The Gist

My Divine Pope Benediction

Pope Benedict XVI’s arrival on these shores has taken me back, once again, to an exhilarating, steamy encounter we had over 20 years ago. By the end, he had me in handcuffs! Let’s not cheapen this, however, by merely sexualizing it. My sublime experience with the man then known as Cardinal Ratzinger was, in fact, cathartic, divine, spiritual and life-changing -- a baptism of the highest order.

Benedict may not like to take credit for it -- modest Pope that he is -- but in the Catholic tradition I must confess that it is he who is responsible for the phenomenon of “outing,” with which I’d eventually become synonymous. He put me on my journey as an activist, author, journalist and radio host. And I am eternally grateful.

It was January of 1988, and I had been immersed in the world of dirt and gossip, a nightclub reporter and gossip columnist. I was not political in the slightest, and, like many gay men at the time, I was in denial about the AIDS epidemic, which had been decimating men just a few years older than me but was soon reaching down into my generation of 20-somethings. I plunged myself into the celebrity party and club scene, and like many on that scene I tried to ignore AIDS except for the glitzy benefit now and then.

But soon friends were getting sick and dying. I was frightened and beginning to become aware, but still pretty clueless. One night I was in a bar with my good friend Michael Musto, the Village Voice gossip columnist, when two hot, chiseled guys chatted us up. They talked a bit about AIDS and told us we should come to ACT UP – the AIDS activist group that would become legendary for its protests and which eventually changed the course of the response to the epidemic. When they moved on, Musto, who’d been more politically aware about the government response to the epidemic, suggested we go to the group.

“We can’t go there,” I shot back. “This group is radical. They protest. They get arrested!"

“Yeah,” Musto replied with a smile, “But these guys are cute.”

So we went to ACT UP. Within minutes of being in a room full of activists at the Gay and Lesbian Community Services Center in New York – people with facts and figures, and anger – I was energized. They talked about upcoming protests and, as I wrote in my 1993 book Queer in America, I thought I’d go and check one out – not get involved at all, but rather just watch from the sidelines.

One protest that was announced was an upcoming “zap” of a speech by the visiting Josef Cardinal Ratzinger, a German prelate who was head of the Vatican’s Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith. He had written a paper for the Vatican in which he said that homosexuality was "intrinsically disordered," a "moral evil” and an “objective disorder.” Cardinal Ratzinger had said the church had to fight against legislation that "condoned" homosexuality. The protest was organized by the gay Catholic group Dignity but because of the Vatican’s stance on condoms and HIV prevention – its abstinence-only policy -- ACT UP voted to support the protest and many members were planning on attending. People vowed to protest inside the event itself, as it was open to the public on a first come, first serve basis.

The Ratzinger appearance – the last time before this week that the man was in New York -- was at St. Peter’s, a church at Citicorp Center (now called the Citigroup Center) known for its modern architecture, the main feature of which is a famous 59-story skyscraper, which rises up next to the slick church and which has a jarring roof that is slanted on a 45-degree angle.

When I arrived, the place was packed. It was in a big amphitheater that looked more like the United Nations General Assembly chamber than a church. This wasn’t going to be a Catholic mass. St. Peter’s wasn’t even a Catholic church – it is Lutheran. Ratzinger may have been a religious figure but he was also a political leader, especially since he was the Vatican’s antigay crusader, here to fight against gay civil rights legislation. The Vatican wanted him to speak in a slick, modern, secular-looking space, free of ornate and intimidating religious décor and adornment. It made the gathering accessible and open to people of all faiths and political persuasions.

Ratzinger sat at the altar, along with New York’s Cardinal O'Connor and several other prelates. Judge Robert Bork, Ronald Reagan’s conservative Supreme Court justice nominee, who’d been rejected by the Senate a few months earlier, sat in the front row. Mrs. William F. Buckley, Jr., was there too, as was an incredible array of Upper East Side women, the upper crust of New York's Catholic society. There were prominent Wall Street businessmen and local government officials. And rows and rows of nuns, brothers, and priests, perhaps the heads of orders and parishes. I began to feel very small – I hadn’t seen so many priests since Catholic school.

