Setonian Article

When approached to pen a column on the four-year anniversary of the hate crime at Seton Hall University, I was initially excited. Full text of the article can be read at:

www.setonian.com

The article is featured in the Editorial section under "Guest Column."

T.R.U.T.H. Posts

Below you will find the five parts of my story regarding the T.R.U.T.H. lawsuit, etc. The way this blog site is set up, it lists the posts backwards, with my most recent entry first. Works well to keep you updated, but not so well when telling a story. Scroll down to Part One, then read up. Thanks.

T.R.U.T.H. Part Five

Immediately after the lawsuit was filed, I gave a press conference on the steps of the courthouse. Some of you may have seen the coverage on television or the internet, read about it in the newspapers, or heard it on the radio. The media was very kind. I remember a question that was asked at the press conference. A reporter from Fox 5 was in the front row, and asked me the following question:

“Why didn’t you just go to another Catholic school that already had this kind of group? Why try to be a groundbreaker, a trend-setter, when you could have gone somewhere else that already had the group? Why not go somewhere else?”

My answer to that question was simple.

“Because we shouldn’t have to.”

I asked the University, and then the Court, to give students the full recognition that other groups receive. The push for recognition was seen on the front pages of many newspapers. It should be said, though, that I did not sue for money, or for fame, or for attention. I didn’t care about that. I still don’t. I’ve never been interested in being a groundbreaker. I only want students at Seton Hall to be able to endure together what I endured alone. In becoming the victim of a hate crime in my freshman year, I learned first-hand the importance of finding allies to help you through difficult times.

After working its way through smaller courts, Romeo v. Seton Hall University found itself in the New Jersey Supreme Court. That's a long way from a small town in upstate New York.

Look at your classmates, your friends, the people around you. These are the people that you must work with in an effort to better our world. It's only when you see and feel the people behind the organization and not simply the organization itself, that you can ever really begin to affect change and begin the act of doing good in a community.

I am not going to sit here at my computer and tell you that I have some great power to make a difference in the world, for I alone do not. But it has never been doubted that strength exists in numbers. If you wish to change something, then work together and do it. Don't wait. A lot of the problems in our world exist because people are forgetting how to care.

Tolerance, in respect to sexual orientation, has taken many bold steps in the past decade. I am proud to have played a part in this. But there is still much more to do, and there is still a war to be won. And as I was told growing up, it's important that we do this; be a soldier.

I was always told that I could change the world when I grew up. I beg to differ, because I know that none of us have to wait until we grow up to make a real difference in the world. The actions that we take now, including our inactions, have a direct bearing on our lives in the future.

I leave you with a quote from Ursula K. LeGuin, who says this:

"It is good to have an end to journey toward, but it is the journey that matters, in the end."

For more information about the T.R.U.T.H. lawsuit, please visit my attorney’s website at www.shanahanlaw.com.

I travel to Universities and Colleges year-round as part of this on-going initiative. For booking information, please e-mail rcromeo30@hotmail.com.

T.R.U.T.H. Part Four

During the first semester, I was thrown into a situation that really tested my character, and I feel that I emerged as a stronger person. I had friends to fall back on; when all else failed, I at least knew I had truth on my side.

Truth, though, is a funny thing. Everyone’s heard the expression, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” I suppose the same could be said for truth.

I get it. Being gay isn’t wrong. It’s just another way of life. But in the same breath that I say I know that it’s acceptable to be gay, others can say just as equally that they know it isn’t.

I spent the rest of my freshman year becoming involved on campus, building bridges, and fitting into the community.

I was starting to look at the students around me with a different set of eyes. Where before, I felt I didn’t know anyone, I now felt like I know that people were going to support me in this cause. And if people don’t support me, that’s fine. As Robert Frost said, “In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.”

At the conclusion of my freshman year, I took some much-needed time off and returned home for the summer. The thing about running away is this: problems rarely work themselves out unless you take some initiative.

In the year after the incident on my door, the same crime was perpetrated against gay students six times. When you factor in our Christmas break, Spring break, and summer, that means that a gay student woke up every month branded with the word “faggot.”

Something had to be done, and I knew exactly what that was.

During the summer between my freshman and sophomore year, I poured all of my effort into setting up a timeline with which to tackle the complex issues surrounding the formation of a student group for GLBT students. Every night at 6:00, I would stop whatever I was doing and start researching, making phone calls, e-mailing, etc.

I returned from my summer feeling rested and rejuvenated, confident in the idea that I would be doing the right thing. I knew that, during my sophomore year, the battle for equality and tolerance would begin.

In October of my sophomore year, I held a program titled “Stepping Out, Stepping Up: An Interactive Forum.” I asked a variety of different speakers to come and present on several topics, including a priest, a psychologist, as well as representatives from Freshman Studies and Community Development. While each speaker presented on different topics, all agreed that the needs of students were paramount. Students also agreed. The sentiment from the students who attended the program seemed to mirror that of most people: “There isn’t a valid reason that Seton Hall can’t have a group for GLBT students and allies.”

In November, I had readied myself to finally propose the group, a group that had previously only existed as an idea in my mind. Ideas like these are the ones that stir in you until you do something about them, the ideas that infiltrate every part of your life.

In proposing a gay-straight alliance, I wanted to name the group appropriately, something youthful and edgy, but still respectful and professional. I met with a friend and interested member who was far more creative than me when it came to things like that. We talked about the values that were important to the formation of the group, and the principles that we wanted our name to reflect. After awhile, he suggested the name T.R.U.T.H., which stands for Trust, Respect, and Unity at The Hall. That was a keeper.

