Fear, Hate, and the Antidote: Love Part 1

Mar 11
4 min read

Updated: Mar 16

I awoke this morning to the news—yet again—of another bombing, another killing, another moment when our government focuses on making war rather than healing people. I suppose I should consider this “normal”: to fear being attacked or assaulted by someone simply because I happen to be gay or a person of color.

Perhaps I should constantly anticipate violent reactions directed at me just for being gay or for having brown skin—for being anything different. Of course, growing up as a Black child in a world shaped by white fear, anger, and hate—where abuse toward those who lived openly as gay or Black was common—made such experiences part of everyday life.

But I refuse to live as others might wish me to exist. I will not yield to the pressures imposed upon me, even though I am forced to live in a world where “might is right,” where Black people are told to step back, and where being gay or queer is considered bad, evil, or forbidden. According to that logic, I should return to the closet, hide myself away, or simply disappear. I refuse to do any of those things.

Those who deny me—and people like me—a seat at the table, who try to prevent us from fully participating in our society, should understand that I come from a heritage filled with people who endured hardship, pain, and struggle. They learned not only how to survive the worst of times, but how to flourish in the face of adversity. Their tenacity, creativity, and determination enabled them to build lives of strength and character. They overcame seemingly impossible obstacles and, in doing so, accumulated not only personal success but deep wisdom. Through it all, they embraced love as their refuge.

Their resolve came from a profound and unwavering belief in themselves, their families, and their communities, coupled with a fearlessness about whatever the future might bring. From them emerged a simple but powerful motto: be prepared, work hard, and never give up.

In doing so, they provided me—and all those whose lives they touched—with a roadmap for overcoming fear, rejecting hate, and maintaining compassion, respect, and acceptance for others.

I was taught by caring parents, supportive friends, and the Black church community to love rather than hate. Role models like Martin Luther King Jr. showed me that I should not fear danger or question my resolve simply because I looked or spoke differently. I was taught to walk tall, believe in myself, and resist the fear that so often leads to anger. If I allowed that fear to take hold, it would only distract me from achieving what mattered most: a compassionate love for all.

I learned that no hill is too high to climb and no ocean too wide to cross. I simply needed to find the pathway that worked for me. I needed to set a goal, develop a strategy, and shape that plan with inclusiveness, compassion, and love for all people. In doing so, I discovered that I could replace the hate directed toward me with compassionate love and kindness for others. Hate can never conquer love. In the end, hate destroys itself—and those who embrace it.

In my memoir, Better to Cry Now: Shaping the Flow of a Gay Black Man, I describe the emotional pressures I endured as an openly gay Black man. I often heard racial slurs—the “N-word”—as well as derogatory remarks about gay people: “sissy,” “faggot,” and many others too painful to repeat. These words were often spoken deliberately within my hearing or directly to my face. Each time, I felt pushed toward a violent reaction, tempted to respond with even stronger words or actions fueled by anger.

But it did not take long for me to realize that whenever I allowed fear or anger to define my response, I was never satisfied with the outcome. Instead, I felt manipulated—pushed into displaying exactly the fear or rage others expected from me. I was being forced into what people often call a “fight or flight” response.

Of course, I could swallow my anger, as I saw many people do. But that never felt satisfying. I could also try to ignore what was happening or attempt to deflect the hostility by de-escalating the tension directed toward me. I tried all of these approaches, but none produced a lasting positive effect. Instead, I often felt that I was becoming either defensive or offensive. Expressing outrage only seemed to upset me more than the person delivering the insult.

Now I understand why.

Anger never satisfied my intellectual or emotional needs. Neither fear nor anger led to anything but more fear and greater anger. People would often say, “Just don’t let it get to you.” A simple goal—but a very difficult one to achieve.

Let me share a story about my first few days as dean at Montclair State University. It might help illustrate my point.

What follows is the story of how I confronted a culture of fear, hate, and anger—and how I overcame these seemingly insurmountable obstacles, eventually winning the hearts and gaining the respect and support of the faculty, staff, students, and the wider community.

TO BE CONTINUED