There is a strange echo this morning.

One year ago today, I woke up to a radio telling me about a death in my city. I am not a callous person, but I am, unfortunately, somewhat used to hearing about violence. But this one unnerved me for some reason. Maybe it was because it was on a street that I frequent, that I used to live near and that my friends still live on.

And then I got up and went online and read both rumours and reports. People I knew were talking about mourning, but not saying for whom. The violence was hitting close to home.

And then I saw his name, everywhere.

Raymond.

One year later, once again, I see Raymond’s name all over my Facebook feed, in news stories, in blog posts. I hear his name on the radio once again, and on television. But this time, he is smiling.

One year later, as I write this, there are people on Gottingen Street remembering Raymond. They are trying to remember everything that happened before he died, because it’s too difficult to think of the how and the why. Because those things don’t make sense.

Right now, I would rather think of him in those ways. I would rather see Raymond’s smiling face than walk over and around where they found him. I would rather think of the good he did than the unfortunate way he died. I’d rather remember all the people who came out, the hundreds who sat silently in prayer and reflection, who spoke quietly and who sang loudly one year ago today.

I will remember good things. Because that’s what he would want.

I would argue that people don’t talk enough about sex.

You may roll your eyes at that statement, thinking that we, as a society, do nothing but talk about sex. It’s everywhere, on TV, in ads, in magazines, on the internet. Especially on the internet.

But in those instances, sex is viewed as a perfect and pre-made thing.

I recently read a great op-ed by Mark O’Connell about anal sex, entitled "About Fucking Time: Flushing Out the Shitty Side of Bottoming." In it he talks about how men who have sex with men tend not to talk about anal sex, or rather, everything that is necessary for having an experience that is comfortable for everyone involved.

And while you may have rolled your eyes earlier, I imagine you’re possibly crinkling your nose now.

O’Connell’s essay was posted on a gay porn site called Night Charm. (That site is NFSW, but you can read the original post on his personal blog here.) O’Connell brings up the concept of how gay men can “rely too heavily upon entertainment and fantasy, like the scant media devoted to gay male sex which unrealistically insinuates that we’re all Spontaneous Bottoms – that is, we can easily drop trou, whenever, wherever, and open up for some good clean fun.”

And it’s true. Watching sex on the screen (whether it be film, television or computer) is watching an antiseptic recreation that is edited within an inch of its coital life. And it could be argued that it is even more common within pornography. This is not to say that pornography is inherently bad, or exploitative or misrepresentative. It may not be pornography’s role to be a teacher, since it is often, by definition, a form of fantasy. Can we legitimately expect fantasies to be teachers in real-life situations?

I recently had a conversation with a friend who wants to be a better bottom. But in his past relationship, his ex expected him to be a spontaneous bottom after watching hours of highly edited pornography where he just sees the entry point happening: and whomp! There it is! Inside the butt.

My poor friend soon found himself not wanting to have sex with his partner, even though he very much wanted to please his partner, and be pleased at the same time.

How did this happen? Because he and his partner didn’t have the tools to talk about how to get ready for this type of sex. Or if they did, they may not feel comfortable in doing so, which is even more unfortunate. And this is where the problem lies: talking about sex is important.

No, it’s not easy. Having discussions around sex and sexual health are important things that queer individuals, no matter their gender (or the gender(s) that they are attracted to) often have a hard time doing.

Imagine if our sex lives were automobiles. For those of us who do drive, we know that it takes time to learn how to drive. But how can you drive if you don’t know how to take proper care of your car, both inside and out? You can know how to put the key in the ignition, but if your car won’t turn over, how do you fix it? You can’t just ram the key in hoping all of a sudden it will turn over and be ready to go. If you get a ding or a scratch, what do you do then? Does your car have less value all of a sudden? No. It doesn’t.

Another conversation I recently had on this same topic was with someone who works in sexual health. I have been sexually active since I was a teenager. I grew up and came out during the AIDS crisis of the late '80s and early '90s and even worked as a peer counsellor during my early 20s. As a journalist in my 30s, I read stories and do research about sexual health, and yet, I thought I knew enough about sexual practices to feel good about it. But after talking to him for an hour, I soon realized I didn’t know enough. It was humbling. And to be honest, a bit scary. But I now knew more, and that overtook any anxiety I had. Because I knew what my options were, and which ones would work for me.

