A Message Sent

Gay people confuse me.

Today the Senate passed the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act.  

I've been reading for months, if not years, some voices in the LGBT community expressing the opinion that this is not a worthy battle.  That this law isn't going to stop anyone from committing a hate crime.  That we have bigger fish to fry.  That it's simply a waste of time and won't matter.

They leave me scratching my head in exasperation.

To me the passage of this law (the president has promised to sign it) is cause for celebration.  A giant fucking celebration.

It is one step forward.

And I can't help but wonder:  how is any forward motion is bad?

Will it stop anyone from committing a hate crime against a gay person?  My guess is no, probably not.  We have a lot of laws and they tend not to prevent a lot of people from doing a lot of things.  Should we just get rid of all laws since it seems that people break them anyway?

Equality is about one thing and one thing only:  I have the same set of rules as you.  That's it.  No more.  No less.  It's very simple.

This is why anti-marriage equality gay people confuse me so much.  I know plenty of straight people who have been with their partner for years or even decades who have chosen not to get married.  I've yet to hear any one of them express the opinion that because they don't want to get married, it should be illegal for any other straight people to get married.

I'm equally perplexed by the cynicism or even downright anger towards the Hate Crimes Bill.  It's importance isn't in its stiffer sentencing.  It's importance lies in its message.  When the president signs it, he will be sending a message, a specific message, that it is not o.k. to attack a person because he or she is or is perceived to be L, G, B, or T.  And the LGBT community will be that much closer to equality.  Much in the same way our legal inequality is part of the collective unconscious of this country, this law will become part of our collective unconscious.  One day it will be taken for granted.  And that will be a good thing.

The road is long and slow.  And requires a shift.  A shift in understanding.  In sensitivity.  In thinking.

Today that long, slow road towards equality was smoothed out a little, making it easier to take the next step and the next step and the next step.  Until there are no more steps to take.  Until this is all a boring history lesson.

Super Blogger!

The longer I do this, the more I feel like I'm leading some kind of a fantastic double life.  Mild mannered former and hopefully future actor but current office worker by day; angry gay blogger by night.  There's a crack, however, in my secret agent facade.  I seriously doubt that any of my co-workers would call me mild mannered.   I'm sure they could come up with a lot of words to describe me, but mild and mannered probably aren't among them.  And while they might not know specifically that I write a blog, I'm far from coy when it comes to my opinions.  They know I'm angry.  They certainly know I'm gay.  They know a lot of things.  Come to think of it, I could probably stand a good dose of coy.

U.S. Rep. Pete Stark (D-CA) "introduced the Every Child Deserves a Family Act, which would restrict federal funds for states that discriminate in adoption or foster programs on the basis of marital status, sexual orientation or gender identity."  I don't know about you, but I can't wait for tomorrow, when the lunatic's heads explode all over their blogs, magazines and newspapers.  

Here are two video clips of Judy & Dennis Shepard from the HRC dinner that took place a few weeks ago.  These two American Heroes were honored with the inaugural Edward M. Kennedy National Equity Award.  (I implore you to pick up Judy's book The Meaning of Matthew: My Son's Murder in Laramie, and a World Transformed.  It is, at times, nearly impossible to read.  It is a moving and disturbing, honest, unflinching and deeply felt journey of a family - notably a mother - dealing with the unthinkable.)

As I mentioned in one of my earlier posts, gay people are as varied as we can be.  There is a very thin common thread that binds us all together.  I'll leave it up to you to decide where ChadMichael and his partner Mito fall in the full spectrum of humanity that comprises the LGBT community.  You may (or may not) remember a story from last year's presidential campaign about a gay couple who hung Sarah Palin in effigy on their roof and called it a Halloween decoration.  Well this year they're at it again.  Only this time, amongst other "decorations," they've hung "a bloodied and mangled Carrie Prejean aka Miss California."  I take it back.  I'm not going to leave it up to you to decide - at least not without tossing in my own two cents.  This is disgusting.  For too many reasons to delve into.  So I'll just stick with one - violent rhetoric is violent rhetoric, no matter where it comes from.  And while we have freedom of speech, that freedom comes with responsibility.  Sometimes I think Americans are like children.  We don't always understand that rights and responsibilities go hand in hand.

