A recent New York Times article reports that when Seth Walsh was in sixth grade he looked at his mother and told her bluntly, “Mom, I’m gay.” She responded, “OK, sweetheart, I love you no matter what.”
The tenderness of the mother’s response struck a chord in me. That feeling mingled with heartache on learning that Seth committed suicide by hanging himself at 13. Most likely it was precipitated by cruel bullying in the classroom, targeted against his homosexuality.
In hearing about the suicides of Seth and other gay youth across the country, a major public debate has risen around bullying in the classroom. This debate has been highlighted by the “It Gets Better” campaign on YouTube. Prominent and everyday gay adults talk about the challenges they faced when they were grappling with their sexuality.
With striking honesty and an unwavering commitment, these individuals talk about the hardships they faced, and how their lives have improved from the dark days of their youth.
I have been inspired by the example of columnist Dan Savage and countless others in spearheading this compassionate and important campaign. However, the forward-looking tone to many of the videos has made me wonder: Why can’t things get better right now?
This is a question I have asked myself when reflecting on my past. I was awkward as a teenager. I felt alienated in high school, exemplified by a classmate writing a slur on my locker.
When I was older, my brown skin and black hair were the basis for a complete stranger calling me a terrorist on the street. Others demanded I go back to my home country, even though I was born and raised in the United States. These experiences angered me deeply and made me feel like an outsider to a world to which others held the keys.
The anger of those memories has diminished as I’ve grown older. However, it still stays with me to a degree as a source of injustice.
Nevertheless, with time, I have realized the world I thought I knew was ultimately as real as I accepted it to be. By the actions I resisted and the positions I took, I could slowly but progressively make the world out to be different. By letting go of the fear of what others thought of me, I could change how I lived for the better.
I feel like so many of us at UCLA are walking down on a similar path. We struggle to match our evolving convictions with a re-envisioning of what our world can be, for ourselves and possibly for those around us.
Let us continue down that path together. In the steps we take, we can re-envision a world without innocent victims like Seth.
We can say “stop” to the person in the dorm hallway who is taunting someone vindictively. We can reach out to that person in our class who we don’t know so well but who we can see is going through a tough time. We can object to that person who crudely stereotypes a gay person, or anyone for that matter. And for those who read this who feel like an outsider, together we can demand that our society is one where you, and everybody else, is important and belongs.
The world is ours for the making, UCLA. Let’s move ever further away from condoning actions we are uncomfortable with.
Instead, let us stand firm for what we most deeply believe in and use those principles as the support against the inevitable recriminations that may come against us. It may not get many of us to the unconditional love of Seth’s mom. But it can get us closer to a world where there is less shame, and where fewer people like Seth will be preyed on for their differences.
Instead, things can get better, right now.
Sunkara is a doctoral student in health policy.