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F*CK THE VIOLENCE!” It is a project conceived by the Culture Group of Arcigay Catania on the occasion of the International Day Against Homophobia, Lesbophobia, Biphobia and Transphobia (or IDAHOBIT, acronym for International Day Against Homophobia, Biphobia and Transphobia).
The aim of the day is to promote and coordinate the awareness and prevention on the issue, so as to
to combat homophobia, biphobia, and transphobia.
The project consists of collecting, publishing, and circulating a series of stories, quotes, and real-life testimonies, creating a safe space to give voice to those who have experienced violence, overcome it, and fight against it, telling you about it; for a better world for all and a better time of life; so that you may always take care to shine.
Things are changing, and getting better: we want to show you.
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It wasn't exactly what I expected.
In fact, it was an idea that had never even crossed my imagination.
What I didn't expect, you understand, was that this could happen to me.
What I expected was that I would go with him to that party, that I would hold his hand by the pool feeling older, part of that something I had always envied in my peers, or in the kids my age I had seen on TV.
What I expected was that I'd introduce everyone to my boyfriend, that everyone would admire us because he was gorgeous. I thought he was gorgeous, and I was sixteen and I loved him as sixteen-year-olds can. Who cares if we were two boys: it never mattered. And besides, in 2010, who should care anymore?
What I didn't expect is that fear drives people to do horrible things.
I was just having fun. Even today, I sometimes wonder if I was hurting anyone; but I quickly tell myself that no, it was never my fault: it was a great party, I was laughing, I was in love, I watched him joke with his friends and I with mine, firmly convinced that we didn't have to be hand-in-hand every second to belong together. What I expected was that he would come to me whenever he wanted to feel close to me, and then I would expect his smell, his taste, the warmth of his breath on my neck, as he hugged me from behind as usual, as we laughed with our friends, as he kissed me softly.
What I didn't expect was for others to hate us so much.
Or that it could happen to me, who had done nothing wrong, who had never gotten into trouble, who had never argued with those dangerous kids, “the fascists” – that's what they called them, even if they knew nothing about politics.
What I didn't expect was that it happened while he was far away, that in slow motion I saw him turn with the screaming crowd, running toward me, as everything went dark and my attacker shouted: "Faggot!" he had said; not that I hadn't expected that word, at the end of the pain.
What I didn't expect is that when they beat you it really hurts.
There's something else I didn't expect: what came next. The support, the closeness, the anger and pride, the love, the awareness, the help, the struggles, the associations, the activism.
And it's ridiculous, I tell myself, laughing, that I didn't expect it: because violence just happens, it's crazy, and it can be random; but the good in the world can be predicted. Things change, and they go well, thanks to this: the future we deserve is just around the corner, we just have to fight for it.
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