My hope is that this free thinking will lead them on a path – not to the dreaded tolerance – but to acceptance of equality.Īs for me, I just celebrated my 12th anniversary with my partner. The younger generation is increasingly more accepting and able to think for themselves. Read the comments section to any article on the topic of homosexuality in the Caribbean at your own risk.īut these people are not on the right side of history. And two, although social media has connected those of us who thought we were unconnected, it has also given a voice to the cowardly and the ignorant. One, to find this love and survival the vast majority of these brilliant, creative, passionate souls have left the Caribbean. Social media has connected those of us who thought we were alone it has also given a voice to the cowardly and ignorantīut two things are consistent. Weddings! Growing up we never even allowed ourselves to think such a thing was possible. I am getting an increasing number of invitations to weddings. I have seen boys and girls I have grown up with – part of the survival mode clan – living happily with their partners. We see ministers and diplomatic representatives, media spokespeople and doctors, artists and teachers increasingly being less guarded about who they are. The pond of role models is slowly deepening. Amazing advocacy groups are increasingly popping up in Barbados, Jamaica and Guyana who are demanding that gay men and women have a voice and a right to be treated equally. Social media has helped young gay men and women in the Caribbean to know they are not alone. You get a shoulder to cry on and a willing ear to transmit it to all who would listen.īut today 25 years later I am seeing a change. You get invitations overflowing to church. You get veiled sympathy and offers of beating the gay out of him. Your son or daughter was a disappointment. In the Caribbean we live our lives through the eyes of others – to be gay was bad but to be the parent of a gay son or daughter was worse. My mother seemed more concerned about what others would think. My father hugged me, told me I was his son and he would always love me. My coming out was a night of high drama in my house. How could we possibly be good for each other when we were so harsh on ourselves? I had partners but we all suffered from the sickness of invisibility and the scourge of self loathing. I made it through school by never daring to dream of a life beyond quick fumbles in the back of a car or an existence of lies and excuses. But who? Mr Humphries from Are You Being Served? Perhaps Steven Carrington from Dynasty? Maybe Will and Jack from Will & Grace? But where were the gay men who looked like me? Who had my story? Who could understand that the life of a black gay boy in the Caribbean had its own narrative and its own tragedy? Growing up in this predominantly black society as a gay boy you try to take your inspirations where you can. Here we live our lives through the eyes of others – to be gay was bad but to be the parent of a gay son was worse Point it and humiliate the ones who dared to let their masks fall. What do you do? You bop your head, cock your hand into the sign of a gun and point it at the guy who is even gayer than you. 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