Yeah, but it IS about sex.

There’s something that’s been bothering me for a while about homophobia.

It gets mentioned here and there in writings—someone notices how inappropriate it is that as soon as people think of same-sex couples, they picture two guys getting in on and are immediately disgusted, whereas with straight people, that’s not the case.

I’ve always been careful to make a distinction between homosexuality itself and any particular sex act. Being Catholic, I have a hard time with the “love the sinner, hate the sin” mantra, but it helps me keep the two apart—something I think more people need to do.

See, it shouldn’t matter, but there’s a huge difference between being gay and having sex with people of the same gender. They can’t be the same thing because they’re not even in the same category. Gay is an adjective, a descriptor, something that people might happen to be. And sexual activity is none of anyone’s business. That’s it. Case closed.

The video posted on the blog a few weeks ago about homophobia and anti-gay violence in Uganda was deeply disturbing. But it bothered me primarily because the tactics being used by these politicians and religious leaders are awfully misleading. Whether or not the activities like “eating poo-poo” in gross-out videos are common among the community is none of anyone’s business. The problem is, Uganda is debating sex when it thinks it’s debating homosexuality. If the law is against homosexuals, then they need to be talking about homosexuality, not sex, and those videos have no place in such an argument.

Now let’s talk about progress. Stateside, the issue of whether homosexuality is moral or immoral, largely, doesn’t matter. All reasonably reasonable people agree that there’s no issue there (I mean, sure, this is contentious, but my point assumes this, so if you have issues here, let me know, but I’m moving on). But if people don’t find being gay problematic, then what they really find problematic is gay sex—and it strikes me as though if people find this problematic, it tells me two things about them: [one], that they’re really breaching the privacy of gay couples every time they think about the issue (weird, isn’t it?) and/or [two], that there’s really an unhealthy level of obsession with gay sex, even among the homophobes. People say that homosexuality is the issue, not sex. But I don’t agree. If you have a problem with The Gays (and Lesbians and Bisexuals and the Queer and Transgendered communities), it’s because you’re violating our privacy by picturing us in bed together (or, God forgive your dirty mind, in bed with you).

If you don’t like it, don’t think about it. Pretty simple solution. If you can’t do that, then figure out what makes you so obsessed with gay sex and get past it. Homosexuality != (does not equal!) gay sex. It’s a fact. It’s no business of anyone’s whether I’m sexually active or not. If I have a boyfriend, is it reasonable to assume we’re having sex? Well, no, but we don’t think about these things with straight couples. Why should we for gay ones? It just doesn’t matter, folks! Move along!

Everyone agrees that friendship, intimacy, and love are all pretty good things, regardless of gender. So, homophobes (especially the ones in my extended family), just honor me this request. When you fondle, kiss, or otherwise show affection in public, I think it’s great. I am an enormous fan of PDA and, generally, seeing examples of love in the world. But I do not, and will not, picture you having sex. It doesn’t (and shouldn’t) happen. When I see your babies, I don’t picture you conceiving them. All I ask is that you do the same for me.

If you find yourself disgusted by thoughts of gay couples, then get your prying mind out of the bedroom and expand your definitions of love.

(note: I just realized I posted this as BDU, rather than my account. I’ve already multi-linked here, so I can’t change that now, but know that this post comes from/represents Matt Lyons and not Blue Devils United)

Flamboyance, Visibility

It’s been a long time since I’ve written, and for that I apologize. I’ve been busy working with RENT (which everyone should see, by the way! visit rentatduke.com for details), but that’s not a sufficient excuse.

I write today on the same topic I began writing on in January (and never completed): the dark, strange, and often counterintuitive world of “visibility.”

What exactly do I mean by that? What do we even have to gain from visibility?

Let’s call visibility, for now, “the extent to which an average person who is making no deliberate efforts to encounter nor avoid exposure to unambiguously LGBTQ individuals or information.” Blegh, that's a mouthful.

