The Fight Over Gay Rights

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But in Italy, the Vatican's political influence remains strong enough to keep gay rights off the official agenda. In March the Italian parliament passed one of the most stringent assisted — fertility laws in Europe—it bans donor sperm, donor eggs and surrogate motherhood, which same — sex couples could use to have children, and limits assisted — fertility treatments to "stable" heterosexual couples.

It's not just Roman Catholics who struggle with gay rights, though. Bitter rows over homosexuality have ruptured the 70 — million — strong Anglican Communion. Last week a panel set up by Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams published its recommendations on how to defuse a crisis that boiled over last year when American Episcopalians consecrated an openly homosexual bishop and a Canadian diocese authorized church blessings for same — sex unions. Those positions may reflect popular secular opinion in some parts of North America, but they have infuriated conservative Anglicans all over the world. Josiah Iduwo — Fearon, an archbishop in the fast — growing, 17.5 — million — strong Nigerian Church—the second largest Anglican community after Britain's—spoke for many conservatives when he said, "The Bible is very clear. We see [homosexuality] as a sin."

Even fiercely secular France is embroiled in the gay cultural wars. An appeals court in Bordeaux ruled this summer that "a difference of sex is a condition of marriage," nullifying the first same — sex ceremony celebrated in France. Last week scores of prominent French homosexuals—including Paris' openly gay mayor Bertrand Delanoë, designer Jean Paul Gaultier and tennis star Amélie Mauresmo—signed a public manifesto demanding a law that allows homosexuals the right to parenthood and adoption. "We are parents, dream to become them, in some cases regret never having been," the manifesto states. "We simply want to be parents like everyone else."

The anti — gay contingent can claim its martyrs, too. In the picturesque town of Borgholm on the Swedish island of Oland, only a small crowd was present in July, 2003 to hear Pentecostal preacher Ake Green deliver a sermon titled: "Is Homosexuality Genetic or an Evil Force Playing Mind Games With People?" Green denounced "sexual abnormalities" such as homosexuality and warned that Sweden was "facing a disaster of great proportions" because of its registered partnerships for gay couples. When he passed the text on to the local paper, Green got perhaps a little more attention than he wanted. Citing a law prohibiting hate speech against a minority, a district court sentenced him to a month in prison.

An appeals court will hear Green's case in January, and he hopes he'll get a reversal. "I cannot see that we shouldn't have a right to preach the faith we have—particularly when it's based on the word of God," he says. The word of God has nothing to do with it, counters Christine Gilljam, who works with the Swedish ombudsman responsible for combating sexual discrimination. "If others had made the same kind of speech about ethnic minorities," she says, "they would have gone to prison, too."

Of course, it's entirely possible for politicians to privately oppose for religious reasons behavior they publicly uphold the right of others to practice. This is exactly what U.S. presidential candidate John Kerry has promised to do on abortion. He is personally against the practice, but has vowed to uphold a woman's right to choose. Buttiglione himself has made a similar distinction. In a letter of "regret" sent to Barroso last week, he wrote: "In politics, the only relevant issue is: Are you in favor of or against discrimination? ... I am against any kind of discrimination, [which means] defending those who hold views different from your own." Buttiglione says he can erect a firewall between his personal religious convictions and his duties as a public servant. But with both sides holding such passionate and diametrically opposed views, the fight over gay rights seems destined to burn brightly for a while yet.