The Tragedy of the Closet

Have you been following the saga of Dr. Rekers, the NARTH board member and co-founder of the Family Research Council who allegedly hired a gay prostitute to "help him with his luggage" on a 10-day European trip? Oh, you haven't? Well, best start.

http://www.truthwinsout.org/pressreleases/2010/05/8565/

Now. Here's what I've been thinking.

The true tragedy of the closet is that it allows things like this to develop. Instead of gay men dating and falling in love and establishing happiness in long-term relationships, they deny (or try to hide) who and what they truly are. With the traditional road to sexual happiness (i.e. meet someone you like and go at it like big gay bunnies, then settle into a lasting and affectionate relationship) barred, primarily by their own choice, they're left to find what little satisfaction they can at the fringes. In other words, they hire gay prostitutes and solicit sex from total strangers in airport bathrooms and at parks. Religious right organizations like Narth, Focus on the Family, and Exodus International would have us believe that this is because homosexuality is inherently deviant, that gays (particularly gay men) seek out these situations because they're deeply flawed, deeply perverted in some way. But what if that's not the case? What if homosexual men seek out these deviant encounters because they have no other recourse?

I don't need to tell you that this pattern of behavior is dangerous, but let me try to make some points about it.

- Dangerous to the participants. Physically and emotionally. Soliciting sex with strangers is not a safe thing to do. Besides the normal concerns about sexual diseases (although I assume, in this day and age, that most people are smart enough to be using protection), there's also a certain amount of physical risk (I imagine) involved in soliciting men on the wrong side of town. Although maybe if you're a gay dude you kind of know what to look for. But besides the risk of physical harm, there's also the emotional damage. You don't foster intimacy with a prostitute. You don't cuddle with someone you picked up for a blowjob in the toilet at an airport. You don't walk out of bar bathroom hook-up holding hands. You miss out on a vital part of relationship without those things. You have the form of intimacy without the substance. And that is damaging, emotionally and psychologically and spiritually and socially.

- Dangerous to the family. If you're pretending to be straight, you're probably married. And you probably have kids. And they probably have no clue about your proclivities. Or at the very least, they think you have it under control. So when they find out otherwise, it's a potentially life-shattering shock. Your wife feels like she's not enough for you. Your kids wonder if they ever knew you. Everyone has a deep sense of shame. And they should never have had to go through that. If gay people didn't feel compelled to place themselves at the mercy of a culture that doesn't accomodate them, there wouldn't need to be that heartache.

- Dangerous to society. You start to really think about this, really look at this, and you find that keeping gay and lesbian individuals closeted can potentially really fuck with society. Ironically, the fear that keeps people closeted is that allowing homosexuals to exist and live openly will shred the fabric of our culture (as if that were necessarily a bad thing, as if this were the only right and good way for people to live). But creating an environment in which these people--especially men--feel compelled to fake their way through their emotional, sexual, and familial lives has got to do more harm than good, in terms of culture.

What really gets to me, though, is the deep, deep sadness of it. I put myself in George Rekers' shoes, and I feel great sorrow. Imagine him coming back to America, having hired this guy to service him on his 10 day trip. They spent 10 days together, I assume sharing hotel rooms and meals and bottles of wine . . . in a normal relationship, I think you would be able to come back feeling remarkably close to your travel mate. Even in a normal friendship, you would feel close to each other. But disembarking on domestic soil, Rekers couldn't hold hands with his companion. He couldn't kiss him goodbye. He couldn't have that schmoopy conversation that's so boring to other people: "I'll miss you, Baby." He couldn't think of how, even though he'd just spent 10 days with this person, he would miss him every second until he could see him again.

And on the other side, his connection with his wife will never seem that strong. Not that it can't be strong and healthy (although it probably won't be). But he'll never connect with her sexually like he does with some dude he met on Rentboy.com.

This, to me, is tragic.

Journal Entry (10.22.09)

I forgot about the numbing.

Sitting in front of a computer dulls you, stunts you. Hour after hour in the stupid gym with all the noise and media and everything.

I went to see Wicked today. And it was just wonderful. Not perfect. The chorus was a  little underwhelming. Not in terms of vocals, or of dancing, necessarily. Just felt like . . . well, like it was the second string. Thursday afternoon understudies, maybe. And Fiyero was a little weak. A lot of things were less than perfect. But there was something . . . Mostly just Elphaba and Gliinda. Marcia Dodd's voice was nothing short of astounding. Soul-wrenching. One of those voices that gets into your soul. And the musical scope and the production values were nothing short of epic. Truly epic.

And the way it made me feel! it's already starting to fade in my mind. Part was the music--and that voice!--and the story. Part was the communal experience of art. I forgot how important that is. It makes me miss SoulInk. Because i can't think of a venue where the public sharing of art serves the purpose that it should. Because an open reading or jam night will likely be full of pretentious and ambitious types. Just think of Mere's stupid jam night. That thing sucked ass. Full of a bunch of guys who were only interested in showing off.

Problem is, this art thing can't be done well in isolation. it takes community. It takes safety and support. I lack both. And all the computer and music and TV stuff makes it so much worse. Dulls it, the senses. The problem is that so much--almost all-art is totally commercial. No one wants to makes something casually; everyone--no matter what he or she says--wants ot make money doing what he/she loves. Is there anything wrong with that? Not necessarily. But it speaks to a rampant sense of entitlement. "I deserve to be able to do only what I love." Says who? Men and women have always had to raise children, raise food, feed themselves. Why should you be any different?

Entitlement has been on my mind a lot, today. I haven't worked it all out, yet, but there's something deeply important about this notion that I'm now obligated to tease out.

Affirmation and Answered Prayer

Leaving