For the last few years, I’ve made a point to go to Frameline, the San Francisco International LGBT Film Festival. At Frameline 37, one theme came through in several of the films that inspired some self-reflection.
A short titled “Finding Franklin,” follows the story of a young lesbian who goes to her grandfather’s home after he dies. While going through some of his things, she discovers a box carefully separated from his other belongings. The box contained old photos of her grandfather as a young man with another young man, as well as a postcard signed “Franklin”. The young woman realizes these items tell about a part of her grandfather’s life she never knew. After some digging, she finds Franklin who fills in the picture with the story of the loving relationship between him and her grandfather. It was beautiful and yet bittersweet with the knowledge that the grandfather had gotten married and started a family with a woman. Pressure to present himself as straight caused him to hide his love for Franklin and eventually end it.
Two words vividly came to mind: “Divided Lives.”
Divided in part because these two people who loved each other were not together. Divided, in perhaps a larger part, because each man was living a divided life within himself. A public life. A secret life. A false life. A true life. These dividing lines sometimes blurry, sometimes starkly drawn.
Divided lives, satisfying cultural expectations.
“Lewd and Lascivious,” the documentary that followed, detailed a 1965 civil rights conflict affecting the gay movement in San Francisco. The overall story was previously unknown to me and turned out to be well worth knowing – particularly in the current political climate. One moment in particular caught my attention: an interviewee’s name was listed as a subtitle on-screen as “Fred ‘Al’ Alvarez.” It seemed like a typical “Name ‘Nickname’ Surname” way of presenting a name on a documentary film. However, Mr. Alvarez described how, in that time, because it was so dangerous to be known as homosexual, many people would employ a pseudonym when out at gay bars. Fred was his “official” name and Al was his “gay” name. When he received a call at work, he knew which world the person was calling from based on which name they used.
Divided lives and the keepers of the secret.
Keeping the secret requires a trust with all who are told, but carries with it the fear of a slip or even a betrayal. it’s a fear that, even in today’s world, burdens all involved.
A documentary about Alan Turing, “Codebreaker”, continued the theme. Turing was the brilliant, British mathematician instrumental in breaking Germany’s ENIGMA code in World War II, allowing the Allies to gain a strategic advantage over the Nazis that would eventually win the war. Prior to the war, he wrote a paper detailing the basis of the modern computer. Moreover, after the war, he devised a mathematical explanation of patterns in nature that spawned mathematical biology and the beginning of chaos theory. So, “brilliant” is not applied lightly here. These are big ideas that have spawned decades of research and changed the way we as humanity go about our daily lives. Alan Turing was also gay. Alan Turing was gay in a country where a male having a sexual relationship with a male was illegal. After being found to have had a relationship with a man, he was convicted for “gross indecency”. To avoid jail time, Turing agreed to chemical castration and received estrogen hormones for a period of a year. Because his work during the war was unknown by the general public and considered to be state secrets, and because homosexuals were considered to be security risks, the government hounded him after his arrest. At the age of 41, he was found dead from an apparent suicide.
Division equals suppression, oppression, and dire consequences.
Each of these films showed men who hid significant parts of their lives. Reflecting on their stories, it strikes me that with each lie, half-truth, and suppression of self, we chip away at ourselves and splinter our soul into disjointed pieces. I’m not talking about white lies, I’m talking about lies and half-truths that deny who you are at a fundamental level, especially as it relates to something so fundamental as whom you love and whom you share your life with. Division at this level prevents true joy from forming and taking hold.
When I was growing up, the realization I was gay came slowly. It started with the realization that I was drawn to looking at the guys in my class and neighborhood. It continued with the realization that my male classmates had the same attractions, but toward the girls. Concurrently, I somehow knew that I was not to talk about it, much less act on it, and probably shouldn’t even think about it. So, I did not. As I grew into high school, my attractions were clear, but the pressures were so great, that I continued to say nothing. In fact, all I would allow myself to think was “if I’m gay…” which happily pushed any real thought about my sexuality to some point the future. It was a self-imposed, painful and shaming division between who I am and what I allowed the world to see.
In college, I knew that the future had come and I needed to deal with my thoughts and fears relating to being gay, lest I marry and mislead a wife and children about my truth. As clearly as I had known in earlier years that I could not talk about being gay, I knew the time had come to allow myself to explore my own thoughts and begin to speak. Still, thoughts written in my journal about being gay were couched in code words and it wasn’t until my second year that I could finally say to someone “I think I’m attracted to men.” By not saying “I’m gay”, I was still giving myself plenty of room to back out. After telling a second person, he invited me to have lunch with some people who were a part of the local support organization on campus for LGBT people. I don’t think I said anything and shook with the fear that someone I knew would walk by and know that I was at the “gay” table. I was taking the first steps in integrating my true self with the self that the rest of the world knew, the unknown with the comfortable, and I was terrified. I was 19 years old.
At 40, I had come a long way and my life was something different than I would have imagined while I was growing up. I had a party to celebrate the milestone. It was a bigger party than I’d ever had before. But it wasn’t that food was great, the playlist hand-picked, or the Wonder Woman themed plates and party favors that made my party so satisfying. Friends from work, friends from college, friends from church, neighbors, and family were all there, mingling, talking, laughing and having a good time. After years of keeping trips to gay clubs secret, of keeping pronouns of romantic interests gender non-specific, and of keeping lists of who knew and who didn’t, the joy I felt in that celebration came from all of my closest friends , family and boyfriend being there and not being terrified someone might say the “wrong” thing to someone else. Everyone knew. My life was integrated. And I felt free.
The phrase “coming out of the closet” is meant to indicate when a LGBT person tells someone about their sexual orientation or gender identity. I like to think of it more as integration. While moments of happiness can be found within the splinters of a divided life, integration of the soul brings true joy and freedom.