What is it about art that is so threatening to those who seek to restrict human rights for LGBT people?
The Boston Gay Men's Chorus recently concluded a history-making tour of Israel and Turkey during which we became the first gay choral group to perform in the Middle East. Our performance in Istanbul was nearly derailed by homophobia. We were originally scheduled to sing at the Zorlu Performance Center -- a newly-built hall that is an acoustic marvel. But shortly after ticket sales were made available to the public (about two months before the date of the performance), fundamentalist extremists protested the concert and it was abruptly cancelled. We found a new space thanks to the LGBTI student group at Boğaziçi University, which worked with school officials to make outdoor space on the South Campus available to us. We performed on June 27 before a crowd of 3,000 people, including Charles Hunter, the US Consulate General of Istanbul, Turkey, who joined us on stage for our last number, Katy Perry's "Firework."
The experience reminded me of something that took place 30 years earlier when I was the director of the Heartland Men's Chorus in Kansas City, Missouri. We were asked to perform at the opening of the first hospice care unit for AIDS patients. This was in the early days of the epidemic when a diagnosis of AIDS almost always resulted in death, and AIDS stigma and discrimination was much higher than it is today.
Our performance, which was meant to bring joy to both those who were on the verge of death as well as those selflessly caring for them, drew protests and picketing from Fred Phelps. It was unnerving, to say the least, but the experience taught me two things. First, there are people in this world who think that their way of living is the only way, and they will take extraordinary measures to impose their point of view on others. Second, it is never a good idea to back down from these people.
I would be lying if I said I was unaffected by the protests by fundamentalist extremists in Turkey. They didn't just anger me; they scared me. But their voices were drowned out by a massive outpouring of support not just from Istanbul's passionate LGBTI community, but also by others in Turkey who support equal justice for all.
Here in the United States, we are basking in an incredible victory for human rights with the US Supreme Court ruling in Obergefell v. Hodges, which gives same-sex couples the freedom to marry in all 50 states. This extraordinary achievement is due in no small part to the courage of ordinary, everyday LGBT people, who generously shared their stories with their fellow Americans to change hearts and mind.
This, I suspect, is why art is so threatening to bigots and demagogues. Art is one of the easiest ways through which we can share stories of our lives. Music, in particular, is a universal language. While choral music for male voices is a tradition that goes back centuries, gay male choirs formed directly in response to an act of homophobic violence -- the assassination of San Francisco City Supervisor Harvey Milk.
At the time of his death, Milk was engaged in a tour of the country during which he gave speeches imploring gay people to come out and share stories of their lives in order to fight anti-gay legislative measures. The formation of the San Francisco Gay Men's Chorus was a direct result of Milk's call on the gay community to come out. In a horrible twist, the first public performance of the Chorus took place at a hastily-organized public memorial service November 27, 1978 hours after Milk had been shot to death.
In the months that followed Milk's murder, founding members of the Chorus mortgaged their homes to fund a national tour. Multiple gay male choruses formed in the wake of that tour, including the Boston Gay Men's Chorus in 1982.
By sharing stories of our lives through music, particularly in places such as Ein Gedi, Jerusalem and Istanbul -- where it is relatively unusual to see artistic expressions of the LGBT experience and where we performed to sold out enthusiastic houses during our tour of the Middle East -- we are planting seeds of change, not only in our audience but in ourselves.
Ten years ago, the Boston Gay Men's Chorus toured Eastern Europe. Our concert in Poland drew so many protests that the only way we could perform was under the protection of riot police. Despite the threats, there wasn't a seat available for the show. International media covered it, and the ubiquitous headline seen in newspapers around the world the following day was "Music Triumphs Over Injustice."
Today Poland has an openly gay elected official, something that would have been unthinkable just 10 years ago, and our experience in Wroclaw made our decision about what to do in Istanbul a relatively easy one: Despite our fears, we would perform. We know through personal experience that these are the types of events that motivate and inspire the sorts of people who will eventually go on to change the world.
That is why art is so threatening to those who would like to keep us down, and it is why it's so important for the show to go on.