With a recent outbreak of syphilis amongst men who have sex with men in the Halifax region, it’s important to educate oneself. The message by healthcare practitioners is simple: “Get tested.” And that is an effective way to help manage the situation. And it is important. But taking care of sexual health is not like taking care of other forms of personal health. It does not end with testing and possible medication-based treatments.

In a story in The Atlantic, John-Manuel Androite discusses how sociocultural stigma amongst gay men can lead them to make choices and take chances that can affect their health. Androite writes:

Gregory M. Herek, a professor of psychology at the University of California at Davis, and an internationally recognized authority on prejudice against lesbians and gay men, hate crimes and anti-gay violence, and AIDS-related stigma, said in an interview, "Certainly in the past, everybody was brought up with the attitude that homosexuality was wrong, a sickness, sin, that everybody who was gay or lesbian was a bad person. So being raised in that it's almost inevitable that almost all people have accepted or believed it."

But not everyone accepts or believes it. In fact fewer than ever do, and they have much to teach. "What I think is amazing," said Herek, "is how many people are doing fine and are mentally healthy, and leading whole and productive lives. How do they do that? Given all they're up against, how do they come out of it? The answer is resilience. If they've overcome this internalized self-stigma, they have more resources for overcoming this psychological distress."

Androite goes on to discuss a study by Ron Stall in which a large majority of men who did deal with “multiple psychosocial health problems” did not engage in what were various forms of “high-risk”* activities.

Stall said, "We were able to show that guys who do the best job of resolving internalized homophobia [or self-stigma] are the least likely to have current victimization, substance abuse and compulsive [high-risk] sex."

He said such findings demonstrate that, to be truly effective, HIV prevention and substance abuse interventions need to build on gay men's resilience, to be "strength-based," rather than deficit-based. "We're so focused on risk factors to the point that we forget about resilience," he said. "It seems to me a smarter way to go would be to look at the guys who are thriving in spite of the adversities, how they pulled that off, see what the lessons learned are, and apply that to the interventions we already use and have developed.

When we talk about sex, we need to know how to talk about it. Not just in terms of orifices and possible STIs, but emotions. Sex can be a highly emotionally charged act. Talking about the emotions that happen during sex or lead to sex -- including certain types of sex -- can be one way of limiting negative consequences for those involved. Consequences that come from acts that many people simply want to have the autonomy to engage in.    

And so I go back to butts, or rather butt sex. Or even any form of sex.

Discussions don’t happen when shame is involved, shame around our bodies and our own lack of knowledge. This is what removes choices, informed choices, from the lives of individuals.

It is no longer enough to just tell people to practise safer sex. Studies show this. People who work in sexual health fields know this. What is becoming evident is that it is important to give safe spaces for people to ask questions and find viable answers. Self-education leads to self-empowerment, which leads to stronger individuals and stronger communities. Communities of people who care and are strong. And who are resilient.

*Sidenote: I believe it is important that when discussing the choices that individuals make, notions of blame, stigma, shame or any form of negative connotations do NOT help in the discussion. A person’s choices are his or her own, and although they may have consequences, it is not for others to hold them accountable against their ideas or judgments. What is an acceptable risk or "high risk" to one individual may not be for another.

“I recently treated a hepatitis B sufferer who needed an injection. He was a guy in scruffy clothes; underneath he wore women's underwear. I didn't raise an eyebrow. That is my job – the nonjudgmental holder of people's sexual secrets.”

A few days later, a news release from the Journal of the American Medical Association stated that a study put out by Public Health Ontario had found that nearly seven percent of all cases of gonorrhea did not respond to traditional antibiotic treatments.

Although this may be news to many, the fact that we may be entering an age where traditional pharmacological treatments are no longer effective is not news to epidemiologists, public health officials or microbiologists.

The bacteria that cause gonorrhea are showing resistance to cephalosporin, a class of antiobiotics used to treat the disease. In February of 2012, The Atlantic’s Megan McArdle wrote about drug-resistant sexually transmitted infections, noting that even the CDC believes that antibiotic-resistant STIs are on their way.

Both articles got me thinking about how we promote information about sexual health.