I’m trying to say that being LGBTQ isn’t like being, say, female. Or east Asian. Or anything else that’s usually, though not always nor exclusively, visibly determined. You can’t look at someone and just know that s/he is gay or queer or a 2 on the Kinsey scale or however else a person might identify. And even the fact that I have to word it that way hints at some of the additional complexities, because there isn’t any definitive test to tell people (or yourself, or your parents) exactly what it is you are (trust me, I wish there were). Plenty of people identify as something either misleading or not entirely straightforward—whether the typically ambiguous queer or the closeted folks who still list themselves as “Interested In” the opposite gender—not to say that most of them don’t have excellent reasons, because they usually do.

But it would be a mistake to pretend that everything is suddenly simple as soon as a person has made the crucial (and bold, and terrifying, and wonderful, and everything else) step of saying, “Hello, world! I’m gay!” Sexuality can change. Situations change. Maybe you’ve just moved to Florida and suddenly realize you can be fired for being gay, which can and does happen all the time, so you decide to go back into the closet until the world suddenly becomes a better, warmer, more loving place (hah, I wish).

This… freedom of self-identification, however, is at least a little bit troubling. Maybe it’s just me, but I think sexuality is a pretty fundamental thing. And knowing that how you fundamentally understand yourself—not only how you tell others whom and what you are but also what exactly you tell you about yourself—can change… that’s terrifying to me.

A while back I went through a phase where I really admired individuals who were, say, flamboyantly gay, who made sure there was no doubt in anyone’s mind just exactly how they identified. To some extents, I still do. While it seems like so many of us do our best to blend in, these people put it all on the line and show the world a side of things it probably doesn’t often get to see, unless we’re talking about NYC or Portland or Seattle or San Francisco or some other gay mecca. One of the big talking points at our last BDU meeting was that people don’t feel like the LGBTQ community at Duke is visible.

Are we? Aren’t we? How do we get there? Do we turn ourselves into monuments of fabulousness? It’s certainly a possibility. Do we alter our hairstyles, our clothing, our speech? Do we put up posters saying, “Hey! The gays are here, even if you can’t see them. Don’t put us down?” All of this just seems unfair. Why should I have to make myself visibly gay? How is this still an issue?

What this boils down to for me is this: I don’t necessarily want to fit in, but I don’t want to have to stand out. This week is our Anti-Hate Speech Campaign here at Duke. Earlier in the week we had given out rainbow ribbons until we ran out of them. The next day, I repinned my ribbon to my shirt and went about my business. First stop of the day, coffee. My barista says, “What’s that for? Is it Pride day or something?” I explained the campaign to him, but being the only one wearing a ribbon that day, I felt like I stuck out terribly. I suppose the purpose of the ribbon is to open dialogue. It just feels… uncomfortable to stand out so boldly.

But what am I afraid of? Am I afraid of being perceived as gay? I mean, not really, because I am. All the same, there’s a huge fear of appearing too flamboyant and I can’t even convey exactly why that is.

I’m not trying to blend in, but I don’t think I should have to stand out to be recognized. For now, I suppose the only way to get where I’d like to get is to stand out. If some people don’t want to view the LGBTQ community as full people, then I guess I’m willing to make sacrifices until they will. But it’s a thin line to tread—it seems like I’m expected to show that that I’m gay, but I’m also “cool” or “normal” or maybe even just “not weird…” whatever it is I need to seem like to win that person over. But I don’t believe in that either!

There can be little doubt that I’m actually quite weird. I’m an eccentric, strange, sometimes difficult-to-tolerate person. I’m also exceptional in a number of ways. But none of that has anything to do with the fact that I’m gay, and it just seems silly to me by now that anyone would think it would.

So… standing out? I’ll do it, I guess. Through rainbow ribbons and involvement and posters if not through clothing. It just doesn’t feel fair. Here I am, little old Matt, winning over the world one person at a time. At least I can say that, here at Duke, I know I’m not doing it alone. But for what it’s worth, I’ll say that I think if you’re not fighting, you’re wasting your time. Do it. Fight. From the protection of your closet if need be. Just do it.

Looking back, looking forward.

