The idea that homosexuality could be ‘cured’ has been around for a long time, but it was only towards the end of the 19th century that the idea became established. Originally, homosexuality was regarded as a hereditary disease and equated with hysteria, epilepsy and schizophrenia. The treatment and re-education methods that were more frequently applied to lesbians at the time took place in institutions where girls were often sexually abused and raped. A little later, ‘gay bacteria’ were blamed for homosexuality, so that the ‘undesirable’ attraction of gay men was to be eliminated by transplanting testicles.

Sigmund Freud was of the opinion that all people are originally bisexual and only become heterosexual in the course of psychosocial processes. As a result, medical treatment of homosexuality was ‘very difficult or almost impossible’. Freud’s letter to the mother of a gay son (1935) is well known: ‘Homosexuality is not an advantage, but it is also nothing to be ashamed of’, he writes. Freud explained to the woman that homosexuality could not be regarded as an illness, but as a variant of sexuality, and that he was very sceptical about the results of treatment. Although Freud leaves open the possibility that he could develop the ‘germs of heterosexuality’ in her son, he is of the opinion that it would be better to make him happier and less neurotic with the help of psychoanalysis, whether he remained homosexual or not.

In contrast to Sigmund Freud, later psychoanalysts regarded homosexuality as a pathological perversion of the Oedipus complex, and so between Freud’s death and the final removal of homosexuality from the list of diseases (1973), many years followed with various attempts and treatment methods. Attempts were often made to cure men with lobotomies, ice baths, hormones, castration, sterilisation, vomiting therapy and electric shocks. As in the film ‘A Clockwork Orange’, patients were shown homosexual content and then injected with drugs to induce vomiting in order to develop disgust at what was being played. The desired result was achieved in most cases, but also produced disgust with all forms of sexuality and sexual frustration. Something similar was tried with electric shocks to male genitalia when they were aroused by the ‘wrong stimulus’, which was an attempt to reflex condition homosexuals like bears and dogs in experiments.

Years after homosexuality was removed from the list of mental disorders, various pseudo-scientific therapies continued in psychological practices, isolated camps and religious communities. In most cases, families sent children and adolescents for treatment where they were subjected to humiliation, traumatic manipulation or violence. Although none of the methods mentioned have ever been successful or scientifically proven, although they almost always caused depression, anxiety, guilt and dehumanisation, suicidal thoughts and attempts, there are still people who advocate or actively carry out the treatment of homosexuality. There are a small number of countries that strictly prohibit the practice of conversion therapy, but with the proliferation of self-help movements, a body of counselling literature on healing from homosexuality has emerged. One such book, which can be found on the psychology shelf in bookshops, is the subject of our piece ‘Our Son’.

I see my project ‘Our Son’ as an attempt to understand my sexuality. By playing with autobiographical elements and those of my family – on the border between truth and fiction – I apply available psychological and ‘parapsychological’ theories to understand the sexual identity I live with today. With a lot of humour, irony and jokes at our own expense, we offer the audience an intimate theatrical experience in a non-traditional stage space where they witness a fictional meeting of mother, father and son. Here, scores are settled and (un)healed wounds, (un)satisfied needs and fears are questioned. Why should you watch it? Perhaps you can find in my silence all that is unspoken in your families, perhaps you can recognise your own red lines in my dilemmas, and perhaps you can question in my honesty your own readiness for the new time that has already come.

‘Our Son’ was created for the Heartefact Pride Theatre Festival, which took place during Pride Week as part of EuroPride 2022 in Belgrade. The play was performed several times for domestic and foreign guests and received very positive reviews, which proves that the production goes beyond the local and regional theme and is a universally understandable story about acceptance and expectations. The play continues to be performed regularly in Belgrade and is also invited to international guest performances. ‘Our Son’ contributes not only to creating an open space for diversity, but also to raising awareness of EuroPride in Belgrade – the first EuroPride in this part of Europe and outside the European Union, which, despite all the difficulties and obstacles, has managed to assert itself and show a more tolerant and open-minded Belgrade and Serbia.

The play was originally performed in a Belgrade flat in order to let the audience literally enter a person’s private sphere. This concept stems from my experience that when talking about homosexuality, there is often a great need to peek into the most intimate parts of each other’s lives. In addition, the constellation in which the audience and the actors sit in the same living room, where the audience can smell the soup and the lasagne, allows for a stronger emotional experience. But there is also a version for theatres and dance halls, where the play can be performed in front of around a hundred people. In this version [shown at the asphalt festival], the audience surrounds the actors on three sides, limiting the playing space.

After every performance, we receive sincere, emotional and often poignant messages from the audience. I would like to share one of them with you, while respecting the privacy and identity of the sender:

‘It took me some time to come to my senses after the play. I wanted to thank you for what we saw. As someone who hasn’t spoken to her mother for a long time because she can’t accept my sexuality, these dialogues were our dialogues. These exchanges, the silences, the rejections… It’s like watching my life unfold. And there is no relief except to recognise the patterns of behaviour and the shared pain that families like this find themselves in. After the performance I went outside, turned the corner, sat on a bench and cried. I realise now that the inability to accept tells me all I need to know.’