The Advocacy Council for Human Rights

By Tom McCulley

When I was asked to come out of the “semi-retirement” I imposed upon myself when I started my Ph.D. studies so that I  might write a piece about the “Illinois Religious Freedom Protection and Civil Union Act,” I was hesitant at first. I suspect my hesitation will surprise some readers; after all, I’ve dedicated most of my columns here to ways that my family resembles all other families and to the expressed desire that the Ronald and I be allowed to marry. Read more »

By Gene Naden

Most of you know that the nation celebrated Martin Luther King’s birthday on January 17.

In the apartments Carolyn and I shared in Oak Park and Bloomington (Illinois) I hung a portrait of Dr. King. It was a kind of hero worship. I needed to believe that the sickness of racism had a cure, that its hold on us had been broken, that, ultimately freedom, dignity and equality would prevail. To that hope I attached King’s image and the few facts I knew about him. Read more »

By Gene Naden

I have had my time of bitterness and now I choose to have my time of hope.

I cried as I viewed the President’s speech. I have longed for this, deeply. I longed for a vision of military service that could accept men and women like me, longed for it for 45 years. That number reveals my age but I don’t care. This is more important. This is the moment in history that, as Obama said, has been more than 200 years in the making. Read more »

by Gene Naden

The essay below was submitted to the editors of “What Gets Better – Queer Writers Speak on Their Survival.” This book will be an anthology of autobiographical stories and poems to be made available to young people in LGBTQ youth centers around the country.

I just turned sixty years old. It has been the best year of my life.

One of the lies they tell queer young people is that they will be lonely when they are old. Translation: alone and, because they are alone, afraid and unhappy.

Can you see this is wrong? Do I need to prove it to you? There are a couple of fallacies here. Read more »

by Gene Naden

Among other things, this essay discusses childhood sexuality. It is not graphic, however.

My personal issue is me thinking, as a very young boy, that I was within an inch of death or insanity. I cannot remember exactly what happened. I sometimes doubt if it was anything dramatic like sexual or physical abuse. Maybe it was simple neglect aggravated by a melancholy temperament. The key events  – the pillowcase action and the conversation with Donnie in my front yard, for example – I am sure of. Whatever the trauma was, it changed a very happy toddler into a sickly and frightened little boy. The transformation is as plain as day if you look at the old family photographs. Read more »

by Gene Naden 

The brilliant 20^th century German poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote: 

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue.” 

I heard these words a decade ago but only now do I recognize my own struggle within them. 

Gay Fred says he could never make love to a woman.
Successfully.
George says whenever he made love to his wife it felt like rape.
Like he was being raped.
Bill says he has to visualize a man to perform.
To perform with a woman.

 I envy them.
Because they know who they are.
They know their place.
Their place on gay.com.
In Facebook.
In the Pride Parade.
In a bar on Halsted Street. 

Gay men.

 Their personal advertisements read,
“Mature gay man seeks stable man for friendship and more.”

My ad would read,
“Arguably mature, sort-of-gay man seeks stable man or maybe woman for something.”

Or consider a letter, a postal message
With two destinations.
Maybe two return addresses, too.

I was lost in space,
orbiting the moons of Jupiter.
I landed on icy, cratered Ganymede,
Found and entered one of Rilke’s locked rooms,
and browsed a book in a “very foreign tongue.”

I will never be a simple man.
Thankfully.

By Gene Naden

I have routinely hidden my own bisexuality and fought against it for my entire life because it carries an even greater stigma than simple homosexuality. Consider this real bedroom conversation, a moment of post-coital spontaneity on the man’s part:

 Shelly says to her man (I know him very well), “So, tell me about the lovers you had out in California.”

 “Some of them were men,” the man replies.

 “Oh, uh, OK. Let’s get some breakfast.”

 In the ensuing days she no longer wants sex. Read more »