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110 pages, Paperback
First published September 11, 2001
My secret hope was that they were from somewhere else that then of course you can create that distance: We don't grow children like that here. Well it's pretty clear that we do grow children like that here...Some years back, I watched Southern Baptist agitators being blocked by people wearing huge spans of wings. The wings were something unexpected that I didn't know the origin of, and when the news became distracted by the next cycle of evil, as it usually does, the image joined the host that floods the reservoirs of my familiarity, not to be recalled until I was a third done with this work here. It was an unsettling feeling, on the scale of that that leads to the feeling of a goose walking over one's grave, and more than twenty years after Matthew Shephard was found lashed to a fence, head caved in and breath regularly stuttering to a stop, where have we come since then? In the age of talking watches and global warming, if another white gay boy was murdered in a country town, what would we win, what would we lose, and how much would we let the system cannibalize the narrative until what remains becomes of the most use to the Powers That Be? Whatever happens, I do plan on watching the play: it's one that demands to be heard.
I've learned so much about people—what they choose to believe if it makes them feel better. How they have to interpret things to make their own being better, to fit their own image of themselves.
My parents were like, So what plays are you doing this year at school. And I was like, Angels in America....[a]nd we got into this huge argument...and my best, the best thing that I knew I had them on is it was just after they had seen me in a performance of Macbeth and onstage like I murdered like a little kid, and Lady Macduff and these two other guys and like and she goes well, you know homosexuality is a sin—she kept saying that—and I go, Mom, I just played a murderer tonight. And you didn't seem to have a problem with that...This work, unlike most things that have assumed the title of such, is truly the record of a nation. I may be susceptible to the chosen Tectonic style due to my previous awe inspiring experience with Svetlana Alexievich (remember the days when we had hope for the Nobel Prize for Lit?), but I can still objectively gauge the worth of this piece, especially when the initial impetus of play is combined with its decade in the making successor. As is often the case when I'm looking for a work and end up acquiring it in a bundle with another, I almost liked the not pursued work more, as it fell more into my own line of thinking: asserting human dignity is a hard, long, and largely thankless, and there are endless of arrangements of traps, lies, and bad faith to counter before there is even a glimmer of hope to be found. Much as it did in the nomination of Sotomayor for the Supreme Court, it took the election of Obama to sign the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act into law, and while I will acknowledge that that doesn't wash the blood off that president's, and indeed the collective US presidency's, hands, it does make one think of butterflies into tornadoes, and tornadoes into butterflies. Do we still have those kinds of people pushing for a decade on for some kind of recognition that, as long as gay/trans panic laws, explicitly and otherwise, allow murder to be defined as necessary extermination, there will be a need for laws to tell the bigots that they are now the ones with the targets on their backs? It's merely one law in one government in one country, and I haven't even checked whether it's been torn down by 45, but it's proof of what's possible, if nothing else.
They want to write this murder off. And a big part of how people do that is 20/20.Where I do I go from here, I wonder. It took me almost a decade to read this, and I feel, unlike with other works, it would have made a significant mark on me whether I had gone out and purchased and subsequently immediately imbibed it way back in 2011, or even had read it when I acquired it a year ago through the luck of the book sale. My collection of queer lit, fiction and non, on hand is not as robust as I would like it to be, and my focusing on it this month does spawn my typical paranoia about possibly reaching for something in the future and finding nothing within my grasp. Matthew Shepard is dead, but I doubt he'll ever be gone, and what humanity owes to him is some constantly demonstrated proof that they bore witness and set in stone a marker of, never again. We have the Trevor Project now, but I value far more the living queer people that I can check in on every once in a while and make sure that they're still going. Seeing if they're truly alright would set myself up more for disappointment, but that's also something I'm working on, macro as well as micro, and this play is a valuable addition to my anti-bigotry toolkit.
You had a major, respected news source who came up with this set of stories that said, "Okay, it wasn't really about the fact that he was gay, it was really about this.
[...]
PBS did a nice rebuttal, they went point by point through the entire thing pointing out the false statements, the leading questions, the quotes taken out of context...but how many people watch PBS and how many people watch 20/20.
But here kids—and adults too—were leaving Laramie, and that fear, that's when I started realizing—I mean that's...that's terroristic.
NO, the crime certainly does not define Laramie. How we react to the crime, how we talk about it, and if we do or don't do anything to prevent this from happening again does define Laramie.