IGF CultureWatch

You don't need to go much further than the death of Seaman August Provost to show how contemptible Don't Ask, Don't Tell is. He was not killed in Afghanistan, or Pakistan, or off the coast of North Korea; he was killed in San Diego.

At Camp Pendelton.

And it is very likely he was killed because he was gay - a fact his non-military partner said was known among Provost's trusted friends at Pendelton.

Provost told family members he was being harassed, and their common-sense advice to him goes to the heart of DADT's incoherence: he should tell his supervisor.

Except, of course, that would be "telling."

DADT not only prevented the Navy from being able to investigate this harassment (though they can investigate it now that he's dead), it is exactly the kind of policy that sends a message to any potential harasser that our government views homosexuality as something wrong.

We can finesse this policy till the cows come home, and maybe mitigate a bit of the surface problems of DADT. But the deeper problem, the problem of what it says about homosexuals to heterosexuals in the military is the iniquitous heart of the policy, and that message will keep being sent as long as it exists.

Dale Carpenter's tart question about the President's options on DADT suggested to me that we may be invoking the wrong political analogy. While the discussion has tended to focus on whether we are or aren't similar to African-Americans in their struggle for equality, the more apt comparison might be whether we are to the Obama administration what the religious right was to George W. Bush.

For eight years, Bush got away with condescension and empty gestures: faith-based this and that, a limp, piety-draped announcement of the Federal Marriage Amendment, and all the cooing and coddling and coded insider messaging any insulated special interest could ask for. It's clear that his administration seldom viewed the right as a group needing anything more than stroking - and that's when they weren't expressing outright contempt for the religious leaders to one another. For their part, the religious zealots knew they had no reasonable political alternative, and hoped (and prayed) for the best. At least they were inside the White House.

I am hopeful the Obama administration doesn't view us, in private, with the derision and cynicism that was so characteristic of the Bush advisors. But we know Rahm Emanuel, in particular, is haunted by what he calls "the consequences of '94." I don't think it's unreasonable to believe he views lesbians and gay men as a kind of political irritation, an itch that must be scratched, as his Republican predecessors in the White House viewed the far right.

I'm not alone in that fear, as gay criticism of Monday night's cocktail party demonstrates. It was an event designed for our insiders, by insiders to cater to insiders. The President said many very good things, up to and including, "I expect and hope to be judged not by words, not by promises I've made, but by the promises that my administration keeps."

That expression of accountability is fine as far as it goes. But kept promises don't include cocktail parties or gestures. The administration certainly needs some time to address the overt discrimination against homosexuals that federal law demands to this very day. But it is up to us to determine how long the President (or Emanuel) can exploit our hopes and string us along.

To me, that means, not cuddling up to us in private, but using this President's phenomenal resources of good will and articulation to nudge the public discussion forward. And he can't do that by just talking to us.

It is that, above all, that makes him so radically different from Bush. His speech to us on Monday suggests that he understands our issues well enough to take on that task. Not today, and maybe not even this summer. But at some point he needs to say something publicly.

As a whole, Americans are past ready for repeal of DADT. If the problem is truly the military, then Obama needs to speak publicly to the military. If Stephen Colbert can rib the troops about DADT, I think they're probably willing to listen to their Commander-in-Chief.

And while the public is still not entirely ready for nationwide recognition of same-sex marriage, Obama cannot continue to allow federal law to recognize only the lowest common denominator of state discrimination against same-sex couples. DOMA is, and will continue to be, the wall that politics bangs its - and our - head against time after time until it is changed. He cannot assure success by addressing the American public. But he can continue to indulge prejudice by commiserating only with us.

Rahm Emanuel has reason to fear public reaction to gay equality. But that's because he lacks the rhetorical skills his boss possesses. He has to follow, and cater to public opinion because his strength is not in changing it.

The President, though, does have that talent - in abundance. He has addressed the Muslim world directly, and showed himself fearless during the campaign in defending himself against the most demeaning political charges, absurd claims that would have reduced a lesser candidate to fits of frustration.

