James de Villiers | Conversion therapy: How they tried to pray my gay away, and why it’s not okay

In honour of Pride Month, News24 in-depth and profile writer James de Villiers writes about his experiences with conversion therapy and calls on Christians to do better.

It was June 2016 when I stood scared, cold, and alone at a campsite at Wemmershoek, roughly one hour's drive from my university in Stellenbosch, considering whether it was worth living.

It was well past 22:00, and inside roughly 100 students were praising a god I have come to learn hated my existence.

I was a youth councillor at a Christian camp, and hours earlier, I told a best friend – a fellow councillor – that I was gay. Her response was: "James, you know I'll never be able to condone it."

Her words felt like glass piercing my skin, and I cried because all I wanted was to know that I'm okay, that I'm loved, and that I didn't have to prove my worth anymore.

'Suffering' from homosexuality

I was 21, and by this time, I'd been "suffering" from homosexuality for nine years – battling every year to pray the gay away. When I was 13, a charismatic church first started trying to change my sexuality, and from that point, my shame grew every year. It became a dark cloud – a shadow – that followed me wherever I went and broke any semblance of self-confidence.

Hours were spent in prayer groups trying to get to the "root" of what might have been the "open door" that allowed the "demon" of homosexuality to enter my life. Days were spent at "freedom weekends" where the church studied every bit of my family tree to see whether I might have had a gay uncle or aunt who might have led to me being queer.

These included the breaking of curses, the casting out of demons, holy oil, and baptisms – you name it.

In small groups dedicated to "recovering homosexuals", we were made to watch documentary upon documentary about how gay people can never be happy and can never have healthy relationships – a ruthless fear I carry to this day.

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But Sundays at church were always the worst. Every week, like clockwork, the pastor would call upon his congregants to "repent" for their sins. I would go to the front, lying on the ground, crying – pleading with god to relieve me from my curse. And random strangers – always men – would, without asking, lay their hands on my back and pray that god restores my "masculinity", my "manhood" and show me his "fatherly" love.

And all I ever experienced was shame – someone not worthy to speak to the god above. I was depressed and I was afraid: I felt like a small child hiding in the corner while all the world did was point out my flaws; sin clinging like dirty oil to my skin. Would I ever be happy?

'You're gay, aren't you?'

I became a captive of my sexuality, so afraid that someone would spot my homosexuality or allude to it in conversations. When I started interning at News24 at the age of 23, a colleague remarked: "But you're gay, aren't you?" I could feel my heart rate increase and tears formed in my eyes. Because, even after all those years of begging and praying, all those years of crying, and the perpetual shame, god could still not "heal" me.

And what made things worse was that no matter how much I tried to police my behaviour and act like a heterosexual man, people could still see the gay in me. I had hoped that it was a phase, something I would outgrow, but somehow I had to accept that it was something I had to live with. And that thought nearly pushed me over the edge.

The dangers of queer conversion therapy have been widely documented in the United States, where an estimated 700 000 people have undergone some form of it. Research has shown that individuals who have undergone conversion therapy are twice as likely to attempt suicide compared to those who haven't. They are found to have higher levels of depression, a higher likelihood of self-harm, and experiencing social anxiety. Are these outcomes truly what a loving god would like to achieve?

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But in South Africa, we rarely speak about conversion therapy, even though it is still happening. At my former church in Stellenbosch alone, I know of at least 20 people who have been negatively affected by these harmful practices. And I know for a fact that it happens in many other churches like the one I attended.

I tremble to think of the many lives that have been destroyed by conversion therapy. Often, I think of the men in my "recovering homosexuality" small group, and my heart breaks over the self-hatred they experience. And I feel ashamed that I too prayed that god would "heal" them – so indoctrinated I was.

Do better

The truth is, for more than 10 years I tried to pray the gay away, and the result is someone struggling to accept their inherent self-worth and battling with bouts of depression. Someone who became petrified of dating, petrified that he would end up dying alone. And someone who's biggest desire is to have a wholesome relationship, but who has been brainwashed to think that for him it is simply unattainable.

And I've come to learn that God is not a God of shame. He will never make his children feel unworthy. Accepting my sexuality has been one of my most liberating experiences because I no longer have to apologise for being alive. I feel a freedom I could never have imagined, almost like I can breathe for the very first time. Shame is no longer a marker of my existence. And I know that one day I too will have a happy partnership and a wholesome family – something the church so badly wanted to take away from me.

Research has shown that conversion therapy is not only unsuccessful, but that it leaves subjects depressed, anxious and unhappy. Why do we then continue with this behaviour? Why do we want to hurt people this badly?

Christians, we have no right to ever make someone feel less than. We need to do better. For me, but also for the thousands of others who are scared and alone, who have come to hate themselves because personal beliefs rejected their humanity. Shame and rejection no longer belong to the God I believe in.

- James de Villiers is an in-depth and profile writer for News24 and is based in Johannesburg.

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