Johannesburg – Imagine you’re a young professional footballer. You started playing football as soon as you could walk. You’ve always been a good kid. You’ve been brought up to respect your elders. You’ve known that there is a set path to your life, one expected of your by your family and its traditions. You finish school, get a job, meet a girl, get married and have children, and, then, die. But this doesn’t gel with you. You’ve always felt a little different to the other boys. You don’t get their brass-polishing fervour when they joke about girls and what they’d like to do to them. It takes you until your late teens to realise that you are gay. You’ve always known it. No one else can know it.
You keep playing football. You’re good at it. You get called up for Bafana Bafana. Before your debut match, the president of the country, Jacob Zuma, is introduced to the team. He walks down the line, shaking hands, smiling. He reaches you, clasps both your hands in his and wishes you luck. You smile, but all you can think is of what he said at that Heritage Day rally back in 2006: “When I was growing up an ungqingili (a gay) would not have stood in front of me. I would knock him out.” You remember him saying that same-sex marriages were “a disgrace to the nation and to God”. You’re gay. No one else can know it. You’re deathly scared of what will happen.
Who will be the first male South African professional football player to come out of the closet? Who will be the first Super Rugby forward to announce he is marrying his boyfriend? Who will be the first franchise cricket player to say that not only does he want to wear the green and gold of his nation, but the rainbow flag of the gay community? Don’t hold your breath. South Africa is a land still stuck in the grip of a macho, pseudo-Christian patriarchy. This is the land of correctional rape for lesbians. The fear is among us. Gays are the new reds under the bed, or, worse, IN the bed and in the showers in the changeroom.
There are open gays in South African sport. The majority of those that I know are female – some are or were top internationals, others administrators and event organisers. I’ve met some of their partners. There seems to be a lack of fear of the announcement of homosexuality by females. Karen Hultzer, the South African Olympic archer, came out during the London Games, much to no one’s surprise and the delight of many. A former girlfriend came out to me a few years ago, saying she had fallen in love with a former work mate and friend. She opened her message to me: “You had better not make a joke… ” I dared not.
Jason Collins, who became the first NBA player to announce he was gay, said he was expecting to get a ribbing from his teammates when they next met in the changeroom: “I’ll be waiting for someone to make the first joke, we’ll all laugh, and then we’ll get out there and play.” There has been a varied reaction to the coming out of Collins. Some American broadcasters, notably Rush Limbaugh, the conservative radio talk show host, lamented that he was having someone else’s sexuality “rammed down his throat”. He and others want a “don’t ask, don’t tell” attitude from homosexuals. They don’t understand the danger of emotional repression, the hurt of being dishonest with oneself and the fear of being rejected by those you regard as friends.
A few years ago, over a few beers with some cricket players, the issue of Steven Davies, the English wicketkeeper who announced he was gay in February 2011 came up. Those we spoke to were sympathetic to Davies and praised his honesty. He was widely praised, with Ian Bell saying: “We knew before the Ashes series. That didn’t change anything for us. He is a very popular guy in our team. We’re all with him, and the more cricket he can play for England the better. He is a good mate of mine and that doesn’t change absolutely anything.”
The cricket players I spoke to said they it would be harder for a player to come out in South Africa. While he would be accepted by friends and teammates, but there was uncertainty as to the reaction. The public backlash may be massive. It is the same for British footballers. On Sunday, The Observer reported that eight footballers had told Clarke Carlisle, chairman of the Professional Footballers’ Association, that they were gay. “Seven told him that the reason they would not reveal their sexual orientation publicly was not the reaction from the dressing room or club, but the potential reaction from the media and supporters.”
Chris Basiurski, chair of the Gay Football Supporters' Network, said: “We have anecdotal evidence that players are out within their clubs and don't have a problem. But we are trying to create an atmosphere for people to come out safely, but at the moment there is a big barrier. The fact is, we have never really tested the fans, both home or away, on this. The danger is what happens when a player comes out and gets loads of support and attention, but then starts playing badly. The worry is that fans will start getting on their backs and they may lose the confidence of their manager and it could be connected to their sexuality.”
There has been innuendo about the sexuality of some rugby players for some years, suggestions that they are gay because they do not fit into the traditional mould. Bleached hair, good looks, white boots, smart clothes, book readers, clever businessmen, non-drinkers, wine drinkers, club goers… these have been deemed enough reason to point a finger. That finger is pointed in fear that the world they know is not the real world.
One day, a openly gay Bafana, Protea and Springbok will stand in a line to shake the president’s hand. One day the Springbok may smirk and know that the president could not knock him down. Not now. Not ever. They’re ungqingili and proud of it.
The Star