IGF CultureWatch

I admit it: I was fascinated by the announcement that Sarah Palin's 17-year-old daughter is pregnant.

It's no surprise that teenagers have sex-even evangelical Christian teenagers, and especially very good looking ones, in Alaska, where there's not much to do but hunting and fishing and…well, you know.

And it's certainly no surprise that sex makes babies.

But when a conservative politician who advocates abstinence education has a very public failure of abstinence in her own family, revealed just a few days after she's announced as the Republican vice-presidential nominee, it's bound to get people talking.

If nothing else, the social and political contours are interesting. Right-wingers admire Palin's principles, but some wish she would put aside her political ambitions to tend to her family. Left-wingers reject this idea as anti-feminist, but they also reject Palin's politics.

Let me make two things very clear.

First, Bristol Palin is not running for office; Sarah Palin is. Bristol Palin, like all expectant mothers, should be wished well-especially since she finds herself pregnant during the frenzy and scrutiny of her mother's vice-presidential campaign. She deserves our compassion, as does her new fiancé.

Second, Sarah Palin is no hypocrite-as some uncharitable commentators have suggested-for embracing her yet-unwed pregnant daughter.

There's no inconsistency in believing both that we should teach abstinence until marriage and that we should support those children who become pregnant anyway. There's no hypocrisy in striving for an ideal that you and your loved ones occasionally fall short of. You don't stop endorsing speed limits just because you (or your kids) sometimes lose track of the speedometer.

The fact is, Sarah Palin's rejection of comprehensive sex education deserves criticism on its own merits. Her family's behavior has nothing to do with it, aside from adding anecdotes to the statistics suggesting that "abstinence only" doesn't achieve what its proponents hope and claim.

For example, abstinence advocates are fond of citing studies by Yale's Hannah Brückner and Columbia's Peter Bearman, who show that adolescents who take abstinence pledges generally delay sex about eighteen months longer than those who don't. What the advocates don't mention is the researchers' finding that only 12 percent of these adolescents keep their pledges, and that when they do have sex, they are far less likely to use protection.

In other words, the failure rate of condoms pales by comparison to the failure rate of abstinence pledges-88 percent, if you believe Brückner and Bearman.

But it's not Sarah Palin's rejection of comprehensive sex education that's bugging me here. What's bugging me is the right-wing reaction, which for the most part boils down to "Nobody's perfect, life happens, but you love and support your children and grandchildren."

That, of course, is the proper reaction.

But it stands in sharp contrast to their usual reaction to gay kids, their rhetoric about "Love in Action" and "Love Win[ning] Out" notwithstanding.

For example, contrast the right-wing reaction to Palin's grandchild with their reaction to Dick Cheney's grandchild Samuel-son of his lesbian daughter Mary. At the time, Janice Crouse of Concerned Women for America announced that Mary's pregnancy "repudiates traditional values and sets an appalling example for young people at a time when father absence is the most pressing social problem facing the nation." She was hardly alone in such denunciations.

Now here's the same Crouse on Palin: "We are confident that she and her family will handle this unexpected situation with grace and love. We appreciate the fact that the Palins…are providing loving support to the teenager and her boyfriend."

There are differences in the two cases to be sure. Bristol plans to marry the father, and thus will provide the baby with a "traditional" family (in one sense); Mary won't. Bristol's pregnancy was probably accidental, whereas Mary's was certainly deliberate.

On the other hand, Mary's child arrives in the home of a mature and stable couple; Bristol's in the home of a young and hastily formed one.

But the sharpest difference in the cases is the contrast in right-wingers' compassion. It's the difference in empathy, a trait that's at the core of the Golden Rule.

They tell heterosexuals: abstinence until marriage-and if you fail, we forgive you. For gays, it's abstinence forever-and if you fail, we denounce you.

For heterosexuals, "Nobody's perfect, life happens, but you love and support your children and grandchildren."

For gays, not so much.

