While I was in India, one of the first people I met was a big, gay Kiwi named John. John was born and raised Catholic, and was actually on his way to becoming a priest before he became fed up with the Catholic Church and quit. His reasons were that he disliked the preaching of poverty and charity, while the Church wallowed in obscene amounts of wealth. Him being gay didn’t even enter into it, which struck me as surprising.

So we talked a whole bunch about religion and what it means to us, and our sexuality and what it means to us. I asked him about how he maintained his faith in God, considering he was gay and disillusioned with religion. He answered my question with a question of his own. How would I feel if he railed me in the bum right now? I told him that I probably wouldn’t appreciate it. He asked me if I would still be straight after the amazingly homoerotic time that he would surely show me, and I said yes, I was confident that I would still be straight, if a little shaken up. He said to me, same thing with faith. Anything can happen to you, but your faith never leaves you. It is simply a part of you.

This struck me as a very interesting idea despite its… unorthodox delivery, and I thought about it over the rest of the day, long after John and I had parted ways. I decided I didn’t actually agree with him. You can lose faith, and you can also gain it. It’s not the easiest thing in the world to do, but it does happen every now and then (Saul becoming Paul, for one biblical example). However, your sexuality never changes. No matter how many times big, gay John might swab the inside of my rectum, I would always remain straight. This led me to conclude that our sexuality is a stronger part of our identity than our spirituality.

This seemed significant to me, and I thought about it some more and realized something else. Despite the magnitude of importance that your sexuality represents towards your identity, you can repress it. You can fake not being the one, impermeable thing about yourself. Gay people will hide who they are, even marry heterosexually, out of fear of exposure. You can’t do that with faith. Faith needs to be expressed. If you think that maybe this has something to do with the lingering stigma that remains with homosexuality compared to the acceptance of most religions (the extent of that stigma being dependent on your location, obviously), think of the Jews who continued to practice even when facing the horrors of the concentration camps.

This might have something to do with individual versus communal identity; for example, your sexuality is yours and yours alone, whereas your faith is typically part of a larger group. Under duress, groups tend to bond together to face the storm under a unified front. One person alone standing against an oncoming tide is much more likely to find some way to avoid it.

Would a stronger LGBT community help? It’s hard to say. Sexuality isn’t really as communally bonding as faith. If a group got together every week to celebrate their sexuality, there’s really only one genuine way to do that. As an alternative, they might discuss worldly affairs or how to solve the crises that affect them, but that’s closer to activism than it is to community. Another reason I don’t believe that sexuality is as communal as spirituality is because the ultimate goal of the LGBT movement isn’t a gay community, it’s normalcy. Heterosexuals don’t have a community, we just are. Maybe I’m wrong since I am not privy to the meetings, but that is the goal of the LGBT rights movement, not forming a group.

Even if I am wrong, in its current state, the LGBT community does not extend to schools, sports teams, churches, etc. where it would need to in order for those suffering to feel as though they are part of a group, rather than desperately facing off against the world, alone.

Post-script: Obviously in a world where there is no oppression of sexuality or religion, then there would be no need to repress either one. My observation is that in a world where oppression of both exists, it is easier to repress sexuality than it is to repress religion.

Now that the lovely month of Movember is upon us, I feel the rant vein in my forehead starting to bulge out. Pulsing to the rhythm of my elevated heartbeat, it urges me to spew vitriolic bile onto my keyboard in the form of semi-coherent ramblings.

So why does Movember make me so poetic? Mostly because I reject the notion of charity requiring a gimmick; be it growing a ridiculous mustache, riding a bicycle for X number of kilometers, or shaving your head. Yes, I understand that having a “month” dedicated to whatever chic disease is at the forefront of popular discourse raises awareness for that already over-saturated illness, but adding that gimmick says to the world, “I might be inclined to be a compassionate, generous human being that cares for my fellow man, but first, what will you do for me?” Even something as hokey as growing a mustache makes charity a transaction, rather than a donation.

The repetitiveness of these months is also an issue. It’s prostate cancer every single year. What about other diseases or issues? Lou Gehrig is rolling around in his grave. I have a good friend that was diagnosed with Lupus, and one suffering from alcoholism. I’ve cared deeply for women who have been sexually abused. I know and love people with brain injuries, Crohn’s disease, brain tumors, diabetes… Why would I ever donate to prostate cancer? Where is all the love and charity for Lupus?

Having a prostate cancer awareness day would be fine, where those who are willing could panhandle for donations. Why does it take a whole month to see how gross some asshole’s face gets to inspire people to do something compassionate? Having a day, or a week at most, would give more opportunities for other social needs to be addressed, rather than focusing only on a select few.