I handed in my packet of information, and applied for provisional recognition under the Student Organization Advisory Council. I met all requirements as laid out by the Department of Community Development. I spoke to the members of the Council and answered their questions in an open and honest way.

“Is this a group for just gay and lesbian students?” No, this group is open to anyone who is supportive of putting an end to discrimination based on sexual orientation.

“Is everyone in this group gay?” No, it’s a very nice balance of people from all walks of life, including both homosexuals and heterosexuals.

”Are any of your members Catholic?” That’s not a question that we formally ask students before they can join. Religion doesn’t play a factor for members of the group, even though some of our members are Catholic.

”How does T.R.U.T.H. fit in with the Catholic Church?”

“Wouldn’t this group be against the teachings of the Catholic Church?”

Many questions of this sort were asked concerning T.R.U.T.H.’s specific relationship with the Catholic doctrine. The administrators asked me questions centering on the mission-attentiveness of my group, and what role I saw the University playing in the group itself. I responded in the same way that I have responded to every person that has asked me a similar question since that time.

People hear the words “gay” and “Catholic” in the same sentence and there is almost an instantaneous hesitation, a resistance almost. I can tell you that I was raised Catholic, and never once was I told to hate people, or treat some people differently than other people. But I am not an expert in Catholic Theology, so I talked with people who were. I contacted administrators at Catholic University of America, one of the premier Catholic colleges in the United States. I talked with them about what I planned on doing, and asked for some words of advice. You see, Catholic University of America has had a group for gay and lesbian students since the late 1980’s.

Thusly, I knew that people there had figured out a way in which gay students and a Catholic administration could find a successful compromise and work together to end discrimination on campus in a way that was completely faithful to the mission of the Catholic Church, and with full respect to Catholic teachings on sexuality.

Therefore, in seeking provisional recognition for a group whose members could potentially have sexual orientations that differed slightly from normative acceptable Catholic theology, I added the following phrase directly into the group’s mission statement:

“Our organization will not represent its views as those of the University, nor will it permit any ambiguous use of the University’s name to imply that the University approves of homosexual lifestyles, of homosexual activity, or of homosexual behavior as morally neutral.”

What this meant was that, by affording T.R.U.T.H. provisional recognition, Seton Hall was taking a step towards tolerance and equality without compromising its Catholic mission or heritage. To afford provisional recognition to T.R.U.T.H. would be for the University, in essence, to do what many other Catholic schools across the nation have already done, embrace diversity in all its facets. The mission statement of our group was flawless when it came to the Catholic mission, for I mirrored the goals for my group after not only the mission of other Catholic institutions, but our own institution as well. Seton Hall’s policy on racial and ethnic discrimination was used extensively in the construction of the mission statement for T.R.U.T.H. My reasoning behind that was simple. If the University denied provisional recognition to T.R.U.T.H. on the basis of the Catholic mission, it would ultimately be an act of hypocrisy, for my goals and the goals of our University were one and the same.

As it turned out, though, I didn’t have to worry about the Student Organization Advisory Council or their denial, because T.R.U.T.H. was approved by SOAC. But, it was at that point that the Vice President of Student Affairs, Laura Wankel, stepped in and made the decision to deny the group. After consultations from many sources, and rumors have flown concerning exactly who was involved in the discussion concerning this group, although that is neither here nor there, T.R.U.T.H. was denied. The statement issued by Dr. Wankel contained a “Memorandum of Understanding.”

The “Memorandum” was almost exactly what I expected it to be. In planning all of these things from the ground up (at that point my seventh month working on these things), I refused to be taken by surprise, so I had planned the recourse for my group regardless of the decision. I didn’t expect a “no,” but I also doubted that I would get a full “yes.” I expected a compromise, and a compromise was what I got. The key word here, and please keep it in your mind, is compromise.

The deal that the administration offered contained several parts, including what we would be allowed to do and what we would not. It seemed as if the list of “yes you may” was far exceeded by the list of “no you may not.” The group was prohibited from having any type of social activity, as defined by Dr. Wankel. Every move the group made would have to be passed across her desk before it was approved. We were also barred from holding any sort of religious services. Nowhere in my proposal did I ask to hold religious services, but for some reason, that privilege was being implicitly denied. We couldn’t use the name “T.R.U.T.H.”, because the word truth is considered a synonym for Christ. Also in the “Memorandum of Understanding,” there was a line that stuck out to me from the very first time I read it. At the end of the document, the following lines had been added:

“These guidelines are subject to change at the discretion of the University at any time. The group acknowledges that, in accepting these guidelines, it will neither seek nor expect formal recognition by the University or elsewhere.”

By agreeing to that compromise, we would not be able to pursue formal recognition. This statement was later modified to make it clear that the sole focus of this group would not be to seek full recognition.

Some people who loved this compromise were quick to use gay marriage as a leverage point. They said, “If your ultimate goal is gay marriage, you don’t push for that right out of the gate. You take the hospital visits, then the tax exemptions, and then the domestic partnerships and you build from there.”

However, this arrangement was unacceptable to many members of my group, for when is it that the price you must pay outweighs that which you receive in return? Mohandas Gandhi is famous for his theory of “civil disobedience,” in which he states that when a law or rule is unjust, one has a duty to disobey it, in an effort to be the change one wishes to see in the world. Smart man.