I was there.

I was on the floor of the Democratic National Convention when Barack Obama accepted the nomination in a thundering speech. I was there when the flags waved, when the fireworks exploded to the vibrant strings of movie-music, when confetti was shot from an air gun and pushed by the wind.

I was there, and what I remember most clearly are two things: the standing ovation when Obama mentioned coming to an agreement over gay rights, and the woman with the rainbow flag.

First, the applause. Applause lines are applause lines, and candidates at their own conventions have many of them.

But when Obama said, "I know there are differences on same-sex marriage, but surely we can agree that our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters deserve to visit the person they love in the hospital and to live lives free from discrimination," everyone around me stood up.

And I was not standing by liberal California or New York, either. I was next to the Arizona delegates, across from Wisconsin, behind Iowa. They all stood. They all cheered wildly, as if he had been talking about them personally, about their own families, about their own rights.

Second, the rainbow flag. There was an African-American woman in the Ohio section, dressed in vibrant purple, and the entire time Obama was speaking, she held her right arm straight up, holding an American flag and a rainbow flag together.

She didn't wave them happily. She didn't bring her flags down during the quiet parts of the speeches, the way everyone else did.

Instead, she was her own silent protest, her own one-woman reminder, that justice needed to be done.

These things, together, are the two that most heartened me at the convention.

Yes, I have drunk the holy water. Yes, I believe we must vote for Obama, because he is our best chance at full civil rights right now, and this is a point where we must take every opportunity we can.

Yes, even so, I noted that with other examples, Obama uses the collective "we" - he'll say things like, "We run little leagues," when I'm sure he has never run a little league in his life; but gay people are always "brothers and sisters." To him, we are still the other.

But in this election, noting things like that are interesting, but trivial. This is an important election, a serious election. There is a gulf between Obama and McCain (especially with the nomination of the very socially conservative Gov. Palin) and if we are committed to fighting for our civil rights the way we say we are, then we must vote accordingly. We must keep perspective.

Nevertheless, more moving to me than being included in Obama's laundry list - although that was important - was the genuine thunder of feeling expressed by the delegates. They are in this with us. That's what it felt like. These Democrats from around the country, from large empty states and small crowded ones, these governors and senators and union workers and retirees, they feel our rights are important and vital, and a central part of "change" and "hope."

They are our allies, and most of them are straight.

And that woman, that woman with the flag. She reminded me that it is people like her, people who stand up and announce who they are before the applause when acceptance is not certain, people who stand up and say, I am gay and I deserve full rights, it is those kinds of people that draw attention to places where the government must stitch together the torn places and create justice.

Is it people like this woman who draw attention to a cause and change hearts one by one.

What truly propels us forward is the will of the people. The small, lonely, fierce voices of the oppressed and the loud call of the collective will. Government, we must remember, is rarely the center of change. In our democracy, government usually acts in response to the people, it does not lead the charge.

And the will of the people has changed in our case, is changing.

Not everyone. Not everywhere. But maybe enough to make a difference. Maybe enough to sweep away the last of the federal legal barriers to our civil rights.

We stand for ourselves and now others are standing with us. We are winning. There is no going back.

Two weeks ago, news emerged that the co-founder of the website Manhunt.net had contributed $2,300 to the presidential campaign of John McCain. Uproar ensued.

Haven't heard of Manhunt?

Unless you're a gay man, that's to be expected. It's one of the most popular gay websites in the world, with 1 million registered members in the U.S. alone and 400,000 unique visitors a month. As its name implies, it's a site where many gay men go to find casual sexual encounters. Manhunt and sites like it have revolutionized one formative aspect of gay culture, taking what was once a public activity to the privacy of one's home.

