An Explanation of the Day of Silence
Some – even those who are sympathetic to our cause – have been unable to understand why we have chosen to silence ourselves. So we shall tell you:
We are silent because when we speak up, we’re told we want everything.
We are silent because just by being silent, you have started to read this.
We are silent in the same way our ancestors before us did not hit back.
We are silent because – though it seems so difficult for others to understand – gays are silenced; they cannot identify with their own orientation for fear of being mocked, they cannot acknowledge their own relationships for fear of being killed, and they cannot hide and be silent and still retain their rights.
We are silent to echo the silence, because you cannot ignore when so many people have ceased to use their voice.
We are silent because we feel it goes beyond ourselves.
We are silent because we hope that by our silence, we start to represent that silence.
I am the silence in representation of every gay and Trans person not recorded by the FBI for the hate crime they suffered (http://www.boxturtlebulletin.com/Articles/000,004.htm).
I am the silence of ignorance that people should grow up thinking of Tila Tequila when thinking of gay people and not Jane Addams or Langston Hughes.
I am the silence in representation that gay people had before Stonewall, before that first rock was thrown, before we said, “WE EXIST.”
I am the silence some have when they realize that they will not be equal during their lifetime.
I am the silence of that fourteen-year-old gay girl’s reaction when her first encounter with her sexuality has to be watching her male siblings watching porn.
I am the silence of Matt Shepard’s parents as they waited by his bedside, just hoping he’d live.
I am the silence of every person who was too much of a coward to come out when they could have and were in a position of power.
I am the silence of those who did not come out because they knew the result.
I am the silence of those friends that I know are gay or bi, yet some of their closest friends (and most of everyone else) doesn’t know.
I am the silence of the memory of Bayard Rustin, that the major populace shall not know that it was he who organized the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom in 1963, and the silence of words that Dr. King, Jr. used to speak out against Rustin’s orientation.
I am the silence of the sibling who is too afraid to tell her brother or sister they are gay or bi.
I am the silence of hesitation felt before denying his identity in casual conversation.
I am the silent mourning of Elke Kennedy when her son’s murderer got less time than a criminal for animal abuse.
I am the confused silence followed by being told we do not exist, of being told you’re a fad.
I am the silent fear of the child who is told each day they will be disowned if they’re gay.
I am the silent wince for every time the word, “Faggot,” is said casually.
I am the silence of the men and women crowded into the illegal gay bar run by the mafia, who hoped they wouldn’t get caught, because a gathering of gay people was illegal.
I am the crushed silence of the orphan who was finally adopted, but taken away because gay people aren’t allowed to adopt.
I am the silence of 50 years until governments acknowledged that homosexuals were among the groups persecuted by Nazi Germany – and the silent horror of those released from the camps only to be re-imprisoned, because, under German law, it was still illegal to be homosexual.
I am the silence in representation of every gay and Trans conservative individual whose only political party happens to have in its platform making them second-class citizens.
I am the silence of disbelief by the transsexual who is told they cannot exist by those who aren’t Trans, that those people dare to fathom and judge what it means to be born in the wrong body.
I am the silent disbelief of many California couples watching the marriage they waited for so long get taken away, that after 40, 50, 60 years of being together, they still cannot consummate their love.
I am the shattered silence during the Black Cat raid, because the police, the law could not tolerate gay couples doing what every other couple has the right to do on New Year’s Eve – share one kiss, for only 3 to 5 seconds.
I am silent because, despite the opposition’s belief, this isn’t about old men looking for younger boys, this isn’t about having as much sex with as many partners as you can get, or doing drugs, or even men or just gays.
I am silent because the Asexual is never even mentioned, because somehow being capable of being attracted to both sexes somehow makes you greedy, because women are allowed acceptance only once they are objectified and made lesbian objects, and because Transgender-ism isn’t understood by most on the most fundamental of levels.
I am silent because if one minority can be restricted and stripped of its rights by the majority, you better believe it can happen to another one.
In the most simple of senses as I can render this – I am silent because there is a child, that we all know or we knew, at the simple age of 14, right now, who is gay or bi or Trans, who is looking for something like a Gay-Straight Alliance because they don’t understand who they are and their only understanding comes from the media and what their classmates say. Who isn’t an old man, who isn’t a drug abuser, who wasn’t sexually molested as a child, and who was raised in a Christian household. And, as they grow up, they will have each of these excuses try to explain away who they are. And they didn’t go looking for that GSA because they were indoctrinated or taught to – they sought it out on their own. Despite the words of disapproval from their parents being the only knowledge they have of what it means to be gay, they sought it out on their own.
So I’m silent because how can I not be?
How can I not want to cease all speech and just wonder – how?
I am silent because I’m just too stunned at the amount of violent deaths that I have to read about (RIP Lateisha Green, November 18th, 2008), that many of those names go unreported, that it’s so hard to think that maybe hearing faggot or dyke by a fellow classmate might actually be harmful for the self-esteem, that part of the incredible, life-destructing pressure is the stress from worrying if your parents find out or simply not being able to state who you are.
So I have a favor to ask – it’s not one I expect all of you to be able to do yet, for it’s not entirely easy: come out.
Come out for those who refuse to believe that anyone can be a different orientation.
Come out because it holds so much power, because it’s so much harder to hate something that someone close to you is.
Come out for yourself – come out so you don’t have to squeeze yourself into the dark of a closet corner ever again.
Come out so that in a world so content on saying you don’t exist, you just remember who you are, so you’re able to say, “I feel like me today.”
Come out because I can tell you myself you’ll live.
Actually, it doesn’t matter what orientation you are – just state it.
Because we don’t live alone in this world. And in just three words, you’ve proven that, you’ve done enough, you’ve made an impact so that you may never have to speak again.
Everyone in the crowd felt that we were never going to go back. It was like the last straw. It was time to reclaim something that had always been taken from us…. All kinds of people, all different reasons, but mostly it was total outrage, anger, sorrow, everything combined, and everything just kind of ran its course. …And we felt that we had freedom at last, or freedom to at least show that we demanded freedom. We weren't going to be walking meekly in the night and letting them shove us around—it's like standing your ground for the first time and in a really strong way, and that's what caught the police by surprise. There was something in the air, freedom a long time overdue, and we're going to fight for it. It took different forms, but the bottom line was, we weren't going to go away. And we didn't.
-Michael Fader, on the night of Stonewall
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