Long before my daughters told me they were gay, I remember watching V for Vendetta, a haunting dystopian film set in London in the late 2020’s. The world is in turmoil- the United States is falling apart as the result of an ongoing civil war, and there’s a pandemic virus raging throughout Europe. V, a masked vigilante, commits violent yet heroic acts against the fascist British government, hoping to save humanity from the evil forces at play. In one particular scene V captures Evey, played by Natalie Portman, saving her from the secret police and brings her back to his safe house. To test Evey’s loyalty to V’s cause, she is locked up in a pseudo prison cell. Under the crack of the cell door, Evey is passed notes from Valerie, a fellow female prisoner, before she dies. The story unfolds like a home video, a heartfelt account of Valerie, from childhood to adulthood- her joys and sorrows of coming out at a time when it is forbidden to be gay.
I wept watching the scene from the coziness of my oversized sofa in mid-town Toronto. I felt safe in my city, which was then, and is still now, one of the most multi-cultural, diverse and openhearted places in the world. There was nothing to worry about- it was 2006, shortly after same-sex marriage had became legal in Canada. My daughters, just teenagers then, were only beginning to discover who they really were. They were engaged and dynamic young people with an active social conscience. Although I suspected at times, that they perhaps were gay, I naively thought they would have nothing to worry about- surely only love and acceptance would come their way. I felt comforted thinking that it was way easier to be gay in the 2000’s, compared to the 70’s when I was in my teens. I didn’t really know any lesbians back then, but my male friends who only came out years later, hid behind their gorgeous girlfriends that they twirled around during prom night, cloaked in their preppy button down polo shirts.
