By Conor Krupke

Physical silence can be deafening, but communal silence can kill.

As a gay undergraduate at a Christian College, it is probably not surprising that I found myself caught up in a culture of silence around the topic of sexual orientation. It took time to gain the confidence and support, but during my second year at Gordon College, I spoke up and broke that silence.

I was interviewed for a story on the gay underground. At the time, that was a really accurate description of the LGBT+ community at Gordon College; closeted, afraid, silent. Well, mostly.

Our campus has two primary resources available to support the LGBT+ community—an anonymous support group, and an anonymous publication that only actually discusses issues of sexual orientation every four years. While these two resources are a great support for the community, the fact that there are only anonymous supports available sends a clear message to gay students—this is a struggle that you must wrestle through in the dark, alone and ashamed.

I mentioned this in my interview with the student publication.

”Creating a culture of silence is the most dangerous thing a community can do. By not bringing this conversation into the light, we are forcing it to stay in the shadows. We are reinforcing the need for people who wrestle with this issue to wrestle alone in shame.”

Recognizing the damage this silencing had on my community, I decided it was time to speak up. In the weeks leading up to the publication of the interview, I moved through my list of close friends, coming out to them in person so they wouldn’t hear about it through a newspaper or campus gossip. I strengthened my support system, and braced for impact.

The paper was published in late April, and there was almost no reaction. I got a few comments of support from faculty who read the article, but in general, my peers did not respond at all. At that time, most students were out of touch with current events of the college, and the school newspaper had pretty low ratings. I assume that the few who did read the article did not think much of it, or just simply didn’t know how to talk about the topic. Before I knew it, the semester drew to a close, and the “big news” was quickly forgotten.

This was when I learned my first lesson in challenging a culture of silence; if I wanted to break the silence, I had to be loud. Very loud.

The next Fall my friends and I worked with the school to plan and host an entire week of events all focused on topics of sexuality. Chances are if you have any connection to Gordon College, you have heard something about this week. The two campus events on homosexuality—the only two events on this topic for the entire year—drew an incredible amount of controversy and outside attention, most of it negative. One event that was meant to be a friendly dialogue with speakers from different sides of the gay culture war quickly turned into a debate, in what has become the biggest controversy in Gordon’s living history. (If you want to hear more about the week, please read this blog by Ian Isaac, a fellow student at Gordon).

This is where I learned my second lesson; each person, regardless of stance or orientation, has an incredible amount of emotional investment in the topic of homosexuality, and this gives it the unique potential for deep emotional pain at the toss of a hat. Dialogue is fragile, and so are people. This understanding must shape our approach to the conversation if we have any hope for mending the culture war.

The ripple effects from that event are still being felt today. Some leaders responded by cracking down on campus programing on homosexuality, saying we needed to give campus the space to heal. Months of work spent on breaking the silence was actively reversed, and conversations were forced back underground. This, however, did not deter my friends and I from continuing to challenge campus policy and encourage conversation. Starting at the beginning of the spring semester, we met with administrators to discuss possible ways of moving forward. We also took to social media, and continued conversations ourselves through an independent student blog, Student InQUEERy.

At that point in the spring semester I was able to invest more time in my relationships with people on-campus. I found myself surrounded by friends from all sides of the debate on homosexuality who supported and loved me. I was able to talk openly about my experiences and frustrations, and it felt really good. I felt like a whole person as I finally found the freedom to be myself.

I remember there was a point in the middle of semester when my friends and I went out for dinner at a local restaurant. It was a larger group, and I didn’t know everyone. In the middle of our meal, one of the guys who I did not know made a comment about something being gay. In the past, this comment would have eaten me alive. I would have boiled inside, but been too afraid to say anything. But this time was noticeably different; I wasn’t afraid, or even angry. I felt empowered to speak up, but there was no need. My friends at the table quickly spoke up, addressing the comment, and helping the person realize the true weight of his words.

This was maybe my favorite lesson of the year. Coming out is terrifying, but being out is liberating. This doesn’t mean that people can’t hurt you, because they will. But when you are out, you have the ability to create a network of support around you. These, you will find, are your truest friends. These are the ones you will keep in touch with, and the ones who will stand beside you. They will share the burden you never should have carried alone.

Most of my experiences this year that are related to my orientation come in the context of challenging campus policy and finding ways to make campus more comfortable for others. This involved a lot of difficult conversations and vulnerability that I did not want to offer, but that was required. Towards the close of the semester, campus conversation started up again, and new controversies followed close behind.

It has been in this last push to break the silence that I learned my final lesson; one that I wish I never had to learn. When pushing for the humanization of a marginalized social group, there will always be people who voice their support for you and your goals. They encourage you in person, and may even defend you in public. But when it is time to take steps toward those goals, they question your motives and stand in your way. They realize the true cost of change, and they do not stand with you in the storm. Once the storm is over, they may even take credit for your victory.

The best advice I have for this is to remember the reasons for your relentless sacrifice and the future vision that you strive towards. When pushing for social change, the goal is never award or public recognition. In fact, you will probably be forgotten, and your credit will go to others who are undeserving. But if you are successful, your work will be remembered. The people who come after you will reap the benefits. For me, this means the students coming after me face significantly less fear in coming out. There is new precedence for conversation on the topic, and the foundation is laid for great leaps forward. When challenges arise, or when people turn their backs, remember whom you are fighting for and where you are heading.

So to those of you who may be considering coming out or engaging in social change, I say, be bold. Be ready for things to get worse before they get better. Be aware that situations may not improve until after you are gone. But do not let this turn you away from the challenge of change for there is hope, and that hope is you.

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