Gay haters in the park

Yesterday I was the victim of a homophobic attack. I use the word “attack” for lack of another. It involved a lot of spitting and heavy words but didn’t come to physical violence. The threat of it was definitely there but my attackers were unsure of themselves. Unsure if I was gay or not. As a gay-basher you lose your self-imposed moral high ground if the guy you are bashing is straight.

Let me elaborate.

Yesterday was Gay Pride in Amsterdam. One of the two large street parties that Amsterdam throws every year. In April we have Queen’s Day. And as the joke goes, this is the other Queens’ Day. A fun day where a mixed crowd of straight and gay people celebrate gay people’s right to be who they are. The main event is the canal parade. A large armada of boats turned into floats take to the water, travelling the length of the Prinsengracht to the Amstel River. It’s a crazy mix of the insane and the serious. From carnival-styled drag queens to the Aids Fund to Boy George singing Do you really want to hurt me? to the minister of culture coming by in a crazy sequin jacket and top hat. The whole day is also a celebration of Amsterdam’s liberal values. Well that is the impression you get when you are at Gay Pride. And to a large degree it is very true.

I left the party early. I had watched the parade with my wife and some gay friends who had come over from London for the weekend. In the middle of it, I had wandered up to the nearby Aussie bar to watch the Springboks beat the All Blacks. By the time I got back, my wife and the rest of the crew were well on their way to a night of mentalness. I had sort of missed the party train. And rather than be the strangely sober one, I decided to walk home and leave them to their mischief.

I was in a good mood, the sun was shining, the Springboks had won, Gay Pride was fun. All good. I cut through a small playground on the way home. Hanging around one of the benches in the park were six or seven Moroccan kids. Probably in their late teens. When I saw them, I thought to myself that I should probably walk on the other side of the park. I just got that feeling. Moroccan kids hanging out on their scooters, wearing their caps at a jaunty angle, listening to music from a mobile phone, they have a vibe about them. Most days they are cool but other days they can be pretty militant. But since I had been to Gay Pride, it felt bad to avoid someone because of a preconceived idea. So I kept walking.

The biggest guy spat on the ground in front of me. It was an ambiguous glob of phlegm. Was he meaning to spit at me or was he just spitting? But then he asked me a question that made clear his intentions. In Dutch he said: What sort of party was that? I pretended to not understand so he asked the question in English. The question was obviously loaded. A way to start something. I asked him what sort of party he thought it was. His English wasn’t brilliant which kind of threw him off a little. The conversation wasn’t going as he had planned. So he just said: Fuck gays. They go to hell. And then spat again. I told him maybe he should go tell that to the boys up the road at the party. He then said: Fuck you. You go to hell too. One of the kids with a motorbike helmet came closer. I realised I was overstepping my mark. So I walked off. I didn’t really want to end my evening being hit with a motorbike helmet. Behind me I heard one of them call me a gay c#nt in Dutch but I can live with that.

When I got home I tried to make sense of it. Like every other human being, the best way for me to understand things is to put them into little boxes. The gay box, the gay basher box, the teenager box, the adult box, the Muslim kid box, the isolation of being an immigrant box, the product of society box, the don’t blame it on society box, the liberal guilt box, the conservative box, the preconceived ideas box, the lack of dialogue box, the fundamentalist box, the Christian box, the hate box, the love box and the I’m in a box box. That’s the problem with box thinking, it has a way of putting you in a box! I realised after going around and around in circles in my mind that there was no real sense in it. Those kids were wrong to do what they did. Hating gay people isn’t cool. And I was wrong to prejudge them. In Amsterdam, the Moroccan kids take the blame for a lot of stuff. In this case, they were the culprits, but on a lot of days, I’m sure they get the short end of the stick. Together we are doing it wrong and maybe one day we will make it right by telling each other that.