Homosexuality is Not a Disease, and Other Lessons From the American Psychiatric Association

Once upon a time, homosexuality was just another run of the mill mental disorder. Until it wasn't.

The contentious relationship between gays and psychiatry began back in the 19th century, when homosexuality was first recognized as a mental disorder. This was, at the time, seen as a great victory for the gays, having been promoted from "sinners against the will of God" to "wired wrong." And that's how it stayed for the next hundred or so years. Then, in the early 1970s, gay activists, closeted gay psychiatrists, liberals, a modified Richard Nixon mask and an army soldier merge forces in a successful overhaul of society's view of homosexuality. The whole story has been awesomely chronicled in an episode of This American Life (originally broadcast in 2002, recently rebroadcast because it's that good).

Throughout its history, the American Psychiatric Association (APA) was run by conservative psychiatrists who took a severely scientific approach to diagnostics, essentially ignoring any social impact of their often sweeping proclamations. There was no room for morality in science, so everyone summarily ignored the implications of being declared mentally deranged — inability to get jobs, health coverage, and greater social acceptance. Up until the early 1970s, the vast majority of psychiatrists, even the gay ones, blindly accepted the research that rendered homosexuality pathological.

At the 1970 annual APA conference, conveniently held in San Francisco, a group of gay advocates, still rightly offended by a 1963 study that explained homosexuality as a result of “close-binding mothers” and “detached, rejecting fathers," staged a protest. Meanwhile, inside the conference, members of the self-proclaimed but highly secretive "GayPA" — gay, closeted psychiatrists — were holding meetings of support, but felt powerless in terms of systemic change. Not only did they all believe that they were mentally disturbed, they also knew that change was impossible. Plus, coming out would have been career suicide.

Unbeknownst to everyone was a third group — a group of liberal, mostly gay, psychiatrists — who decided the only way to shift the pedagogy was control. And so they started to move up in the ranks, winning spots as directors and advisers and committee members. What happened over the next three years was a drama of such importance to both the history and future of the gay rights movement, that it is worth much more than the space I am about to give it.

Essentially what happened was this: the gay activists continued to stage disruptive protests. The young liberals got one of their own, Robert L. Spitzer, on the "Committee on Nomenclature," the group that decides what is and, more importantly, what isn't a pathology. The GayPA maintained anonymity.

One of the gay activists, the supremely righteous Barbara Gittings, contacted a member of the GayPA, a man by the name of John E. Fryer, who had recently been fired for suspicion of homosexuality. After much debate, Fryer agreed to partake in some good old guerrilla theatre. Dressed in an over-sized tuxedo and a distorted Richard Nixon mask, operating under the name "Dr. Anonymous," he commandeered a panel at the 1972 convention and spoke about the societal consequence of his "pathology." He spoke about losing jobs, friends, career respect and self-esteem. He received a standing ovation.

Another important meeting that happened at the '72 conference was between Ron Gold, a gay activist, and Robert L. Spitzer, the nomenclature guy. The two decided that at the following conference, Gold would formally debate Irving Bieber, the man behind the "close-binding mother and detached, rejecting father" report.

Which brings us to the 1973 APA conference. Gold debated Bieber. According to Gold, he wiped the floor with the man. Afterward, Gold received an invite to the annual secret GayPA meeting that night. Gold, in turn, invited Spitzer to join him. So later that night, at one fo the few, if not the only, place gay men could safely convene, the gay activists, the GayPA, and the liberal newbies collided. Spitzer couldn't believe the vast number of gay psychiatrists. The GayPA, having now been revealed, was unnerved. The whole train was on its way to disasterville.

And in walked a young man in uniform. Having seen Gold speak at the conference, and recognizing the way in which he, himself, had been hurt by the stigma of homosexuality, the young officer decided to visit a gay bar, and there were only so many gay bars available to him. And when he walked in and faced Gold, he collapsed in tears. And there he was — not a research patient, or a scientific theory, or a hypothesis — a real live guy, broken under the weight of social stigma devised and propagated by the APA. And that's what it took. It took humanity and morality. That very night, Spitzer removed homosexuality from the list of recognized pathologies.

There are many other super cool details to this story: the problems with the original research, the relationships between the players, the ups and downs of the struggle. Listen to the This American Life episode — it's truly amazing.

What's even more amazing is how many people were involved and that every single one of them was necessary for success. The collective forces one day simply became enough to wake the APA from its blind, bumbling slumber. When you listen to the story, and please listen, I think you will be hard-pressed to feel anything other than empowered and important in this sometimes discouraging quest away from the accepted traditions of bigotry and into something ... so much healthier.

Photo credit: Charles Williams