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Should a gay teacher be allowed to teach in schools? At first glance, the answer to the question above is obvious. A teacher’s sexuality belongs to a private realm, and has no bearing on his ability to teach. There have been no known instances, for example, where one’s sexual orientation has impaired one’s ability to prepare lessons or manage a classroom. Yet, imagine a straw poll conducted by a newspaper, with the same question directed at what the local press likes to term the ‘man-in-the-street’. Imagine if the question is raised after prominent media coverage of a male teacher who has been accused of molesting his male students. Imagine also, the leading phraseology: the question reads ‘Should a gay teacher be allowed to teach in schools?’ instead of, say, ‘Should our schools discriminate against a teacher who happens to be gay?’ Would it be surprising to find a majority replying in the negative? Apart from the imperfections of the survey methodology itself (skewed sample, small sample size), one of the main problems in addressing the issue is semantics. What exactly do we mean by a ‘gay teacher’? Or rather, what do people think of when they hear that phrase? The issue here is one of moral panic. There are certain obstinate stereotypes that will obviously colour one’s interpretation of the term. What are some of the fears associated with the presence of gay teachers in schools? Firstly, there is the issue of predation. Teachers are authority figures, and positions of authority can sometimes be abused. In some of the more high-profile cases mentioned in the press, one involved a water-polo adviser, while another was a school counselor. The former offered physiotherapeutic massages, which gradually bordered on molest, while the latter took advantage of counseling sessions to do much more than verbal counseling. Secondly, teachers are figures of influence. And here we find ourselves colliding head-on with those who believe that homosexuality is a matter of choice. The concern is that an openly gay teacher might be able to convert his students to ‘a homosexual lifestyle’. By either refraining from condemning homosexuality (‘there is nothing wrong with being gay’), or even advocating it (‘being gay means being special’), they might be able to direct the process of sexual identity-formation among impressionable youths. Undeniably, the kinds of paranoia I have listed quite often stem from a position of ignorance at best, and hypocrisy at worst. Sexual predation is not exclusive to gay teachers; there are many pedophiles who happen to be straight. If it is a very real concern, then there should be a policy where straight male teachers are banned from all-girls’ schools. As for the idea that gay teachers will spend their time in the classroom evangelizing and recruiting students, it is flawed on two counts: unlike religious zealots, gay teachers (or even generally gay people, for that matter) rarely possess the fervour to prescribe their lifestyles to others. Also, no matter how malleable the adolescent mind, it is quite impossible to condition one’s sexual orientation. If sexual desire is really the product of imitative behaviour, then how do homosexuals emerge from societies which constantly valorize the heterosexual ideal? These would all be hypothetical musings, if not for the fact that I have had a personal encounter with a 20-year-old called Francis (not his real name). In March 2005, after his ‘A’ level results, Francis applied for a Bachelor of Arts (Education) (BA(Ed)) at the National Institute of Education (NIE). Two months later, he was called up for an interview. Francis described the interview as a successful one, where he shared with the interviewers his dream of becoming an Art teacher in secondary schools. For Francis, the particular programme he was applying for was an attractive one. It was a four-year course, where tuition fees were fully paid for, with an additional monthly allowance for the first two years. There were also grants awarded to undergraduates who performed with distinction. After graduating, there would be a four-year bond period with the Ministry of Education (MOE). In mid-2005, Francis was offered a place. He accepted it gladly, and was given a letter of appointment as a trainee teacher. Francis was released from National Service in December 2006. Around April this year, as part of the matriculation procedure, he was called up for a routine medical check-up. At the clinic, there was a form that required him to fill in his Pes Status in the army. Francis wrote down ‘C1L1’, and was then asked to explain the reasons for his downgrade. Francis decided to tell the truth. When he was in the army, he had asked both the Medical Officer as well as the psychiatrist he was referred to whether declaring himself a homosexual would affect his future prospects in the civil service. He was given full reassurance that the 302 classification (the military’s code for homosexual personnel) was the sole provenance of the Ministry of Defence, and was not a universal trans-ministerial category. So Francis said, “I declared 302 in the army.” The clinician noted his statement, and later Francis was contacted by someone from the MOE to present himself for a follow-up medical review with a specialist. “What kind of specialist?” he asked the voice on the phone. “I don’t know,” the voice replied. “I’m just a secretary.” “How can you not know? You have the information in front of you. I want to know what medical problems I might have.” “It’s in a sealed envelope,” the voice answered. Francis was worried. All he remembered from the medical check-up was that they had taken his blood pressure, and a sample of his urine. Did he have a disease that was only diagnosed at that point? His speculations ran wild: what did they