I am not a selfish person, and I am not a stubborn person. I am someone who is more than willing to compromise.

But I refused to compromise my dignity.

I refused to remain silent.

I rejected the “Memorandum of Understanding” as inherently discriminatory and utterly unacceptable. I couldn’t do it.

But there were and continue to be students who are willing to work within the context of Dr. Wankel’s “Memorandum” in an effort to bring about change in our University community in the here and now. I respect and admire those students, the students whose passion and dedication to this issue are so strong and vehement that they are acting on them and putting forth their efforts to change the community in which we live for the better.

In laying the groundwork for this movement, as I have said, I refused to be the victim of circumstance. I was prepared for this denial, and ultimately, the work that would follow. I went through an attorney selection process and ultimately ended up hiring a lawyer who would represent me and the members of my group as we sought to work with the University in obtaining the same rights as every other group on campus receives. That’s perhaps the most important part of all of this. We weren’t asking for anything more, or anything less, than any other group on campus receives. We asked to be recognized by the University; the same University that, in a policy issued in October of 2000, stated the following:

“No person may be denied employment or related benefits or admission to the University or to any of its programs or activities, either academic or nonacademic, curricular or extracurricular, because of race, color, religion, age, national origin, gender, sexual orientation, handicap and disability, or veteran’s status.”

The document continues on, stating:

“…Policies are to be applied in all decisions regarding hiring, promotion, retention, tenure, compensation, benefits, layoffs, academic programs, and social and recreational programs.”

I saw this policy in high school, when I was still completely closeted, and saw it as my chance. This policy said that it wouldn’t discriminate based on sexual orientation, even when it came to social and recreational programs.

Growing up in a small town, it’s easy to adopt the “big fish in a small pond” mentality. When you want to start a club or group, you just do it. I felt confident that, based on Seton Hall’s own policy, I could start this group for students like me who were in the closet and just wanted friends, people to talk to that have gone through the same stuff.

I hope that it is clear that I am only asking for that which the University contractually promised it would give.

My lawyer contacted Seton Hall on February 6, requesting a meeting with Dr. Wankel and any members of the administration who wanted to attend. He stated that we preferred to resolve differences outside of the courtroom, but if Seton Hall refused to compromise, it would leave us with no choice but to have a court remedy the illegal conduct. From February 6 to March 10, we heard from the University but once. They said that they had passed the matter on to legal counsel.

I wanted nothing more than to work this issue out in a way that was meaningful and beneficial to both students and staff, without having to besmirch the University, its reputation, or its standing among the Catholic community. But when a University will not work things out, it’s hard to remain silent and watch injustice continue.

Injustice breeds ignorance, hate, and violence, nothing more, nothing less. Therefore, in an effort to end injustice based on the illegal criteria of sexual orientation, I filed suit against Seton Hall University on March 10, in the Essex County Superior Courthouse, on behalf of myself and the other members of T.R.U.T.H.

T.R.U.T.H. Part Three

In the fall of my senior year of high school, I applied to two colleges. My number one choice was Seton Hall University, in South Orange, New Jersey. My second choice was the University of Albany.

I wanted a school in New Jersey, so that I could be closer to my dad, as well as the rest of my family that lived in New Jersey. Out of the 100 students in my high school graduating class, I was the only student who opted to come to New Jersey for college. I was proud of my choice, feeling that I was ready to carve out my own niche in the world. There were also other reasons that led me to choose Seton Hall over Albany, but we’ll get into those a little later.

My acceptance letter from Seton Hall arrived at my Walton house on December 24, 2001; I forgot to check the mail that day, and ended up opening my acceptance letter on Christmas morning.

I was very excited to be attending Seton Hall University, with its long-standing traditions of academic excellence. I thought I knew exactly what I wanted out of Seton Hall; I wanted to ready myself to succeed professionally in the world. I applied to the Hall as a Criminal Justice major, but by the end of my first semester realized that Sociology was a much more appropriate major for me.

I had made a decision prior to my first day at Seton Hall. In regards to the homosexuality issue, I had decided that I wasn’t going to hide my true self from anyone. I had lived my life as a secret forever, and I refused to continue to do that. I would be honest about my sexuality. If people accepted me, that would be fantastic; if they didn’t, that would be fine as well. I didn’t need the approval of other people to justify the feelings I had inside. I wouldn’t lie about who I was anymore.

At the same time that I said that I would be honest with people, though, I also had a very strong feeling about how I was going to do this. I didn’t want to use my sexual orientation as an identifier, for it was only one part of me. I decided that if I were asked point blank about my sexuality, I would give an honest answer; I would volunteer the information to people that I felt close to, but not as a means of introduction.

I opened up to a few people after the first two weeks at Seton Hall University, and they were completely accepting of the issue, and of me. It was a big shock coming from such a small school that certainly wouldn’t be the poster school for diversity. Suddenly I was at Seton Hall, where diversity was simply a way of life. I don’t really know what type of reaction I expected from people at college, but the natural accepting of something that had always seemed so uncomfortable to me was an enormous surprise, one that was not surprisingly refreshing and renewing.

I cannot begin to describe the feelings that I started to identify within myself within the first few weeks at college. For the first time in my life, I started to carry myself with confidence, with pride that I could finally be myself. I walked around campus with a smile on my face, and with pride in my heart; this pride came from the fact that I was, at last, living a life that was true.

I was completely and totally comfortable with the person that I was. I felt as if I was living life on my own terms; I refused to play a part any longer. I also realized that I wasn’t flaunting my sexuality, wasn’t rubbing my homosexuality in people’s faces. Living a life that was suited for me, I began my life for the first time, all over again.

