I Am A Donut:
A Gay Student’s Review of BYU
by John C. Leavitt
The purpose of this essay is simply to give my honest review about a very peculiar university experience I’ve had as a gay man at one of the world’s most conservative and religious educational institutions. I’m not writing this to hate on BYU or the LDS church. If we are gonna hate on anything it will be BYU parking enforcement, or “bros” who hold onto their skinny blonde girlfriends by the back of the neck, or New Balance shoes.
And here is my review! (for those of you who’d like to stop reading now). If a gay/lesbian/anything-other-than-straight 18 year old were to ask me if I would recommend BYU as a viable option for their undergraduate studies, I would say, no. I wouldn’t recommend this school to you at all. At this moment in time, it isn’t designed for you. It isn’t built for you. It isn’t trying to accommodate you. Brigham Young University is for a very specific kind of human being and it isn’t you. Try something more east coast, west coast…or Boulder.
But why would you go to school there, John?
I’m getting there, I’m getting there. Calm down. And somebody get me a donut — it’s about to get real.
The Beginning
Brigham Young University is a private university that is owned and funded by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or the “Mormon Church.” Most of the student body are mormon kids just like me. (There are a few non-LDS students and professors as well, and when you meet one it’s like meeting a celebrity — you usually just look at them for a while and forget how to speak English. If you become FRIENDS with one, it’s like having a black friend, or a gay friend. You automatically become super cool and chill). I grew up mormon. My parents are mormon. I was raised going to church each Sunday with my clip on ties and black shoes (I was pretty much adorable).
By the time I reached the age of 18, BYU was THE option for further education. It’s like when two Jewish parents point out a beautiful Jewish girl to their son. “Oh David, look at that beautiful girl named Brigham Young University! Isn’t she nice. Wouldn’t she make such beautiful babies.” (The parents nod at each other and smile excitedly). With all my other friends planning to attend, and with BYU having such a prestigious music college, I decided to apply. L’Chaim! And I don’t think anyone could fault me for that. I don’t even fault myself for making that decision. I graduated from a great school and do not regret making the decision to go there. The tricky thing is, I hadn’t turned gay yet when I made that decision (’cause that’s how that works, right?).
My time spent as a student at Brigham Young University can be broken down as follows:
Year 1: I was just a late-blooming, still-totally-straight guy:
Yeah I totally like women. But, like, puberty is different for everyone so it will hit me soon. For now I’ll just keep watching those guys play soccer.
Year 2: So, yeah. Which box do I check for “gay”?
This was by far the scariest year of my life. This was the year that I accepted the terrifying fact that I was indeed a gay man. The only person who understands me in this year of life is probably Tarzan when he realized he was in fact not a gorilla, but a super sexy, ripped man RAISED by gorillas. (I relate mostly to the “being ripped” part). Where do I fit in? Where do I belong? Tarzan never knew until he met Jane and fell in love.
I had lived my whole life trying to convince myself that I was something I am not. Then I looked in the mirror one day and said, “Man. I’m ripped!” And soon after, “Oh no. I’m gay!” Apparently I just need to find my Jane now — I’m still waiting for Matthias Schoenaerts to text me back, but like, he’s a really bad texter, so…
The beautiful thing about this, though, is that even though Tarzan grew up and realized he was different, it didn’t change the fact that he had been loved his whole life. I truly do have a family of gold and I am so lucky and grateful to be a Leavitt kid.
It does leave me wondering, though, if I actually had gay parents that were eaten by a leopard long ago.
Years 3 & 4: I’m putting my paws up, ’cause Gaga told me to
I’ve grouped these two years together as the period of time I spent learning to be proud of the “rainbow slice” of my life-pie.
Being gay is an important part of my identity. It is not ALL of my identity, but it is one that I want to love and cherish and defend. How can I love myself fully without loving and accepting every single piece of me? I don’t want this “corrected.” I don’t want this “counseled” out of me. I don’t want this “cured.” I’m not asking people to accept me or my beliefs because I don’t care what other people think. It doesn’t matter. They’ve got their journey, and I’ve got mine! People who will judge me or be disappointed in me will do so because they erroneously compare my human experience to theirs, assuming they know better than me or know anything FOR me at all.
The reality is that we can’t REALLY understand what anyone else is going through, so why judge? How could we judge? All we can do is love! Love everyone. Love eliminates the “isolation” in this whole concept.
Year 5: Wait, New York City exists? Get me the f*** out of here!!!
