you get a sneak-peak of my column for next month's newsletter

"Doin’ Alice on My Grandma’s Dining Room Table"

Homophobia’s a quirky thing. Especially when we ourselves internalize it. And we’ve been a doing that a lot lately—with our own fears of political backlash in this last election. We didn’t cause the Democrats and Kerry to lose, any more than all the other number of reasons they lost. We didn’t cause the marriage battles in those 11 states to lose either. We worked our asses off for all of these things. We did what we could do. We are not to blame for the lack of compassion and vibrancy and hope in the election results. In fact, we are the ones who made the hope possible.

And yet we self-reflect, and we question, and we hurt ourselves. And it’s not without external factors. I mean, we have been named the scapegoats. And we have been told that we’re getting too big for our britches, and we’re moving too fast. And so, it’s reasonable that anyone would internalize that fear and pain. And we do.

But, gosh, we’ve been through so much worse in our lives. It’s time to remember that. And start fighting those internal demons so we can battle the real ones. And we have to give those around us the ability to stand up with us. If we don’t ask and we don’t show our own strength, we know that they have no reason to do so on our behalf. And people can surprise.

When I first left for Missouri in mid-October to help out with the Kerry/Democratic campaigns, I took off my Kerry button from my backpack. My rainbow-striped Kerry button. And I put on one of the basic blue Kerry buttons. I did this because I was thinking about my audience. In San Francisco, it meant a great deal to me to showcase my Pride in Kerry and my Pride in my community and how the two connected. Heading for Missouri, I decided that my message was about promoting Kerry in general and I didn’t want to ‘confuse the issue’ as I was wont to say to myself. I told myself that I wanted to join in a larger movement as a Kerry volunteer, and not be just a Gay Kerry supporter. I wanted to showcase my Missouri roots to bolster Kerry. I wanted to not get into a discussion about Gay-rights when my focus was on Kerry, and I didn’t want to lose a potential Kerry supporter because I was Gay.

It’s not that I wasn’t Out. It’s not that I wasn’t myself while in Missouri. I mean, I’ve been Out since 19 and I was Out for years living in Missouri before I left for the coasts. I’m Out. But then, here I was, back in Missouri, coalescing with every other Democrat and I didn’t want to complicate things. And I was afraid I would look like I was just another ‘faggot from San Francisco’ who was supporting Kerry. I was afraid of how I would look.

But then something happened. I was at the Democratic headquarters in my hometown one day, wearing my basic blue Kerry button, and I heard a remark. Just a subtle remark, from one guy to another, within the headquarters, Democrat to Democrat, that rattled me. Just one of those little remarks that it used to reinforce the heterosexist society we live in—nothing major and yet oh-so-subliminal. And I snapped out of my internalized homophobia. I responded in kind—subtly. I took my rainbow-striped Kerry button and put it on my chest. For all to see.

Nothing was ever said after that. And yet much changed. The environment of the headquarters changed. Suddenly, many of my fellow volunteers started coming Out too. Subtly. And mostly to me directly. But they were there. And it hit me, reminding me of my old life in Missouri all over again. We’re all so hidden until we start to stand up. And the non-Gay people in the room started to take notice of the changed atmosphere too. The comments changed. There was a new openness. A blue collar, over-alls-wearing, World War II Vet made a quick, public ‘clarification’ regarding an anti-Gay reference that went too far. And this retreat wasn’t directed to me or anyone specifically Gay, but to the whole room, because he knew that it wasn’t right to make a comment like that anymore, in this room and in our society.

One night the majority of the people in the headquarters were Openly Gay men, and everyone knew it because by then we had all started wearing our Pride. And it wasn’t as if there was a sudden fear of all the Democrats working together to support Kerry. It wasn’t suddenly a desire by these fellow Democrats to cut and run. I learned that my own fears of our differences separating us kept them and me for coming together as much as society did. I learned that my own homophobia kept us apart, and didn’t allow for them to go the distance they needed to go too.

I came Out when I was 19. I spent the lifetime before that in fear and hatred of myself. And I feared and worried how my family would be if they found out. At 19, I couldn’t play the closet game any longer. Thus family began their process of acceptance, while I began my own process of becoming Out and opening myself up. It’s been a long road, but it’s been made all the better by my family’s warm support and love even as they discovered more about me and themselves and society.

While in Missouri, I had to get out the November edition of the Alice newsletter. My Mother took me to Kinko’s to make the copies. She stood there and helped me fold. We then went to lunch at my Grandparents and she and I finished the folding and the labeling and stamping of the newsletter on my Grandma’s dining room table while my Grandpa and my Grandma read the newsletter hot off the press. They kept a copy.

I know we have great things to fear in life and there are real reasons to fear because we know all-too-well that violence and hatred are real. I know we have worries that maybe we should be less vigilant sometimes, particularly in “middle-America”, in order for us to win the larger battles politically. I know we worry sometimes that fighting for marriage equality is too much, too soon. I know we want our fellow Democrats, our fellow Americans, our families and our friends and our non-Gay acquaintances to like us and accept us. And I know how easy it is to play along to get along to be quiet and timid and hold on and just wait and fear hope.

But if we don’t stand up, who will? If we don’t fight our own internal fears, how can others and society in general fight their fears?

To put it simply, if I had never come out years ago and broken through my own fears, and then given my family the possibility of coming to terms with theirs, would I have ever been witness to my mother and my Grandparents and I, all together, doing the Alice newsletter on the dining room table?