It Gets Better Page 2

  That it was the old order and it fell apart when the It Gets Better Project went viral. Suddenly gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender adults all over the country—all over the world—were speaking to LGBT youth. We weren’t waiting for anyone’s permission anymore. We found our voices. And LGBT adults who made videos for the project weren’t just talking at LGBT youth. The kids who watched videos sent e-mails, via YouTube, to the adults posting them. Thousands of LGBT adults who thought they were just going to contribute a video found themselves talking with LGBT youth, offering them not just hope but advice, insight, and something too many LGBT youth lack: the ear of a supportive adult who understands what they’re going through.

  Soon straight people—politicians and celebrities—were talking to LGBT youth, too, delivering the same message: It gets better, there’s nothing wrong with you, and we’re working to make it better. LGBT kids could see that the world was full of people like our friend Kelly—loving, supportive, progressive straight people. And as a capstone—living proof—that things were indeed getting better, Don’t Ask/Don’t Tell was finally repealed. Days later Joe Biden, who also made an It Gets Better video, would go on television and describe marriage equality—marriage rights for lesbian and gay couples—as an inevitability.

  Things are getting better before our very eyes.

  I do want to acknowledge what the It Gets Better Project can’t do, though.

  It can’t do the impossible. It won’t solve the problem of anti-gay bullying, everywhere, all at once, forever, overnight. The point of the project is to give despairing LGBT kids hope. The point is to let them know that things do get better, using the examples of our own lives. For some people things get better once they get out of high school, for others things get better while they’re still in high school. And there are brave, out LGBT kids in high schools and middle schools all over the country who are helping to make things better—for themselves and their peers—in their schools today.

  Nothing about letting LGBT kids know that it gets better excuses or precludes us from pressing for the passage of the Student Non-Discrimination Act; demanding anti-bullying programs in all schools; confronting bigots who are making things worse for all kinds of kids; and supporting the work of the Trevor Project, GLSEN, and the American Civil Liberties Union’s LGBT Project’s Youth & Schools program. (Indeed, the It Gets Better Project has raised tens of thousands of dollars for these organizations.) But we’re not going to get legislation passed this instant and it will be years before we get anti-bullying programs and GSAs (Gay-Straight Alliances) into all public schools, and we may never get them into the private evangelical schools where they’re needed most.

  In the meantime, while we work to make our schools safer, we can and should use the tools we have at our disposal right now—social media and YouTube and digital video and this book—to get messages of hope to kids who are suffering right now in schools that do not have GSAs and to kids whose parents bully and reject them for being lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender. There’s nothing about the It Gets Better Project—nothing about making a video or sharing one—that prevents people from doing more. Indeed, we’ve heard from thousands of people who were inspired to do more after making or watching a video.

  A few weeks after we launched the It Gets Better Project, this letter arrived for me and my husband:Thank you for the It Gets Better Project. My son is 14 and a sophomore in high school in rural Kentucky. He isn’t athletic. He isn’t religious. He isn’t in ROTC. He is constantly being called “gay” or “faggot,” oftentimes by the people he thought were his friends. . . . So far, it hasn’t gone beyond name-calling, but I worry. I showed him your site the day it went live. He sat down and watched the video that you and Terry put up. Since then, I have seen him checking the site out on his own. I don’t know if he is gay, but I do know that your message has touched him. Although he does confide that four years is still a long time to wait for things to get better. I think that seeing so many other people say the same thing holds much more weight than having his mother tell him. So thank you again for sharing.

  Four years is a long time to wait. So let’s all commit to making things better right now, let’s all do what we can to create a world where no child, gay or straight, is bullied for being different.

  We don’t live in that world yet. There are children out there who are being bullied every day, and while gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender children aren’t the only kids dealing with this harassment, they are often more isolated, more alone, and more at risk.

  Nine out often LGBT students report experiencing bullying in their schools; LGBT teenagers are four to seven times likelier to attempt suicide. LGBT children who are rejected by their families are eight times likelier to attempt suicide and at much higher risk of winding up homeless and living on the streets.

  If you know a child who’s being bullied for being gay or perceived to be gay—particularly if you know a child who isn’t lucky enough to have a mother like the one who wrote to us—you can help that child find hope by helping them find their way to this book and the It Gets Better Project’s website (itgetsbetter.org), with more than ten thousand videos and counting.

  Do your part. Give ’em hope.

  DAN SAVAGE

  SEATTLE, WA

  PRESIDENT OBAMA

  SHARES HIS MESSAGE OF HOPE AND SUPPORT FOR LGBT YOUTH WHO ARE STRUGGLING WITH BEING BULLIED

  WASHINGTON, DC

  Like all of you, I was shocked and saddened by the deaths of several young people who were bullied and taunted for being gay, and who ultimately took their own lives. As a parent of two daughters, it breaks my heart. It’s something that just shouldn’t happen in this country.

