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When the Locals Assume I’m Straight, Should I Correct Them?

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It was one of my first days at the Universidad Autónoma de Guerrero, in Acapulco. Standing in front of level 300 English with around 40 students, they began to shoot me questions about the city so far: where had I been, where had I gone out, what had I seen. As it happens, I had already acquainted myself with the gay scene visiting a few bars and clubs the weekend prior. Deciding to be a jokester, un estudiante asked if I had gone to the gay nightclub Demas before turning to his group of friends and cracking up–sólo faltaba chocarles los cinco. “Actually, yeah I did,” I shot back in a very nonchalant manner. The student’s demeanor immediately turned from jovial to serious as another asked, surprised, “Wait. Did you really?”

As we all know coming out is a process, not a single event. Before disembarking for Acapulco, I promised myself I would continue my coming-out philosophy of reacting in all situations as a straight person would. Imagine this exchange:

If someone assumes I’m straight, there’s no reason for me not to casually correct them.

Acapulco Taxi Driver: “…and what do you think about the boys from Acapulco.”

Heterosexual Gringo: “I will begin my response by negating the false presupposition of my sexuality behind your question.”

Okay, perhaps that’s not an authentic hypothetical response, but you get the idea: If someone assumes I’m straight, there’s no reason for me not to casually correct them. Of course, at times my nerves or overthinking keep me from fulfilling this goal 100 percent of the time, but it’s been something I strive for. Nonetheless, because I was going to be teaching at a school in Acapulco, in a different country and culture, I made sure to speak with my supervisor about the issue.

“You mean you’re just going to randomly tell the students you’re gay?” she questioned. After further explanation she concluded it would be a non-issue. And it was.

Although my sexuality never really became a classroom topic (other than the example above), it definitely did outside of school, usually initiated with a question about my “girlfriend” back home, or what I thought about acapulqueña girls. I guess the “news” traveled fast because, soon thereafter, one of the secretaries in the department, with whom I shared a workspace, approached me. She was very concerned. To sum up her comentario, she told me to be careful because Mexico was diferente de los Estados Unidos. Read: Being gay wasn’t as accepted.

Based my experiences, I disagree.

Several years ago I was living in Guadalajara — the San Francisco of Mexico — and I remember having a heated argument with a roommate. He was older, in his mid-50s, and believed being gay violated nature.

“There are cases of homosexuality in animals,” I contended, visibly upset.

“Right, so gay people are like animals,” he responded, chuckling with another roommate, which infuriated me even more. The following morning I was prepared to give him the silent treatment until he offered me some of his daily banana-chocolate licuado as a sign of peace. I accepted.

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That’s not the only example of contradictory machismo. On numerous occasions while being taxied around Acapulco (my main source of transportation), the conversation would inevitably lead again to Acapulqueñas (the girls of Acapulco), their beauty, and at times the size of their mammary glands. According to my policy, I didn’t just “play along” with this male-bonding ritual but honestly expressed my sexuality. No taxista ever gave a negative response (to my face), and some exhibited a curiosity — that made even me feel a bit awkward. I told the secretary at the school about these experiences, but nonetheless she insisted Mexicans were not gay friendly.

She said straight teachers would never share or mention their personal lives, or anything related, with a student. (It certainly would’ve helped my argument if I had known then about a school pool party I would attend where one sported a tank top with “Squeeze me” written on the front in English.) Aside from the double standard, my philosophy is based on integrity; fighting that feeling that tells you to hide who you are.

My last anecdote I’ll share concerns another student, who trusted me enough to come out to me early in the year. So comfortable was he, in fact, that he approached me to ask if I was activo (pitcher) or pasivo (cather), because he and his friends “couldn’t tell.”

And that, friends, is where I had to draw the line on sharing.

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