There was another brutal gay bashing, this time in Tulsa, Oklahoma.  The incident began with name calling but escalated into an assault when three people, a man and two women, began beating, cutting and biting 23 year old Brandon Patrick.

From The Washington Post, we get this:  "Sexual libertines, from the Marquis de Sade to radical gay activists, have sought to pervert society by acting out on their own perversions. What motivates them most of all is a pathological hatred of Christianity. They know, deep down, that what they are doing is wrong, and they shudder at the dreaded words, 'Thou Shalt Not.' But they continue with their death-style anyway."  To be fair, I couldn't make it through the whole article, lovingly written by Bill Donohue, President of the Catholic League.  I'm pretty sure it's the same rehashing of the same hate.  I just think it's good to keep tabs on it.

Once again I return to the heading:  We're all really quite different.  "Mob hit man Robert Mormando stunned a veteran Brooklyn judge Monday when he renounced his membership in La Cosa Nostra and - for good measure - acknowledged he was gay."  Note to all the bashers out there:  careful who you fuck with.

And finally, as I get ready to curl up with my book (last night I read exactly two pages before I fell sound asleep), I want to bring you the latest on the marriage equality fight in Maine.  Right now it is a dead heat.  There are a number of things you can do to ensure that Maine's marriage laws remain equal and that marriage remains available to everyone.  Every little bit helps.  Click here to see how you can lend your voice to the cause of equality.  

More tomorrow.

Well, maybe not.  Tomorrow I'll be volunteering for HRC to ensure that Gov. Corzine gets re-elected in New Jersey.  Only a few weeks left and the Governor is picking up steam.  But it's still too close for my comfort.  

So, maybe more tomorrow.  

Definitely more soon.

Reading & Writing

Not a long one tonight.  I'd rather be reading than writing.  One of the things I neglected to take into account when I began writing regularly is that it eats into my reading time.  With a forty-five minute drive to and from work, the gym, our kitchen renovation, the dogs...well, as I'm sure you're all acutely aware due to the circumstances of your own lives (listen to how optimistic that sounds - lives - like there might be multiple people reading this) - there are only so many hours in the day.

I'm currently in the middle of about six different books.  Some of them I may not be in the middle of anymore.  What is the statute of limitations on "being in the middle" of a book?  At what point does it move into the "books I never finished" column?  Is that moment liquid depending on your optimism?

At any rate, I'm currently in the middle of Jon Krakauer's book, Where Men Win Glory.  I literally can not put it down and I'm eager to get back to it before I fall asleep tonight.

So, quickly...

The Washington Post brings us an article by Dennis W. Wiley and Robert M. Hardies.  They point out that the marriage equality debate has largely been portrayed as a "God vs. gay" and "black vs. white" debate.  Indeed, it does seem that the protectors of injustice are largely driven by their slavish, almost obsessive devotion to particular interpretations of certain passages of the Bible.  They have been given license to frame the debate.  Because news is not about news.  It's about money.  And these hateful, hurtful, bigoted, backwards people with the Bible in one hand and hate in the other attract viewers, which attracts advertisers, which attracts money.  They seem to be the people who get trotted out for "debate" on the issue.  But where are the Dennis Wileys and Robert Hardies?  They, with their important message, get sidelined.  They have written a thoughtful article that should be read.

Gerald Posner at The Daily Beast lead points out heroin abuse among our troops and its devastating repurcussions both abroad and back at home.

Ceara Sturgis, a high school senior and out lesbian, decided to take her senior class photo in a tux instead of the more traditional wrap.  Because of this, her school district has decided not to run her photo in the yearbook.  She currently has a Facebook fan page.  Join it.  I don't know what good it will do, but I know that it won't do any harm. 

The battle in Maine over marriage equality is going strong.  Click here to learn more about the fight and how you can easily donate to help protect equality in Maine.

And finally, Jack Price, a gay man who's brutal, savage beating was captured on film last week, speaks to the press for the first time since his attack. 

On that note, I'm going to snuggle up in between my hopefully soon-to-be husband (come on New Jersey, it's time!) and one of my puppies.  I'm going to breathe deeply, slow down and appreciate.  Then I'm going to open my book and attempt to read more than two pages before I fall asleep.