Except that the Internet, as Jonathan Crutchley recently discovered, isn't really private. A successful real estate developer, he founded Manhunt with his life partner, Larry Basile, in 2001. He ran into trouble when Out, a gay magazine, published an article about the website in its current issue. The article, in passing, referred to Crutchley - who until last week was chairman of the board at Manhunt - as a "liberal Republican." That tidbit apparently shocked gay blogger Andy Towle, who within seconds found Crutchley's donation to McCain on a contributor database and posted the news on his website.

The shaming and condemnation of Crutchley was swift and unforgiving.

"Let's show MANHUNT what we in the gay community think of members of our community who support politicians who vote against the interests of the community," an anonymous commenter wrote. "Delete your MANHUNT profile!" Michelangelo Signorile, a gay liberal radio host, labeled Crutchley "asinine" simply for supporting McCain.

Rarely do you come across a political candidate who shares each and every one of your political views, and Crutchley's support for McCain was hardly different from that of any other donor who doesn't make the perfect the enemy of the good. "I believe McCain will be a better commander in chief than Obama, who also opposes gay marriage," Crutchley wrote on a website that covers the online personal ad industry. "If we have an experienced, seasoned person defending the country in this dangerous age, we will be able to argue about the gay agenda later."

That explanation might not please every gay activist, but it is a feeling shared by many gay people. According to exit polls, about 25% of gays voted for George W. Bush in the last two presidential elections (the actual number is likely higher, seeing that many gays do not identify themselves as such to pollsters).

The fact that Crutchley is a Republican ought not to come as much of a surprise then, especially considering that he's a self-made millionaire. And he's hardly a radical right-winger either. "I'm a Massachusetts Republican," he wrote, "which is about the same as being an Alabama Democrat."

But such nuance is apparently irrelevant to those who equate homosexuality with political liberalism. Manhunt hasn't revealed how many people canceled their profiles. However, just how poisonous Crutchley's politics can be in a gay milieu can be deduced from the speed with which he stepped down from his position as chairman - at "the request of the board," according to Basile. (Crutchley maintains his co-ownership of the site, meaning that subscribers will continue to put money into the pocket of an "evil" Republican in order to fulfill their sexual desires.)

In an open letter that's been all over the blogosphere, Basile reassured users of the website that his partner's political beliefs were his own. "It is too bad for the website if we lose customers, but PLEASE never refer to me as a Republican. I consider it an offense," he wrote.

Basile, who proudly pointed to his donation to the Barack Obama campaign in his letter, also claimed to the Boston Herald that the McCain campaign returned Crutchley's donation and that Crutchley, realizing the error of his ways, now supports Obama. There has been no independent verification of these claims, as neither the McCain campaign nor Crutchley have spoken to the media about the contretemps. If the intent was to silence a conservative gay voice, it appears to have succeeded.

The hue and cry over Crutchley's politics is all too familiar. Why can't gay activists countenance the idea of a "Massachusetts Republican"? Liberal intolerance. In the minds of too many on the left, gay people (like women and ethnic minorities) have to be liberal and support Democratic candidates. To do otherwise - that is, to have opinions on issues (even issues utterly unrelated to gay rights) that don't follow the left-wing line - is to be a traitor to the gay "community."

For too long, many gay-rights activists have acted as if throwing temper tantrums will magically bring about their political agenda. But labeling everyone with whom they don't agree a "bigot" does not help the worthy cause of gay equality.

The truth of the matter is that civil rights for gays can't come about without the help of Republicans. And this means that gay people - and straight supporters of gay equality - need to stand with, not silence, people like Crutchley who are working to change the GOP from within.

Gays need only look to California, where a state Supreme Court loaded with Republican appointees legalized gay marriage and the Republican governor is one of the most powerful pro-gay publicly elected officials in the country, to understand the importance of making gay rights a bipartisan cause.

Gayness is a sexual orientation, not a political one. Aside from their sexuality, gay people are no different from heterosexuals. There are gay people of all races, income levels, occupations, body types and, yes, political beliefs. Gay liberals are always crowing about the importance of "diversity" and lauding its importance on matters of race and gender. Too bad diversity doesn't count when it comes to politics.