It is that promise, explicitly, that I want him to keep for us: the promise of representing us to those portions of the public who still harbor fear and misunderstanding. He can't do that by holding cocktail parties for us, or weakly asking Congress to act. Congress is not famous for leading - that is the President's job. We will continue to do our part, but now we need his eloquence. The rest will follow.

I'm usually skeptical of initial reports about incidents that have political consequences, since there is so much room for misunderstanding, misinterpretation and other mischief. I approached the first stories about Saturday night's police raid of a gay bar in Fort Worth, Texas with that wariness. Seriously? A raid on a gay bar on the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall riots?

The first stories I read described some pretty drunk patrons, and I assumed some partying had gotten out of hand. But that sort of thing is hardly uncommon in bars, and it's not often the police show up. Box Turtle Bulletin is covering this story extremely well, and the only statement I could see about why the police came to the Rainbow Lounge is that the police said they had "anonymous tips" possibly from "disgruntled ex-bartenders." The first excuse is pretty thin, but might be true -- however implausible, or indefensible if such anonymous tips are not also relied on to conduct similar raids on heterosexual bars. The second, though, borders on lying malpractice. The bar had only been open for a week. Is that really the best they could come up with? I'm not that familiar with the ways of Texas, but can they really get fired and disgruntled that fast there?

But the big news here, judging from the statement by Joel Burns, a Forth Worth city councilman, is that there may even be some political accountability for any officials who got out of line:

I want all citizens of Texas and Fort Worth to know and be assured that the laws and ordinances of our great State and City will be applied fairly, equally and without malice or selective enforcement. I consider this to be part of "The Fort Worth Way" here. As an elected representative of the city of Fort Worth, I am calling for an immediate and thorough investigation of the actions of the City of Fort Worth Police and Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission in relation to the incident at the Rainbow Lounge earlier this morning, June 28, 2009.

It is unfortunate that this incident occurred in Fort Worth and even more so to have occurred on the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall protests. Unlike 40 years ago, though, the people of this community have elective representation that will make sure our government is accountable and that the rights of all of its citizens are protected. I are working together with our Mayor, Police Chief, the City of Fort Worth Human Relations Commission, and our State Legislative colleagues to get a complete and accurate accounting of what occurred.

Rest assured that neither the people of Fort Worth, nor the city government of Fort Worth, will tolerate discrimination against any of its citizens. And know that the GLBT Community is an integral part of the economic and cultural life of Fort Worth.

Every Fort Worth citizen deserves to have questions around this incident answered and I am working aggressively toward that end.

This is something -- a politician making a statement recognizing the role of lesbians and gay men in the community -- that could not have happened t in 1969, even in New York. And its simple fairness (even if Mr. Burns is in the minority in his sentiments) cannot be impugned. It is entirely fair and proper to have the police explain, in public, their side of the story. And I can't wait to hear what they have to say.

Frank Rich's Sunday essay in the NY Times is about gay rights and Stonewall, and it goes without saying it's worth reading.

A couple of sentences struck me:

After the gay liberation movement was born at Stonewall, this strand of history advanced haltingly until the 1980s. It took AIDS and the new wave of gay activism it engendered to fully awaken many, including me, to the gay people all around them.

This is true, but goes deeper than I think Rich realizes. He was, after all, a theater critic for Time magazine during the 70s, after which he took up the same role for the New York Times.

It's worth thinking about that for a bit. A man writing about the theater in America in the 1970s and 80s could not possibly have been a stranger to gay people. So what, exactly, did the new wave of gay activism enlighten him to?

Simply asking that question implicates the unique role - or non-role - that lesbians and gay men played in the minds of Americans prior to Stonewall. And it shows why Stonewall - and the earlier Black Cat riots in L.A., and other uprisings of the time - were not only necessary but inevitable. We were, in fact, there, all along, but existed in a parallel universe of indeterminacy; somehow not quite real -- or, at least, not the same sort of beings as everyone else.

