Positive Liberty

This is the first of several early writings that I will be uploading to Positive Liberty in the coming weeks. The present version, with only cosmetic changes, is dedicated to Mat, who insisted that I not rewrite it. Though I might say some things differently now, I still stand by the essence of it.

Without Pain or Fear or Guilt: An Essay for National Coming Out Day, October 11, 1996

Being

I’m gay.

Admitting it is a big step for me. It is for anyone. Hearing it from someone you know can be a shock, and I realize this fully.

I’ve come out to a number of my friends and even to my younger brother, but to make a public statement like this one is another matter indeed. I invite here hatred, scorn, stereotyping, disgust and bigotry.

I invite it because none of it makes any difference. All that matters is telling the truth. All that matters is accepting myself for what I am: An intelligent, playful, thoughtful, kind, moral homosexual man. There is no contradiction in being all of these things at once.

What matters most of all is my being; in my life right now I am happier than I have ever been and nothing can change this moment of perfect self-awareness. I am, and all the insults I have ever known mean nothing by comparison. I tap the keyboard and the words pour forth as if by magic, the product of my mind and my love of life and being. The words dance before my eyes. I reach out and trace their forms on the screen, bound for people I have never known and may never meet in the hopes that they, too, have something to learn from this brief glimpse into my essence.

It wasn’t always like this. If you think such optimism came cheaply, let me tell you…

Growing up, I hated myself. I hated that I had these unexplainable feelings no one else seemed to share. I hated that I couldn’t sustain genuine romantic relations with the opposite sex while everyone else seemed to have them all the time. I hated that I found men attractive in ways that my peers only thought appropriate for women. I wanted desperately to be like the others; I wanted to be anyone at all besides myself. I couldn’t accept the person I was maturing into could possibly feel the way I so obviously did.

It wasn’t that I had such a high opinion of my peers, mind you. I secretly despised every one of them while they laughed at their fag jokes and aped the gay stereotype. I hated myself for having to play along with it; I hated and feared. I feared that somehow they were right, that all faggots really are degenerates and perverts. I feared that this was what I would become if I allowed my homosexual tendencies too much expression.

I remember the first time it hit me back in high school: The fag jokes the other guys told weren’t just about a bunch of flamboyant drag queens living in San Francisco; they were about me. I was nearly floored by that realization. The jokes were about me, because I dared to admire the set of another young man’s shoulders or daydream about running my hands through his hair.

I alternated viciously between states of denial, halfhearted honesty, self-hatred and self-delusion. I tried to cultivate sexual feelings for women to no avail. I tried to deny my feelings for men with no greater success. I rationalized that it was just a phase and that I would get over it. I told myself that God didn’t want me to be gay and called on His help to lead me out of sin every single day. At age fifteen I read Freud’s theories of sexuality to try to understand what the hell was happening to me. None of it worked, and as my failure grew more and more apparent to me I became profoundly depressed.

To compensate for these feelings I absorbed myself in intellectual pursuits. I knew I was intelligent well before I knew I was gay, but intellectualism became my escape. I read constantly, absorbing everything from current events to the development of ancient technology. Independent of my schoolwork I studied physics, chemistry, psychology, logic and a wide array of other subjects.

I sought two things: First, I wanted a cure. I wanted to know the reason why for everything so that I might understand why I was gay and how I could cure myself. Second, I wanted a way back into society. Maybe if I could hide my sexuality in bookishness, I subconsciously reasoned, people won’t notice or mind so much that I’m gay. In American culture smart people are almost never considered sexual beings, and this made excellent cover for my lack of an active sex life. After a few early experiments I simply couldn’t bring myself to enter into a relationship based on something I didn’t feel. I couldn’t stand that degree of dishonesty.

I was an overachiever in areas besides academics. In high school I became one of the most devoutly religious and philosophically thoughtful people I have ever known. I am proud to say I was an Eagle Scout and a camp counselor who taught dozens of other scouts to swim, perhaps the most rewarding work I have ever done. I learned to be an excellent cook and to speak, write and read French with near fluency. I was a co-editor for my high school newspaper and held a lead role in our drama club. I earned a lucrative Army ROTC scholarship that I couldn’t accept, not because of my homosexuality, but because of my (previously unnoticed) asthma. The examiners regretted losing me as much as I regretted losing the scholarship, but in the army rules are rules.

