To what do we owe our unclaimed dead?
Over the past few days I’ve been sitting and thinking about how we honor our queer elders and ancestors who did not live life out in the open. This has obviously been a topic of conversation, but it has re-entered the community with the surprise passing of South Carolina Senator Lindsey Graham. Shortly after the announcement of his death, he was posthumously subjected to a variety of people claiming to know and expose his sexuality.
The exposing of queer identities during times of remembrance has become more frequent in the age of social media and a 24/7 news cycle. This follows the pattern that saw Patti LaBelle talk about Luther Vandross being gay and individuals exposing Whitney Houston for having a same gender loving relationship.
So what do we owe our elders and ancestors who never took the chance to experience life openly, either because of systems or of their own design?
How do we engage the memory of those who not only refused to identify themselves publicly but also did harm to the community? How do we distinguish between people who are just living their authentic truth in their private lives and those who choose to remain in the closet to find success and protect themselves?
What is it that we owe our unclaimed dead?
I struggle with this question all of the time as someone who has loved people who were forced to live in the shadows of their queerness. Whether it was fear of being excommunicated from their families or being pushed out from their religious communities or shut out of employment opportunities, they chose to live a life where only a few trusted folks experienced who they truly were.
So I understand the societal pressure that forces people to remain in the closet. But I also understand the need for visibility even if it is just a small public acknowledgment of one’s identity.
But what do we owe as a chosen community that is different and diverse? Are people supposed to be publicly out and proud in order to be remembered in the end as part of the community? What happens when how a person lived conflicts with how we want to remember them?
I remember in college when one of my friends unexpectedly died and tens of us poured into a small church in South Georgia to honor her legacy. The pastor used the opportunity to condemn our queerness and demand all of the attendees repent in her honor. I often reflect on the courage it took for her to live as her authentic self and to know that when she died her queerness would be erased and stolen from her.
So what is our responsibility for memory? Do we publicly out people in their death when there’s no longer any fear for them to be out, or if we do keep the secret, how do we do it in ways that do not normalize shame for the broader community?
These questions have no easy answers. All I know is that it’s our duty and responsibility to ensure that all our queer family feels comfortable living their lives as themselves, whether they live out loud, publicly, or privately.
It is our responsibility to ensure that laws and regulations do not force our loved ones back into the closet or deny them their rights to be equals in this country. No matter who he loved in the end, the Senator failed on both of those fronts. His legacy may be complicated, but the memory of him will be one of someone who had the power to help the community but decided to do what he could to force us back into the shadows and closets. And that will forever be a stain on who he was as a politician, regardless of who he was as a person.