An Essay by Ramy Eletreby

Having been publicly outed in the Los Angeles Times and The Advocate this past June, I decided that my first National Coming Out Day should be spent with others in the gay Muslim community who are facing similar challenges.

On Oct. 11, I returned to my alma mater, UC Irvine, where I began my coming out process a few years ago. Faisal Alam, a 28-year-old queer-identified Muslim of Pakistani descent and founder of the vital Washington, D.C.-based Al-Fatiha organization, gave a talk titled, "Hidden Voices: the Lives of LGBT Muslims." Al-Fatiha began in 1998 as a non-profit, non-governmental organization dedicated to supporting and empowering Muslims who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersex, and those questioning their sexual and gender identities. The term "Al-Fatiha," meaning "the opening," comes from the title of the first chapter in the Holy Quran.

A mixed crowd of less than 30 people heard Alam speak about the current state of LGBT Muslims in the world. He spent a great deal of time addressing common Western misconceptions of Islam and presenting facts and statistics about Islam in today's world (only 12 percent of Muslims in the world are Arab, and, by the way, I'm one of them). But it was not until he presented a video from the monthly LGBT program In the Life, which airs on PBS, that sexual identity was even addressed.

The video was about Alam's story, which is similar to many American Muslims who find themselves forced to lead double lives because of an inability to reconcile their seemingly separate and disconnected identities: the sexual and the faithful.

"I would be an activist by day and then I would go out clubbing every night and stay out until the early hours of the morning," said Alam. "That schizophrenia can only last so long." Alam's coming out to his family was forced as a direct result of his activism. His name and picture were shown in a Washington-based paper in relation to a gay rights story, and according to Alam, it seemed every Muslim in the area had seen the story and showed it to his mother.

While listening to this man who has turned such a personal and painful ordeal into an instrument for social outreach and change, I turned the microscope on myself. My coming out happened almost the exact same way. The aforementioned L.A. Times piece used my playing a gay Muslim role on an L.A. stage as a springboard for a discussion on Islam vs. homosexuality, with me at the crossroads. Much like in Alam's case, that article spread like wildfire in the Southern California Muslim community and fell into my parents' hands before I had a chance to speak to them. The Advocate piece turned the same story into a national one.

All of a sudden I was pushed into being the voice of an entire community, which I was not, nor am I still, prepared for. As I stand up for gay rights, I am forced to also denounce my family and community's ideologies. I have spent the past four months balancing my public role as a gay American Muslim with my deteriorating personal role as son, brother, uncle, and fellow Muslim. Turning your back on one part of identity in order to honor another part of identity can take its toll on your emotional and mental state. The "schizophrenia" does not go away. The effort to "be yourself" results in anger, frustration, and even guilt -- for how can one not feel guilty for causing loved ones pain and heartbreak? As I write this, my parents are in Saudi Arabia celebrating the holy month of Ramadan and praying to God to help them find peace. I feel guilty for causing them to lose that peace in the first place.

For every new anti-gay incident in the Eastern Muslim world, such as the heavily reported executions of two gay teenagers in Iran this past July, the silence of the Western world is deafening. The issue of homosexuality is so heated and feared in that society that the United States refuses to touch it. That, too, tears me apart for I feel that, but for a chance of fate, they could be me.

In this country, as gay teenagers are coming out at earlier ages and we now face a future that includes same-sex marriage, we seem selfishly complacent when it comes to anti-gay discrimination in the rest of the world. Our progress has distanced us from their extremism.

According to a recent story in The New Republic, American gay activists' reaction to Iran's brutal hangings was short-lived and insufficient. The International Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission did not take the opportunity to pressure Iran into being more tolerant. The National Gay and Lesbian Task Force did not feel it appropriate to condemn Iran for executing juveniles since no one condemned the state of Texas for doing the same thing. But I am sure that if Texas executed juveniles simply for being gay, there would be a national outcry.

The fight for the rights of LGBT Muslims globally must begin here at home. Faisal Alam's courageous activism in educating the public on the crucial position of LGBT Muslims here and abroad is a much needed wake-up call. We live in a global village and as the West adopts a pro-gay agenda, changes in the East will start to happen. From protests to rallies to political summits, it only takes a few powerful and passionate groups to bring this issue to the forefront and make it headline news. The more coverage these issues receive, the more pressure it brings for change.

And, as a gay Muslim and a community reporter for this LGBT magazine, I take pride and find a degree of personal reconciliation in adding to that coverage. Like Alam, I have taken the pain of being outed and turned it into a contribution.