IN
THE
LATEST
“X-Men”
movie,
the
humans
discover
a
“cure”
for
the
mutant
“X
gene,”
and
the
mutants
find
themselves
at
war
among
themselves
over
whether
to
take
the
bait.
The
analogy
to
homosexuality
isn’t
lost
on
us
gay
viewers,
since
we’ve
all
probably
thought
about
whether
we’d
take
“the
cure,”
if
there
ever
were
such
a
thing.
Of
course
the
politically
correct
answer
for
any
well-adjusted,
self-respecting
homo
is
that
our
sexual
orientation
isn’t
an
illness
to
be
“cured,”
anymore
than
heterosexuality
would
be.
That’s
certainly
what
our
X-Men
heroes
would
have
us
believe.
The
reality,
on
the
other
hand,
is
much
messier.
Who
among
us
hasn’t
explained
our
lives
to
a
straight
friend
or
family
member
by
arguing
we
didn’t
choose
to
be
gay.
“After
all,”
we
say,
“who
would
choose
a
life
of
disapproval
and
rejection
from
society?”
So
if
we
wouldn’t
have
chosen
to
be
gay
at
the
outset,
why
would
we
choose
to
remain
gay
if
the
“cure”
were
at
hand?
For
those
of
us
in
relationships,
love
and
commitment
for
our
partners
would
be
a
powerful
reason
to
say
no
to
a
cure.
For
many
gay
men,
the
sexual
freedom
of
our
culture
would
be
a
strong
motivation
to
stay
the
course.
For
many
lesbians,
there’s
the
liberation
that
comes
from
living
the
feminist
slogan
that,
“A
woman
needs
a
man
like
a
fish
needs
a
bicycle.”
For
the
religious
among
us,
changing
sexual
orientations
would
mess
with
God’s
handiwork,
although
the
cure
itself
would
be
God’s
creation
as
well,
so
that
muddies
the
waters
a
bit.
For
most
of
us,
there
is
also
the
strong
bond
of
“community” — admittedly
a
very
overused
word — that
comes
from
a
shared
culture
and
sensibility,
not
to
mention
the
camaraderie
born
out
of
being
targeted
for
moral
disapproval
and
discrimination.
FOR
ME,
HOMOSEXUALITY
was
the
single
most
important
life
teacher
I
ever
had,
even
before
I
accepted
it
as
a
part
of
who
I
am.
Born
white
and
male
into
a
conservative
Republican,
upper-middle
class
family,
the
rules
of
American
life
were
set
to
work
in
my
favor.
Yet
for
some
reason,
I
became
fascinated
with
the
civil
rights
movement
and
1960s
counter-culture.
Even
though
all
my
close
friends
were
white,
I
helped
launch
an
organization
in
college
to
improve
the
racial
environment
on
my
conservative
Southern
campus.
I
railed
from
the
editorial
pages
of
the
student
newspaper
about
our
segregated
Greek
system.
I’m
convinced
that
my
subconscious
motivation
was
a
connection
I
felt
with
those
“on
the
outside,”
even
though
I
rejected
the
idea
I
might
be
an
outsider
myself.
I
remember
someone
suggesting
my
senior
year
that
our
racial
diversity
group
work
to
improve
things
for
gay
students
as
well.
I
quickly
spoke
up
to
squelch
the
idea.
If
I
hadn’t
been
gay,
I
don’t
know
that
I
ever
would
have
felt
that
connection,
much
less
known
the
fulfillment
that
came
from
acting
on
it.
Since
the
rules
of
American
society
would
be
working
for
me
still
today,
I
would
have
missed
out
on
my
most
important
personal
journey.
IF
ADVERSITY
IS
such
a
wonderful
life
teacher,
maybe
that
explains
why
so
many
deaf
people
are
uninterested
in
cochlear
implants
and
other
medical
advances
that
might
allow
them
to
hear.
The
price
would
be
the
lost
community
with
other
deaf
people
and
the
sign
language
they
use
to
communicate.
The
same
does
not
hold
true,
of
course,
for
most
medical
conditions.
What
person
living
with
HIV
or
AIDS
would
turn
down
“the
cure,”
for
instance?
Twenty-five
years
after
scientists
first
identified
the
illness
we
now
call
AIDS,
there’s
still
no
cure.
Hyped
talk
that
the
“drug
cocktail”
might
beat
HIV
into
a
permanent
state
of
“virtually
undetectable”
has
proven
overly
optimistic,
even
as
medical
treatments
have
drastically
reduced
death
tolls
from
the
‘80s
and
‘90s.
We
don’t
know
yet
if
existing
treatments
will
allow
those
infected
with
HIV
to
live
a
normal
lifespan.
Most
AIDS
experts
I’ve
spoken
to
say
that,
absent
further
advances,
most
of
those
living
with
HIV
will
still
die
from
a
condition
caused
by
it.
But
even
though
everyone
with
HIV
might
jump
at
the
chance
to
take
the
AIDS
virus
“cure,”
the
X-Men
lesson,
learned
in
life
from
being
gay,
still
applies
in
part
to
HIV/AIDS
as
well.
AIDS
has
been
a
powerful,
if
horrible,
life
teacher
as
well.
The
early
days
of
AIDS
made
heroes
out
of
untold
thousands,
as
Mark
King
so
eloquently
describes
on
the
opposite
page.
No
single
other
factor
is
more
responsible
for
joining
gay
men
and
lesbians
from
our
very
different
lives
into
alliance.
HIV
forced
not
only
Rock
Hudson
out
of
the
closet,
but
countless
more
like
him,
and
in
solidarity
with
him.
The
government’s
sluggish
response
to
“the
gay
cancer”
in
those
early
days
proved
the
straw
that
finally
broke
the
closet’s
back.
As
activists
poured
into
the
streets
in
a
fight
for
their
lives,
their
visibility
and
energy
was
a
critical
fuel
for
the
gay
rights
movement
as
well.
What
had
been
a
“gay
liberation”
movement
primarily
about
sexual
freedom
drastically
changed
course,
putting
the
focus
instead
on
the
most
conservative
social
institutions:
work,
...
