I couldn't sleep at all last night, I tossed and turned. I was thinking about the movie Milk and the brilliant acting of Sean Penn. I was thinking about how so much of what happened has been an account of things that happened in my own life, so much so that I feel compelled to once again write a few words, so most people feel can get a better idea of what it means to be gay in America. I say "once again" because I wrote a similar diary a couple years ago, when I first saw Brokeback Mountain and wrote on my thoughts on the film and how it related to my life (http://www.dailykos.com/storyonly/2006/2/6/172635/1891). It was very well-received by the community and I was very touched by many of the supportive comments I got from the community. So I thought I would try this again, not out of hope that it gets a big response but a) Out of the hope that there can be someone else who can identity and b) The last diary was amazingly cathartic for me.
As I rapidly approach 40 years old and look back over my life, I realize that there were so many I simply had to just suppress, things that just had to be filed away on my mental hard drive because they simply could not be dealt with at the time. A movie like Milk really stirs up those emotions when you so strongly identify with the message of the film.
For those who have not seen the film, I strongly urge that you do so and also to take people you know who have some fear or loathing or anger toward gay people. Sean Penn's Harvey Milk is someone who is strikingly real, a real person with real emotions who can make even the most ardent opponent of gays and lesbians stand up and say, "This is a human story, they have loves, losses and problems just like we all do..." It reminds us of so many things: it reminds us that civil rights affects us all – men, women, black, white, gay, straight, Latino. It reminds us that there are elements in our society who really would like nothing better than gays, lesbians and transgendered people to be alienated, treated as pariahs, stripped of their due rights and treated like third-class citizens, in the United States of America. It reminds us that gays and lesbians can feel the same soaring emotions of love yet are not immune to the same problems at work, home and as citizens that everyone else does. It reminds us that California should and indeed must be on the vanguard of human rights in this country.
How apt that the movie should come out now. The death of Harvey Milk was 30 years ago in 1978. Then, like now, there was an effort to pass the draconian and hateful Prop 6 which would unilaterally fire gays and lesbian teachers and anyone who supported them. A bill so horrible even Ronald Reagan was against it. Once again proof that there are individuals all over the country ready and willing not only to maintain the status quo but those willing to strip away existing rights that people have. "Damn right, I WANT the ability of any employer to fire Johnny because he is gay..it is an apt punishment for something I don't agree with. I want people to have the right to break the windows at some lesbian-owned business because I don't agree with their lifestyle. I want the police to have the right to harass and arrest gays and lesbians for no reason, reducing manpower on street crime, murder investigations and fraud..." And now fast forward to 2008, where California is again the epicenter of another hate campaign. Once again children are used as the scare tactic to fundamentally take rights away. Once again primarily "religious" groups seek to strip away fundamental rights of people simply because they do not fit their own narrow definition of the family.
As a gay man who grew up in California, Prop 8 hit me profoundly hard. It seemed like a rollback of everything we'd gained, it seemed like people had forgotten that history. Well, maybe Prop 8 can once again waken the sleeping giant, make the movement even stronger. When you look at someone like Harvey Milk, I think of the famous quote of Vaclav Havel:
You do not become a dissident just because you decide one day to take up this most unusual career. You are thrown into it by your personal sense of responsibility, combined with a complex set of external circumstances. You are cast out of the existing structures and placed in a position of conflict with them. It begins as an attempt to do your work well, and ends with being branded an enemy of society
You do not ask to be at the epicenter of a movement, it comes to you, it arises out of the reality that you can be stopped from living your own life. As I told my partner of 14 years a few days ago, this is the new civil rights struggle, and we are in the middle of it. We are fortunate to live in Connecticut, where we could now legally marry. But I look at the fates of so many other people, who can be denied their basic right to be happy, visit a partner in a hospital, adopt children and I feel like we are moving backwards, not forwards. I always said of gay marriage, "Things will work out eventually.." but now I see that more and more that I, like many others, have been cast in the role of dissident, I cannot stand idly by when the rights of my fellow GLBT citizens and fellow Americans are trampled upon. I even look at my partner's ex, who himself has been with his own partner for 15 years, in Orange County California. They live in an upscale community. As things with Prop 8 grew worse and worse, they saw all their neighbors around them putting up YES ON PROP 8 signs. See, they were ok as neighbors as long as they didn't get "uppity," didn't make waves. But how quickly the tide can turn when a hate measure like this comes up – they went from good neighbors and respected members of the community to "that queer couple." When they put up their NO on 8 sign, it was stolen. Dead flowers were left on their lawn....They decided to marry just days before Prop 8 passed and now hope that their marriage will not be overturned. Just think of that sentence "hope my marriage will not be overturned.." Can you imagine being white and straight and ever even uttering such a sentence? So like Harvey Milk, myself and so many others feel that we did not seek out a civil rights struggle, it came to us, much as it did to African Americans and so many other groups in our country: people who simply wanted to work and live their lives in a fair manner, to be given a fair shake in employment, housing and to their own piece of the pie, yet there were so many willing to take it away.
