Studies in Hispanic Cinemas Volume 2 Number 3. Intellect Ltd 2006. Article. English language. doi: 10.1386/shci.2.3.

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The different caminos of Latino homosexuality in Francisco J. Lombardis No se lo Digas a Nadie

Gustavo Subero Coventry University

Abstract
This article explores the way (homo)sexuality is constructed and constrained by the geographical spaces in which machismo operates in the film No se lo Digas a Nadie (Dont Tell Anyone), as well as the process of migration from such societies experienced by queer subjects. It demonstrates that gay individuals brought up in hetero-repressive societies are forced to keep their homosexual tendencies in secret in order to maintain the basis of heteronormative order. Sexually regulatory spaces in Latino societies represented by the protagonists parental home, the family hacienda, the university, his bachelor flat(s) function as controlling entities that impose a macho behaviour on queer male subjects in order to guarantee their acceptance within heteropatriarchy. Some queer subjects will eventually leave such sexually repressive sites and migrate to new places where their sexual orientation does not contravene patriarchal order. However this process of sexual liberation is truncated if the site of arrival is still controlled, even at a micro-social level, by heteronormativity.

Keywords
queer diaspora queer identity Latin American homosexuality entendidos machismo

No se lo Digas a Nadie
In this article, I propose to examine the way (homo)sexuality is controlled and regulated by the geographical spaces in which machismo operates in Latin America, and how the only way for queer subjects to escape such subjugation is by means of exile. However, I will also demonstrate that queer migration will only be successful, in terms of individual experience, if two conditions are met: on the one hand, that the receiving society is open to alternative sexualities, and more importantly, that the attitude towards homosexuality within micro-communities is also positive. To this end, I will embark on an analysis of Francisco J. Lombardis film No se lo Digas a Nadie (Dont Tell Anyone, 1998). The film, based loosely on the novel by Peruvian novelist Jaime Bayly, narrates the story of Joaqun Caminos (Santiago Magill), a white, upperclass Peruvian who discovers from a very early age his attraction to other men. The film portrays his struggle as a sexually confused child and teenager under the pressures of an overtly macho father, and then as a young, university student battling between his felt sexual orientation and
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This is a common place of stories of male bonding, and the permissive forms of tactile interaction among men. Such stories show that the limits of such corporeal contact are clearly demarcated by non-sexual intentions from the part of the individuals involved.

that imposed by the macho-orientated society in which he lives. After a succession of events, Joaqun migrates to Miami in the hope that he can separate his same-sex sexual desire from heteronormative expectations of him as a gendered subject i.e. a macho. When he fails to do so, he decides to return to his homeland having realised that the only way to be accepted back in Lima is by depicting a pretended heterosexuality so as to not contravene the regulatory, sexual parameters that control sexual subjects in such societies. Throughout the film, Joaqun struggles over the sexual role his body has assigned him and his inner sexual desires. His impossible quest is to dematerialise his body (Butler 1993: 150) from all the social expectations imposed by heteronormativity. To this end, he goes on a series of journeys in search of a place in which his sexual orientation does not damage or threaten the laws that regulate patriarchal society. As Patton and Snchez-Eppler suggests, the diasporic (queer) subject moves in different officially designated spaces in which intricate realignments of identity, politics and desire take place (2000: 3). Such journeys are both physical and psychological, and are also marked by a series of shifts from heterosexuality to homosexuality as if ones sexual orientation could be embraced at will. In other words, Joaqun re-invents himself (as a sexual subject) and re-negotiates his sexual desires in order to create a sense of belonging in the specific geographical context in which he finds himself. In the film, Lombardi confronts geographical loci of socialisation and sexuality as two separate entities that must find a common ground in which they can coexist harmoniously. Within heteropatriarchy, this harmonisation is only achieved if the individual adheres to the sexually regulatory norms that separate normality (heterosexuality) from abnormality (homosexuality). The opening sequence of No se lo Digas a Nadie further illustrates this idea. Joaqun, aged around ten, has gone on a camping excursion with what the audience would assume to be members of the Opus Dei (considering all the religious songs and the prayers heard). Later that night the boys go to their tents to sleep and in his tent, Joaqun and an unnamed friend lie down in just their underwear. The way the camera tilts down over the boys, together with a marked use of red lighting eroticising their naked flesh, emphatically invites the spectator to identify with Joaquns conflicting (and prohibited) gay desires at such an early age. As Joaqun cannot get to sleep, he looks at his friends semi-naked torso and decides to touch it: the camera wastes no time in offering a close-up of Joaquns hands as he caresses his friends body. Joaquns action wakes the other boy, who upon realising what Joaqun has done, threatens him with a beating if he tries to touch him again.1 Joaquns friend has clearly been brought up in an environment where the limits of sexuality are clearly established; boys do not touch other boys. At this point, Joaqun understands that his behaviour has been inappropriate, and his main concern is that one of his peers finds out what he has done so Joaqun asks the boy por favor, no se lo digas a nadie (please dont tell anyone) thus giving the film (and also the book) its title.
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Although it is Joaqun who first uses the No se lo digas a nadie tag, he is the first one to forget it as his main problem as a young man is that he does not seem to want to conceal what he has assumed to be his authentic sexuality i.e. what he really feels. It is the transgression of the code of No se lo Digas a Nadie that eventually forces him into exile and that will eventually exclude him from all his immediate loci of socialisation: parental home, university, social circle and, ultimately, his native Peru. Joaqun presents what recent research would allow us to call a diasporic queer identity (Brah 1996; Fortier 2002; Manalansan 2002) i.e. an identity located within an interstitial space in which a queer subject is searching for a place that will allow him to display a sexuality assumed to be authentic (as with Joaqun) without the pressure that heteronormativity imposes on him. This is an idea that complements what Anne-Marie Fortier (2001: 1) calls queering the diaspora since the protagonists journey of self-exile2 becomes (although he ultimately fails to achieve it in the film) the rite of passage towards assuming a gay identity. Following this line of thought, it is also interesting to notice, as Foster (2003: 95) points out, that the protagonists name Caminos (path/trail) further highlights this diasporic identity. He takes a different path in order to insert himself as a sexual subject in a specific site: he takes the path of hetero or homosexuality (or rather their portrayal) in order to adhere more closely to the sexual codes that govern different places. What Joaqun seems to forget, despite the many people who remind him of it, is that homosexual tendencies are not meant to be displayed in public, and instead, are to be kept secret regardless of whether he practises man-toman sex or not. He has not adopted or been able to adopt an entendido identity i.e. to conceal his homosexual tendencies under a supposedly heterosexuality (Murray 1995: 189), so he can still engage in gay sex whilst portraying a macho behaviour. Notions of sexuality in most patriarchal societies are associated with gender, which Butler (1993, 1997) sees linked to notions of performativity rather than sexual desire, as the individuals sexual orientation will not be questioned as long as his external behaviour corresponds to the notions of normality (heterosexuality) that regulate such societies. However, following Butler, we also realise that Joaquns decision to assume and subsequently portray a sexual behaviour (regulated by his gendered body) is not so much a personal decision but a social imposition in which he just reiterates the heteronormative norm. I do not want to suggest that Joaqun is adopting a gendered identity intentionally but rather that he is forced, by the different places in which he moves, to perform a kind of gendered identity that would not contravene heteronormativity. As Pronger (1993: 80) suggests, to avoid suffering in potentially homophobic settings [gay men] learn to pass as straight. In other words, the individuals biological gender will determine the way s/he is to behave in front of others even if that behaviour does not correspond to the persons self-perceived sexuality. So a gay man who wishes to pass as straight within Latino societies must be prepared not to show his emotions,
The different caminos of Latino homosexuality in Francisco J. Lombardis. . .

