My aunt Vicky Hartzler wept on the House floor over LGBTQ equality. But we’re done hiding
It was a bright, sunny day in Kansas City nearly 10 years ago. I remember all too well the look on my parents’ faces when I muttered the words, “I’m gay.” I guess I should have anticipated the disappointment in their eyes. I grew up in the midst of a far-right family and culture with deep convictions that any deviation from their definition of normal was viewed as wrong. For my parents, being gay was the ultimate sin — “a path straight to hell,” as my father said.
Worst of all, I grew up believing them. The hate their words inspired punctured my heart, and I felt like the only option was to forcibly end my life.
My sexual orientation was never a question of my own exploration, but rather predetermined by the religious ideals I was expected to align with. The environment of strict exclusion that comprised my upbringing was first unveiled in the seventh grade when a classmate was expelled for their orientation. After I was forced back into the closet during conversion therapy, it became clear that if I were going to survive, I would have to live a lie.
While in college at Oral Roberts University, a conservative Christian university in Tulsa, Oklahoma, I was outed to administration and threatened with expulsion. Fear of rejection, exclusion, mockery and shame all consumed me while trapped in a bubble of intolerance. This dystopian veil blocked me from seeing my sexual orientation for what it truly is: a gift. Relinquishing my fear, I learned to stand up for what is just and equal so all may have their birthright.
After graduating, I joined The Religious Exemption Accountability Project’s class action lawsuit against the U.S. Department of Education. Together with 46 other plaintiffs, we are advocating for the rights of more than 100,000 LGBTQ students at religious colleges and universities nationwide.
No two stories are the same, yet for so many of us the similarities often outweigh the differences. We grow up hiding a part of ourselves because we are not ready to face the backlash. We succumb to the shadows and spend the first part of our lives trying to be the societal definition of normal. We hide who we are because we don’t want to lose our family. We don’t want to be kicked out of our school. This is our reality, but it doesn’t have to be this way. We cannot change who we are. Rather, we can only hope, or demand, that those who oppose us will change how they see us.
Last week, President Joe Biden signed the Respect for Marriage Act into law, creating federal protections for interracial and same-gender marriages. The bill passed the House, but it was still opposed by nearly 40% of our U.S. representatives — 258 Yeas and 169 Nays. That’s about 4 in 10 House members who opposed marriage equality. One member of Congress — my aunt, Missouri Rep. Vicky Hartzler — in a fervent display on the House floor, referred to it as “the Disrespect for Marriage Act,” calling it a “dangerous” bill as her voice cracked and tears fell.
The hate that prevails when our right to coexist is debated is the legitimate danger. Regardless of one’s political party, this is a matter of respecting one another. Many use the Bible as a defining reason for their inability to accept those who are different. However, this justification for their reasoning is nothing more than a shield to hide behind, an excuse to show blatant discrimination.
Perhaps my aunt’s emotional display of devastation stems from the fear of a more integrated society where individuals unlike her are afforded the same liberties that she and so many others have never been without. Freedom of religion used as justification for one’s preferred future of absolute exclusion of anything that falls outside their definition of moral is what is indeed dangerous.
Mental health disparities for LGBTQ youths are well documented, yet too many who yield power continue to push for legislation designed to exclude and isolate us. But enough is enough. Regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity, we are equally deserving citizens entitled to — and demanding — the same liberties and respect as our peers. Let us celebrate federal protections for marriage equality today while recognizing that we have a long way to go until respect and equality are our new normal.
Andrew Hartzler is an LGBTQ advocate from Kansas City. He lives in Tulsa.