I was 9 years old when Harvey Milk was murdered (contrary to popular belief, Dan White did not murder him out of homophobia per se, it was more about their own tensions on the Board of Supervisors and Dan White's own mental instability) so I'm sure I didn't understand at that time what a huge loss to the community his loss was, in fact, I had no idea there was a "community". I'm sure I was like a lot of gay boys, you know that something is different yet you don't have the words to define what is happening, you think the interest in girls will suddenly magically fall into place at 12..no 14...no 16...no 18! But you tend to see that your personal struggles tend to become interwoven with the political.
On the surface all was well. It was the Bay Area. I often asked myself why anyone would want to live anywhere else in the country (I thought I'm sure held by people living in all 50 states) but in a way it was true: it was the place where the sun set, it was a culmination of so many things. It was a place of such great diversity where so many came to build a new life – Asians, Europeans, the Russians who built a community above Geary Street, as they rebuilt after losing everything in the Soviet Union, people who came for gold and the fertile soil of the golden shores, drifters, gays and lesbians, other minorities seeks refuge from more hostile environments. It was a patchwork quilt of some many peoples and so many dreams, the exact stuff of a Steinbeck novel. And there was the story of my own family – the families of my mother's parents coming from Portugal, my father's coming from Oklahoma as a result of the Great Dust Bowl, each came to try and eke out a new life where the sun sets and hope begins. So even as a child, I was aware of diversity. I realize now I had a lesbian third grade teacher who never talked about her personal life but generally was able to have a career without incident (although I'm sure she was terrified by what Prop 6 would bring to her doorstep just a few years later, once again a case of the activism being brought to you, not you coming to it). And the Bay Area became the bedroom community for so many people who could no longer afford to live in a big city, so people pushed farther and farther out. The town I grew up in, with populations around 40,000 has tripled in size, now well over 120,000. The almond groves and hills of my youth are gone to be inhabited by Starbucks, McDonald's, restaurants.
But there was a darker side there too, always swimming just beneath the surface. I was brought up on the myths of the great California missions, actually with a very bloody history of brutality and John Sutter who basically enslaved his workers (see this excellent diary http://www.dailykos.com/... the entire Golden Coast saga had an underbelly of genocide, exploitation and death. And then there was my own town. If you ever have a chance to see an excellent movie, see the move Das Schreckliche Mädchen (The Nasty Girl) of 1990. In it, a young woman begins digging into her town's past and uncovers an unsettling Nazi history. Instead of welcoming the new discoveries, the various members of the town become more and more angry, because it involves them. They go from anger to outrage to outright death threats. Because this woman threatens to destroy the myth that the town had so carefully cultivated about itself. Well, I can say that there is strong evidence, that my town had an unspoken agreement not to let African Americans live there as late as the 1930's. One more chink in that perfect, harmonious picture of diversity.
And then there was being gay. When I grew up, one hour away from San Francisco, you simply could not be openly gay. The chance of being beaten up and hazed was very great. You got zero tolerance from your peers and would be immediately ostracized for your being who you are. When I was young, I didn't know I was gay. Perhaps I was more effeminate that the other boys, and I was really bad at sports, something that truly was the center of the universe. Everything was "faggot" this, "faggot" that, "that's so gay." I had zero interest in sports because any enjoyment of the game was completely ruined by the calls of "faggot" if you failed to serve the volleyball correctly. When I was in high school, the hazing got so bad that my father worked out a deal with a high school buddy of his who was the PE coach to let me work in his office instead of going to gym.
And then there was the personal side of things. I had my first sexual experience with another boy at 11 1/2. People think this is so unusual but for gay men and women there are no guidelines, no structures to follow, you are simply on your own to chart the complex waters of sexuality, emotions and love. It happened at sleepovers with a friend of mine from school. Nothing could have shocked me more than that first ejaculation occurring - I knew physically what it meant but there was no one to explain to me why I felt they way I did, why I felt that initial nausea, why I felt exhilarated and nervous at the same time. Immediately we knew that such things would have to be a deep, dark secret. Ironically enough, my friend's parents were Mormons. I'd be willing to be that they eagerly ticked off YES on PROP 8 without ever even knowing their own son had engaged in homosexual activities in their own home. This continued for more than 2 years, then, sadly, my friend died from certain health problems that had plagued him from childhood. It was becoming more and more unclear if he would have been gay or not, he had begun talking about girls more when I saw him last. But the funny thing is, my parents had taught me about the birds and the bees with a book called Where Do I Come From? A funny, illustrated book that deals with the reproductive process. But as far as I can remember, gay and lesbians are not mentioned anywhere. I remember thinking at the time, "Why is there not a book for me, that can address some of I'm going through. I can work out the mechanics of sex just fine, but why can I never talk about what I feel, why does it always have to be a deep dark secret?" Gays and lesbians, especially them, literally nothing to go on, no where to turn, no resources to turn to. I remember Harvey Milk being mentioned in the news then but I had no clue what it all meant for me, that there was or could be a larger community out there to address my fears or my euphoria – it was as if it was all in Martian – although I was physically located one hour away from San Francisco.
