A Different Kind of Hero

This article appears in the September issue of Zona Rosa Magazine (New York's only magazine dedicated to the lives of gay and bi Latino men), available now online at www.gaylandia.net, and will be available in print early next week.

A Different Kind of Hero

Two years ago, as the nation began to shake off eight years of regressive dictatorship from Pennsylvania Avenue, we began hearing quite a bit about heroes. John McCain was a war hero because he survived torturous conditions in the Hanoi Hilton. Hilary Clinton was a hero because she not only had taken off her petticoats and burned her bra but also had climbed the corporate and public ladder of success until she was within reach of shattering that ultimate electoral glass ceiling. By the end of the election, Barack Obama had become a hero to the poor, black folks, and a broad coalition of people who wanted only to feel hope and see a face that looked more like home.

Our national and personal dialogue is filled with heroes: from pilots landing a plane safely in the Hudson River to cops gunned down in the line of duty. Almost all of those that are bestowed with the honorific of hero are those that through circumstance, birth, political anointment or military appointment are thrust into the spotlight and crowned with laurel leaves. In truth, many who are called heroes are, indeed, heroes. Others, I suggest, are not. A police officer with a record of brutality who loses his life in a gunfight, is not a hero. A soldier that beats his wife, yet manages to survive a war, is not a hero. A Republican Senator from Arizona that chooses to stay with his comrades instead of being released from a terrible Vietnamese prison and then chooses to live a life where he actively participates in the oppression of women, queer people, and people of color for political gain is not a hero.

In the end, heroes are defined narrowly, conventionally, and too often are white, straight, men who have served in wars in which they have simply had the luck of surviving. History is full of those heroes.

As communities of color, we have been given little space for our own heroes. And those are largely the ones that have been too great to ignore or have been co-opted for the purposes of communal pacification by a power structure built on racism and economic slavery and inequality. Black people are given a street in major cities named for Martin Luther King Jr. Latin@s are given, in some places, a school named for Cesar Chavez. And with those we are meant to be contented.

I am far from content.

History is full of heroes that are unsung, ignored, or hidden. It is time to call their names and carry their spirits with us as we move forward. From Sylvia Rivera, a transgender Latina that took off a shoe and started a world-wide revolution, to Bayard Rustin, an openly gay black man that was the architect of the 1963 March on Washington and taught Martin Luther King, Jr. the principles of nonviolent resistance, our communities are full of heroes.

For many of us, our heroes are our mothers that worked two jobs to feed us and responded to our coming out with a simple, “te quiero mijo.” Our heroes are the street outreach workers and drop in center volunteers that are working to make sure that there is never another Gwen Araujo lost. From FIERCE in New York to ALLGO in Texas, there are out, proud, queer Latin@ that are working tirelessly and too often thanklessly to make sure that our lives are celebrated, supported, and cherished. We are all surrounded by family, friends, and loved ones that have made a difference in our lives. These are heroes. It’s time to speak their names.

-W. Brandon Lacy Campos

Everyday Heroes: Koren Hoard

Now and again I will be writing an entry about a person that should be praised publicly but will probably never be...the heroes and angels that walk among us.)

I recently wrote an article for a new queer Latin@ magazine called Zona Rosa. The topic of the article was “heroes.” That publication will have a section in each issue dedicated to the heroes of queer Latin@s. In my article, I redefined the term “hero”, stripping it of the often militaristic, capitalistic, or political elite requirement of hero-making.

In my life I have had many heroes. Some are still with me, others have passed on, and there are a few that I have not seen in years, but they are never far from my heart, mind, or spirit.

Once such person is Koren Hoard.

I remember meeting Koren a decade ago. Once upon a time there was a queer youth movement in this country that challenged gender, embraced while ripping apart stereotypes around sexual orientation, and wove a fierce joy and open sexualness and sexuality into a movement that redefined “gay” and the issues that were pertinent to our communities. Koren was one of the soul carriers of that group of young people.

On the surface, when I first met Koren, I though he was one of the most beautiful women I had ever met. I was quickly taught a valuable lesson in assuming gender, and Koren was the first non-operative transman I met. I used to tell him that he had the most beautiful breasts of any man I had ever seen. Everything about Koren is beautiful, from his smile to the gentle way he moves through the world. There is a quiet and fierce strength about the man that is uplifting. He never sought the spotlight, and the one real indulgence that he took was making sure that each night he wove into his hair brightly colored extensions that matched whatever fierce outfit he put together the next day. And I am talkin' fierce...he is the only person I know that can pull off an electric blue and magenta outfit and also rock the hair to match.

When I met Koren, he was working at the National Youth Advocacy Coalition. He did his work with integrity and that integrity was present in his friendship. I love Koren because with a word and smile, no matter how ugly your day is, was, or might be, it seems a little lighter and more bearable.

When I lived in North Carolina and worked at the NC Lambda Youth Network, I would often come home and find Koren, who lived in DC, sitting on my front porch or cleaning my roommate River's bedroom (and for that and that alone Koren deserves sainthood...River was a pig, rolled in a hog, dipped in a sewer, buried in a full septic tank). I love River.

I also loved when Koren came to visit. He would move about our house and smile. And when he asked how you were...you knew he cared and was listening.

Over the years, as I have gone through my own journey and trials...Koren would hear or read about it...and it would never fail...in would come an email or a phone call. Koren offered hugs, financial support if I needed it, or just a willingess to be there. This was after having not seen him in months and sometimes years. I know that I have never given to him the peace of mind and love that he has given me, but I would, quite seriously, do whatever I could and try to do things I knew I couldn't in order to support him and make sure he is always surrounded by peace and love and the support he needs.

I don't talk to Koren often enough. I can't remember the last time I saw him. But my love for him has grown exponentially. He is a gift to the justice movement. He is a gift to all who have had the fortune to know him, and he is a gift in my life. I love you Koren. Thank you.