#IDAHOT Special

 

 

Homophobia.

It’s a war. With vain bloodshed, damage, and tears. They are slitting our wrists. They are pushing us off the edge. 

It’s a current. A tidal wave that drifts you off shore. The shore whose sand you find comfort in. You are thrown whirling and bobbing. The water stinging your eyes, drying your mouth, and searing your open wounds.

It’s the silence. The tormenting silence. Whenever a bigot rants. Whenever a bully taunts. And no one rebukes.

 

I have stared many times into the visage of homophobia. Its red eyes haunt me. On the playground. At home. In my sleep. I have heard the hoarse roars of homophobia. Faggot. Loote. He-She. Unnatural. Filthy. I have felt the punch of homophobia. This black eye. This bruise on my neck. This other one on my arm.

But have I ever stood up to homophobia?

I was scared to.

Although, there was this one time that I tried. It was in middle school. Our social studies teacher Mr. Khoury assigned for us to present social issues. One group chose to talk about HIV/AIDS. The group was made up of five most bigoted students in school, Sarah, Carol, Bassem, and Carl.

AIDS is usually associated with sex which got the class enthusiastic on the day of the presentation. The murmuring stopped, the students settled, and the lights were switched off. “AIDS, or acquired immunodeficiency syndrome, is a disease that causes a severe loss of the bodies cellular immunity, making the body vulnerable to infections and malignancy,” Carol said I drifted off at that point. I knew more about HIV/AIDS than anyone else in that classroom. It was a topic of concern in the LGBT community on which I had pages of research. Homosexuality was bound to come up. I would have been offended if they had overlooked it. The science was there; men who had sex with men were at a high risk of HIV contraction. I kept an attentive ear as I lay face down on my desk. I had to defend gays from whatever false accusatory information the group was going to spew at the class. I knew that was going to happen. And it did. “HIV is spread vastly among queers and intravenous drug users,” said Sarah with a knit in her brow.  

“Queers?” asked a smirking student in the back

“It means gays. Men who fornicate with other men,” explain Sarah.

Fornicate? Really? I watched twenty five classmates and a forty-year-old catholic frown at the word ‘queers’. The murmuring started, and the finger pointing- at me mostly- and the giggling. Then the expected yet appalling “Tfeh” s and “ Ew”s. They only disgusting thing was your attitudes, bitches.  

“Majdi” said Bassem flamboyantly looking at his friend Carl. “Wajdi” he replied with a vile moan then laughed.

“Boys. Stop it,” the teacher yelled.

“They are right. Those people are at a high risk. This virus is transmitted by those in filthy environments. People who chose to live a life of depravity, against the will of God,” Mr. Khoury looked agitated, his lips curled upwards and his eyebrows clasping one another. He looked as if he had just smelled a foul rotten egg smell. It was the reek of their homophobia and nothing else.

“They deserve it honestly,” said Mohammad. He was insanely religious. The group nodded silently and agreed.

“I was going to ask this at the end but its better now,” Mr. Khoury said,” Do you think people with AIDS are victims or criminals?”

He was known to preach his homophobic ideology. It wasn’t the first time the subject was brought up in his class. He hasn’t ever missed an opportunity to call me and other homosexuals unnatural beasts, filthy, or the devil’s children. I couldn’t believe a teacher, responsible for raising a generation, could show this much hate. He crossed all the boundaries of political correctness, which is a very ironic thing for a social studies teacher who teaches fundamental rights and equality.

A minute had gone by and the class pretended to think, but just napped. “They can be both. We can’t blame everyone that has AIDS for his or her disease. People who got it from the dirty dentist, or the unsterilized needle are victims.” He paused.

“Then who are the criminals?” I asked rudely. He had the audacity to call us criminals? That was just impudent. 

“In my opinion, AIDS is God’s punishment,” he proclaimed.

“God’s punishment? For what?”

“If you look at those who are infected. All are sinners. Homosexuals, people who have sex out of wedlock, and drug takers. God is filtering our society.”

“From his children? His creations?” I rebuked.

“From Satan,” he scolded. “Don’t you think such an unnatural and irreligious lifestyle is supposed to be punished? Do you think they are victims?”

“They are human beings. They have a disease. Of coarse they are victims. They aren’t deliberately spreading the disease.” No one would listen without the God argument. “All I’m saying is that God loves all his children, gay or not. And He wouldn’t punish them with an agonizing terminal disease.”

I wasn’t a good negotiator, on the spot at least. No one else agreed with me or was even brave enough to voice their opinion. I didn’t change anyone’s mind, but it was worth getting it out there. “Everyone is entitles to their own opinion,” the teacher finally said,”Continue Sarah please.”

They didn’t mention homosexuals after that. The group finished their presentation just as the bell rang. I packed my books and headed out of that classroom faster than ever. Mr Khoury’s words were stuck in my head. They were louder in my head. Demonically resonant. 