More tomorrow.

 

Harvey Fierstein & Me - Intimate

I remember as a kid watching Torch Song Trilogy on television.  I watched the entire movie in my room, in the dark, standing in front of the tv with my hand on the dial (no remote controls then) in case my parents or my brother came upstairs.  In case I got caught watching a movie about gay people.  I could change the channel and quickly jump into bed without implicating myself.  Without admitting who I was.  Erasing any and all signs of my interest in a movie I had been craving.  Devouring.  I remember at first not even understanding that it was about gay people.  Not because I was too young to understand, but because I couldn't wrap my head around its content.  I had never seen a movie about me before.  Men kissed.  Had relationships.  Apartments.  Jobs.  Parents.  Kids.  Conflicts.  In short, they were gay - and they were normal.  I had never seen either, let alone both. 

In the moment that I watched that movie on my black and white tv in my bedroom in Gaithersburg, Maryland, something incredibly intimate happened - Harvey Fierstein reached through my television and exposed my darkest fears as frauds.  He gave me a glimpse of hope.  He gave me my first gentle shove down a path I had not even known existed.  He whispered in my ear that I was not alone.  That there were others.  That there was nothing wrong with them - me!  And they were happy.  Or at least not any more unhappy than anyone else.  They didn't have to lie.  They loved.

It is in that context that I find I can't stop thinking about last weekend's march, about what we did or didn't accomplish, about Barney Frank's comments dismissing the march as useless & about my budding activism and how - if - the small amount that I'm doing can make a difference.

For me, it's about the children.  It's always about the children and what messages we send them.  It's about how we - as a society and as individuals - reach out to them, the way Harvey reached out to me.  It's about being visible.  So that more can feel comfort in their own skin.  In their own visibility.

The march was about rallying energy and sending us all home with anger and passion - to make change in our individual, small worlds.  It was about pressuring pubic officials.  But to me, most importantly, it was about the press.  It was about the pictures.  It was about which speaker would get picked up on the evening news so that gay kids could watch it on tv, however furtively.  So that gay kids could read about it.  Or find it online and see that there are others.  See that there's nothing wrong with them.  It's about them not carrying shame.  Or hate.  Or at least getting rid of it at an earlier age.  It's about them coming out to friends and family.    

It's not about us.  Or the president.  Or lobbying.  It's about making it easier, layer by layer, baby step by baby step, for us to come out of the closet.  More of us on tv.  More of us on tv shows.  More of us angry about our portrayal on those shows.  More of us at a march.  More of us debating each other on politics and strategy.  More of us getting married.  More of us getting divorced.  More.  More.  More.  

That's what Barney Frank missed when he said we would be wasting our time.  Because our time will come when the country has moved to the point where to be against equality for all Americans is to commit political suicide.  And that time will come after we have been exposed over and over and over for who we really are:  exactly the same as everyone else.  Barney Frank is shortsighted if he thinks that the march was only about politics.  And the LGBT leadership is shortsighted if it thinks that one strategy or another is a better path towards our inevitable equality.  As we squabble publicly we seem to be missing the bigger picture: our disagreements and debates are less important than the fact that they are, more and more, being played out in public.  For children to see.  And every time they see us, it reinforces that there is nothing wrong with being L, G, B or T.

Obama might one day get the votes, the support and the backbone to make him feel comfortable doing what's right.  And should he do that it will surely send a very loud, clear, positive signal to all of our children as well as give us the equality that we are entitled to.  But he will always come from a political homebase that tells him that doing the right thing in terms of the LGBT community is risky.  It's who he is.  It's what he has been taught.  

How do we change that?  By changing the way our children view themselves and their sexuality.  They are our future voters.  They are our future leaders.  We need their homebase, their default stance, to be that inequality for anyone is the politically risky choice.  

Not very long ago, taking the position that schools should be segregated wasn't only tolerated or accepted, it was necessary for politicians from certain districts, with certain conservative constituents, to keep their jobs.  

Times have changed. 

