The events that change our world are often subtle. Revolutions regularly start as an idea that is put into practice on a small scale, then flourishes, and suddenly consumes society. It is shocking when it happens, and nobody really understands what started it until they look back and consider the moment of human's ingenuity - when it caught on, and how it refused to fail.

As a people, we like to imagine that the world we live in is planned and controlled. My worldview, and the way that I have been trained to study history demands this. Things happen for a reason, that intent happens, and leads to other events. Everything is logical - can be traced.

We also like to focus on what many historians call "Pop History". The events that entered the media but really did very little to affect reality.

One such event happened today, in Vancouver, when a man was sentenced to a year in prison for his singular attack on a man walking down the street holding his boyfriend's hand. As a gay community, we should celebrate this moment for the use of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms in penalizing a hate crime - a rare event for us. In the same city though, Lisa Reimer, a Lesbian teacher working for a Catholic School was put on teacher suspension after parents found out about her orientation - the school board, knowing they can't fire her because of the Charter of Rights and Freedom, have put her on marking duty. Its a kick in the teeth.

We'll focus on these events, with really considering the social revolutions that are defining us a people. I don't mean to be offensive to Lisa or Jordan (the man attacked), but in the long run, the crimes committed against them should not be over-sensationalized by the press as the canvas of our society runs with paint of other, more distressing realities.

A film for you to watch - containing a message that we are all familiar with, but need to be continually reminded of.



How do I become hydro-carbon neutral? Is it event possible? How do I change my daily living so that I impact the natural and human environments not just less, but positively? When can my understanding of humanity extend beyond my community of friends and family, my national concerns, my international concerns, and become holistic? Holistic in the sense of definition rather than in the sense of the buzz-word.

A website I recommend to you.

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I have a new goal. Everytime I go and purchase foods of any sort, I will donate food to the food bank. I'm going to try and start with one item per purchase - eventually I want to move towards a tithing machine. To humble me to the needs of the people around me that I don't know, that I choose not to see, and not to interact with. Who have an equal right to food as I do.

How do you do?

My friends - have you ever been altered by popular culture? Has it struck you in a surprising way, hit something of very personal importance? Brought you to tears?

I have had the pleasure of being transformed by popular culture very rarely, but I feel like tonight may have just made that happen again. Tonight, I watched Avatar again - this time without the impressive three-dimensional figures weaving in and out of the theatre. Instead, I was sitting at home, on the couches that my family has had for more than 30 years, and I was able to focus on the events rather than the action of the story.

I'm curious, how is it that I
can live in a post-Avatar world?

I live in Canada, a land once inhabited by the First Nations of the Americas. Treaty 4 is the treaty that allowed for the white people of Europe to settle here and slowly accept that the barren plains of the West could become a home to them. And yet, it was already the home to many - thousands of people that had been ravaged, murdered, and relocated.

My Canada and its history is deeply rooted in this atrocity against humanity.

And we are told little about this history and, somehow we pretend that this history exists in the past rather than creates the present and determines our future.

So, my friends, how do I live in a post-Avatar world when the story presented by James Cameron's lense, minus the last 40 minutes, is the story of my nation's creation and expansion. When the land upon which my European-style home and European-style life exists was once the land of another culture that grudgingly offered it to us in negotiations that were not understood. How can I pretend that my European power, my whiteness, is not the reason that I have had numerous opportunities in my life? That my family has a considerable amount of money? That we never have to worry about putting food on my plates?

Why is it that I have power in my society? Why is it that I have the power the choose whether or not I have power?

How does the past inform my present action?


These are questions that bring me a great deal of shame, because they force me to realize that the life I lead is less-than honourable or ideal. I am not good at articulating this sensation at all...

The girl with dark hair was coming towards them across the field. With what seemed a single movement she tore off her clothes and flung them disdainfully aside. Her body was white and smooth, but it aroused no desire in him, indeed her barely looked at it. What overwhelmed him in that instant was admiration for the gesture with which she had thrown her clothes aside. With its grace and carelessness it seemed to annihilate a whole culture, a whole system of thought, as though Big Brother and the Party and the Thought Police could all be swept into nothingness by a single splendid movement of the arm. That too was a gesture belonging to the ancient time.



I'm right now reading the novel 1984 by George Orwell. This is probably a bad thing because I start writing finals tomorrow and I have found the story to be absolutely fascinating. The world that Orwell has created seems to be real, with a complete and compelling image of what life in an oppressive state is actually like. It is fascinating.

The story is often noted as a mirror to the oppressive state created by Stalin in Soviet Russia that allowed people in the West to more fully appreciate the freedoms that they have. I can't deny this assertion; I've not researched at all into Orwell's goals with the book at all. Based on what I have been learning about Russia under Stalin over the past 6 months though, I would struggle to argue with Orwell's all-encompassing depiction.

