I made a commitment twenty years ago that I would not forget Matthew Shepard. I think it was in part because of Doug, my Peter VanDaan from the high school production I directed of The Diary of Ane Frank who died later in Chicago of AIDS.
Gay, kidnapped by two straight drunk kids pretending to be gay, Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson, Shepard was tied to a fence to die outside Laramie, Wyoming, and became what he never wanted to be, a kind of symbol for vicious violent rage against queer kids. Many gay young people still die the world over every day, but he became a symbol in the U. S., and his story serves as a kind of signpost on a road to freedom from homophobic hate that we are clearly still on. My sister is married to a woman, with two sons. I am a father, one of whom may well prey victim to a range of hateful acts for any number of ignorant beliefs. I live in a world of kids wanting to be themselves, wanting to be loved, some of them gay, some of them trans.
A YA text, a collection of 68 poems, in various forms, a kind of model for young people for the various ways and forms they and we might respond to the world, to grief. Thanks to S. who writes that she likes it more for its “being emotionally powerful than technically proficient," and I agree. Okay, it’s not "great poetry," in terms of technical skill, but it speaks to Newman’s grief, and the grief of many. Shepard's story is told from a pastiche of perspectives: a mother (that’s the key painful one for me, as a parent, her sweet son dead, who can face it?!), his cat, a nurse, friends, teacher, the killers, a teacher, the mother of one of the killers who destroyed his bloody clothes and helped her son make up a story to try to save his life, an officer of the court, Matthew himself, the perspective of stars that saw him die, the perspective of the fence he was tied to when he died. The collective impact for maybe especially young people is heartbreaking, pretty powerful. Is it sappy? Well, I don't know. A kid died because he was gay. Tell it. Tell it the best way you know how, with feeling, I say.
Are you sick of stories of Gay Pride and Rage, of the hate crimes on gay, lesbian, queer, transgendered, bisexual and transsexual people that still happen daily? Of Black Lives Matter? Do you think of this kind of story as a kind of mere “identity issue"? Well, remember: Trump says trans folks cannot serve in the military, they are not fully human, in 2017, but also know that the military leadership and the thousands off trans (and even more cis-gendered) people in the military say bullshit, and I say amen to that response.
Gay Awareness Week, University of Wyoming, October 1998, Leslea Newman, the author of Heather Has Two Mommies, is the scheduled keynote speaker. They call to say Shepard has died, will they cancel? She doesn't know Shepard, never heard of him, but she comes, she speaks. They hold Gay Awareness Week in his honor, with the whole world watching. She is now forever tied to this killing story in the memory of the University of Wyoming and in her own memory, of course. She writes out of her grief to speak to young people everywhere.
The epilogue is especially beautiful, her best writing, and the afterword is powerful, too, an appeal to action on the part of readers.
It’s powerful, it’s heavy-handed, it’s heartbreaking, it’s didactic, it’s sad, it’s emotionally manipulative, it’s not great poetry, it’s simplistic, and yet it’s what poetry can do for young people.
“I think I killed someone,” one of the killers said to his girlfriend.
“I wouldn’t call it a hate crime. All I wanted to do was beat him up and rob him.”
“I hated gay people. And now I hate them more. I have no regrets.”
I wish it weren't true, I say to my married lesbian sister, all my gay students, all my black students, all my students, my children. Stay safe. Vote with your body, be as well as you are able in these times.