called Jeff a few weeks later from Tel Aviv, he told me the details of his infection, tracing it back to the late 1990s or even earlier. I did not probe his lack of disclosure about that misfortune, leaving it to be discussed on a future occasion. I came to believe anthropologists sometimes develop a distorted perception of reality, assuming their close informants are uniquely open to them, with no untold stories intentionally left hidden behind.
However, as it soon turned out, another chapter was waiting for me to complete my story. In late November 2008, I returned to New York for a few days en route to the American Anthropological Association meeting in San Francisco. I called Jeff sometime before my departure and made a date to meet him for dinner on my last evening in New York. Looking forward to seeing him, I thought I must find a way to access that untold story, which had left me wary of a relationship I had considered so trustworthy. How could I rely on Jeff’s other stories which I believed truthful? I called him soon after my arrival in New York to confirm our meeting. He told me he would come to my place accompanied by his boyfriend. As much as I wanted to meet Jeff’s new partner, I was disappointed since I assumed that in his presence I would not be able to return to the last disturbing incident of his collapse in my apartment and the HIV revelation.
I was surprised beyond all expectations. Martin, the boyfriend, a young-looking blond man in his late forties (though not a Latino—Jeff’s preferred type), seemed eager to meet me. The two arrived in good spirits, and even before they had seated themselves on the sofa, Jeff announced, “You see here two survivors!” Clearly, he was referring to the last embarrassing story that had taken place in the same apartment. Actually, I already knew that Martin, who had been with a partner for the prior twenty-five years, was also HIV positive. He seemed very relaxed and open and soon became the dominant participant in our long conversation.
In that cozy atmosphere I made my move, asking Jeff directly why he had kept his HIV infection situation secret from me. He and Martin responded almost in unison, claiming that gay men normally keep that information secret even among themselves. Martin was angry in his reaction as he expressed his dismay over the way gay men handle the disclosure of another gay man’s HIV status. He first experienced this disturbing response when he witnessed the enthusiastic reception of a good-looking man who entered a gay bar in their Long Island neighborhood. The man was immediately swamped by admirers. But then somebody must have whispered that the guy was HIV positive; he was abruptly left on his own. At that moment Martin realized what his own position might be in this company. He regretted divulging his medical condition without reservation.
Consequently, when he met Jeff he was too scared to tell him he was HIV positive. He was afraid he might lose a man he loved more than anyone in the previous twenty years (his relationship with his domestic partner was no longer one of loving companionship). He waited a few months before deciding he could no longer deceive Jeff and took the risk of revealing his status. Jeff did not desert him, but to Martin’s surprise, he resisted Martin’s insistence on having protected sex. It took a few more months until one day, Jeff went down on his knees in a dramatic gesture and told Martin he had something important to tell him. Martin could never understand why Jeff had clung to his own secret long after he himself had disclosed his condition.
It was now my turn to ask Jeff why he had kept that secret from Martin, to which he responded: “I was afraid to be left alone!” At that moment he revealed that he had been “afraid” that I would also stay away from him after learning his medical condition. He had been so relieved when I called him from Tel Aviv. It was a moment of relief also on my part. What could better indicate the anxiety and the concealment strategy employed by gay men than what was exposed in the relationship of this pair of lovers? Shame, fear of loneliness and secrecy, among the fundamental existential experiences of gay life (e.g., Love 2007), seem to have shaped Jeff’s treatment of both his lover and his close friend the ethnographer.
As made evident by Jeff and Martin, the individual gay man cannot unconditionally rely on the empathy of the men who share his erotic lifestyle. When the stigmatizing misfortune befalls the unprepared gay man, he is left alone, segregated by his own people. As suggested by Simmel: “The purpose of secrecy is, above all, protection” (1969 [1908]: 345).
Martin continued to complain about the habits of gay men who also conceal their specific sexual preferences. In particular, they would not admit they were “bottoms” (in the sexual act). Instead, they would usually claim they were “flexible” on the ladder of sexual orientation between the extremes (from full bottoms to full tops), depending on the partner they met. Martin was somewhat unusual in his openness, admitting he was a “100% bottom” despite originating from a masculine, macho, small-town in Texas. However, he stressed, it was stigmatizing to admit being a bottom, even though it was so much a part of gay sexuality. The stigma of HIV, he claimed, was also associated with the assumption that its victims were mostly bottoms.
At this moment of intimate revelations, Jeff repeated in detail the history of his health condition and the side effects of the medication regime he had experienced in the foregoing ten years. I could now comprehend the source of the ailments I knew already, the periods of depression, and the role of the therapist Jeff so admired.
Martin could not stay for dinner, which allowed Jeff and me to discuss other personal issues. I also learned, as in past meetings, the story of his current relationship with Martin, which had started as a wild sexual encounter at a party in the country residence Martin shared with his partner of many years. It developed into a complex though difficult threesome. For a long time, Martin had had no sexual relations with his partner who continued to dominate him due to his superior financial position in their comfortable home economics. Jeff, who was afraid of remaining alone, expressed his wish to work out a full conjugal relationship with Martin. But for Martin, to separate from his partner would entail a severe loss of his affluent lifestyle. So we were back at our usual intimate communication, as I also contributed from my own life and work experiences.
On my next visit to New York a few months later, in April 2009, we returned to the same subject, which bonded us more than ever before. As suggested by Lynd, “The very fact that shame is an isolating experience also means that if one can find ways of sharing and communicating it, this communication can bring about particular closeness with other persons and with other groups” (1958: 66). Jeff again planned to stay overnight at my place, an opportunity that also allowed him to meet with Martin (at his nearby town residence) for a few hours on the days of arrival and departure. During our phone conversation I commented jokingly that I hoped he was not planning to drag me again in the early morning to the nearby emergency room.
He arrived at my place in the late afternoon in the company of Martin. They were visibly cheerful, having already spent together a few hours at Martin’s apartment enjoying the absence of his partner. Martin soon left for home, and Jeff complained to me about their situation. He felt he was lonely. Martin appeared unable to terminate his unhappy lifelong partnership with his abusive mate, and Jeff had no other close relatives to rely on. Sadly, he realized he could not depend on close friends either (as related in Chapter 10, Jeff and Martin later moved to Florida together).
That comment, however, reopened a wound of painful memories related to the discovery of his HIV status. Jeff reminisced about the time in 1995 when he volunteered to participate in an epidemiological research project on health conditions affecting gay men; it was then that he was identified as carrying HIV. It was a terrible day. He felt the ground trembling under his feet. He tried to find out how it had happened: who had infected him with that disastrous disease?
Jeff soon discovered the heavy social price of HIV. He started a romantic relationship with a man to whom he felt he should be open about the virus. They had dinner at a Village restaurant when he told him about his medical condition. Without uttering a word the man stood up and left the table. Jeff remained totally devastated and ashamed, feeling he was “a piece of dirt.” He often asked himself, “What have I done to be punished so cruelly? I didn’t drink alcohol,