Now members of the "religious right" will claim, well see, you have these problems because you live an abberant lifestyle, you are a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. To which I say, we are almost all that square peg at some time or another: the African American and the woman who says that discrimination at the workplace or in housing are not acceptable, the woman who demands her own reproductive rights, the battered woman who argues that she has the right to tell even her husband NO, the disabled person who has the audacity to demand the ability to use the toilet at his place of work, the single person who wants to be a dedicated adoptive parent but is told no, the woman or minority who wants to attend a certain school or organization but is excluded – all square pegs in round holes which make things "inconvenient" for certain people.
So time marched on. In high school, I was very much in the center of a mucho-macho jock culture. Even simple things like taking a shower after gym class become an issue – what if you become aroused, what if you look at someone in the wrong way. It was such a hostile environment. I did have an extensive relationship with a foreign exchange student (described in my other diary http://www.dailykos.com/... but for the most part, I felt absolutely and utterly alone. In retrospect, I strongly suspect that there were at least 3-4 other classmates of mine who were gay and lesbian but we never dared to address this fact. In fact, one of my greatest regrets now is that I think of a classmate of mine who I am about 95% percent sure was and is now gay. He was cute, adorable, brilliant and had a huge heart - my heart still patters when I think about him. But we didn't dare to ever address the issue. If I had a time machine, I would go back in time and have pressed the issue. I may not have been able to take him to the prom, but I could have held him and told him how wonderful and amazing and adorable he was. Tomorrow I am going home to California to visit my parents for Christmas. I am planning to meet some friends from high school with whom I reconnected on Facebook. They want to have dinner. And yet, at age 39, I still feel unsure about telling the truth, about how proud I am of my partner of 14 years and that, after 39 fucking years, I am greatly proud to be me, gay and all. But yet I have this incredible ingrained fear that has gone back all my life - do I tell them or let them think I am this boring asexual individual with no personal life? How hard it is in so many circles, when the women at my gym class try to fix me up with some woman, when you are at some cocktail party at you want to talk about the travels with your partner but feel restricted in doing so.
And then there was college, at UC Berkeley, in the nineties. I desperately wanted love, I desperately wanted to reach out. Yes, there was a Gay and Lesbian organization – but I never felt it was a place I could go to - what if someone I studied with saw me? Instead I would cruise campus late at night in the hopes of meeting someone, something that worked out more often than you'd think. But it was always a quickie, a random thing where phone numbers weren't even exchanged. Imagine my shock one day to see a married full professor at my department cruising at one of the restrooms in Wheeler Hall! And then there were the numerous people who were straight whom you'd think could maybe be really gay and you could become an expert at just "pushing it to the right extent" - i.e. you get exceedingly drunk, and you make just enough of a gesture that it could lead to something more yet pull back in the event of you are wrong, like the should pat, slapping their knee in a moment of laughter. I remember one incident where a roommate accused me of trying to cheat at cards because I had moved to where I could see his cards, instead I was trying to position myself closer to him...How to explain that one.
I remember another incident where I befriended a Slovakian guy whose sexuality was uncertain to me. He invited me to his place and we consumed massive quantities of vodka, me all the while hoping that this might lead to a situation where sexuality could be explored. It didn't and I remember having a 2-3 hour blackout from those huge quantities of vodka, dangerous and stupid. But things like this happen to gay people more than you think.
And then of course there were the opposite situations. I think at least 3-4 other men at the campus house I lived in were gay. How many overtures were made to me – come up to my room, spend some time with me, that I failed to recognize out of fear. I remember once, there was a guy at the campus cafeteria I went to who sometimes came to the house I lived at. One day he came to my room and we had sex - but I was afraid, what if people hear? He wanted to cuddle but I was afraid and soon left...I stopped going to that dining hall on days he worked there. And this was someone who began one of the first gay fraternities at UC Berkeley. What a wonderful, adorable person. And I let him go out of fear. I am so ashamed of my fear back then.
