Who Says “It Gets Better”?

When I first heard about the “It Gets Better Project” I have to admit my reaction was somewhat…unimpressive.  Being a gay man of 42, myself, one would think I would automatically default to a stance of support, after all the thought of GLBT teens killing themselves is sickening.  However, I couldn’t help but flash back to a VERY skinny Nancy Reagan, waving a boney finger at a VERY cynical American public, saying “Just say no!”  Could it really be that simple?  Can the psychological wreckage from years of emotional and physical terrorism at the hand of one’s peers be easily cleared away by just a handful of words and the best of intentions?  Hmmm.

Frankly, I thought it was some sort of joke until I actually hopped on the internet and numbed myself with countless You Tube videos of mostly straight celebrities telling America’s GLBT youth to “buck up” and “hang in there” because all will be hunky dory once they shed the shackles of high school and traipse merrily into the land of credit card debt and skin moisturizer commercials.  Being a BIG homosexual, myself, and survivor of high school bullying, I can see how this message might seem to be a “beacon of light” for which so many unfortunate GLBT teens are so desperately seeking.  I can even see how some of my fellow gay and lesbian brothers and sisters may even feel compelled to “jump on the bandwagon” and perpetuate this amazingly optimistic sentiment.  Unfortunately, I can’t say things went down that way for me.  I would have to say that—in essence—things got worse: a lot worse, in fact.  Things will get better?  I don’t think so.

Now don’t get me wrong: I am not against addressing the issue of bullying GLBT kids—or any kids for that matter.  Plus, I am sure the project does a lot of good work: I am all for getting to the core of the problem and empowering the vulnerable and educating the ignorant.  It’s the message with which I have the problem.  I don’t see how indirectly placing the burden of suffering upon the already abused can help anyone.  From personal experience, telling an emotionally fragile teen on the verge of a breakdown—even suicide—that things will brighten up if he/she can just endure a few more years of abuse because there IS a light at the end of the tunnel is not only irresponsible, its ineffective and a flat our lie.

Truth is life isn’t a circuit party.  It’s not a dance.  There is no DJ composing a “sick” soundtrack to your daily existance.  Oceans of beautiful people aren’t clamoring to touch the hem of your Diesel jeans, while competing to register as a blur in your periphery.  No.  Life doesn’t go down that way.  Why?  Because it’s harsh.  It’s unfair.  And it pities no one.   Don’t take my word for it, though.  Take that of my favorite writer of all time who was intimately familiar with the subject, E. M Forster.

Maurice is a novel by E. M. Forster (begun in 1913). A tale of homosexual love in early 20th century England, it has forever set itself apart in literary history from other works of a similar ilk for the mere fact that, given its particular theme, it ends “happily” without virtue of anyone having to kill themselves from a sense of overwhelming shame.  Now, Maurice doesn’t claim to be an optimistic work, necessarily.  In truth, it does an excellent job in achingly taking the reader through our hero’s painful struggle with his own sexuality amidst an oppressive society: it in no uncertain terms reveals the conflicts, compromises, and sacrifices one must be willing to accept in choosing an authentic and unapologetic life.  This, obviously, could only have been accomplished through Forster pulling from his own experiences in navigating his own personal path as a gay man in an unforgiving world.  But, alas, we have the happy ending for which we all so desperately strive: the boy gets the boy and they live happily ever after.  Right?  Not really.

The truth is Maurice is more allegorical in nature than narrative.  Forster masterfully used literary tools to imbue this story with a true meaning that inspires—not smiles and joy—but a quiet sadness and sense of loss: one just has to read between the lines.  Through the use of classical allusion, death imagery, and symbolism, we don’t just follow Maurice through the course of his life in Edwardian England, but through his journey through a world completely apart from the living—Hades, the Underworld.

It wasn’t until my last perusal through the Maurice’s pages—some six months ago—that the story literally “revealed” itself to me, exposing its gloomy truth.  Much like the common themes of isolation and alienation in Early American Literature, the book’s undercurrent is one of division, rather than self-actualization or unity, as one might superficially ascertain.  It is about the separateness of gay men—or anyone who dares to rail against the constraints of social conformity, living beyond the fringes of society (I use “fringe” as this word still carries the connotation of connectedness, even though miniscule at best).

Utilizing “the ultimate alienation” of death, through symbolism and imagery, Forster takes us, like Charon the Ferryman, through a Hellish world of mausoleum-like structures with their deathly quiet halls and somber masonry and ever more cheerless inhabitants.  Homes, the true centers of civilization, are crypt-like with a sufficient amount of decay and ruin to drive the idea home.  Ghost-like apparitions and macabre settings serve to reinforce the idea of the death of self—and society— through conforming to popular norms and morays by way of abandoning one’s own authenticity.  In truth, Forster’s London (and beyond) is transformed into a sort of land of the dead where the reader will encounter the pallid remains—shells—of individuals and the tombs that encase them.  It is through this gloomy landscape of conformity that we see the correlation of a gay man’s life as a journey through the Afterlife: a place that serves to separate the worlds of the living and the dead (those who belong and those who are outcast), as well as the shades who inhabit it.

So where is Forster going with all this?  Well, no matter how much Maurice manages to obtain, he can only do so in a limited manor.  Securing love and his own salvation comes at a heavy price—the heaviest: death (a social one, anyway).  Sure, one could say Maurice should be in Heaven after achieving his “storybook ending”; however, one must remember that the Underworld of the Greeks—this includes the Elysian Fields (the Greek Heaven)—served one major purpose: to separate the undesirable (the dead) from the desirable (the living).  Maurice has everything he truly wants, but a veil still separates him from society (the living) and will do so forever because of what he is (an out and proud gay man).  To Forster, this is the best we—any outsider—can ever attain.   There will always be a separateness that will forever define how much of the “world of the living” any of us can access and take part.

There are good people out there.  I don’t argue that point.  And maybe the message of support one gleans from the “It Gets Better Project” is a positive one of sorts (after all, who can’t use support), but is it the right one?    I don’t think so.  The truth is, no matter how much negativity I experienced as a teenager from my straight peers, I can honestly say I have experienced more as an adult and, especially, within the gay community. We have elected officials who viciously pursue any avenue available to them to limit our civil rights.  We have people who have no qualms about taking bullying to the next step and putting life and limb at risk.  We have the cold reality of a lack of social freedom with which to wrangle.  Lastly, we have a GLBT community who—when it wants to—can be even more divisive and cruel to its own, purely based on what someone looks like, what they have (or don’t), and how old they are.  To say “it gets better” not only serves to fool those we wish to heal, but ourselves.  Sort of makes one wonder who needs the healing more.  What would Forster say about all this?  Well, he left instructions to publish Maurice after his death…what do you think?

No, it doesn’t get better.  We get better at handling what life throws our way.  We get stronger because we can’t count on the world changing for us.  We numb ourselves because we have no choice.  Maybe THAT should be the message: You are capable of more than you know.

Formerly a Jr. High Language Arts teacher, David Anthony Saenz currently works as a Licensed Master Social Worker in Austin, TX.  He has a 12 year history in work in HIV/AIDS, mental health, substance abuse, and medical social work.  Holding a Bachelor of Arts in English and a Master of Science in Social Work from the University of Texas, he takes great pride in being a raging bibliophile with a penchant for dead writers and good literature.  He hungers for all things literary with tastes ranging from classical to contemporary.