There’s a lot I wish I had known growing up. Not least that it went well in the end. To Kathrine 10 years: You do not know yet, but when you turn 18, you move to Oslo, to the capital, a city full of diversity and differences. Something you’ve been missing since you were little. You will be filled with optimism and joy that you meet people like you: Indians, Norwegian-Indians, other dark-skinned Norwegians, gay friends and an extended rainbow family. You must be happy and live a good life. You will get the dream job at news and lead radio broadcasts and make fun! You will find love and lose it again. And find it again – and again. All life has to offer. And you should feel your heart beat for everyone you love so much. For your Marie, for mom, dad, friends and many more. For your new in-laws and your old family. For your cat. But there will be challenges. You will be tried and beaten down by racists, and stopped at the grocery store in Oslo and searched because you looked a little suspicious in the hoodie with the dark skin. You will also meet people who do not like that the city is colorful. You will be called “fucking gay” and you will be thrown out of a men’s shoe store because an Indian man is wondering where your husband is and why you should buy men’s shoes. The columnist as a child. Photo: Private You will be surprised that it is not only white people who hurt you, but also those with the same skin as you. You will experience exclusion among the Norwegians, because you are not Norwegian enough. And you will experience exclusion among the Indians, because you are not Indian enough – and because being a lesbian Indian girl is not commonplace in Oslo. Not even in 19 years, in 2022, it is completely socially accepted. You will find that some people do not understand your challenges, simply because they do not live your life. Some will even say that racism is not a problem in Norway. Not homophobia either. “Because they have not seen.” These people are both fair-skinned and heterosexual, and you will not be able to make everyone understand. Because they were not there when you were not allowed to jump on the trampoline in the neighborhood “because neg ** e are not allowed to join”. They were not there when you cried so you got cramps when you came home, because someone had spat at you and your lady on the street after a night on the town. You can not explain well enough why you get poor mental health when news programs create debates about your right to marry, your right to be, or your right to be allowed to dream of making your own family. All you thought was, “How would you feel if someone discussed whether you, Mr. and Mrs., were good enough parents for the children you love – on the news in public?” You will meet so much resistance, but you will also meet so many good people. You want to be part of the rainbow family, and you want to take the pride train. First pride in Oslo you go with Skeiv Verden, an organization for gay minorities in Norway. You will wear Indian national costume and cry with joy in the parade. You will meet hundreds of queer families with happy children and proud mothers. And fathers so clearly. You will experience that Norway introduces same-sex marriage as an alternative, and you will experience that egg donation between partners becomes legal. You will be happy that you can finally be a family like everyone else. But you will meet opposition here too: adults who believe that you can not be a good parent with your future wife, and that “people like you” should not be allowed to raise children. You will meet people who hate pride and hate rainbows and hate our rainbow families. You will meet children who have taken the attitudes of their parents, and you will also sit in your own garden while little boys stroll past who whisper: “Here it smells like mice, because here are two ladies living!” You will be annoyed and ashamed and shake your head at parents who teach their children to be stubborn. You will hang up rainbow flags of pride and solidarity, torn down by hatred and xenophobia. You will feel second-rate and sad for many years, but you will also find strength in being able to use your voice. The columnist as a speaker during the 50th anniversary of the decriminalization of homosexuality in Norway. Photo: Angelika Jane Bjørnstad Here you will again meet opposition from people who have not experienced what it means to be a minority, «because why talk so loudly about being gay? There is no homophobia here. Close your ears and live life! ” The year you turn 29, in 2022, you will still be talking loudly about the same old things – because the world still has a lot of hatred for those who are not part of the majority. Parents have come together and said that they should not learn about people like you at school. This happens over 19 years after you yourself fell in love with the first girl. Over 19 years after you needed the teacher tell you that it’s possible to be gay. Over 19 years ago you had to figure it all out for yourself, and figure out how to get out of the closet when people talked about gays as something disgusting and unpleasant. You will find that some of the world seems to be going backwards. You yourself should start to worry about whether your own children, if you are lucky enough to have them, will live safe lives without discrimination, because they have two parents of the same sex. Or because they have a darker skin color. You will experience that several countries in Europe introduce bans on people like you. You will feel left out, but you will also be moved to tears when you catch a glimpse of the rainbow flags in the windows of people who believe that the world is for everyone. You will read the words of Kim Friele who herself fought for people like you not to be seen as sick. You will read about the time Friele knocked on the doors of the Storting to deliver flyers about why homosexuality is not a diagnosis. And you will meet her. She will be one of the first people you interview when you become a journalist. Kim Friele and the columnist in 2019. Photo: Private And you will learn that speaking loudly is much more important than keeping quiet, and that irritation from others is not dangerous. Sometimes you actually have to shout so loud that people get both angry and get sore ears. You yourself have been both angry and hurt by all that is wrong. It’s your time to fight. Your generation will carry a responsibility for those who come after. Both for human dignity, climate and love. Happy pride! Also read:
ttn-69
My turn to fight – Expression
