The tiger, the witch and the closet

My freshman year was a mess. Fresh off the boat, so to speak, I found myself treated differently by classmates and cashiers alike. Was it just my incomprehensible quasi-British accent or perhaps the way I dressed? I tried to fit in culturally. Accents and clothing could be corrected, but still the problem persisted. One night I was walking along Nassau Street when a couple of townies yelled out of a car some very uninventive racist slurs. I jumped out of my skin, but my skin remained stuck. So it was a matter of my race. My problems were compounded when I got involved with my no-longer-best friend on campus. He had a girlfriend, but he was confused. A sweaty man-on-man kiss, several drunken bisexual propositions and a few months later, he decided he would stick it out with his girlfriend. After all, she looked like a long-haired Asian boy. Good for him too, because being bisexual at Princeton is like feasting on a stinky-foot-cabbage while everyone's having sushi.

It's true that, having been given permission to exist, sexual minorities on this campus form little colonies where they recycle boyfriends and pickup lines. It's nice that the University has regulations against racism and homophobia — but the unspoken oppression remains, constituted in attitudes, whispers and glances. Though the tiger's roar is certainly louder than its bite, when it roars it really roars, as everyone must have been reminded of when homophobic freshmen booed Sex on a Saturday Night's gay kiss. Just in case anyone gay was starting to feel complacent about being oppressed on campus; just in case those gays decide to smear their licentious filth all over One Nassau Hall; just in case those debauched liberal alternative-lifestyle people start outnumbering the conservatives despite their inability to reproduce.

But of course, there isn't any consistency when it comes to the brand of so-called conservatism that is so fashionable on campus. Their Faustian contract, signed by an eclectic mix of religious evangelists, warmongers, frat boys, children of rich people and girls who wear pearl necklaces and the same sundress in 12 different colors because the classic look of days of yore is a good way to signify both beauty and finesse, is a legendary artifact worth its weight in gold. Sometimes they want to conserve the great tradition of naked parties, beer-guzzling and pickups on the Street; sometimes they want to conserve the great moral values of religion that are always at apocalyptic lows; sometimes they want redcurrant conserve from Bar-le-Duc on their ciabatta aux noix at Ivy. But you can't always have your jam and eat it too. It's not just the radicals who have hard questions to answer. If you're conservative, why do you love the debauchery of the Street? If you're Christian, why are you rich?

It all boils down to beliefs and opinions. It's fine to have different opinions — I enjoy the company of close friends who are conservative and religious. It has to be emphasized, though, that the starting points are imbalanced. There's a big difference between the homophobe who denounces homosexuality and a homosexual man who denounces homophobia. For the homophobe, heaping burning coals on others' heads can feel like a new-age hunting pastime that increases his prestige and credibility in influential circles. The homophobe doesn't fear being beaten up by a drunken frat boy. The homophobe doesn't fear oppression. Girls who wear pearl necklaces constantly fling admiring gazes at him and the world is his oyster.

But for those at the receiving end of this oppression, the witch-hunt is never-ending. For those who are minorities of minorities of minorities, the oppression can be unbearable. Caught between the self-immolation and castration that is being closeted and the shame and indignity of being exposed as an inferior and subhuman social species, they skulk around campus and try to discreetly hook up with others late at night on the Street. Like witches who were thrown into rivers with stones tied to their feet, society offers them endless social possibilities: die discreetly and honorably, or swim to the surface and be burnt at the stake. Alternatively, find a girlfriend who looks like a boy. Johann Loh is a sophomore from Singapore. He can be reached at loh@princeton.edu.