Allow me to paint a picture for you. A beautiful, tranquil, beautiful picture. In accordance with the restrictions of the newspaper medium, this picture is made out of words. Beautiful words. So it begins:
It’s sunny Panama City, Fla. Two of my comrades and I are traversing the main strip on foot. We’re shirtless, absorbing the midday sun. A light breeze hits us from the side, but we hardly even notice. We’re too absorbed in the task at hand.
What is our noble task? No, we are not walking to the liquor store, nor are we walking to the beach. Believe it or not, we’re not walking at all. We’re running, actually. We’re running a relatively long way at a relatively fast pace.
We’re talking and laughing as we go, happy to have a few days away from the rigors of school but still mindful of the track and field season that has just begun. We’re minding our own business, and it’s pretty enjoyable.
But after all, this is Spring Break. Traffic is heavy, as hundreds of college students are driving or walking down the same street as us. Alcohol is being consumed in copious amounts, per tradition. Heckling is inevitable.
We really don’t mind the heckling. It’s somewhat entertaining, actually. The monotony of the run is broken with each cheer and/or jeer. In fact, we were pretty much asking for it by waiting until the middle of the day to run. But it’s Spring Break. Who wants to wake up early?
However, there was one recurring theme I found troubling. It wasn’t much of a surprise, but the sheer frequency was somewhat unexpected. One specific word was yelled at me, and I’m not kidding, at least 50 times on that day. What was that word? Cover your eyes, little ones.
How should I put this delicately? Hmm. Faggot. We were called faggots or some variation of that word over and over and over. Now, I hate to upset any of you by putting such a malicious word into print, but I think it’s worth discussing.
Why is faggot such an impulsive thing to yell at someone? I suppose the immediate reasoning for yelling that at us was the outrageously revealing nature of our running shorts. Indeed, we stood out terribly within the crowd of similarly aged students, each and every male wearing board shorts and no shirt.
It must have been the extra three inches of fabric on each leg that prevented them from crossing over into the realm of homosexuality. I wonder if spectators used to yell similar obscenities at NBA players during the 1970s.
However, I don’t intend for this to be a commentary on the lack of respect for runners (see my article titled “Cross country has no ball, no point”). What I find more disconcerting is the blatant intolerance toward homosexuals, or rather the mere idea of homosexuality, since our group was composed of heterosexuals participating in an activity not even remotely homosexual.
Now, I understand the way in which young Americans often use terms such as gay in order to describe things they don’t like. Such terms have taken on a whole new definition, seemingly devoid of any feelings of intolerance (as odd as that seems). That’s a touchy subject, obviously, and I’m not saying it should be condoned. It likely has a big influence on the way we think about homosexuality from a young age.
On the other hand, screaming “Faggot!” at a passer-by is a pretty overt demonstration of ignorance and bigotry. If this were an isolated incident, then perhaps it could be overlooked. However, faggot seems to be the default insult for people in this region.
I’m sure you’re in agreement with me. I realize what I’m saying isn’t exactly groundbreaking. But apparently, there are hoards of people who do not agree. Obviously, Spring Break is going to produce some pretty belligerent behavior, but to repeatedly hear the same insult definitely provides some insight into the general opinion of our culture. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m just a faggot. Whatever.
Robert Scribner is a graduate student majoring in business administration. He can be contacted at [email protected].