When I question the efficacy of my small contributions to the cause, I try to remember that every time I go out in the world I help to move the times along.  Donating whatever money I have or making phone calls on behalf of a candidate.  If just one more person votes for a candidate who believes in equality, and if that vote puts one more person into office who votes for equality, and if that message gets sent out into society, then one more kid will feel safe, comfortable and confident coming out of the closet.

Thank you, Harvey, for telling me that it's o.k.

Now, in my own way, I'm doing the same.

And so on and so on and so on.

More tomorrow.

A More Subtle Devil

As I wrote last night, and as you may have seen online, last weekend's march was incredible.

Nothing like coming home and looking around to jolt one back to the why.  Why were we there?  

We were there demanding equality in all civil matters under the law.  Having two sets of laws is hateful and hurtful.

Yet lurking beneath the surface of these apartheid-like laws is another why; a more subtle devil.  When we have a different set of laws for one group, it sends the signal to our fellow citizens that that group doesn't deserve to be treated with respect.  With civility or decency.  Our separate laws create a universal, codified thought process that declares us less than.  Not worthy.  Unequal.  

With that in our collective unconscious, is violence really such a distant leap?

Ask Jack Price.  Although he won't be able to answer you.  He was brutally beaten and is currently being treated "for a fractured jaw, rib fractures and a lacerated spleen."  What did he do to provoke such a vicious attack?  He is gay.  He went to buy cigarettes at the wrong time at the wrong deli in Queens.  The last update I saw described Jack Price, 5"6' and 130 lbs, as fighting for his life.  Apparently there is video footage of the attack.  I've read that it is graphic.  I can not watch human beings commit violence against one another and have not watched it.

But then there is hope for the future.  Dave Burk, a teacher at Geneva High School posed this question to his students:  "How would you feel about your tax dollars going to pay some black fag in New York to take pictures of other black fags?"  Why do I call this hope?  Where is the silver lining?  The silver lining is openly gay Geneva High School student Jordan Hunter, who is taking Mr. Burk to task for his offensive remarks.  Not only is Jordan Hunter a strong young man, he also seems to be smart and funny as well.  Of Mr. Burk, Jordan said, "If he wants to talk about a poor place to put our tax dollars, I think his salary is a poor place to put our tax dollars."  He believes that David Burk should be fired for his remarks.

In this strong young man I see hope for the future.

More tomorrow.

A Level Playing Field

Yesterday I marched with tens of thousands of people to demand - from our President, our Congress, our state and local legislators - equality - for each and every American.  

It was overwhelming.  

A few things became clear to me as I marched through Washington, D.C.  A few things became clear as I passed in front of some of the most powerful buildings in the world.

One is what a remarkable country I live in.  It should not be taken for granted that we were able to march and publicly air our grievances.  It should not be taken for granted that we have the right, the opportunity and the responsibility to tell those in power that they are not doing their jobs to our satisfaction and that while this country may be remarkable, it has a long way to go to live up to all of its promises, which, when boiled down to their barest, least complicated expression, is this:  the promise of a level playing field for each and every citizen.  In whatever variation we arrive in.  A level playing field.  From which to contribute to our country.  From which to pursue our own happiness.  

(And isn't that remarkable?  That etched into the bedrock of this country is importance of happiness.  Is there another country in the world that can boast that?)

Those variations were on full display yesterday.  A fact that often gets overlooked is that the gay community is bound together by a thin thread.  We are all, obviously, gay.  Because of that, up to this point, we have been discriminated against.  Once that weight evaporates - once those forces dissipate and recede into history - our sexuality will be what it ought to have always been - a tiny part of who we are as human beings.  We are as varied as variation can be.  It is, in part, why I think that the gay "community" often has trouble finding its "Martin Luther King, Jr."  Our backgrounds are different.  Our religions are different.  Our beliefs are different.  Our opportunities are different.  Our roadblocks are different.  Our politics are different.  Our income levels are different.  Our skin tones are different.  Our accents are different.  Who could possibly speak to all of our challenges when our challenges vary with such reckless abandon?