In the early spring of 2016 I was invited out to New York University for an interview and to participate in a graduate applicant weekend (ahem…hair flip). Imagine the stars in my eyes as I walked around Manhattan in green skinny jeans…AND NO ONE SAID A THING. I was the most conservative one out there. And with a plate of Halal food in hand, and surrounded by a subway jazz trio, a spray-paint artist, and a drunk man peeing, I knew I had found my people. I basked in the conglomerate of different looks, lifestyles, voices, and varying opinions — all things that I believe, with respect, make the world beautiful and balanced. BYU campus attracts a lot of like-minded people, which for some can be a wonderful haven, a “zion community.” But I guess I learned that I get tired of the same old plain glazed donut. Things too easily get passive, judgmental, and perfection-oriented.
I want sprinkles!
I want cream filling!
I want maple frosting!
I DON’T want bacon on that maple frosting! That’s just wrong.
The Honor Code (cue descending, menacing trombone line)
As with anyone who attends BYU, I had to agree to live by…the “Honor Code” (shivers just went down my spine). The Honor Code is a contract of moral living and conduct you make whilst a student. In order to be a student or professor, you are required to sign it, and by doing so you sign away your right to drink, smoke, do drugs, or have sex with someone you’re not married to. For most mormon kids, signing such a contract is like a fish promising he’ll never go onto dry land — it ain’t gonna be a problem (unless you are a free-thinking ginger who wears seashell bras). We grew up abstaining from these things anyway. So I never really felt any friction with this university policy — until I turned gay (definitely how that works, yeah).
The Honor Code, in reference to “Homosexual Behavior” states:
“One’s stated same-gender attraction is not an Honor Code issue. However, the Honor Code requires all members of the university community to manifest a strict commitment to the law of chastity. Homosexual behavior is inappropriate and violates the Honor Code. Homosexual behavior includes not only sexual relations between members of the same sex, but all forms of physical intimacy that give expression to homosexual feelings” (https://policy.byu.edu/view/index.php?p=26).
So as if I wasn’t hopeless enough in the dating world as a skinny, dorky, introvert addicted to Barbra Streisand, I’ve actually been contractually forbidden to date, or even show physical affection towards another man for the past 7 years. If caught or reported, I would face suspension or even expulsion. Granted, two of those years I spent as a full-time missionary for the LDS church in Argentina (which means I was basically married to my male co-workers/teaching partners). BUT…excluding that, I haven’t been allowed to even hold hands with another man because it is considered “unchaste” and “inappropriate.”
Holding hands? Really? Sheesh. Let’s be honest, though. Regardless of your sexual orientation, I think we all wish that this rule extended to ALL couples on BYU campus. Come on people — you don’t have to hold hands ALL THE TIME. Am I the only one who purposefully walked in between couples just to watch them freak out when their devoted grasp was severed? Maybe.
My Little Gay Flower
Now hold up. Is this my picket sign that I’m waving in Brigham’s face asking him to change? Nope! Not at all. Don’t be mistaken. BYU has its policies. It has its beliefs about homosexuality and it has every right to them. In all reality I’m pretty sure that most of the students with whom I associated at BYU could have cared less who I chose to date (as long as I didn’t hold hands with them in public, obviously). It seems to be the administration alone that hides behind its raised cape. What an interesting place, then, for me to come to terms with this part of me. Not the most seemingly fertile ground for my little “gay flower” to sprout.
And what a perfect analogy (ahem…second hair flip). I am a flower that bloomed in the desert. Some people get to come to terms with their sexuality in the lush rainforests of San Francisco and West Hollywood, the recycled compost greenhouses of Portland and Austin, or the gentle gardens of…anywhere in Western Europe. My little “homosexuality flower” decided to sprout in the desert (literally and figuratively) of Provo, Utah — where the early Mormon pioneers that settled the valley had trouble getting anything to grow. So even though I came to terms with my sexual orientation in the dry creek bed of “Happy Valley,” my little flower was nourished by a loving family and supportive friends, not by being bitter or by victimizing myself. Hating BYU, hating the LDS church, hating ANYONE, or hating myself is like trying to hydrate with root beer — it tastes great and is wonderfully refreshing. But over time it doesn’t quench my thirst for happiness and I’m left even more parched.