This, as suggested by Chant (2003), follows a diasporic tradition whose motivations are not primarily related to sexuality but the improvement of economic conditions for the migrant subject.

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not to show any signs of sensitivity, and more importantly, not to show any signs of effeminacy. As Murray (1995: 104) and Montero (1996: 28) point out, Latino society does not punish the attraction to people from ones own sex, but punishes effeminate behaviour in men or masculine behaviour in women; in other words, it punishes any deviation from traditional male/female sexual roles. As a result, Joaquns homosexuality pushes against the very pillars that support machismo the Latino variant of heteropatriarchy because his desire for other men is socially regarded as the desire to be a woman. As Montaner (2000: 107) points out, el macho a juzgar por los corridos, el cine popular o los culebrones televisivos es un tipo mujeriego, pendenciero y amante del alcohol [ . . . ] Odia a los homosexuales y de ellos se burla mediante chistes procaces muy populares en la cultura iberoamericana- que tambin sirven para subrayar la hombra del que los cuenta (the macho man according to folk music, popular cinema or soap operas is a womaniser, a rowdy and alcoholic man [. . .] He hates homosexuals and makes fun of them through pejorative jokes very popular in the Iberian culture that also serve to stress the manliness of the person who tells them) . It does not matter if the macho seeks sex with other men as long as he projects a hypermasculine image of himself, since sexuality is rendered by the degree of visibility to which the persons sexual orientation is displayed. Joaqun has to become the sort of heterosexual man who, as Prieur points out, do[es] not have an opinion of what it means (to be heterosexual) [. . .] a man is a man, or is normal, as long as he looks like a man and sticks to the active role, regardless of whether he has sex with women or men (1996: 87), in other words, a man is a man as long as he no le dice a nadie (doesnt tell anyone) about his homosexual tendencies.