Does society need our gimmicks? Lupus, for example, actually has a month: October, for those of you wondering. But nobody grows any facial hair. Nobody rides their bike halfway across the country. Popular culture has not adopted Lupus as the new, fashionable, ghetto-fabulous disease of the season. Is it not marketable enough? Is that really what charity is based upon? Do we have to rely on the popular opinions of tweens or whomever it is that dictate market policy for a disease to have a chance at getting substantial funding?

In all honesty, we probably do. Hence the bile.

Being in a third world country, you begin to notice a few key things about it. Mostly, it’s terrible. Extreme examples of poverty, apathy towards human life, sickness and malnutrition, whole loads of things that really just suck pretty hard. And if you’re anything like me, as an armchair pseudo-intellectual, you tend to think about how one might be able to make a difference over there while sitting in a comfy chair, in a relatively large, environmentally-controlled room.

I had been to India, and I was speaking to someone who had been doing relief work in Haiti, and I asked them if they had thought about improving Haiti as I had thought about improving India. How do you make a country less shitty? The answers are fairly obvious. In no particular order: sanitation, better infrastructure, education for women, education overall, better healthcare, better safety nets for the poor, less corruption, better heath and safety standards, and so on and so on and so on. Easy, right? Well how do you implement them? Where do you even start?

A lot of people immediately go for education as the number one. Educate people, and they’ll see how crummy life is by themselves, and then they’ll take steps to fix it. Ideal, really. But then I heard a few stories, one of which stood out in particular. My tour guide was telling our group of an instance where the Indian federal government had set up this program where students would be given free lunches. It’s great, right? For children who might not be getting even a single meal a day, having a free one waiting for them at school is a great incentive to go and educate themselves. Problem solved; India begins the long road to rehabilitation. Unfortunately for India, one of the main rules there is that nothing is allowed to go right. What ended up happening is that by the time the money for the lunches had made it to schools, it had been skimmed from so much that there was hardly any money left for the food, and what ended up being served was so unsanitary that a bunch of school kids died.

So is fixing the corruption the first step? It’s really difficult to say. When issues like women’s rights, unsafe drinking water, and poverty are staring you in the face, it’s almost impossible to say which one needs the most attention.

Even if you do decide to which to address first, and I do mean you, the reader, in this instance, the one who obviously wants to make a difference in the world, what can you actually do? It’s not like you can go up to the leader of a country and be like, “Hey mister president, you should stop being corrupt. Listen to me, for I am white and privileged!” Even if you could, having the Great White Saviour solve all the world’s woes is a problem unto itself. Countries should have the right to fix their problems for themselves. For one, those problems are more likely to stay fixed that way, and for two, there won’t ever be the niggling feeling that ol’ whitey is only after oil or out to influence the local culture.

So do you just sit around, ignoring the world’s problems while they either solve themselves or spiral out of control into a fiery inferno? I suppose you could if you really wanted to. I am merely text on a page, with no influence over you save for my reason, charm, and the dashing good looks which I assure you I possess.

There are charity donations, but charity is a fickle concept. Charity cannot fix problems. It is the “giving a man a fish” scenario. You might help a person out of a bind, but they are still stuck in a place where that bind is the norm. On top of that, there are questions as to where that money you donate actually goes. Suspicious administration fees are one thing, but there is also the question of whether or not what you’re donating to is good for the community. Are you buying food for them? Is the food you are buying in direct competition with local farmers, who now have to compete in a market where their competition offers free products? I’m not saying don’t donate to charity. It can be a powerful tool, but you have to make sure that your donation isn’t going to be a tragic waste of money.

Volunteering is another possible solution for the average idiot to help out those less fortunate. There are issues here too though; those similar to the issues with charity. Is your volunteer work something that a local could do? If you have a special skill or knowledge that just simply isn’t available in bulk in whatever country you’re volunteering in, then yes, you are an asset to that community. But if you’re helping out for free where a local could be doing the work and getting paid, then maybe think twice about the volunteer work that you’re doing.

Then of course there’s just talking about it. Who knows what solutions you might come up with?

None of the things you do will fix a country. That is up to its people. But you can make a difference on a more community-based level. And if you want to, then nothing is stopping you and you should definitely go for it. If you don’t want to, don’t feel bad because you are one among many. You’re reading this though, so  you’re at least being forced to think about it, and maybe that’s enough.

 

 

Post-script: I am not getting into local help versus international help. This article is only about international because that’s what the conversation that sparked this was about. I personally prefer local charity over international charity, and if you want to talk to me about my reasons why feel free.