Everything was going my way, from standpoints both academic and social. I was making the grades and making the friends. I couldn’t ask for anything more. People were accepting me; little did I know that things were about to be taken to a completely different level, one that I could never have prepared myself for.

Feeling more comfortable with my sexuality, I started to make friends at Seton Hall who were also gay. We would talk and share stories about how we had come out, and about how receptive people at Seton Hall were to the issue of homosexuality. We all seemed to agree that students really didn’t view homosexuality as a big issue; perhaps society was slowly beginning to change, or perhaps students were becoming more freethinking than their society was encouraging. Either way, homosexuality didn’t seem as if it mattered to most of the students at Seton Hall.

Had I spoken that last sentence, there would have been extra emphasis put on the word “most.” I learned that most of the students at my college accepted gay students, but most does not mean all. I learned this in a way that no homosexual student should have ever had to learn this. In my first two months at Seton Hall University, I became the victim of a hate crime.

Forever burned into my mind are the memories of what I saw when I found myself standing in front of my door when I returned to my dorm room one week shy of my 18^th birthday.

White walls and brown wooden door stained red with permanent marker, the words were everywhere. “Faggot,” “Queer,” and “Homo,” were just some of the words that now permanently adorned the tile surrounding the door to my room, in addition to the door itself. When I had been out over the night, someone who suspected my homosexuality had given voice to their suspicions, in the form of a cowardly act that marred my door. I called my friend Cassie to come over to my room and help me try to remove some of the graffiti.

Somewhere around two hours later, most of the marker had faded enough so that it wasn’t distinguishable. I thanked her for her help and she went back to her room. I walked back into my room and sat on my bed.

My spirit was broken. I didn’t know what to do. I had never encountered hatred like this before, only the subtle jabbing of a curious high school student. I had come into contact with ignorance, but never in such a blind manifestation.

In high school, I was always used to feeling empowered, feeling that I could truly do something that I felt passionate about, and could accomplish whatever I set my mind out to do. This vandalism knocked me down. How do you fight back against a faceless coward? I didn’t feel that I had any power to do anything; the loss of control was one of the things that bothered me the most.

But the part that truly bothered me was the sheer ignorance of the writing. Someone hated me because of something that was clearly misunderstood. I wasn’t these awful words on a door, was I? This thing came out of nowhere, and made me completely re-evaluate if my choice to be open was truly the smartest choice after all.

After a restless night, I decided that I wasn’t going to accept the vandalism on my door. This was a direct affront, not only to my property, but to my very character. Moreover, this was an assault on the entire gay community. I wouldn’t just lie in my bed and lament the ignorance; I would fight it with every breath in my body.

I approached the Hall Council of my Residence Hall with the situation, and asked the Residence Housing Director what could be done to get people to start talking about the issue. My hope was that, through greater dialogue and an increased discussion of the issues regarding sexual orientation, people would feel more comfortable. It was decided that all students living in my residence hall, which was somewhere around 300, would be mandated to attend a Town Hall style meeting in which the issue would be directly addressed. With an issue that affected me so directly, I asked to be a part of the meeting. I asked to speak.

With the help of the National Coalition Building Institute, the meeting was planned from start to finish. The meeting was scheduled to take place in October, just a few days before my eighteenth birthday.

News spread quickly through my residence hall that I would be speaking at an upcoming meeting on tolerance, and speculation built as to what topic I would specifically be covering.

With the meeting only a few days away, I received a call one night on the telephone in my room and asked to come to the room of my Resident Assistant. Once there, I saw that several of the Assistant’s from the building had already arrived. They asked me what I would be speaking about, and I told them exactly what my speech would entail. I had crafted a speech that was not confrontational, wouldn’t put anyone on the defensive, but still strongly addressed the issue of intolerance and prejudice on a college campus.

The Resident Assistants all agreed that, due to the situation, it would be in my best interest if I were to perhaps look into obtaining a campus security escort, should I find myself walking alone on campus after dark.

The idea of using a security escort was so foreign to me; I had come from a town in which no one locked their doors at night, where people trusted people. I believed that people were basically good at heart, and the idea that my physical well-being would be threatened had never seriously crossed my mind, at least, not seriously enough to actually obtain an on-campus security escort. I declined the escort, putting my faith in people. I left the room, knowing that I would need to rest in order to be fully prepared for the task that was at hand. In just a few days, I would be coming out to the entire campus of Seton Hall University.

I decided that since the incident in question had happened to me, I would know best how to speak to the crowd about the experience. I asked to speak, knowing full well that I would have to do something to show students the severity of the incident. While I did feel that I had a responsibility to do what was right, I also did not want to go over the top, to make the incident some plea for help, or worse yet, a bid for attention.

I spoke with a few friends about how to handle the speech. I was met with criticism on several fronts. The staff of my residence hall was unsure that coming out to the university would be in the best interest of my physical well-being. Both my high school and college friends shared in that opinion. Several members of the gay community thought that perhaps I was doing too much for the issue, and that I should simply let the problem fix itself, instead of playing such an active role. My gay friends thought that there was no need to push my sexuality in people’s faces, that it would accomplish nothing.

All of the people involved in the incident, the town hall meeting, and the speech itself found themselves asking me one question; what did I want to come from this meeting?

