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Gay Conversion Therapy: CONTROVERSIAL PRACTICE STILL USED AS STATE PONDERS BAN Shaner, Bill . Worcester Magazine ; Worcester  Vol. 43, Iss. 2,  (Sep 14-Sep 20, 2017): 12-16.

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(ENGLISH) A San Francisco State University Study on the effects of social rejection in LGBTQ youth found that they were

eight times as likely as accepted peers to attempt suicide, six times as likely to report depression, three times as

likely to use illegal drugs and three times as likely to be at risk for HIV or sexually transmitted diseases.

CONVERSION THERAPY HISTORY Though gay men and women throughout history have been subject to horrific

abuses (and still are in some parts of the world), the practice of conversion therapy as it exists today - with a

pseudo-scientific method and justification - started in the late 19th century, as people sought to take newfound

scientific discoveries and weaponize them against homosexuality and other sexual practices then considered

deviant, according to the SPLC report. A SECULAR BILL The bill state lawmakers are currently examining, called an

Act Relative to Abusive Practices to Change Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity in Minors, would ban any sort

of conversion therapy having to do with sexuality or gender on minors. If passed, the bill would allow the state

Attorney General to bring consumer fraud cases against therapists caught engaging in the practice, and it gives

those who wish to complain about the treatment of their child more recourse, said Deborah Shields, executive

director of MassEquality, an advocacy organization and part of a group that authored the bill.

Nathan Manna, now 19, a student at the College of the Holy Cross and a gay rights activist, was 12 years old when

he was told to sit down in an office space in the Immanuel Chapel of Upton. With his mother on one side and father

on the other, he sat directly across from the pastor; facing him, not unlike an interrogation. He had nowhere else to

look but in the eyes of his parents, who put him up to it.

Manna was brought to the orthodox Presbyterian church at the request of his grandmother, a longtime parishoner

at Immanuel, who believed the sessions with the pastor could turn Manna around. His nascent sexuality was a

phase, and the therapy could snap him out of it, her thinking went, as relayed by Manna. That was the best case.

And, if it didn't work, what was the harm?

The pastor, Mike Marquis, who still runs the church, asked Manna if he had been molested when he was younger.

He asked him if he knew what sex with a man entailed. He asked him if he was really gay, and really wanted to be

gay, before he pulled choice bits from the scripture and read to him. The interpretation was clear: 12-year-old

Manna was damned to hell if he continued down the path.

Marquis could not be reached for comment.

"When a 60-year-old guy asks you what gay sex is, how do you even respond to that?" said Manna, recounting the

experience at Cool Beans, a coffee shop on the Holy Cross campus, shortly after finishing a day of classes one

recent afternoon. Manna spoke softly, but in short, declarative sentences, plainly running through the experience

though his eyes occasionally teared.

In all, Manna attended six hour-long sessions with Marquis, each more or less following the same structure -

intense, personal questioning followed by similarly intense reading of scripture. Manna eventually lied, telling his

parents and the pastor he had turned straight - hallelujah - to get out of the session.

"I knew going into the sessions that it wasn't going to change, but it was still the effect of being told you're going to

hell if you don't," said Manna.

In the following months, while he was homeschooled, pulled from Sutton Public Schools due to bullying, he

attempted suicide four times.

What Manna experienced was textbook gay conversion therapy, a practice that, even in a progressive bastion like

Massachusetts, exists behind closed doors, arranged by word of mouth and nearly untraceable. As the state

Legislature considers a statewide ban on the practice, it's unlikely still that the state could do anything about the

kind of therapy Manna endured.

'COMPLETELY A CHOICE'

A week ago, Manna stood in front of City Council to share his story publicly for the first time, and it proved the

most powerful testimony of the night as councilors moved, 11-0, to pass a resoluton supporting a statewide ban

on the practice. The conversion therapy ban bill mirrors similar legislation in about a dozen other states.

Advocates believe a law would send a strong message that the practice is unwelcome in the state and give

prosecutors another tool with which to get at the longstanding and entrenched practice.

What Manna experienced is not in any way unique, even in Massachusetts, which is often regarded as one of the

most progressive states on LGBTQ rights issues. The issue in Massachusetts is tied closely with fundamentalist

religious groups. Advocates and policy analysts say the practice is often shadowy and contained within the social

circle of the church, carried out in therapist offices, the back rooms of churches and at summer camps.

