LGBTQ+ Sicilian stories

The situation for gay people in Italy is extremely difficult. At best, they are rejected and mocked; at worst, they risk suffering violence or severe discrimination. The Church, which in my view represents a major obstacle to the advancement of their rights, supports a backward and bigoted culture and mindset. Of course, I am no

t referring to everyone, but certainly to the majority. I have been living in England for the past few years. Still, I have heard stories of gay young men being beaten up at the fish market in my hometown, and of landlords in northern Italy who have refused to let flats to gay people, even though they were well-off and able to pay the rent.

After leaving England when I was very young, I grew up in a small village by the sea in Sicily. The sea plays strange tricks on you; it makes everything seem bigger and endless. You might think that anyone who spends so much time gazing at its immensity would be broad-minded, and that anyone who stares at its horizon would be unable to perceive any limits. And yet I have a few stories full of limitations to tell. Stories I have witnessed, which do not concern me personally, but which have nonetheless left their mark on my soul.

The first story dates back to my sixth-form years, more than fifteen years ago. At that time, something extraordinary was happening in my little village, and more and more gay people were coming out and no longer feeling ashamed of their sexual orientation, though not without having to fight against social pressures. It so happened that one of these girls (X) was in my class, and she fell in love with a girl much younger than her (Y) at my school. Now, if X had been a boy and Y a girl, nobody would have had a word to say. Instead, X and Y faced harsh judgment from both their families and their social circle, and struggled hard to stay together. Things were changing in my little village, but were people really ready for this change? The evening X came out, my best friend at the time – who was also a very close friend of hers – called me in tears, complaining that everything would now be different and their friendship would change dramatically. I couldn't understand what she was on about; to me, it made no sense at all – neither the tears nor what she was saying. I replied very briefly: 'I don't see what the problem is; she's still the same person.' How can a true friendship end when you discover who you really are? It can't. The friendship isn't real.

The second story dates back to a few years after secondary school. I was studying in Milan and would occasionally go home to visit my family and friends. During one of these summer visits, I met up again with an old childhood friend (Z), who revealed to me that she was a lesbian and was in a relationship with a girl. That summer, I spent time with her and her circle of friends, some of whom were gay and others straight. Two incidents left a deep mark on my soul. The first was a party we went to. As I said, I grew up in a small village, where everyone knows everyone else and knows everything. As soon as my friends and I arrived at the party, a void formed around us. People kept their distance, spoke in hushed tones, and looked at us suspiciously. They knew that some of the girls in our group were lesbians, and they didn't want the 'virus' to infect them. Once again, I didn't understand. I couldn't fathom what profound lack of empathy could drive people to marginalize others like that. I knew my friends; they were lovely girls, very empathetic and kind, with a great sense of friendship. What could the other people at that party possibly have had more of (or less of, if anything) than them?

The second incident happened when we went on a short trip to Favignana, a beautiful island just off the coast of my little town. Whilst we were walking down the street, minding our own business, a group of lads on bikes appeared out of nowhere. The lads raced past us. One of them turned round and spat on the ground; another shouted 'faggot'. They were referring to a couple of our friends who were holding hands. I would have given them a good kick up the backside. But they didn't react, and with resigned looks on their faces, they said to me, 'Don't worry, we're used to it; worse things happen to us.' I've always hated bullies and bullies in a way that I probably couldn't put into words. But there's one thing I tolerate even less: the good people who do nothing, who let evil take over and get the better of them, or who even resign themselves to being victims. If bullies are backed by empty arrogance, the good must be stronger and more resolute.

The blogger