much of my twenties, I’d fabricate relationships with women to throw people off the scent in my “straight” life, then pop into a cruise bar or go home and scan the chat lines looking for a hook up. There were occasions when I resorted to more risky endeavors to get laid as well as protect my anonymity. I invested myself in toxic relationships with people I thought were in a similar boat, only now realizing they were as miserable as I was. It was a conflicted existence. I was gay to my out-of-work friends, bisexual to some of my work friends, and straight to other work friends. Ultimately finding myself in a position of power over people in my age range, some of my employees-due to a combination of nosiness and the desire to embarrass me- attempted to pry into my sexuality. Their manipulations made me miserable. On the rare occasion I was around a relative, my dating life wasn’t discussed at all, even though I’m sure they knew (I wasn’t always the smartest or most careful when it came to throwing people off the trail) and they knew that I knew they knew. It was all a pain to stay on top of, and in retrospect I realize how absolutely exhausting it was, and wonder how and why I kept it going for so long.
Life is much easier when you don’t have to lie all the time, even if there is a lot to lose. Chances are, you won’t lose as much as you think you will. And you have the world to gain. Masking that struggle or refusing to deal with it will always lead to trauma. I don’t think there are too many self-hating queers or closet cases out there. As the saying goes, “you can’t hide from yourself. No matter where you look, there you are.”
Look, I’m not necessarily advocating for strapping on a rainbow flag and marching at the head of your town’s next pride parade. There are many ways to be true to yourself without putting yourself on the front line of a cause or a movement. It doesn’t mean you have to align yourself with an agenda, change your speech, change your style or change anything about yourself (unless that’s what you’re aiming for). I realize there are stereotypes out there that some folks (including, if we’re being honest, me) aren’t very comfortable with, but no one has to be that. As soon as I realized that being queer didn’t mean just one thing, I ripped up my “clone” card and threw that shit in the trash. The overall community has multitudes. I fucking hate going to gay bars and clubs. The music sucks and no one wants to have a conversation. So I don’t go. I don’t have to. The overarching message here is that I’m past the point where I feel like a positive future from me requires hiding anything from anyone. If someone around me has homophobic views or openly has a grievance with who I am oriented to relationships with, I know now that it’s their problem, not mine. And if I put myself at risk, even mortal risk, by being me then it’s totally worth it. As I’ve reached an age I never thought I’d hit (because of some of the reasons I mentioned a while back), I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d rather die young, relatively happy and at some measure of peace with myself than live to old age as a miserable, unfulfilled person.
Some might say I get to throw stones (I guess) from a place of relative privilege (maybe). I have the benefit of being able to hide in plain sight if I want to. More importantly, I have the benefit of living in the biggest city in the U.S.; a city with a very large gay, bisexual and trans population, not to mention a huge community of artists and general weirdos for whom your sexuality or relationship orientation (because there is a difference in some cases) isn’t even the slightest of issues. New York is big enough to assure anonymity even under the weirdest of circumstances. You could wear a clown wig and stilts, and most folks in Manhattan won’t look at you funny unless you bump into them during your commute. My inner circle consists almost exclusively of queer or queer-friendly straight people. Coming to terms and accepting my sexuality in its totality (which was a long time in the making, I must remind you. I didn’t come out to any older members of my family until I was 36) is now not a big deal. I know there are people who care about me and love me for myself, and those who don’t; well, they don’t really matter much anymore. Not being a part of my life is their loss. Those folks may come around at some point, and I may or may not be waiting for them when they do.
Hearing about the terrorist act at Pulse makes me want to live even louder. Unfortunately, for some folks, I fear that what happened Sunday will do what AIDS did for many men in the ‘80s and ‘90s with a queer bent. They’ll slink all the way back into the closet, get married to an opposite-sex partner, have kids. Maybe they’ll live a fulfilling life. I hope they do–I hope that for everyone, but my guess is that they won’t. They’ll live their lives in fear. And, arguably, living one’s life in fear and self-hatred is what set the wheels in motion for this atrocity to occur in the first place. For the sake of happiness, and the sake of humanity, let’s not perpetuate that cycle or allow our siblings, children, grandchildren, friends and loved ones to.
There are at least fifty people who gathered to celebrate themselves, their lives, their pride. They didn’t deserve to have their lives taken (allegedly) by someone who was incapable of mustering up his own pride and wanted to create fear in a community often celebrated for its dogged will to live fearlessly.
