Defying Silence

Defying Silence - Ezra Lee (Cambridge Rindage and Latin, 11th Grade)

“Hey faggot, nice crop top.” I froze - choking on my thoughts. 

On June 28th, 2023, I was confronted by my greatest adversary – silence. Today, it came from a gang of Brown’s best – college kids in a hot-boxed car. Cigarette smoke and insults drifted out of their rolled-down windows. Faggot. I felt its sting against my skin. My head went left and right, but I could not find anyone near me - no one to call out to. But even then, silence had already reached me. 

“How would you like it if I put a gun to your head and my boys beat the faggot out of you?” 

I should have responded, “How would you like my fist through your face?” I should have screamed, yelled, and pulled out my anger like a dagger. 

I didn’t. 

I froze - choking on my thoughts. 

Badum, badum, badum, was all the sound I could make. 

I put my head down, used a shoelace to tie my pants above my belly so no one could see my exposed flesh, and walked home with Toxicity by System playing in my headphones at maximum volume. Music has always empowered me to articulate my thoughts, whereas silence

has persistently challenged my expression. I have always been quiet in places where I should be loud and loud in areas where I should be quiet. 

The streets I walked through on my way home seemed foreign. As each note played in my ears, I could feel a barrier of resistance forming around me. Upset and confused about whether to resist or cry, I did both. Tears mingled with music as I realized this was not self-pity but a response to the harsh reality of the world and the numbing effect this comment had on me. The problem was that every step I took seemed like a battle I had to fight against an adversity no one else noticed - an adversity that took me sixteen years to understand and find the courage to talk about. 

As I continued walking, I pondered my silence and the silence of everyone profiled, pursued, and persecuted for who they are. I thought about all the stories left untold, the pain concealed behind masks, and the silence born from fear. I thought about all the times I held back my words in fear of ridicule, hatred, or violence. All of the times when someone told me, “Don’t worry, I'm not gay,” or my sister said, “That’s gay,” and I kept silent. 

After my tears dried, I could think more about who I was. I was a closeted bisexual boy who longed – more than anything else – to be like all the other kids at his school who walked around unbothered and unafraid of their true identity being discovered. 

The next morning, I opened my wardrobe and slipped on the shirt I had worn the day before. This seemingly ordinary piece of clothing had transformed into a powerful emblem, bearing the weight of past hurt and the newfound self-confidence I had discovered within myself. As I stepped out into the world, I carried this symbol of defiance proudly, ready to challenge the prejudices that had held me captive to the words of others for so long. I made a silent pledge to keep shouting and screaming, not for anyone's validation but as an act of defiance against prejudice and discrimination – against silence. 

I am still on this journey of self-discovery, but for the first time, the person I am discovering is someone I am happy with and am proud to be. This experience taught me to want to talk about the things that other people don’t want to talk about. About hurt and insecurities but also about joy - the kind that comes from self-acceptance and helping others do the same. The kind that comes from breaking your silence.