Orphan At The Family Picnic
Thursday, April 3, 2008

Let me begin by saying: Yes, we've made progress.

When I was born (and until I was in my early 20s), I was, by virtue of being a big old dyke, "mentally ill", according to the DSM II.

When I was 14, I still had to wear a dress to school, because I had a vagina -- even though no one was supposed to know about the whole vagina thing, except Mrs. Stains (unfortunate name, that), my phys ed/health teacher who was, apparently, the only person in the entire world who was actually authorized to use the word "vagina" out loud.

By the time I was 28, Wisconsin had become the first state to outlaw discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation.

So, yes -- we've made progress.

However, as this campaign for the Democratic presidential nomination has unfolded, in a time when I think I should be all up and shouting "Progress!" because we (finally) have a black man and a woman vying for the nomination -- two historic "firsts" -- and we might actually have a Democratic president for the first time in this millenium -- I've realized that lately, I feel a bit like the orphan at the family picnic.

In many ways, I've actually been grateful that the process has exposed the underlying race-hatred and misogyny that I believe is alive and well in our society -- I think that having these destructive forces rear their ugly heads and become more exposed is probably helpful in the long run, if painful in the short run.

The danger of excusing "underground" racism/sexism/homopobia/classism is something I've written about many times, and exposure is probably the only way a culture in denial is ever going to really deal with the fact that we remain a society shot-through with institutionalized racism, sexism, homo-/trans-phobia, and classism.

There have been many, many discussions on the internet about the various racist and sexist tactics used during this nomination process.

I'm glad. I want those discussions!

I've noticed, though, that there really isn't much talk about LGBT rights these days. Sure, all the Democratic candidates say that we shouldn't be beaten up, or harrassed -- 'cuz that would be . . . you know . . . wrong -- but of the original candidates in the Dem race, only two supported full marriage rights for LGBT couples -- Mike Gravel and Dennis Kucinich.

You know -- the weird ones -- the camera-starer and the UFO chaser.

In the course of various "political" discussions I've had in the past few months, I've been told, literally (by "progressives" no less) that it's "too soon" for gay marriage, that I should be patient, that if I feel concern about a candidate associating with a known homophobe, that I'm being "overly-sensitive", that I need to suck it up and vote the Party ticket even if I feel disenfranchised, and pitch in to help to put a Democrat in the White House, because they are going to be my only hope of change, etc., etc., etc..

If I put on my Political-Savvy Brain Modifier, all of those things even make sense. In a way. Sometimes.

But if I put on my Institutional Memory Stimulator, and dig into my Current Lifetime Experience Archives, I seem to remember that most things didn't actually change because disenfranchised people politely folded their hands in their laps and did as they were told.

The DSM II was changed because people (like me) started coming out, and refusing to cooperate with the code of silence, and refused to wear the mantle of shame that had been standard operating procedure for "How to Be Queer" up until the mid to late sixties.

The dress code at my High School was changed because a bunch of girls just stopped wearing dresses. They refused. They were threatened with expulsion. But pretty soon, there were enough of them that expelling all the offenders would have resulted in a an all-boy prom . . . . . and we couldn't have that, now, could we?

The State of Wisconsin passed anti-discrimination laws because there were some pushy, insistent, persistent queers who just would not STFU (to be fair -- it is possible that the majority of the straight populace may have been so busy watching the Packers and eating cheese curds that they simply didn't notice that the queers had taken over).

So, being told to shut my trap, mellow out, lighten up (yes, someone told me to "lighten up" yesterday, about the queer stuff) sounds to me exactly like: "Lie back and think of England."

At times, I've felt loathe to bring up the whole queer thing, what with all the meaty discussions of racism and misogyny that I believe actually DO need thorough discussion -- but that's when I start noticing that I feel like an orphan at the family picnic.

You know. No one wants to throw you out -- after all, you look too much like them -- but no one really wants to claim you, either. Everybody knows that it sucks to be you, but they're not really sure what to do about that. So here, kid, have a buffalo wing and some potato salad. Just don't expect anyone to be whipping out the old adoption papers.

Now, I could almost (I said, almost) understand this in the General Election. It's pretty easy for the Republicans to break out the old "Oh noees! S/He's friendly with teh Homoeees!" (Which they are probably going to do in any case, come the GE) -- but this nomination race is a race between DEMOCRATS! -- you know -- the people who are supposed to be all about Teh Freedom and Teh Equality?

The fact that most of the candidates (with the two quirky exceptions) haven't really made many strong statements about LGBTQ rights (except under direct questioning or as ass-covereage) during the run for the nomination troubles me . . . . a lot. [Update: As I was writing this, Hillary Clinton's interview with the Philadelphia Gay News was brought to my attention -- and yes, I consider that a strong statement in support of LGBTQ rights.]

As someone pointed out in a comment thread about candidates who are connected with known homophobes: "to make excuses for our candidates when they turn their backs on genuinely progressive issues---just because we've been flogged and fatigued into a place of fear and desperation---is to accept the ultimate Republican framing."

I think that maybe that's what troubles me. I seem to remember a time when truly progressive candidates were more unapologetically and vocally supportive of LGBTQ rights -- in fact, some of them actually pointed to this as one of the ways that they stood out from the crowd -- but it seems to me that the past 15 years of extreme right-wing Christianist pushback has put the fear of the fundies into our so-called progressive candidates (I believe that both the front runners are, essentially, moderates -- maybe even leaning-to-the-right moderates in some areas).

And that troubles me, too. The "political realities" for these two historic candidates almost mandate that they appear publicly moderate -- the old "fold your hands in your lap and wait your turn" thing being brought to bear -- but if I'm honest with myself, I think that, even politically, it's a mistake.

I think we need to be starting at our broadest, highest ideals, not starting from some luke-warm middle place in the hopes of acceptance. Because in the shell-game that is politics, it's very likely that there will be compromise from that broadest, highest vision -- so why start with something so diluted that it is sometimes virtually indistinguishable from conservative thought?

I often wonder: How can Hillary Clinton, a woman who's had to fight every step of the way to get to the place she is, and Barack Obama, a person of color who's had to fight every step of the way to get to the place he is -- (I believe that they both probably had to deal with a lot of shit to get where they each are, regardless of any current advantages they may have in terms of power and wealth) -- how could either of these people not understand that change comes only when oppressed people stand firm, talk back, and refuse to cooperate with the systems that are oppressing them. How can they not know this? Did they forget their own journeys?

It's at about this point in my ponderings that I often find that I just have to slap myself awake again. I mean, it's not as if I sit around everyday, all day, chanting "I'm queer, I'm queer, I'm queer." Most of the time, I don't even think about it -- I just go on living my life -- until I run into some reminder of homophobia, or I notice that teeny, tiny tick mark being made in my brain when I hear a speech that says something about "all people, regardless of race, creed, color, or class" . . . . but there's nothing about sexual or gender orientation.

For me, the entire situation brings up various spiritual dilemmas -- as a person who adheres to the concept that everything I manifest in my life is perfect -- even the stuff that may not look perfect at the moment -- I bring myself again and again back to a state of equilibrium when I get all wrought up about things political and social.

It is at these moments that I train my focus on the larger scope of things, and the smaller scope of things, attempting to remember that the political drama of one country on one planet looks much different from the stars that are shining outside my window, and from the viewpoints of the insects that are just beginning to hum lazily in the yard. I remind myself that politics is, in many ways, a form of Junior High Drama -- what is hot and bothersome today will be all but forgotten by next week, and that someday, as my friend John says: "This will all be history."

I'm really not sure where I'm going with this post. It's just that I noticed that orphan-y feeling coming up now and again, and I wanted to get it out of my head. I don't want to deny that part of me that sometimes feels as if it's standing outside in the cold, peering in through the window at the happy family gathering around Christmas dinner. I suspect that there is something informative and useful for me in that yearning.

Ah! Wait! Now I've got it! (I just knew that if I flopped around in my own language long enough, I'd get to the point.)

I don't want to wait anymore. It's a simple as that.

I don't want to scrape away at the mountains of ignorance with my needle. I want radical transformation. I don't want to be "reasonable" and "realistic", because I think the way most people in the status quo are living is not really well-reasoned, and the reality that is created by just accepting the same old shit isn't a reality I want to live in.

I want basic human rights and respectful treatment for everyone. Right now.

Because it's the only reasonable reality -- the only thing that makes sense for humans.

The only way that we all get to come in from the cold, and sit down to dinner.

Posted byPortlyDyke at 10:00 PM 12 comments  

Labels: Politics, Queers

Dear Mr. President Elect,
Saturday, December 20, 2008

You don't know me, but I voted for you.

I'm 52 years old, and I've been waiting for your inauguration day since I was old enough to understand what institutionalized oppression was -- perhaps longer, without really being conscious of it.

As I grew older, and gained more life experience, I think that I grew increasingly impatient in my waiting, as I began to understand more about what might actually help dismantle the systems of privilege that keep institutionalized oppressions alive.

I believe with my whole being that your election as President of the United States has, and will continue to, help take apart some of those systems -- not just because you are a person of color and your election breaks a tradition of exclusion that has existed throughout our nation's history, but also because I honestly believe that you want to make change and move this country forward.

So last month, I cast my vote for you with a hopeful heart, and wept during your victory speech. I said to my beloved, as we watched the closing of the speech (where you gathered with family, colleagues, and supporters in a glad mingling, awash in the cheers of thousands): "Look at that stage -- old, young, women, men, faces of many hues-- we're seeing something we've never seen before in our lifetimes."

And I took the opening lines of that speech to heart:

"If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible -- who still wonders if the dream of our Founders is alive in our time -- who still questions the power of our democracy -- tonight is your answer."

I took a cautious, hopeful in-breath when you actually said the word"gay" in the section where you detailed the diverse groups that played a part in this victory. I didn't notice it before I heard the word, but I think I had been waiting for that word for a long time, too -- yet I had been hopeful, not expectant (a habit I've developed over the years -- perhaps a defense-mechanism against disappointment).

You see, I'm old enough and savvy enough to understand that there will be times when mention of a person like me will be omitted -- because there are elections to win, and assumptions about what works and what doesn't work in political tactics, and polls that indicate the "safe" course that must, perhaps, be steered in the present, in order to make gains in the future. I understand this. I really do.

That's why, when I watched your infomercial the week before the election, I wasn't surprised to see that there was no one like me featured as one of the "average Americans". Yes, I'm a small business owner who can't currently afford health insurance, a person who has raised kids, and who is coupled in a stable, loving relationship, a person who currently faces big challenges in earning enough to simply cover rent, utilities, and groceries for my family -- but I would never be featured in your examples of working folks in this country -- because I'm a lesbian -- and that wouldn't poll well.

And again -- I understand this. I really do. You were attempting to reach out to a segment of the population that you needed to win over, so that you could win the presidency.

But understanding this intellectually doesn't necessarily make it easier to experience -- all the political savvy and realistic assessment in the world didn't make it easier to sit watching your ad (which takes the time to really go into detail about the problems that Americans face today, and how you will work to fix them) -- knowing that I (and others like me) would not be represented, or even referred to.

Last April, during the Democratic primary, I said that I had started to feel like the orphan at the family picnic.

It's not as if that feeling is completely foreign to me. I've sat around bargaining tables as part of my union and argued strenuously for family leave acts and benefits packages that would never cover my family. I've extended understanding to politicians for whom I've campaigned when they had to do the "politically smart" thing, even if it excluded me and mine. I've had compassion for some of my family members, who have acknowledged my orientation and have not outright disowned me, but who also do not ask about my life in any detail, lest an uncomfortable or challenging moment arise.

In fact, I sometimes worry that I've become so used to my position as an outsider that it has dulled my motivation toward change -- that it has made it too easy for me to say things like: "Well, that's the best I can expect -- and it's better than nothing."

So, when I cast my vote for you in November, I had hoped to put that feeling aside, and "........ choose hope over fear, and unity over division -- the promise of change over the power of the status quo".

Which is why I'm writing to you.

I understand that you may have selected (or allowed the selection of) Rick Warren to speak the invocation at your inaugural as part of a plan to demonstrate that you are not closed to the concerns of those who embrace a conservative Christian lifestyle. I understand that, regardless of what your real personal feelings about gay marriage may be, you were probably advised to say that you didn't support it, in order to get elected. I understand that you may have made choices in the past two years which were politically expedient in the short term, with the intention of serving an eventual greater good. I understand all this. I really do.

And when I read about the honor that Pastor Warren is being done in being allowed to perform the spiritual opening for your inaugural ceremony, I was surprised that I didn't feel angry -- instead, I simply felt . . . . profoundly sad.

I believe that sadness is to the heart and soul as hunger is to the body -- and I believe that my hunger is this: I want to be included in your diverse, but United, States of America.

When I hear you talk about the problems of working families, I want to be able to believe that you are talking about my family, too, and when you swear your oath of allegiance, I want to believe that you will be upholding the Constitution of our nation with the clear understanding that my rights are equal to the rights of every other citizen of this country.

I believe in the maxim that one should begin as one means to go on, and as a minister, I understand well the meaning of an opening invocation. It quite intentionally sets the tone of all that is to follow.

Pastor Warren has publicly expressed statements which compare my desire to marry my beloved to pedophilia, incest, and polygamy -- all of which are illegal in this country -- and so, for me, your presidency will begin with an invocation delivered by someone who considers the most precious human relationship I have -- a core and anchor of my daily existence -- as similar to a list of criminal acts.

He will be recorded as the pastor who was given the great honor of speaking first at this most historic presidential inauguration, and I will, once again, be a less-than -- an "other". I am concerned that, for many, the power of your office, and your perceived blessing on his blessing, will give strength to his voice -- and weaken mine further.

As an out lesbian, there are few laws that protect me from discrimination based on my sexual orientation, and many laws (and more prejudices) that curtail my unalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

I have dealt with these realities since I was 12 years old (when I first realized that I was a lesbian), and often, it has only been the small, symbolic victories and gestures that have kept my hope of eventual equality kindled -- the confrontation of a homophobic remark by a straight co-worker who knew that I couldn't speak up without risking the loss of my job -- the decision of a straight couple to postpone their marriage until their gay and lesbian friends have the same right to wed -- the willingness of my mother and father to speak out in their church when their synod was determining whether or not to sanctify gay and lesbian unions.

These symbolic gestures, while not carrying the weight of law, have given me hope, and helped me to carry on.

Those gestures are sometimes small -- but since I can be pretty sure that I won't show up as an "average American" in the next nationally-broadcast infomercial, and reasonably certain that any candidate who states that they support full marriage rights for gays and lesbians will be declared, soon thereafter, to be "unelectable", symbolic acts of support from allies have become incredibly important to me.

I realize that my letter may not change your mind about having Pastor Warren provide the inaugural invocation. I realize that, at this point, it may be politically nightmarish to even consider such a change, or it may have become such a political hot potato that you are sick to death of hearing about it, or that you may simply dismiss my letter as yet another from some disgruntled LGBTQ person.

My hope, though, is that you will not simply dismiss this letter.

My hope is that you will consider the symbolism that is implicit in the way that your administration begins. If this administration is to be about inclusivity, then I believe that it is best begun with an invocation by someone who truly personifies that concept, who can be relied upon to invoke both the spirit and the language of inclusivity.

My choice to vote for you was like one drop in an ocean, but your choices as President will profoundly influence the currents and tides of that ocean, in which I will swim for many years to come.

I know that you are just one human, with a complex and enormous task before you, but I ask you to . . . . remember me.

When you hear the invocation that Pastor Warren is allowed to give, please listen with my ears.

I realize that this will be "your day" in many ways, and that you are straight, and Christian. I personally have no problem with you wanting to have a spiritual invocation that reflects your belief system - but if you hear prayers which invoke only "traditional" families, or only Christians, or which lean too heavily on any structure which contributes to institutionalized oppression of any sort -- I implore you to remember that you will be President of every citizen of this country, and to listen with the ears of those whose voices are rarely heard from the bully pulpit.

You have power and a great deal of choice around what this ceremony will symbolize -- I hope on that day, you will remember me, and remember that some days, a symbol is all I have.

Congratulations on your election, and thank you for taking the time to read this.

Sincerely,
Carol Steinel

Posted byPortlyDyke at 9:30 AM 7 comments