A moment of silence

This post has adult language and themes.  It is my reflection on Marie Cartier's work, which documents over a hundred stories of what gay bar culture was like in the 40s and 50s.  With the stories of the bars also comes the personal stories of women who were raped, beaten, threatened, or had other awful things happen to them simply because they enjoyed the company of other women.  I am beyond grateful that I feel safe in my community and can marry the person I want.

I spent my weekend at Nehirim (a LGBT Jewish retreat) listening in part to Marie Cartier, and I'd like to take a moment of silence.  And this is why:

Before my time, it was not safe to be me.  It was not safe to be gay, much less bisexual or pansexual or transgender.  Don't look gay.  Or masculine.  Or different.  Sitting before McCarthy, in the formidable house of our government of the United States, you were asked "Are you a homosexual?" before "Are you a communist?"  More people were fired from their job because they loved someone who had the same parts as they did, than were black listed because of political idealism.  Except homosexuality was closeted, it wasn't televised, it wasn't ... sexy.  So you never hear about all those un-bedazzled homosexuals martyred for forbidden love.

Before my time, I could not have kids.  Well, I could have kids, but I couldn't keep them.  My husband knew what was best for me, for my children, for my maternal instincts, and have a doctor strip me of my parental rights.  Because what would be worse than sexual deviation creeping into their brains?

Speaking of brains, I couldn't have that either.  Before 1973, the APA considered it a disease.  The suggested cure?  Lobotomy.

And as long as you can trespass upon my mind, you might as well take my body with you.  The police raped the butches and dykes and drag queens.  The officer's pants around his ankles, he says to her, "I've never done this before."  The butch looks him in the eyes and says, "Well, you're doing it right now."  He violates her body as five officers - five men who took an oath to protect man, woman and child - watch.

Does his prick cure homosexuality?  I want to ask.

But I can't ask.  This was before my time.

Because now, in my time, I get to marry a woman.  Accepted, tolerated, celebrated by my community.  I will marry the woman I love and make a family with her.  We live together, we sleep together, we love our community together.  But it's recent, my time.  It's recent, and the people who came before are still here, are still living, are still loving.

So, for those who are here, and for those who didn't make it, I want to take a moment of silence.  In respect, in awe, in sorrow, in love.  I am blessed to live in my time, and I hope I never have to live in yours.

And let us say, amen.