Symposium: From coming out to coming in: Roundtable conversation among Southeast Asian queer theologians

Amadeo: You mean, on my identification as “non-heterosexual”?

Michael: Exactly. Because that’s an interesting way of negotiating queer spaces, no?

Amadeo: When I started my studies at Jakarta Theological Seminary and got acquainted with LGBTQI issues on campus, I started thinking that I was probably gay. But then I remembered that I could also develop [romantic feelings towards] a girl when I was in primary school. But I got turned on by some guys in the changing room, right? (Almost everyone smiles and nods).

Jerlo: Where’s the room?!

Amadeo: It’s in Jakarta, Jerlo. You should come down here.

Jerlo: Next year!

Amadeo: When I eventually came to terms with my sexuality, I was finally able to be at peace with myself. Then in 2016, I was thinking [that] I was a bisexual. I could, you know, get sexually attracted to a guy [and] to a girl, although most [of my] sexual attraction [were] towards guys, I did develop romance in the past with some girls. And then in 2018, I found myself in love with a transwoman. And then I began to think that I was pansexual. I shared this experience with a very close friend of mine. He said, “Well, you need to decide who you really are.” And I was like “Yes, I was still in the quest of my true identity.” And he said, “But you need to decide whether you are bisexual, or pansexual, or gay man, or …” And then I said, “I was once into, not once actually but so many times, I was into a girl. I was into many girls.” And then he said, “Well, that means you’re bisexual because you can also be with a guy.” And then I said to myself, “Well, is it him who should determine my sexuality?”

Michael: These are significant shifts in your self-awareness, Amadeo.

Amadeo: Since then, I started to identify as queer, or simply “non-heterosexual,” because I believe that my existence as a human being transcends all the categories of genders and sexuality. So that was actually my baseline, that was actually my starting point—why I eventually identify as simply non-heterosexual, because I’m no longer questioning my sexuality right now. I am at peace with myself, admitting to myself that I am non-heterosexual, as simple as that. And there is no need for me—there’s no urgency for me—to be subsumed [under] any category that was not made by myself. So, I put myself under the category of “non-heterosexual.” I’m not the inventor of this term, of course not. I believe that many people out there define themselves as non-heterosexual. But this is a self-made term for me. Yeah, I feel comfortable identifying as non-heterosexual. And it’ll change, probably. Right now, I identify myself this way. I’m already at peace with myself. My struggles and also my stress stemmed from the fact that I could not accept myself for who I was. Now I am able to accept and affirm myself for who I am.

Michael: Thank you so much, Amadeo. Can I just broaden this a little bit? I think there’s something with what Kakay described about coming out as a political act: this means that one’s space and identity is connected to context. Because of your context, as a seminary student and as a teacher, how do you think your identity is defined for you insofar as you are defining it for yourself?

Amadeo: I think it’s part of my “coming in” process. It’s part of entrusting myself and affirming myself. It doesn’t have to be under the categories that are made by or made within the discourse of LGBTQI as understood by most scholars. I think identification is important because it is going to give me relief for knowing who I am, and it is important also for my personal development. If I spent my life hating myself, disowning myself, I don’t think I’m going to develop properly as a human being.

Michael: Thank you so much, Amadeo. Does anyone else want to chime in?

