INSIDE ouT: A Perspective from the Executive Director of Outright Vermont BY B.]. ROGERS Ever wonder what makes our youth grow up too fast? I was barely thirteen the first . and last time I sat before a grandjury. I can tell you from my life that an experience like that seals the fate of childhood innocence. . I remember the room like it was a meeting I attended yes- terday. It felt cavernous. There were rows of cushioned swivel armchairs facing a long line of tables. I recall being shown the room while it was still empty, being told how things would work, and what the arrange- ment would be like. They could have shown me the room completely full through a secret peephole, and I still wouldn’t have been prepared for what it felt like to step inside and face that crowd. At the front tables sat a line up of lawyers, clerks, a judge, and whoever else attended grand jury proceedings. Facing them was a sea of ordi- nary people. I remember thinking how many of them looked too young to be on a jury of any kind. They told me in advance (‘they’ being an assistant district attorney and his staff) that I could either face the jury or keep my back . to them and look at'the tables. To this day I’m not sure which decision would have been worse — knowing they were staring at me from behind‘ or having to look them in the eye. I’m sure it comes as no sur- prise to hear that I wasn’t there of my own choice. At thirteen, I would have chosen any other place in the world than to be sitting in that room. My parents were not allowed in the room so they waited outside in the court- house hallway. They waited while their oldest son sat before a room full of strangers to tell his story.‘ My story, or what I remem- ber of my story, isn’t unique. It’s not the first time it had been told. And it’s been retold hundreds of thousands of times since. It’s about a -boy who found himself the object of the attention of a man ten years older — a hockey coach, a big brother figure, a trusted friend, and yes, words like predator, manipulator, and perpetrator also ring true. That boy, me, quickly believed that the sun rose and set according to this guy’s command. Somewhere between having a big brother and that grand jury room, something changed. It feels cliche to say so, but my memory of that time is cloudy at best. I remember pieces of time, specific instances; my ability to put those things on a timeline is nearly non-existent. I remember the first time he touched me. I remember it V because we were on a family vacation. My parents took him in and gave him a room in our house; he was 23, just out of the Army, needed a place to stay, and was someone we got to know from the hockey rink. So, when we packed up to head to Toronto for a family vaca- tion and hockey tournament, my parents bought him a ticket and invited him to join us. It was in a hotel room. My little brother slept on a roll- away across the room. My par- ents were in the bed next to us. I’m not really sure I knew what was happening. I know I was scared. I know I was confused. It happened again, in his room at the house, on my grandparent’s farm, in his car, in our basement. Those are the times I remember. Those are the times I had to talk about over and over again. First telling the police, then lawyers, a grand jury, and several thera- pists. It was as if I was telling a story that I had watched. I couldn’t reconcile that I could possibly be the boy I was talk- .ing about. Brian, that’s his name, went to prison for nearly twelve years. He’s out of jail now, as far as I know. And, sometimes, I wonder where he is, what ’he’s doing, if those around him know what his past holds. Sometimes I feel’ bad for him. Sometimes I feel like I have a few words I’d like to share with him now that I own a voice. ' Shortly after that, I decided my life would someday be about ensuring the safety and well-being of young people. I didn’t consider myself a young person anymore. Remember what I said, my childhood was a distant recollection by the time I was fifteen. At the time, my sexuality wasn’t an issue I was ready or capable of dealing with. It occurred to me that I was not like all the other boys. I wondered if I had been sexually abused by a man because he knew something W april 2001 OITM - 7 If you'd told me six months agothat the cause I would fight for would include the safety and health of young GLBTQ people, I would have dismissed you as being out of your mind. It’s not that I wasn’t committed it’s just that I wouldn't have It has become what I do. to that cause, believed you. about me that I didn’t. I won- dered if being abused by a man would make me gay. I won- dered about the work that liv- ing would be, whether it was worth it, if I could do it. So I made some decisions, a deci- sion that I would be normal, like everyone else, that no one would know I was abused and that no one would ever know that I wondered about being 83)’- And I decided then that I would be responsible — responsible for my life, for my actions, and for those who live without the opportunity or the ability to be responsible for themselves. I decided then and there that no one should have to see the inside of a grand jury room for the reasons I did. It turns out that the story didn’t get any less complicat- ed. I am gay, not because I was abused, but because that’s who I am. In fact, the two have nothing to do with one another. But that took years to under- stand; my parents are still working on it. It also turns out that I found a voice. And whether you believe in fate, Providence, or just the course of life, I’ve been given a chance to use that voice. Consider this an intro- duction, if you will. If you’d told me six months ago that the cause I would fight for would include the safety and health of young GLBTQ people, I would have dismissed you as being out of your mind. It’s not that I wasn’t committed to that cause, I t’s just that I wouldn’t have believed you. It has become what I do. The - work of Outright Vermont is some of the most critical youth work in the state of Vermont. I’ll make ‘no apologies for however pompous that might sound. I believed it before I became the executive director, and I’ll believe it long after my tenure here expires. The truth is that young peo- ple continue to be abused by a culture that tells them that they ‘are less than human. .Does a young person make a fully informed, mature, and con- scious decision to abuse drugs, have unprotected sex, drop out of school, forgo wearing a seat belt, or attempt to end their life? Does anyone for that mat- ter? The answer is most cer- tainly no. The answer for young GLBTQ people is defi- nitely no. When Outright Vermont was started over ten years ago, its founders worried about the safety and health of young peo- ple in our state. I’d like to tell you that we’ve come a long way. I can’t say that in good faith, though, when 44% of our GLBTQ youth report attempt- ed suicide. The truth is, our ‘youth are facing as hard a time being who they are as they ever have. Disagree? Save it for someone else. I hear people say all the time that they never would have imagined a world with gay/straight alliances in schools, gay-themed sitcoms on television, or the existence of laws allowing for same-sex adoption and legal union. Sure, that’s progress, and it’s progress I’m glad we’ve made. But it’s hardly enough. How manylyoung people — youth who can’t come out to their parents because they’ve heard Dad watching a story about civil unions say, “They ought to all be taken out in the street and shot,” —-find their way to a GSA? How many closeted sixteen year-olds need a civil union? Don’t get me wrong, we’ve made important steps and those steps will benefit our youth someday. But today, in our schools, our communities, and our state, homophobia runs rampant. Pick up the paper, attend a Tuesday session at the Statehouse, walk down the hall of your local high school, and listen for the word ‘faggot’. Who’s responsible? Whose job is it to put an end to this particular reality? Tell me it’s no harder for kids today than it was when you were young, and I’ll ask you how many twelve year- olds brought semi-automatic weapons to school when you were growing up. I’ll tell you who’s responsible. You are and I am. We are responsible. How many young people have to die before we realize that? Is that what it will take? Does it have to be your niece or nephew, your neigh- bor, or your child? How long are we willing to read the sto- ries and remain silent? How many times do you have to hear about the strength it takes a young GLBTQ person to just survive? When will you believe it? I have more heroes than I can tell you about. ‘ Most of them I’ve never met. They’re the youth that make it every day. They’re the ones that muster up the courage to walk down the hall, to look their classmates in the eyes, and to say, “You’re not gonna fuck with me today.” They’re the youth who walked out of those school doors and made a life for them- selves because the one they had access to had no place for them. They take a stand, and they inspire me, and move me, and bring me to tears with their courage and determination. I got here by way of my own challenges, and I feel blessed to be standing and able to talk about it. No one ever claimed life would be a breeze. I was- n’t expecting a free ride. But I lived to tell my story and for that I owe a debt — one that I gladly assume and am readily willing to repay.