But there we we yesterday.  Marching as one.  And even as I bring up the differences that often make us an unwieldy bunch, I couldn't help but notice how strikingly similar we are.  To one another.  To everyone else.  There we were.  Elbows.  Eyes.  Feet.  Blood.  Fingers.  Hearts.  Hair.  Livers.  Nipples.  Fingernails.  Skin.  Penises.  Breasts.  Thighs.  Noses.  All pretty much the same.  Wants.  Needs.  Fears.  Dreams.  Hopes.  Wishes.  Joys.  Disappointments.  Heartbreaks.  Horrors. Celebrations.  All pretty much the same.  

All pretty much the same.

All demanding the same simple thing:  a level playing field.  

Nothing more.  And certainly nothing less.

Yesterday was National Coming Out Day.  National Coming Out Day has been around since 1988.  I must admit, while I have always thought it was a fantastic idea, I didn't understand its potential until recently.  In the past few years I have discovered that coming out, while highly personal, is also highly political.  Coming out of the closet - telling the people the truth about who we are - I believe is the most expedient way for us to get full equality in all civil matters under the law.  If every single gay person came out of the closet, every single person in the country would know that they knew at least one gay person.  We do not exist in a vacuum.  We have mothers, daughters, sisters, brothers, fathers, sons, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, grandchildren, friends, bosses, co-workers, acquaintances, clients, etc.  We are a part of the fabric of this society and can not be subtracted.  Unless we stay hidden.  Unless we lie and allow the illusion that we are other.  To remain hidden is to remain scary.

Imagine my disappointment when I did not hear one person mention National Coming Out Day at the rally after the march.  Imagine the pressure that could be unleashed on our politicians - the voice that would erupt - if every single gay person in the country, and every single straight person who knew us - stood up and said, "No more."

That is not to say that I do not understand and appreciate the many LGBT people in this country who live in fear of telling the truth for very real reasons.  It is important to note that today is the tenth anniversary of Matthew Shepard's death.  While horrific, the violence that was committed against him does not stand alone.  

For those who fear physical, professional, familial repercussions - until their fear is no more - those of us who can speak must speak all the more loudly.

We must raise our voices.  

We must demand that most radical of all ideas:  a level playing field for everyone.

A Clarion Call

Barney Frank is one of my heroes.  I am a little bit in love with him.  

Imagine my disappointment when, earlier this week, he referred to the National Equality March as "useless."  He told us all to "stay home."  He also stated that "Barack Obama doesn't need the pressure."  

I hate it when people I respect don't agree with me 100% of the time.  It's confusing.

To be very clear, I only disagree with part of what Barney Frank said.  

I do think that Obama needs the pressure.  I think he needs it from every LGBT person in the country.  I think he needs it from every straight person who believes in equality for each and every American.  And I think he needs to hear it over and over and over again.  Relentlessly.  Until his perspective changes.  Until the decision that feels like political suicide is to continue to deny us our full equality under the law.  Until his political timidity comes from fear of NOT repealing DOMA & DADT.  The president doesn't need less pressure.  He needs more.  Much more.  Applied consistently.

The part that I agree with, although I wish he would have said it in a more positive, constructive fashion, is that the march this weekend will be "useless."  

We have a few things working against us this weekend.  We are not the only event in D.C.  It is a holiday weekend and, because of that, Congress won't be there.  President Obama himself, unless he has changed his plans, will be golfing in California raising money for the Democrats during the march (although he did recently announce that he will be speaking at the HRC dinner, which, coincidentally, is taking place on Saturday night.).  

With so many negatives, what is the point?

The point is this:  the march is a beginning.  A shoring up of energy.  Of resources.  A coming together from across the country to fan the flames of anger and hope and funnel them in a constructive way.  The lens that the march must be viewed through is one of commencement.  The energy that propelled us to D.C. to march, to speak out against injustice, to demand our equal rights in all civil matters under the law must be harnessed and sent back to our respective hometowns.

Feeling good about a fun weekend where we're surrounded by like-minded people isn't a victory.  If utilized to its fullest capacity, it's a clarion call to action.  

Marches are fun.  

Doing the day to day campaigning of changing people's minds is not as much fun.  It is work.  There is no glamour in the individual phone calls.  In the meetings with politicians, when you're lucky enough to get them.  There is no glamour in speaking to you local politicians, to your state or your federal representatives.  But that is the work.

If we do not use the march as a catalyst, then it will simply have been a rather large, expensive circuit party.  

Our rights will not be "granted" to us.  Our opponents are loud.  And organized.  And while they have neither facts, science, reason nor logic behind them, they have something arguably more effective:  emotion. 

We must fight for our equality.  

Is it fair?  

No.  None of this is fair.  

Is it reality?  

Yes.

We must change people's minds.  We must change the minds of the politicians who are against us.  We must encourage the politicians who agree with us but vote against us because of their conservative constituents to do the right thing.  We must ask them:  What can we do to help you?  We must thank the politicians who have stood up, gone out on a limb and supported us.  We must make sure that they aren't alone out there on that limb.  

This weekend is an opportunity for us to come together.  To gather steam and gain momentum. 

After that, it's up to us.

More tomorrow.

The Nature of Faith

As I mentioned a few days ago, a few of my friends are going through some difficult times.  I had a long conversation with one of them last night about the nature of faith.  

We discussed religion and questions too great for human comprehension, let alone conclusion.  We discussed where we find comfort in the darkness that accompanies humanity.  We discussed the need for anchor in a world that often feels catastrophically yet casually tossed and turned and flipped.

We discussed the idea that you manifest your destiny.  A new age idea that is anything but.  This Buddhist idea that through our thoughts we create our world.  That we are what gets reflected back to us.

And we discussed what I perceive to be the bastardization of those ideas.  Their Americanization.  Ultimately, how they've been consumerized, productized and monetized.  According to so many books and authors, if I want a billion dollars, all I need to do is visualize it.  I can have everything I want if only I put it out there.  With the right energy, and my money in the pocket of some self-help publisher, I can live a life free from worry.  Free from stress.  Free from challenge.

But that, to me, isn't faith.  That, to me, is insanity.  It implies that we have some control over what goes on in the world.  In our lives.  

Indeed, I have a great deal of control before I go into an audition.  I control how much I prepare.  I control how I'm going to present myself.  I control when I'll get there, more or less.  I control what I'll sing and how I'll sing it.  I control what I'm going to do with the sides.  I can control everything that has to do with me.  And then I send it all to those people on the other side of that table.  After that, any thoughts I have of control are illusions.  

I can not will myself a job.  I know this for a fact.  I've thought I had many that didn't come to pass.  To me, the faith - the work - the real, difficult work - comes when I don't get what I want. When things aren't going to way I would like them to.  To me, faith and strength are alive in how I respond to my failures, losses, hurts and mistakes.  Not in how I will success.  In success and happiness, faith is easy.

The work of faith is the response to difficulty.  That's where one's world is created.  In failure or loss, how do I respond?  Do I drink?  Or become mean?  Or cold?  Do I give up?  Do I keep going?  Do I focus on the next?  Learning from the last as opposed to growing bitter from it?  Do I focus on the good?  Even in the throes of loss?  That to me is manifesting one's destiny.  And that ain't as easy as willing myself money.

As humans, we want.  It is animal, instinctual, primordial.  

The test of our humanity comes in our response to not getting it.

Dark Day

Damn.  Not a post yet in October.

I'm still struggling with life.  I know that there are horrible things going on in the world.  Hypocritical things.  I know that people are saying untrue things about gay people.  I know that there is still hatred of all kinds.  I know that people are still more interested in fear than understanding.  

While I haven't looked too closely at a headline in the past week or so, I feel safe in declaring that not much has changed.  

I'm here.  Hibernating a little.  Curling up with my puppies and my husband.  Keeping the horrors of the world at arm's length.  I saw the story of Derrion Albert, the Chicago teen who was beaten to death.  What a profoundly disturbing story.  For so many reasons.  One:  Incidents like it are not uncommon.  Two:  Why would you use your cel phone to video tape someone being beaten to death?  Three:  When you could be calling 911?  The whole thing was more than I could bear.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the things that we are capable of doing to one another.  By the pain we are able to inflict.  Sometimes it seems that to be human is to be forever trapped at the intersection of Empathy and Instinct.  Conscious and Animal.  I wonder if we will be around long enough for the urge to kill or harm or hate to subside.  I wonder if we will have done ourselves in before we get to that point.