The Challenges Of Exploring The World As A Gay Man

By Ezekiel Macnevin

I am very comfortable being a gay man – I’m proud to say I love the D.

Having to hide my sexuality under any circumstance is a huge ask. But it is a sacrifice I am willing to make if it means I can explore and immerse myself in foreign cultures, which is one of my greatest passions.

I won’t sugar coat it; as an audacious gay explorer, pretending to be someone I’m not is tiring and demeaning as fuck. Varying spectrums of homophobia exist throughout the globe, and this complicates my exploration of it. When submerged in an unfamiliar region, for the sake of personal safety, I might feel the need to pretend to be attracted to women.

I wish homosexuality could be embraced everywhere. However, I can explore other cultures without challenging their notions surrounding sexuality, simply because my primary aim through travel is not to have cultures know me – I’m not that self-obsessed – it is to get to know them. I do not feel the need to condemn their views in order to do so. Being forced back into the closet won’t stop me from exploring a world that has so much to offer, and I can’t wait to sink my homosexual teeth into it. Hopefully I can spread my gayness wherever possible through my travels, to enthuse acceptance of my sexuality abroad. But I need to be careful in doing so.

I have already encountered belligerent homophobia in my 24 years of life. As a teenager in Sydney, Australia, I hid in the closet as if I were Donald Trump trapped in Mexico. One night in high school, I watched my friends bash a gay guy at a house party, and stood by thinking “This could be me.” When my teenage friends would say, “That is gay,” it translated to “That is shit,” which, for me, translated to “I’m shit.”

At eighteen years of age, I king hit a heterosexual man in front of his wife outside of the Colombian Hotel, one of Sydney’s most famous gay bars, after he attacked me for making out with a dude on the street. He clearly did not realise where he was. A couple years later, in London, a Chav threw a penny at me, screaming “Fucking faggot!” for dancing in the street, so I picked up the coin and said, “Thanks for that,” – a response that nearly saw me beaten to a pulp.

Travelling through the metropolises of Europe, the United States and Australia has been more-or-less breezy, yet these unpleasant incidences occurred within their safety nets. Imagine what could happen to gay travellers, wanting to dig beneath the surface in more conservative regions, if they revealed their sexuality.

At nineteen years of age, I lived in a Muslim community in the Malaysian-Borneo jungle for two months. Although there was no danger in revealing my sexuality, I told the village that my boyfriend back home was a woman, showing them photos of my high-school girlfriend as evidence. This spawned from a fear of being bullied – a high-school-closet-case fear of rejection. There was a flamboyant gay man in the village that was an outcast in the eyes of the local men. He found belonging within the women’s clan. I am ashamed I didn’t have the bravery to admit I was the same as him, and tell him about parts of the world where it is okay to be gay. Had I done so, he might not have felt so abnormal and alone.

During my travels through India later that year, my friend and I told the locals we were married. She feared sexual predation whilst I feared sexual persecution. When I revealed my true sexual orientation to local Indian men, I was met with raised eyebrows. Because we weren’t united in a desire to fuck women, they could not relate to me, especially since I came from an alien culture. I stayed ‘married’ for the majority of the trip because I wanted to get to know Indian people and immerse myself in their culture. Sadly, telling locals I was gay hindered me from doing so, and I kept the closet closed for 6 weeks straight.

Whilst travelling throughout Indonesia this year, a predominantly Muslim country, I didn’t conceal my sexuality by masculinising myself. When I told the locals I was gay, I knew there was no threat. They were just stumped. Occasionally I received the odd giggle, and sadly, that was enough for me to not bother coming out too often. When the locals asked why I didn’t have a girlfriend, I’d reply, “I just haven’t met the right one.”

Visiting relatives in Breckenridge, Texas, was arguably the worst – a hick town neighbouring the biggest methamphetamine-producing county in the United States (a.k.a. redneck-as-fuck). The Christian town folk glared at me like I was an anomaly, simply because I was Australian. Had they known I was gay, the glares might have turned into attacks. I didn’t know how to be in that town, and cried the first night I arrived. If I ever go back, I will lock the closet doors for the entirety of my stay.

The ease in which a homosexual can travel the globe is location-specific. I plan to travel to the Middle East and Africa soon enough, and am certain I will be climbing back into that ever-so-familiar closet in order to do so.

It would be wrong for a polygamist to criticise married couples that practiced monogamy – because monogamy is engrained in society. Similarly, criticising people for holding homophobic beliefs that are engrained in culture, tradition and religion is tricky. When I think about societies that condemn homophobia, I see red, but humans are products of the environments they are confined to. Most people have never experienced parts of the world where homosexuality is accepted.

So, is it a big deal for me to closet myself in order to travel? Kind of, but I’m not precious about it. How come? Because I have people back home, straight and gay, who love me for who I am. People that will enjoy watching me dance around in a bikini, wearing a fluorescent wig, whilst downing frozen margaritas to Beyonce’s ‘Lemonade’. I know there are places where I belong, where I can be myself, and where I never have to hide. Not many gay men in the world can say the same. I’m incredibly lucky.

As guests in a foreign country, travellers must strive not to view the society at hand through their own cultural lens, from the backdrop of their own belief system. We must explore foreign cultures on their terms – not our own. If we are incapable of doing so, we might make the conscious decision to remain locked within the bounds of the western world.

I choose to explore, and I choose to closet myself when I need to. It’s better than having no choice but to remain closeted. But under no circumstances could I resonate wholeheartedly with a hateful and homophobic culture. Under no circumstances could I form a meaningful relationship with people who are unaware and unaccepting of my sexuality. A line is drawn there. I did not draw it, and I cannot erase it.