I need to start being honest about something. This last year’s been pretty rough. As long as I’ve been the me I remember, I’ve told myself that I could make it through anything, alone if need be—that no matter what happened, I could always remain stable and centered, grounded by logic and rationalism. I didn’t need help because I had to be there for people for when they struggled. On most fronts, I succeeded. But I lost a few things along the way.

For example, the ability to ably express emotion to others (caffeine-fueled excitement doesn’t count). Gone. I’m sure an event or two has slipped my mind, but since the middle of May or so, the most I could do in the presence of others was look mildly distraught and deep in thought. Whatever the cause, it resulted in me just kind of having an excess of sadness I needed to deal with whenever others weren’t around, which was unfortunate and, in a word, inconvenient. But that’s just kind of how emotions are.

My ex and I broke up in January—he was my first—and since then I’ve been even more self-indulgent with my introspection than usual. I’ve experimented a lot with the various friendships in my life—admittedly, and shamefully, sometimes to the detriment of kindness, friendship, and my better judgment. I wanted to foster true connections and conversations and, well, love. But I’ve been so focused on the process I’ve forgotten the purpose.

The questions were many: do I work better alone or with someone else? What role do I want my friends to play in my life? What makes a friendship successful? Do friendships necessarily obey certain constraints of such things as time spent together, shared interests, and shared experiences? Or, rather, is it something intangible that draws us together? Romance, too, as well as intimacy, raised their own series of questions.

All in all, it’s been a pretty eventful, if somewhat unusual, year. It has seen the majority of my coming out process, brief flurries of romance (probably ill-advised, though I don’t do regrets), lots of ambiguity and mixed signals. If I had to pick one word to classify the year, I think it would be lonely. Much of the time, I felt like some sort of social scientist, observing and classifying behaviors and patterns without truly being a part of the systems I study. It’s been a year of sadness and disappointment. Hopefully next year I’ll do better.

What I came here to write, though, was about all the time I’ve been spending with my family and what I’ve seen. In a word, love. I think I’ve fallen completely in love with my nephews, just as will surely happen with their yet-unborn siblings. The love and care I’ve seen from their parents—my siblings in particular—has created some sort of empathic response. I feel joy and anguish with them, and just tonight I was finally able to cast myself into my brother’s place and feel the intense love and responsibility of fatherhood. There’s a certain powerlessness to it too. Or at least, that’s what I felt in my brother’s place. It was entirely magical and I could simply feel how life-changing a birth is. At the same time, a felt a certain separation, as though these were emotions I wasn’t exactly intended for.

I’m expressing myself quite poorly, and I’m sorry for that. I’ll give it one more go:

I have decided, for good, that I think I am here on this planet to learn how to love (it should be obvious I am not talking about romance nor, necessarily, intimacy). Sometimes I forget that, sometimes for as long as a year at a time. I understand that questions need not have answers and that stories need not have endings, and time will continue to make me more comfortable with this. Despite a rocky year, seeing the familial love in our household this winter break has reinvigorated my hope for myself and for the world. If only for a moment, I feel like I’m back again, hopeful and whole, ready for the coming year, wherever it leads me. Like I said, I don’t do regrets.

Merry Christmas! Have some judgment.

Yayayayay it’s Christmas! Almost. It’s a time of homecoming: families and friends are reunited and we show our love for each other with gifts. It’s also a religious holiday, which is a mixed bag for me. I put on a nice face and sing at church and wonder what people would think if they knew.

Ugh. You’d think I'd be past that by now. But no.

It's not entirely surprising. I’m out to all of my immediate family, and slowly to some of the less immediate ones, but it’s always hard to know what you can and can’t say (or wear—I brought all of my Love=Love shirts home, if only to annoy my sister. I wore it a few times last year while tutoring at an elementary school and was somewhat uncomfortable, but the school didn’t have a problem with it, so neither did I). My mother told me that she had recently told her sister(-in-law) and that her reaction had been something along the line of, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear he’s made that choice.” Which I’m not even for a moment going to pretend isn’t hugely offensive. It isn’t as though this particular woman doesn’t know me. I’ve stayed at her house probably a dozen times now and our family often spent Thanksgiving with hers.