  We’ve got to dispel the myth that bullying is just a normal rite of passage—that it’s some inevitable part of growing up. It’s not. We have an obligation to ensure that our schools are safe for all of our kids. And to every young person out there, you need to know that if you’re in trouble, there are caring adults who can help.

  I don’t know what it’s like to be picked on for being gay. But I do know what it’s like to grow up feeling that sometimes you don’t belong. It’s tough. And for a lot of kids, the sense of being alone or apart—I know can just wear on you. And when you’re teased or bullied, it can seem like somehow you brought it on yourself for being different, or for not fitting in with everybody else.

  But what I want to say is this. You are not alone. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t do anything to deserve being bullied. And there is a whole world waiting for you, filled with possibilities. There are people out there who love you and care about you just the way you are. And so, if you ever feel like because of bullying, because of what people are saying, that you’re getting down on yourself, you’ve got to make sure to reach out to people you trust. Whether it’s your parents, teachers, folks that you know care about you just the way you are, you’ve got to reach out to them; don’t feel like you’re in this by yourself.

  The other thing you need to know is: Things will get better. And more than that, with time you’re going to see that your differences are a source of pride and a source of strength. You’ll look back on the struggles you’ve faced with compassion and wisdom. And that’s not just going to serve you, but it will help you get involved and make this country a better place.

  It will mean that you’ll be more likely to help fight discrimination—not just against LGBT Americans, but discrimination in all its forms. It means you’ll be more likely to understand personally and deeply why it’s so important that as adults we set an example in our own lives and that we treat everybody with respect. That we are able to see the world through other people’s eyes and stand in their shoes—that we never lose sight of what binds us together.

  As a nation we’re founded on the belief that all of us are equal and each of us deserves the freedom to pursue our own version of happiness; to make the most of our talents; to speak our minds; to not fit in; mo
st of all, to be true to ourselves. That’s the freedom that enriches all of us. That’s what America is all about. And every day, it gets better.

  Barack H. Obama was elected the forty-fourth President of the United States on November 4, 2008, and sworn in on January 20, 2009. He and his wife, Michelle, are the proud parents of two daughters, Malia, twelve, and Sasha, nine. President Obama has published three books: Dreams of My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance, The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream, and Of Thee I Sing: A Letter to My Daughters.

  YOU WILL FIND YOUR PEOPLE

  by Laurel Slongwhite

  BALTIMORE, MD

  When I was ten, my family moved to a suburb of Boston, Massachusetts, and, for the first time, my sister and I were put into Seventh-Day Adventist schools. My family’s very conservative Christian. These schools were really small. There were only a hundred kids, total, in grades K through 8. And the high school had only fifty students altogether.

  I did not fit in.

  When I started at these schools, I was only ten and I didn’t know I was gay. I knew I didn’t like boys, and I knew I was different. But I didn’t quite understand what that meant yet. The other kids knew I was different, too, and they picked on me. I was actually afraid to go to school because I got made fun of all the time. And once I got there, on any given day, I was afraid to move. Because if I moved, they’d see me, they’d notice me. And every time somebody noticed me, they would make fun of me. They said terrible things. I remember getting a note from one student saying, “If you’re too stupid to know how to kill yourself, I can offer you some suggestions.” I went to the principal when it got bad enough. I actually cried myself to sleep in her office.

  She told me, “Don’t take it personally. Your class has always had a scapegoat.” Which, I’ve got to tell you, did not help a hell of a lot. I tried running away from school. I tried to kill myself. I just didn’t believe it would ever get better. I didn’t think it was possible. I tried to kill myself when I was ten years old. And again when I was twelve. And again when I was thirteen.

  High school was both better and worse. The other students weren’t as cruel but, because I had been dealing with this for so long, by the time I got there I was pretty mad and was acting out. The teachers decided that I was a bad kid and told me that all the time. I had to stand in front of a church tribunal, where I was told to beg God for forgiveness for my anger. I remember getting a letter from a church elder telling me that my parents were ashamed of me.

  As soon as I graduated, it got better. It got better immediately. I lived at home for a few years after high school and went to a community college. And, even though I was staying with my parents while I was doing that, it was still better. I came out while I was living with my parents. They weren’t happy about it. After all, they were very conservative Christians. They said some things that were pretty mean, and some things that were kind of silly. My mom said at one point, “You’re just doing this because you’re used to rejection.” And, “You’re just doing this because you’re desperate to be accepted.” They told me that I couldn’t bring home any girlfriends and that I wasn’t allowed to do this while I was in their house or under their roof.

  A year after graduating from the community college, I went away to a four-year college and moved out of the house. And then my life got amazing. If I had managed to kill myself when I was ten or twelve or thirteen, then I would have missed out on meeting my people. On finding friends. And that would have been terrible. I would have missed out on learning another language. I would have missed out on going to Ecuador and Denmark. I would have missed out on this amazing trip I took a couple of years ago with a couple of my friends. Just for a weekend we rented this crappy hotel room in Savannah and spent all of our money on expensive restaurants and amazing food. It was fantastic and I would have missed that.

