Homosexuality in Iran: real encounters

Martin, a Swedish friend of mine, traveled to Iran on a study visit where he had a rather unnerving encounter with an Iranian "bisexual" man. He decided to write about it and post it anonymously on this blog:

"I'm unmarried and I live on my own. It's very uncommon here in Iran."

I wondered where he wanted to take the conversation by stating this, but I had to wait no longer than half a minute to get the answer.

"I am bisexual, you know."

Actually I was suspecting that. Most of those thoughts appeared in my mind after the incident the night before, when the man came into the lobby of the hotel where I was staying, saw me using the computer, came up to me and put an arm around me and began to caress my cheek. I know Iranian men are much more physical towards each other than their European counterparts, but that was a bit much. I barely knew him. He had agreed to take me on a camel ride the next day so there was no reason for me to hang around. I removed his hand from me and went upstairs to sleep.

"Does anyone here know about it?" I asked him.

"I think my parents know, but they haven't said anything."

The next morning he came to pick me up at nine. I was expecting a car but his motorbike had to do. After an hour in the scorching sun, going the wrong way on the freeway several times, we arrived at the farm outside the city, just on the edge of the desert. It turned out that the owner wasn't there, so while I hid in the shade from the sun my guide went to find the owner and a camel saddle. I had forgotten to bring a hat. My head would be red as a lobster for several days afterward. My guide came back with the owner and he went inside the get the saddle. We mounted the camel while it was lying on its knees, me sitting behind the guide. It rose up, and a 14 year-old boy led us into the desert. If you have ever tried riding a camel you know it's a very bumpy ride. It was, in more than one aspect, one of the most uncomfortable things I have ever done.

"I like boys 16 to 18 years old the best. Their assholes are tight."

My guide had spoken once again. At same time he held his right hand up in the air, his fingers created a circle where they touched the palm of his hand.

I didn't know what to say. I was stunned by how freely he spoke, but did I really want to hear that? In my mind I cursed myself for not recording this conversation on my camera, but at the same time I kept thinking that this man has completely opened himself up to me and on a subject that's very sensitive. I owed him as much as not betraying his trust, right?

"How do you find other men to hook up with? It must be hard here in Iran considering the government's policy on homosexuality." I said.

"No, not so much. I know a few. And most Iranian men try it at least once in high school. Especially in a very religious and traditional city like this. It is hard to meet women, you understand? So they do it even if they're not gay, only to ejaculate."

I understood what he meant. As opposed to other cities, you seldom saw a woman in the streets not wearing a chador there. Also, I seemed to speak better Farsi than 80% of the population spoke English, not exaggerating the numbers. I met a good number of friendly people there, but communication was a big problem as all the salesmen of counterfeit Lonely Planet Farsi phrasebooks in the bazaar in Esfahan were sold out and weren't re-stocked before I left. Being one of few foreigners in the city, the words "khareji" (foreigner) and "sefid" (white) followed me in the streets. I was never uncomfortable, but it was different from other cities, where people in the street came up and talked to you instead of about you.

"And there's always rape."

"Uuuh what the fu-?" were my first thought. Once again in a short time I had no idea what to say. If I was surprised and stunned before, it was nothing compared with the feeling of sitting behind and holding your arms around a man who just said what he said. But I wanted to understand Iran and its people, and if I run into a man who's living proof of Ahmadinejads statement about there not being any homosexuals Iran, I want to know as much as I can from him.

"What do you mean?" I said.

My guide went on to explain homosexuality in the legal system for me. As homosexuality is criminalized in Iran, it turns out that if a man is raped by another man and goes to the police to report this, he will be punished for committing a homosexual act as well. Therefore, very few cases are reported and perpetrators often go free. I felt that I had to ask him the inevitable question.

"Did you ever rape anyone?"

My guide didn't seem shocked or offended by my very direct question. Instead, he laughed and slapped me on my legs.

"Nowadays I only have sex with those who want, but when I was 19 I did some bad things.

I can't say it made me feel very reassured, but I never felt threatened by him. I was a head taller and he was listed in a prominent guidebook, and I knew that the complaints of a tourist would not be taken lightly by the Iranian department of the interior. I could hurt him more than he could hurt me. But I was dependent on his motorbike to get back into the city, and with my limited Farsi vocabulary I couldn't afford making him my enemy and getting myself stranded in the desert. "What a son of a bitch." I thought.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" He asked me.

"No."

"Do you like men?"

"No. Not like that."

He asked me the same things yesterday, after which he told me he had heard that many Scandinavians are homosexuals. I pointed out to him that it's probably easier to be open about your sexuality there than here. It wouldn't surprise me if he looked at working with foreigners as an opportunity to get laid. After this, the conversation took a different turn. My guide claimed that 90% of everyone getting married are virgins, and that anal sex is very common among those who have sex before marriage because the women want to bleed on their wedding night. As we were getting close to the farm I presented my own theory on where I thought the perception that bleeding means preserved maidenhood came from, since I knew that barely even 50% of the women bleed their first time. I realized the boy leading our camel didn't understand English. That's why my guide had spoken so freely.

Back at the farm we took the motorbike into the city again. After a stop for a scenic photograph of the desert, squabbling with other customers at a couple gas stations (gas prices are fixed at about €0,14 but the gas is rationed) and more traveling on the wrong side of the freeway, we were back in the city.

"If you would like to, I can show you a nice restaurant where you can eat dinner."

"I think I'll pass." I thought. I wondered what the conversation in the desert had meant to him. For him it was as if it had never happened. The boy didn't understand English, and why should he fear anything from a tourist? Did he think that I gladly fraternized with rapists? I didn't want any further business with this man.

I paid him and thanked him for his help, and told him I was fine and didn't need any more services from him. I felt I had really gotten a glimpse into the world of one Iranian homosexual, but it was not at all what I had expected. Of course he had to maintain some secrecy of how he lived his life, but I realized that even among victims there are those that are higher up in the food chain.

Comment: Thanks a lot, Martin, for your post. You are a very eloquent writer and a patient listener! I found the same mentality in other nations ruled by counterproductive conservative and regressive laws - some lead to rape, some encourage killing the victim by protecting both the raper and the killer!