I wasn’t expecting instant tolerance to blanket my college campus after my speech, I didn’t expect the person who had defaced my door to suddenly come forward and confess. The only thing that I wanted as a result of my speech was to get people talking about the issues that concerned homosexuality. I felt that once people saw a “gay kid” on the level that I was hoping to present myself, a lot of their misconceptions would hopefully come to the surface, where they could be discussed in an open forum.

The day of the speech seemed to fly by. I had four classes that day, in addition to working three and a half hours at my on-campus job. I took a brief nap before the meeting in my friend Cassie’s room. The meeting was scheduled for 8:30 that evening. I slept until 7:30. When I woke up, the magnitude of the task before me finally hit; whether it was stress, fear, or a combination of the two, I was reduced to the uncontrollable sobs to which small children often succumb. I knew that, by speaking, I would be identified for the next four years as “the gay kid.” I wondered why this burden now rested on my shoulders, why I was the one who had volunteered to speak. This moment of doubt, of uncertainty, was very uncharacteristic for me.

I shrugged off my worries, which is easier to say now than it was to do then; I then walked back to my dorm, to shower and prepare for the meeting that was only an hour away.

Showered, shaved, and dressed, I walked to the auditorium with several friends. I was more nervous than I could ever remember being in my life, but I knew that nerves usually drove me to my best performances. Now, when I hear people talking about how public speaking is their biggest fear, I smile. Try putting the biggest secret of your life out there in front of a room of strangers, and then perhaps we can talk about fear.

The meeting started, and then it was time for me to approach the podium, to deliver my speech. I brought a folder up to the podium with me. Inside of the folder was my speech and a picture that I held clasped in my hands throughout the duration of the speech; the picture was of my best friend Liz, my rock.

About twenty minutes later, my speech had been delivered. No one had moved during the speech, no whispers, no giggling. My message had sunk in. Before I thanked the audience for their patience, I looked around the audience at the reactions I was receiving. My call for equality, for tolerance, had left several people crying, and many more smiling. I ended the speech and dropped my head to put my speech back into my folder.

When I raised my head, I saw the entire audience, somewhere around 500 people, standing and applauding. I lowered my head once more and held tight the picture of my best friend. When I again raised my eyes to the crowd, it was through tears, for I realized what had just happened. I had laid bare my soul to a room of strangers, and I had earned their respect. I left the podium to raucous applause and many pats on the back, smiles from the crowd, and encouraging comments.

Returning to my dorm a few hours later, without a security escort, there was a group of ten to fifteen students assembled outside of the entrance. As I started to walk by them, I felt a hand on my shoulder; one of the guys in the group had something to say to me, and felt the need to do it at that moment. In front of eight of his male friends and five or six female friends, this guy told me that he respected me and admired me for what I had done. I thanked him and told him that his respect did truly mean a lot to me.

I returned to my dorm room, where I again showered and then changed into my pajamas. Getting ready to go to bed, about four hours after the meeting was over, I decided to check my e-mail. There was one message, from a girl named Jessie. In this e-mail, which had been sent to most of the campus, Jessie came out to the University, giving voice to feelings that she had harbored inside of her; this e-mail reiterated in my mind that I had indeed done the right thing. It had been written immediately after the meeting had ended.

I had chosen to combat ignorance with knowledge, misconceptions with truth, and hatred with hope. I had taken a risk and put my character on the line in the hope that homosexuality would be seen in a different light by the students that attended the meeting; I feel that I was able to do that. I had taken a situation that was negative and tried with all that I had to turn it into a situation that was productive for both the heterosexual and homosexual communities as a whole. I did my part, and the audience did theirs.

Looking back, I have no regrets about anything that happened; this includes the original vandalism on my door. I no longer am hurt by what happened to me; in fact, I am thankful, for it allowed the issue to be brought to the forefront.

But I also know that with great opportunity comes great responsibility. I believe it is a direct result of my upbringing that I now believed that what had happened to me had happened for a reason. Now being a public figure at Seton Hall University, I had the chance to do something. The thing I had come there to do.

T.R.U.T.H. Part Two

I talked to my best friend Liz almost every day during the summer before my freshman year of college. On the night of July 10, we had a conversation that lasted for about two hours. We discussed high school, college, life in general really. We talked about our futures, and the need that both of us felt to do what was right, what was just. After a two hour conversation, I knew that the time had come to break the silence.

I called Liz on the night of July 11, 2002, and told her that I was gay. As my best friend in the entire world, the girl for whom I would lay down my life, her reaction would shape the course of my life. I don’t remember the exact words that I used to open my world to her, but I remember the first words she said in response. “Are you kidding?”

At first I thought that she didn’t want to believe that I was gay. I then realized that she simply couldn’t believe it. I had acted in every way the part of a heterosexual male, convincing even my best of friends that I was straight. I had done the job well, because it took another minute or two before Liz believed that the words I spoke were finally the truth.

Whereas I remember the first words Liz spoke in response, I also remember what she said after she finally understood what I was telling her. When Liz was at last able to understand that I truly meant that I was gay, she said the words that keep people strong in the hardest of trials; she simply said, “I love you Anthony.”

I’ll never forget the night that I told Liz that I was gay. I felt nauseous, excited, and scared all at once. There has never been a harder thing to do than come out to my best friend. With an opinion that I valued more than any other, Liz’s reaction was what gave me strength to live my life the way I have chosen to live it since that day. I knew that telling Liz had changed me inside, because now there was at least one person that I could be totally honest with, regardless of the consequences.

