Photo Via Alabama Political Reporter

Ella Dubé

Contributor

I hate bathrooms. I have never felt comfortable entering them. From the first day of kindergarten, I faced the reality of being forced into their categories: girl or boy, man or woman.

To contextualize, my parents never once questioned my fashion choices of short hair and boyish clothes. I vividly remember the moment I first felt the weight of those choices. I finally asked my teacher to use the bathroom, walked down the hall, and entered the girls’ side before hearing my classmate exclaim, “Hey, what are you doing in the girls’ bathroom? You’re a boy, get out.”

The incident was not unique to the 5-year-old children, as teachers and faculty around the school would often make the same mistake. Since that day, an unsettling feeling grew within me, one that has never truly left.

This year marks the 40th anniversary of the creation of Etcetera, the 2SLGBTQIA+ club at Dawson College. As we celebrate the legacy he created, I find myself stuck in his past, on his way home the night of March 19th, 1989. Beat, stabbed, and murdered all for yet another fashion choice: pink hair.

As much as our society has progressed with the legalization of gay marriage in 2005, the nationwide ban of conversion therapy in 2022, and various other laws in place to protect the queer community in the world, there are still over 64 countries that criminalize homosexuality. It was no mistake that I mentioned the years those acts were implemented because the progress we praise is only recent. Fifty-three years after Stonewall, the psychological torture of queer youth meant to force them into “normalcy” remained legal in parts of Canada. 

Through the force-fed false narrative that upholds patriarchal values, the misinterpretation of a Bible verse, and the constant lies we are fed to preserve tradition, society has forged the ideal environment for many to deny me my right to exist.Within the past few months, our neighbors to the south have undone the safety nets that took decades to weave. Last September, in 2023, City News reported on mass-organized protests that took place across Canada against using the term “gender ideology” in children’s education.

Even here in Montreal, a city praised for its diversity, I still find myself frightened to hold my girlfriend’s hand in public.

As I scroll through the morning news, I recall the feelings I faced when I was 5. Yet, the bathroom’s confines have since expanded into everything I know. I am trapped in one of its stalls, hearing the world outside move in and out, yet I am too scared to step out, wash my hands, and leave. Thirteen years after my first encounter with the bathroom, I have found comfort in my identity that had once been my greatest shame. My fears of the bathroom has been overcome, but there is no undoing the damage that it has done. The statistics we have heard countless times reveal that harsh reality. In 2022, research from the Trevor Project shows that over 73% of queer youth suffer from anxiety and depression; more than 50% consider suicide. In 2023, according to the Human Rights Campaign, the FBI reported 2,402 hate crimes due to the victim’s sexual orientation. Although my family accepted me with open arms when I came out as queer at the age of 12, I am not exempt from these statistics. The bathroom still haunts me and many others who once dared to enter it.

As bleak as it may seem, an important distinction must be made. Although I often feel isolated within the confines of my single stall, I’ve learned that someone will reach back if I reach out my hand. The legacy of those who fought for my right to exist lives on. The community that Joe Rose established in these very halls continues to grow. While I may feel trapped in this moment, I now know that I do not have to struggle alone. As we celebrate this monumental 40th anniversary, we honor not only the struggles of our past but also the hope for our future. Every step forward is a tribute to the battles fought and the lives lost, whereas every step back is simply a reminder of our ever-persistent resilience. As I reflect on my past, I now find solace knowing I continue to bang against the stall walls of a world that tries to confine me.