It's estimated that one in three LGBTQ youths across the country have been subject to some form of conversion

therapy in recent years, according to a 2016 Southern Poverty Law Center report on conversion therapy. The

practice can take many forms, from the draconian and violent technique of shock therapy to more subtle,

subversive strategies. Techniques can include nude group exercises, re-enactments of past sexual abuse, group

cuddling and sustained counseling. Some, according to the report, have been subject to bizarre tactics including

the hurling of LGBT slurs and misinformation, like linking homosexuality with reduced lifespan, disease and

depression. Often, youth are enlisted for therapy by parents who believe they are doing what's best for their

children, according to the report.

As Manna remembers it, his parents were doing just that, at the behest of a grandmother, his mother's mother, who

refused to accept his sexuality.

Manna had originally come out as gay in a Facebook post. The post was forwarded to a guidance counselor, who

then told his parents. The news spread through the family and, like gossip will, through the small town. With only

about 100 students in his class, Manna stood out, and instantly became a target of sustained bullying, a few

students leading the charge. It became so bad Manna had to be pulled from public schools and homeschooled. As

a pre-teen completely uprooted from his social circle, the isolation of homeschooling took on its own kind of pain

for Manna. Though it protected him from harassment, he was cut off from his social world.

"It was like I was the the one being punished," he said, as opposed to the bullies.

But of all the shock waves Manna's coming out sent through his small community, it was his grandmother that

proved the most unwilling to see him for who he was. One day, the two were in the car together, and his

grandmother broke down crying in front of him.

"She's like, 'I don't get how you could think you're gay. That's completely a choice.'"

Manna tried to respond, but at 12, grasped for words. She asked him if he would see counseling about it, which, as

Manna would find out, was actually conversion therapy.

The effects of conversion therapy on the children who endure it are well documented. A San Francisco State

University Study on the effects of social rejection in LGBTQ youth found that they were eight times as likely as

accepted peers to attempt suicide, six times as likely to report depression, three times as likely to use illegal drugs

and three times as likely to be at risk for HIV or sexually transmitted diseases.

Though there are still a few groups who openly tout the benefit of conversion therapy, most notably the National

Association for Research and Therapy, the scientific community has widely condemned the practice. The

American Psychiatric Association declassified homosexuality as a mental illness in 1973 and, since then, the APA

and countless other national organizations have taken stances against conversion therapy. The American

Academy of Child Adolescent Psychiatry says there is no evidence sexual orientation can be altered through

therapy. The American Academy of Pediatrics says the practice can invoke guilt and anxiety, with no potential for

achieving the desired change.

CONVERSION THERAPY HISTORY

Though gay men and women throughout history have been subject to horrific abuses (and still are in some parts of

the world), the practice of conversion therapy as it exists today - with a pseudo-scientific method and justification -

started in the late 19th century, as people sought to take newfound scientific discoveries and weaponize them

against homosexuality and other sexual practices then considered deviant, according to the SPLC report. Early

techniques included hypnosis, cocaine solutions, lobotomy via an icepick, even testicle transplants. Electric shock

therapy and drug cocktails meant to induce nausea also took hold as accepted practices.

Sigmund Freud made a large contribution to the then-science of conversion therapy, labeling homosexuality as a

"form of arrested psychosexual development" in the early 20th Century.

As the gay rights movement took hold in America in the late '60s, a counter-movement of reparative therapy

ministries and organizations also formed. The movement is most often referred to today as the "exgay movement,"

full of books and first-hand accounts of men and women turned straight via therapy.

The National Association for Research and Therapy of Homosexuality (NARTH), formed in 1992 and is today the

largest and most vocal advocate for conversion therapy, according to the SPLC.

The NARTH institute argues the scientific consensus on sexuality as something that cannot be changed is

propaganda. The organization also argues on its website that laws like the one proposed in Massachusetts limit

the "right of individuals and families to work with a therapist that will honor the values they hold dear."

