Thoughts.

I often get asked why I care so much about the Gay Rights Movement. Here I am, a 17-year-old, straight girl  living in the Midwest. Evansville, Indiana, to be exact, a town in a permanent state of 'don't ask, don't tell.' And not just about one's sexual orientation either. We don't discuss things that are uncomfortable or could potentially rub someone the wrong way. That's just how it is.

Are there gay people? Of course. Are there homophobes and bigots? Sure. But are the two out fighting each other with picket signs and pride marches? Absolutely not. There's like one gay bar in town and even an 'Alternative Prom' put on every year by an alliance organization, but it's almost as if these things are kept hush-hush. (If the bar's Yelp page from 2006 with all of two reviews and the formal, clipped post on the city's newspaper's website announcing the date/location/cost of this year's prom is any indication.) All I'm saying is if you want to seek out Evansville's gay community you'll have to do a little digging cause no one's talking.

Lucky for me, I have a great mom. She's just as open-minded as I am, grant it, a little less eccentric, but harbors no judgement and she raised my sister and I to do the same. When I was in 2nd grade I started cheerleading and one of my coaches was a lesbian, which of course meant nothing to me. This fact was never kept hidden from me nor was it glorified. It just was. All I knew was that she was dating the nice lady who worked behind the counter at the gym and that was just the same to me. I was there to cheer. So you see, I grew up with a mom who allowed me and my sister to make our own realizations about the world. We weren't born into pre-determined ideologies or religions or mind frames. We were and still are allowed to grow and develop on our own terms. And for that I am grateful. 

Everything changed when I hit high school. During my sophomore year, my friend and I had to do a history project for this competition our school was holding. Pick a topic. It can be anything. My partner's sister was a lesbian. Let's do gay marriage. It was then while researching for this project I was struck with reality. And it wasn't pretty. Being gay was considered a mental illness up until 1973? You couldn't be gay and serve in the military? I couldn't understand how my friends, my coaches, my idols could be treated this way. I then became obsessed with discovering the truth and right there in front of me was this entire movement, this struggle for equality that I never knew existed. It was happening now and I didn't even realize it.

So you see, living in Evansville, Indiana is a permanent state of blissful ignorance. I am shocked more and more each day by how little my peers know about the state of our country, what it's like outside of this town. And not just about gay rights either, (however, I can safely assume this topic is amongst the least understood if the conversation I had with a guy who genuinely seemed confused when I told him being gay is, in fact, not a choice is any indication.) Everyday I go to a school and sit in a classroom filled with almost entirely white, middle class, Christian students, with a handful of minorities if we're lucky. I attend a school where the openly gay sophomore is looked at like some sort of enigma. I attend a school where the two girls that have been dating for seven months surely, surely, are only looking for attention. I attend a school where the gay English teacher is politely asked to remain in the closet-at least while you're teaching-wouldn't want to step on any toes. I attend a school where websites like GLAAD and HRC are blocked on computers and polite inquiries from concerned students about the reasons behind the restrictions are ignored. I attend a school where things like 'God hates faggots' is said at a lunch table as some sort of joke, but carefully quiet enough as not to be heard by the 'activist' sitting at the end of the table. No one wants to hear another rant from her.

And what's worse is that this a young generation full of, what's a good word?, disdain for others. If this is what they were taught, how they were instructed to behave, just imagine their parents. So you see, I care so much about the gay rights movement, I care so much about equality, because I want my generation to teach their children ideals of love and acceptance and not ones of hate and intolerance. I care so much about the gay rights movement because I am genuinely worried for the gay 12-year-old living in the Midwest scared so far into the closet by the beliefs that were instilled in them as a child, that being gay is in some way wrong or immoral. Or even the 15-year-old kid who feels so alone and lost because there is no one, no one, around that's like them-at least none that speak up, or are allowed too, anyway. I care so much about the gay rights movement because when I hear of yet another suicide or hate crime I take it personally-that could easily have been someone from my family, one of my friends. I care so much about the gay rights movement because the idea of living in a world where two people loving each other is considered wrong makes me a little sick. I care so much about the gay rights movement because I'm human.


I'm sitting on a bus in the middle of New York City with my mom next to me. I make some joke about moving to San Francisco to be with the gays and my mom goes, "Why are you fascinated with them anyway?" to which I was immediately embarrassed and a little offended, even though I knew she meant it in no negative light. I knew her real question: why did I care so much? It's not like I'm gay. It's not like I'm affected. At first I had no real answer. I didn't really know why, it just was. There was that tell-tale moment of self-doubt. I felt a little silly and a lot unsure. It wasn't until a few hours later when we see two men walking across the street holding hands (a sight that would never be seen back home in Evansville, I might add). One has a baby nestled in the carrier strapped to his chest, the other is holding a pizza box, dinner. We both smile at the scene and I turn to my mother and say, "That's why."


It takes a strong person to stand up in the face of adversity and fight for what one believes in even when it goes against society's norm, especially when it's the opinions and beliefs of your friends and peers you're arguing against. I'm grateful for being raised into the type of person with enough self-confidence and assurance to do just that. And because I know I can, I'm thereby obligated too.