Talk to people in public health, specifically sexual health, and they will tell you that one of the hardest things they face is reaching out to certain communities, such as men who have sex with men. Traditionally, the most effective way to disseminate information to men who have sex with men (including gay men, bisexual men, men who identify as straight but have occasional sex with other men, and men who do not identify sexual contact with other men as being sex) was through postering, pamphlets and occasional face-to-face communication in areas where they congregated: gay bars, bathhouses, etc. These were often places where sex would happen, or preludes to sex would come to pass.

But today, preludes to sexual contact between men who have sex with men are becoming increasingly virtual. Online personal ads and phone apps have removed the physical spaces that could be occupied and have information available to those who wanted it. You would pass by a poster on a wall or someone would hand you a free condom with a pamphlet.

It’s not the same anymore. Occupying a virtual space is not as effective as occupying a real one. The onus is on the other person to click on your ad/profile/etc to actively read and absorb the information that would’ve otherwise been gathered through other means. It’s looking for active participation in what was previously a much more passive way of spreading information.

It's not an easy job. And kudos to the people who work at it. 

*

A few months ago, I found myself having a discussion with a friend who is a high-school teacher. We discussed how teenagers are taught about sex, but only from a reproductive aspect. I likened it to teaching someone how to drive by explaining the inner workings of the car but not telling them how to drive, how to put the key in the ignition and least of all, telling them how to take care of the car.

“Or how to deal with what happens if you scratch the car,” he continued.

We don't teach kids how to keep their cars in tune. How can we expect them -- when they become more experienced drivers -- to know how to talk to their mechanics, let alone feel comfortable in doing so?

An old activist friend of mine once said to me, "If you can't talk about sex, then maybe you shouldn't be having it." As old-fashioned as that may sound, it does ring somewhat true. So how do we talk about sex? How do we talk about all the things around it? 

The answer: we do just that. Talk.

In as many ways, in as many places as we can.   

Silence=Death, Keith Haring, 1989.

I've written before about what it was like growing up during the AIDS crisis.

I don't think of those men often. Perhaps I should. The least I could do is think about them today, and what they taught me.

They taught me to talk. To learn. To think.

In recent months, I've made a point of reading up about HIV/AIDS. From reading personal blogs to research on HIV prevention to dialogues around everything from bareback pornography and more. There are stories that need to be heard, understood and shared. As a journalist, I think it's important to help do this.

In a recent op-ed written by Michael Burtch, the author points out many of the issues still felt by people who are poz:

It's nice to be reminded that just because you don't fit a certain paradigm doesn't mean that you don't fit at all.

In a recent story posted on The Atlantic's website, the author discusses the recent changes and publication of the fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, or DSM-5. This is the same manual that did not fully remove homosexuality as a psychological illness or condition until 1987. The author, Amelia Rachel Hokule’a Borofsky, demonstrates that the same desire amongst gays and lesbians to have the DSM changed is now being echoed by people who identify with the transgender spectrum, specifically around the diagnosis of gender identity disorder:

"It is hard not to see the parallels between the diagnosis of homosexuality and the latest heat around gender identity disorder (GID). At the annual APA meeting in San Francisco in 2009, protesters once again gathered to lobby against continued inclusion of this diagnosis in the DSM-5. During the comment period, GID received more comments than any other diagnosis up for discussion. It's worth reading the entire diagnosis, but the last version of the manual, the DSM-IV (TR), identifies the disorder as "a strong persistent cross-gender identification ... [and] a repeatedly stated desire to be, or insistence that he or she is, the other sex." Basically, the diagnosis is "transgendered."

One theme that Borofsky mentions in her article is how the DSM-5 is essentially a distillation of Western ideology around gender and sexuality. She goes on to mention that many other cultures don't ascribe to binary gender norms:

Native activist and scholar Will Roscoe found documentation of third and even fourth genders in more than 150 North American tribes. In Samoa, the term fa'afafine refers to a biological man who lives as a woman. Samoans appreciate fa'afafine for their hard work and dedication to family, and for the large part offer them social acceptance. 

Perhaps it is Western society that needs to have its head examined more closely and not the people it wishes to diagnose as "ill" simply for being who they are.

This morning, CBC's Nova Scotia website reported about a recent upswing in cases of syphilis.

