It’s a big weekend here in Claremont. Nine Night tonight, round the corner (if this rain ever stops) and tomorrow, a fashion show and dance that locally referred to as “Tivoli’s Show”.
Tivoli is, apparently, the local Token Gay.
When the downpour forced me to take a break from my walk home at the corner shop, I ended up having the conversation I’d been hoping to somehow avoid during my 27 months here.
Peace Corps is very candid with prospective volunteers assigned to Jamaica: If you’re gay, and you aren’t comfortable staying in the closet (and really, the BACK of the closet, behind the broken vacuum and that thrift-store pleather jacket you HAD to have, but never wore), then you should seriously, seriously reconsider this post.
It’s true, Jamaica is notorious for it’s collective homophobia, but I’d yet to experience it first-hand. Once in a while, I’ll see a glimmer here and there (right now one of the major political cartoonists is being taken to task in letters-to-the-editor for his portrayal of gays), but nothing what I would consider out of the ordinary. After all, mine is the country where Michele Bachmann is running for the Republican presidential ticket.
Furthermore, while dancehall artists routinely throw around homophobic slurs, I don’t know if anyone has listened to American hip-hop in the past twenty years? Rumors of big names being on the “Down-Low” not withstanding, it’s not exactly a world of sexual tolerance either.
Sheltering together in the shop, some of my neighbors (these very same people who make my mornings with smiles and “waguaan baby’s”) began discussing the weekend’s agenda and how they weren’t going to Tivoli’s show because they weren’t going to give their money to a “fish”.
“Fish”, “Batty Boy”, “Chi-Chi Man”, these are just some of the names given to gays here. I must have stiffened or looked ‘a way’ because one of the women made a comment to the effect that because I was American, I was used to those sorts of people.
I responded that while it had nothing to do with being American, yes, I have many gay and lesbian friends, and that it was none of my business who anyone choses to love. “There’s too much hate in the world for me to bother with all of that.”
Another neighbor tried to draw me in with how he was no fish, “Miss Taylor, mi nuh swim in that aquarium!”. Well, fine, I responded, no one is asking you to, but this is not an argument you and I should be having. Neither of us will win.
A horrible metallic taste was creeping up the back of my palate, all I wanted was to be gone, rain or no rain, but I was trying to play it coolly and rationally. This guy would just not let it go:
“You know what we do with di fish dem, Miss Taylor?” (The respectful title seemed to me to be in jarring opposition with the tone of the conversation.) I didn’t answer, I really, really did not want to here, with the awful feeling moving into the pit of my stomach. Undeterred, he finished with, “Wi tie dem up and put one tire round dey neck and light it on fire!”
At that point, I could not stand to be in that tiny space (growing smaller by the second as my rage and dismay seemed to expand exponentially) I popped open my umbrella and stepped into the rain. “Miss Taylor, come back, mi just a joke!”
“I don’t joke about hate, and I don’t think that’s funny” was all I could choke out.
Experiences like that are challenging no matter where you are, because you know that it is impossible to really change anyone’s mind about things like that. What makes unbearable for me is knowing that no one comes into this world knowing hate. Intolerance is taught, be it hatred of someone’s race, beliefs, or sexual orientation. I try, try, try with every fiber of my being to “Love the bigot, hate the bigotry”.
But oh, it is so, so,so hard.