I was a positive role model for hundreds of people, but a role model that would have been rejected by Catholicism, the Boy Scouts, and the Army, had they known one simple fact about my life. All of it seemed so senseless. In the weeks before the ceremony I toyed with the possibility of causing a scandal by publicly admitting my homosexuality at the presentation of my Eagle Scout award.

I couldn’t do it; over the years I had absorbed far too much self-loathing to cast it all off that quickly. Instead I delivered a carefully prepared speech, one of the most eloquent tributes to the virtues of scouting that I have ever heard. I spoke from the heart and brought tears to peoples’ eyes. All the people I had ever cared about stood and applauded at the end. I knew, though, that a good many of them would have gotten up and walked out had they known I was gay. At the proudest moment of my life I hurt so much that I couldn’t feel proud of myself at all.

The summer before going to college I began keeping an electronic journal. Here was where I first honestly acknowledged my sexuality. I wrote in the journal whenever I could no longer bear living in the closet. Even there I wrote about trying to find a cure, trying to get over it, trying to escape. Despite my initial promise of honesty I wrote many things I didn’t mean; I cursed myself in ways I hesitate to believe–Even while lauding my honesty and courage.

So with nothing really settled I left high school and went to college. I was totally unprepared for it, and at the same time it was the best experience of my life.

Acceptance

College was a great thing for me because I was forced to question everything. I met many different kinds of people and did many things I had never done before. I gave up sleep for nearly a week in the hectic time before fall break–Then slept twenty hours straight at my aunt’s house that weekend. I went moshing and crowd surfing, road-tripping and donut-running at four in the morning. The Internet first presented itself then; soon enough I was enthralled by it, and it has never lost its hold on me. I questioned, doubted, and ultimately abandoned my religion, another story entirely but one I must someday share as well.

I was exuberant, homesick, fearful and disoriented. The first week of college marked the first time I ever met an openly gay person. I quote from my electronic journal:

It’s amazing. For the first time in my life there are no rules at all. I get up when I want to, eat whatever I want, dress how I want, do what I want to do. I’m in with a really great group of people in my dorm suite, and things have worked out quite well among us… There are still a few things I cannot do; at one orientation session about exploring differences among people, the question was asked if anyone present was gay, bisexual, or lesbian. I watched as one brave young man stood up alone. He got a round of applause from a roomful of hypocrites who would probably deride him as a faggot in almost any other context…And [a] sincere though silent "thank you." [From] perhaps the last person someone would expect to be gay (Jason’s in the cool suite. Doesn’t he live with the poker guys?… Wasn’t he really hitting it off with the Norton girls last night?)

I remember locking myself in my room and crying a lot, listening to Counting Crows and thinking about suicide. Besides meeting many homosexuals I met many very attractive men in college. I hated myself whenever I saw one of them; while I might have enjoyed looking at him I felt an equal amount of shame and disgust. Such things are wrong, I told myself again and again. There had to be some way out; I just couldn’t feel that way about another man.

As I came home for Thanksgiving break I told myself that while home I would come out to the closest friend I had ever had. The evening I spent with her was filled with stumbling, abortive attempts at the truth. I scared her very badly because she knew I had something terribly important on my mind but that I couldn’t bring myself to say it. For the first time a barrier had come between us that we couldn’t break down together. After what I did to her I was afraid of myself, and I returned to school with more guilt and self-loathing than when I left. I was lonelier than I had ever been and still didn’t accept who I was. Without this acceptance I was well on my way to becoming a non-entity.

I avoided my best friend over Christmas break; we went out together only once and never discussed our Thanksgiving conversation. Simply facing her had become a challenge.

On January 21, 1995, alone and desperate, I wrote a letter to my friend. In it I told her that I was gay. I begged her forgiveness for lying to her for so long and for how I had treated her recently. In doing so I took the first concrete step in overcoming the years of self-hatred that I felt as a gay adolescent. I trembled as I wrote the words. I nearly tore up the entire letter immediately after finishing it. I hesitated before sealing it and again before addressing it. I would perhaps have never mailed the letter, save that on the way to the mailbox I met someone I knew; I feared any hesitation would have caused too much suspicion over the contents of the letter. Such is paranoia.