And yet, I come here offering a slightly different perspective.

On Friday night I went to the local gay club. Had a great time dancing with a lot of great people. Talking to some good people. Meeting a few people. And I saw things - incredible things. Like two people of the same gender dancing on the dance floor. Kissing with incredible passion - an intimacy that I would find only appropriate in privacy and that is startling in public. And, in the same way that Winston is not attracted to these memories because of their inherent sexuality, these memories from Friday night have a near-poetic importance to me.

They are a proud, strong stance in opposition to a society that has put a lot of pressure on them to conform. Every graceful movement on the dance floor is a musical line with the punch of The Time Are A-Changing. It speaks wonders not only for what that one person believes, but also about what they have experienced and are refusing to accept.

In particular I love watching my two friends dance together. Their relationship is not only inspiring because of its mere existence, but because of the intimacy that these two people share. It feels natural to watch them be together - and both of them are so comfortable with their existence that this kind of observation is possible.

There has been more than one scene in the three chapters that I have thus far read where I have thought of my own experience as a closeted gay person and my experience in releasing myself from the chains of shame. With the grace and carelessness of this relationship, it seems to annihilate a whole culture, a whole system of thought, as though heterosexism and the fundamentalists and the trials of history could all be swept into nothingness by a single splendid moment of love.



With my next post I'm going to prove that I am more than gay. Believe me.

amour-propre

What does it mean to have Gay Pride?

Over the past couple of days, many of my friends who blog have been writing responses to this question in light of the recent postings for Straight Pride by the Tea Party (that right-winged collection of tax and health-care opposing individuals in the states).

Months ago, as one of my first blog entries, I wrote about an interview with Hugh Jackman that I had read, in which he stated that sexuality is such a small part of our being, and that to be restricted to one's sexuality as the single defining aspect of one's being is quite unfortunate.

And I agreed with him back then. And I agree with him now. I am so much more than gay, in the same way that many of my friends are so much more than straight. The fact that many of my straight friends have had to fight to discover their identity just as I have (though, I would argue whether or not they have had to fight to preserve it in the same way that many homosexuals have) points to this fact. Our sexuality is nothing.

And yet... it is everything.

I have one friend, to whom I came out months ago, who said that I needed to stop using the term gay as the one that best defines myself. I never quite understood this response, but it remains his concern. I haven't any idea where this criticism is coming from, but it is rather hurtful. I remain an admittedly fragile person while telling people that I am gay - I have not yet adopted the idea that people are going to have to just live with it (even though I have to live with the fact that so many people are straight).

And so this question of Gay Pride is an important one for me to consider. Daily. As I try and discern how it is that I now exist, as an out-gay man, in a society that doesn't understand me but is willing to mostly tolerate me. As long as I'm not holding hands in public, or kissing my boyfriend in a playground while surrounded by children.

Do I shout my sexuality from the hilltops? Be militant about it? Do I turn every issue into an issue of gender? Do I push people to come out themselves, just so that the gay cause can advance?

I hope not.

My Gay Pride is about me finally accepting everything about myself and being willing to share it with the world that I live in. And learning that the response that I get is of infinitely less importance than my willingness to experience love in a way that I have never felt it before.

I read this on a blog recently. It was a comment left behind.

"Being gay is the most important feature of my life for two reasons. Two very important reasons. It is how I love. And it is who I love.

When I meet that guy that I am going to fight for and fight with, I will be in the most defining relationship of my life. Being gay, and being attracted to and falling in love with him, is the most defining characteristic in your life. That is why we come out. That is why we tell people who we love."

Fundamentally, I am gay. I am so much more than gay, but gay nonetheless. It determines who I love, and how I am transformed by that love. A lot of me is not dependent on me being gay, but a lot of me is.

Just a reminder...

"Wow. That sucks dick!"

Are you aware of how frequently I hear this phrase coming out of the mouths of youth that I work with? And how much it reminds me of how far into the shadows of my sexuality I need to be in order to communicate with some of these people?

Yesterday I went out with a youth with whom I have had a good, close relationship for about four years. Unfortunately, it had been about a year since we had last hung out. Admittedly, he is the kid that cared about me as much as I cared about him - when I started approaching depression again about a year ago, he was the only person to call me on it. Unfortunately, he wasn't somebody I could tell the source of my depression to.

But he forced me to deal with it.

Yesterday, we were talking about life over the past year. Oddly enough, this always develops into a discussion about God. So, here I was, a non-church membered, former youth sponsor, former Bible camp counsellor, gay former Christian, gingerly drinking my overly hot Chai Latté and talking about God with a kid that was once in my cabin at camp and who has always struggled with his identity as a Christian. We have mutual concerns over one of his cousins who recently returned from a year at Bible College - he seems more than just different; he seems like he is aiming for conversion. Neither of us like that.