I don’t know exactly what happened after that; hopefully my parents stood up for me, as they apparently did in another similar incident in which the folks said “love the sinner, hate the sin.” To which I simply respond with incredulity: I mean, you’ve already implicated yourselves in prejudice. You’re on a roll. Why not keep going?

At first I thought it had something to do with how exactly my parents were telling them. Tone of voice says a lot, as do the exact circumstances in which you tell them. If you treat it as a big deal, so will they. If you don’t, well, they’ll probably be so surprised by your cavalierism (It's a word. Promise.) they won’t get to show you their lack of acceptance.

So that's something I’ve been working on lately: casually introducing jokes or sexuality–relevant bits of discussion into conversation so that my family doesn’t treat it as such a big deal. We’ll see if it works (get back to you soon on that!).

It can be difficult with the family though—or, in general, with people who aren’t used to talking about it as much as I am. Last weekend I went to Portland to visit the only other guy from my high school class who’s come out. When I told my mom this, she made it sound like a disease: “Oh, so he's also…gay?” Yes, mother.

Additionally, it’s just kind of hard to talk about with my sister and brother–in–law, both of whom are fairly conservative Catholic (we’re all Catholic, but most of us aren’t quite as strictly traditional as those two). I’ve easily had eight hours of discussions of LGBT–related issues with the two of them, and after all that, my brother-in-law said, “Well, I guess I’m still just not sure that it isn’t a choice.” Which is, I hope, understandably frustrating to hear. But what do I say to that? It seems so obvious to me that no one would wish this upon themselves that I just don’t know what to say next—not that having it be undesirable means it’s not a choice, but there’s also a preponderance of evidence suggesting that it’s a natural thing.

There’s just such a huge range of how comfortable different people can be with it or talking about it that it can make communication difficult. For now, I do what I can for my family, sending them links to blog entries or news stories which have meant a lot to me and hoping they’ll get around to reading them. In a day or two they’ll all be around; I’m hoping to get them to that next level of comfort, and if they’re not ready for it, it’ll just be their responsibility to talk with me privately about it.

There’s no instruction manual to all this “being gay” business (though a friend tells me I can learn almost anything from the Golden Girls, so might have to give them a try). I hate that and I love it. But it’s part of my life. It’s not an opt-in thing; it will always be there, whether I like it or not. I think I like it.

But that’s just personal stuff. Forget about it. It is Christmas, after all. Let’s be friends and family and enjoy each other’s company. I hope all of you, dear readers and fellow contributors, have a wonderful holiday season, whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Festivus, or anything else. Happy birthday, Jesus.

Rainbows, Buttons, Flags, and Umbrellas

It's been a rainy semester here at Duke. As a result, I've become quite the connoisseur of umbrellas. I have one for light, daily use (black), one for heavy rain and heavy wind (blue and white), and a recent acquisition: one for everything in between (rainbow-colored). And while the heavy blue-and-white umbrella is by far the most durable choice, I've tended to choose to tout the rainbow umbrella. First, because it's pretty (there's a pic farther down!). Second, because, well, I want to be visible.

When I came out, it really took a while for me to decide how big a part of my identity it was--it's a daily process, really--okay, so I'm gay--what's next? Following the bridge incident this year, Blue Devils United ordered rainbow flags for students to put up outside their windows to show support for and solidarity with the LGBT community. I put mine in the window itself, so when I have my lights on it looks kind of like stained glass from the outside (photo: Oli Wilson). I think it's really important to show people that this is campus that's affirming of LGBT individuals (or even if that's not entirely the case, I think that if we give off that image, it will gradually become a self-fulfilling thing). It's the same with the Love=Love shirts.

Each year on National Coming Out Day, the LGBT Center, in cooperation with the various LGBT groups on campus, gives out free Love=Love shirts in various colors--1500 shirts a year. They're usually gone within an hour or two. LGBTQA students, faculty, grad students, and community members wear the shirts around campus. It's a pretty rare day when I don't see at least two people wearing them and it's really heartwarming to see them.


