Tyler Perry
I stand on the street corner in front of the Institute
building, a converted dentist’s office across the street from the community
college. There are about a dozen other Institute
students also holding yellow signs with blue lettering. I am younger than most, if not all of them,
and I see them as spiritual giants. Some
of them have given two years of their lives to serving God as
missionaries. Others have the wisdom of
study and experience. They have all
overcome things, and they are showing their faith by being here. And our leader is a man who I respect
greatly, a pillar of spiritual fortitude.
Me? It had been a
struggle to get here. A bad relationship
with a guardian, angst about the poor economy crumbling before my eyes, and the
typical travails that come with being an adolescent male of the human species have
held me back from being like them. I
mask those concerns behind a sharp wit, an analytical mind, and an outspoken
personality. I want them to like me, to be
impressed with me, to validate me despite my relative youth.
And here we are, standing together on this street corner with
yellow and blue signs, the specter of November looming ever closer. Some people flip us off, sure. But we expect that kind of persecution for
standing up for our faith. I take
validation in the aggression and disapproval of strangers. It bonds our group on the street corner
together. However, for the most part,
the response from passersby is positive.
It is great to see the power and will of God carried out in this place.
I am drawn into this energy, this protest, giving no thought
to the secret that I could not even acknowledge to myself. I feel a sense of belonging and security,
even as we rage against the world that is conspiring to tear us down. We are stronger than the world because God is
with us!
And so, I chant. It
is such a clever chant too.
“Straight is great!
Yes on 8!”
A Storm is Coming
First, if I had a time machine, the temptation would be to
go back in time and punch 17-year-old me in the mouth, even if that would destroy
the fabric of space-time. I am certain
that somewhere there is a picture of me standing in front of a “Yes on 8”
campaign sign, because I was all in.
Proposition 8 was a 2008 California ballot initiative to
amend the California state constitution to define marriage as being between one
man and one woman. The intent was to use
the ballot box to overturn a 4 -3 decision by the California supreme court that
invalidated Proposition 22, passed in 2000.
I remembered when Proposition 22 was passed, since it had been a topic
of discussion at home at the time. I remembered
seeing my parents support that measure, and, while I still was not old enough
to cast a ballot, in 2008, I had a chance to follow their example.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints was a major
backer of the Yes on Proposition 8 campaign.
Announcements were read in church meetings that urged members to support
or contribute to the campaign. Members
discussed amongst themselves between church meetings how they could and would support
the cause of protecting the family from the dangers of evils like same-sex
marriage. I listened as men that I
looked up to and admired openly spoke of their support for the ballot measure, and
the church that was directing them to support it.
I had no understanding for the other side. I was pretty sure that I did not know any gay
people, and all the portrayals of them on TV showed just how weird and different
they were. I wondered, why should churches
have to recognize the lusts and desires of people like Richard Simmons? These are people who need help from a
psychiatrist, not a license to be married.
The only convincing argument that I heard in favor of
same-sex marriage had come in the form of a joke. “If they want to get married, fine. Let them be just as miserable as the rest of
us!”
It was mostly married men who made that joke.
With no good arguments to support it, and plenty of reason
to fear that the legalization of same-sex marriage would mean the closure of
temples and meetinghouses across the country, I took on the position that
brought me the kind of support that I needed.
It was not even a difficult decision.
There was no bellyaching, no regrets, no wondering if I might be on the wrong
side of the issue. God said homosexual
behavior was wrong, therefore, I needed to oppose the legalization of same-sex marriage. And, so, it was with gusto that I did.
Back in the 90's
I think Mormon parents are genuinely proud of their children
when they internalize a lesson from Nursery or Primary. Somehow, from a very young age, I had
internalized the lesson that your goal in life should be to get married in the
temple and have children of your own.
There was no greater happiness than that.
The 90’s was a fascinating decade. I often remark on the peculiarities of the 80’s,
like Max Headroom or Flock of Seagulls, but the 90’s were special in their own
way. It was a time of catharsis for the
country, relative economic prosperity with the alleviation of the Cold War
tensions. It was bright, bombastic, and
filled with media that was hopeful.
Sure, some programming would address real world issues. There is an excellent episode of The Fresh
Prince of Bel-Air that deals with police relations with the black
community. Or an episode of Home
Improvement that dives into handling health scares in the family. However, most programming was just fun and
light-hearted, reflecting the positive, if perhaps naïve, zeitgeist of the time.
What you would not find on television or in film was very
much positive representation of LGBT people.
I remember seeing an episode of Seinfeld where Elaine and a gay
man both complain about men together. Friends
had a subplot where Chandler’s absent father had run off to become a homosexual
drag queen. And some shows intended for
kids had some coded characters, but it amounted to little more than queerbaiting.
And so, as a Mormon child in northern California in the 1990’s,
it was pretty easy to see the queer communities in San Francisco and Berkeley
as a weird but fun fringe group that I was not to be a part of. After all, there was this recently released
document from the church that was all the rage.
It made it very clear that families are central to God’s plan, and the
only way to have a family would be for me to marry a woman.
That lesson was reinforced by lessons from family members,
grandparents, aunts and uncles, and my mother.
The goal is to get married in the temple.
I was the sort of kid who wanted to make my family proud,
and I knew that the fact that I had crushes on boys was not going to be acceptable,
even before I had an understanding of the concept of being gay. Without much effort, I put those crushes into
a box in my mind and stored them away.
The instant that such a thought popped in my head, away that idea went
into the box.