Irene: I can say something. I totally agree with Amadeo. “Coming in” is really essential for us in every sense, whether it’s about our sexual orientation or other things. I’m really thankful for this workshop to be honest, especially for Professor Lizette Tapia. Her work is also related to my work. My thesis comes from questions about my identity, about myself. Before, I didn’t even know what homosexuality was. I never had any experience. I didn’t know [anything] at all, until I entered Jakarta Theological Seminary. So, I was really interested in this issue. But then, I never realized how then—when I came to know about my sexual identity—how difficult it was. I came to know about myself being bisexual. It was in 2016—and I’ve been involved in this issue since 2011—that I came out as bisexual. You can see, it’s been five years. But then when I realized that I could fall in love, I fell in love with another girl. And I kissed her, and I slept with her. It was super painful to be honest. It was super painful to accept myself, my sexual identity even though I already [knew] that this [was] not a sin. This is okay. This is just not a lifestyle. It is part of you; it is part of my identity. But it was still painful to accept the reality that I am bisexual, you know. Then I realized that my life will be so difficult. I know that my parents will not accept me at all, so I need[ed] to hide it until now. That’s why I believe that coming out is not that important at all. I know myself but I don’t need to tell everyone that I am this. Because it can be dangerous for myself. I live in Indonesia and Indonesia is a very homophobic society. It can be dangerous for me and I can hurt my parents; I can hurt my sister, so I don’t want to take a risk. But it doesn’t mean that I am being a coward. It’s just my strategy, you know. I can live my life and I don’t need to hurt anyone. And yeah, I was questioning myself: What does it mean to be a bisexual and to be Christian? We talk about theology a lot, we talk about body, we talk about feminism, we talk about queer … but what does it [all] mean? How do you know what God wants from me? Why [did] God create me as I am now? And then, who I am in God’s eyes? It’s a question that I am trying to solve. Through books I realize that our identity, our body, is never singular; it is always plural, and our identity is always coming from the Other. But then this question really gave me a headache about myself. I know myself and I totally agree that identity is always in the process of becoming. We will never stop [changing]. Through my work as an activist, I always believe that we can liberate our bodies from sexual identities, but when I read Judith Butler (1993, 1999) and Sara Ahmed (2006), I realized that actually we don’t need to liberate our body from sexual identity. I don’t need to stress myself by saying that: I am this, I am this. What I need to do is to encounter myself with my sexual identity, with my identity. I deal with it. Instead of putting it aside, I face it. I face that reality, and yes, I think that’s my calling now. This is what I’m writing in my thesis.

Michael: Looking forward to reading this! Can I ask one more question, Irene? Does it matter significantly that you are asking these questions now that you are studying in Europe, away from Indonesia? Did your questions shift when you left home?

Irene: No, no, no, no, no. It has been there since I “came in” as a bisexual. This question is already in my mind but I didn’t do any research on it because at the time I was still—I am still—a big fan of Martin Heidegger (1967)! So, the topics surrounding being and time were still very fascinating for me. That’s why I talk about it instead of talking about myself.

Michael: Wow. Thank you. I think, Kakay, you wanted to add something.

Kakay: Yes—We are talking about spaces and places and geographical movements. And moving away, moving into, coming in and coming out. I am fully embraced. I’m fully embraced in my human becoming! I’ve constructed much of my understanding of my sexuality in reference to what I had wanted to be or what I wanted to contribute to the world. And, at the same time, I was also mindful of the space and the state of being and “coming in” of my family. It was either I consumed all my time dealing with them, or, you know, I leave. And I came out to my family very, very recently actually, when I was just a seminarian (I was already thirty when I came to seminary!). I came out to them and then let it hang. I’m not in that space where I can come home and bring my partner to Christmas dinners, the way my brother would bring his wife. No, I’m not there yet. It’s like an open secret in that suspended space. Perhaps that’s the reason why I only come home whenever, whenever necessary. And I do it for the benefit, for instance, of my mother, father, and all that. So, I relate to what you said. I find [that] in my context, it was very important for me to be public about [my] sexuality because at that time there was a gap, [there was a need for] flesh and bone representation in the church. I felt it was a responsibility. So, I did it. I don’t know if Lizette [Tapia] still remembers: I think that was my first act when I came to seminary. “Hi, I am Kakay. I am openly lesbian. Thank you and bye.” (Everyone laughs). I pushed myself out there and waited for the other shoe to drop. That’s my story. But my family … I don’t know. I have not been spending enough time thinking about how, perhaps, I will do so in the next few years? Probably do that ... Thank you, thank you for letting me share.