The SPLC report, titled QUACKS, lists about a dozen organizations that openly promote conversion therapy. The

closest to Worcester is Courage International, a Norwalk, Connecticut-based ministry founded in 1980 and

authorized as an apostolate of the Catholic Church. Though the leaders of the church say they do not practice the

therapy, the church hosts a 12-step program, much like Alcoholics Anonymous, intended to help gay men and

women to abstain from sex. In 2006, the ministry, which has chapters across the country, was endorsed by the

U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops. Local chapters include Boston; New Bedford; Tiverton, Rhode Island;

Hartford, Conn.; Portland, Maine; and Albany, New York.

Hope for Wholeness, a religious organization listed in the SPLC report, advertises "freedom from homosexuality

through Jesus Christ." Of its many partner ministries, there are two in Massachusetts: the Park Street Church in

Boston and the Brockton Assembly of God. Another group on the SPLC report, called Homosexuals Anonymous,

has a chapter in Maine.

A SECULAR BILL

The bill state lawmakers are currently examining, called an Act Relative to Abusive Practices to Change Sexual

Orientation and Gender Identity in Minors, would ban any sort of conversion therapy having to do with sexuality or

gender on minors. The bill only applies to licensed secular therapists. It is similar to laws passed in other states;

California was the first to do so, in 2012, and others, including Oregon, New Jersey, Illinois and New Mexico,

followed suit.

If passed, the bill would allow the state Attorney General to bring consumer fraud cases against therapists caught

engaging in the practice, and it gives those who wish to complain about the treatment of their child more recourse,

said Deborah Shields, executive director of MassEquality, an advocacy organization and part of a group that

authored the bill.

Though much of conversion therapy occurs via religious institutions, the bill includes no provisions that would

curtail religious abuses. That is mostly due to sensitivity around the separation of church and state. Advocates

believed the bill might become untenable in the legislature if it included a religious component, Shields said. Still,

she said she believes the bill will help tamp down the practice regardless.

"I think it'll have a ripple effect," she said. "Hopefully, at some point the churches and synagogues will wake up to

the fact that this is unethical and anti-religious and counter to the Golden Rule, and they too will ban it."

But, she offered, it could prompt some to take their practice further underground.

It's a balancing act that comes with all legislation, she said, but stressed the need for the bill, if only as a start,

especially with transgender issues beginning to gain mainstream attention, if not quite acceptance. That's part of

the reason why so many states are moving to pass bills.

"As more young people are coming out as transgender, it's disturbing more conservative parents, causing an uptick

in people being sent to conversion therapy," she said.

A RELIGIOUS APPROACH

While advocates push for governmental reform, there are others performing anticonversion therapy work on a

more personal level. Pastor Judy Hanlon of the Hadwen Park Congregational Church runs an organization called

the LGBT Asylum Support Task Force. Over the past eight years, the task force has rescued and sheltered about

130 victims of the most severe attempts at conversion and religious persecution of gay men and women around

the world. In one recent case, a woman in Uganda was raped in front of her father by a traditional healer, then tied

to a tree in the forest overnight.

"That is reparative therapy at its utter worst, and that's where it can go. And it's based in religion, I think it's still

based in religion in the U.S.," she said, sitting on the floor of the stage at the Hadwen Park Church, looking out one

recent afternoon at empty pews that, on Sundays, hold many people who once were the victims of similarly

abusive conversion therapies. She dressed casually and spoke from the heart, swearing when she got angry and

bringing her voice to a low whisper when describing the crimes.

The victims of severe conversion therapy, in her experience, struggle with it for years afterward.

"They have night terrors, they are all seeing therapists, they are all struggling with some sort of self-loathing," she

said. "Many struggle with the idea that God hates them. And if you are a person of faith, and the whole source of

your faith is God, and that entity hates you, it's pretty demoralizing."

The bulk of what Hanlon does is offer to people her reading of the scripture, which does not paint homosexuality

as an aberration. She does a lot of work with youth, both locally and abroad, via email. Though the children cannot

readily leave an oppressive family situation, Hanlon offers a comforting voice, and urges them to stay strong.

"I'll go anywhere and speak and tell them, just like the diversity in nature, the many colors of the flowers, the

sunsets, the snowflakes, all of that stuff, humanity is diverse as well," she said. "It's a part of the creation."

The churches most likely to subject members of its social circle to conversion therapy, she said, are

fundamentalist in nature.

