How do straight people learn about homosexuality? Often, it is through jokes that deride queer people. That’s where I started. Over the years, I have become a supporter of the rights of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender people. I am sharing my story in the hope that it will spur more allies to speak up.
In the 1980s, when I was around 12 years old, I heard older friends talk about a male college classmate who wore flower-printed pants and called himself a “homo”. I laughed because my friends laughed. Although I never met that student, I made life harder for him, and others like him, by unquestioningly accepting a culture that dehumanised queer people.
I was not an otherwise mean kid, but I was ignorant about homosexuality, and that was harmful enough. Worse, I was clueless that I was clueless: it never occurred to me that this gay student might like watching movies with friends, or enjoy music or sports, or play Scrabble with his family – just ordinary things that people do. I am not sure I even thought of him as a man who liked other men, although I was not too young to understand love. I simply did not think of him as a person. I lacked empathy, and, looking back, I am frightened to think where that could have led me.
Overcoming ignorance
What makes it possible for a kid to dehumanise queer people? I think it is our society, which works hard to maintain its definitions of masculinity and femininity. Homophobic humour is one of the many ways in which our culture precludes conversations that could disrupt those definitions. I was fortunate to have four strokes of luck that helped me overcome my ignorance and steered me away from hate.
Firstly, I had access to books. While still in school, I happened to learn from borrowed college psychology textbooks that homosexuality, considered an illness since the 19th century, was taken off the list of mental disorders in the 1970s. It is shocking that we still rely on quacks for “cures”.
The second piece of luck was that my parents did not consider heterosexuality – as signalled through marriage and mothering – my most important life goal. That honour went to education. Also, while LGBT issues were not on my parents’ horizon back then, questioning tradition certainly was.
Speaking up
In the mid-1990s, I went to the US for postgraduate studies. There, for the first time, I met someone who was openly gay. He was American, from a tiny rural town, and had come out recently. He had spent some months in South Asia as an undergrad, and I remember our first conversation was about Mayawati and Dalit politics.
I had no clue what life was like for him in a world where heterosexuality was “normal”. Once, someone in a position of authority said something that deeply upset him. I began to understand what a brave and difficult thing he did by coming out, and realised that he might have to deal with hurtful remarks and discrimination all his life. Having him for a friend was the third crucial bit of luck in my journey to becoming an ally.
And the fourth piece of luck was that I got to study and discuss gender issues as a graduate student. This made up for the conversations that had been precluded in my life before, and helped me articulate my ideas about gender justice. I concluded that there could be no neutrality in any kind of oppression. Those who commit violent hate crimes may be guiltier than those who remain silent when they hear hateful remarks or witness discrimination. But by being silent, we enable hate. Evil, as the saying goes, triumphs when good people do nothing.
Dignity for all
Today, I think it is easier than before to be an ally in India, and to speak up when a colleague or friend says something ignorant or hateful. When I first began to speak up, I sometimes wondered if people might think I am queer myself. Let them wonder, I thought – if it inhibits them from saying hateful things, it makes the workplace more inclusive and friendly.
I oppose homophobia for the simple reason that I think all human beings are equal in dignity and rights. But over the past couple of years, I have come to oppose it as a straight person. One reason is that I believe it may encourage other silent allies to speak up. Every movement needs allies, and silent support is no support.
The second reason is that we all suffer when our society is not free, and when it dictates – sometimes violently – whom we may love, and how. We all suffer when our courts and police fail to grasp the idea of consent. We all suffer because Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code deems unnatural what is, in fact, well documented in nature. Freedom to love is the right of both queer and straight people. We should oppose homophobia together, because we are stronger together.
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In the 1980s, when I was around 12 years old, I heard older friends talk about a male college classmate who wore flower-printed pants and called himself a “homo”. I laughed because my friends laughed. Although I never met that student, I made life harder for him, and others like him, by unquestioningly accepting a culture that dehumanised queer people.
I was not an otherwise mean kid, but I was ignorant about homosexuality, and that was harmful enough. Worse, I was clueless that I was clueless: it never occurred to me that this gay student might like watching movies with friends, or enjoy music or sports, or play Scrabble with his family – just ordinary things that people do. I am not sure I even thought of him as a man who liked other men, although I was not too young to understand love. I simply did not think of him as a person. I lacked empathy, and, looking back, I am frightened to think where that could have led me.
Overcoming ignorance
What makes it possible for a kid to dehumanise queer people? I think it is our society, which works hard to maintain its definitions of masculinity and femininity. Homophobic humour is one of the many ways in which our culture precludes conversations that could disrupt those definitions. I was fortunate to have four strokes of luck that helped me overcome my ignorance and steered me away from hate.
Firstly, I had access to books. While still in school, I happened to learn from borrowed college psychology textbooks that homosexuality, considered an illness since the 19th century, was taken off the list of mental disorders in the 1970s. It is shocking that we still rely on quacks for “cures”.
The second piece of luck was that my parents did not consider heterosexuality – as signalled through marriage and mothering – my most important life goal. That honour went to education. Also, while LGBT issues were not on my parents’ horizon back then, questioning tradition certainly was.
Speaking up
In the mid-1990s, I went to the US for postgraduate studies. There, for the first time, I met someone who was openly gay. He was American, from a tiny rural town, and had come out recently. He had spent some months in South Asia as an undergrad, and I remember our first conversation was about Mayawati and Dalit politics.
I had no clue what life was like for him in a world where heterosexuality was “normal”. Once, someone in a position of authority said something that deeply upset him. I began to understand what a brave and difficult thing he did by coming out, and realised that he might have to deal with hurtful remarks and discrimination all his life. Having him for a friend was the third crucial bit of luck in my journey to becoming an ally.
And the fourth piece of luck was that I got to study and discuss gender issues as a graduate student. This made up for the conversations that had been precluded in my life before, and helped me articulate my ideas about gender justice. I concluded that there could be no neutrality in any kind of oppression. Those who commit violent hate crimes may be guiltier than those who remain silent when they hear hateful remarks or witness discrimination. But by being silent, we enable hate. Evil, as the saying goes, triumphs when good people do nothing.
Dignity for all
Today, I think it is easier than before to be an ally in India, and to speak up when a colleague or friend says something ignorant or hateful. When I first began to speak up, I sometimes wondered if people might think I am queer myself. Let them wonder, I thought – if it inhibits them from saying hateful things, it makes the workplace more inclusive and friendly.
I oppose homophobia for the simple reason that I think all human beings are equal in dignity and rights. But over the past couple of years, I have come to oppose it as a straight person. One reason is that I believe it may encourage other silent allies to speak up. Every movement needs allies, and silent support is no support.
The second reason is that we all suffer when our society is not free, and when it dictates – sometimes violently – whom we may love, and how. We all suffer when our courts and police fail to grasp the idea of consent. We all suffer because Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code deems unnatural what is, in fact, well documented in nature. Freedom to love is the right of both queer and straight people. We should oppose homophobia together, because we are stronger together.