Erich: I just want to add something, maybe this is different from or compared to others, so maybe this is outside the topic. But I want to say that based on the experiences of LGBTQI friends that I met, for the Indonesian context, the coming out process is a secondary step. Why? The reason is the community is not ready yet. So “coming in '' is an essential step for LGBTQI friends but with regard [to] the whole [Indonesian] community, “coming out” is secondary. You have to prepare the community first. That’s why I took Christian education as my entry point, to help to accept all of these diversities. Just like Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave,” we know a lot, we experience a lot, at the same time [there is] too much risk or danger, if we tell the people directly in the cave [that] they are still tied up with their own theology, with their own knowledge. I need to find now how I can help [my] family [and] friends inside the cave to accept the outside world, of diverse experiences and knowledge.

Irene: I totally agree. As an Indonesian we know how difficult it is. To be in the sexual minority group. And it’s pretty dangerous. I’m sure that maybe at some point, maybe they will kill you because of your sexual orientation. Why, in Indonesia, maybe I’m wrong, but most of my [LGBTQI] friends prefer not to come out. But we “come in.” It’s very essential, as Erich said, for us to “come in” because we don’t want to raise [attention to] ourselves either. But it doesn’t mean that we deny ourselves, no. So, what Erich said actually reminds me about Shūsaku Endō’s (2016) novel, Silence. We live our sexual orientation—our sexuality—in silence, but we’re being resilient about it.

Erich: And also, I just wanted to add: there are cases in Indonesia when people come out and they commit suicide when their family, their community didn’t accept them. And what [about the role of] the church? The church blamed the family; the church blamed the death on them. Even in my ethnic group, if someone [commits] suicide, then the cross will be put by the feet of the dead, not in their hands, as a symbolic curse. And even the priest won’t come to the house of the dead. So that’s the danger of coming out in a patriarchal context, such as in Indonesia. We just don’t know. There are too many stories, painful stories, that we need to deal with. But I still have hope for a better future. I’ll take my part, I’ll do my best, to educate.

Amadeo: If I may jump in, what Erich said is true, because I actually just heard that a few days ago, a person committed suicide because they came out to their parents, and their parents sent them to conversion practices. I’m not going to use the word conversion “therapy” because there’s nothing healing, there’s nothing therapeutic, about conversion therapy. So, I say “conversion practices.” After several religious rituals were conducted, some sort of exorcism also took place, he—or they—gave up (I don’t know their pronouns). They gave up because the rituals weren’t able to convert them. And this person eventually decided to take their own life. This is a tragic story. This is a testament to how hard it is to come out as part of LGBTQI communities in Indonesia. I need to say some encouraging words actually: by not coming out you don’t diminish your personhood. You are still a valuable human being. Don’t feel obliged to come out. If you want to situate “coming in” in postcolonial terms, when we speak of reclaiming one’s identity and when we speak about fighting a battle against the oppressor, sometimes the oppressor is our own selves. When we employ the perspectives, the thoughts and the ideas of un-affirming paths, we judge ourselves. So, it’s like me oppressing my own self, me judging myself. And that is what happened in internalized LGBTQI-phobias.

By “coming in,” you have achieved a lot in your quest for your identity. Because you’re finally able to conquer the side of you which continues to blame you and eventually be at peace with your sexuality and gender. And this kind of reclaiming is also solitary. I think one could be commended for affirming one’s own identity by “coming in.” By saying to yourself that it is okay to be you, that nothing is wrong, nothing is distorted about yourself, you have therefore reclaimed your identity. You don’t have to publicly come out. Coming out does not put you in a higher status compared to those who are not able or who do not have the luxury of coming out because of their social situation, because of their social location, because of their un-affirming homes, etc. You’re not diminished as a human being for not coming out. Loving yourself is already a daunting thing to do, right? And when you are able to love yourself fully, completely, being able to affirm yourself, you have the courage to do so to affirm yourself, it is remarkable.