The news last Wednesday that pioneer lesbian activist Del Martin had died came as a shock. Not because she wasn't old. At 87, she was. But because she and her partner Phyllis Lyon have been creative forces in the gay liberation and women's movements during all of my own long activist life-and back far earlier as well. They seemed eternal presences. It never occurred to me that either might die.

Dorothy ("Del") Martin was a native San Franciscan, born there on May 5, 1921. She was graduated from what is now San Francisco State University where she became managing editor of the student newspaper. While there she married the paper's business manager James Martin and two years later they had a daughter. But they eventually divorced.

She moved to Seattle to take a job with a newspaper for the construction industry, where she met Lyon and the two became fast friends. One evening in 1952, Lyon wrote, "Sitting on the couch in my apartment, she made what I considered a half pass at me-I completed the other half. We had sex together for the first time." In short order they became partners.

Early in their relationship they tried to imitate male/female heterosexual roles, as did most lesbian couples at the time. Lyon recalled that "we were in the butch/femme bag ourselves. ... We had no other pattern." (Martin once referred to herself as a "sissy butch.") But they eventually abandoned the attempt "because neither one of us really fit into those roles."

Moving back to San Francisco, the two did not know any other lesbians until a gay male friend introduced them to a lesbian friend of his. One evening in 1955 the lesbian friend called and said, "Would you like to join me, my partner, and two other couples in starting a secret club for lesbians." Of course they would! They named the secret club the "Daughters of Bilitis," after a small book of lesbian-themed poems, "Songs of Bilitis," by turn-of-the-century French writer Pierre Louys who created Bilitis as an openly lesbian contemporary of Sappho.

When the group decided to formalize its organization, Martin was selected as president. In 1960 she followed Lyon as the editor of the DOB magazine, "The Ladder." The name was chosen to imply that lesbians, as individuals and as a group, hoped to achieve higher social status.

The first issue was mimeographed and stapled by hand. They mailed it to 175 people, everyone the DOB members knew. "There was a fantastic outpouring of gratitude for 'The Ladder,'" Lyon wrote, "beyond anything we expected." After the first issues, letters began coming in from women asking how to meet other lesbians. Invariably Martin and Lyon replied, "Move to a large city." Still good advice today.

When the minister of the progressive Glide Memorial Church formed the Council on Religion and the Homosexual in 1964, he invited Martin to join. The next year Episcopal Bishop James A. Pike invited her to join his new Diocesan Commission on Homosexuality. That began Martin's growing involvement in non-DOB activities, eventually to extend to women's issues generally.

Our of their experience dealing with lesbian issues in a growing number of speaking engagements and requests for information, in 1972 the two women published the important "Lesbian/Woman," a candid, pioneering book, informative for both lesbians and curious heterosexuals. Now in its revised third edition, the book still reads well today. I have bought copies, loaned them to friends, and never gotten them back.

Also in 1972 they helped found the Alice B. Toklas Memorial Democratic Club named after Gertrude Stein's longtime lover. In 1976 San Francisco Mayor George Moscone appointed Martin to his Commission on the Status of Women. In that same year Martin published "Battered Wives," which added impetus to the movement to establish women's shelters across the country.

As Lyon wrote later of Martin, "The number of speeches she gave and the workshops she was involved in at universities and colleges, mental health associations, women's groups of various kinds, and law enforcement agencies increased at a rapid pace." She also continued to write magazine articles promoting her concerns.

In the late 1980s as Martin and Lyon, both then in their 60s, felt themselves aging, the final phase of Martin's activist career centered on the problems of the aging in our society. Most notably, perhaps, both women were appointed to the 1995 White House conference on aging.

Gratifyingly, barely two months before Martin's death, she and Lyon were enabled at long last to legalize their lifelong relationship. San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom invited them to be the first couple married after a California Supreme Court ruling declared same-sex marriages were a constitutional right.