They’re not here to be proud anymore. The least we can do, whether gay, straight, bi, queer, trans, asexual, questioning, or an ally, is be proud of and for them.
1 comment
Angela says:
Jun 16, 2016
This was a fantastic article. A painful one to read, and no doubt even more painful for you to write, mind, but still…it was poignant, and emotional (I got tears in my eyes at the end) and really drove home the importance of treating people like human beings. It seems like such an obvious concept, that, doesn’t it? And yet, for some reason, it’s so hard for some people to do.
The thing that frustrates me the most about the right’s response to this tragedy is that they’re blaming radical Islam for its hatred of gay people. Certainly, the more extreme elements of that faith are not gay-friendly, and I’m all for calling that out where needed.
But the GOP REALLY needs to get off their high horse and look at their own party’s, and Christianity’s, attitude on LGBT issues over the years. They’re just as bad about fueling the fire, because of all the horrible legislation they pass or try and pass, and the stupid “bathroom” debate, and the therapy camps, and other BS of that sort. And there are fundamentalist Christians who wish death upon LGBT people, just like radical Islamists do. THOSE beliefs are what damage families and individuals, not a man marrying his boyfriend or a woman marrying her girlfriend, and it angers me that the GOP refuses to even acknowledge or call out that section of their base for their role in treating people as less than human.
Instead, the GOP dances around even talking about helping the LGBT community in the wake of this tragedy, and decides to just shove all the blame onto another religion whose ties to this tragedy don’t seem to run all THAT deep (they’re there, for sure, but I don’t think it was THE driving factor) and tries to turn it into a “RAH RAH LET’S GO TO WAR!” rallying cry. Funny, I thought that party was supposed to be all about “personal responsibility”.
(There’s also the blatantly obvious gun control issue…AGAIN…but that’s a whole other topic.)
Your thing about people’s attitude of what constitutes a “real man” ties very appropriately into another aspect of this tragedy, and all the others similar to it, that doesn’t get touched on as often as I think it should. I pointed out to someone else today how these mass shootings tend to be committed by young men-it’s extremely rare that you ever see a woman going on a shooting spree of this kind. If a woman does commit one, she’s usually working in tandem with a man. Women just don’t really do the “lone wolf shooting spree” thing the way men do.
And if this guy was already feeling so insecure in his skin, feeling like he struggled to be the kind of “real man” society says he should be, that would certainly fuel his desire to take his anger out on others around him, and I think that’s a large part of what’s caused all the other men to go on their mass shooting sprees in recent years as well. They grew up with warped ideas of how a man is supposed to be and act: hey’re “entitled” to women, and if a woman rejects them, it’s her fault somehow, and she must be punished. They can’t be gay, or even appear to look gay. There’s your thing about men not being taught how to show affection. Carrying a gun around makes them look and feel “manly” and “tough”. And so on and so on.
As a result, when they encounter any threat, real or perceived, to that “ideal man” setup, they can’t handle it, and voila. We have dozens of people brutally murdered as a result, because they haven’t been taught how to handle their problems in non-violent or non-aggressive ways, ’cause it’s not what men do. I definitely think that had to be a factor here-it sounds like this guy had very violent tendencies prior to this shooting, probably because that’s what he grew up learning, and nobody came along to teach him otherwise. And I imagine if we looked at the other spree shooters who’ve made the news over the years, we’d find similar teachings in their backgrounds, too. I wish that topic were addressed more often in the media.
Meh. Anywho, I’m rambling, but bottom line, thank you for sharing your story, heartbreaking though it was. I know you said you’re not looking for sympathy, but I am truly sorry all the same for the hell you’ve had to endure. It just boggles my mind that some people can’t even turn to their own families with something as important as this. I find that incredibly sad and horrifying.
But I am very happy to hear that you have found people in your life who love and support and accept you for who you are, and that you’re in a much better place in your life in general. You certainly have my support as well-I wish you all the peace and love in the world, and I share in your hope that with time, this won’t be an issue at all for future generations. Take care of yourself.
Also…
I was discouraged from drawing (I literally got punished for it) or writing about music (see how that one turned out).
Speaking as a woman who very much likes hanging around men who like to draw or write about/love music in some form or another, regardless of their sexuality, that BS needs to stop right now.