Joseph: If I may offer some preliminary thoughts to start the ball rolling. I think what I’ve particularly been intrigued by, during the course of the Roundtable conversation, is how much the conversation has geared towards coming out and a recasting of this very Western imperative, to the more Southeast Asian idea of “coming in.” Where we have come to reach this recognition based on lived experiences is far more important (Yes, the tiara is important! Reacting to Kakay putting on a tiara on screen). But it is also far more important for us to realize, to come to oneself than to come out to others. To come into oneself, not just to arrive—I don’t see the process as a point of arrival—but as a journey, an interior journey, evoking John of the Cross, Teresa of Ávila, you know. “Coming into” the self and realizing who one is before crafting language for one to “come out” to others. The other thing that I thought was very interesting was how the language of “coming in” and “coming out” was not just an individual enterprise, but also involves families and friends. One has to come out to one’s self, whether or not one is prepared to do that. I remember interviewing the partner of a transgender man who said that she had to muster the courage to come out as the wife of a trans man. Eventually she found the courage, and that courage carried her very far into her life. So, in a way, when she came out, she came in. And it was only when she could come in that she could come out. I was also thinking about the role of the church. Whenever I think about ministry and theopastoral ministry, I go back to the institution because the institution is the cradle of ministry for many of us, even if we have embarked on other trajectories. And so, perhaps the church needs also to “come in” to itself. Many of us have spoken about “don’t ask, don’t tell,” the scandals that have rocked the church on so many levels. Perhaps the church needs to “come in” to itself as a sinful entity, one that is also in need of conversion. Churches have long foisted conversion therapies on us, without realizing that they themselves are in need of conversion. Only when churches can come into themselves can they come out as “servant,” as a broken servant of Christ. And perhaps it is only then that ministry becomes really, truly effective on the ground.

Joshua: My thesis is about mercy. [This relates with] what Joe (referring to Joseph N. Goh) said about the church to come in and acknowledge its own sinfulness; to acknowledge its own frailty, its own vulnerability that in doing so, the church identifies with those of us who have been rendered vulnerable because of being forced to hide, or being forced to not be ourselves. It’s a kind of accompaniment that is not condescending or pietistic. I think what we need is an extended view of Catholicism. I come from a Roman Catholic background. From what I have seen and experienced here in Leuven (Belgium), I have a lot of friends who study in the faculty of theology from different denominations and belief systems. Even as a Catholic institution, there are agnostics studying theology with us. And I have recently met a trans man doing theology here, as well. It’s an “expanded Catholicism”—a call to be more universal, in the sense that, yes, while there are ambiguities to our doctrines like mercy, we renegotiate the question of who needs to be supported. Maybe a more affirming, more resilient, and more, shall we say, accompanying and participative church would be nice.

Lizette: For me, what comes to mind when I think about ministry or the church, is the word radicality. There are so many things we have tolerated in our churches, in our work, just to save our institutions. Maybe we could just do our pastoral work. As you know, Jesus Christ was the most radical; his radical act was to become human. And again, I’ll go back to my presentation which is about desire. What does it mean to radically love? And what does it mean to be radical incarnations? I think we have diminished Christianity’s potential in so many ways because of our intolerance, because of our hypocrisy. If you can only capture the radicality of the gospel, the radicality of Jesus Christ and God’s love, then, we can probably change the world. We can truly negotiate and transform. Right now, we’re just trying to survive and we have not become really the salt and light. We have not allowed ourselves to be placed in places of radicality.

Amadeo: I love Joseph’s concept of, or the idea of the church, “coming in” to accept itself as a broken community. I think it also resonates very well with what I’m going to say, which is about the broken body of Christ. In every Eucharist celebration, we break the bread as a symbol of breaking God’s body, or as a symbol of God’s broken body, and in the process, we also remember the causes of that broken body: what caused Jesus’s death, or what causes the brokenness of that body. “Coming in” as a church is to accept the brokenness of the church itself. This is actually in line with this act of anamnesis, of remembrance. When we remember what caused the brokenness of Jesus’s body, we also employ the same act of remembrance in relation to the brokenness of the LGBTQI people in our church, whose brokenness is also instigated by religious actors, by un-affirmation, or rejection, right? That many LGBTQI people have been marginalized, demonized by the church, causes their brokenness. When the church dares to remember, when the church dares to admit their wrongdoings in the past and in the present, committed against the LGBTQI people, this is the very starting point when the church could imagine an LGBTQI-friendly or affirming ministry. From this act of remembrance, we can build up a spirituality of liberation [from which] the church could include and affirm LGBTQI people in the ministry. This is the practical aspect of the concept. When we speak of affirming the LGBTQI individuals in ministry, we also speak of empowerment. So, to answer your question: I think it is a ministry that empowers and affirms them as a whole. A ministry where you’re able to affirm yourself and be a part of a community that is empowering. That, I think, is the shape of ministry that is suitable for LGBTQI individuals.

