Story:

It is widely known and recognized that coming out is a lifelong process that does not cease to repeat itself, but over the years, we adopt a different attitude towards it, strengthened by experience and community support.

The story I’m sharing is related to my public coming out on national television, as part of a broad campaign AGAINST the Referendum on the constitutional definition of marriage in Croatia, which was supposed to introduce into the Constitution of the Republic of Croatia the definition that marriage is a union between a man and a woman. After the Croatian Parliament decided to hold a referendum in 2013 and after we saw what the homophobic team led by Željka Markić and the “In the Name of the Family” project aimed to achieve, a kind of resistance movement began among activists in the LGBTIQ scene, which included a broad front of allies and supporters from the cultural and media scene. Since I was publicly recognized as one of the writers dealing with LGBTIQ life in my literature, I was asked to appear on a TV show and speak affirmatively about my lesbian identity. I gladly accepted the invitation because I was aware that a number of LGBTIQ activists had appeared in public space enough times by then, and it was now time for those of us who, due to various circumstances, had remained in the shadows. Also, I felt it was fair to call my mother and inform her of my appearance on television so that she would have time and space to accept that, at that time, activist act.

However, my announcement deeply upset and traumatized my mother. After we had worked together for years on accepting my lesbian identity, and seemingly succeeded, a new, seemingly insurmountable challenge now stood before us: public coming out on national television. Therefore, she demanded that I give up the appearance with a series of emotional arguments, but I couldn’t grant her wish. I was, after all, aware enough that the well-being of the entire community was more important this time than fear and personal trauma. That day, I performed proudly in front of the national TV cameras, trying to suppress the knot in my stomach and the awareness that my appearance was causing pain to my mother. Several days after my interview aired, my mom and I talked on the phone, and out of anger and frustration, she hurled insults at me that I took deadly seriously at the time but find amusing today. At that time, as a friend and partner of one of the members of the band “U pol 9 kod Sabe,” I was a frequent guest (read: inventory) at their rehearsals in the basement on Heinzelova Street (Zagreb). Christmas was approaching, we were all somehow soaked with our own troubles, but we had each other in that musty basement of the city skyscraper. The main author of the band brought a new seasonal song to rehearsal about “our” Christmas, calling it “Dysfunctional Christmas” and included a verse about me and my mom. Whenever I listen to it, I drift back to that time and that difficult year, one of the hardest in Croatian LGBT history, but I will remember it for the touching and powerful solidarity that warmed us then.