I have lived in the San Francisco Bay Area, USA, for all my adult life, which by now totals many decades. I have always thought, proudly, of my home base as progressive and welcoming of the range or sexual orientations. When I was 12, my best friend was a boy named Donny who was gay, so he was my first example and teacher about homosexuality. This was 1967, and at that time, homosexuality was both illegal and categorized in the DSM as a mental disorder. It was removed from DSM, then DSM II, only in 1974, and “distress about one’s homosexuality” which was an understandable reality during those times, remained a diagnostic category, until the DSM III revision in 1987. It remained on the books as illegal until the Consenting Adults Act (AB489) was signed into law by Governor Jerry Brown in 1976. Back when I was riding my bike around with Donny, I had only heard of the designations Gay and Lesbian, only later did I learn about the designation of Bisexual, which of course I wondered if I was. Only much later in my sex therapy training, did I learn that we are all on a continuum, with few humans being 100% at either pole.
In 1991, I moved to my present home which is geographically situated a short walk from the legendary Castro District, which beginning in the late 1960’s, had begun to be a safe haven and home neighborhood for gay people; largely men but not exclusively. My home is also situated on a short block which dead ends at a park, a long-time destination for anonymous sex. I was soon well accustomed to seeing the quiet comings and goings and goings of single men, wandering in and out of there. Donny died of AIDS shortly after I moved here. The tragedy of AIDS was still at its height, and we lost many. My husband and I became activists, and I had my first and only experience of being a sexual minority: an experience worth having.
GSRD
In the years since I have lived here, the acronym grew longer and longer. From LGB, it became LGBT, then LGBTQ, then LGBTQI… then LGBTQIA, and finally the “alphabet soup” came to rest at LGBTQIA+. I suppose the plus was intended to catch any additional unnamed/undiscovered designations. Recently as my studies have taken me in depth in new directions, I am learning about additional sexualities, which for some constitute an orientation, and may fall into that “+” category. To me characterizing the + as a catch all bucket, is somehow devaluing, treating them as an afterthought or a stepchild. Too much like a child of neglect, or reminiscent of how in the seven years (age 13-20) I had the same boyfriend, and my dad never knew his name. Lately I ave attempted to make some of that + category visible, at least to myself.
In my explorations, I discovered UK based sexuality expert Dominick Davies, founder of Pink Therapy, who is becoming an important teacher of mine. He offers the acronym GSRD, which I have adopted. It stands for Gender, Sexuality and Relationship Diverse. I find this inclusive and appealing, as well as rather picturesque (although one of his Pink Therapy colleagues, another expert named Matt Williams counters with GSBK: Gender, Sexuality, Body and Kinship, finding the term “Diverse” to be “othering). I am happy with GSRD.
Sexual abuse
Here in the US, November is a time of elections at many levels. The mailbox is jammed with all sorts of advertising about the various elections including our city and county. Most of the flyers land pretty quickly in our recycling. Not because we are not interested, but rather because something about any sort of unsolicited “proselytizing” feels intrusive to me. So, it was especially uncharacteristic for me to feel open to a campaigner ringing the doorbell on a Saturday afternoon, which ordinarily I have found quite annoying. That day, I happened to be immersed in my study of male violence, when I wandered to the door.
There I met two attractive young white guys, one offered his hand and introduced himself as Manny, apparently a candidate himself. It seemed unusual and old school, and rather charming to me, for a candidate to walk the beat himself. Perhaps because it had been so long since I had encountered that, it seemed modest and grass roots. He was running for city supervisor and asked me what changes I would like to see in our city, and he seemed to truly listen as I responded. With my head fresh out of a book, I was filled with feelings and research about shame, male violence and injustice. I talked about that, and its relationship to our problem of affordable housing, and a truly suffering unhoused population. I liked him.
I later consulted with my husband, who stays much more informed and current on local news than I. He responded favorably. Manny Yekutiel is Afghan-American, Jewish and gay. He owns an eponymous Castro Street café, which often hosts political and cultural events. My husband liking him too, even proposed we put up one of Manny’s posters in our window. I emailed his campaign office and told them they could drop one by, and we did.
It was to my great dismay and surprise when some weeks later I read prominently in the local paper, an article describing an allegation of sexual abuse against Manny. I was saddened and confused, as I generally am, when I learn something disturbing about someone I thought I liked. But also, in these days of so much real and imagined “news” or furor about “election fraud” here in the US, I wanted to disbelieve it. As a champion of survivors of sexual trauma, as well as being one myself, I was especially eager to know the facts, especially as we had a poster in our window publicly endorsing Manny. I emailed Manny’s campaign office to ask what was going on. I imagined they must have a ready response, convinced I was not the only one who was baffled and confused. I did not get a response.
In today’s paper there was a much longer article, and there was at least one additional allegation against Manny. And in this article, there was a fair amount of detail about the abusive acts. It was painful to read. Although Manny denied responsibility for the alleged abuses, he did bow out of the election. He denied any assault, but with grace and humility apologized for “any boundaries [he] may have crossed,” and announced his intention to “work on myself.”
The whole affair saddened me, reminding me of the mixed emotions that so often accompany incidents of abuse and neglect, especially when the responsible party/perpetrator is someone one likes or loves. Reconciling the split images – flipping between disillusionment, anger, grief, denial and disbelief, flashing chaotically as we try to make sense of it all. The story highlighted a category of sexual trauma that I had not read about in the press before: a not-sensationalized personal account of male on adult male violence, with the emphasis being clearly on the essential matter of consent. In that way, there was something oddly meaningful and equalizing about this, as distressing as it all is.
One important consideration when abuses occur in a party setting, was again glaringly missing from the reportage: the complex question of substance use which is coming up in bold detail in the current much publicized Cornell case. In this one it was not mentioned at all. I had to wonder to what extent drugs and alcohol were involved.
Ironic that the issue of male violence was what Manny and I discussed at my door. I hope he has good help in working on himself.
