Four years ago, in early September, the captain of the state champion football team in Lewiston, Maine was found missing. There were no notes; there were no explanations. His friends had seen him the night before at a party. There were speculations that he had had a car accident. Others thought he may have lost his way somewhere in the woods, broken down, and was still walking home. After three days, an official report was filed, and the police began investigating his disappearance. After nearly a month of searching by both the local and state police, interviews with friends and witnesses from across the state, research into his academics and social life, and numerous attempts to give clue to his location, he was found.
He was the perfect son: handsome, sportive, captain of the football team, heading to college, good academic standing, friendly, attractive girlfriend. He was finally found, not by the police, but by one of his closest friends, and surprisingly, not far from home. His friend discovered him, shot and hanged, in the woods, his own backyard. Along with the body a note was found; it explained everything: the reasons for the disappearance, the reasons for the suicide, the reason for his recent aloofness. Scott was gay.
Sexual disparity marks our culture. It marks the differences in pay for women in comparison to males; it marks the treatment of students according to their gender; it marks the way parents treat their sons and their daughters; it marks the way society treats those who do not fit the stereotypical "norm." It scars our children, our communication, and our collection as a people. It is an impediment, a destructive element of fear, hate, misunderstanding, and prejudice. It is a bullet in our heads, a rope from which we hang ourselves and from which we can easily and unintentionally hang others.
Friday night, after attending an excellent Beelzebub's performance, two friends and I were verbally assaulted walking back from Goddard chapel. Three males in a dark car shouted a word I have never liked, and further, have never been called. After overtly calling me a "fag" in front of my two friends as well as others walking by, the three males proceeded to drive away while yelling and telling me to give it them in less than mentionable areas. My friends and I continued past, walked home, and thought nothing more of it. It was a simple passing, a simple hatred; they were simple-minded people. The implication was not as much a prejudiced statement on a sexuality which the three males had no knowledge of as it was a thoughtless action that could have had dire consequences. I could blow it off, but the prejudice cannot be let pass.
Father Martin Niemoller, a German pastor, forcefully implicates what happens when intolerance is not confronted: "First they came for the Communists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist. Then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew. Then they came for the Catholics, and I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant. Then they came for me, and by that time there was no one left to speak up for me." (1945)
I refuse to stand unspoken. Speaking out is not a question; it is a lesson learned in time. If I, if we, do not speak out, nothing will ever change. There is no rebuttal in this argument; too many people are affected by simple-minded, thoughtless actions. I choose to speak, and I hope in writing this those who fearfully and unjustly vandalized the sanctity we all desire will give consideration to their actions.
I do not search repentance in this Viewpoint. I seek a justice for Scott and those who have been hanged by others, by the cruel words and actions of others. If inconsiderate, bigoted words and actions are let passed, no justice can come of this world. If I remain quiet, if I blind myself from the world of hate that surrounds me, surrounds us, I am equally guilty of the actions I chose to ignore. The next time you encounter hatred, discrimination, or injustice, be sure to vocalize the simplest concept we share as humans: brotherhood. We can only survive together.
John Dulac is freshman who has not yet declared a major.
