I am outraged! The recent suicide of Jamey Rodemeyer, a 14 year old boy who took his life due to harassment inflicted on him by his peers, has ignited a sense of furry within me that will not die until we have ensured the safety of our youth - gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, questioning or perceived as such across our country. It is clearer now, than ever before, that our youth are losing faith in the concept that “it gets better”. My fear is that young people everywhere will follow in Jamey’s footsteps. Once a video submitter of the It Gets Better project, Jamey lost hope in the very message he was promoting to his LGBTQ peers. We cannot allow our youth to continue losing hope that life does in fact get better as they mature and find supportive communities that embrace their individuality regardless of their gender identity. The time to sit back in hopes that bullying is being taken care of by administrators within the school system, suicide is being addressed by community organizations and elected officials, and that National campaigns are tackling this epidemic in our country has past! We cannot continue to hope and pray that this is being addressed; it is our time as concerned citizens, parents, family, friends, community members and human beings to get off the couch and make a difference! I write this call to action, not as the Executive Director of an LGBTQ youth serving agency, but as a concerned individual and community member. We cannot allow this to continue! The facts surrounding suicide within the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Questioning youth community are staggering. They are greater than those surrounding their straight counterparts. LGBTQ or not, these are our kids, they our sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews and grandchildren… they are your kids and mine! The change we wish to see comes from the change we’re willing to work for. The time for change is now! Join me and my colleagues as we work toward a stronger and safer community for youth in our city and across the country, LGBTQ or not. It is our responsibility to protect our future! Victor Diaz-Herman is the Executive Director of Pridelines, based in South Florida. They can be contacted at www.pridelines.org

I still remember the terror I felt, every time I approached the soccer field. It was junior high, a difficult time for all, but for me, it felt even worse. I’d always known I was gay. Even in kindergarten, just looking at Jeff Hayward’s smile would make me happy, providing boundless energy which would propel me throughout the day. And I knew, intrinsically, that it was alright to feel this way—to love other boys—as everything about it felt completely natural and unforced. But in junior high, things changed. What I had seen as natural and good suddenly was being labeled as abnormal—detestable, even. While I caught flak from many, and would dodge the verbal taunts at lunchtime, the worst offenders turned out to be fellow members of my soccer team. You’d think that, as team members wanting to win, Johnny Shea and Mike Trautman would have supported me, but every day I would face a barrage of insults, some veiled, some not, as we sat on the sidelines. “Faggot” was spit towards me, with the kind of bile and hatred I could both feel and see, plain on their faces. Whispers and dirty looks on a daily basis would continually unnerve me, affecting both my sense of self, as well as my performance on the field. These questions about my masculinity hovered over me, and I would feel physically ill at the thought of another practice or game. Somehow, however, I survived. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, keeping myself at a distance from all who would harm me. And, as the phrase goes, it did get better. In high school, while I went on to be active in theatre and academics, Johnny Shea and Mike Trautman continued to rise socially, becoming the big men on campus that I’d always longed to be. In our junior year, Johnny was even voted onto the homecoming king’s court, and as he took to the field, flashing his charming smile, all I could see was the sneer on his lips when he turned and looked my way. A short time later, during summer break, word came that Johnny had tried to commit suicide and was in a coma. No one knew what had happened, and he eventually returned to school our senior year, but I could sense something in him had changed. The following summer, I got another call. Johnny had tried again to kill himself, hanging a noose from the rafters in his garage, and had succeeded. He’d also left behind a note, writing that although he did not like girls, he did not want to like boys. As difficult as it may be to see at the time, our tormentors often have their own issues, to which we are not privy. Whether they are secretly gay, or filled with self-doubt, or are simply taught at a young age to hate, their anger and animosity is fueled not by us, but from something deep within. I later learned that Johnny’s buddy Mike had a younger brother who came out as gay, and at our high school reunion, Mike sought me out, attempting to make amends for his past actions. We all grow. We all have the capacity to change. The question becomes, how do we deal with abuse? Do we let our tormentors corrupt us? Do we turn into them? Do we hide? Or do we call out abuse for what it is, and insist that our lives not fall victim to it? If you are experiencing harassment, in any form, take advantage of the resources in our community. Seek out a counselor or therapist. Find a support group, in person or online. And make sure that you use the opportunity to better yourself and those around you. Take control. Don’t let the moment define you. Let it be you that defines the moment. We can be so much better, if only we try. Kergan Edwards-Stout is an award-winning director, screenwriter, and author, and recently published his debut novel, SONGS FOR THE NEW DEPRESSION. He is honored to have been named one of the Human Rights Campaign's 2011 Fathers of the Year and blogs regularly at kerganedwards-stout.com.