Without Open Discussion, Depression

Author: Tim McCahill

Words possess power, yet action often boasts more clout. In constructing "the closet," members of MOQA, its allies and other assorted students, staff and faculty sought to create an unmistakable symbol of the fear, harassment and societal unease that indoctrinate so many gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender and queer people into accepting silence as the only viable escape. The group painted the closet's exterior with a hodgepodge of personal narratives, unsettling words and other images in order to stir up discussion on campus: What is that? Why is it there? Why those words? The intent was not to offend, but rather to shatter the calm that so often pervades Middlebury and stimulate dialogue. By putting the issue of homophobia out in the open, emblazoned in rainbow paint and nailed plywood, we sought to personify the forces that cause GLBTQ people to remain voiceless. Basically, we wanted people to question why anyone would choose to stay in the closet, what are the social forces that perpetuate silence and demand denial?
Much like racism, the most dominant forms of homophobia are not easily classified as virulent and vitriolic. Instead, as it often manifests itself, homophobia is quietly pervasive, the passive denial that queer people exist or are even worth noticing if not in pejorative, superficial jokes. Over the weekend, probably in a drunken stupor, an individual or group of people destroyed the closet, pulling apart its walls and leaving it broken at the McCullough green. I wish I could say I am shocked and surprised but I am not.
In addressing this issue, it is important to remember that the closet's destruction was most likely the result of inebriated immaturity. That said, the closet was not void of queer connotations and its destruction is most likely the direct result of a mix of discomfort, disgust and large quantities of alcohol. The closet was not just like any object on campus and there was probably a very intentional message in its destruction: you're different and we'll show you we don't like that. Even though I'm uncomfortable claiming the role of victim — as empowerment is far more effective than seeking pity — the closet's destruction still bespeaks a trend that has often been disregarded at Middlebury — the marginalization many minority students face.
Occasionally, mainstream America is forced back into reality, shocked into realizing that racism and homophobia can still provoke acts of violence. And yet, after condemning the obvious "hate crimes" as unthinkable, few go further and begin confronting such problems' more elusive root: What in American culture allows certain individuals to de-humanize the "other" to the point of justifying discrimination, violence and even murder as acceptable retribution? Homophobia, when most effective, is not found in aggressive "gay bashing," but in most American high schools — where everyday queer students are being verbally assaulted while teachers, administrators and fellow students look on in silent, tacit approval. Homophobia, when most effective, is internalized and validated by the very people it seeks to reject: the GLTBTQ population. It is this internalized revulsion that causes so many queer youth to fall into depression, substance abuse or most often into an overpowering sense of being alone. By not speaking out, homophobia grows stronger and is able to morph into its most damaging and extreme manifestations.
I am frustrated that few students are engaging in meaningful dialogue on these issues. I am frustrated that few people are talking about racism and white privilege. I am frustrated that few people are talking about classism. I am frustrated that few people are talking about sexuality. And I am definitely frustrated that few people understand how intimately all these issues interconnect. The closet was supposed to dislodge some of Middlebury's famed apathy and provoke some real discussion; perhaps its destruction will have a more potent aftershock: The realization that homophobia is real and that queer students often feel marginalized and unwelcome on this campus. That is an issue we should be talking about.

Chris Atwood is a senior at Middlebury College. He is co-convenor of the Middlebury Open Queer Alliance.