I looked for protesters, but I couldn't see anyone with a sign or a T-shirt. I wondered for a few moments if anything was really going to happen. I had decided to go there strictly to watch, to check out how these people operated when they conducted these demonstrations. As for myself, I didn't know the first thing about protesting and I still wasn't sure about it. I certainly didn’t like the idea of getting arrested.

People took their places and all quieted down, as Cardinal O’Connor welcomed everyone and introduced the Pope’s moral crusader. Ratzinger then took the podium and began to speak. As soon as he finished his first sentence, a group of about eight people to the left of the crowd leaped to their feet and began chanting "Stop the Inquisition!" They chanted feverishly and loudly, their voices echoing throughout the building. The entire room was fixated on them. Activists suddenly appeared in the back of the church and began giving out fliers explaining the action. Two men on the other side of the room jumped up and, pointing at Ratzinger, began to scream, "Antichrist!" Another man jumped up, in one of the first few rows near the prelate, and yelled, "Nazi!" All over the church, angry people began to shout down the protesters who were near them; chaotic yelling matches broke out.

It was electrifying. Chills ran up and down my spine as I watched the protesters and then looked back at Ratzinger. Soon I broke into a sweat, overcome by heat, my face turning red as anger swelled up inside me: This man was the embodiment of all that had oppressed me, all the horrors I had suffered as a child. It was because of his bigotry that my family, my church -- everyone around me -- had alienated me, and it was because of his bigotry that I was called "faggot" in school. Because of his bigotry I was treated like garbage. He was responsible for the hell I'd endured. He and his kind were the people who forced me to live in shame, in the closet. I became livid.

I looked at Cardinal O’Connor, who had buried his head in his hands, and I recognized the man sitting next to him. It was O’Connor’s spokesman and right-hand man, Father Finn, who had been the dean of students back at my all-boys high school, Monsignor Farrell on Staten Island. A vivid scene flashed in front of my eyes: The horrible day when I was in the principal’s office talking to the principal, the guidance counselor, and the dean. It was the day they threw me out, after I’d gotten in one too many fist fights with boys who’d labeled me a fag, after I’d had sex with several guys (who then tried to distance themselves by targeting me). I looked back at Ratzinger, my eyes burning; a powerful surge went through my body. The shouting had subsided a bit because some of the brothers had gotten in front of the room to calm the crowd. The police had arrived and were carting away protesters.
Suddenly, I jumped up on one of the marble platforms and, looking down, I addressed the entire congregation in the loudest voice I could. My voice rang out as if it were amplified. I pointed at Ratzinger and shouted:

"He is no man of God!"

The shocked faces of the assembled Catholics turned to the back of the room to look at me as I continued:

"He is no man of God -- he is the Devil!"

I had no idea where that came from. A horrible moan rippled across the room, and suddenly a pair of handcuffs was clamped on my wrists and I was pulled down.

I was shoved against a wall and frisked along with some other protesters. I was mortified. What had I done? I can’t go to jail, I thought to myself: I have a dinner party tonight.

While we were standing with our faces against the wall and our hands cuffed, one of my fellow protesters introduced himself, as if this were a routine occurrence.

“Hi, I’m Joe,” he said. He smiled.

I thought he must be nuts, but I introduced myself in return. I smiled too.

They took us outside, where a huge crowd of supporters and reporters and photographers was waiting as we were taken to the paddy wagon. My only frame of reference was a film premiere: There were flashbulbs popping and we were being cheered as we were rushed to a waiting car. Of course, my hands were cuffed behind my back so I couldn’t wave, but I smiled. A cop’s shove brought me out of my reverie.

That night, after we were released from jail, I ran to the dinner party I was now very late for. I was bubbling over with enthusiasm, and as I told my story I could sense that the somewhat uncomfortable crowd had thought I’d lost it.

I had, in a way. I’d lost the desire to sit through boring dinner parties and celebrity events. And somehow, I’d gained the desire to scream at the top of my lungs that I was a homosexual. For the first time too, I was excited to see something in the New York Post the next day besides the gossip columns: a headline – Gays Rattle Pope’s Envoy – next to a photo of an anguished Cardinal Ratzinger.

The following day I joined the ACT UP media committee, which I soon chaired. I was on my path as a political writer, author and commentator, feeling liberated and empowered. And I have Pope Benedict XVI to thank for it.