”Filthy”

“Against the will of God”

“AIDS is a punishment for those queers” 

I glided in the hallway between the multitude of homophobes towards the doors. But before I could get there, I tripped. The books I was carrying broke my fall. However, that small fall was the least of my worries. Two pairs of black ranger hiking shoes surrounded my head. I looked up. Bassem and Carl stood over me ready to spit. I got up. “Hope we didn’t hurt you,” said Carl in a demeaning tone as he swallowed his saliva back.

“You didn’t,” I said trying to appear confident but trembling on the inside. I walked away but then was jerked back to face them.

“Don’t you two have drug dealers to attend to,” I sighed. That was so stupid of me. I was hesitant, but then I thought, “You only live once, and you’re going to die now. So might as well risk it.”

The wad of spit Bassem was carrying was shot with crude bitterness and struck my cheek. I looked at him, maintaining my confidence and holding back the tears and I wiped it off. I turned away but again wasn’t fast enough to escape. I felt a knuckle tear through my abdomen. A powerful blow. My stomach turned. My insides burst. And tears and vomit erupted. But I kept my mouth closed. I looked up with blurry vision and saw the students look away and move along. Bassem and Carl looked around. No one was there to stop them. 

“Come on faggot,” Bassem yanked me by my hoodie and pushed me to the bathroom.

I was swung from wall to wall. I couldn’t stand. I held my stomach with my right arm and struggled to keep my balance with my left hand on the wall.  

“What gay boy? Feeling aidsy?” asked Carl. I looked up at him and saw the brass on his knuckle.

“Go fuck yourself,” I struggled to mouth. Again, wasn’t one of my best moves.

“Look, he even has the cheekiness to talk back,” exclaimed Carl

“Listen up, loote. One more word out of your mouth and I’m going to shove my leg up your pussy! Understand?” threatened Bassem.

 “Ouch! I’m terrified!” I said sarcastically, but I actually was terrified.

“That’s it!” Bassem yelled. And he grabbed my shoulders and shoved me against the wall. He lifted his knee and swung it hard to hit my balls. I shrieked in pain but tried to keep it all in. Carl then moved closer and lifted his hand and swung it forcefully towards my face. I quickly ducked, bearing the pain in my abdomen. I took my arm away from my stomach to cover my face. I didn’t want anything on my face. It showed to everyone and I didn’t want to explain why my face was patched. 

Bassem crept behind me and pushed me into Carl’s hands. I soon became a tether ball in their petty vile game. I vibrated between their arms as they called out the vulgarest of profanities and cussed. I tried to stand still but my legs had given in. Carl pushed me. Then I hit the ground. For a minute I just lay there. My eyes were closed, puffy, and red. I hyperventilated. I trembled. My stomach kept on turning. I felt someone there. Could it be them? Why did they stop?

I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see a thing though. It was very bright and blurry. “Am I dead?” I wondered. Then everything came to focus. There stood a boy. His eyes open wide. Staring at me in shock and worry. 

“Hey there,” Ahmad said.

Ahmad was a kid in my class I never got to know. He was mysterious. He looked really tough, but was a really kindhearted person. 

“Hi,” I breathed as I tried to get up.

“Here let me help you,” Ahmad came closer held my hand and secured my shoulder, then lifted me up to my feet. “Are you okay?”

“Okay,” I muttered and then limbed to the sink and washed my face.

“Are you sure?” He asked and I didn’t reply. “Listen, Youssef, I really want to help you. Are you okay?”

“No. I am a wreck, as you can see!”

“Don’t give a fuck about them. They’re bullies and that’s all they will ever be. You are better than that.” He didn’t get it. I knew all that.

“And it doesn’t matter if you were gay or straight. You are still better than them,” he continued.

“Thanks,” I was touched but I couldn’t say anything more. “How does my face look?”

“Fabulous!” he exclaimed. I raised a brow at him. He cleared his throat, “Um, I mean its looks broken yet put together. Your eyes are less red.”

“Do you want me to walk you to your bus?” Ahmad offered.

“That sounds great. I go by car though.”

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s go,” he held the bathroom door open and put his hand on my back. We walked through the nearly empty hallway and out the school doors and headed to the parking lot. My mom was waiting angrily impatient in the car with my sister in the passenger seat texting.

“ Thanks Ahmad! I really appreciate it!” I tried not to cry.

“Don’t mention it!” He patted me on the back. “Better get going. Your mom looks pretty furious!”

“No, that’s just her face,” I joked and we both laughed. It felt good.

 

I got into the car and ignored my mother’s yelling. We drove off  and Ahmad slowly disappeared.

And though my stomach still ached, and my spirit was still broken, I felt better.

Ahmad and I became friends after that. He was supportive. I didn’t really talk to him about homosexuality. He didn’t even ask, nor did he care. He was just there for me whenever any bigot scorned or was snide. After that, I came out to my best friend Rita, who was more than accepting. 

I became stronger. I went to school everyday gayer than the day before. And prouder. I wasn’t scared. I had someone there for me.

Homophobia can be overcome. 

Because after all homophobia is also the loneliness.