I’ve received a considerable deal of criticism because I chose to share my story with Liz before I did with my Walton parents. The reason for this is two-fold.

I didn’t feel as if there was a natural obligation to tell my parents everything that was happening in my life. Struggling for many years to be accepted by my parents, I didn’t feel that I was accepted even before I came out. In my mind, if I wasn’t accepted before I brought homosexuality into the equation, what made me think I would be accepted after that? In my thinking, my parents didn’t deserve to know. I would much sooner tell Liz, one of the few people who had been a constant in my life, a rock to which I always found myself anchored.

The second reason that I had to keep my Walton parents out of the loop, and perhaps the most prominent of reasons, was that I knew my parents wouldn’t be accepting of the “gay thing” as a whole. My parents, the ones with whom I lived in Walton, always seemed very prejudicial to me. When I would confront them about this, though, they’d claim that they weren’t prejudicial at all. I knew what I felt, however, and the decision that was right for me, at that time, was to first tell Liz.

I knew that there were a couple of other friends that I needed to tell before I went away to college, so when I was able to travel back to Walton for a night, my friends all met at Liz’s house to say goodbye to me for the summer. On a hot July night in a small town upstate, I finally told a few more people the truth about my sexuality. I felt confident that I had done the right thing, to tell the truth, face-to-face, to the people that mattered most to me.

After these few people knew the truth, I had planned on telling my parents, eventually. I planned to tell my parents in New Jersey first, followed by my parents in Walton. I returned to New Jersey from Walton the night I told my friends with very real ideas in my head about when I wanted to tell my parents. Little did I know that the option of telling my parents face-to-face is something I would never have to deal with.

In September of my freshman year at college, I phoned home to talk with my mom in Walton about how school was going, how I enjoyed my classes, and random college events that I knew she would want to hear about.

The tone of our conversation was uncomfortable to begin with; I knew that my mom had something that was bothering her, something that she was hesitant to bring up in our discussion. I asked her to talk to me about everything that was on her mind, and she said that when I came home we would have to talk about some things. I had an idea that perhaps my mom knew, but I played the fool, asking her what she meant. My mom said that there were some rumors going around town about me that she would like to talk about with me. When I asked what those rumors were, knowing full well the entire time what my mother was about to tell me, she said that we needed to figure out a way to stop people from saying that I was gay, for apparently someone approached her at work with the startling revelation that they had heard I was gay.

She knew. I knew that she knew. But this wasn’t the way things were supposed to go down; I had planned exactly how I was going to tell my mom, and now small-town gossip had brought the truth to her ears. It hardly seemed fair that other people were able to tell my mom my greatest truth without having any verification from me as to whether or not it was true.

“Well, are you gay?” That was her next question for me, to which I simply responded, “Yes.”

In a quick tone, instantly she responded, “Well I still love you and accept you.” That sentence sounded so forced that it came out sounding as one word. I knew that she wasn’t alright with it, but it was something she knew that she had better learn how to work with, and quickly. We hung up the phone, after I asked my mom to at least allow me to tell my dad. My reasoning was that I was going to call my dad on the phone and let him in on the “hot gossip.”

I hung up with my mom, waited two or three seconds for the line to reset, and then dialed my dad’s number. It was busy. I knew, at that moment, the exact reason that my dad’s telephone was busy. My mom was on the phone with him, and I knew it.

I left my room, deciding that I would call my dad later on in the night. I walked around campus for about an hour; I knew that my life was changed that day, and I tried to prepare myself for the phone conversation that I would inevitably have to make later that night.

Sure enough, the next couple of hours seemed not to exist, for it was suddenly time for me to give my dad a call. I took a deep breath, and dialed his number for the second time that day; this time the results were different, as I heard the phone ring. My Dad informed me that my mother had called him earlier in the day. He then said, “Anthony, what are you doing?”

I paused for a moment, took a breath, and simply said, “Men?”

He started laughing.

We talked for somewhere close to an hour, with the end result being quite different than the reaction of my mom.

Whereas my mom seemed to feign acceptance for my benefit, my dad did not. My dad doubted me, refusing to acknowledge that I was gay. He suggested that, because of my young age, seventeen years old at the time the call was made, it was impossible for me to know exactly what my sexual orientation was. I tried to explain to my dad that I was certain that this was my way of life, that I had known it for the majority of my life. My dad, unaware of how long I had carried this secret inside of me, remained skeptical. He could not fathom the idea that his son, whom he had watched grow up, could know already that he was gay. I explained that I was sorry to disappoint him, but that it was true.

I then asked how it came to pass that he learned of my sexual orientation. He said that my mom had called him earlier in the evening and said, “George, are you sitting down?” From there, she had told him everything we had talked about. I had not been able to tell my parents my story, and now they all knew. It didn’t seem fair, but it also took a lot of the pressure off of me; I didn’t have to search for the words that would have been the hardest to speak.

Lying in bed that night, a lot of thoughts were running through my head. I knew that, at long last, I could finally begin to pursue my own life, founded on truth. Was it a relief that my parents knew? I guess that it was, but their reactions were what continued to run through my head.

In my mind, homosexuality still continued to be a very taboo topic. My parents had reacted in such a way as a family does when one of its members is stricken with cancer. Neither set of parents denied homosexuality existed, but they were able to put it out of mind, knowing that it would never be brought onto their household. Both parents treated the truth about my sexual orientation in two very different ways; I’m not sure which one I should be more pleased with. Both reactions were not the desired effect, but that could very well be because they did not come out of the ideal circumstances. I was scared to tell my parents, but it was clear that neither set of parents was going to hate me because of this new part to our relationship.

