Redux
Every journey circles home
It has already been a week since you left, and I carry this anxiety that you might disappear. We humans, you see, have this need to find meaning in presence, and I feel that if I forget you, you will truly be gone, and no one is ready yet, because it was unfair. Death is not fair, but it is inevitable. And in your case, with so much that you did, with so much work you left behind, more than most MPs put together, you can truly be called “having lived a full life”, complete. And they will remember you, saying this change happened thanks to Costa. You see, years are measured not only in quantity, but also in quality. And if I call it unfair, it is because you still had more to give. You were that kind of person. Politics for you was not a career. It was your life.
Since we are talking about presence, did you see what happened at your funeral? I hope you found the time to settle down and to watch the service, because it was worth it. Everyone was there, well, apart from Christou of far-right ELAM or EDEK. The others were there though, and they said what was right and proper. Some spoke better than others, some said a little less, but overall they spoke of you in the best possible terms.
They said that you stepped forward and fought battles. That you contributed to the human rights dialogue, respect for difference and social inclusion, they said, tolerance and integrity. They said you stood against discrimination, social exclusion and hate speech. And that you gave a voice to people who are often denied protection and recognition.
The words “homophobia”, “homosexuality” and “LGBTQI” were not heard from all. I say this in good faith, not judging. Do not forget that those of us who open our mouths and say whatever comes to mind do not have to count voters. And besides, we were in the House of God. The place where you do not swear or blaspheme, and where your clothing must cover you from head to ankle. Set a guard, O Lord, over my mouth (…)
If there is one word I kept from the speeches, it was “dignity”. If you fed everything that was said into AI and asked for the single word that prevailed, it would give you “dignity”. You were “dignified”, dearest Costa, of course you were. But I suspect what they really meant was that you asserted your rights without high heels, that you did not challenge or unsettle through your appearance or your voice. Had you worn heels, red lipstick, a crop top, or leopard print leggings, you would likely not have been deemed “dignified”, even if you had single handedly rewritten Cyprus’ Constitution, as though dignity were something worn, not lived.
“Dignity”, however important it may be, loses its meaning when it is not used properly. You would not say at the funeral of a politician that he was dignified, because even the icon of John the Baptist would raise an eyebrow. A successful political career is not exactly defined by that word.
Dignity is used for activists as long as they do not cause a disturbance. Do you know what it reminded me of? The wife of a missing person, demanding answers for fifty years, dressed in black, never remarried, never rebuilt her life, standing still for her children, unsmiling and untouched, like the Virgin Mary. She would be described “dignified”. Because she behaved the way others decided she ought to behave. And so, it is with LGBTQI people. They are expected to live according to what the majority imposes, according to what the majority considers not degrading.
But you know what? At your funeral it was not only the “dignified” who were there. There were also the others, the wonderful, the bold, the fearless ones with glitter and high heels, looking like rainbows. They coexisted with the “pious” and with everyone else, all together, perfectly fine. And do you know why? Thanks to you.
I told you, you made History.