find in his urine? Could it be that despite having uncompromisingly practiced safe sex, he was HIV-positive? Two weeks later, Francis discovered that the specialist he had been referred to was a psychiatrist. At first she seemed puzzled by his appearance, and claimed that she was not sure what to do, since she did not have his case files. So Francis volunteered the information. “I am a homosexual. And I’ve been sent here by the MOE.” A light of understanding suddenly dawned on the psychiatrist’s face. She immediately settled into a routine which suggested that Francis was not the first case of this nature she had seen. She told him, “this might be awkward for you, but let’s try to make this session as frank as possible”. What later transpired was almost an exact replica of Francis’ interviews when he first declared himself homosexual in the army. There were the questions on his sexual history, the invasive enquiries on his relationships, the degrading interrogation on whether he was ‘the active or passive partner’. There were, however, a few novel questions. “Have you considered that you might fall in love with a student?” “No. As a matter of fact I don’t even like guys my own age. I like them older.” The psychiatrist was busy scribbling notes. Francis thought this would convince her that he was not out to infiltrate schools for the purpose of victimizing young boys. “Have you considered that you might fall in love with a male colleague?” Francis pondered for a while. Should relationships at the workplace be policed? But there were straight teachers who had no problems dating their fellow colleagues; some of them even got married. “I don’t think so,” Francis replied. “My personal and professional lives should be separate. Anyway, I’d just like to say that I might be gay, but I’m not a pervert. Can you please note that down?” At the end of the session, the psychiatrist looked at Francis, smiled, and said, “The Ministry would like me to put a ‘no’. But I really don’t see anything wrong with you, and I’m going to put a ‘yes’. I’ll have to write a report to justify my decision, and they are going to question me and ask if I’ve been too lenient. But between you and me, it’s a ‘yes’.” Before he left, the psychiatrist wished Francis all the best. On the 7th of June, Francis Wong received a letter from the MOE. It stated that the Ministry was withdrawing his appointment as a trainee teacher. The reason they gave? “You have been certified medically unfit.” “I was this close,” said Francis ruefully. “I was just short of signing the contract.” The university admissions exercise is now closed, and Francis is looking at the very bleak possibility that he will have to wait for a whole year before he can commence tertiary studies. He has written in to the MOE, asking them to clarify what they meant by ‘medically unfit’, and is still waiting for an answer. He has sought out the Member of Parliament (MP) for his constituency, along with his parents (Francis remarked wryly how it’s the first time his parents have supported him in a gay-related cause). The advice from the MP was to seek a second opinion from a health professional—basically a full-body physical and psychological checkup to challenge MOE’s claim that he is ‘medically unfit’. Francis noted how the MP seemed to evade the question of whether there is active and systematic discrimination against homosexuals by MOE. The MOE is one of the most notoriously tight-lipped ministries in Singapore. But how long can we tolerate such bureaucratic opacity? Civil service institutions cannot see themselves as exempt from public accountability. If there is indeed a policy that bars gay people from the teaching profession, a policy that contradicts former Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong’s 2003 statements about the hiring of gay personnel in the civil service, it should be communicated to the public. This is to not only initiate public debate on a very important issue, but to allow gay men to make enlightened career choices. The problem is that many gay men, when caught in such a predicament, are unwilling to speak up. To do so would entail coming out, not just to family and friends, but a wider public. And perhaps this is what the MOE is banking on: that the risk of public exposure will dissuade gay men from seeking redress for the various injustices they have suffered. Of course, the issue involves much more than the inscrutability of MOE’s own hiring policies. The 302 classification is a medical, and not simply a human resource, category. This is in spite of the declassification of homosexuality as a ‘mental illness’ by the World Health Organisation in 1992 (it was declassified by China in 2001). As such, from a purely technical point of view, there is some credence to the labeling of a 302 personnel as ‘medically unfit’. I watch Francis as he tries to describe how he feels about the turning his life has taken the past few months. He was told being 302 was not going to be a liability in the civil service. He was told that there was nothing wrong with him, and that a psychiatrist would vouch for his suitability. And yet his one dream of teaching Art in schools is now dashed. “I don’t feel like I’m wanted here,” he says. If he were to enroll in another university, he would have to consider how to pay the tuition fees, as both his parents are not working. Going overseas is not a financially realistic option. Before we parted, Francis told me of how he has to replace some of the bulbs in his house because the lights had started to go out, one after another. I imagined living in a place like that, where flicking the light switch repeatedly brings no response. Yet this is precisely the kind of environment that MOE has created, as it keeps Francis, and all of us, in the dark.
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