The article states that 47 men in the HRM have tested positive this year, up from 35 last year. The story also discusses how many of the men who tested positive often met other men online. Holly D'Angelo-Scott, a senior epidemiologist at Capital Health told the CBC that "when we look to see the connections between cases, a lot of our cases are meeting their sexual partners through the internet. That's probably a common link between some of the cases."

It's a tricky business to talk about sexual health to the masses, especially when you're hoping to reach certain demographics -- in this case, men who have sex with men. It can be tricky with men who have sex with men (MSM) because you're dealing with a population that doesn't always want to be identified, or even identifies with that moniker.

Let's say you're a straight-identified, married man named X. To X, sex is what he does with his wife/girlfriend/et cetera. He loves her and enjoys having sex with her. Sex involves very specific forms of physical intimacy with that one person. But X also happens to occasionally meet certain men to do certain things. It could be in public places, it could be online, it could be in a bathhouse. For X, what happens in those locations and in those times may not be viewed as sex, because it isn't the same forms of physical intimacy that he engages with his wife/girlfriend/et cetera. So when a local news source posts a story about a recent upswing in STI rates amongst MSM, it doesn't faze him, because it doesn't affect him. He doesn't think what he's doing is having sex with men.

So how do you reach X? How do you reach a population that doesn't want to be identified or outed?

At this stage in the game, the best way to do this is to use broad strokes when talking to the public.

The CBC story never uses any terminology that denotes sexual orientation in its description of the men. It does, however, indicate that "all the 115 confirmed syphilis cases since that time have been men" and includes a quote from a Capital Health staffer: "It is possible that there will be a progression from this population of men who have sex with men to women." Here, they are talking about X. They are talking to X. And hopefully X will get the message.

This is not to say that X is emblematic of every MSM who doesn't want to be identified. X may be closeted. X may have myriad reasons for not wanting to be counted amongst MSM. Those reasons are X's alone. But X is amongst the population of MSM. 

I am amongst that population. And I have many friends, as well as current and former lovers, who are as well.

It doesn't matter what the STI is or how and when a person may or may not contract it. What matters is getting the information out there without a heavy-handed message or propagandist polemic. And I take it as my personal responsibility to share that information with as many people as possible. With friends, colleagues, internet followers and more. Because it's an important story. It's a story about your -- and everyone's -- health.

So last week was National Coming Out Day. 

And then Ann Coulter had to ruin it.

Sigh.

Apparently Ms Coulter thought she was being funny.

Now, I am not a humourless individual. I think lots of things are funny. In fact, I think Coulter is downright hilarious. Have you listened to what she has to say? This is a woman who recently argued that racism in the US was stopped dead in its tracks in 1964. No, that's not a joke. That's what she said on Bill Maher, using her own brand of semantics.

Maybe she wrote that tweet for her friends at the gay republican group GOProud, who called her a gay icon. Now that's so funny, it's downright ridiculous. 

Well, GLAAD didn't think any of this was funny. On their website, they responded to the tweet by saying:

I have no doubt that last week, more than a few American households experienced the tragedy that Ann joked about. Approximately 50% of LGBT youth experience some degree of family rejection. There are as many as 100 thousand homeless LGBT youth on our nation's streets, and it's estimated that LGBT youth make up as much as 40% of our nation's homeless youth population. LGBT youth who are completely rejected by their parents are more than 8 times as likely to have attempted suicide. Pretty funny, right?

Indeed. It's a riot.

The first person I told that I was gay was my best friend Tim.

He knew. Tim was gay too.

I was a pretty obviously gay kid. I once had a family friend tell me that she knew that I was gay when I was four. I was shocked when I told my parents about my being gay that they didn't think I was.  Ignorance and blindness are bliss, I guess.

I told Tim a few days before my 16th birthday.  I don't remember the conversation, but I do remember the date. Oct 11, 1992. What I didn't know is that Oct 11 was National Coming Out Day.

After that day, I came out to more and more people. To my classmates. To my teachers, one of whom never told me that she was a lesbian (at least not until I graduated) but said and did things that made me feel like I could talk to her.  I always appreciated that from her.

I remember telling one girl in my class, and she said to me, "I can't believe you admit it." 

