June 21, 2016
Pick a Slander, Any Slander
Kilian Melloy READ TIME: 7 MIN.
The shootings Orlando a week ago Sunday was a wake-up call to American's GLBT community in more ways than one. It was a direct and unmistakeable message that gun-toting extremists of any and all faiths... or no faith; or a confused, cafeteria-style mishmash of faiths and political ideas... feel comfortable and justified in seeking us out for summary execution.
Then there were the responses that followed, which amounted to a kick in the ribs to those of us who felt that long at last, mainstream America had some vague clue about what it means to be a sexual minority... or any minority... in this country.
Some of what we heard in the hours and days after the shooting was to be expected: GOP lawmakers offered tepid solace, if any at all, to LGBT Americans for whom the massacre had triggered severe emotional responses. It was as if Republicans didn't want to have to acknowledge the plain fact that sexual minorities exist, much less that we're too often selected as targets for harassment, intimidation, and murder. If they did that, after all, they might have to follow up with meaningful acknowledgment of our status as citizens of this nation, contributing and productive workers who shouldn't be fired because we're gay, or lesbian, or transgender, or otherwise don't fit in the neatly-stackable, ever-so-confined boxes of gender and sexuality that have been ready-made for us.
We could even have predicted the Christian responses that we heard: Inclusive churches and faiths stood with us, and offered words of support. I myself participated, as a member of the Boston Gay Man's Chorus, in a "Lamentation" at a Boston church where leaders from half a dozen faith traditions spoke movingly and compassionately about the episode of violence that wiped away 49 of our brothers and sisters and put more than 50 others into hospitals. As the names of the dead were read, those in the church remembered and embraced them with the word "Presente" -- present, here with us, mindfully celebrated and painfully missed. It didn't matter if we'd never met any of them. We understood something about community and solidarity that not everyone does. Christian, Sikh, Jewish, Muslim, people of faith and no faith, we stood and spoke together; rather than dismiss the dead, rather than gloss over the fact that they were sexual minorities (and in most cases, racial minorities, too), we recalled the names of the dead, mourned them, and held them in our hearts. They were present for us in that moment because we invited their memories instead of pushing them away.
Anti-gay faith traditions and their leaders, however, lost no time in reverting to form and dredging up the hateful language of the ages. In Sacramento, California, anti-gay pastor Roger Jimenez pounced on the tragedy as an example of a service done for the betterment of society, calling the victims "pedophiles" and declaring that Orland was now "safer" because nearly 50 LGBTs were dead. The only thing present in that church at that moment was base and burning hatred. It's a black flame that burns as viciously as it ever has, in spite of all we've gained.
No, none of this was especially upsetting, because it's exactly what we've been fighting all along. Pick a slander, any slander: Repetition has made us numb to the pricks and jabs of lies, smears, and unkind words.
But the silence for our so-called friends and straight allies? That spoke volumes and inflicted oceans of hurt. One cousin, after taking me to task over a Facebook posting she found to be "hateful" toward Christians, offered her summary of events: We didn't really know why the gunman did what he did, or who his target might have been. Meantime, she argued, Christians are most definitely the victims of harassment and assault; to support this, she cited Cassie Bernall, a student at Columbine High School who died when teen gunmen Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold went on their rampage in that school.
Christian myth has it that Harris asked Bernall whether she believed in God. When Bernall said "Yes," he shot and killed her. That story was pushed by Bernall's family, and was adopted by the faithful as proof positive that Christians had cross-shaped targets on their backs in an increasingly hostile-to-believers world.
The problem with the story is that it's false, at least according to Columbine survivor Emily Wyant, who was hiding next to Bernall when Harris shot her. Wyant's version of events was that Harris said "Peek-a-boo" to Bernall before killing her; Bernall was audibly praying, but she said nothing to Harris, was never asked a question by Harris, and never defiantly expressed her faith in the face of dying. What did happen is heart-rending -- a 17-year-old girl, terrified, resorting to prayer in a situation of unimaginable horror, then being murdered by a cold-blooded psychopath -- but it's also a much different scenario than the one that seeks to elevate Bernall to the status of a martyr, and one that doesn't support the idea that Christians are generally (and because of their Christianity) the targets of crazed, assault rifle-carrying killers.