And then I went to study for a year in Hamburg, Germany. I was like a kid in a candy store. No one knew me. My fluent German with slight accent was always an immediate icebreaker, I was exotic and I suddenly didn't have that fear that I had in America in the much more open "gay Mecca" of St. Georg in Hamburg. Luckily I always practiced safe sex but, like any 21 year old, you think of sex about every 7 seconds. But what was lacking was love. Sure, there could be sexual encounters, as many as I wanted, but there was no "love." That changed one day in April when I went to a gay bar called La Strada, now sadly a Döner Kebab store. I met Martin. Suddenly, I experienced a feeling I hadn't known before - mind-blowing, exuberant love. Someone who wanted to stroke my hair, sit with me, drink sake with me, go to the movies with me, in addition to the great sex. I was 22 and on top of the world. Unfortunately, he was a complete asshole. Anti-intellectual, resentful of my background in the humanities (I did not know the "real" world), would chide me for my love of museums, had a serious alcohol problem. But like many young gay people, when you first experience love, you think "This is all there is.." I have to hold onto it for all it's worth. I saw a little of that character Paco in the movie Milk in myself – you are so desperate to hold onto love, that love of being in love, that you ignore massive incompatibilities. The real topper came when he tried to force me, a left-hander, to eat with my right hand, because proper German table manners would so dictate. The breakup came after about 1 ½ years, when I went into huge debt as a graduate student at Yale to go there, only to have him break off the relationship one the first day I got to Hamburg, and I was stuck there for another 3 weeks, with no where to go.. It was the hardest thing I'd ever experienced in my whole life...I was losing this asshole, but also losing love, and was unsure if it could ever come again. Once again, there was no one I could confide in, my parents still didn't know - and wouldn't for another few years - but ended up being amazingly supportive, thank God. But how sad that people don't know how hard it is to be gay or lesbian and to feel you really have no one you can talk to, what you can do about your feelings. And this is why some gay men become very promiscuous. Men don't deal well with feelings, gay or straight, so often it is easier just to go with the mechanics of sex, because no one was there to help you when you were hurt and got burned, no one to share your joy when you are floating on clouds.
Luckily, the story has a happy ending. I have a wonderful partner of 14 years. Who loves me and is extremely dedicated to me. When I think of that asshole Martin, I think of the novel War and Peace, where Natasha had to go from hopes of marrying the much less ideal Andrej until she found her true love, Pierre. You have to have an Andrej before you can find your Pierre. And guess what – it's not perfect, we fight, we get into disagreements, we have issues about who does what around the house, we have a hell of a time keeping our colored socks apart, even though we do the laundry separately. But we are ideal neighbors, give extensively to charity, work 50 hours a week...but that is not enough for some people. Some would like nothing better to overturn marriage in Connecticut, take my rights away to treat my partner as a spouse, take away our right to have a home, even decide what sexual acts are acceptable. So the activism comes to us, we don't come to it. We become the dissidents because people want to stop our ability to simply live our lives like everyone else.
So the political intersects with the personal. I grew up in the East Bay of California, the place where the sun sets and some many hopes culminated. It was here that some of the greatest movements toward equality were born, in the areas of gay rights and civil rights, respect for diversity. It was Harvey Milk and many others who made the gay rights movement happen, along with a thousand and one other struggles across the country, in Florida against the hatred of Anita Bryant, with our brothers and sisters in New York city, as the Stonewall Riots also added a major foundation to the modern gay rights movement. It was in every small town coast to coast where people simply wanted to eke out their own existence, and the activism came to them, not vice versa.
But there was the other world. A world where people like me lived 55 minutes away from San Francisco, yet never really knew that the movement could have something for me, could have helped me. Among this place of tremendous diversity there were hateful regressive measures like Prop 6 which tried to bring back witch hunts and again treat gay people like second class citizens. And then 30 years to the day of Harvey Milk's assassination, the last votes of the odious Prop 8 came out, taking away the rights of citizens guaranteed by the constitution. I live in Connecticut now but I will die a Californian, so it effects me in the most personal and profound way. So it breaks my heart that, 30 years after the death of Harvey Milk, we are moving backwards. It breaks my heart that the gay community and African Community can be separated and have tension, 2 groups who historically have almost always stood together as unspeakable acts were perpetrated on both groups. It breaks my heart that the Karl Rove's of the world sting about their election loss but laugh giddily about this new great wedge issue they can use for political gain, more ways they can transform hatred among Prop 8 supporters for more political power. I pray that President Obama remembers us, that we are part of the Democratic party too and we need help. I pray that gay and lesbian youths like myself will know that there are people out there who can listen to them, make sense of it all, they are not monsters, they are not sick, they should be free to seek the love and affection that every human being deserves.
I think again about the Havel quote:
You do not become a dissident just because you decide one day to take up this most unusual career. You are thrown into it by your personal sense of responsibility, combined with a complex set of external circumstances. You are cast out of the existing structures and placed in a position of conflict with them. It begins as an attempt to do your work well, and ends with being branded an enemy of society
Harvey Milk was one simple man who helped to change the world, because activism came knocking at his door. But that was enough to help change the world. Each of us can help make the world a better place, it is our duty, it is what is righteous.