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean that it's not easy to admit being gay," she said. It was the early 1990s. I was living in rural Nova Scotia. The guys I grew up with played hockey and drank. Our parents worked in fishing or logging. The village I grew up in is home to North America's largest wooden church -- not exactly a beacon of openness around sexual variations. My friend applauded me for coming out.  When I told the rest of my classmates, they soon began to rally around me if and when anybody ever said anything mean about me.

I remember being at a party a year or so later, when the brother of one of my friends said something derogatory about me. My friend bolted upright and berated her brother in front of everyone at this party. She didn't talk to him for a couple days. I was moved. I hadn't expected anyone to defend me, just for being open and honest about who I was.

Coming out made me stronger. It made me realize that honesty to one's self is more important than anything else. I had denied being gay as long as I had known what it was. But I couldn't deny myself.  

So thank you to the people who listened. Thank you to the people who defended me. Thank you to the people who helped me forge a path to be where I am now. Out and proud.

A recent story out of Halifax tells of how a gay man is now facing charges, including assault with a weapon and possession of a dangerous weapon. Why? Because he pepper sprayed a 14-year-old girl who allegedly harassed his boyfriend.

According to a CBC interview with the accused, Christopher Whittle, the girl had allegedly been coming in "every few days" to his boyfriend's place of work at a local mall and would call him "a faggot, fruit whatever," according to him. He told the CBC, "After so much of this going on, and seeing how this affected [my boyfriend] – someone you love being tortured in this way, it does something to you. It really does."

Whittle claims that after hearing of and witnessing the taunts, he "snapped" and went to his car to get pepper spray, which he says he keeps for purposes of self-defence. He discharged the spray near the parking lot of the shopping mall. Whittle has also been quoted as saying that he did not know the age of the girl, believing her to be older.

The girl's father says that his daughter is not homophobic and that in fact, "Anyone who knows her knows that she is just not like that. Her godfather is gay.”

Firstly, I don't believe in violence, nor do I condone it. This is not to say that many of us, myself included, have not had urges to do or say something violent toward another when we feel that we or someone we love has been wronged. It is human to feel that we must protect those we love.  

Having said that, I don't agree with Whittle's supposed actions in pepper spraying the individual he says harassed his partner. It doesn't matter what age they are or appear to be. There are many other ways to deal with this situation. Some people might say to call the police, but then again, we don't know if Whittle or his partner would be comfortable in doing so. Whittle and his partner may have also spoken with the administration of the store or the mall, as well as the security company that patrols the mall. It is, after all, a private space that allows the public access to it; therefore, they have the right to block the person who was harassing Whittle's boyfriend.

But to me, that is not the biggest issue here.

The father of the 14-year-old girl is trying to defend his own daughter against what he perceives as a potential public smear of her reputation by branding her as homophobic.

The parents seem, at least by virtue of their comments, to be mortified by their daughter's alleged actions and are looking to reprimand her for her behaviour.  I think they should be applauded for that. Let's say that she was a victim of peer pressure and just "fell in with the wrong crowd," made a mistake,  and may even ostensibly be repentant of her actions.

But we can not say that these supposed actions were not homophobic. Because that is exactly what they were. Let's say for the sake of argument that she did indeed do these things. It doesn't matter if they are out of character for her; it doesn't remove the fact that one can make a choice to go into that store and say things that were not appropriate, warranted or deserved. Just like it's never okay to go out and pepper spray someone -- no matter what your intentions, frame of mind or character -- it's never okay to direct homophobic language toward another human being. It's never okay to be violent toward another human being in any way.

In a recent article in The Huffington Post,  a repentant Brother Ali remarks that even though he is apologetic and sincere in his remorse about his use of the word faggot in his lyrics, he knows that his actions have "left an indelible print that can not be erased." These two individuals will always be known, either publicly or privately,  as individuals who commited acts that may brand them as being homophobic or violent. This is not to say that the alleged actions by these two individuals are not worthy of acts of contrition. If anything, Whittle has already begun to do so in a very public manner in his media interview, stating that "I do regret how I handled it. I could have handled it differently." 

Dealing with homophobia and violence are difficult things. But there is always room for improvement, and part of that comes through forgiveness. It may be easier for everyone involved, including the public who reads about these stories, to forgive these two. They are the ones who will always remember and know what happened, longer than we ever will.