Imagine being a gay closeted teenager and going to your first party and hearing the words “shot the batty boy” blaring from the speakers. The music of Jamaica which called for gay people to be murdered and burned alive.
Or as is common place in this island of masks – that which they are but don’t want to see. We defended ourselves against the religious leaders and followers who praise the lord by demonising that which they don’t understand. All of us growing up gay in the Caribbean are in survival mode. A few days ago I watched a video of Wentworth Miller, the gay actor, who said that every day growing up was like being in “survival mode”. Any slight movement of the head or hand could give you away so you had to watch and plan everything carefully. And even my wonderful grandmother once saying that she hopes I “find more happiness than my uncle”. My father once shouting at my mother and saying: “It is because of you and your mother that he is like that.” My mother years later telling me that “she will never accept this” when I finally officially came out to her. Especially the words said by those I loved and who loved me. I remember everything that was ever said that hurt me. But there is a dark underbelly of intolerance, of religious zealousness and of rampant hypocrisy which if you are not strong enough will slowly kill you from the inside out. Its beaches and its 365 days a year sun I love the food, the humour and the easiness of the island. At a party you hear 'shot the batty boy' and you cock your hand into a gun towards the guy who is even gayer than you