  If I had killed myself, I would have missed out on having a horribly awkward first date with a girl. She was way too hot for me, and I was way too excited and incredibly intimidated. Just going out with her was amazing. I would have missed having a first kiss. I would have missed falling in love. I would have missed breaking up. I know, that’s the crappy part. Who likes that? But I’m glad I didn’t miss it.

  I am glad I did not miss out on having an amazing relationship with my family. I really thought they were ashamed of me, that I was hurting them somehow by being gay. And it’s just not true. I believed all that crap I was told when I was young. I believed that I was going to hell and that I was a bad kid and that I was hurting my parents. And none of it was true.

  My parents tell me all the time now how proud they are of me; how much they love me. They’re proud that I’ve worked so hard to go back to school. They’re proud that I’ve moved to a city and have all these friends. They are so proud of me, period. And it’s not even that they’re proud despite the fact that I am gay. My mom tells me all the time that the day I left the church is the day she knew she succeeded as a parent. She tells me she is proud to have a gay daughter—somebody who is brave enough to choose her own way. It is amazing to hear that, and to believe it. To know without question that my whole family—my grandparents, my sister, my aunts and uncles and cousins—they all love me and are proud of me. I would have missed knowing that. And I’m glad I didn’t. I’m glad I didn’t miss that.

  I’m glad that I got to the good part. And you will, too. Your people are out there, whoever you are. If you’re a geek, like I am. If you’re a queer theater kid. If you’re a jock. If you’re a loner. It does not matter who you are. It might feel like nobody can understand you, and nobody will ever like you, but your people are out there. You will find friends and you’ll find love and you’ll find happiness. You will get to the good part. You just have to slog through a little bit of crap first. And that sucks. I’m really sorry about that.

  If you start feeling bad, just look at these amazing people who are part of this project. It’s not just me. It got better for all of us. We’re not all the same. We grew up at different times; we grew up in different places; we have different families. And we have different problems that we faced along the way. But it still got better for all of us. And it will get better for you, too. I promise. Your life will be amazing; you just have to get there.

  The good parts—they’re totally out there waiting for you. Don’t give up.

  Laurel Slongwhite is addicted to higher education and helping people. She recently started medical school, living the dream of becoming Mother Teresa in comfortable shoes. In her free time, she helps run an LGBT youth group near Baltimore, Maryland.

  THE LIFE ALMOST LOST

  by Bruce Ortiz

  CHICAGO, IL

  The beginning of high school wasn’t actually that bad. I went to a fairly culturally diverse school. My sister attended the same school two years ahead of me, so as a freshman I already had this built-in support system. Since she already had a group of friends, I was able to fit into that crowd, in addition to making my own friends and finding my own way.

  By the middle of my sophomore year, I began to question my sexuality, a process that really rocked my self-esteem and confidence. And, while I still had the support of my sister and friends during that time, it started to feel more like a curse than a blessing. I could lean on them to try and forget what I was dealing with, but at the same time, I felt I had to hide myself. I felt I had no one that I could fully confide in and that I couldn’t fully explore who I was discovering myself to be. Despite being surrounded by all of these people, I felt I had no one I could really talk to.

  By the end of my junior year, my family moved, and I had to go to a different high school, one very different from the first. This school was not culturally diverse, and within the first week a decision I made would set the tone for the rest of my time there. I was sitting next to someone who started making fun of another student, making homophobic jabs at him. I don’t know if maybe I was feeling brave at the time or feeling that sin
ce I was at a new school I could make a new start, or what, but I defended him. And within a day, I was marked as the new gay guy, “the fag.” Even then, I wasn’t all that sure about my sexuality. I was even dating a woman. Regardless, I experienced a lot of bullying from that point on. I got pushed into lockers, got called names, and was generally made to feel like an outcast. It was a really rough time, and all I kept thinking was, “I need to graduate; I need to get out of this school.” I knew I needed to get out of that town and go someplace else where I could be more accepted. I thought college would be the answer.

  Fast-forward to my freshman year of college and a hospital ICU, where I found myself after an attempted overdose—things had clearly not gotten better after leaving high school. Instead, I was in a new environment where I felt I had no support, and I had no coping skills at all. I just wanted to be done with it. I really didn’t know any other way to deal with it.

  While I was in the hospital, the doctor told my family that they should probably start calling other family members because it looked like I wasn’t going to make it. It looked like I was going to pass away. But I was given a second chance; I pulled through. It took a long time after that for me to find peace—to make peace with myself, with the issues I was struggling with. It also took me some time to make peace with my family. It was pretty hard on them. They felt helpless; they didn’t understand why I hadn’t gone to them for support. And yet, I hadn’t really known I could.