When Will the Tears Stop, 1998-2018

WHEN WILL THE TEARS STOP?

I wrote this for and read it at a candelight vigil in Cortland, NY, right after the death of Matthew Shepard on Oct.12, 1998. I wasn't in the closet, but I had not yet made peace with myself about being gay, still a scared kid who was coming face to face with just how the world looks at LGBTQ+ people. The world hasn't changed as much as we'd like to think it has - we still have a long way to go and too many who would do us harm...

In the twenty years since, so many other names could be said using the same words. Too many. The victims at Pulse in Orlando in June 2016. Trans-folk, particularly trans-women of color, slain yet too often forgotten (if even noticed at all). Young LGBTQ+ persons taking their own lives rather than face a world of hate and prejudice.

The night I read this, I took my first step forward to stand up and fight. I haven't stopped, although maybe I haven't always done my best. Like my siblings, I've seen the bright light of hope dimmed by the darkness in which we are still surrounded. The fight isn't over, the promise made then not fulfilled.

I thought about changing this, to make it more in sync with today. I tried, but I couldn't bring myself to alter these words that I read to a crowd of crying men and women. Then I realized that the words had to stay as I wrote them, because they show just how neither the violence nor the tears have stopped.

It has to stop. The times of tears have to stop. For all the Matthews, for each one at Pulse, for all our trans-siblings, for youth with their future before them, we have to get beyond asking when the tears will stop to a place where there is no more need for the tears. 

******************************************************************************

The senseless and tragic death of Matthew Shepard has moved many across the nation and beyond to tears.

Like so many others, we have come together to share as we mourn the loss of a young man, a beautiful spirit. Together, we send forth our love and our prayers to Matthew’s family and closest friends. For each of them, and for everyone else touched by the evil of hate, we shed our tears.

When will the tears stop? How many more must we cry until the hate ends? How many more Matthews out there have to be lost? How many more families have to be torn by grief? How many more times must we gather in mourning? Will the tears ever be allowed to stop?

Even as we cry, we must remember that our tears are not without a power of their own. Each one we cry in the face of such a horrible tragedy is a symbol. A symbol of the caring human spirit that’s in each of us. A symbol of the love and sympathy we offer to the families of Matthew Shepard and all others whose lives have been devastated. A symbol to Matthew himself, and anyone else lost to hate, to let them know they are not forgotten.

Our tears - each one of them - is a reminder that, because of our love and compassion, we are not alone.

For Matthew and all others taken from the world by hate, our tears are a promise. A promise to never give up, to go forward, to do whatever it takes to overcome hatred and intolerance. A promise to keep his - and their - memory alive in our hearts. A promise that we will never surrender to the hatred around us. A promise that, someday, we will finally claim victory and justice for them - on the day hate itself dies.

And, for that death, there will be no tears.

I hope and I pray that day will come soon. That no one else will ever be forced to endure the violence and horrors brought on by hatred and ignorance. When we can finally be ourselves without having to fear. In memory of Matthew - and for the sake of those not yet fallen, I pray that day comes soon.

The day when the tears can finally stop.

The Price of Silence

In honor and memory of the Men, Women, and Children whose lives were taken because of hate and intolerance.  May their spirits guide us to the day when acceptance is truly universal, when individual differences  no longer matter.

Together we stand millions strong
Yet too few are seen or heard
Too many voices never speak out
Until it becomes too late 

Together they number in the millions
Yet each, at the end, stood alone,
Never again will their voices ring out
All paid a price too high 

We remain a community divided
They share a bond of blood 

Our silence became their condemnation
Their silence is our damnation

- May, 1999

Prayer for the Fallen

Innocence, upon a time was said 

to dwell children's eyes
Yet, innocence, like crystal, shattered

Drained
life's blood lost

Eclipsed in bitter darkness

 

Do they remember that final horror
When false judgment cast sentence?

When shadows of fear

 Like axes fell

And dreams, with innocence

died? 

Or do they know at last true Peace

Forever bound by love unstained?
Has, for them, Spirit's Light banished
The monsters of the night? 

For the fallen, one thing I pray
for innocence born anew
If, in truth, that dwells with children
Then for the fallen I pray -  

Please, please let them forget
So they can be little again
 

The World's a Stage - And You're on in Five

On October 11, National Coming Out Day will be observed across the country. This one day gives each of us a chance to stand up and be counted as part of a larger heritage. It is an opportunity we should not let slip by.

In the ongoing battle for equal rights without regard to sexual orientation or gender identification, visibility is one of the most powerful tools we have. To become more visible in larger numbers is to draw more attention, not just the ongoing fight for respect and equality, but the true power and influence we can wield. We can show clearly that the voices raised are no longer alone or scattered, but part of a larger movement united to shatter the barriers of hate and prejudice. As such, it becomes more difficult to just dismiss the cries for equality. 

To remain invisible is to allow the general public to ignore and overlook us.

Only by capturing attention can we ever hope to effectively demonstrate the inequities forced on us because of our sexual orientation and gender identities.  Only by showing American society that we refuse to be denied the same rights and civil liberties enjoyed by the majority can we achieve social equality. A handful of faces and voices are not enough. Carefully limited posts on social media are not enough. 

Many of those who adamantly oppose equality to the LGBTQ+ segments of our society condemn us as immoral, and target us as the cause of degenerating social values would have us remain silent. They use fear and violence to keep us silent. Why? Because by keeping our cries unheard and our numbers out of sight, they can maintain their power structures and continue to dictate codes of morality to the nation without fear of opposition. The status quo remains unaltered, and we, as LGBTQ+ individuals, are forced to endure discrimination and second-class citizenship.

Visibility ensures that we, the LGBTQ+ persons in society, will no longer settle for such social maltreatment. We will not stand by silently while injustice and violence is done on our siblings. Each new face coming out into the open means one more voice taking up the call. Each call shakes the decaying foundations of the solaced status quo. We can shake those foundations until they crumble into the dust of history.

How does visibility relate to the individual? To the majority of the American public, the shouting throng waving pride flags is a crowd of nameless strangers. It is only the individual who can lend the catalyst of familiarity. When the face seen and the voice heard are one that is known, the isolated observer is no longer disconnected. 

Too often, I have heard another LGBTQ+ person say there is nothing they can do. Or that there are already enough of us fighting the battle for equal rights. Neither statement could be further from the truth! Each and every one of us needs to stand up and be counted. It is left to all of us to contribute to the struggle - because it is a struggle that affects all of us. By showing our numbers, the American public can see we are not a few isolated radicals. We are a collection of communities of considerable size. We show that we are friends, sons or daughters, mothers or fathers, brothers or sisters, family, neighbors, and co-workers. We can show that we are thinking, feeling human beings, capable of love and caring.

As National Coming Out Day approaches, each of us has an opportunity to reinforce the strength of visibility and shape it within the framework of familiarity. Don't think of it as an obligation to the LGBTQ+ community or the struggle for equal rights, however. It is an obligation to yourself. In the end, the triumphant achievement of equal rights rests with the individuals who work together. In the end, by casting down those that would have us stay silent, we give ourselves the freedom to be ourselves and live our truths. 

Until we finally achieve true equality within society, we must remain visible as a united community. But only the commitment and contribution of each individual provides the strength necessary to maintain the momentum of the communal effort. Our siblings out there leading the effort need our - your - support.

We owe it to them - you owe it to yourself - to give them that support. We are all in this together. We're all here, and we aren't going anywhere.