A weird sense of déjà vu came over me recently as I sat as a speaker on two different panels at the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists' Convention in Philadelphia.
The first panel, titled "Faith and Fairness," was a discussion about the press coverage of religion with respect to gay and lesbian issues. The second panel was more specifically about the press coverage of Islam and gay issues.
On the first panel, fellow journalists, religious scholars and gay and lesbian activists spoke about how the press, and thus the public, has advanced in great strides over the years with respect to understanding the religious angle of news stories about gay and lesbian people. Stories are rarely pitched as "gays vs. religion" anymore, because the general public understands that is too simplistic, that many gay and lesbian people are religious, too. And that Christianity is both diverse and nuanced in its acceptance and rejection of gay and lesbian people.
We realize now that it is meaningless to talk about "Christianity" as a monolith with respect to gay and lesbian issues. Every time someone like Jerry Falwell spouts a hateful message, we know he doesn't speak for all Christians everywhere. And when a holy roller points to a specific line from the Bible as proof that Christianity condemns homosexuality, few take that as the word of God. We understand that it is open to interpretation.
On the second panel, the one that dealt specifically with Islam, many of the major issues that were discussed in the first panel resurfaced. So much so, that it gave me a sense of déjà vu on the frontiers that gay and lesbian people confront religion. What is striking, however, is that even though precisely the same issues were raised with respect to religion, because the context was Islam rather than Christianity, the discussion and the outcome was so far removed from the previous panel.
A freely used term that surfaced during the panel, and is ubiquitous in conversations and newspaper reports about Islam, is the phrase "the Muslim world." With an estimated 1.2 billion Muslims in the world, stretching from Morocco to Malaysia, such a blanket phrase that tries to capture them all is totally meaningless. We know this instinctively about the religions we are more familiar with—I've never heard anyone refer to "the Christian world."
I was also struck by the way people used the most extreme examples of Islam—like those practiced by the former Taliban government in Afghanistan or the ultra-conservative brand promoted by Saudi Arabia—as the common, standard expression of the religion.
And I was frustrated by how difficult it seemed for many people to grasp the notion that there is as much diversity in the expression of Islam as there is with any other religion. As the son of a Muslim, I have long been reminded of how difficult it is for us as Westerners to overcome the stereotype here about what it means to be a Muslim. Talk about déjà vu—this is a conversation I've had more times than I can count throughout my life: People will learn that my father is a Muslim. ( I always make it a point to say that I am not personally a Muslim. ) The same flood of questions inevitably follows:
Q: Does he pray five times a day?
A: No, but he goes to the mosque sometimes on Fridays.
Q: Oh, but he doesn't eat pork, does he?
A: Well, he likes ham better than bacon.
Q: But he won't drink alcohol, will he?
A: His limit is two beers.
Q: Did he make your mother veil?
A: He could never make my mother do anything.
At this point in the conversation, the person I am speaking with usually declares that my father is not a "real" Muslim. The person is almost always someone who would be patently offended if I would suggest he or she is not a "real" Christian. And yet, the last time he or she went to church was probably at Christmas, or maybe Easter.
It's easy to understand why there is so much misunderstanding about what it means to be Muslim. It is largely, I believe, a matter of familiarity. The United States is about 93 percent Christian, and less than 2 percent Muslim. Most of us, Christian or not, understand the diversity of what that religion means because it surrounds us on a daily basis. Islam, on the other hand, is more foreign to us, and thus less understood—often misunderstood.
As gay and lesbian people, we should understand the difficulties of being misunderstood by people and inaccurately portrayed by a media that doesn't get who we are. How many years did we have to fight the strongly entrenched stereotypes and misconceptions that we are all perverts, that we are mentally ill, that gay men are pedophiles, that we recruit children, that we are sex-crazed maniacs, that we are "going through a phase," that lesbians are just frigid, and so on. Of course, we're still fighting many of those misconceptions even today.
None of this is to deny that there are fewer Muslim scholars and clerics who offer a liberal interpretation of Islam when it comes to gay and lesbian issues than has been won from some Western Christian leaders. It is not only fair to ask questions about how Islamic leaders treat their gay and lesbian members, it is our duty as gay and lesbian people to ask.
However, as we attempt to look into worlds and religions that will differ so starkly from our own, we must constantly be on guard against the easy stereotypes and facile conclusions. Because of our own history as gay and lesbian people, we have a special responsibility to be aware of and battle that, too.
