ver the past six months numerous journalists (print and video) and op-ed writers (straight and gay) have articulated their spin on the gruesome beating and murder of gay student Matthew Shepard. Above, or perhaps below, the din of the cries to not let Shepard's death be in vain are Dan Savage and Elise Harris whose dual articles appear in the March '99 issue of OUT magazine. Savage, a queer advice columnist, and Harris, OUT's Senior Editor, raise interesting questions about risk-taking and the ownership of Shepard's identity. Each one's interpretation of events, both external and internal, take them down divergent paths.

WHO'S ON TRIAL?

Savage begins his article by quoting everyone's favorite post-feminist, post-modern, post-common-sensical erudite academic, Camille Paglia. I'm not surprised by Savage's reference to Paglia, both write advice columns and both pride themselves on taking politically incorrect stances (which was novel for about six months in 1992). He quotes Paglia's question as to what Shepard had expected when he got into that truck back in September of '98, "cozy tea and conversation?" Savage denounces Paglia's comments as brutal, this from the Howard Stern of advice columnists, who regularly assaults his readers with acerbic and demeaning comments that illustrate Savage's own bitterness.

While Savage condemns Paglia on one hand, he raises her up with the other, not a conflicting stance for a person whose position on issues is predictably against perceived expectations. Paglia is simply his spring-board into a preachy diatribe about risk-taking, more specifically the politics of risk-taking.

I don't deny that the type of risk a person takes is directly linked to the public's (and media's) response to that risk. Savage claims that the risk Shepard took, getting into a car with a pair of strangers, had to be hidden (presumably by queer activists and the gay and lesbian press) so that Shepard could be martyred. Is it not enough that a 21-year old man was brutalized and murdered, left for dead, hanging from a fence?

Savage further claims that Shepard had his sexuality denied him. This statement is almost comical in either its naivete or outright ludicrousness. When has any gay or lesbian figure in the news ever had their sexuality denied? I'm not talking about willingly closeted people like Michael Huffington, Greg Louganis, Rock Hudson, and Eddie Murphy, those who choose to reap the benefits of the glass closet. I'm referring to the gays and lesbians who have been honest about their sexual orientation while trying to do whatever it is they do. I don't think they, James Hormel, Ellen Degeneres or Elton John (not to mention George Michael), would agree with Savage. Most often, it is because of their sexuality that they are in the news. Shepard is no different. His murder was popularized due to both its violent nature and the fact that Shepard was gay.

Savage wags a disingenuous finger at society for its inability to talk about the risk-taking gay men take in and around sexual situations (a huge generalization, in itself). What Savage fails to mention is that there are no gay bars in Laramie, Wyoming, where Shepard lived. No gay and lesbian centers, no Castro (which, for all its exclusion of any one who is not white, male, and gym-toned, is still, for many, a starting point). Far too often and far too easily those of us who live in urban areas forget that there are a lot of people between San Francisco and New York who are trying to carve out a gay identity and existence.

Coming out in the cornfields takes courage. Courage to take many risks, from losing your job to losing the love and support of your family. Risk-taking goes hand-in-hand with coming out for many young gays and lesbians. When I came out in '87 in central Illinois, I found myself in a similar position as Shepard. And yes, I took similar risks. Not because of the excitement of not knowing what was going to happen but because it was the only way I was going to find out who I was and hopefully find someone to share that experience with.

WHO OWNS THE PAIN?

For Harris's part, she investigates the way Shepard's murder became a media phenomenon and to whom the pain of Shepard's brutal murder belongs. Harris quotes friends and family of Shepard who claim that the young college student was not just a victim of gay bashing.

As if we were not aware that all conflicts in life have their spins--from Kosovo to stained blue dresses--Harris attempts to convince her readers that Shepard was just a person, he was not a saint or a sinner (unless you ask the Fred Phelpses of the world). Here's where Harris completely misses the point. Shepard's murder affected us because he was just some guy trying to figure out what life was about.

He was not "looking for trouble" as much as trying to live in Laramie while being gay. While such a notion may seem naive, it is certainly not deserving of the fate he received. Because Shepard was like many of us, someone who took a risk, we can identify with him. We don't identify with him the way his friends and family did, as a person suffering from depression and anorexia or as a good listener. Savage claims this desire to not know who Shepard really was is an attempt to deny him his sexuality. More accurately, the less we know about the details of Shepard's personality, the more we are able to remap our own experiences on to his and realize the very real danger that surrounds us.

Harris warns that "[m]ost of what we think we know about Shepard we have conflated with our own experiences of homophobia and violence." Because we can collapse our experience with the events of Shepard's murder, we identify with him and say this cannot be allowed to happen. Young men cannot be lashed to fences, pistol-whipped and left to die.

The brutalizing of Matthew Shepard becomes symbolic of the way in which gays and lesbians are treated in our culture. From the Defense Of Marriage Act to the controversy surrounding gays in the military, queers are constantly reminded that we are in constant danger. Danger of not having our relationships recognized, danger of being expelled from military service, danger of being murdered for not being heterosexual. Because gays and lesbians (and our friends and families) live with the knowledge of the potential violence, we feel we have some ownership of Shepard's pain. Shepard is the manifestation of our justified fears as gays and lesbians, as people of color, as women, as anyone who is a target for violence simply because they exist.

WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?