Never Walked In High Heels

It’s three AM on a Saturday morning in London. The light of the outside metropolis shines into my flat like some surrogate moon unsuccessfully trying to lull me into a slumber. And even though I have shut the curtains, turned the other direction, and taken a sleeping pill, sleep is nowhere to be found.
Most people in my situation have been more than acquainted with the night. A Chicago native now calling Las Vegas home and London my workplace, I am currently living as a nocturnal creature to say the least. Add to that the fact that the stage is my office and my networking consists after show drinks with actors and I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise I’m up at this hour. After all, I just came back from a show tonight called Bent.

Bent was first preformed in 1979 and latter turned into a movie in 1997. Max a promiscuous gay man is taken to a Nazi concentration camp with his partner Rudy. While Rudy is beaten to death on the train, Max quickly discovers that he will be treated slightly better by denying the fact that he is gay and convinces the Nazi officers that he is Jewish. When it was first produced, Bent helped paved the way for historical research on the horrific treatment of homosexuals in the holocaust. 

Small wonder I can’t sleep.

Many people forget that before the Nazis went after the Jews, they rounded up others, namely the homosexuals and the disabled. This group was how Hitler perfected his methods of mechanically, often by trial and error. Overall, these deaths were the slowest, most gruesome, and least humane out of any during the regime. Largely forgotten about in history books, it is yet another example of how people can’t stand what they refuse to understand. 

As a disabled woman I have learned that there are two things that most humans want to be absolutely clear on: physical ability and sexuality.  Yes, there are other factors as well, but nothing globally labels you as second-class status faster than these two issues. Even in a world so hell bent on making things easy, painless, and accessible, few dignities are granted to those of us who have no homeland to begin with. There is no country of queers anymore than there is a kingdom of cripples. Those of us who were made to challenge categories and classifications are constant wayfarers. Which is why, I suppose, I have always felt a tremendous kinship with many gay men. Many of them, like me, refuse to apologize for their non-conformity. It would be easy to say we camp it up, make differences sexy and glamorous but that would be simplifying a very difficult struggle which continues today as much as it ever has. 

Throughout history it has been those that weren’t privileged which have reshaped the world. Much of American history has been the redefining of the phrase “all men are created equal” to include what those in power originally hoped to exclude.  The days that homosexuality was a social taboo exactly what was allowed the Nazis to take citizens into the concentration camps. And so, those of us who have public battles at the very least ensure that such silence does not happen again. Better to be in the middle of controversy than taken away in silence. At least with the commotion we force the world to slowly propel itself forward. 

It is a little later and the black sky has grown silver. Even the light outside of my window has now gone off. But I still cannot sleep.  This is pointless. I get out of bed and put feet on the ground. I walk to my front door and check the lock before I go to the couch. Still no sleep. 

I open the newspaper to an article about fetal testing to avoid possible ‘’problems’’ as a child. As always, there is much discussion as to what these ‘’problems’’ are. Where do we draw the line when it comes to avoiding problems? Genetic defects? Disability? Race? Homosexuality? Sound familiar?

My phone rings and I jump from the start. It’s from a mate across the city calling to tell me about his date with his new boyfriend. Neither of us were expecting me to be up at this hour. He talks and I listen to the sound of his deep voice, feeling instantly relaxed. Even though he takes longer than I do to get ready to go out, tonight I am thankful for his confidence, something that I often miss from straight men. Sometimes, I’m in awe of his masculinity. He invites himself over to make an early morning cup of tea. As soon as I hang up the phone I look out my window, the sky is bright red. 

We are everywhere, the others. We are the ones who turn the wheel of history, ensuring that no one is comfortable until everyone has the same dignities given to them. Progress is not made by the actions of those who are sitting in their leather armchairs, it is made by those of us who fight for things that never should have to be a fight in the first place. We have no homeland, but the strength we have ensures that things will change and we will gain the rights that should be ours. Until then, I am reminded of what a more contemporary gay playwright says what an ideal world ought to be. “Everyone in Balenciaga gowns with red corsages, and big dance palaces full of music and lights and racial impurity and gender confusion… Race, taste and history finally overcome.”

Good luck in your own fight to make that happen.