The events at Stonewall and the Black Cat bar occurred roughly simultaneously on opposite ends of the country, and apparently had no direct connection to one another. Each was a reaction to its own form of local police harassment, the kind of thing we'd gotten used to over the years. But their similarities can't be ignored. Without anyone making any conscious decision, the injustice and the isolation -- the lack of any formal role in the society -- boiled over. Stonewall and Black Cat were fundamental assertions of our existence. It would take another quarter of a century for us to find the articulation those protesters could have used: We're here, we're queer, get used to it.

But they didn't need slogans to make their point. They showed up, and in those days that was plenty. Some of their stories are now available at a place few of them could ever have imagined: AARP has a section devoted to Stonewall.

Tomorrow will be an important anniversary, both to look back and to look forward. But Frank Rich inadvertently reminds us that we should think a bit about the trip from there to here - the journey from citizenship without rights to, well, whatever we can obtain through the grace of the political branches.

Some lawyer who humbly describes himself as "one of the most feared and revered attorneys in San Francisco" has filed a lawsuit in California state court trying to overturn Prop 8. Didn't we just lose that case? Does he think that he's going to scare the California Supreme Court into changing its mind?

Every year toward the end of June, gay pride time, we are treated to another round of reminiscences about the good old radical days of gay liberation, laced with resentment about how we've now betrayed some founding principles. Reading these essays is like walking into a home full of bean-bag chairs and shag carpeting. It's memorable in its way, but you don't want to live there.

In this 40th year after the riot at the Stonewall Inn, the most prominent of these nostalgists is long-time activist Peter Tatchell in Britain, who wites in The Guardian about his experiences in the Gay Liberation Front (GLF):

Our vision was a new sexual democracy, without homophobia and misogyny. Erotic shame and guilt would be banished, together with socially enforced monogamy and male and female gender roles. There would be sexual freedom and human rights for everyone - queer and straight. Our message was "innovate, don't assimilate".

GLF never called for equality. The demand was liberation. We wanted to change society, not conform to it. . . .

In the 40 years since Stonewall and GLF, there has been a massive retreat from that radical vision. Most LGBT ­people no longer question the values, laws and institutions of society. They are content to settle for equal rights within the status quo. On the age of consent, the LGBT movement accepted equality at 16, ignoring the criminalisation of younger gay and straight people. Don't the under-16s have sexual human rights too? Equality has not helped them. All they got was equal injustice.

Whereas GLF saw marriage and the family as a patriarchal prison for women, gay people and children, today the LGBT movement uncritically champions same-sex marriage and families. It has embraced traditional hetero­sexual aspirations lock stock and barrel. How ironic. While straight couples are deserting marriage, same-sexers are rushing to embrace it: witness the current legal fight in California for the right to marry. Are queers the new conservatives, the 21st-century suburbanites?

There's hardly ever been a more succinct statement of the way the gay civil rights movement has changed -- I would say matured -- over the past 40 years. Stripped of the pejoratives, Tatchell's essay accurately describes the main differences. Witness the struggle to serve in the military, to join the Boy Scouts, and most of all, to marry. This is a way of saying, Yes, many of us do accept the fundamental values, laws, and institutions of our society. Equality of rights and obligations within those institutions is ennobling, not mindless. We doubt that all innovation is good. We're not trying to abolish "gender" or monogamy. There is an appropriate age threshold for sexual consent. We think "assimilation" is just a patronizing way to describe living our lives without conforming to your romantic notions of queerness. Sexual freedom? Anybody with an apartment key has that.

And yes, we want marriage. Marriage is not a "patriarchal prison" for our partners and children. It is freedom from a queer prison of perpetual grievance and mythologized otherness. It is getting off the tiger's back of adolescence and accepting responsibilities for families and communities.

Tatchell and his generation of radical liberationists deserve our eternal gratitude for their courage and their success. Tatchell himself has been fearless in his pursuit of, whether he would say so or not, equality for gays and lesbians. The liberationists who gave us Stonewall hastened us down a path (already begun long before them) that has brought us to the edge of unprecedented respect and acceptance.

