So we’re sitting outside the Indian restaurant next door, having a beer in the late June evening sunshine, when a family walks by. First, the dad and two small sons, the dad wearing a taqiyah and djellaba; 10 steps behind them, two females in hijab.
The dad spots us, and meets my eyes, and gives me one of those looks I’ve only ever received from a Muslim male. Sheer venom. If looks could kill. I’ve seen hate, contempt, rage. This is a step beyond. It is rooted in the belief that we gay infidels are lower than vermin and deserving of instant extermination.
No immigration officer with any sense who looked into those eyes for two seconds should ever have let this savage into this country. And yet even this little town in the mountains of Norway is not spared his vile presence. He and his ilk represent a clear and present — and growing — danger to the likes of us. I’m sick of seeing this reality denied by fools and cowards who are scared of being labeled racists or Islamophobes. Wake up and stop worrying about what you’ll be called. Our lives are on the line.