Visibility is something I think about and struggle with a lot. If I wear my Love=Love shirt to yoga, will I be labeled gay for the rest of the semester? Will doubles yoga forever be awkward? (well, okay, doubles yoga is pretty awkward anyway, but whatever.)

Earlier this semester, when it was pouring and I was stuck in the Bryan Center without an umbrella, I bought the new (rainbow) one so I could walk home without getting soaked. I had seen a friend carrying one the week prior and really liked it, plus I just thought it made sense to get one to be visible. Later in the week, I was walking back to my room after Vespers rehearsal and got out my umbrella for the walk. A friend of mine--a guy I consider to be pretty progressive--looked at my umbrella and said something to the effect of, "That's a little excessive, isn't it?" (photo: Sean Dillard)

Well, is it?

Is carrying a rainbow umbrella, as a guy, broadcasting your sexuality? I don't think so. I've gotten a few ambiguous looks while carrying it. But come on! It's a nice-looking umbrella, one of the few available at the Duke store. I don't have to be gay to carry it, right? I mean, granted, we're a pretty homophobic society, but come on. They're colors. Are we really that afraid of Mr. Roy G. Biv?

I also wear an LGBT Center button/pin on my backpack. This one makes me even more nervous. I tend to turn it around when I sit down on the bus so it's facing me. (though, the extreme awkwardness necessary to turn a button into a confrontation will probably always prevent people from talking about it. Just imagine, "Yo, this guy has an LGBT center pin on his bag. Heh, what a fag," is the most graceful way I can imagine it, and, well, clearly, that interaction fails).

Yeah, I wish we lived in a society (or a campus, even) where it'd be commonplace for straight guys to overcome their homophobia enough to do some of the same things I do. But even if they aren't homophobic or being afraid of associated with the LGBT center, being an LGBT activist is simply less likely to be as high on their priority list as it is on mine. And while plenty of my ally friends wear Love=Love shirts, no straight boy around here would carry that umbrella or wear that pin. And I'm okay with that. I think it's good for people to see a guy who's not afraid to carry a rainbow umbrella, regardless of whether or not he's gay. (and just recognizing that sure says something about masculinity...)

I had a long conversation with one of my priests last semester, and he essentially told me that he thought I should be as open and out as I was comfortable being, because it would be healthy for our Catholic community to have someone so open and comfortable both in his role as a gay man and as a Catholic in a leadership position (I'm the co-coordinator for music ministry, so I'm up front with the choir every weekend). And I think I agree. I'm reasonably comfortable with myself (and growing more so each day)--why not use that to help our community and our campus grow?

I've heard the argument that being so visible or being a "queen" (or a rather effeminate gay man) can be harmful to our cause, that it will cause discomfort and push people away. I somewhat disagree. I think that, yes, perhaps some extremely homophobic people will be pushed away--but they're already homophobic and probably still will be tomorrow. In their case, it won't make much of a difference either way. But as I've talked about before, I think the best way to advance our position in the community is to personally connect with people, to allow dialogue to happen and to be comfortable talking about myself. If I'm visible, I make such dialogue more likely--even if I'm not involved--and that's something I'm happy about. If people think about it, I'm confident they'll end up on "our" side, so let's keep people thinking about it.

So yeah. Lots of rain this semester. All my shoes are perpetually muddy. Thankfully, the weather's pretty nice today. If it goes foul tomorrow, though, you can trust I'll be getting out my rainbow umbrella again.

Oh, him? He's gay.

I am a 21-year-old gay, Catholic, analytical, somewhat musical male. I'm also confused as hell about life right now, but I imagine that will pass someday (maybe not!).

While I'm not a big fan of such attempts to describe people, reductive analysis does tend to reveal certain underlying features (structural details, one might say). Which parts of your you-ness are most important to you?