Others from the straight community have criticized the GLBT community for what straights seemingly perceive as an overly dramatic identification with the shooting victims at the gay nightclub in Orlando. On one Facebook thread I read, a straight guy out and out accused gays of "making it all about you," by which he meant, GLBTs. His sentiment was, on the surface at least, similar to my cousin's minimization' target='_blank'> A case of, "The gunman killed people, not gays."
But let's hold that thought up to the light of day -- the light from the sun that the Bible tells us shines on the good and the wicked alike. When a gunman opens fire at a church, a mosque, or a Jewish temple, we don't see atheists scrambling to redefine the narrative in order to re-cast the atrocity as a crime against humanity in general. No one attempts to frame the story in a way that erases the religious affiliation of the victims. When a domestic terrorist targets an abortion clinic, we don't hear anyone -- not even "right to lifers," a name that's supreme ironic in such a context -- claiming that the perpetrator was killing human beings of a bland and generic stripe. When a gunman pays a deadly visit to a school and murders a classroom full of children, we don't see people leaping up in a frenzy to deny that little kids were his targets.
So why deny that a man who entered a gay bar armed with a rifle custom-made for killing was there for any purpose other than to murder LGBTs? Especially when it turns out to be the case that he was a patron of that bar, and --- according to some reports -- active on gay hookup sites? Say what you want about mentally unstable closet cases, internalized homophobia, the pathologizing influence of anti-gay religious dogmas, and nut job gun fanatics on the DL, but don't try to tell me that the gunman who descended on Pulse nightclub in Orlando wasn't there to kill LGBTs.
And while you're at it, don't try to tell me how I should feel about it. Pick a slander, any slander, but be ready for some push-back if you slander me, or anyone whose deeply-rooted -- and entirely valid -- responses of fear and insecurity were triggered by that sexual minority-murdering triggerman. Don't call us drama queens. Don't tell us we are unnecessarily, or dishonestly, or selfishly appropriating the tragedy. It really is our tragedy, a tragedy of hate and bloodlust that befell members of our community. Don't slander us by telling us that our reactions of grief, rage, and empathy aren't valid and justified. Of course they are. Put any of us in that club on that evening, and we are victims, too. In principle, we are all victims of that raging psycho if we belong to the LGBT community.
It was a gay bar, people.
The killer was there to kill gays, people.
Thanks for acknowledging that the killer murdered human beings -- it's taken long enough for all you all to acknowledge our humanity -- but don't try to tell us that the story ends there.
In other words -- and I know you'll understand this, even if everything else said here and elsewhere on the subject rolls off you -- Rainbow Lives Matter.
Yes, all lives matter. That is also true. But not all lives are equally at risk. That's a truth every gay boy, butch lesbian, transgender youth, and other sexual minority has lived with, in acute awareness of just how vulnerable we are in a society that (despite lip service and legal gains) remains profoundly, reflexively anti-LGBT.
Pick a slander, any slander, but don't expect us to stand there silently while you berate us with wild accusations, or demeaning names, or -- worst of all, in some ways -- silence.
We've found our voices. You hate us for that, too, and that hatred is showing through right now, with every attempt to silence guys, deflect the truth of our objections, and shame us for our feelings of fear, anger, and grief. But we won't be silent -- not in the face of slander, and not in the face of terrorism.
Kilian Melloy serves as EDGE Media Network's Associate Arts Editor and Staff Contributor. His professional memberships include the National Lesbian & Gay Journalists Association, the Boston Online Film Critics Association, The Gay and Lesbian Entertainment Critics Association, and the Boston Theater Critics Association's Elliot Norton Awards Committee.
