My story and struggle as a gay amritdhari Sikh man in North America (a thread):

Another Pride month coming to an end. Another deluge of happy stories filtered through the media waves. However, as the rainbow lights turn off & flags come down, ppl like me continue our daily survival.

We can’t safely tell you our stories so this is my attempt of telling mine.

My story starts a decade ago in high school. I lived my life bright eyed and bushy tailed. I “came out of the closet” close to the end of high school. Apart from the brown boys telling me I was a disgrace to the culture (b/c their DUIs were such a badge of honour), it went well.

I hadn’t decided to tell me family yet. They’re the typical “izzat” crazy family that holds honour over your head for something as little as how you choose to dress.

I was planning on telling them a little later in life when I had the means to support myself if things went south

However I was never given that opportunity.

At my high school commencement ceremony, someone outted me to them. I was oblivious to the fact and I was happily taking pictures with my favourite teachers and getting those last few “HAGS” written in my yearbook.

A few days later I was found myself awoken at 3am with my parents towering over me. They told me to get up and follow them. I was taken to a secluded room in the house and in a matter of moments my life as I knew it was going to be flipped upside down.

My phone was on the table in the middle of the room and they had pulled up all the texts I had sent my friends about my newly public identity.

For the next hour I was yelled at, interrogated for men I had sex with, whether I was this way because someone raped me, etc.

The ordeal went on until abt 4:30am when I was allowed to go back to bed. My phone was not returned to me. My freedom had in essence been snatched from me. No phone. No computer. No internet. No unaccompanied outings. I was in essence taken off the grid and put under house arrest

The next day I sat their numb as my once living father treated me like I was human garbage. I was told I would be taken to the doctor, and a ray of hope came into my mind. Little did I know that too would be snuffed out.

My parents left to go talk to him in the morning.

Later that evening I was escorted out of the house, one parent on each side of me, and I was taken to the doctor’s office.

I should have known that this visit would be insidious. I was taken after the clinic had closed for the day and the receptionist had gone home.

There was no record of my visit to the doctor’s office, probably because he was about to say things so unethical that he could lose his licence.

He took me into a room by myself and told me I need to listen to my parents. That in his opinion as a doctor this was a sickness.

“God doesn’t want you to be this way,” he said. He further went on to say that this “condition” arose because I didn’t spend enough time with my dad. He ended it by saying “Kid, women are just better, and if at the end you want anal, you can do it with women too.”

I was devastated. That night I cried myself to sleep. 24 hours before I had gone to be full of so much excitement and hope for the future. I had dreams of what life would be like. However I was slowly watching it all crumble in front of my very eyes and I sat there numb.

The next week was a repetition of silence, followed by interrogations, threats of relocation to a different city, being fed to be kept alive, and then sent to bed to rinse and repeat.

A week later I was given the final blow. My father took me to the usual secluded room...

[TW: violent threats, skip to next tweet if this bothers you]...looked at me with that same look of disgust, and told me that if I wasn’t going to change he had no choice but to end my life. I had 24 hours to decide or he would “do what he has to to.”

I jumped into survival mode. I grew up learning the story of Jassi Sidhu, a Punjabi Cndn woman killed by her own family for marrying the man she loved.

I refused to be another casualty so I essentially promised that I was “cured.” To this day mom doesn’t know about these threats

Several queer folks are going to look at this and scoff and accuse me for not living my truth for that. It’s easy to be loud and proud when it’s not an immediate threat to your life.

I WAS living my truth, and my truth is that I did what I had to do to avoid the crematorium.

My cousin in a distant city was one of the few family I was out to before this. When he heard of what I was going through, he got me to hop on a plane and spend the rest of the summer with him. I can safely say he saved my life. He also shielded me from several more ugly truths.

[TW: rape threats, skip to the next tweet] In later years I found out from him that my father wanted to hire a female sex worker to rape me and “straighten me up.”

My cousin remains one of my biggest allies today and I honestly do not know where I’d be without him today.

I returned home at the end of that summer and the goal was to complete my degree and then eventually run away and live life freely, because there was no way I would be able to come out to them again in the traditional sense. But that also went south.

Relationships at home soured and my mom and I moved out into another home. I currently cannot leave because I am one of the providers at home, and to leave would mean for my mother to end up on the streets. Therefore my truth today is that I am having to sacrifice my freedom...

...to keep a roof over my mother’s head.

I am also navigating life as a brown man with a beard and turban, completely unwanted and undesired by the mainstream queer community. When I go out I find myself given flares and stares, constantly seen as a menacing threat.

In Sikh circles my Sikhi comes into question. Straight “Singhs” can rape women but still be seen as fully amritdhari by the community. However, just because I’m queer, my Sikhi, my status as an amritdhari, and my equality in the Panth is constantly brought into question.

I am either too queer to be Sikh or too Sikh to be queer. However I am lucky to have been blessed with an amazing group of allies and friends who make me feel whole. Above all, my Guru is my anchor that makes me feel complete. My queerness brought me closer to Guru Sahib.

I find myself sitting here almost ten years after my abuse began, and feeling a sense of frustration. For ten whole years I have simply survived. However, I have also not given up.

Slowly but surely I will get my mother on her own two feet and I will eventually live my life.

Until then, I am still living my truth, and my truth is that my mother is my family and she needs me.

That does not negate my queerness or bravery.

I am survivor of abuse, rape threats, homicidal threats, and suicide attempts. It takes bravery living with this on a daily basis

I may not be able to publicly claim my story yet or publicly celebrate my identity, but until then that doesn’t mean my story doesn’t deserve to be told.