So, while it may not have been the best way for my parents to find out, or even the best of reactions on either front, the truth had come to the surface; I was breathing, and now able to live my life in any way that I chose.

My parents knew, my friends knew, my town knew; all of the foundations that I had laid in two towns, in two different states, were suddenly changed, and I would simply have to wait to see if, upon my return from college to either New Jersey or New York, the relationships themselves were dramatically altered. One way or another, I had more important things on my mind.

College was here.

T.R.U.T.H. Part One

It can never be said that I didn’t do everything I possibly could to keep people from knowing. I dressed the part, adopted the mannerisms, and made all of the comments generally associated with a typical heterosexual male. I did everything right. There was just one problem; I was gay.

I was raised in a non-traditional Catholic family, living with my mom and step-father and their two children in Walton, a small town in upstate New York, in the valley of the Catskill Mountains. My dad and step-mother lived in New Jersey. I was able to visit my dad frequently enough, at holidays and summers and special occasions. My parents were officially divorced when I was in third grade. I’ve heard that there is a certain burden of guilt that is carried by a child of divorce; I was lucky enough to have escaped that, realizing that a divorce is sometimes the best thing for a family.

Living in a small rural town had its ups and downs. It seemed as if no one had any privacy, as gossip spread quickly, not only through our school system, but through our entire community. The one thing that can be said for life in the country, though, is that everyone knows everyone else. I can say that there were 100 people in my graduating class. I knew each and every student that was in my grade, and that makes me smile. There’s just a certain camaraderie that goes with a small school. While this is an opportunity for many to truly express themselves, I often found myself feeling trapped by the size of my town.

I try to look back and remember the first time that I realized that I was gay. I surely have to look further back than high school, and middle school. I know for a fact that I expressed homosexual tendencies as early as elementary school.

Before living in Walton, I did live in New Jersey, and it was there I first realized that I was gay, around the age of 6 or 7. It was never a big deal for me; I just knew that I would rather look at boys than at girls.

It would confuse me, though, that my parents were always setting up play-dates for me with a little girl named Katie. I figured they just wanted me to have a friend, so that’s what I thought we became. Katie would come over to my house and we’d do homework together, and things were fine. One day, though, Katie asked if she could kiss me. I did what every young boy, regardless of sexual orientation, has done since the beginning of time. I kindly explained to her that I would not be kissing her, because she, of course, had cooties, and I certainly didn’t want them. Looking back now, I can see that this was really the place where I started to think of reasons why I chose not to be intimate with one girl or another. Katie was confused, but I told her that I just wanted to be friends.

Flash forward to high school. At that specific point in my life, the majority of my friends were male. This was by chance. I didn’t pick my friends; we all just kind of found each other. I was always on edge, though, feeling that perhaps I would show some sign of attraction to another guy, or give even the slightest of hints in regards to my sexual orientation, and that my carefully constructed façade would crumble, exposing my true self to the people around me. I did what I felt I had to do in order to protect myself from criticism, and shield myself from ignorance.

In reality, there were probably many options that I could have pursued that would have ensured that my secret was kept. In my mind, though, my options were few. I looked around and saw that the men who were most accepted in the community were the men who were in a relationship. Men with girlfriends couldn’t be gay, not only in my eyes, but as I saw it, in the eyes of our society.

It was with great hesitation that I entered my first long-term relationship with a girl. Her name was Megan, and I genuinely can say that I loved her. She was tall, with long brown hair and a gorgeous set of eyes. I loved being with her, talking to her on the phone, going to the movies, generally spending time with her. However, I felt no sexual attraction to her. And this is through no fault of hers, must I say. I simply felt no desire to pursue things on a sexual level. For a brief period of time, though, I actually thought that being with her was what I wanted. I realized that what I really sought in Megan was a friend with whom I could do all of the things that friends would do.

We were together on and off for a span of close to three years, leading up to my entrance into high school. I did the things with Megan that I thought a boyfriend and a girlfriend should be doing. I did everything right. I kissed her when she wanted to be kissed, held her when she needed to be held, lent a shoulder when the days were hard, and did the romantic things that I thought would make her happy; the highest point of our relationship was undoubtedly the surprise picnic I planned to celebrate the one year anniversary of our first kiss, with all of the foods present that we had eaten on the eve of that kiss.

I was a good boyfriend. Megan was a good girlfriend. Everything should have been fantastic. It wasn’t, and I can identify this time as one of the loneliest time periods in my life. I had never felt more alone or unsure of myself than when I was in this relationship. I was bottling in everything that I felt in my heart, denying myself the freedom that truth would bring, all in the hopes of keeping some semblance of order in a life that was anything but ordered. This was not a pleasant way to live, but in my situation, it was the only way.

The idea to be honest about my true feelings was never a realistic possibility for me. I guess that I was afraid to tell Megan the truth for a multitude of reasons. I was nervous that she would be upset with me that I had “led her on” for so long a period. I was scared that she wouldn’t want to talk to me again.

I was also unwilling to give those people with suspicions regarding my sexuality the benefit of having been right the entire time. Sure, people suspected that I was gay, but I would vehemently deny any accusation. After all, I had a girlfriend, didn’t I? And men with girlfriends weren’t gay.

