Is Pope Francis about to launch an anti-gay witchhunt in the Vatican?

The pontiff's remarks about the existence of a "gay lobby" in the Vatican draws on a number of age-old homophobic tropes.

There's allegedly a secretive "gay lobby" that wields massive behind-the-scenes influence at the Vatican. Pope Francis himself appears to have confirmed it, during what was intented to be a private conversation with a delegation of Latin American religious orders. His words somehow got leaked, and although his visitors apologised, his press office hasn't denied that the quote is genuine. Francis was discussing the difficulties he faced reforming the Vatican's notoriously inefficient and scandal-ridden bureaucracy, the Curia. 

"There are holy people," he said, "But there is also a stream of corruption. The 'gay lobby' is mentioned, and it is true it is there! We need to see what we can do."

My first thought was that if there is indeed a "gay lobby" at the Vatican it must be doing a singularly ineffective job. The Catholic Church continues to teach that homosexuality is "intrinsically disordered", that same-sex marriage is a sin against God and man (and even, according to the retired pontiff, against the environment) and that men with "deep-seated" gay inclinations should be barred from the priesthood, even if they manage to remain celibate. If I belonged to the Vatican gay lobby I'd be hanging my head in shame, or at least ringing up Stonewall for some pointers about how to run an effective lobbying operation.

But of course "gay lobby" here doesn't mean a campaign group, but rather something furtive and distinctly sinister: not so much a gay lobby as a gay mafia, a gay cabal, a gay conspiracy even. The "gay lobby" has even been held responsible for Pope Benedict's resignation. Back in February, La Repubblica claimed to have details of a secret report Benedict had commissioned into the "Vatileaks" scandal which saw former papal butler Paolo Gabriele convicted of passing confidential documents to a journalist. The leak described the existence of "a cross-party network united by sexual orientation." The Pope was so shattered by the revelation, the report claimed, that he made up his mind then and there to step down.

That some Catholic priests are gay and sometimes actively so is well known and hardly surprising. The celibate priesthood has long attracted gay men unable to express their sexuality openly and not wanting to live a lie; in former decades it was a respectable, even praised, alternative to marriage and children. Given the severity and inflexibility of the church's teaching, however, gay priests could scarcely be open about their orientation. And some priests, straight or gay, break their vows. In recent years, there have been several lurid exposés in the Italian press featuring gay clerics based in the Vatican.

But the existence of gay priests is not the same thing as a "gay lobby", a highly dubious concept that draws on a number of age-old homophobic tropes. 

Firstly, there's the idea that homosexuals form a hidden network of influence and patronage, advancing each other's careers as well as some unspoken agenda. 

A related fear is that because they're unable to be open about their sexuality gay people are uniquely vulnerable to blackmail. A purge of thousands of gay men and lesbians from government positions formed part of the McCarthy process in 1950s America, even though investigations failed to find evidence of any gay civil servants ever being blackmailed into revealing state secrets. That gay people were a security risk was simply assumed, as it was in Britain where homosexuals were notoriously barred from membership of the security services or, where discovered, assumed to be Soviet spies. Likewise, the concept of a secret gay network at the heart of the Vatican leads inevitably to suggestions of blackmail and fraud.

Finally and most insidiously, some people continue to make a link between gay clergy and the perpetration and covering-up of child abuse. One especially hateful article written last year by a Polish theologian described attraction to pubescent boys as "a typical deviation related to homosexuality". The author claimed that the cover-ups were in large part orchestrated by highly placed members of the "homomafia" including cardinals and bishops - men who, suffering from an "internal wound" (i.e. being gay) tend to become Macchiavellian careerists with an overwhelming desire to protect and promote people like them, even if they're found to be child abusers. Needless to say, there's no evidence for any of this.

So is Pope Francis, who until now has won plaudits for his down-to-earth approach and gently modernising moves, about to launch an anti-gay witchhunt in the Vatican? While the respected Vatican-watcher John Allen sees no evidence that he will, the pontiff's quoted words do appear to link the existence of a "gay lobby" with "corruption" and suggest that some sort of action may be forthcoming. At the very least, the Pope's words imply that he's sympathetic to the underlying idea: that gay people are an inherent threat, spreading their tentacles of improper influence even in the sacred precincts of St Peter's. Nor is it reassuring that the offensiveness of the concept has gone almost unremarked in media coverage of the Pope's words.

There's ultimately only one cure for this type of phantom gay lobby, and that's a real gay lobby.

Pope Francis waves to crowds in St Peter's Square in March 2013. Photograph: Getty Images
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What happens when a president refuses to step down?

An approaching constitutional crisis has triggered deep political unrest in the Congo.