Three days passed, then my friend back home called me. "I love you," was all she said. We both cried; of this I am not the least ashamed. I was free.

Justification

Despite the progress made by society in accepting homosexuals there is much left to be done. My own story shows just how hatred and prejudice continue to exist. They infect even the homosexuals themselves; born into the culture that oppresses us, we internalize the oppression. We are the only people to ever experience xenophobia–directed inward. Because everyone is assumed to be straight, a shameful lie becomes the default state of our existence.

Those who would wish us to be genuinely ashamed and who would persecute us are a minority, but their influence extends over the entire culture. How often one hears "I don’t mind homosexuality, so long as you don’t involve me," or "being gay is all right, just don’t show it in public." Such attitudes are really just the same old hatred reappearing in the disguise of tolerance.

Public expression of love: What of it? Why must I require the approval of others before I engage in something that anyone else may do freely? As far as I am concerned there is only one other person whose consent I require–Unfortunately I am still looking for him. And what about this "don’t involve me" nonsense? As if all homosexuals are rapists as well! Whenever someone says this they reveal their own ignorant fears and nothing more.

Tolerance is not only not enough–In the sense it usually has, tolerance is the wrong attitude entirely. Tolerance implies a fault that is willfully overlooked. I know now that I am not at fault and that my desire and ability to love are good. I can destroy the arguments of those who call for anything less than pride of self and sexuality in a single paragraph:

Homosexuality cannot be morally evil: Sexual orientation is not a choice, and therefore is no more a moral issue than having blond hair or being left-handed. Acting on the orientation is a choice, but what is immoral about two individuals freely choosing to express their love for one another? Only one with a hatred for all human love could ever offer an answer to that question.

Religious arguments are the ones most commonly employed against homosexuality. Though I am not religious I believe these arguments deserve an answer. Assuming the existence of God, why would God create people to be homosexual at all, if for those people the only alternatives were committing a sin (homosexual activity), committing a different sin (lying about one’s orientation), or experiencing a life of guilt and self-denial? I asked a religious friend this very question once.

God wants some people to suffer, he replied. If this is true, then God is arbitrary as well as vicious and cruel. If it is not true, then homosexuality is not a sin, nor is it even a moral evil. It should be celebrated as yet another way for people to express their love for one another. I ask you: Whose view of sexuality is more fully in accord with the human spirit, and whose is sunk in perversion? If there are sexual perverts to be found in the debate, I know exactly where to look.

On a psychological level, recognizing my orientation is just like having to sleep or breathe or eat: All can be avoided for a time, but doing so leads invariably to harm. I can of course tell myself that I don’t have to sleep, breathe, or eat, but not without serious injury. I learned from experience that I can for a time repress my sexuality, but that doing so, like holding one’s breath, causes more and more harm to the individual the longer it goes on.

Before learning to accept myself I contemplated suicide every single day. I came closer to self-destruction than I would ever wish any human being, literally tearing myself away from the edge on more than one occasion. I looked desperately for a way out, anything short of admitting the truth. This is not how man is meant to live, but it is the life I would be forced into by remaining in the closet. I will do so no more.

A Message to the Silent

I now would like to address directly those who are living in the closet or who are unsure about their orientation. The process of coming out isn’t an easy one. The first step, for those of you who have not reached it yet and who read these words in secret terror of discovery, is to discard all the labels. You aren’t a label; don’t think of yourself as one. For just one day–one hour if you can bear no more–simply allow yourself the introspective experience of your own sexuality without thinking "I can’t be like this," or "Feeling this way is wrong." See what you find.

Don’t think about the stereotypes; don’t think about the disgust you have been taught over the years. Those things are not you; they are contrivances built by those who would destroy you, and you accept them at the price of your own spiritual death. I will tell you something else: The stereotypes–they aren’t me, either. They don’t fairly represent anyone. Yes, some homosexuals are wildly flamboyant. Some are drag queens. What of it? They have their lives and you have yours. If this is the lifestyle you prefer, then so be it. If it is not what you prefer such lifestyle is in no way forced on you by admitting what you already are.

Some homosexuals are drug addicts and some are sexual predators. But this reflects not at all on anyone else. Throw the criminals in prison, give the addicts the help they need to break their addiction–And celebrate the world we have thereby created. You and I are free, and we may one day love one another.

Don’t think about what your parents or friends might think if they knew. If you are old enough to consider these things it means you are an adult–and it is high time you think for yourself.

Now ask yourself: "How do I feel?"

Answering this question dishonestly will harm you and in no way change the reality of your situation; only honesty will do you any good. If you find women sexually attractive, that is great. If you find men attractive, that is great as well. If you find both men and women attractive, more power to you. What matters most though is that you are honest with yourself; it is the dishonesty that brings the self-hatred, loathing and xenophobia.

If you are confused and you cannot bring yourself to consider such things, consider this instead: You are miserable now; I know it. Do you wish to live your whole life that way? I can’t force it to be otherwise, nor can anyone else. It’s all up to you, and you can end it if you wish.

You may feel you need someone to talk to; I understand entirely. If you know a gay or bisexual person that you consider approachable, I urge you to speak with that person. He or she will likely be very supportive; we have all stood in your shoes at one time or another. On the basis of such shared experiences we have a common bond.

If you know no one like this personally, there are many resources on the Internet for people in your situation. A partial list follows this essay. If you want, send me e-mail. I always respond, and you know by now that I love to write. I will keep all correspondence absolutely confidential and in no way try to contact you by other means if you prefer I did not.

If you cannot approach anyone, then do what I did in those lonely months before college: Keep a journal. Write about what you experience, about your fears, your goals and your dreams. Refer to it often and consider your growth and development as a person.

Finally, if you are considering hurting yourself or committing suicide, I beg you to seek professional support–even if it means exposing your secret to others. You are a sexual being because this is one way given to us to love life and share it with others. To hurt yourself because of this very gift would be the worst tragedy I can imagine. If you have read this far I know you well enough to know you deserve better. Get help; you deserve no less.

Anger

The end of the struggle is not here yet, though. On accepting myself I found I had much left for which to work. I have much left for which to fight as well. There are things left in my life that simply enrage me; there can be no other way to express it.

I am angry because I am 20 years old, handsome, fun, energetic, sociable–and I have never yet had a romantic relationship that means a damn. I have been denied this by a society that at its best demands I hide myself and at its worst would exterminate me. I hate that when I go out in public I must be afraid for my life if I express an attraction for another man, an attraction every bit as natural as those felt by straight men for women.

I am angry because of all the lives spent in secret anguish, the years of deceit and shame forced on those that have gone before me and from which I am only now emerging. I am angry that this could come to pass in the name of goodness and morality.

I am angry because homosexuality–not drug abuse, depression or alcoholism–is the leading cause of teen suicide in the United States. I understand how this could be based on my own experiences, and yet I cannot comprehend how a free society permits such oppression. I am saddened at the passing of thousands of individual human beings who, acting on the hatred they absorbed from others, saw no option but to end their lives before they ever really began to live. I wonder at what good they might have done the world had the world not turned its back on them.

I am angry at the politicians and the media who would portray homosexuals as deficient or helpless. They only perpetuate the stereotypes that make self-acceptance so difficult. They perpetuate these things at the cost of human lives.

Let’s not fool ourselves: On one side of the contemporary gay rights debate there are the leftist liberals who want to treat homosexuals as they now treat blacks, women, and other minorities: As vulnerable and in need of protection. I am neither particularly vulnerable nor in need of protection, and I resent the idea that I am somehow less able to function in society because of my orientation. It is not some fault of mine but rather society that is to blame if it cannot accept me. Neither I nor anyone else needs this kind of favoritism, "help" that robs the individual of dignity and gives only dependence on the State in return.

Notice as well how the gay stereotype perpetuated by the media plays into the hands of the leftist-liberals: Homosexuals are depicted as helpless: They are drug addicts. They are creatures wholly consumed by sexuality. They are shown as sexual victims when not shown as sexual predators. They are depicted as lacking the essential characteristics of their own sex that give men or women their particular powers in society: The butch lesbian and the effeminate queen are seized upon as symbols because they portray aberrant and therefore socially helpless individuals, people lacking the psychological power that comes from one’s status as a man or woman. Or so the media would have us believe. I know at least one fairly butch lesbian, self-identified, who would beg to differ in the strongest of terms.

