GLR January-February 2023

LGBT support group, which is now common (at least in the wealthier neighborhoods of L.A.). Most of the subjects found the support to come out when they were in college or started going to gay nightclubs and small par ties. College LGBT groups were undoubtedly invaluable for many gay men of all races. Attending gay Latino clubs was a re vealing moment for these gay men, just as I remember it being for me in the 1990s. They had far more racial and class diversity than didWeHo, where white twinks and gym clones ruled. The Latino clubs shattered the association of gays and effeminacy—even while reinforcing them. On the one hand, many patrons were tat ted up and “sagging’ and indistinguishable from other “home boys,” “cholos,” or “gang bangers” in rough parts of L.A. On the other hand, clubs also had (great) drag shows. Club Tempo most distinctly emphasized the masculine-feminine divide: on the first floor, gay vaqueros (cowboys) danced in pairs to banda music, while the second floor had the drag queens and disco. The informants date themselves by their other source of gay connectivity: internet chat rooms like AOL Instant Messenger. Much like printed personal ads in the pre-Internet era, chat rooms allowed gay men to meet across divides of neighborhoods, race, and class. Yet, as some informants point out, chat rooms could also reinforce racial preferences or the desirability of “straight acting” men. Not included in this study are men who have sex with men but may not consider themselves gay. Coming out was traumatic for most of these men: less a joy ful reveal than a shameful confession. For many there had been a convenient collusion of silence to save face in the family. There

line behavior (as culturally defined). This is somewhat surpris ing for the Filipinos, since bakla (natal men presenting a femi nine gender role) are common in society and on television in the Philippines. And while the Filipino-American gay men did not consider their homeland a homophobic country, they grew up knowing that their families didn’t want them to be bakla . Both Filipinos and Latinos alike suppressed any feminine be haviors or struggled to be “masculine,” and, when that failed, they faced hostility from family, peers, and priests. The associ ation of gays with effeminacy, immorality, and AIDS is all too common across the U.S. Many of Ocampo’s subjects found a “cover” in academics and school leadership. If you can’t be an athlete, being a nerd could at least earn your parents’ support and was a plausible rea son for not dating girls. Many also sought a cover with a girl friend. An academic focus had many (perhaps unexpected) bonuses: being mentored by a teacher, being the first in the fam ily to go to college, and moving to another city where you can ex plore your sexuality. Where the two cohorts differ is how Latino versus Filipino students were treated by family and educators, depending on the class and racial demographic of their schools. Ocampo references broader research highlighting the lower aca demic expectations and behavioral stigmatization of Latino boys versus the “model minority” status of Filipinos (seen as Asian American). Some of the Latino gay boys could take advantage of teacher bias to shine as one of the “smart kids.” Perhaps because of when these men were in school (1980’s and ’90s) or the so cioeconomics of the school, few of them recalled having an

were different reactions to learning the truth: some family members blamed themselves, a few were supportive, but (notably) only one gay teen was kicked out of the house. Only a few were taken to a therapist for “conversion.” I’m relieved to read that no therapist agreed to this, but instead en couraged family acceptance. This came slowly and grudgingly for some of the men thanks to their eventual professional success. Some even ended up financially supporting their hostile parents— the ultimate expression of family values. Ocampo’s conclusion is poignantly bitter sweet: “the survival of the second-generation gay men took the form of suppression, assimilation, and overachievement.” However, these are the brown gay men who have succeeded. My work as a psychiatrist in community clinics in L.A. also introduced me to gay men (Brown and White) who don’t succeed—who end up on the streets, dropping out of school, turning tricks, using drugs. But these are not Ocampo’s subjects. He has a different story to tell, which strikes overwhelmingly close to home as a Brown and gay man in L.A. Although I am first-generation South Asian, his subjects’ stories—thoughtfully evoked and beautifully narrated—is my story. At the same time, this book speaks broadly to gay men in general, from families steeped in religion and “traditional values” struggling to succeed in America even at the cost of rejecting their LGBT children.

His Eyes I am in a criminal country where I am the criminal. Outside my hotel the man selling hand-carved marionettes hands one to me to admire. His fingernails are stained with ink as if he has not bothered to wash away the evidence of words that will condemn him. He sees me too plainly and I feel I cannot be unseen. When he lifts his chin towards my open window, where an hour ago I gazed at the morning on angel’s faces, I nod and turn, not to leave but to lead him up the stairs. And as the key unlocks the door I feel him close behind me like a shadow that is larger in the light. I know his hunger, the sadness in his eyes that carries the faces of men I will never know. I take him in my arms, becoming the one who does not run or refuse the unsaid word and I let him see in my eyes all the men who could not be held. And when he is gone I touch the black fingerprints that sing on my skin like a tattoo. M ARK E VAN C HIMSKY

The G & LR

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