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June 10, 2005

Dear Brian,

It’s been over a year since you were murdered and I still can’t bring myself to delete your e-mail address from my list of contacts. I think I’ll just leave it. It will be a symbolic way of keeping in touch with you. I want to tell you I’m so sorry and angry that you had to die this way, stabbed and bludgeoned in your home by someone you knew and had been kind to. What was equally disturbing was the aftermath. Brian, the police just stood around the morning after chatting and laughing as people yelled and hurled insults and abuse at your family and friends who’d gathered in the yard: “Yes!! Chi-chi man fi dead!”, “Di whole a dem fi get murder!!” “Di whole a unoo a batty man and lesbian!!”

   Ah, yes, “One love, one heart.....”

   Desmond was a trooper. I have newfound respect for him. In addition to finding your body after he’d left you in the house with those two miscreants, he was determined and insisted he was able to identify one of the young men. He spoke to the police and the media about what had transpired that fateful night. Needless to say, this resulted in him being targeted, threatened, and harassed by anonymous homophobes as well as the policemen and prison staff who should have been supporting and protecting him. When they finally arrested the culprit, and Desmond went to identify him: all 6 of the men in the line-up had their heads wrapped and their faces covered in toothpaste.

   Luckily, the young man confessed. When The Star carried the story about his confession, the emphasis and focus was that it was not a hate crime (as previously claimed by J-FLAG). The report coldly made it seem okay that he’d murdered you because you refused to give him money. Well, I’m here to tell you that Jamaicans were not prepared for the effect that your death had. It was the catalyst for an international movement against homophobia and anti-gay violence in Jamaica. Outrage spearheaded a campaign calling attention to and denouncing the hate lyrics that are rife in Reggae dancehall music (some of the main offenders like Buju Banton, Beenie Man, Bounti Killa, Sizzla, Capleton had their shows abroad cancelled), there were candlelit memorials all over the world and London’s Gay Pride March was dedicated to you.

Sadly, the momentum was short-lived and things have pretty much gone back to normal in this island you loved so much. It certainly sparked the most prolonged discussion, attention and furore in the Jamaican entertainment and tourism industry I’ve ever seen. Mind you, some of what folks had to say was unmitigated crap, virulent invective and incredible denial, but at least things got shaken and stirred. I hope some seeds have been planted. One such seed resulted in Sandals Resorts International, under pressure from authorities in London, removing the word ‘heterosexual’from their marketing material. Of course, they were quick to point out that this amendment did not mean they were now marketing to gays and lesbians; many in the media and, of course, wider society started to cringe at the suggestion that Sandals was now opening it’s gates and bedrooms to gay couples.

   I wish I could say that things in Jamaica have taken a turn for the better since your death. But I can’t: Michael disappeared without a trace; Julius was tied up and strangled in his apartment; Oneil’s (aka Carry-On) body was found bound and gagged on Matches Lane; Vincent was handed over to a mob in Mobay and beaten to death; Ricky’s house was burnt down; and Jimmy was murdered, his body set alight by a house-guest he’d asked to leave the day before. The young man has been seen driving Jimmy’s car, and because the police heard Jimmy was gay are doing nothing about it. This murder, and the fact that they used his own clothes to keep the body burning, reminded me of seeing the group TOK on RE Television as they explained how they change what T, O, and K stand for, depending on their mood, or “the vibe.” They cheerfully shared that there are times when the letters stand for: “Throw Oil on them and Kill them. And you know what we mean by that.... wi nuh like no bat....” I thought of all those children watching and getting the impression that this was okay, the norm, acceptable. My heart sinks when I have to acknowledge that in Jamaica it is. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised at this display from these young men. I mean, their biggest hit to date, the one that put them on the charts in Jamaica, had this as the bridge:

From dem a par inna chi-chi man cyar (If we
see them in a gay man’s car)
Bring di fiya meck wi bun dem (Let’s light a
fire and burn them!)
From dem a drink inna chi-chi man bar (If
they go to gay bars)
Bring di fiya meck wi done dem! (Let’s light a
fire and finish them off!)

   Last year, a group of us from JAS attended a meeting in New York put together by the Human Rights Watch to draw attention to the situation in Jamaica. As we casually talked about the stress, trauma, death and stifling realities that gay and lesbian people face in Jamaica, and as the meeting went on, I was profoundly struck by how devastated, appalled, tearful and aghast most of the people in the room were. These atrocities have become such a pervasive thread in the fabric of our lives that we’ve become numb. Numb so we can go on.