They are, however much we laugh at these caricatures, objects of pity, demanding from others simply by virtue of their own need. It is good to be an outcast, to need our help, say the liberals. No human depicted thus should ever stand for it, nor can he do so and retain the title "human." "beggar" would be more appropriate. It is no wonder that homosexuals meet such great resentment from straight society, what with representatives like these.

On the other side of the debate there is the religious right. Again, let’s not fool ourselves: These people believe homosexuality is not only personally undesirable, but that it should be forbidden to all people. If this forbiddance isn’t done by the government it should be done by whatever moral authority can intimidate the gays into "turning" straight. Anyone who takes this stance forfeits all moral authority as far as I’m concerned: They are out to destroy my life by dragging me back into the closet from which I escaped. To these people I say: No deal, no compromise, no truce. Practice your religion if you wish, but don’t you dare impose it on me. Such is no better than the homosexual rape so feared by the cowards.

The PC-liberals argue against the absolute-religious-rightists by saying that there are no absolutes. It saddens me to see this: There are moral absolutes, but the rightists have seized on the wrong ones. What are the real absolutes? Happiness is the highest purpose of man on earth; reasoned and consenting action is the only way to obtain it. Happiness thus depends on our being able to have life, liberty, and property on which to exercise our actions. We all pay lip service to the protection of life, liberty, and property; we practically have to as Americans. But do we really believe in it? This is the issue, and with homosexuality it doesn’t get any more clear-cut.

Properly speaking, there is no such thing as "gay rights." There are only individual rights, and these have been denied to homosexuals throughout history. If you defend liberty you will defend the rights of homosexuals to do as they wish. If you do not do so you are no friend of individual rights, whatever your opinions elsewhere.

I have also read many homosexual authors on the issues surrounding homosexuality in America. What does it mean to be gay in society? What is our place? Every homosexual has a different perspective on it, but there are two main camps: One advocates re-assimilation with the straight world, reasoning that it is best to keep one’s orientation private and leave well enough alone. The other damns the assimilationists as "Uncle Toms" and "apologists," preferring to advocate separatism and militancy. I have to laugh at both sides of this debate.

I laugh because beneath all the definitions, the rhetoric, the stereotypes, there lurks one simple fact: Homosexuals already are everywhere, in all parts of society and at all times. We are in the military, in Congress, in the clergy and in the classroom. We are everywhere and always will be. We have no more need of re-assimilation than any other completely random sample of the population has. We have no more need of pursuing militant separatism than any other completely random sample. We will never be eliminated, we cannot be silenced now, and all that remains is…

Pride

Recently a friend of mine brought me to appreciate exactly what it means to live beyond all bigotry. We attended a festival together at which there were live bands, food, drink, and a wide array of highly attractive people of both sexes. I was feeling somewhat agoraphobic, as I often do when I have no one to talk to in a crowd. I felt as well the old disgust with myself, something I thought I had seen the end of.

"So, Jason, do you see any good-looking men around here?" he asked me. I couldn’t believe it at first; I had only told him I was gay a few days before, and while he was supportive I hardly expected this. I hesitated, and he continued:

"It’s just that when I’m out with my straight friends they’ll always point out if they find a woman attractive, and I want you to be able to say something if you find a man attractive."

Feeling somewhat awkward, I pointed out a man I saw in the crowd: He was somewhat short and had dark, perfectly combed hair and sensitive yet piercing eyes. He was well-tanned and clean-shaven and was the perfect picture of a gorgeous guy.

"Him," I said, "in the plaid shirt."

So while Dave pointed out attractive women, I showed him what I like in men. I was almost drooling over a security guard with sandy blond hair and a mischievous smile when Dave tapped my shoulder and looked questioningly, first to me, then to the guard.

"Yeah. Wow."

"I thought so."

"You know, you’re really learning fast."

And between us there was no pain, nor fear, nor guilt. There was only pride.

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