George and Diego: an allegory

Recently, I wrote about the death of a tortoise named Lonesome George. George was over 100 years old and was the very last of his species, one of several threatened tortoise species on the Galapagos Islands. George represented a cautionary tale: humans are capable of pushing species to the brink of extinction—and they are capable of recognizing that they have to change their ways if species are to survive.

In George’s case, people realized this too late. George spent his last years at the Charles Darwin Research Station in the Galapagos, where folks tried to encourage him to breed so that his genes could be saved. But to no avail. George died without leaving any offspring. With him died the species of tortoise native to Pinta Island.

But at the same research facility, another story—one with a very different outcome—is playing out. A relative of George, a tortoise from Española Island named Diego, also represents a species that was close to extinction (Chelonoidis hoodensis, for those who are curious). But in this case, Diego and his mates have produced a multitude of offspring.

Diego chows down

Diego, who is also over 100 years old, had originally been shipped to a zoo in the US, but was returned to the Galapagos in 1975 as part of an effort to protect and re-establish the Galapagos’ unique organisms. There, he and the few other remaining members of his particular species were given space of their own and an opportunity to reproduce. Which they did, big time. In all, somewhere close to 1800 offspring of this group have been born at the research station and returned to Española. The species is now well established as a wild population on Española.

Reading about Diego, I realized that in my preoccupation with George’s sad story, I hadn’t even considered that there are also success stories (and there are many) in the Galapagos. It’s not that I had dismissed Diego—I hadn’t even wondered if there was a Diego. Of course, George’s story has a certain dramatic appeal. Tragic stories help programs like the research station gather media attention, funding, and public interest. Remember it was George, hero of the sad story, who was selected to be the logo for the research center, not Diego.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, this sounded very familiar … paying attention to horror stories, honoring tragic figures, and missing success stories. Then I got what it was.

Several years ago, my partner and I did a research project with LGBT youth in Salt Lake City. Among the many things we learned from that project was a lesson reminiscent of George and Diego. It has to do with a similar preoccupation with horror and tragedy—only this time, in the lives of some LGBT youth—and a parallel disregard for the positive, happy, empowered lives that many LGBT youths lead.

The familiarity itching in the back of my mind as I thought about Diego was this tunnel vision thing: Just as I focused my attention on George and never considered Diego, we focus our collective attention on the misery of LGBT youth and never consider the possibilities for joy in LGBT life.

Please note: I am not saying that the risk and the mistreatment don’t exist or should be ignored. They, like George’s really unfortunate experience, must of course command our attention and our change efforts. But at the same time, how unfortunate it is that we grant so little attention to the Diegos in the Galapagos story—and to the wonderfully resilient LGBT people, adults and youth alike, who make happy, satisfied, productive … and even ordinary lives for themselves.

Think about it: If we only heard George’s story, we would be left believing that all Galapagos tortoises are doomed. It is only by knowing about—and celebrating—Diego’s story that we get a full picture of the future of these historic creatures. They are the victims of mistreatment and they are amazingly successful in their persistent survival. We need to keep that in mind about LGBT folks—especially youth—too. We/they are at risk for mistreatment and they are inspiringly resilient, courageous, and empowered … and flawed, frightened, ordinary, just like other folks are.

Think about what our tunnel vision, our preoccupation with misery can say to LGBT youths about their lives, their hopes for the future. If queer youths only hear one side of this story, their view of the possibilities for their lives can only be impoverished.

I think we’ll do queer youth a valuable service if we teach them about Diego’s story so that they don’t think George’s story is the only future they can expect. And I mean that figuratively as well as literally. This is an allegory, after all.