Franck Diongo reached his party’s headquarters shortly after 10am and stepped out of a Range Rover. Staff and hangers-on rose from plastic chairs to greet the president of the Mouvement Lumumbiste Progressiste (MLP), named after the first elected leader of the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Diongo, a compact and powerfully built man, was so tightly wound that his teeth ground as he talked. When agitated, he slammed his palms on the table and his speech became shrill. “We live under a dictatorial regime, so it used the security forces to kill us with live rounds to prevent our demonstration,” he said.

The MLP is part of a coalition of opposition parties known as the Rassemblement. Its aim is to ensure that the Congolese president, Joseph Kabila, who has been president since 2001, leaves office on 19 December, at the end of his second and supposedly final term.

Yet the elections that were meant to take place late last month have not been organised. The government has blamed logistical and financial difficulties, but Kabila’s opponents claim that the president has hamstrung the electoral commission in the hope that he can use his extended mandate to change the rules. “Mr Kabila doesn’t want to quit power,” said Diongo, expressing a widespread belief here.

On 19 September, the Rassemblement planned a march in Kinshasa, the capital, to protest the failure to deliver elections and to remind the president that his departure from office was imminent. But the demonstration never took place. At sunrise, clashes broke out between police and protesters in opposition strongholds. The military was deployed. By the time peace was restored 36 hours later, dozens had died. Kabila’s interior minister, claiming that the government had faced down an insurrection, acknowledged the deaths of 32 people but said that they were killed by criminals during looting.

Subsequent inquiries by the United Nations and Human Rights Watch (HRW) told a different story. They recorded more fatalities – at least 53 and 56, respectively – and said that the state had been responsible for most of the deaths. They claimed that the Congolese authorities had obstructed the investigators, and the true number of casualties was likely higher. According to HRW, security forces had seized and removed bodies “in an apparent effort to hide the evidence”.

The UN found that the lethal response was directed from a “central command centre. . . jointly managed” by officials from the police, army, presidential bodyguard and intelligence agency that “authorised the use of force, including firearms”.

The reports validated claims made by the Rassemblement that it was soldiers who had set fire to several opposition parties’ headquarters on 20 September. Six men were killed when the compound of the UDPS party was attacked.

On 1 November, their funerals took place where they fell. White coffins, each draped in a UDPS flag, were shielded from the midday sun by a gazebo, while mourners found shade inside the charred building. Pierrot Tshibangu lost his younger sibling, Evariste, in the attack. “When we arrived, we found my brother’s body covered in stab marks and bullet wounds,” he recalled.

Once the government had suppressed the demonstration, the attorney general compiled a list of influential figures in the Rassemblement – including Diongo – and forbade them from leaving the capital. Kinshasa’s governor then outlawed all political protest.

It was easy to understand why Diongo felt embattled, even paranoid. Midway through our conversation, his staff apprehended a man loitering in the courtyard. Several minutes of mayhem ensued before he was restrained and confined under suspicion of spying for the government.

Kabila is seldom seen in public and almost never addresses the nation. His long-term intentions are unclear, but the president’s chief diplomatic adviser maintains that his boss has no designs on altering the constitution or securing a third term. He insists that Kabila will happily step down once the country is ready for the polls.

Most refuse to believe such assurances. On 18 October, Kabila’s ruling alliance struck a deal with a different, smaller opposition faction. It allows Kabila to stay in office until the next election, which has been postponed until April 2018. A rickety government of national unity is being put in place but discord is already rife.

Jean-Lucien Bussa of the CDER party helped to negotiate the deal and is now a front-runner for a ministerial portfolio. At a corner table in the national assembly’s restaurant, he told me that the Rassemblement was guilty of “a lack of realism”, and that its fears were misplaced because Kabila won’t be able to prolong his presidency any further.

“On 29 April 2018, the Congolese will go to the ballot box to vote for their next president,” he said. “There is no other alternative for democrats than to find a negotiated solution, and this accord has given us one.”

Diongo was scathing of the pact (he called it “a farce intended to deceive”) and he excommunicated its adherents from his faction. “They are Mr Kabila’s collaborators, who came to divide the opposition,” he told me. “What kind of oppositionist can give Mr Kabila the power to violate the constitution beyond 19 December?”

Diongo is convinced that the president has no intention of walking away from power in April 2018. “Kabila will never organise elections if he cannot change the constitution,” he warned.

Diongo’s anger peaked at the suggestion that it will be an uphill struggle to dislodge a head of state who has control of the security forces. “What you need to consider,” he said, “is that no army can defy a people determined to take control of their destiny . . . The Congolese people will have the last word!”

A recent poll suggested that the president would win less than 8 per cent of the vote if an election were held this year. One can only assume that Kabila is hoping that the population will have no say at all.

This article first appeared in the 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage