Why all the fuss?

Every once in a while, I get a friendly reminder that the world is not as wonderful as I make it out to be. Before you dismiss my obvious conjecture, grant me the attention of your lingering eyes for a bit longer.

The latest reminder came just two days ago when a friend insisted my focus on gender-neutral language was alienating him from the feminist cause. Some 30 minutes of discussion later, I concluded that as a man, he’s unlikely to ever understand why something so nuanced as using “man” to mean “humankind” bothers me.

As the realization sank in, I felt defeated and wondered why I even cared that he agreed with me. Am I just a fatalist attempting to change what seems like a pre-determined world order of inequity? Why all the activism to change something as simple as language when the privileged will rarely truly understand the impact of words on the unprivileged?

The thought pestered me for a while until I spoke with another friend, a student who graciously recounted his experiences as a gay man. Growing up in a place where homosexuality is taboo, he learned that his feelings toward other men were termed “gay” after watching television and films. The same media labeled his feelings as unacceptable, so he turned to prayer to be cured. He loathed himself and became angry at God for being unable to change him. Rather than live with constant rejection for the rest of his life, he began wishing he had never been born.

After three years of self-hatred, my friend slowly came to realize that despite his attempts, he would never like women romantically. By then, he had transitioned to Duke and had found a community of people who were accepting of LGBTQ life. Realizing that there were others like him, he began expressing his sexuality and, to his pleasant surprise, found acceptance.

So when this same friend went back home recently, he found the courage to come out to his family in the hopes that they would be just as accepting. Rather, they told him he was an abomination and was going to hell, and he came back to Duke homeless – without any financial or emotional support. What hurt the most, he said, was knowing that his mother – his best friend and the woman he loves and respects more than anyone else – may never want to see him again.

The cruel memories of being different are sinking in again. He doesn’t know how he’ll finance his education, where he’ll go during breaks, when he’ll talk to his mother, whether he’ll ever feel accepted by the god he still believes in, or whether the place he used to call home will ever have the same name again. Yet, he yearns to go back to his community where being gay can mean being arrested because ultimately, home is home and nowhere else will ever feel the same, he says.

As he tells me all this, I look into his eyes. His face is expressionless, but his eyes tell a different story of emptiness. I try to understand the pain he is going through, but I know I simply cannot. I am heterosexual and my heteronormative world will never require me to understand. And then he smiles.

Even though he can never make this world his own, he says, he wouldn’t have had the courage to come out without the allies he has found at Duke. His decision to come out was influenced by the support of the people he has chosen to surround himself with. Other friends of his cannot openly identify as LGBTQ because they have not had the same encouraging experiences from their peers as he has.

Reflecting on this, I realize that perhaps society isn’t stuck in a fatalistic trap after all. No, we all cannot understand what it feels like to loathe yourself because of an attraction to the same gender. On the other hand, if a simple divergence in language – insistence in not using “gay” as an adjective for emasculation, for instance – helps someone like my friend realize that he has just as much worth as any other member of the community, then perhaps we don’t need to exactly understand the struggle. Perhaps we just need to be aware of our privileges and how they affect others.

And perhaps something as simple as a shift in language can mean that others don’t have to hide behind anonymity or feel fear. It seems simplistic, but as the Buddhist saying goes: “The thought manifests as the word. The word manifests as the deed. The deed becomes habit, and habit hardens into character. So watch the thought and its ways with care.”

Bhumi Purohit is a Trinity senior. Her column runs every other Thursday.

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