I just got home from my second viewing of the Marietta College production of The Laramie Project, and I think I am able to type something coherent, now that I've have had a week to reflect upon it since my first viewing.

For those who do not know the background of The Laramie Project, it is play by Moisés Kaufman of the Tectonic Theatre Project, out of New York City, about the murder of Matthew Shepard and the fallout afterward. Kaufman's group went to Laramie, Wyoming 6 times and conducted over 200 interviews of Matt's family and friends, University of Wyoming students, Laramie townsfolk, and local religious leaders, among others. Out of those interviews - ranging from just after the attacks, until after the trial and sentencing of Aaron James McKinney and Russel Henderson, the two men who murdered Matt - The Laramie Project was born. This play has had a profound impact on every place it has been performed, and will continue to do so, I am sure.

Last Friday night, I attended the opening night of The Laramie Project with Dan, Linda, and a few other friends from church. I was unprepared for the impact the play would have on me. While I did not find myself in hysterical tears as many people near me did, I was rocked to the core of my being with what I saw. Laramie, Wyoming is a town little larger than Marietta, Ohio, and it hardly differs at all in religious and racial composition. It is not a stretch of the imagination in any way to think that something like Laramie could happen right here, and that scares me. It scares me to think that this 21-year-old man was savagely beaten and left for dead, because he was gay, because he was different.

I am more worried now than I have been in some time, because I am very different than most of the populous in and around Marietta, Ohio. Not only am I bisexual, but I am pagan (and openly so), polyamorous, and "sexually deviant" to boot. While I don't advertise my sexuality, my preferred relationship dynamic, or my BDSM inclination, I don't seek strenuously to hide them, either. This makes me a potential target. My openness concerning my faith has already caused me pain and grief (and will continue to do so, I am sure), but I do not seek to hide it even now. It is who I am, and I refuse to live in a cramped little broomcloset because someone else is uncomfortable about my faith. But that makes me no less scared.

After the opening night of The Laramie Project, there was an interfaith vigil held at my church for all those who have suffered oppression, persecution, etc. because they were different. We sang Gentle, Angry People, the song that this production of The Laramie Project had used, and it fit so well that it has been cycling in my head for a week.

We are a gentle, angry people,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.
We are a gentle, angry people,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.

We are a justice-seeking people,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.
We are a justice-seeking people,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.

We are a land of many colors,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.
We are a land of many colors,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.

We are old and young together,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.
We are old and young together,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.

We are gay and straight together,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.
We are gay and straight together,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.

We are a gentle, loving people,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.
We are a gentle, loving people,
and we are singing, singing for our lives.

Surrounding the play, was the Common Threads diversity conference, in which I took part as a member of a panel on how my safety has been impacted because of that which makes me "different" from everyone else. The panel discussions followed Maslow's hierarchy of needs, and how the way those needs are met (or not met, as the case may be) changes because a person is different. How the most basic needs of food, shelter, and warmth may not be easily obtained because a person a physical disability, or a gay teen's parents throw him out of the house because of his sexuality. How the safety of a person can be severely compromised because of a person's sexual preference, or because a person's faith is misunderstood, or because a person is "too fat" and the seatbelts in a car or airplane are too small. How the need to belong can be all but ignored if a person has a mental illness, or is a member of a faith that does not have a local congregation, and so on.

As I am prone to do, I left the conference with an on-fire, "I'm going to change the world!" attitude. And then Monday morning rolled around, and reality set in. I am in nursing school, and trying to get a new job, support my family, get my bills paid, occasionally spend time with my otherloves, etc. I already have barely enough time to breathe, let alone add another thing to my already-overloaded plate. But I don't want to let this go. So how do I change the world, without sending myself quite noisely insane in the process?

I change myself, that's how. I change how I view the world, and how I interact, and then start working on those around me. Small steps, but each one vitally important. And each one a reminder to me that I will help the overall problem, if only a little at a time.

Another, more in depth look at the conference can be found at: http://mariposon.diaryland.com/diversityaa.html as written by Vertagano.