Love Among the Down Low

Joseph is not the first man I have seen at war with his own nature. In 1990 I met Jin, a devout Muslim from Southeast Asia. On our first date, when I ordered a pork dish, he said that if I ate it he couldn’t kiss me later, so I quickly ordered something else. It occurred to me that gay sex was at least as forbidden by his religion as pork, but I wasn’t about to quibble. After passionate lovemaking, he whispered in great anguish, "You made me sin." It was heartbreaking. I wanted to throttle the religious teachers who had made this sweet and thoughtful man so miserable.

Over the next few years, I strove to help Jin overcome his guilt. We read the troublesome passages in the Qur’an together. I tried to put him in touch with other gay Muslims, but he resisted. I told him that Allah’s most precious gift to him was his brain, and that using it to think for himself could not be a sin.

I quoted Galileo’s argument that the book of the heavens is the direct handiwork of God, as opposed to the holy book which was taken down by human hands. Shall we not trust the direct handiwork of God before the indirect? I told Jin that he and his desire were the direct handiwork of God, and that the evidence of his own nature should trump that of any book.

Alas, I had no more luck with that argument than Galileo. Jin could not, or would not, overcome the homophobia of his upbringing and his culture. I even tried a more practical approach and suggested that if he was going to hell he might as well at least enjoy the ride, but that didn’t work either. He was like William Faulkner’s Emily, who "clung to that which had hurt her most, as people will." He channeled his repressed passion into workouts and bicycle rides.

When I told Joseph about Jin, he told me that it was his story as well. He said that while his family loved him, as a black gay man he lacked community support mechanisms. It is hard to understand how someone so thoughtful and decent could look in the mirror and see wickedness. He has been celibate for two years, and if you saw the dashing lover he has withheld sex from—a successful black entrepreneur—you would join me in wanting to slap him out of it.

Joseph wanted to get married and have children, but his fundamental decency made him pause. He broke up with the woman he was dating, because he didn’t want to marry her for the wrong reasons, and he knew he was still gay. Even though he has moved away, he remains inseparable from his former lover, who when I encountered him recently in the restaurant was on his cell phone with Joseph.

I had dinner with Joseph before he left town, and I told him the same things I had once told Jin: God did not make a mistake. You have a hard road to follow, but you cannot escape who you are. Be true to yourself. You have people who love you. You will not be alone.

Of course, the most heartfelt conversations cannot overcome a lifetime of having one’s love denied and devalued. In the end, Joseph must choose within his own mind and heart where no one else can follow. Against the voices assuring him that gay is good clash those of anti-gay ministers and reparative therapists, the hopes and expectations of his family, and the continuing taboo against homosexuality in his community.

When I think of Jin and Joseph and so many others, I know the stakes. We must fight for our friends and lovers against the forces of invisibility and intolerance. Sometimes we will fail, and the frustrations will be great. Love makes us fight on—enough reason to give thanks in a dark season.