Many years ago, I had a brief relationship with another young man. We had sex once, and he wanted to continue but asked me to keep it secret because he was in politics. I was a hotheaded gay activist, and I refused on principle, ending the affair. He went on to become one of the most prominent politicians in his country. He was a single man for a long time, but when asked about his sexuality he denied being gay. He eventually married a woman and lives a putatively heterosexual life.
I am a writer. Is what happened between us my story to tell, or is it his story to (still) hide? Is he entitled to privacy? Am I obligated to keep his name a secret even though I didn’t agree to do that at the time, and when asked to keep it quiet I refused? — Name Withheld
From the Ethicist:
Let’s start with the obvious questions: Why now, after all this time? What would you hope to gain from this disclosure? You say that this man is a prominent politician in “his country” (which is presumably not your own), but you don’t indicate that you think he’s a threat to the common good. Is what moves you a belated desire for recognition? A murky wish to be acknowledged in a story that has long since moved on without you — to insert yourself in someone else’s Wikipedia page?
Sexual intimacy presupposes a measure of respect for the privacy of those involved. Would your brief encounter have occurred had you announced in advance that you felt free to publish the names of your sexual partners? And there’s an ethical weight that comes with holding in your hands another person’s private life, or an episode of it, anyway. You don’t know how he now thinks of his own sexuality, what his wife knows, how they’ve shaped their lives together or what accommodations have been made in the privacy of a life that has nothing to do with you anymore. Before you risk bruising another family, perhaps it’s worth closing your laptop and pausing to consider: Do you really have good reason to change course and stop honoring the intimacy of your youthful affair?
Once a story like this reaches the media, especially social media, it can spiral far beyond your control. Depending on the political culture of his country, what begins as a personal anecdote can quickly turn into a public spectacle. The result could be more intrusive, more destructive and more lasting than you anticipate — for him, his family and for you. You can send a story out into the world, but you can’t call it home.
Readers Respond
The previous question was from a reader who receives income from rental properties that include an ICE detention facility. She wrote: “My husband’s family has a trust that owns rental properties. One of them is a commercial property with several tenants. One of the tenants is Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), and they use it as a ‘short-term holding facility’ (their description).
“We receive income from the trust, which earns money from several other things as well; it’s all bundled together. Figuring out what portion of my rental income comes from the ICE client is not possible. … I feel pretty horrible about getting money from an immigration prison, but I’m the only beneficiary of the trust who cares. I could resign from the trust, but my husband of 50 years would get my share — and anyway, our funds are completely mingled.
“I’m not sure you can make me feel any better about this, but I’m curious about the ethics of receiving money from an entity you consider kind of evil.”
In his response, the Ethicist noted: “As a beneficiary of a trust that rents a property to ICE, your leverage is minuscule. You can’t unilaterally break the lease. Even if you could, ICE would simply relocate its facility. And while moral complicity is a serious concern, receiving income from a legal tenant, however problematic, isn’t generally considered an ethical transgression on its own.
“We’re all entangled in systems we don’t control. As citizens, we’re already implicated in the actions of government agencies that act in our name and that we help fund. If those actions are shameful, they cast a shadow on all of us. But that shared entanglement also opens the door to shared responsibility — and response.
“If this money feels tainted, redirect it. … You may not be able to change the trust’s lease, but you can choose what your share of the proceeds stands for.” (Reread the full question and answer here.)
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The answer is clear to anyone with any ethics at all, and it is one word: No. The fact that ICE would simply rent an alternate space is not the point. — Jan
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I have always approached my investments and rental property with an eye toward social justice. I won’t invest in companies or rent my property to people I believe are harming society. If we all evict ICE, we can send the message that we disagree with their methods. Each of us needs to believe that our single action can make a difference. Do your part. Evict ICE. — Roberto
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They can make sure that their local social justice organizations know that this facility is being used by ICE. This may help facilitate resistance to any unconstitutional actions by ICE. It might also put pressure on the trustees to change their position in regards to renting to ICE. — Rebecca
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These individuals will be held somewhere. Perhaps your building is preferable to a worse situation. Could you ask to see the space where people are being held? If ICE is not using your space in a humane way, could you, as the landlord, demand improvements or get a sympathetic elected official or the press involved? — Alice
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I think benefiting from a corrupt or harmful enterprise is, in itself, unethical, regardless of whether one can affect change by ceasing to receive that benefit. That’s a formula, it seems to me, for acquiescing in all manner of evil activities in which one is merely a passive participant. — Michael
Kwame Anthony Appiah is The New York Times Magazine’s Ethicist columnist and teaches philosophy at N.Y.U. To submit a query, send an email to ethicist@nytimes.com.
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