When I felt compelled to be anti-gay (see my sidebar for why I use that relatively neutral term), I had some thoughts about gay issues which I would never share with anyone. One of those regarded the then-hot topic of gay marriage. Underneath all of the rhetoric about sanctity, was this hope:
"Maybe this will discourage people from being gay."
Maybe if we didn't allow them to marry, they would fall out of love. Maybe if we made it as hard as possible to be gay in this society, far fewer people would be. Maybe we could "correct" them. Maybe being straight, or trying to, would make them more open to Jesus.
This was my secret reasoning back then, about ten years ago. And I know this thought had to have occurred to others. So whenever I hear political arguments against LGBT protections, I know the real reason they oppose these laws. I know that for at least some people, it's about punishing us. It's about making it more difficult to be gay. And I wonder if this secret thought is more widespread than anyone admits.
I know this is some people's reasoning, if not most. I wish they would at least be honest about it. But maybe most are not being honest with themselves. Because if they admit that they are trying to punish people into being straight, that looks bad. That may make them feel bad. So they avoid that pain and embarrassment, by talking about something else. Something prettier. Something nicer.
This might be excusable if we could easily choose to be straight. But even the other side knows that it's not easy to change, or else there would no need for "ex-gay" programs. ("Need." There shouldn't be a "need.") For some of us change is ultimately impossible. Or at least, it is if we want to live a happy life. Maybe you should listen to those who fail to change, and not just those who succeed.
The other side knows this. I knew this. I knew you couldn't make people submit to possibly years of intense (and expensive) conversion therapy unless they were miserable already. So naturally, it was up to us to make them as miserable as possible being gay. Or at least, to maintain a miserable status quo. It was our loving duty to keep gay people unhappy. For their own good, they could not be allowed to be happy.
I am using language that is more frank than I would have used at the time. I am being blunt. If this thought process describes you, you would probably use nicer terms. But it doesn't make the idea nice.
Conversion therapy made people unhappy. Lifelong celibacy made people unhappy. (Look at how many young marriages there are in churches. People want sex, and won't admit its importance to them.) I knew there were not equal standards--that some gay people just could not fall in love with the opposite sex. I could say that celibacy was a gift, but I knew it was a gift I didn't want--or didn't want to keep forever. How could I blame a gay person for not wanting it either? God gave some people choices, and others burdens. There had to be an incentive to carry this burden.
So I know you're trying to punish me, underneath all the other arguments. At least some of you are. I wish you were honest. I know you feel like you can't be. Most of all, I wish you knew you didn't have to punish me. I wish some of you didn't want to. But I don't think that's most people, and I pray for a time when no one has to be hurt.
Friday, April 19, 2019
"I Have Gay Friends": Why This Phrase Hurts Us
When you have actual gay friends, you know people are made fun of for saying "I have gay friends." Doesn't make sense to you? Let me explain.
A lot of people use the phrase "I have gay friends" to defend an argument that their gay friends would never endorse. And we feel used and hurt because of it.
I knew a young woman in college who, whenever challenged on her beliefs about homosexuality, used the phrase, "I have gay friends." And I see many others using it too, even politicians who try to implement policies that hurt us. (And yes, those policies do make our lives worse, sometimes very much so. A gay person would know.)
But to go back to my example, this person also used words like "choice" and "lifestyle" when referring to homosexuality. Words that no gay person would ever use. She was not listening to us. If she was not listening to us about ourselves, to whom was she listening about us? Why weren't her gay friends good enough to speak for themselves?
It had probably never even occurred to her to ask us about our own lives. Had it been a choice for us? What did we think of the words "gay lifestyle" when so many of us were monogamous, and at the time were fighting for the right to get married and settle down? How did her politics affect our lives? These questions probably never entered her mind.
And yet she called us her friends. Who doesn't want to know about their friends' lives, loves, pains, and experiences?
Given that she listened not to her "friends" but to her friends' opponents, my guess is that she did not actually have any gay friends. She thought she did. But really, all she had were gay people in her life who had to get along with her. (Or who wanted to witness to her about love, just as she hoped to witness to them about her own beliefs.)
Sometimes people think they have a gay friend just because a gay person is nice to them. I have heard from people who are counted as "my gay friend" by someone they consider only an acquaintance. In reality, they only consider friends those who believe in their love. They don't want to be hurt, even by people who don't mean to--who love them. They don't want to be used in an argument, much less one they don't agree with.
So, when straight people aren't around, occasionally in conversation one of us will say sarcastically, "But I have gay friends!" and the rest of us will laugh bitterly. We've all been hurt by this. We've been good enough to bolster an argument, or even to spend time with, but not good enough to listen to and believe about our own lives. The people who call themselves our friends, listen to our enemies instead of us. Our "friends" let our enemies speak for us. And it hurts.
This is one part of why you probably consider gay people so angry. A lot of people use anger to cover hurt--I've seen it on both sides, especially in politics. There are angry gay people--just like there are angry "Christians"--but sometimes when you see us, you're hurting us. Intentionally or not.
When you say, "I have gay friends" while making arguments against our love, we feel used. And that hurts.
A lot of people use the phrase "I have gay friends" to defend an argument that their gay friends would never endorse. And we feel used and hurt because of it.
I knew a young woman in college who, whenever challenged on her beliefs about homosexuality, used the phrase, "I have gay friends." And I see many others using it too, even politicians who try to implement policies that hurt us. (And yes, those policies do make our lives worse, sometimes very much so. A gay person would know.)
But to go back to my example, this person also used words like "choice" and "lifestyle" when referring to homosexuality. Words that no gay person would ever use. She was not listening to us. If she was not listening to us about ourselves, to whom was she listening about us? Why weren't her gay friends good enough to speak for themselves?
It had probably never even occurred to her to ask us about our own lives. Had it been a choice for us? What did we think of the words "gay lifestyle" when so many of us were monogamous, and at the time were fighting for the right to get married and settle down? How did her politics affect our lives? These questions probably never entered her mind.
And yet she called us her friends. Who doesn't want to know about their friends' lives, loves, pains, and experiences?
Given that she listened not to her "friends" but to her friends' opponents, my guess is that she did not actually have any gay friends. She thought she did. But really, all she had were gay people in her life who had to get along with her. (Or who wanted to witness to her about love, just as she hoped to witness to them about her own beliefs.)
Sometimes people think they have a gay friend just because a gay person is nice to them. I have heard from people who are counted as "my gay friend" by someone they consider only an acquaintance. In reality, they only consider friends those who believe in their love. They don't want to be hurt, even by people who don't mean to--who love them. They don't want to be used in an argument, much less one they don't agree with.
So, when straight people aren't around, occasionally in conversation one of us will say sarcastically, "But I have gay friends!" and the rest of us will laugh bitterly. We've all been hurt by this. We've been good enough to bolster an argument, or even to spend time with, but not good enough to listen to and believe about our own lives. The people who call themselves our friends, listen to our enemies instead of us. Our "friends" let our enemies speak for us. And it hurts.
This is one part of why you probably consider gay people so angry. A lot of people use anger to cover hurt--I've seen it on both sides, especially in politics. There are angry gay people--just like there are angry "Christians"--but sometimes when you see us, you're hurting us. Intentionally or not.
When you say, "I have gay friends" while making arguments against our love, we feel used. And that hurts.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)