My 10th grade honors English teacher decided to share a story with the class one day. It was the tale of a friend he’d known in high school; the tale of someone with whom he’d shared his homework, his lunch table, and his life. It began as most of his stories did, with absolute disregard for the edification of his students… completely unrelated to the day’s lesson or Friday’s test. His friend from high school had been perfectly “normal” before he’d graduated. He was a member of the varsity football team, he played basketball, and he dated a cheerleader. He was popular and socially well-adjusted. By this point I quietly slipped the book I’d been reading below the edge of the desk so I could read in peace, I could tell this was going to be time-consuming by how carefully the exposition of his monologue had been laid. Quite by sudden, I was alerted by an atmospheric change in my classmates and the word “shemale” said with a strange inflection, though I suppose even if it’d been said monotonously it would have been just as big a showstopper. After another minute, I’d learned that his seemingly normal classmate had ended up “very strange and confused.” Instead of being happy with what “God” had given him, this poor fool had decided to get a sex change operation. His facial expression described something between condescension and disgust as he described the monster this man had become. The tone of the story changed from a harmlessly boring story about his youth, to an incendiary transgender bash about how we shouldn’t aspire to be “those kind of people,” because they’re abnormal, and though he never outright said it there were enough pseudo-christian references to let everyone know that God felt the same way. I shared nervous glances with a few others, though we were quite overshadowed by our peer’s repetitive use of sentences involving “woah-man,” the instructor endorsed word of the day, since the only possible reaction after a woman revealed herself to be trans would be “woah, that’s a man!” I was shocked, appalled, disgusted, offended… And unfortunately not quite brave enough to verbally reprimand a teacher in front of half a class full of laughing supporters. At the end of the period I walked directly to the guidance councilor’s office, and described the events of the days class. The following day he commented, “we won’t be having anymore fun conversations during class time, because some students couldn’t handle them.” It was said with an unbelievable level of childish martyrdom, as if to say ‘if we can’t have fun my way, and shit on what makes me uncomfortable, we shan’t have any fun at all.’ The same teacher had been suspended several times for inappropriate conduct, he is currently still employed as a full-time teacher.
In Bedford, racial and gender stereotypes are shoved down your throat at a young age. People of respect in the county, community leaders, are openly racist and/or homophobic. Faggot was a part of my 1st grade lexicon, and though nobody was sure exactly what that meant, we sure knew it was bad. We played smear the queer loudly and confidently in front of the faculty; nobody suggested a name change, which is great for the psychological development of LGBT youth. It’s probably not shocking to know that my small town is homophobic, but the level with which its ingrained itself into the people is stunning. I’d feel scared for my safety to walk down the main street of Bedford carrying a gay flag… we still have an active KKK chapter around here somewhere. It’s uncommon to be a heterosexual supporter in Bedford, and we gays are few and far between.
I’m a member of the Bedford QLC (Queer Liberation Circle), to my knowledge the only local resource involved in promoting LGBT acceptance in Bedford, PA. We only have a handful of members, but check us out on WordPress and Facebook.
bedfordcub 