I have a high school yearbook in which a “friend” wrote one large red letter on each page: P-R-E-S-T-O-N I-S A F-A-G.
I was reminded of this memento when I heard that Kobe Bryant called a referee a “f*cking fag.” Openly gay former NBA player John Amaechi gives a thoughtful response in the the NY Times, but here is my simpler take…
- No single use of it really offends me. When cohorts casually drop the f-bomb I couldn’t really care less. I’m not that sensitive.
- At the same time, the relentless use of it to mean a despicable loser is a huge problem.
There has been extensive discussion this week about how the use of faggot compares with the use of the n-word. While our culture’s treatment of gay people has been abominable, nothing in US history compares to what we did, and still do, to black Americans. We have few words as taboo in our society as the n-word, and if black Americans say that’s how it needs to be, then that’s how it needs to be. I don’t find the comparison helpful.
I think the way we use faggot is more like the way we used Polack when i was a kid. Polack jokes were standard in America in the 70s, even for kids in Utah who had never met a Polish person. I grew up a little unsure whether Poles were actually stupid, not because anyone directly slandered them, but simply because they were always the punchline. That ended when Lech Walesa and the Solidarity movement initiated the demise of the Soviet Union. Suddenly, Poles were no longer the butt of jokes.
“Faggot” can be unnerving when slung at me by a hostile teenager, but that’s not the most dangerous use. Hey, at least the kid is accurate, if a little overly venomous. In that case it isn’t the word that makes me nervous, but the physical violence that may follow, which is actually rather rare.
No, the most damaging use of the word is exactly how Kobe Bryant used it — to mean the most horrible thing he could think of. A $100,000 fine is surreal to me, but good on the NBA for making a dramatic statement. This casual use of the word as a negative put-down, small in each individual case but large in overall affect on the culture, needs to end.
For a different take on how to address this problem, read this account of a Brazilian volleyball player (from the land of where beach volleyball rules) who got heckled by a crowd for being gay. His supporters filled the stadium with pink thundersticks and a massive banner against prejudice. Maybe the Brazilians can come teach Americans how to address homophobia in sports with playfulness and humor. A stadium full of pink thundersticks sounds great to me.
As a kid the neighborhood was pretty rough and I attended private school. The boys began to shun me and began to call me faggot and queer. I was confused because I was only being myself. One guy at school corrected me on how to hold my books. It was sort of a hell. I had no idea that how I naturally was gave rise to being despised. As a teen my father called me a faggot.
I was called gay before I even knew I was gay haha. I loathe being gay because I always pictured myself with a woman and having my own family. I tried to desperately be straight. I think I’m bisexual and would be more comfortable with a woman. I have a feeling I’m forever alone. I’ve lost contact with almost everyone except siblings. I want to die, I’m tired. People judging caused me to judge myself. I’m damaged beyond repair. Will survive day by day I guess. Leave a comment if you like..
What to say, noob. Things go like that. One piece of advice I can share – just because you hurt doesn’t mean you are broken. As you say, you were judged, unfairly I am sure. You hurt because people hurt you. The thing to do now is to stay in touch with your unwounded bits, and let them shine. Over time they can take the lead, and you can let the bruises heal. The judgers were wrong. You were too underwater to know that then, but you can start to see it now. There is no easy fix to make life’s path easier, but as we go we get better at it. It sounds like you are new, noob, and you will get better with practice. I promise. Be gentle with yourself, and let those tender bits unfold in their own time and at their own pace. They are part of what makes you beautiful.