There are so many beautiful things about this world and this life…so many smiles to witness, so many views to bask in, and yes…so many donuts to try. How sad it would be if I were to chain myself to the “post of hate” along my life’s journey. You’re missing out, haters! Cut yourselves free and move on. Get over it. There’s an amazing donut place around the next bend that you’ve GOT to try.
BACK TO THE HONOR CODE
The Honor Code spends a lot of time in the stocks. Everyone at some point in their BYU career has probably aimed their own rotten tomato. The poor hipsters can’t have beards, the tearful “bros” are reverently burying their tool tanks, and there’s a frustrated skinny blonde kid at the empty donut shelf who just wants to fill the air with his cathartic strings of profanity. In an effort to stay positive, though, here is why I’m grateful for the honor code:
The crime rate is LOW.
So low, in fact, that we all laugh at the police reports in the university newspaper each week of the pursuit of skateboarders who refused to stop on the sidewalk, or rowdy students blowing bull horns at 1 am. Poor BYU police. They are so bored. So, so bored.
BYU campus stays very clean and quiet.
I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful campus at Brigham Young University. I might argue that it is unmatched. I have truly loved the prim grounds, gardens, and fountains that have given me an environment to ponder up good jokes about couples holding hands…except when I’m interrupted by a bull horn at 1 am. Get that criminal behind BARS!
I don’t have an STD.
The only crabs I’ve got are [insert joke here].
Do I regret attending BYU? No. Not at all. But my feelings can best be compared to what it feels like to eat a dozen donuts in one sitting — there are so many moments of joy and great pleasure, but in the end I feel done and ready to not be eating a dozen donuts anymore. And I probably wouldn’t try it again.
But, abandoning this donut metaphor, attending Brigham Young University at THIS time in my life as been one of the most important things I have ever done. It has been my refiner’s fire, my character builder. It has put hair on my chest (but like, you can’t see it because its really really fine hair).
I met my lifelong friends there. I’ve made my best memories! But it hasn’t been easy.
Addressing BYU directly
Thank you for everything! I truly am grateful for the incredible professors, resources I have had at my disposal, and overall education that I’ve received. It is top-notch and I walk away with pride, diploma under my arm. I can honestly say that I’ve enjoyed most of the journey. But what you impose on LGBTQ students is neither easy nor healthy.
I’ve got to admit, it’s hard to walk between classes for five years and to see couples lying in the grass, talking, smiling, and being happy. It’s hard to suppress my natural desire to love and be loved as I watch you fertilize that in everyone else’s life. It’s hard to feel equal to my straight friends. It’s hard to be told that my desire to express my affection towards another man is “inappropriate.” You’ve created an underground gay dating scene that suffers from fear and over-sexualization because it can never see the light of day. And so many individuals struggle to feel like they can be themselves during a time of our lives where you are supposed to find yourself.
I’m not complaining — I mean, I literally paid YOU to be enrolled. No one was forcing me to do anything. But while perhaps my life’s dreams and desires have not all been fulfilled as your student, I’m not so sure yours have either.
The university mission statement, approved in 1981, declares that your ultimate goal is to “assist individuals in their quest for perfection and eternal life” and that “that assistance should provide a period of intensive learning in a stimulating setting where a commitment to excellence is expected and the full realization of human potential is pursued” (http://aims.byu.edu/mission_statement). I don’t really feel that I was allowed to realize my full human potential.
Your mission statement says that everything at BYU “should make [it’s] own contribution toward the balanced development of the total person” (http://aims.byu.edu/mission_statement). I don’t feel that I really got the opportunity to develop my “total person.”
From what I’ve seen, dating is a BIG DEAL for you. Nearly every social activity on your campus or in the local singles church groups, or “wards,” is designed to encourage people to pair off and find their mate, which makes sense since getting married and starting families is awesome, and an important part of the LDS Church and its beliefs. Dating and relationships are given such weighted significance that I’m guessing you must consider them to be important parts to developing one’s “human potential” and “total person.” I know I do!
Yet, I am no different from my fellow, straight colleagues. I’m in my early twenties! Dating is on my mind! I want to fall in love too, people. I want to lay under a tree and have Matthias Schoenaerts feed me donut holes, the wind gently rustling his hair (as soon as he texts me back). But to all of your activities and date nights it has been difficult to not feel like an exception. And I’ll tell you one thing — it gets tiring feeling like an exception. You SO quickly begin to sense that you don’t belong — not because of animosity, but because nothing is really designed for you or directed towards you.