On queer Latin territories

In the previous section I have discussed how the body becomes the first regulatory force to control and seize peoples sexuality. However, as the individual grows up, s/he learns that the degree of sexuality displayed will also vary according to the geographical space where interaction occurs. In this section I intend to explore the different locations in which Joaquns sexuality is displayed and how his sexual identity seems to undergo a transformation in order to adapt itself to the situation at stake. As Manalansan (1998: 21) suggests, borderlands (understood as the physical location of the limits of desire) are important spaces where negotiations and engagements for the creation of struggle for symbolic and biological survival are continually staged. This staging of Joaquns own sexuality is what allows him to be accepted as a normal sexual subject in the different locations where he moves. His personal queer diaspora is an exploration of the differences between concepts of gender and sexuality as queer subjects in various global locations experience them. He is ultimately seeking a space in which his sexual orientation and his portrayed sexuality can live harmoniously together and do not constitute a threat to the
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stability of the heteronormative value system; in other words, a place where he will not have to stage his own sexual persona. While living in Peru, Joaqun crosses borders that serve as the intersections of race, sexuality, gender, class and ethnicity. Every terrain Joaqun comes into contact with constitutes a social sphere in which he has to negotiate his sexual desires against the socio-sexual expectations which that place forces on him, and/or the behaviour that people expect from him. For instance, in the parental home, he has learned to stage two different personas as a consequence of dealing with both a hyper-macho father (Hernan Romero) and an overtly protective mother (Carmen Elas). These two figures contribute to offer a mainstream reading of the formation of gay identity, and work effectively in the Latino context, to permit the audience to understand Joaquns sexual disphoria. As Fausto-Sterling (2000: 7477) suggests, most patriarchal societies regard homosexuality as a problem related to the individuals upbringing i.e. boys who are raised in highly feminised environments tend to develop same-sex desire because they internalise femininity as their own desire. In the film, each parent believes in moulding Joaquns sexual orientation through nurture, and locates him in a geographical space they believe will contribute to form his eventual correct behaviour. To ensure that he becomes un hombre (a man) both parents place him in spaces they regard as guarantors of normative identity formation. Whilst his mother makes him go to church and attend mass, his father takes him hunting to their hacienda because he expects him to become more manly by engaging in traditional manly activities. As de Castro Jr. (2000: 51) suggests el protagonista, al encontrarse en medio de esta batalla, de este remolino de mandatos que le pide por un lado que sea macho y mujeriego y por otro que sea casto y gentl, se confunde y se asla en el recndito de su ser para intentar encontrar quizs su propia identidad y confrontar sus incertidumbres (The protagonist once placed in the middle of that battle, of that whirlpool of commands that asks him to be, on the one hand, a macho man and a womaniser, and on the other, a chaste and gentile man, becomes confused and gets isolated deep in himself to try and find his own identity and to face his uncertainties). Yet both parents fail to achieve their common objective because the paradigm nature versus nurture (FaustoSterling: 1620) is disavowed by the fact that Joaquns inner sexual desire has nothing to do with the spaces in which his sexual identity is meant to be acquired; yet these spaces still regulate and control it. A look at Joaquns first attempt at heterosexual sex further illustrates this point. When he graduates from school, his father decides to take him to a brothel as a graduation present. The brothel constitutes a patriarchal space that demarcates the transition from boy to man, a transition generally intended for white, upper-class males who can afford such ministrations. As Montaner (2001: 57) suggests, the idea of the brothel (and prostitution) is to channel white mens lust, to function as a rite of passage for men, and to keep the purity of white women. As he is unable to comply with his macho duty (he is not deflowered by the prostitute) she suggests
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It is interesting to notice the social connotations that both enamorada and amante have in the Latino context. Enamorada (the female loved one) has very little to do with sex but with love as an abstract entity; whereas Amante (bi-gendered word for lover) always implies that third party who interferes with the dynamic of a relationship. In other words, the enamorada offers love while the amante offers lust.