Wei-Hsien: So, I was wondering, based on your experiences, what are some practices that you found empowering for you, that you’ve encountered in different contexts, whether that’s something that you’ve assisted in, or something you’ve been a recipient of? What are some of these practices or maybe institutional forms that you found to be empowering?

Amadeo: I can think of many kinds of practices like, for example, involving LGBTQI people in ministry. We can involve LGBTQI people as ushers or worship or song leaders of the church. It has to begin [somewhere], because there are so many churches that involve many LGBTQI individuals but only [at] the acceptance level, not [at the] affirmation level, right? There are song and worship leaders in the church who are LGBTQI individuals [but] we cannot guess who they are. We cannot guess their sexual orientation and sexual identity and expressions. It has to start first and foremost with affirmation. And then the fruits will [come forth]. With affirmation as a starting point, ministry becomes genuine, and our empowerment also becomes genuine. We could serve God fearlessly without the fear of being known as a part of LGBTQI community. We could serve God in our totality without any fear of unacceptance and un-affirmation. Perhaps some friends could also build on this response.

Joseph: I have a question that’s based on something we’ve talked about earlier today and based on my conversation with Mike (Campos) and other members of the Emerging Queer Asian Pacific Islander Religion Scholars (EQARS): [empowerment cannot] be a one-way street. It’s not a matter of LGBTQI people learning from churches, from Christianity, but that LGBTQI people can [teach] theology and tutor churches. The road is a long and tedious one. There’s always this assumption that churches know what to do. But honestly, I think churches are at a loss as to what to do. They don’t know how to learn from LGBTQI people, how to learn from women, how to learn from marginalized communities because they have been so used to the notion that they have the fullness of truth. So, my question is: How do we tutor or how do we bring churches into that space where they realize that they need to learn? I’m posing this question to everyone here.

Erich: Can I share something to the question? Well, first of all it’s been too long that the church has taken a neutral position. But for me, the neutral position [lies on] the side of the oppressor, so we need to first start with the narrative. Why narrative? Because narrative is close to our theology and our culture. So, if you ask personally: What will you do for your future ministry? I will start to open spaces to listen to the victims in our own church because it’s been too long that [we have] kept silent: “Oh that’s a domestic case. We don’t have to deal with domestic cases.” No, it’s part of your community, you have to say something. There’s something wrong with theology, there’s something wrong with our culture. So, for me, I will start inviting people to tell their stories in their community, in their own home, house, or churches. From that point, we need to decide what in our theology we need to change. So, this is also always in tension. I know it’s still difficult, but I’m thinking more about this. The power of stories from the victims is more easily received by the congregation.

Jayeel: The question is calling for practical responses, right? Practical steps that we can make, we can take? I have two in mind, one which I am increasingly involving myself in. The first one I feel is the seminary training of our pastors. Our colleagues at Union Theological Seminary know exactly what this is all about. If I could reimagine ministry, I would send all pastors, from Victory Church to small churches, even Iglesia ni Cristo, to UTS and away from [more established, traditional institutions].

Michael: Even away from Ateneo de Manila [Jayeel's home institution]? I’m kidding.