In 1999, I began to experience a lot of changes. Not those changes! No, it was a new school, new friends, new
home dynamics, and this new book series called Harry Potter by Daniel
Radcliffe. It was at my new school with
my new friends that I had my first personal encounter with the concept of being
gay. There really is not much of a story
here, just a classmate saying that something that I did was “gay”.
So, I mean, maybe I am gay…
Then came Proposition 22.
Nope, not me. I am
not gay.
If this were the gay version of the movie Inception,
then I would have just entered the second level of being in the closet. The closet within the first closet. Another term for this would be that this is
when my internalized homophobia was born.
Proposition 22 was heavily supported by the Mormons. I was a little too young to understand or to
be involved with most of the conversation surrounding the issue, but there was
enough passed down to me to internalize this idea that being gay was wrong. It was the same sort of “love the sinner, hate
the sin” rhetoric that would plague the Yes on 8 campaign eight years later.
It is my perception that, though the response to Prop 22
from the church was strong, it was muted in comparison to the fervor of support
for Prop 8. However, there was enough
casual homophobia spread about in my household because of the church’s overt support
for the ballot initiative that I internalized it. As an elementary schooler who just wanted to
make my family proud, it did not take much convincing to accept that homophobia
into my worldview.
Proposition 22 passed, and the seeds of self-hatred and
self-denial were planted.
The Devil Went Down to Barstow
My family moved from the Bay Area of Northern California to
the desert wastes of Southern California.
The community we moved into was politically conservative, and there was
a substantial LDS population. From what
I understood, it had something to do with the Mormon Battalion passing through
during the Mexican-American War.
I had had a lapse in church activity from about 2004 to 2007,
but, in the months ahead of Prop 8, I was back in full swing with getting
involved at church. I had perfect
attendance at my early morning seminary for two years in a row. I had a calling in my Priest Quorum. I even went to Institute on a regular basis. And, since I had the intention of serving a
mission, I even went knocking doors with the Elders. My friends from church were my support
structure, and they genuinely saved my life in more ways than one. I was living the Mormon dream.
In 2008, Prop 8 became the focus of the state’s political
discussion. Yes, Obama was running
against John McCain, the War in Iraq had been revealed as a farce, and the
economy was awful, but what we really needed to focus on was making sure that
the gays don’t get married.
And I found myself on that bandwagon. I managed to ignore the emotions raging within
me. The fact that I had crushes on at
least four of my male classmates went straight into the box. The fantasies that I had about guy friends
were suppressed once they had served their purpose. The fact that I yearned for a friend to come
out to me so that I would no longer feel alone was repressed.
The mental gymnastics I performed would have put Cosmo the Cougar
to shame.
That was how I, a gay Mormon kid in self-hating denial, wound up on a street corner, chanting homophobic slogans in support of a reprehensible piece of legislation. That child is a victim of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints’ long and storied history of hatred and dismissal of queer people. I still want to slap him upside the head for being an idiot, but I know that he was a victim.
The Bitter Fruit of Prop 8
Proposition 8 was a hateful piece of legislation. The church duped genuine and loving people
into supporting it. It manipulated
impressionable minds with lies. Churches
remain able to conduct weddings in accordance with their doctrines. No temples have closed because the church
will refuse to perform gay sealings. And
polygamy is still illegal in the United States.
That last one may seem unrelated, but it was part of the slippery slope
fallacy that some members used to justify their support of Proposition 8.
The legacy of the legislation on this gay Mormon kid was
that he grew up. He is one of the lucky
ones. There are many who decided to end
it all rather than suffer further. He
went on a mission, and he returned with honor.
He also lied to his mission president about his same-sex attraction because
he could not be gay, no matter what. He
went to BYU-Idaho. He cried with
heartbreak as he felt alone and isolated, unable to feel a connection with the
people he was supposed to love. He
denied who he was as he prayed for the promised blessings of faithful mission
service.
He read his patriarchal blessing, which promised him that he
would kneel across the altar of the temple to be sealed to a choice daughter of
Zion. He read the scriptures and the
teachings of modern prophets daily. He
went to church events and participated in the single’s ward, but he felt broken
when he could not understand flirtation with girls. He attended the temple regularly, bore his
testimony, and completed his studies. At
graduation day, he left the university without a spouse or even a prospect of
future romantic opportunities.
He moved to Salt Lake City, and he began to attend a single’s
ward that almost never acknowledged his existence. He began to accept the fact that there was
something different about him. He began
to wrestle with the idea of if he could even be loved if his family knew he was
attracted to men, let alone if he could love himself. The scriptures no longer provided solace,
prayers were empty, and the church was no sanctuary.
He moved out of his Salt Lake home to a city about thirty
minutes north. He decided that this
would be a new opportunity for change.
He would do things differently in this place where no one knew him. He could be better. Daily scripture study, prayer, regular church
attendance. It was all back. He even started to use LDS dating sites.
New Years’ parties were strangely lonely. All these people from his church group with
their dates, and him alone. He went home,
to an empty apartment, and wept because the lessons he had learned from the
church’s support of Prop 22 and Prop 8 taught him that this was the price to
pay for love and acceptance.
Until it was no longer enough. Until the legacy of Prop 22 and Prop 8 became
weak twigs unable to support the great and spacious tower of lies that had been
fed to him by church leaders. It all
came crashing down.
No longer able to rationalize the cognitive dissonance, exhausted
from the mental gymnastics, he decided to explore the part of himself that he
had always denied. He rejected the
teachings of Prop 8, liberated himself from the closet of Prop 22.
Almost 19 years after Prop 22, he was finally free to be me.
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