that it may be that he likes men, to which Joaqun responds with a nervous yet angry Por qu dices eso? (Why you say so?), and she quickly replies Por nada, por nada. Pero si te gustan, no te asustes. . . djate llevar por tus sentidos noms; si no vas a sufrir por las puras (Nothing, nothing. But if you like them, dont be afraid. . . let your instincts guide you; otherwise, you are gonna suffer loads). She further adds, A m no me engaas. Desde que te vi, me di cuenta. Pobrecito, es loquita pero no quiere reconocer. Has probado hacerlo con un hombre. Hazlo, te va a gustar (You didnt fool me. The moment I saw you I knew it. Poor little man, hes a puff but doesnt want to admit it. Have you tried it with a man? Do it, you are gonna like it). It is at this point that Joaqun is exposed for the first time as sexually unfit within a specific sexual context. Soon after she says this to Joaqun, he runs away from both the room and the brothel not without first telling his father that he hates him. This episode sees Joaqun trying to break for the first of many times with the restrains imposed by heteronormative society; a rupture that never seems to crystallise as he is always driven back to the grounds of sexual repression (Lima and/or his parental home). The brothel constitutes, following Kosofsky-Sedgwick (1985: 98117), a constructed male space, an outlet for the display of hypermasculine behaviour and the sort of geographical space in which men compete with one another to see who can depict a more chauvinistic image of himself. This is the sort of place where men get together to out-man one another, that is, to try and make themselves look and sound more masculine and macho-like than the other men around. By running away from the brothel, Joaqun highlights his own failure to be a real man since, regardless of the outcome of his encounter with the prostitute, he was expected to come out and brag about his macho potency to the people around him. The space of the brothel illustrates Dana Takagis idea that sexuality, or sexualities as she suggests, are fluid and multiple (see also Butler 1993; Fortier 1999; Patton and Sanchez-Eppler 2000; Otalvaro-Hormillosa, 2000) and that fixed regulatory norms prevalent in patriarchal societies force the individual to portray a sexual orientation that may not respond to his felt sexuality. However, in terms of sexually regulatory geographies, the most chameleonic territory in which Joaquns diasporic queer identity is displayed is his bachelor flat in Lima. This is the only space where he can escape, temporarily, from the judgemental sight of patriarchal society. He can almost be true to his felt sexuality and attempt to explore it; yet an external presence will always make sure that such explorations are short-termed. The flat constitutes an ambivalent terrain where homosexuality and heterosexuality go hand-in-hand as he manifests either depending on the situation he faces. Joaquns flat permits him to deterritorialise and re-territorialise his cultural and sexual identity (Fortier 1999: 42). He depicts heterosexual behaviour when Alejandra (Luca Jimnez), his girlfriend, is in that territory, and conversely, portrays a gay, passive, identity when Gonzalo (Christian Meier), his lover, is in that same place.3 If, as Fortier points out; belonging refers to both possession an appartenance [. . .] practices of group identity
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are about manufacturing cultural and historical belongings which mark out terrains of commonality that delineate the politics and social dynamics of fitting in, then we realise that Joaquns sexual persona is indeed diasporic as it moves from heterosexual to homosexual grounds in order to fit in. It is interesting to notice how his flat also undergoes a physical transformation in order to respond according to its owners portrayed sexual identity. During Joaqun and Alejandras first sexual experience, very little emphasis is put on the mise-en-scne as a marker of Joaquns sexuality. Conversely, during Joaqun and Gonzalos sex scene the inclusion of elements like the Playgirl magazine on Joaquns desk and the gay porn video playing serves to stress their distance from heteronormativity. Hence, in order for Joaqun to queer himself, he must queer his surroundings to break with the constraints of the patriarchal system and broaden the gap between hetero and homosexuality. Up until this point within the diegesis of the film, the places that have exercised a regulatory control over Joaquns sexuality have been located in the characters native Peru. However, another interesting aspect of the film is the protagonists inability to subscribe to the gay subculture once on North American shores. In the film two main situations force Joaqun to leave Peru and migrate to the United States. The first one is when Joaqun, driven by jealousy and rage, outs Gonzalo to his fiance Roco (Lita Baluarte). As the protagonist will later realise, the regulatory forces that govern places, and that impose a specific sexual behaviour on individuals, will only function as such as long as the person complies and shows a willingness not to question the unwritten laws of heteronormativity as well as to conceal any external signs of sexual deviance. The moment one of the two conditions is not met, the whole heteronormative system ceases to work for that individual. Furthermore, once Joaqun outs his lover (and himself by default), there will be no geographical place that can function as a cover for his own homosexuality. Just after this episode Joaqun meets his buddy Alfonso (Giovanni Ciccia) and after the pair discuss the formers sexuality, they end up having sex in the latters parental house. Although Alfonso seems to be challenging the regulatory sexual norm of his parental home, he does so only when no one around can judge him for his actions or pose a threat to his pretended heterosexuality. Alfonsos parental house is still a site of sexual repression, but the absence of those who would act as repressors (his parents) allows him to engage in activities otherwise socially prohibited. Alfonsos attitude towards homosexuality is similar to that of Gonzalos. He believes that engaging in man-to-man sex is not a problem as long as the individual lives a pretended heterosexual life. Alfonso does not even regard himself as an entendido but as someone who is experimenting with his sexuality; his homosexual tendencies are un vicio pasajero (a temporary vice). His fear of accepting his homosexuality is the fear of assuming a sexual disphoria that contravenes the fixity of sexual roles within macho society. It is the fear of becoming, feeling, or representing
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female desire within the phallocentric order (Culbertson 1998: 1). Alfonso reminds Joaqun that the only way to live a normal life in Lima is by hiding his homosexuality, otherwise, he warns Joaqun ests jodido (you are fucked). At this point, the latter declares his desire to leave Lima and blames the city for his homosexuality (or the secrecy in which he has to live it) Lo que debera hacer es largarme de ac, a cualquier lado . . . esta ciudad me est haciendo mierda, gevon. Yo antes no era as te lo juro! (What I should do is leave this place, go somewhere else . . . this city if screwing me up. I wasnt like this before!). The process of queer migration has already started for Joaqun who now envisions life beyond the heteronormative restrictions of Lima. It is only logical that the next events will, inevitably, lead him to leave the country. After sex, the men decide to go out when they discover a bag of cocaine in the safe. They go out driving and sniffing cocaine and, after a while, Alfonso suffers an overdose and passes out at the wheel of the car. Joaqun gets very scared, and when he hears some sirens in the distance, decides to leave Alfonso in the car and take the first flight to Miami with the money they had made through selling part of the drugs. Joaqun leaves his native Peru behind not only because he fears that he may be implicated in Alfonsos supposed death, but also because he has realised that his felt sexual identity will never fit within the strictures established by Latino society. As Gilroy (1994: 174) and Clifford (1994: 308) suggest, diaspora is not only about travel or nomadism but central to its definition are push factors, that is, forced migration or displacement. Joaqun finds himself forced to leave his homeland due to the incident in Alfonsos car; however, he had long before realised that in order to live a sexually open life, true to his real sexual orientation, he had to move to a less homophobic place. Furthermore, his decision to go into exile in Miami is not difficult to understand since migration from Peru to the USA has almost tripled between 1989 and 1998, and as Silvia Chant points out, an increasing proportion is not coming back (2003: 244). In No se lo Digas a Nadie, Joaquns process of queer migration fails to gain him sexual liberation from the constraints of macho society, because Miami (or rather its Latino inhabitants) has very fixed, heteronormativly orientated regulations in terms of sexuality. He is unable to assume a gay identity because the geographical terrain in which he now interacts is more Latin Americanised than it is Anglo-Saxon (in terms of liberal views on sexuality). Joaquns diasporic experience in the USA remains incomplete, as he has not been able to detach himself from the hetero-oppressive society of his birth. Following a similar line of thought, Alan Sinfield (2000: 103) draws attention to how the diasporic sense of separation and loss experienced by gay men and lesbians results from being cut off from the heterosexual culture of their childhood, which becomes the site of impossible return, the site of impossible memories. Joaqun never fully experienced this sense of separation and loss because the place he went to is ruled by the very same regulatory forces of the country he had left behind. Miamis Latino community has been very discriminatory about
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which aspects of the west they have allowed into their own culture. It seems that this exiled community has decided to enjoy the economic and social benefits offered by the USA but have rejected the adoption of more liberal views in sexual matters therefore reducing the possibility for queer subjects to assume a gay identity within their own exiled communities. Joaquns failure to assume his gayness is highlighted by one of the first scenes of his new life. As he is driving along the streets of Palm Beach, the camera, representing the protagonists point of view, remains fixed on a sign that reads unisex on a wall. The way the camera is transfixed by the word seems to be stressing his ongoing struggle to assume his homosexuality, and it seems that Lombardi has decided to leave the audience with his own personal and rather indirect statement about his view(s) on sexuality. If we are to take the term in a literal sense, it could be argued that the film is advocating a gender-blind place/territory in which sexual expectations would not arise due to the biological gender of those who interact in such spaces. However, the next scene quickly evidences how utopian it would be for Joaqun to believe that Miami could constitute a unisex geography. As Joaqun stops at a porn cinema, he engages in a game of exchanged looks with a man (Bernie Paz) sitting just a couple of seats from him. The camera invites the audience, through a series of shotreverseshots of their linked gazes, to see how Joaqun manipulates the situation to have clandestine sex with this man. He seems in control of the situation, and his sexuality, as he nods to the man to follow him into the bathroom; yet it is obvious that he has failed to attain a non-closeted gay identity which would allow him not to live under a pretended heterosexuality and always be in search of secret homosexual encounters. As suggested previously, Joaqun has moved into a new geographical territory but has been unable to embrace the (sub)culture at hand; and instead, has allowed the heterosexist laws of his native homeland to govern over his exiled, sexual persona disavowing the possibility of becoming part of the United States gay circles, and/or of succeeding in his diasporic queer journey. The main elements of the queer diaspora, as pointed out by Fortier (2002: 188) belonging, continuity and solidarity are not encountered by the protagonist in the context of dispersal and transnational networks, that is to say, he does not procure an engagement with other queer subjects from the United States, or exiled, gay Latin Americans and neither does he try to become part of the gay community in Miami. Following the idea that geographical spaces dictate the kind of sexual behaviour individuals are permitted to display in public, we can clearly see that the flat he shares with Gerardo (Carlos Fuentes), the Spanish male prostitute he starts living with upon arriving in Miami, also functions as those spaces in which he lived in his native Peru. The flat presents a rather incongruous ambivalence between hetero and homosexuality with marked homoerotic tones. Joaqun is out to Gerardo, but allows his friends heterosexuality to control and repress his own sexual desires. Although Gerardo sleeps with other men for money, he does not permit homosexuality to control or govern sexual desire
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in this particular space. In terms of the creation (or recreation) of sexuality through geographical space, the flat presents a series of elements that permit its reading as a heteropatriarchal site even though the interaction between the two men goes beyond simple homosociality (KosofskySedgwick 1985: 103107) and borders on homosexuality itself. When Gerardo arrives at the flat, he undresses in front of Joaqun who has just awoken. Yet, his masculinity is not in jeopardy because his undressing, although gazed on by a gay man, follows the ritual of intimacy that Messner (2002: 253265) describes for male athletes i.e. never looking at each others bodies unless to compare muscle size (reaffirm their manliness) while being overtly sexist and/or homophobic in their speech. As the sweaty Gerardo continues to undress in front of his friend, he talks about one of his male clients whom he reduces to a sex object so as to ratify his position of male supremacy. This very short intervention of the Spaniard serves to stress that Joaqun has no power to govern the sexual parameters that regulate his new place in Miami. Gerardo does not permit homosexuality to enter this very machista environment (created by him to suit him and with a complete disregard to Joaquins sexual desires) even though Joaqun is open about his attraction to other men, something the Gerardo refuses to see as a sign of his flatmates homosexual tendencies. Even though Joaquns intervention in this conversation does little to support this reassuringly masculine environment, as he openly expresses his attraction to his friend, Gerardo does not seem to find such comments threatening toward his own heterosexuality. If anything, Gerardo seems to hesitate a split second about messing about with his friend but then comes back to his senses and states that he does not sleep with men for pleasure, and that Joaqun is his friend so any possibility of both engaging sexually is to be dismissed. Nonetheless, the end of the sequence sees Gerardo grabbing Joaqun by his torso and taking him to the bathroom; as they end up wrestling together under the running water in the shower the sequence comes to an end, and the audience is left wondering whether they ended up having sex or not. If as Messner (257) suggests, the key to maintaining the male bond is the denial of the erotic then the fixity of the patriarchal geography represented by the flat and Gerardos attempt at constraining his friends sexuality is disavowed by his own last actions. It seems contradictory that Gerardo, who seems so secure in his own masculinity, would procure a situation that could lead to man-to-man sex, especially when he knows that Joaqun is sexually attracted to him. This, however, demonstrates that places are not, per se, constitutive of a rigid sexuality, and it depends more on the people who control those spaces to impose a certain sexual identity on them as a way of guaranteeing the sexual continuum of such specific environments.