Jayeel: In fact, I feel that if I could be a theologian, if I could reimagine my path, I would most likely go to UTS myself. I realize this because many years ago, I conducted research among Catholic priests just to test their theological capacity. And that was when I realized [that] they stopped at medieval theologies. That was it. That was when I realized [that] they don’t have any familiarity with what they’re doing. They had no capacity to understand the reproductive health bill, as it was being debated back then. No capacity to understand the exigencies of their votes, or same-sex marriage for that matter. Some of my colleagues at, for example, the Asian Theological Seminary, are trying to influence certain megachurch seminaries. But the megachurches don’t know how to deal with these progressive theologies either. So, they end up getting these professors to teach the usual courses: discipleship, conversion, and other things that you don’t need formal seminary training for. Joseph, another thing I have in mind about this is for you, and I think this is where we come in, where the “theopastoral” community can contribute: public theology. This is what I’ve been increasingly engaging myself in. With my scholarship in the past years—since President Duterte became our chief murderer—I realized that because there’s no win, I could just [stay in] the ivory tower that is academia. But I hesitate to do that. So, increasingly, my scholarship has been deliberately about the most influential, fundamentalist churches in the country. Megachurches, conservative churches, you name it, and I have deliberately challenged them, even in my own public writings. Many Christians from megachurches, for example, are supporting Bongbong Marcos to become our next president. And we get messages from other members of these churches, who would deliberately tell me: “Thank you so much for writing about this.” And I think that’s where we can concretely make a step. Make practical steps. If our theologies are not only confined to this workshop, if we are read by people who don’t know theology but are somehow sympathetic: people who are struggling, for example, the ones that I described in my presentation yesterday. If they only had people like Lizette [Tapia] and Kakay [Pamarán] who embrace these kinds of theologies, they might have hope for themselves in their own churches. That was a very long answer, but I think you get the point. Seminary training and public theology.

Amadeo: This is also to build on Erich’s response. You know, when I found out about LGBTQI in 2015, when I enrolled in JTS, we were in a dorm and there was conversation about queer theology and the seminaries [and] LGBTQI-related programs on campus. We screened the movie, Prayers for Bobby (2009). Erich was also there, facilitating. I realized that the story of Bobby disowning himself was in line also with my personal experiences. I felt intimidated. I felt intimidated because back then I was still engulfed by internalized homophobia. So, I ran upstairs to my room. I was disoriented. I was crying out loud. Of course, no one would hear me because everyone was downstairs. But at that time, I felt intimidated because I was frightened, knowing that sexuality was something in it. At the time I became curious also with Stephen Suleeman’s works and thoughts, that I, in the following year, was slightly able to accept myself. It was a learning process, a one-year learning process, from 2015 to 2016. In the beginning of 2016, I was still trying to accept myself; by mid-2016, I had a relationship with a guy, but at that time was still trying to navigate myself around sexualities and genders. And in late 2016, I participated in the Amplify Conference happening on our seminary premise. I was struck and I was impressed by many LGBTQI people who participated in the worship. And they explicitly showed their religious emotions, they lifted their hands, and I’m a fan of gospel so, those are the practices, those are the worship forms that I’m also familiar with. They did that and they could do that. At that time, homophobic narratives were still haunting me, so I was thinking to myself [that] LGBTQI individuals are irreligious. But then that paradigm shifted when they participated in the Amplify Conference. So, my journey to eventually one-hundred percent being able to affirm myself was not predominantly informed by discourses, but by experiences when there was a point of encounter between me and other LGBTQI people. I finally realized that there was no grounding, including theological ones, to discriminate LGBTIQ or to demonize LGBTQI individuals. The thinking I had back then was that it was impossible for LGBTQI persons to worship God. In order to create a more inclusive ministry and the churches, we should also create many points of encounters so that people could know by experience that there is nothing wrong about being LGBTQI people. There is nothing wrong about our sexualities and genders; we can still worship God, we can still be spiritual persons even with diverse sexualities and genders.

Michael: Thank you so much Amadeo. This is an appropriate conclusion to a very rich discussion. I invite us back to the center and hold these aspirations to heart. In naming how we “come out” and “come into,” expanding spaces by which we live out our churches and ministries, consider how we navigate the public square, we commit to encounters that change and transform.