He was gay. He was gay in a land that valued manliness. He was gay in a fraternity known for bravery, known for valiant members such a Ninoy Aquino, my ka-batch Mer Arce, and oh yes, Ferdinand Marcos, fallen as he was, he commanded respect just by being an alpha dog.

He was gay but he wasn’t afraid to admit it, wasn’t afraid to flaunt it, wasn’t afraid to make it work for him. But he was a he. He was as manly as they came. “It’s a commitment,” he told me once, “and being committed is being male.”

Picked him up once in Alabang, where his group of marchers made up of farmers had rested for the night. Brought him to my house in Pilar Village, where he had a shower, and we ate monggo, meat and rice. You could talk to him. He was actually a regular guy, unlike his person when he directs, when he is full of fire and vitriol. It’s his passion, or one of his passions, to direct plays, and I was in one or two of them, “Macario Sakay” by Efren Yambot also an esteemed brother, our batch’s Tatang actually, for Efren was I.F. (Most Illustrious Fellow, head of resident brods) when batch ’70 was in initiation. Behn also directed me in a one-act play “Hello Out There,” where I played the one who was in jail, and my girlfriend then played my love interest. “Kiss her, (expletive deleted)!” he pleaded when I was too shy to kiss my girl on-stage. I had to do it, or he would have descended on me with hammer and tongs.

Yes, he was always in command. I was a provinciano from Naga, and when my brods would parade with pizzazz and panache, he was odd, being gay, but he was up front, he defined the fraternity I suppose, the brods loved him, he existed long before being gay was acceptable, he existed in his own world which he somehow made us accept, he was ahead by a half-century, that’s Behn for me.

As we battle with our modern demons, the pork barrel scandal, the floods brought about by climate change and changing minds (“Dynamite the squatters,” says the public works secretary, then “I didn’t say that”), Behn stands tall. He was gay, but he meant it.

Farewell, dear brother. When I meet you in the sun, I shall tell you much.

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