Back to the homeland, back to pretending

In No se lo Digas a Nadie the disco sequence becomes the turning point in Joaquns quest for a place that would accept his sexual orientation. When
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Gerardo and Joaqun get together in the disco, they both start a conversation that draws to a sudden end when the latter realises that his former girlfriend (Alejandra) is dancing there. Gerardo urges him to go and talk to her because he still believes that his friends homosexuality is not his real sexual identity. Joaqun finally approaches her and after a while, she manages to convince him to go back to Lima with her (as her boyfriend). It is only at this point in the film that Joaqun finally assumes a sexual identity (although it would be argued that such sexual orientation is not authentic because it does not correspond to his self-perceived sexual desires), and it is this assumption that permits him to go back to Lima and recuperate all that his queer exile dispossessed him of. Joaqun has realised that the precarious conditions, socially and economically, in which he lives in Miami are not worth it when he cannot even assume his homosexuality. He is now ready to go back home; not to the parental home but to the one he will be permitted to build once he portrays a sexual orientation that does not contravene the sexual parameters of Latino society. His journey of queer migration is over because he decides to stop envisioning himself beyond the framework of normative heterosexism, and instead, takes a position within heterosexism itself. He will now return to his homeland breaking with all the narrative of migration as homecoming within queer culture which, as Fortier (1999: 6) points out establishes an equation between leaving and becoming, and creates a distinctively queer migrant subject: one who is forced to get out in order to come out. Brah (1996: 97) points out that the idea of exile is the search for a desired home, and that this is achieved by physically or symbolically (re)constituting spaces that provide some kind of ontological security in the context of migration. Home is always represented by the place arrived at and never the place left behind by queer migrant subjects. This home should constitute a site where new geographies of identity (Lavie and Swedenburg 1996: 166) are to be negotiated across multiple terrains of belonging, located between the global and the local. Lima will now be Joaquns home not because he was born and brought up there, but because he decides to go back there, and live a life that does not threaten the system of values prevailing there. He returns to a Lima that has not changed its views on the fixity of sexuality, but that will readily accept him if he comes back to his senses, that is to say, pretended heterosexuality as a way of living. As Robert Ruz (2003: 22) suggests, No se lo Digas a Nadie not only sets a scene for homophobia and hypocrisy but contextualizes a local, normative heterosexual scripting and sets the specific socioeconomic scene of the upper middle class in Lima. In other words, Lima, as well as most Latin American countries, presents an ambiguous and hypocritical stance on same-sex desire, discriminating against more public demonstrations of homosexuality, i.e. effeminacy in men, rather than homosexual desire per se. Joaquns decision to return to Lima only seems logical because his one attempt at breaking with heteronormativity was never fulfilled since the place(s) and people with whom
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he interacted in Miami prevented him from exploring his (homo)sexuality. Joaqun ultimately renounces the idea of queer exile as a process of sexual liberation because he sees no point in enduring the condition of exile and estrangement experienced by queer subjects which locates them outside of the confines of home: the heterosexual family, the nation, the homeland when he cannot assume his own (homo)sexuality. The only solution he sees to this situation is a return to his homeland, and his parental home, in order to obliterate the entire trauma that this place had originated. Alan Sinfield (2000: 19) is right to point out that queer migrant subjects endure a sense of separation and loss from their society of birth within the process of queer migration. However, as Joaqun demonstrates, this sense of separation and loss can be reversed if the individual decides to return to his homeland and adhere to the sexual codes that pertain in such a place. Once back in Peru, Joaqun is ready to start a new life as the entendido he now is. Joaqun has only one clear camino to follow: get married (diegetically suggested as to Alejandra), raise children, work in his own solicitors firm; in short, to become un hombre de bien (a good man). Assuming this entendido identity, therefore, becomes a performative act that Joaqun carries out in order to be regarded as a normal individual within the Peruvian heteronormative system. In short, Joaquns entendido identity is nothing but a mere reproduction of a hegemonic and heteronormative identity discourse characteristic of his homeland (and most Latin American countries), based on the repetition of a set of behaviour(s) that constitute a kind of institutionalised sexual normality i.e. heterosexuality. Joaquns new entendido persona will be subjected to a regulated repetition, invoking Butler (1993, 1997), as he performs a dominant discourse in order to be accepted within Limas heteronormative society. However, that does not mean that he will be a sexually frustrated individual; instead, it means that he, as entendido, will seek gay contact at times but keeping this as a secret side of his sexual persona. Now Joaqun understands that he can play the part of a happy heterosexual man with a gay side if he follows the advice that his previous male sexual partners had given him with: No se lo Digas a Nadie. As de Castro Jr. rightly points out, Joaqun termina cediendo a las presiones de una sociedad que le pide que se esconda detrs de una mscara de mentiras, que le empuja hacia el mismo camino al cual sucumbieron sus amigos y amantes, Alfonso y Gonzalo (2000: 51) (Emphasis added) (Joaquin ends up living in to a society that asks him to hide behind a mask of lies that is also pushing him to the same path that his previous friends and lovers followed). The intrusion of Gonzalo in Joaquns graduation party further ratifies Joaqun as an entendido, and shows the triangularity of the entendidos sexual persona married to a woman but seeking secret, sexual encounters with men. Gonzalo becomes primordial for the construction of Joaquns newly assumed sexual identity because he is both the object of desire and the model subject for him to learn how to be a proper entendido. The Camino house becomes then a
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terrain where Joaqun has to re-learn to negotiate his inner sexual desires and what is socially expected from him as a heterosexual man. As Ruz (2003: 25) suggests, the homophobic taunts, prejudices and harassments of his [Joaquns] father, friends and acquaintances are replaced by new preoccupations concerning homosexuality. Yet, although Joaqun has to stay in the closet because of the imposition of a normative heterosexuality by Limas particular conservative society, he can find the secret corner of heteronormativity in which to engage in same-sex practices (the same way he found an isolated spot during his graduation party to kiss Gonzalo). Furthermore, the final image of the film (shot as a photograph) endorses the duality that Joaquns sexuality will endure in Lima. As all the members of Joaquns family get ready for a picture, Joaqun takes centre stage, and at either side of him are both Gonzalo and Alejandra. This image suggests that Alejandra, as the sign of heterosexuality, is the figure who separates or, at least, serves as the screen for her fiancs homosexual tendencies, and although she constitutes Joaquns amulet against homophobia, she will not be the object of his sexual desires. As they get ready to take the picture, Gonzalo extends his arm toward Joaqun and caresses his ex-lovers cheek, the latter turns to face Gonzalo and this is the moment when the picture is taken. The camera zooms in on the three central figures showing Joaqun and Gonzalos gazes in direct relation whilst Alejandra faces the camera. In short and as suggested by de Castro Jr (2000: 51), in Lombardis version of Baylys book, el protagonista termina aceptando la idea de que para ser homosexual y poder sobrevivir en la sociedad latinoamericana, tendr que contraer matrimonio y traicionar tanto a su pareja como a s mismo, traicionando la naturaleza de su propio ser y vivir una doble vida de apariencias y de secretos (The protagonist ends up subscribing to the idea that to be a homosexual man and to be able to survive in the Latin American society, he will have to get married and betray his wife and himself, betraying also his own nature by living a double life of keeping appearances and secrecy). To conclude, Lombardis film version of No se lo Digas a Nadie reinforces the idea that Latino society/ies regard heteronormativity as the basis of sexuality and that any alternative forms of sexual desire, i.e. homosexuality, are to be eliminated from the realm of such societies. In the context of Latin America, it is possible to talk about diverse geographies of sexuality, as physical spaces are constitutive of specific sexual identities. The sexual geography of queer theory, as Schimel (1997: 163173) argues has very polarised sites in which sexuality is constructed. Joaqun as a queer subject is capable of displaying a sexual identity, either gay or straight, in order to respond accordingly to the place and situation at hand within heterorepressive societies. However, for queer subjects living in such societies, queer migration and exile become the only option to experience sexuality beyond the restrictions of heteronormativity and what Kosofsky-Sedgwick (1992) regards as its ultimate figure of embodiment, i.e. the closet. Queer diaspora will only be effective as a migratory movement if the queer subject
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I would like to express my gratitude to Chris Perriam for his help and valuable advice with this article.