The unofficial Duke motto is "Work hard, play hard." And it's a fitting one, I think. The fact is, there's simply not enough time in the week to devote yourself to all too many activities. Additionally, there are too many people to know everyone all too well. As a result, this sort of quick reduction is almost a necessary mode of functioning. Who's he? Oh, he's in band. She sings in Chorale. These two write for the Chronicle. She does Vespers. He's in the Pitchforks. (note: these are far from representative :P)

This being the case, it seems that many students fight tooth and nail for even a second identifier. She's in [sorority] and she's premed. Speaking from my perspective, it's definitely a somewhat frightening notion that people will see me as one thing and one thing only.

A lot of people complain about self-segregation at Duke. They're usually talking about racial self-segregation, but it goes way beyond that. People self-segregate by major, religion, sexual orientation, gender, socioeconomic status, social standing, and a whole host of other things. Why is this? I certainly think one reason for it is that we want to spend time with people who understand what it's like to be [adjective]. Simultaneously, I also imagine that if I'm hanging out with people who are also [adjective], I'm going to be seen as more than just that. It's like those little travel games or hidden message things where you put on the red glasses and it lets you see what's under all the red ink--when your primary descriptor is nullified, you're required to look beyond it.

I think perhaps the broader idea is that people are looking for meaningful friendships and they believe that they are likelier to find these in people who have certain things in common with them (the popular idea is, the more you have in common, the better).

I'm not going to refute this quite yet (I'll get to my rant on friendships toward the end of the post). For now, let's talk about being homophobic versus accepting. At our last discussion, some members of the Catholic Student Center asked, "How can we make the community more welcoming?" I answered something like, "Well, you are welcoming. Now you just have to figure out how to let people know that." But, honestly, I was really only talking about those people, right there. Are the Catholics okay with my sexuality? Are the frat guys? Does it really matter?

Sometimes it's pretty uncomfortable hanging out with certain Catholic friends of mine. I have this nagging thought that maybe they're just judging me the whole time. Maybe they're hanging out with me in hopes that they'll show me the light and that I can be saved from fiery death. Similarly, with other friends, well, maybe they're totally fine with it, and maybe the fact that we've never talked about it means that, but maybe it means the opposite. We're all insecure sometimes, and while I think I'm getting better at not feeling like I need to prove myself to people as a gay man in this heteronormative society, sometimes I need to have discussions with people and know that I'm, for what it's worth, approved of (which is ridiculous! I don't need to "prove" myself to people as Catholic, or as being from Montana, or as any of the other things I am). While I could, hypothetically, spend my life hanging out with people who don't approve of me and trying to convince them of my humanity and personhood, that just seems like a huge depressing waste of time. It's really a mental burden to have to spend time with people you know don't approve of things. And to worry about it--does this person know? S/he's Christian--does s/he think I'm going to hell? Great.

I wish I could just say, "Forget it! I don't need your approval." And I'm getting better at doing that (or at either ignoring or attempting to educate the people who don't approve). But it's hard for me and probably always will be.

What's the solution? There's no easy one. Don't reduce. View people as whole people. Don't turn certain adjectives about a person into what you see as his/her identity. Don't put me in a box and I won't put you in one. Okay? Sometimes I'll fail, and sometimes you'll fail, but we'll keep trying. This is oversimplified, I know, but it's one place from which to start thinking about it.

Lastly, my quick rant on Duke friendships: People. Being friends is more than having something in common or about being in the same place at the same time. Friendship is a mutual commitment to spend time with each other. If you want to form lasting friendships you can maintain when you get out of here, you need to be regularly doing things to maintain these relationships. Schedule a meal or a discussion or going to the fair. If you plan to just let it happen, then as soon as you're apart, that friendship's gone because you have effectively zero practice maintaining it. Yes, here at Duke, we can find friends who have enough in common with us that we'll just keep running into them. That's all well and good. But the very few true friends I've found here are people who I go out of my way to schedule time with and who will do the same for me. It doesn't matter how far I've looked, what uniting quality I've tried to find people with--mutual commitment is the most important thing for me to have in common with a friend.