Normally I love walking around the city. It’s one of the things I enjoy most about Oslo, and one the very few things that makes me feel like I belong here. It’s my main form of exercise, and a major reason I’m no longer chomping at the bit to move back to the US. Give me my headphones, a cool, overcast day, and I’m in heaven just walking around the city.

Recently, however, something has made me feel reticent and more than a little paranoid about my daily excursions. I’ve been repeatedly attacked by gay men.

Seriously.

The first time was a couple of months ago. I was taking the dog for a walk. We were right in front of the grocery store we usually go into, and all of a sudden I felt a bump on my legs from the back, like maybe I’d run into something or a woman with a stroller had rear-ended me. I turned around, at some gay guy was fleeing the scene, spitting obscenities, including the perennial Norwegian favorite “hore”. How did I know he was gay? He talked with that characteristic gay accent. The bump I felt was him kicking me in the back of my calf. My first instinct was to stop and grab him and make him tell me why the fuck he’s attacked me so pathetically from behind, but my second though was, “no, this guy is obviously insane–physically restraining him would be a bad idea”. Also was afraid to get into an altercation because of my glasses (I am terrified of my glasses getting broken or lost). So I let him go. The dog showed nor reaction whatsoever. One bystander asked me what the hell had just happened, did I know the guy? Never seen him before in my life, I replied.

It dawned on me after a few hours, though, that maybe I had seen him before. I remembered that once in that very grocery store there had been a guy in front of me acting like a real ass towards the cashier. I don’t remember what his problem was, but he was making a real fuss, and letting the cashier have it all the while. I snickered at him. Might this attack have been retribution for my snicker? Well, OK. If that was the case, then I’d learned my lesson. It’s wrong to laugh at people. You might get kicked from behind, if nothing else.

Now I’m wondering what the hell is going on. Today in front of my neighborhood post office, yet another gay guy attacked me. How did I know he was gay? He walked like a supermodel walks down the runway. He and I were walking towards each other, and I looked at him because his clothes caught my eye. He was dressed in a really cool, interesting outfit. I was about to smile at him when he spit in my face, and then proceeded to swish violently off down the sidewalk. I’m not taking a stab at him here by calling it “swishing” He was really workin’ it. I was so shocked all I could do was stare after him.

So is there a gay mafia here in Oslo? Have they got my picture taped up on some bulletin board in the men’s room of the one gay club we have here? What the hell is going on? I’ve been physically attacked three times since I’ve lived in this city, and two of those times by gay men. (The other time, the guy ran away so fast I couldn’t tell. He ran up from behind and shoved me, then ran away. I didn’t budge an inch, so he probably hurt his wrists. That’ll show him for trying to push over a fat chick!. That was the first time I got attacked, anyway, so I wouldn’t have thought to pay attention to whether or not he was gay.)

In light of our recent discussion about racism here on this board, I was interested to observe my initial thought on this most recent attack.

My first thought was, “I hate this country!”

My second thought was, “No, I hate the white people in this country!”

My third thought was, “No, I fucking hate the gay white people in this country!”

My fourth thought was, “Now I’m gonna have to fucking go and get myself checked for HIV.”

My fifth thought was, “Man, I should have stopped and yelled at him ‘Get the hell back here you fucking faggot!’”

My sixth thought was, “Faggot? What the hell? I’m not a homophobe!”

So basically I went from hating the general to narrowing it down to hating the specific, then hurling the specific demographic’s difference back in its face as a nasty slur. My instinct was to point out his otherness and turn it into a weakness, something he should be ashamed of.

Which is weird, and very telling. I’m not a homophobe. I’ve had a lot of gay friends. I went to NOLoSe, a convention for fat lesbians, for god’s sake, and it was one of the most awesome experiences of my life. I tend to like gay people more than straight people because they know what it’s like to be different. They’re used to people considering them disgusting, second-class citizens. They’re told that if they just try hard enough, they can be “normal”, and well, if they can’t be normal, at least they can damn well stop flaunting their gayness in our faces.

So what does it mean that I instinctually wanted to insult the guy buy negatively judging his difference, when normally I look upon that difference as a positive thing? At least I think I do. I have to wonder, now. Like I said in the racist thread, I know I’m less homophobic/racist than most other people, sow how disturbing is it that I have thoughts like these/am so ignorant about the situation? I still think my conclusion is right–that we’re bred to be wary of others and see them as inferior, worthy of less respect and care, and all we can do is to try to be aware of that fact and get over it. It’s just sad and scary when it takes so little to make the bigot in all of us rear its ugly head.
I also thought about that. I was mystified when the first gay guy kicked me, and I was paranoid about going out for a little while after that. I kept looking for him everywhere. I wanted to stop him and ask him why he’s kicked me. But I didn’t feel….personally insulted, in a way. Getting spat upon…it’s totally gross, and it’s considerably more self-righteous and derisive and personal and nasty than getting kicked from behind. I went home, broke down, and washed myself thoroughly all over with betadine. I don’t want to take the dog out.

You know, it’s funny. One of the reasons I’ve had such a hard time living here is the coldness emanating from everyone, this coldness that threatens to suck the life out of me. People don’t make eye contact, and they certainly don’t smile at each other, especially when they’re walking out on the street. So many times I try to smile at someone, and it’s hard to get the smile out on my face because of the blank general hostility that radiates from ethnic Norwegians. They’re fine when you get to know them as individuals, but as a monolithic group, they’re horrible. I hate them. I decided a while back to fuck ‘em, and go ahead and make eye contact and smile at them anyway, maybe even say something to them when they refuse to make eye contact and smile back. Because that’s what they do–pretend like they can’t even see you. I guess, though, that societal rules about eye contact, smiles, and conversation with strangers should never be broken, because otherwise your behavior is likely to get you ignored, spat upon, marked as someone interested in buying drugs or sex, or worse. That’ll fucking teach me to try to be nice to people. From now on I’m going to go around just like they are–refusing to make eye contact, with a blank, hostile caul over my face. And I despise them for it. I despise them for beating my innate friendliness and politeness out of me, for making me assimilate or be branded as a threat. I despise them for it. And I miss home.