There is a well-worn truism that ‘one should not bite the hand that feeds them‘. Which is also often used to suggest that one shouldn’t ‘bite the hand one hopes will feed them’ – which might well be good advice. Or perhaps it’s just a form of tone policing which too often leaves abusive power unchecked.
Now, I realize that few young queers are likely to ever read this post- blogging is so last century. Even older queers who are on-line are more likely to be on that Book of Face and/or subscribed to Substack writers. So perhaps I’m screaming into a void. But that is still a useful way to express and reduce my anger and frustration.
And I haven’t made it through 68 orbits around Sol, and all the self-discoveries made, to just sit quiet. I mean, my Print On Demand shop includes my ‘Here, Queer, Won’t Disappear‘ logotype on a wide assortment of apparel options.
If presenting as a cliche of an angry, grumpy, old man stirs up sympathy, let’s go with that. So, I’m challenging every young queer- he!! every one- who’s quick to tell me how much they value and respect what I went through as an openly gay young man in Toronto during the explosion of HIV/aids in my queer and kink communities to put up, or shut up as we work to move to Canada.
By which I mean any or all of:
- Prayers to whatever divinity(ies) you acknowledge;
- Rituals of support and encouragement;
- A lease on housing with supportive terms/rate;
- Contact info for someone with such a lease;
- Cold hard US or CDN cash.
The harsh reality is that 99% of the people I knew in Chatham and then Toronto’s gay and kink communities are gone. Many of the community-based (ie unofficial) groups in which I participated left no paper trail- no official Registration, no Board Minutes, never a Head Office beyond a member’s living room. No 40th Anniversary Reunions are likely for the small number of us who survived this long, and we’ve no Facebook Group connecting us.
I have plenty of posts and pages here for anyone wanting more details- I was born in Toronto in 1958, lived in various towns/ cities across Ontario until I moved from Toronto to Columbus, Ohio at the beginning of 1996.
Leaving Toronto was a necessary step in my survival- too many funerals, too many dreams destroyed, too few signs of a ‘happy ever-after’. I wasn’t trying to escape Canada- just put some distance from the ghosts. And the mental health injuries I had buried.
As an aside- see my youTube video Did We Lose a Generation to HIV/aids? for how ‘we lost a generation’ sidelines survivors.
Despite the above rant, I’m still a middle-class Canadian raised last century- Thank you!