arrives at a place where the micro-societal system in which he decides to insert himself accepts same-sex desire (regardless of whether government legislation is pro gay). No se lo Digas a Nadie not only makes use of spaces to establish boundaries between hetero and homosexuality but also shows the non-rigidity of such boundaries, and how some subjects may cross the borders that divide such terrains in order to display a different sexual identity at a specific time. It also shows that although Latino societies are based on a normative natural heterosexuality, queer subjects can find ways to flee (momentarily) from the judgemental sight of patriarchal society and engage in homosexual practices in secrecy. Such individuals will have no problem engaging in such practices as long as they both display a sexual behaviour that corresponds with societys understanding of heterosexuality and limit such practices to furtive encounters. It could be argued that the film, following Ruz (2003: 23), can be seen to anticipate possible negative reactions from a conservative society that has been repeatedly criticized for a lack of freedom of expression under the government of Fujimori. A repression that parallels that of Joaqun is his quest for a place that will allow him to embrace and assume his assumed sexuality without the constraints those regulatory forces put upon him.4 Works cited
Arboleda, M. (1995), Social Attitudes and Sexual Variance in Lima, in S. Murray (ed.), Latin American Male Homosexualities, Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Brah, A. (1996), Cartographies of Diaspora. Contesting Identities. London/New York: Routledge. Butler, J. (1993), Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits of Sex. New York/London: Routledge. (1997), Excitable Speech: Politics of the Performative. New York/London: Routledge. Chant, S. and Craske, N. (2003), Gender in Latin America. Great Britain: Latin American Bureau. Clifford, J. (2001), Diasporas, Cultural Anthropology 9: 3, pp. 302338. Culbertson, P. (1998), Designing men: reading the male body as text, Textual Reasoning 7. On-line journal, Available at http://www.bu.edu/mzank/STR/tr-archive/tr7/Culbertson1.html. Accessed 6 February 2006. de Castro Jr. P (2000), Gritemos a plenos pulmones y contmoselos a todos: revelando secretos en No se lo Digas a Nadie de Jayme Bayly y Francisco Lombardi, in G. Cabello-Castellet, J. Mart-Olivella and G. Word (eds.), Cine-Lit 2000: Essays on Hispanic Film and Fiction, Oregon University Press. Evans, C. and Gamman, L. (1995), The gaze revisited, or reviewing queer viewing, in P. Burston and C. Richardson (eds.), A Queer Romance: Lesbian, Gay Men and Popular Culture, London/New York: Routledge. Fausto-Sterling, A. (2000), Sexing the Body: Gender politics and the Construction of Sexuality. USA: Basic Books. Fortier, A. (1999), Re-membering places and the performance of belonging(s). Theory, Culture and Society 16: 2, pp. 4164.

