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Philip Walsted- A Partner Left Behind
(I'm feeling sad)
Philip Walsted was killed in a hate crime in Tucson, AZ in June 2002. He was beaten to death with a baseball bat because he was gay. After posting his photo here on The Gay Network, I received an email from Philip Walsted's life partner Jonathan:
"Thank you for posting information and a picture of Philip Walsted.
Philip was my partner. If I could die to bring him back, I would.
If you'd like more information/pictures - I think I may have a taped copy of a TV interview w/me somewhere - just let me know. I'm a college prof (marketing) and businessman, let me know if I can help you."
It made me realize that though we think about and are sad for the victim and their immediate family and friends, we often don't think about the life partners left behind of our GLBT brothers and sisters that are killed in hate crimes the way we would if a straight couple's husband/wife were murdered. It almost seems that a lot of people don't think about the love involved between two gay people. As if once we lose our partner, we could go to the local gay bar and pick up another one, just like going to a grocery store and replacing groceries we're out of. Why is this? Because, as a good friend on here once said, when you say "gay/lesbian" a lot of people only think about the sex act, not love.
"Stop thinking about sex and start thinking about love" is what Gina (ItallianStallionette) said.
Philip's partner Jonathan and I have been corresponding some through email and he sent me some articles and photos of Philip to share with everyone here.
Philip Walsted article. thanks, Jonathan
HATE CRIME (11-04-2004)
While Tucson has a progressive reputation, the 2002 death of Philip Walsted serves as a reminder that anti-gay hatred remains
By Saxon Burns
It has been nearly 900 days since Jonathan’s 24-year-old partner, Philip Walsted, was bludgeoned to death in a pitch-dark side street off Tucson's Fourth Avenue. And in early 2005, the self-proclaimed white separatist accused of killing him is scheduled to stand trial.
Fearing retaliation by sympathizers of the suspected killer, Jonathan asked that his last name and the details of his current whereabouts not be used in this story. He's not only gay, but Jewish--a double whammy, he said.
Talking over the phone from the East Coast apartment he just moved into, he gives the impression that he's a realist, a self-assured man who, at 48, has the means and experience needed to overcome life's most savage moments.
But when asked about the days following Walsted's murder, Jonathan's voice, normally resounding with conviction, trails off as if his throat has tightened. It brings back painful memories and a wave of anger.
"Initially, there was this terrible void, and I sought to fill it," he recalled. "Here was this guy who was in my life all the time. We got up together; we spent every minute together. I didn't know what to do.
"He (the accused murderer) was out there with a baseball bat, and he wanted to fuck someone up good," Jonathan said. "And unfortunately, Philip was the one."
Tucson is sometimes thought of as a progressive island drifting in Arizona's conservative seas. Pima County has about 30,000 more registered Democrats than Republicans, and Tucson was the first city in the state to start a domestic partnership registry. But to many people who knew Walsted--or know of him now that he's gone--his death serves as a reminder that anti-gay murders aren't tragedies confined to Wyoming.
FBI statistics say 1,500 hate crimes against gays were recorded nationally in 2002. In the same year, 27 incidents were reported in Tucson, according to Detective Tim Rupel, Tucson Police Department's hate crimes investigator.
While Tucson hate crime numbers have generally declined--from 49 reported cases in 2001 to 20 so far (as of our press deadline) this year--Rupel said the statistics reflect only a small portion of what's going on.
"One thing you can say about hate crimes is that statistics show us only one of every eight hate crimes is reported," Rupel said.
He cited many reasons for this, including "disbelief that something like this still occurs," fear of retaliation and victims not wanting it publicly known that they're gay.
The statistics don't mean much because of all this, according to Lori Girshick, anti-violence project coordinator for Wingspan, a LGBT community center. She said that many gays and lesbians, "for historical or current reasons, do not trust the legal system and are wary of talking to police.
"For every person who comes forward, who knows how many people don't?" Girshick asked. "We'll never know the full extent, but I'm sure it's a lot more than we're aware of. I don't think numbers tell you anything."
It's not just physical violence that's an issue, according to Girshick. Gays are routinely harassed and threatened or have their property damaged, for example.
"It's not the hate crime like a murder, but these kinds of hate crimes that are happening are threatening, they are illegal and they lead the victim to be apprehensive," she said. "Even though these things aren't reported to the police because there's not an injury, emotionally, there's an injury."
Every so often, a homosexual is seriously attacked in Tucson, causing fear and anger in the gay community. But Walsted is the only known person who has died as a result of the assaults.
In January 2000, Gary Grayson stabbed a gay man on Fourth Avenue while reportedly shouting "killing a fucking faggot." The victim's wounds were non-life-threatening, and Grayson was quickly apprehended.
Mark Fontes was assaulted outside gay bar IBT's, 616 N. Fourth Ave., in January of this year. Although police have yet to label it a hate crime, a crowd at a vigil held for Fontes shortly after the attack seemed convinced he was targeted because he is gay. While no arrests have been made in the case, Fontes has since recovered (and he has declined interview requests from the Weekly).
As for Walsted's murder, David Augustine Higdon, 22, is scheduled to stand trial Jan. 11 on first-degree murder and armed robbery charges in connection with his death.
Trial delays and claims that Higdon and four other men formed a Neo-Nazi criminal syndicate while in prison have drawn out the process. Higdon turned down a plea bargain at a September hearing; he could have received a 22-year prison sentence on a second-degree murder charge, in exchange for a guilty plea.
He could face life in prison if convicted of first-degree murder.
Higdon has been in trouble with the law throughout his life. Court records show he was charged with possession of marijuana in 2000 and aggravated assault in 1998 and 2004.
Higdon has described himself to local media as a "white separatist," saying his views don't apply to gays, just races. His name appears on a white-supremacy Web site called White Revolution under its "POW Outreach" list of individuals in apparent police custody.
The Web site, which features advertisements for white-supremacist business cards and warns white children of the dangers of trick-or-treating in non-white neighborhoods, asks for monetary or emotional support for the names listed, because they have made "sacrifices ... in the struggle for the survival of our people."
"If you are a white man or woman who is a non-drug using heterosexual and you care about the future of our race, then you are already one of us, whether you know it or not," the White Revolution mission statement says.
The police report for the murder, which is hundreds of pages thick, describes what the only known witness said she saw on June 12, 2002. It contains a statement from Higdon's friend, Kathleen Farabaugh, who accompanied him that night.
Police believe Walsted stepped out of the house he and his partner shared at 910 N. Fourth Ave., shortly after midnight. According to Jonathan, it was not uncommon for Walsted to take a walk among the shuttered bars, restaurants and old homes after his late shift as an American Airlines reservationist.
At around 2 a.m., authorities say, Higdon, who was parked near Roskruge Bilingual Magnet Middle and Elementary School with Farabaugh, called out to Walsted. The two are believed to have chatted for a few moments, possibly sharing a joint in the bed of Higdon's truck.
Link to full Article on the web
Philip Walsted. Memorial the City of Tucson and I created.
Jonathan
HEALING PLACE (06-23-2005)
The life of hate-crime victim Philip Walsted is remembered at a Fourth Avenue memorial
By Saxon Burns
Perhaps it's appropriate that the memorial to Philip Walsted, a gay man who was beaten to death three years ago, sits across the street from the yellow bungalow in which he and his partner used to live.
Fourth Avenue near Speedway Boulevard was Walsted's neighborhood. He liked to be in the thick of things, his partner said, so he would often walk around one of Tucson's most active and colorful stretches of road.
No one can say for sure, but maybe that's what the 24-year-old was doing in the early hours of June 12, 2002, when he was beaten with a baseball bat just a few blocks from his home.
Things have come full circle three years later. On Sunday, June 18, about 50 people gathered at Catalina Park, 901 N. Fourth Ave., to dedicate a memorial to Walsted. Some attendees also expressed satisfaction about the conviction of his killer, 23-year-old David Augustine Higdon.
"I hope that as years go by, people will stop here and remember and think about all the hate that's out there in the world," said Walsted's mother, Judy Boyer, during the service. "It's been rough--three years of it, and it still goes on every day. I know he's looking down, and he's very pleased. I'm just so touched by all of this."
Lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered community center Wingpsan, the city of Tucson, Walsted's family and his partner, Jonathan, collaborated to create the memorial. It includes a bench with blue beads--blue was his favorite color--set into the concrete around it. There's a pistachio tree that will eventually provide shade and a granite stone bearing Walsted's name, the years he lived and a short inscription.
Boyer also purchased a tile with a dragonfly depicted on it that was set into the concrete near the tree. Like a dragonfly, she said, her son's spirit is hovering around her always.
It was that sense of vitality and presence that Walsted's friend Colleen Davis picked up on when she said a few words to the crowd.
"Never in a million years did I think I'd be remembering him in the past tense, because he's still so alive," she said. She added through tears that she named her 3-year-old boy Connor Philip in his honor.
Walsted's sister, Amie, said she was amazed and grateful that the memorial was built, but believed that her brother's spirit was with her regardless of physical reminders.
"Philip's with me all the time," she said. "I don't need to go to a cemetery or a spot to have him with me."
Amie said she still aches even though Higdon, a self-avowed "white separatist" who got a swastika tattoo while in prison, was sentenced to life behind bars on March 28 for what police said started as a robbery.
"You think that it will make things all right, but it doesn't," she said. "It will never be OK."
Janna Excell, a counselor who has treated Walsted's family since the murder, said Higdon's sentencing and the memorial will be a comfort in at least two ways.
"First, the sentencing was certainly helpful in making this family feel that part of their journey was over," she said, adding that the many delays and frustrations inherent in prosecuting someone for such a crime sometimes made the courts seem like "an injustice system" for Walsted's family.
Second, Excell said, the memorial will be a "healing place" for the family and others who happen upon it.
"I know long after we're all gone, this will be here," Excell said. "I hope one day, children will ask, 'Mommy, what's a hate crime?' And I hope one day no one will know the answer. Hopefully, the evolution of humankind will progress to where hate crimes are a part of our history, not our future."
Excell said the community has to foster an appreciation for life. She cited the police's contention that Higdon and others at his home were using Walsted's driver's license to cut cocaine as indicative of the mindset that needs to be eradicated.
"That's how little Philip's life meant to them," Excell said. "Plus, he (Higdon) was very proud that he had killed someone gay."
Although Philip's partner, Jonathan, couldn't be at the ceremony, he said over the phone from his apartment on the East Coast that the memorial is "a triumph." He asked that his last name and current whereabouts not be used in this story for his safety.
"This memorial was appropriate, and between the city and me--with Wingspan's help--we got it done," Jonathan said. "It was recognition. It's like an assurance to everybody in the Tucson community that hate behavior against groups won't be tolerated."
Link to full Article on the web
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