Claiming that he had violated Islam with his openly gay, flamboyant lifestyle until his untimely death in 1991 from AIDS, the angry group called for a “gay-tourist” beach party to be scrapped, and for thousands of fans heading for the celebration from every part of the world to be sent packing.
It hardly came as a surprise. When Zanzibar officially outlawed gay relations in 2004, the move attracted criticism from gay communities everywhere. But UAMSHO head Abdallah Said Ali insisted defiantly that the event would “send out the wrong signals.”
“We do not want to give our young generation the idea that homosexuals are accepted in Zanzibar,” he said. “We have a religious obligation to protect morals in society, and anyone who corrupts Islamic morals should be stopped.”
Islamic morals notwithstanding, there had long been the faith of Freddie’s own family to consider. He loved and respected his parents and sister with all his heart. He also knew too well that orthodox Zoroastrians support the suppression of homosexuality—perhaps the primary reason why Freddie tried for so long to suppress his own inclinations. In the sacred Zoroastrian text the Vendidad , it is stated: “The man that lies with mankind as man lies with womankind, or as a woman lies withmankind, is a man that is a Daeva (demon): this man is a worshipper of the Daevas, a male paramour of the Daevas.”
For Parsees, homosexuality is not only sinful, but a form, unimaginably, of devil worship.
Let’s see this in context. Consensual homosexual activity between adults remains illegal in some 70 of the 195 countries of the world. In 40 of these, only male-male sex is outlawed. Sexual acts between two adult males became legal in England and Wales in 1967, but not until 1980 in Scotland, and 1982 in Northern Ireland. During the eighties and nineties, gay rights organizations lobbied for the age of consent for heterosexuals and homosexuals to be equalized. Today, the age of consent in England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland is sixteen.
“Freddie did not live like us,” his cousin Diana had said. “He was of another life.”
Naked truth, better than the best-dressed lie. Freddie had apparently forsaken his African homeland for the most fundamental of reasons.
Perhaps what he felt in his heart was hiraeth . No single word translates its ancient Welsh meaning. What it evokes is melancholy, a deeply rooted sadness for what is lost. Did Freddie, like most of us, secretly mourn his spent innocence, longing for chapters of his past he could no longer reach?
Sometimes we go back. We revisit. We console our adult selves with quiet remembrance. Freddie never could. He would always have to fill the void elsewhere. Some believe he made peace with his past in “Seven Seas of Rhye,” the band’s first hit, in 1974. A hard-rock anthem on an otherwise progressive album, its lyrics were based on a fantasy realm created by young Freddie with his little sister Kashmira. Could it have been the mysteries of their Persian roots, and in particular the prophet Zarathustra’s epic journey, which fueled their flights of fancy and inspired their fairy tales of Rhye? It seems likely, according to BBC Radio 2 producer, music archivist, and renowned record collector Phil Swern.
“It has always been my impression, from remarks he made in interviews over the years, that ‘Seven Seas of Rhye’ was about his life inZanzibar,” says Phil. “It was where he escaped to—in his mind, at least. He always had that, when reality got too much.”
In one radio interview, Freddie described the song’s subject as “a figment of my imagination.”
“My lyrics and songs are mainly fantasies,” he said. “I make them up. They are not down to earth, they’re kind of airy-fairy really. I’m not one of those writers who walks out onto the street and is suddenly inspired by a vision, and I’m not one of those people who wants to go on safari to get inspiration from
Jody Gayle with Eloisa James