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 (2001), Coming Home: Intersections of queer memories and diasporic spaces, European Journal of Cultural Studies 4: 4, pp. 405424. (2002), Queer Diaspora, in D. Richardson and S. Seidman (eds.), Handbook of Lesbian and Gay Studies, London: Sage. Foster, D.W. (2003), Queer Issues in Contemporary Latin American Cinema, Austin: University of Texas Press. Gilroy, P. (1993), The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness, London: Verso. (1987), There Aint no Black in the Union Jack. London: Unwin Hyman. Kosofsky-Sedwick, E. (1985), Between Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire, New York: Columbia University Press. (1992), Epistemology of the Closet, New York: University of California Press. Lavie, S. and Swedenburg, T. (1993), Between and among boundaries of culture, bridging text and lived experience in the third timespace, Cultural Studies 10: 1, pp. 154179. Manalansan, M. (2002) In the shadows of stonewall: examining gay transnational politics and the diasporic dilemma, in J.B. Evans and A. Mannur (eds.), Theorizing Diaspora, USA: Blackwell. Messner, M. (2002) Friendship, intimacy and sexuality, in S. Whitehead and F. Barret (eds.), The Masculinities Reader, USA: Polity Press. Montaner, C. (2001), Las races torcidas de Amrica Latina: Como la historia y la cultura contribuyeron a moldear la regin ms pobre, inestable y atrasada de occidente. Espaa: Editorial Plaza and Jane. Murray, S. (1995), Machismo, male homosexuality, and latino culture, in S. Murray (ed.), Latin American Male Homosexualities, Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Otalvaro-Hormillosa, S. (2000), Performing citizenship and temporal hybridity, a queer diaspora, antithesis, in D. Bruckner and P. Vigneswaran (eds.), Sex 2000: Scenes, Strategies, Slippages, Vol. 11, Australia: University of Melbourne Press. Patton, C and Sanchez-Eppler, B (2000), Queer Diasporas, Durham/London: Duke University Press. Prieur, A. (1996), Domination and desire: Male homosexuality and the construction of masculinity in Mexico, in M. Melhuus and K.A. Stolen (eds.), Machos, Mistresses, Madonnas: Contesting the Power of Latin American Gender Imagery, London/New York: Verso. Ruz, R (2003) Queer theory and Peruvian narrative on the 1990s: The mass cultural phenomenon of Jaime Bayly, Journal of Latin American Cultural Studies 12: 1, pp. 1936. Schimel, L. (1997), Diaspora, sweet diaspora: Queer culture to post-zionist jewish identity, in C. Queen and L. Schimel (eds.), PoMoSexuals. Challenging Assumptions About Gender and Sexuality, San Francisco: Cleiss Press. Sinfield, A. (2000), Diaspora and hybridity. Queer identity and the ethnicity model, in N. Mirzoeff (ed.), Diaspora and Visual Culture: Representing African and Jews, London: Routledge. Tagaki, D. (1996), Maiden voyage: Excursion into sexuality and identity politics in Asian America, in S. Seidman (ed.), Queer Theory/Sociology, Cambridge, MA: Blackwell.

Suggested citation
Subero, G. (2006), The different caminos of Latino homosexuality in Francisco J. Lombardis No se lo Digas a Nadie, Studies in Hispanic Cinemas 2: 3, pp. 189204, doi: 10.1386/shci.2.3.189/1

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Contributor details
Gustavo Subero works as a lecturer in Spanish at Coventry University. He is also currently reading a Ph.D. in Latin American Studies at The University of Manchester. His research interests are in Latin American queer cinema and literature, gender theory and critical theory. Contact: School of International Relations and Social Sciences, George Eliot Building, Priory Street, Coventry CV1 5FB, UK. E-mail: g.subero@coventry.ac.uk

Filmography
Lombardi, F.J. (1998), Dont Tell Anyone, Lolafilms: Spain and Peru (120 min).

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