This could not be possible without the social shift toward tolerance and acceptance of the queer community over the last thirty years. 

 By: Daniella Simari

When my sixteen-year-old brother called me at college to tell me he was gay, I was not shocked. The signs were always clear –– when he dressed up as a girl for Halloween in the third grade, never discussed female love interests, and his disinterest in stereotypical “male” activities. 

Before he knew what homosexuality was,  he was bullied for being gay. I remember the sting of white-hot tears running down my face as I confronted his much older bully, an eighth-grader. He was laughing  at my third-grade brother’s blonde wig and heels on Halloween. The bully shouted, “You’re gay, don’t you know?” I remember the look of anguish on my brother’s face, and my own feeling of helplessness. From that moment on, I chose not to care about my brother’s sexuality despite the moral teachings of our Catholic upbringing. I was his older sister, his protector. I loved him no matter what. His bully, almost unsurprisingly, later came out as gay. 

This incident is one of many that my brother will face in his life, as will many others in the queer community. Now, however, they are less frequent. Thirty years ago, the fluidity of someone’s sexuality could never be acknowledged in casual conversation, let alone uttered to close friends and family. Now a person’s sexuality is part of their public identity on social media platforms like Twitter, and queer people are central figures in popular television shows and movies like Queer Eye and Call Me By Your Name. 

My 54-year-old mother fears for my brother’s safety and his quality of life as a gay man. She fears she will wake up to the police knocking to tell her that my brother was the victim of a violent hate crime. That employers, colleagues, or strangers will mock him both to his face and behind his back. She always tells my brother before he leaves the house to “Please be careful. You don’t know what other people on the street are thinking.” 

My mother grew up in an era when people rarely outed themselves as queer. Nor were they asked to. She suspected her best friend in college was gay, but he never told her. Members of the queer community in her generation and those previous lived within invisible heteronormative social boundaries, paralyzed by potential ostracization and hate.

Despite progress made worldwide, queer people in many countries still live in fear of losing their lives. Donald Trump’s administration started a campaign to protect the rights of queer people in foreign countries, despite his contrary domestic agenda. Currently, trans people are not allowed to enter the armed forces in the United States, and many federal departments within the government have rolled back policies against discrimination based on sexual orientation.

But American culture, especially in urban centers, is shifting toward inclusivity and acceptance of all sexual orientations. The New Jersey public high school that my brother attended was extremely progressive, and our town officials painted rainbow crosswalks to show their support for the queer community. International Pride parades populate calendars in the spring and summer months. There are even more outspoken gay and lesbian officials elected to government seats than ever before. I never feared for my brother’s safety as a gay teenager in our small suburb, and I do not fear for his safety as he grows into a man almost anywhere else. 

Along with youth, older generations are learning to be accepting, too. My grandfather’s change in perspective is proof. 

My grandfather was a staunch conservative, and extremely outspoken about his views. He never knew that my brother was gay, although my grandmother suspected it. Before he passed away, my grandmother asked him how he might react if his only grandson were gay. He didn’t think twice before replying, “I don’t care. I love that kid.” My brother and grandfather didn’t always see eye to eye, but he loved him despite his conservative values. 

After I hung up the phone with my brother, I made sure to pick up the phone to speak with him again the following morning. And the next day. And the day after that, until we spoke at least five times a week while I was at university. Our relationship grew closer than ever. The same followed for my brother’s relationship with our other family members. I am grateful for the efforts of countless LGBTQIA+  advocates, who work tirelessly to instill the acceptance I see in my generation, and the generations before. Most importantly, I am grateful to my family members, for leading life with love rather than intolerance. 

Daniella Simari is a graduate student at Columbia University, studying environmental science and policy in the School of International and Public Affairs.