But they do not deserve our uncritical acceptance of their values or goals. We are their children but we've grown up and moved out of the house. They do not own the movement, they do not censor its messages or license its membership, and they are not gatekeepers of its future.

Only 52 years late, the U.S. government has officially apologized to Dr. Frank Kameny, the gay-rights pioneer, for firing him from his federal job because he was gay. The Washington Blade has an account of what must have been a deeply touching ceremony. And Dale Carpenter has Frank's characteristically mischievous reaction:

I am looking forward to receipt of a check for 52 years of back pay, which I can well use.

But, more seriously, in a phrase that I've used in a related connection recently, all this is like a story-book ending where all issues are resolved. I'm usually not very emotional, but I haven't really come back down to ground yet in all of this.

This just a week after Frank received a tribute from President Obama himself. After signing an executive order granting some partner benefits to federal employees, the president handed the pen to Frank.

Now in his 80s, Frank is blessed to see the turn events have taken-a turn he has done so much to bring about. And we are blessed to be witnesses.

I would not have wished for Mark Sanford's correspondence with his Argentine lover to have been made public. Most of us, I think, who have impulsively committed such intimate and passionate feelings to writing would cringe to have them published - and certainly would not want them tossed into the crass and dehumanizing environment that Sanford is now confronting.

But they are public, and I could not help myself. I read them. And, honestly, I found them quite beautiful. They are not momentous or articulate or consequential in the way that literature can be. But they are affecting and passionate and deeply, deeply human. In their poignant clumsiness, they reveal, not only two adults very much in one another's complicated thrall, but something very important about the unpredictable, irresistible imperative of love.

Which is another way of saying that I think this anti-gay Republican politician from South Carolina has helped make the argument for gay marriage in a way that few of us have been able to.

Take this passage, from Maria, about their feelings for one another: "Sometimes you don't choose things, they just happen ..." Could there be a more universal, recognizable definition of how feelings of love have no identifiable provenance? Even though it was written by a woman who seems quite heterosexual, can anyone who is homosexual avoid hearing echoes of "I didn't choose to be gay" in this expression of futility in the face of love? Maria goes on, in words that any lesbian or gay man who has finally stopped resisting their truest, inner self could recognize: "I can't redirect my feelings and I am very happy with mine towards you."

Or compare this passage Sanford wrote, with what we have argued so invariably for decades: "The rarest of all commodities in this world is love. It is that thing that we all yearn for at some level - to be simply loved unconditionally for nothing more than who we are - not what we can get, give or become." It is sentiments like this that separate Sanford from some politicians whose scandals have been swept in with his - Elliot Spitzer, Larry Craig and David Vitter. There is no (fair) comparison between their pursuit of sexual gratification and Sanford's deep, personal affection for, even adoration of, a woman not his wife.

This is all the difference in the world - both for Sanford, and particularly for us. The history of prejudice against lesbians and gay men comes primarily from the notion that it is our sexual natures which drive us. And if that were true, marriage would not need to be of any concern to us now that the sodomy laws are gone.

But in this historical moment of sexual decriminalization, marriage is even more important to us - and for the same reason it's important to heterosexuals. It involves something so much greater than just sex. It involves love, the kind that takes you by surprise and leaves you breathless - and a little bit obsessed. Marriage is an institution that channels love, tames it and denatures it some, for a longer-term benefit - not only to children but to the couple.

Adultery is a problem - an eternal one - because it interrupts the stability of marriage. It is, in fact, an impulse we should control but, as we see again and again, that unpremeditated love has a force and logic of its own.

Sanford's adultery is wrong, but his heartrending experience is all too human. It is that humanity lesbians and gay men are still struggling to have the public understand about us. We are as surprised and delighted by love as any heterosexual. And we have as little control over it. As Sanford writes, "How in the world this lightening [sic] strike snuck up on us I am still not quite sure."

I don't know if any of this will or should change Sanford's mind about same-sex marriage, and I admit that question is almost beside the point. But if anyone understands love's hegemony the way we do, it is Sanford. As I read him expressing his tenderest and most rapturous feelings, I saw some of myself in him. Someday, I hope he can understand why.