He told me two stories.

One about a tragic event. It "sucked dick".

Another about a university staff member who recently came to his high school to try and promote the university football team and used terms such as "faggot", "pussy", and "queer" in his presentation. He shared his frustration, disgust and embarrassment with me.

My heart sank a bit. Because here is a genuine kid - a great young man who will be a golden adult. Here is a kid who, when he is told something is wrong and understands why (I converted him away from using the term "chick" to describe women a couple years ago - I described to him how it is rather derogatory towards women, even if they don't recognize it as such). Here is one of the friendliest, most charming kids on the planet who sees the most attractive aspect of Christianity as the part he sees in peoples hearts and eyes, hands and feet rather than in their words. Here is a kid who is searching for something so much bigger than he is but who has never had good guidance.

But, like so many out there, here is a kid who has never been properly told how sexual and repressive our daily language is - and has never considered how it can hurt others, unless he is told specific terms to avoid. Like faggot, pussy, and chick.


I wanted to tell him that sucking dick probably isn't actually that bad.

And then to cover myself up, I wanted to remind him that his girlfriend was willing to do it to him.

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All that being said, I'm getting ready to love this world. I can feel something happening inside me. There is this light - this cancerous growth - that is altering my actions. It is at once familiar and entirely new; I've felt this before, but I've never felt it when I have had so much freedom to be myself. Love.

I'm probably a bad person

Is it wrong for me to be confused at times by this whole gay thing? Is homosexuality supposed to make sense to me just because it is the only thing I have ever known?

At times it seems like homosexual culture is affected by entirely different values than I understand. Let me tell you a short story.

Last night, after playing the Timpani in a percussion methodologies course at my university, I gave a good friend of mine a ride home. For some reason this friend has become quite inundated with sex recently. In conversation, she is always talking about sex - masturbation - intimacy. These are topics I don't shy away from, but I also realize that these are topics she is not really interested in talking about. Something happened to her last week to change this - I don't know what it was, but it seems as though sex is flocking in her direction.

So, while driving her home, we started talking about sex. She brought up the old television show Queer as Folk, which she proudly spent most of her high school years watching at home. I did not - but I have seen one part of an episode.

Apparently that part that I saw was a big deal - because I can find the scene on Youtube.



I'd love to deconstruct this scene and what it taught me about homosexuality while I was still in the closet - and the misconceptions that I developed as a result. But that isn't the point of this post.

Somehow, in my discussion about sex with my friend, I brought up this video clip. I told her, quite frankly and quite comfortably, that I would never consider having a serious sexual relationship with anybody who was HIV positive.

She told me it that she was sorry for me. I hate this line - it is far too... evangelical for my liking. But it is interesting; the combination of pity and sympathy is just a little too guilt-inducing to ignore.

I expanded this list of people with whom I would attempt to never have sexual relations with to include those who have other STIs.

She then mentioned that her uncle was able to have a wonderful relationship with his partner for 10 years before he passed away, and that his partner never contracted HIV. Which really made me feel like shit.

But I wonder if it is wrong of my to limit sex to those who aren't affecting by an unfortunate, and entirely unintentionally transmitted, disease. Is it wrong to wish to protect myself from the risk of contracting these infections as well?

I can understand the humanistic perspective that she was presenting; the social annexation that one can experience as a victim of STIs and the lack of intimacy that can result can very negatively affect one's psyche. I totally understand this. But, that being said, Che Guevara didn't go around sleeping with lepers. Neither did Mother Theresa. And, though I think I am relatively aware of the importance of intimacy, do I turn my sympathy for those without intimacy into a serious sexual relationship?

No. And certainly not for those reasons.

I don't deny that I am able to love somebody who has an STI - that I am able to choose to love somebody who has HIV. But I don't know if I am prepared to take the serious risks of sleeping with somebody that can so easily infect me. Is this wrong?

I feel like I need to be educated.

Change we can believe in.

You may not have noticed it happen.

There was a breeze though. A change in the direction of the wind. A faint but noticeable fragrance of lilacs. Something happened.

It was yesterday. I was outside enjoying the spring sun. And then it happened.


Americans found themselves covered by health insurance. All of them. When a new bill, complicated and completely new for an America that is increasingly wary of government involvement in their life, was voted on and passed the American houses of representation.

This is the kind of moment that, had it taken place two thousand years ago, would be written about by scholars as though some cloth separating the people from the experience of rightness was ripped in half.

Something happened. And for millions of Americans, life will never be the same.