Day of Silence Album

Here are some pics from the local Day of Silence:

View Full Album

Thursday’s post was featured in the exhibit.

The Silence that Kills from Within

In commemoration of Day of Silence

A while back, I heard one of the most unnerving and upsetting things I’ve ever heard in regards to my best friend. Discussing his homosexuality once with his Bishop, Cole was told that he was “beyond feeling.”

This really blew me away. Beyond happiness? Beyond pain? Beyond love? Beyond being loved? I still don’t know if that’s even possible—to be completely ruled by a numb sense of ambivalence. Why would anyone try to convince someone that he’s broken on the inside? Especially someone who does so much for those around him. Someone who helps so many people emotionally access unknown parts of themselves through music.

There was no rational explanation or emotional outlet. This man was wrong and he was doing harm to my dearest friend. I did all that I could to reassure Cole that he was at a much better place than in the months following his broken engagement to a girl. Just as he was healing from that tragedy and on the precipice of coming of age in a musical sense, another part of his world began tearing him down.

All of this left me feeling angry but incapacitated because that’s the last thing I wanted to feel towards a leader in The Church. For so long, I’d managed to walk the slack tightrope straddling the boundaries between a gay life and a life in The Church. I placed one foot in front of the other on a daily basis, limiting myself only to kissing and make outs, but nothing more. There were of course challenges to all of this—currents of wind pushing against my solemn, deliberate steps—but nothing seemed to frustrate me more than those coming from my LDS Brothers and Sisters (terms of affection and equality for other members within the Mormon Church). Cole wasn’t the only one who felt as if he was being torn down.

As I took the last class required for me to graduate from Institute (a religious education system serving those 18-30, generally), I became uncomfortable. I’d been uncomfortable before (not knowing how to handle the advances of my female classmates before I knew I was gay) but suddenly, I listened to everything with a new awareness. It was difficult to hear other people talk speak to the “issue” of homosexuality when I’d suddenly become a first-hand authority on the subject.

“It’s unnatural.” “It’s Satan’s influence.” “It’s because they masturbated too much.” All of these comments rattled around my head. No one including the instructor of the course seemed aware that there were people like me. People who had been totally faithful, who had served missions, who had been held up as examples. Now, though, because I’d kissed another guy, because I wanted to be with a guy for the rest of my life, because I didn’t agree on Proposition 8, I was a pariah.

In class, I became silent and anonymous. I would disappear for a week at a time working through the chaos in my head. I could not be at peace with both wholes in that atmosphere—complicit in my silence or outed by my voice. The instructor would occasionally send an email concerned that I’d missed two classes in a row completely unaware that his voice was one of those pushing me away. The one place I was supposed to be “a safe haven from the pressures, trials, and challenges of the world” (see the website) had become the one place I dreaded most because there was no room for my voice or my stories.

I put up with that feeling until the end of the semester, occasionally defiantly opening connexion on my laptop rather than taking notes. When the semester was finally over, though, I rejoiced because the silence could no longer kill me from within. I only had to deal with those feelings in the occasional Sunday School lesson or at the occasional family barbeque.

Remembering Matthew Shepard

I recently took a road trip by myself to the beautiful state of Colorado for the conferences aforementioned in this blog. The conferences were amazing and I got to know some of the most amazing people in my life.

A set of unexpected consequences aligned prior to the trip. I decided to drive and to do so alone. On the way there, however, I passed through—of all places—Laramie, Wyoming—the site of the brutal beating of Matthew Shepard. Having seen The Laramie Project the week before and taken a class on the psychology of memorial sites, I decided to take a little detour when I realized my trip was ahead of schedule.

I headed into town looking for a memorial for the man beaten and left for dead solely based on the fact that he was gay. In a few moments, I’d found myself on his college campus in a parking lot next to the library thinking, Twelve years ago, he was here. This is where he studied, where he hung out with friends and met boys, where he went to class….

On Oct. 9, 1998, Shepard was found beaten and bloodied. As reporter James Brooke described the moment:

“At first, the passing bicyclist thought the crumpled form lashed to a ranch fence was a scarecrow. But when he stopped, he found the burned, battered and nearly lifeless body of Matthew Shepard, an openly gay college student who had been tied to the fence 18 hours earlier.”

When I saw the movie and heard the first hand descriptions of the police officer who arrived on the scene, of his best friend, of the local business owners, and of the local clergy. As I looked around and got a feel for the campus and the town, I didn’t notice much difference from my own campus in Utah.

People clearly held diverse sets of views and interests. It was a place like any other campus I’d been. Students were studying in the library and playing frisbee barefoot on the grass among the abstact sculptures.

After a quick stop in the library and asking a few questions, I came to the memorial. It wasn’t quite what I’d expected. A simple bench with a plaque just thawed out from the Wyoming winter:

What was I to make of something so simple for something that so incredibly incomprehensible. Taking the advice of the plaque on the bench, I sat down to think about it for a while: Shouldn’t it have been something grander? Something more artistic? Something so generic?

When I thought things through, though, I came to the conclusion that maybe it was a great testament to who he was and what happened. He was a man like any other. The only thing that made him different was the fact that he was attracted to men and that he accepted that. Wouldn’t a memorial with an everyday quality and a thoughtful inscription be a deserving tribute?

Whether you view yourself as a child of God, a common human being, or as a citizen of the world, none of us are any different from Matthew. He was singled out for being gay like someone could be targeted for being an immigrant or having a stutter or converting to another religion. Each of us are unique because (whether for biological or spiritual reasons) we were meant to be and in that we are all the same.

We are all equal and should acknowledge that by showing each other love and respect.

“Welcome Back, Welcome Back, Welcome Back”

So, I’m pleased to announce my return to the blogging world. I’ve been incredibly busy this past couple of weeks and I plan on showing you a little bit of what I’ve been up to in the next couple of days.

Tomorrow and Friday’s post will commemorate the National Day of Silence being held this week. According to their website:

“On the National Day of Silence hundreds of thousands of students nationwide take a vow of silence to bring attention to anti-LGBT name-calling, bullying and harassment in their schools.”

Keep in your minds this coming Friday those affected by hate. The consequences of this anger and violence affect everyone in the forms of depression, anxiety, broken families, and suicide.