We’ve all experienced this moment: Whether sharing a kiss in public, using a public bathroom for our actual gender or simply walking down the street with our partners, we freeze up. We expect a reaction to our obvious displays of queerness, forcing us to consider and even feel embarrassed about a part of ourselves many of us thought we had reconciled long ago. The history of hatred toward the LGBT community still lives inside us, and if it continues to permeate our cultural discourse, we will keep experiencing these moments of fear.
News media seems primarily focused on hate experienced by LGBT individuals and our response. When a crime happens, our first thought is that it is because of our identity. The Long Island GLBT Community Center in New York experienced this reaction earlier in the month when they opened their office one morning only to find it vandalized. Police began investigating the vandalism as a hate crime, but they quickly found suspects who muddied the waters. Four young adults who had formerly been members of the center and identify as gay admitted to committing the crime. Current members were still reeling and thrown into a spiral of fear based on their perception.
This perception of overwhelming hatred leads to a less vocal, and thus less visible, LGBT community. The hatred spurred by Nigeria’s government is a clear example that monopolizing on fear is leading to harmful legislation. Earlier in February, Foreign Affairs Minister for Nigeria Ojo Madueke claimed before the United Nation’s Human Rights Council, “We went out of our way to look for [a] Gay, Lesbian and Transgender Group but we could not come across [any] Nigerian with such sexuality. If they are an amorphous group, then the question of violence against them does not arise let alone negotiating special rights for them.” This comes after a proposed criminalization of same-sex marriage by the country in January, which already states in law that male-male sex is punishable by jail time. By keeping the issue of homosexuality subdued, Nigeria’s government has given itself a license to pass their hateful legislation because the people it affects are not considered part of their population.
A gray-area persists: is physical violence equal to verbal assault? The United Kingdom recently opened up this issue by denying a visa seeking medical help to Yusuf al Qaradawi, a Muslim scholar who is claimed to preach anti-LGBT sentiment. On the other hand, individuals who have aided in mass slaughter, such as Narenda Modi, or openly promoted hate against other religious groups, like Evangelical preacher Franklin Graham, have been openly welcomed in the country. The treatment of the case seems hypocritical, and LGBT voices in the UK have asked that Qaradawi, who they disagree with on principle, be allowed to seek medical treatment in the country. By outright denying a discussion of hatred, the fear that stems from it will remain internalized.
The images we see every day remind us of the dichotomy of gay life: a freedom from the constraints of dominant society and anxiety at being on the outside. Even with the progress made in the last few decades, there are many places where openness is not allowed. A pervasive silence sets in, forcing us as LGBT people to remain in fear, dreading when simply living our lives will lead to attacks. We need to remember that if no one is taking the first step to break the silence, then we have to. It is the only way to break out of the cycle of hate.
