To whom it may concern,
This letter is addressed to Nico Hines, who I genuinely hope may read it and understand a perspective that differs from his own. It should be noted that I do not write this in anger, but in disappointment and in sadness at the state of mind that emboldened you to craft such a piece.
I decline to comment on specifics of the article itself, as the nuances of journalism are outside my field of expertise, and really there is really nothing I can say that has not already been said by others. But I would like to share some of my life with you in the hopes that you can understand the motivations behind the response you've received.
First, you should know I am a former athlete, and I am gay, a combination which, as you have discovered, is not uncommon. I deeply love the Olympics and I love what they stand for. I am enamored of the idea that men and women can put aside all differences for two weeks and compete, purely for the appreciation of sport. It is, of course, an impure thing, as all things are, but it is the idea behind it that is so strong and which continues to inspire me and so many others. And every four years, I continue to be awestruck by the stories of surmounting adversity in every form, in which these powerful men and women demonstrate not only their athletic dedication, but also strength of resolve.
The experience of being gay is one that is difficult to put into words that accurately convey its depth and complexity, but suffice to say it is not easy. The different paths that we in the gay community have taken are as numerous as they are diverse, and nearly all of them have at one point or another passed through periods of unimaginable shame and guilt, insurmountable judgment from family and friends, judgment from religion, and most crushingly, judgment from society. To be "the other" in a world where 90% of the population differs from you in such a fundamental and unavoidable way is to live in a world free of comfort and security. From birth, gay men and women are thrust into a life for which they are unprepared and in which they are forced to face something they won't have the mental or emotional capacity to fully understand until years after the bulk of the psychological damage has been irreparably done.
We react to these challenges in various ways, and in my case, it forced me to do everything within my power to strangle my sexuality. From the earliest age I can recall, my homosexuality was the rock to my Sisyphus. No matter how hard I pushed it away, it always came crashing back to shatter me. Every decision I made in life as a child was tainted by this monster at my back. As a result, I desperately sought some kind of example, some role model to emulate and learn from: a voice to say "I made it, and you can too".
Naturally I gravitated toward sports, yet found myself incapable of participating because of the constant fear of my teammates and my friends discovering that I was different. To me and many others, this is the greatest fear in life during our formative years. There are no words to describe the shame I felt, and the desperate need I had for a sense of belonging. Physically, I was an athlete but emotionally and mentally, I may as well have been paralyzed.
For many young men, sports offer a chance to bond with people of like mind. The bond of athletics in youth is one that is unique and special, and one that cannot be synthetically replicated. It occurs organically, which is part of why the experience of being part of a team is such a beautiful facet of humanity.
Imagine, then, being on the outside of this brotherhood looking in, wanting nothing more than to feel included and valued as a member of something so unique.
Imagine the pain of feeling that the reason you cannot be a part of that world is a shameful secret. One that is so unspeakable that you don't want to utter it even to yourself, let alone others. The fear of being discovered in a lie is powerful on its own, but even more so when the thing hidden is a sexuality you didn't ask for, didn't want, don't understand, and can't change no matter how much you want to.
Imagine feeling so helpless and alone as a child, standing inside the glass cage your DNA built around you, willing to trade anything to be "normal".
This, Nico, is what being a gay athlete is like.
When you are a gay man in the world of athletics, you are largely alone. Rarely are there allies that present themselves readily, which taints the experience and spirit of athletic competition by the profound fear that one of your friends, teammates, or coaches may eventually treat you differently, or sometimes violently, if they were to find out.
One of the most saddening realities of the world today is the fact that there are so painfully few strong, gay male role models in athletics. We have so few gay athletes who are brave enough, confident enough, and strong enough in their sense of self to stand up and say "I will" to those young people who desperately ask who will fight for them and stand proudly as a beacon of hope.
And who can blame them? When those who do courageously stand up often have, at best, their sexuality dragged through the media as if it were the only thing about them that mattered and at worst, whose identities and careers are mocked and trivialized as if they were characters in an amusing play where the entire heterosexual world is the audience.
Nico, I doubt I will ever meet you and I can't say I would know what to say if I did. I just hope you know that your piece, regardless of its journalistic merits or lack thereof, dealt a big blow to the respect of LGBT athletes.
To you, this article may have seemed like a fun, easy way to dramatize the sex in the Olympic Village. But in actuality, you created yet another tableau in which we gay athletes are mocked and derided and have further contributed to the stigma that forces these men into hiding in the first place.
You had an opportunity as a public figure to embolden and empower LGBT athletes, and instead you prostituted them for the purposes of gaining readership. You posed as one of us in an attempt to lure them out of safety for nothing more than a cheap story told through tongue-in-cheek implications and accusations.
You, Nico, are the person we fear. You are the friend, the teammate, the coach, the parent whom we are afraid will use the power of knowing our sexuality against us. You are the one who has taken advantage of our place of safety and refuge and who has publicly robbed us of our dignity, at absolutely no expense to yourself. You preyed on an already weakened opponent and congratulated yourself for your success.
You are the reason the closet exists at all.
In a world already set up to make these men and women fail, we so desperately need members of the press who support and uplift them as individuals of complexity and depth, who celebrate their successes and portray them as men and women of inspiration. We need journalists who champion the redefinition of what normal is and who aid in removing sexuality from the scales that the world uses to determine value. We need journalists who truly fight for equality and use their voices to help reach those struggling to find anchor in an enormous, terrifying world.
I hope that you can understand how unimaginably hard these gay men and women in the Olympics have fought to excel in the world of athletics. I hope you can see how they are the strongest among us, who fought a system set up for them to fail in order to achieve at the highest possible level on the world stage. These men should be praised for their fortitude and courage, not mocked for their sexuality.
And finally, I hope you understand the pain you've caused, not only to those athletes, but also to those of us for whom the wounds of judgment and ridicule will never fully heal. It is an experience I hope you or your child never have to endure.
I appreciate your attention and implore you to use your voice in a more thoughtful way. You can make this right.
Sincerely,
A proud gay athlete
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