COLUMN: Reason to B-GLAD

From Daniel Septimus', "I Know My Last Name is Septimus," Fall '00 From Daniel Septimus', "I Know My Last Name is Septimus," Fall '00On Wednesday, a rally was held in honor of B-GLAD 2000, a week dedicated to promoting awareness of bisexual, gay, lesbian and transgender issues. But I wanted to be there. A few months ago a friend of mine "came out." He had grown up in a traditional community where homosexuality was unacceptable and invisible. He hid his identity from his friends and family for almost 10 years. It saddened me to know that this wonderful, talented man was forced to suppress his sexuality, but it shattered me to realize that he was also forced to suppress his sense of self. Prior to my friend's revelation, I was intellectually supportive of the queer community, but his plight resonated in my gut with a power that books and newspaper articles just don't have. Since then, I have been looking for ways to show my support. As the rally continued, I started to feel more comfortable. Someone began handing out pins that displayed the Penn insignia merged together with a rainbow, the symbol of the LGBT community. I wanted to wear a pin but felt a bit uneasy about it. I decided that I would take a pin if offered. But the distributor passed by without extending one to me. As a new speaker walked to the podium, I began to feel angry at myself for not actively acquiring a pin. I looked around for the person with the pins, but could not find him. Once again I had played the normal passive heterosexual role -- despite believing that the heterosexual is not at all tangential to the struggles of the LGBT community. The fact that queer citizens do not feel fully comfortable in our society is a serious problem. It is not a problem with the LGBT community, it is a problem with the way norms are established and maintained by the heterosexual power structure. Oppressive societies cannot be rectified by the oppressed. There is only so much a marginalized group can do. For that reason, it is absolutely integral for members of the heterosexual community to help subvert their cultural dominance. I looked up and saw the guy who had been holding the bag of pins. I convinced myself to approach him and ask for a pin, but now I was pretty sure that his bag was empty. So, I turned my attention to the speakers. Computer Science Department Chairman Mitch Marcus talked about his daughter, a young lesbian activist. He spoke about worrying about her safety, about supporting her and about being too dense to realize the intensity of her bravery. I smiled at the courage of the human spirit. Penn librarian David Azzolina spoke about the history of gays at Penn. He noted the fact that most of the gay men with whom he went to school in the 1970s were dead from AIDS. He commanded gay men to never forget them -- and I thought about how this must pervade the communal consciousness of LGBTs. Bob Schoenberg, the head of the LGBT Center, read a letter signed by President Rodin and Provost Barchi. Their message was important, but their absence from the event conspicuous. My head was buzzing. All these voices, with their own complex messages, highlighted the range of issues facing the LGBT community. I felt torn -- between anger and respect, sadness and celebration, ignorance and understanding. But most of all, I felt like things were not OK. I knew that I must try to do my part to weaken the pillars that support the current oppression. I must open myself up to vulnerability by joining hands with the oppressed and leaving the comfortable confines of power. I turned around and saw that, in fact, there was one pin left in the bag. I asked for it and fastened the rainbow symbol to my sweater. Indeed, the heterosexual community has a responsibility to be a part of the fight against homophobia and heterosexism. It is our problem -- we are the problem. I do not intend to be self-congratulatory or suggest that wearing a simple pin is going to solve problems. For me, the rainbow served as a sign that I had relinquished my right to be a comfortable, passive member of the status quo. It served as a ritualization of my support and a symbol of my belief that somewhere over the rainbow -- somewhere beyond the ideologies that our symbols represent -- the dreams that you dare to dream really can come true.