Obviously I realize that even straight students can sail the waters of BYU without much of a dating life. This could be by choice or just by circumstance. But at least they had the choice or the freedom in circumstance. Unlike the mission statement expresses, I didn’t receive any “assistance” at all in this area of my human potential. I only read the Honor Code that said, “It’s wrong. So just don’t.” Us LGBTQ’s over here in the corner don’t suffer from a defect, an addiction, or some behavioral problem. Our only “ailment” is that we are human beings with hearts, feelings, and totally natural desires for love and companionship.
I know in the end I wasn’t paying you for a dating life or for a husband. You’re a school and you granted me a bachelor’s degree. But without allowing all students equal opportunities to date according to their preferences, you seem to contradict your own mission statement. If, though, paying for a husband ever becomes an option, please let me know. Somehow conversation about my favorite Barbra Streisand songs isn’t doing much for me. Have I stayed too long at the fair? (anyone? anyone?)
Lessons Learned
“So, John. That was tough for you! So what? What are you going to do about it? There are much worse things in this world to have to deal with.”
You’re right! You’re so right. So before God zaps me with the famines and floods to show me what’s really up, hear me out! There are two important lessons that I’ve learned from all of this:
- Life isn’t fair.
- Love everyone.
The first one speaks for itself, but accepting that fact is a great way to develop patience and humility in our lives. Sometimes things are gonna suck. Sometimes no good deed goes unpunished (I gotchu, Elphaba. *wink*). And there will always be someone who will take the opposing side. But good things are just as consistent as unfortunate things. So don’t stop smiling.
The second lesson is crucial. PEOPLE. We have got to create a world where anyone can feel comfortable being who they are! We need to be open and understanding to every single human being. How damaging and dangerous it is for someone to stay trapped in their head where fear, anger, and hate can fester. People need to feel safe being who they are and safe to talk about anything. And that all comes from loving each other. Think about others first! The hardest part about doing the right thing is knowing that sometimes good deeds take a while to catch on. How long can you stand receiving a frown in exchange for your smile? But if we are patient and persistent, the other smile will unfailingly appear.
Do not be conned. Do not be distracted by words like “minority” or by issues of discrimination or hate crimes against particular groups. At the root of all animosity is a lack of love and respect from human to human. You may be a donut with sprinkles, cinnamon sugar, a chocolate raised, an old-fashioned, a French cruller, or even a maple donut with bacon on it (I still respect you). But at heart, you are still a donut just like everyone else. Our differences should only be brought up and acknowledged for celebration and appreciation, never for victimization or pity. Otherwise they can hinder us from reaching our full potential because we ourselves cannot see past them.
Conclusion: I am a Donut
I am a donut.
I have different toppings than you, but I am still just a donut like you. This world ain’t a “Dozen Glazed” box. It’s a “Dozen Variety” box and we are all snug inside together. So let’s love each other and get along. Let’s celebrate our differences and not use them as targets or excuses. As a gay man at BYU, I struggled to make my sexual-orientation a non-issue because I feel that the university administration keeps it an issue. I hope one day this can change.
Brigham Young University is a wonderful institution. It is full of caring and loving individuals and has provided me with incredible experiences that have changed my life. But, like that gross long hair on my upper arm, it’s a stubborn little guy. It’s policies and stance on homosexuality and same-gender relationships have been unchanging and strict. If you are an LGBTQ teenager that would like to be given equal opportunity to date and express physical affection, I’d scratch BYU off of your list of schools.
I’m sad for any institution, group, or organization that remains so contrary to anything that is different. I believe that a mix of many varying lifestyles, opinions, beliefs, and perspectives — as long as there is respect — enriches and beautifies that institution, group, or organization. Hopefully, one day soon, BYU will be able to embrace some “differences” that I believe it is missing out on that will enrich and beautify its already beautiful campus.
And so, with that I pack up my books, toss my cap, and salute Mr. Brigham Young’s statue on my way out. It has been quite the adventure these past couple of years, and reminiscing brings tears of gratitude to my eyes, because life isn’t institutions, organizations, or administrations. Life is people, faces, smiles, and relationships. And I have fallen in love with so many marvelous people. But now I think it’s time for me to try something a little more east coast, west coast…or perhaps Boulder.
Peace and love.
Oh, and one more thing….
To the students who transferred from BYU to another university so they could be free to date:
Do I think I’m better than you because I stayed and graduated and you left? Never. Unless you don’t like donuts, in which case YES, you sub-human, dried-up dog terd.