"They believe it's a choice, and they have to sort of beat it out of you, rape it out of you, torture you," she said.

"There's nothing to repair. It just blows my mind. Go feed a kid, help an alcoholic, let's work on some equal wealth

distribution. Why waste your time repairing beautifully-made human beings."

In Massachusetts, she said, the practice lurks in the shadows, contained within the worlds of more conservative

churches and synagogues.

"Yeah, it's out there and there are people that do this," she said.

And the therapists that practice gay conversion are just the tip of the iceberg.

"It's the church, the prayers, the behind-the-scenes stuff that is reparative therapy," she said.

Often, the most important thing someone enduring pressure to convert their sexuality can hear is a counter-

argument to the dogma of their church, to believe they're normal and not an abomination.

"This is life and death to me. I'm learning this is life and death. Someone running into a burning building to save

somebody. They're in the burning building," she said. "Call me. Find someone with a different voice and at least

listen."

The people that Hanlon houses, of which there are about 15 right now, are the best case for why homosexuality is

something that cannot be changed.

"In Uganda, there's no gay pride, no underground gay bars," she said. Gay people in that country are isolated, kept

quiet in no small part by the fact it's illegal. In that situation, if you could choose not to be gay, she said, you would

certainly choose.

SEVEN YEARS LATER

It took years for Manna to recover from the abuse he suffered after his coming out.

At 14, he was sent back to conversion therapy at Immanuel after a cousin found he had his Facebook setting set to

gay. This time, with a newfound agency, Manna walked out after the third appointment.

"At that point I sort of stopped going to church," he said.

Instead, he started working at the Sutton Public Library, where, slowly, he carved out a space for like-minded, LGBT-

friendly people. He put on events like a Yule Ball (a Harry Potter-themed dance) and slowly built a small community

there.

It was that experience, he said, that allowed him to rebuild.

"That was the start of it. It gave me a community I belonged to," he said.

Shortly after, he became involved with Worcester Youth Pride, which he now leads. He's helped organize a Queer

Prom last spring, the first of its kind in the area, and he was active in organizing the pride week events last week.

He wants to continue his activism on campus and beyond, pushing for gender-inclusive housing, building the youth

pride organization and advocating for the state Legislature to pass more LGBT-friendly laws.

When he looks back on the conversion therapy he experienced, he has no hard feelings for his grandmother or

parents - or the pastor

"I think his intention was good. I just think it was flawed. He didn't realize what he was doing was wrong," he said.

Marquis advertises on the chapel's website his other service, Covenant Counseling, where he promotes an ability

to bring people "into loving conformity to the commandments of scripture."

He is certified by the Association of Certified Biblical Counselors (formerly the National Association of Nouthetic

Counselors), which, in a statement on its stance on gender issues, calls the acceptance of homosexuality a

"fashionable view," and rails against those who oppose conversion therapy.

"In particular, numerous voices in our culture embrace, as normal and proper, same-sex desires and behavior,

same-sex marriage, transgender identification, and malign - as evidence of ignorance and cruelty - efforts to

counsel people away from such behaviors," the statement reads.

The ACBC, the statement says, "rejects any demand that we conform to cultural pressure to embrace any of these

unbiblical view of gender, sexuality, and counseling."

And, as the ACBC is quick to point out, a law banning the practice among secular state-licensed therapists would

not apply to them.

If you are experiencing or have experienced conversion therapy and need someone to talk to, reach out to Pastor

Judy Hanlon of the LGBT Asylum Task Force at gracelift@aol. com.

Bill Shaner can be reached at 508-749-3166 x324 or at [email protected]. Follow him on Twitter

@Bill_Shaner.

: Public schools; Parents &parenting; Bans; Home education; Counseling; Gender;

Sexuality; Gays &lesbians

: Massachusetts

: Gay Conversion Therapy: CONTROVERSIAL PRACTICE STILL USED AS STATE

PONDERS BAN

: Shaner, Bill

: Worcester Magazine; Worcester

: 43

: 2

: 12-16

: 5

: 2017

: Sep 14-Sep 20, 2017

: cover story

: Holden Landmark Corp

: Worcester

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: General Interest Periodicals--United States

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: 2017-09-22

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