Nonetheless, after almost three years of a relationship, one that was founded on the basis of self-protection and security, I decided that the right thing to do would be to end my “romantic” involvement with Megan. I didn’t give my sexual orientation as a reason for my decision, but I did say that I needed to explore my sense of self, and I felt I wasn’t able to do that while I was in a relationship. Megan said that she was disappointed, but that we all have a little exploration to do in order to decide who we are inside. I only wonder now if perhaps, deep inside, Megan understood after all.

After our September break-up in freshman year, I never dated another girl for the rest of high school.

I had no plans to tell the friends I made in high school the truth about the person that I was inside. I made the decision in middle school, realizing that my town was not a place where homosexuality was tolerated. My secret would be kept. And, for the most part, I kept that promise to myself.

There were so many times, though, that I just wanted to scream the truth as loud as I possibly could, regardless of the consequences. This is a feeling that is common to homosexual men that have not yet “come out of the closet.” As I have described previously, the closeted homosexual lifestyle can sometimes be one of great loneliness. Speaking from personal experience, a closeted homosexual man is constantly on the defensive, always choosing his words deliberately and meticulously. The ramifications of being “out” in our society is a scary thought, judging by the experiences of young gay men who have come before us. One needs only to look to Matthew Shepard, a young man whose life was taken from him based solely on the fact that he was gay, to see why gay men are hesitant to be truthful with the world.

I know that in my personal story, I would definitely classify my actions as defensive. Everything I said had to be carefully constructed to give the impression that I was straight, because I was simply too scared to admit to people that I was gay. Being surrounded with female friends should have been easier than being around guys. And, it was. But it was still very trying; I don’t think the word “exhausting” would be too much of an exaggeration, in retrospective.

I had friends that were guys, though, with whom I would spend time. These were the most stressful of times. Suddenly, it seemed as if all that was discussed was who had accomplished what with whom. As sexual stories amounted, I felt the need to be a part of this, and I would make up stories about girls that I had done things with. Always the avid storyteller, no one ever suspected that I was being dishonest about my sexual encounters.

I was not honest about my true feelings; I, in fact, was dishonest, in the sense that I would go out of my way to make people believe that I was heterosexual. Making sexually explicit comments to my male friends became a way of life. Instead of having them see that I was uncomfortable with talking about girls, they saw that I was very eager; discomfort was quickly mistaken for the normal sexually-laced conversations of teenage boys.

I don’t know if I can blame this period of my life on anyone but myself. My friends surely didn’t force me to make sexually charged comments about girls; they didn’t put pressure on me to respond to their stories of sexual conquests. I guess this was a direct result of my own insecurities. Everyone wants to be a part of something, to fit in. The desire to shape myself into someone that fit in was overwhelming. And I wanted so badly to have close friendships with guys; I thought the only way to do that was to make myself into the person that was most similar to them. Making the conscious choice to lie about my past had a direct determination on my future. The more stories I spun, the harder it would be to eventually tell people that I was gay.

Conformity is a hard thing to deal with, for it strips away all sense of individuality, takes away the very essence of a person. When I look back to high school, I realize that I’m not sure who I was. I’d like to think that my sense of self was very developed, but how is that possible when I never voiced the feelings I carried inside?

Zoom in now on June 2003. I graduated from high school. I had made it. Whether the bearing of my cross is seen as positive or negative, it was nonetheless a success. I had made it through school with no one learning that I was gay. For close to twelve years, I was able to keep a secret about myself from everyone. I should have been thrilled that no one knew, for I had recognized my feelings long before graduation, set a goal of silence, and accomplished that goal. It should have been a proud moment. But with the silence that all too often accompanies homosexuality, silence is not a proud thing, it is hurtful. I had strategically misled everyone that was close to me over the course of many years, people who were truthful with me, had shared all of their secrets with me. I was lying to my best friends, and there was no way that I could find any pleasure in that.

I decided that I would tell my friends over the summer, that I would finally let them in. This was a decision that I came to rather easily after graduation. I knew that I could not come out of the closet while I was in high school. As sad as it is to say, my school was not open to the idea of homosexuality. People were judgmental, prejudiced, and unable to accept anyone that was outside of their scope of understanding.

This was not only true for the students with which I attended school; this was true for many of the faculty as well. It was common knowledge that there were several teachers that were vocal proponents of equality, teachers that would do anything to see that all students felt as if they were an integral part of bettering our school system. On the other hand, though, there were teachers who were very closed-minded, teachers that I know harbored suspicions of my homosexuality, and treated me accordingly.

My high school was very proud of our football team, and any guy that didn’t fit into the stereotypical “jock” category was always treated a little differently than those who did.

High school was not the place for me to come out. But when high school was over, I didn’t see any visible roadblocks to finally opening up to my friends. I made the decision that I would get my closest friends together and tell them my story, from start to finish.

T.R.U.T.H. Intro

This week marks the four-year anniversary of the hate crime that changed my life at Seton Hall University, and laid the foundation for a three-year legal battle that rocked a college campus and had ripples nationwide. And I found myself in the middle of it all. The easiest way to get through this story is to do it in pieces. The first part will be the introductory section, and hopefully by reading it you'll be able to get an insight into my life which should help to set the stage for the story to come.

FYI

The other day, I deleted the17th comment from my blog that asked a question about or referred to T.R.U.T.H. 17 comments since I started this blog last May isn't so bad I guess, based on how it used to be. So here's how it's going to go. I'm going to talk about this one time. And then never again on here. If I get comments, I'm probably going to delete them, so just realize that. When I choose to talk about this, it will be the first and only time I discuss this, and it will be done on my terms.