[Parks] Unity, Mississippi Style | Jackson Free Press | Jackson, MS

[Parks] Unity, Mississippi Style

By Casey Parks Wednesday, October 11, 2006 9:38 p.m. CDT
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I had to leave Mississippi for it to happen.

In the mall, Columbia, Mo.: My girlfriend and I giggled over Dippin' Dots ice cream. We held hands. We looked at the table next to us, where a young girl and guy were holding hands, too. The guy stood up, and his girlfriend jerked on his baggy jean shorts a little. She pulled too hard, though, and his genitals flopped out.

When the mall security officer walked up, I thought he was coming after that guy.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the officer said.

But he was talking to us. The mall is a family environment, he said, and we were making people feel uncomfortable. If we didn't leave immediately, he'd escort us out.

A few months later, camping in Oregon, I kissed my girlfriend on the cheek in the public bathroom. When a wild-haired lady stepped in front of the doorway to block my exit, she aimed to tell me how terrible I am.

"I don't want to be exposed to that," she started.

"Why is this happening in Oregon," I thought, "when it never happened in Mississippi?"

Mississippi wasn't the easiest place to be gay. I had my small brushes with homophobia, like the security guard who sent me Focus on the Family tapes trumpeting Leviticus' declaration against homosexuality. I still remember sitting in my freshman liberal arts class and hearing students avowing that gay people would and should go to hell. I spent that year crying behind my dormitory, begging God to make me stop wanting to date a woman.

I saw it happen to others, too. In the African American community in Jackson, many men who sleep with men still don't use condoms because they are so plagued by fear and stigmas. Using a condom when having sex would be admitting a deliberate sexual act. Instead, they forego the condom in an attempt to glaze over the sex as an "accident." Unable to live their lives openly, they pass diseases between each other and to their girlfriends (because often, they still have them).

A friend of mine may leave Jackson, a place she loves, because she and her partner can't legally adopt in Mississippi.

As a college student in Jackson, I used to think that if only I could get out, it would be so much easier to be gay. The only gay bar restricted entrance to those 21-or-older, and most schools didn't have active LGBT support groups. Moving to a place like Oregon would make life so much easier. I could meet more gay people there. I could walk down the street with my girlfriend and not worry what other people think.

But intolerant, even hateful, people exist in other states, too. Even in a state like Oregon, people will berate you for kissing your girlfriend on the cheek.

In Mississippi, I had prepared myself to be brave. If someone ever directly confronted me, I knew I'd fight back. I'd stand up for myself, for every homosexual I knew who had been beaten up with tales of Sodom and Gomorrah. But when the actual moment came, 10 hours away from Jackson, in Columbia, I said nothing. I felt sucker-punched. Stunned, I walked out of the mall.

"This never happened to me in Mississippi," I told my girlfriend.

It didn't happen to me here, which isn't to say it doesn't happen to other people. But the thing that I have found sets Mississippi apart from other states is that it gets fightin' mad. In 2004, after 86 percent of Mississippians voted against gay marriage, the LGBT community didn't start feeling sorry for itself. It started fighting back, working to show the state that gay people aren't abominations.

Before a year ago, the state had no festival to celebrate gay pride. Though these festivals might seem silly, they are so important for allowing a person to really accept and celebrate his or her sexuality. The people at Unity Mississippi moved into action last year to make sure Mississippi had a festival, too. And the event was a success! The group gathered up money to bring popular acts like Bitch and Eric Himan. The festival stretched over several days, hosting movie nights, theater and concerts, because the people in Unity understand that not every gay person is the same, so not every event will appeal to every gay person.

This year the festival is back, proving that Unity will stay the course in Jackson.

The Queer Young Adult Network (QYAN) has also started back up again. Check out http://www.myspace.com/qyan to find out more, but the group is designed to foster community and do service work.

This group gets up early on Saturday mornings to do service work, like helping to build a house through Habitat with Humanity.

In Jackson, heterosexuals are helping to make the city an easier place for LGBTs.

When I wrote a column in 2004 about being both lesbian and Christian, many heterosexuals reached out to me, telling me their church would always accept me.

The first person I ever told I am gay was a heterosexual Millsaps professor, who helped me quit hating myself. And my favorite pro-LGBT column ever written in Mississippi was by Ali Greggs, a man-loving lovely woman.

We still need the state to be a safe place for LGBT couples who want to have children. We need to make men feel less ashamed, so that when they do have sex, they will use condoms. We need more options for young LGBTs at local colleges and high schools so they don't find themselves, like I did, drinking too much or crying all night long because they've learned to hate themselves.

Mississippi has so much going for it. If we come together and stand up for our rights, there is no limit to what we can achieve.

Former JFP Assistant Editor Casey Parks just returned from Africa with New York Times columnist Nick Kristoff.

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