   I left New York feeling unsettled and desperate. I thought: Why am I short-changing myself by staying in Jamaica? What’s the point? Being in New York for Gay Pride didn’t help either. The contrast was almost maddening, coupled with the memory that the 5 years I had lived in New York were the best, most liberating, inspiring, life-affirming years of my life. I was at my most creative, connected, at peace, part of a community, even with the inherent danger (gay-related and otherwise) of living in NYC. Whose life is this?! a voice inside me was screaming. I have been unable to shake the feeling that I deserve more, better. That I should be able to live with a lover, if I so choose and be able to have several housing options that allow me to do so, have my pick of clubs, bars, venues and events of the lavender/pink persuasion, be able to eat in gay restaurants, attend gay-friendly churches, feel safe, and be protected by the laws of the country I live in.

   I deserve not to have to endure being bombarded by homophobic lyrics everywhere I turn (including radio stations), not to be afraid of reporting crimes against me for fear of further victimization at the hands and feet of the police. I shouldn’t be able to say that I know so many people who have been murdered or victimized. Sometimes the brutish reality of my fellow Jamaicans, the silence of our political leaders and the threat of violence and death are overwhelmingly disheartening and spiritually stifling. But I dig my heels in, grit my teeth, call on my ancestors, lean on my friends, connect with my sisters (by blood and by bond), give thanks for the gift of tears, as I reaffirm the sanctity of my soul and identity.

   My dear Brian, I miss you. The thing I miss most is your amazing, generous, unabashed, infectious laughter and generosity of spirit. You were and continue to be a ray of light. Thank you. Thank you for going on TV, radio, writing letters to the papers, using your name, showing your face. You were fearless and I salute you. Thanks for Entourage, which gave us another place to meet, greet, shimmy, twirl and boogie down. Last, and by no means least, thanks for all the relationships and great sex you enabled in our otherwise stifled community!!  Take a bow, Diva!

Love always,

fabian

Response to e-mail entitled: ‘Thank you for the card’
June 6, 2005

Hi Paul,

   U R constantly in my thoughts. I can imagine how you feel about Jimmy. It has begun 2 B surreal and truly disturbing as the death toll of gay men in Jamaica rises without rancour or debate. What makes it worse, is that all 2 often they are men I know: intimately, socially, or in passing. It is one thing 2 hear about someone U don’t know, but quite another when your spirit has made their acquaintance. It’s becoming clearer 2 me that I cannot stay in Jamaica, my “island in the sun.” My home has become an oppressive, repressive, brutal place. Each time another gay person is victimized, beaten, discriminated against, spat on, beaten, strangled, slashed, burnt or made invisible, I think that could be me. When is it going to be my turn?

   And no, the majority of Jamaicans aren’t raging homophobes. What is unbearable and life-threatening, is the conspiracy of silence, the alliance of fear that makes Jamaicans (including me) just go on and not shriek, scream, and cry foul. I shudder when I remember the Government and nation’s response to Human Rights Watch’s report (aptly titled Hated to Death) about homophobia, stigma and discrimination in Jamaica: blithe dismissal and denial. Then life went on, and the discrimination, death, disappearance and mayhem continued.

   I keep asking myself: how far are U willing 2 go? How many gay men and lesbians have 2 B tormented, victimized, preached at and erased? Is it worth the effort, danger, and fall-out to me, my family and friends to stand up and start the chant, the concerted effort, the mobilization necessary to make a difference? Am I willing to die for this? Is it safer and more sensible to act, speak, mobilize and agitate from a safe distance, in a place where there are laws and law enforcement to protect me? At this point, the answers elude me... But I press on...

   Blessings!

   fabian

Response to e-mail entitled: ‘Hate Crime in Antigua’
May 16, 2005

Dear Clyde,
I read with sadness your e-mail regarding the attack on Jeffrey. Please give him my regards. I’d also like to offer a few words of encouragement: In the wake of the horror, terror and visceral anger these attacks shower on us, it is important we rally together, offer shoulders to cry on, hands to catch the tears; tears are the salve for the wounds the attacks leave on the attacked and the community. We must stand together in love, support and action; we must choose our battles carefully; we must talk loud, make noise, but make sense. Be clear, concise and unapologetic in our activism and outcry! And we must also make sure we stay alive.

   We have to challenge ourselves to be the best we can be. We cannot endorse the rampant selfhatred and shallowness. We must not prey on each other nor co-sign wrong-doing. We must promote respect, honesty and decency, and defend it in and outside our community.

   As the dust settles on this attack, what do we have left? We have the world which attacks us, those who support and love us, and we have each other. We must make the choice to come together (pun intended) for more than the physical, move beyond the shallowness of outward ‘fabulousness’ and begin to affirm our lives, celebrate our diversity, really love each other.

   Success and happiness are the best revenge. We must live and laugh out loud, be unapologetically successful, love with every fibre of our being (with 2 snaps!), be fiercely and genuinely fabulous, and dance often.

fabian