Harvey Fierstein & Me ~ An Intimate Moment
I remember as a kid watching Torch Song Trilogy on television. I watched the entire movie in my room, in the dark, standing in front of the tv with my hand on the dial (no remote controls then) in case my parents or my brother came upstairs. In case I got caught watching a movie about gay people. I could change the channel and quickly jump into bed without implicating myself. Without admitting who I was. Erasing any and all signs of my interest in a movie I had been craving. Devouring. I remember at first not even understanding that it was about gay people. Not because I was too young to understand, but because I couldn’t wrap my head around its content. I had never seen a movie about me before. Men kissed. Had relationships. Apartments. Jobs. Parents. Kids. Conflicts. In short, they were gay ~ and normal. I had never seen either, let alone both.
In the moment that I watched that movie on my black and white tv in my bedroom in Gaithersburg, Maryland, something incredibly intimate happened ~ Harvey Fierstein reached through my television and exposed my darkest fears as frauds. He gave me a glimpse of hope. He gave me my first gentle shove down a path I had not even known existed. He whispered in my ear that I was not alone. That there were others. That there was nothing wrong with them ~ with me! And they were happy. Or at least not any more unhappy than anyone else. They didn’t have to lie. They loved.
It is in that context that I find I can’t stop thinking about last weekend’s march, about what we did or didn’t accomplish, about Barney Frank’s comments dismissing the march as useless & about my budding activism and how ~ if ~ the small amount that I’m doing can make a difference.
For me, it’s about the children. It’s always about the children and what messages we send them. It’s about how we ~ as a society and as individuals ~ reach out to them, the way Harvey reached out to me. It’s about being visible. So that more can feel comfort in their own skin. In their own visibility.
The march was about rallying energy and sending us all home with anger and passion ~ to make change in our individual, small worlds. It was about pressuring pubic officials. But to me, more importantly, it was about the press. It was about the pictures. It was about which speaker would get picked up on the evening news so that gay kids could watch it on tv, however furtively. So that gay kids could read about it. Or find it online and see that there are others. See that there’s nothing wrong with them. It’s about them not carrying shame. Or hate. Or at least getting rid of it at an earlier age. It’s about them coming out to friends and family.
It’s not about us. Or the president. Or lobbying. It’s about making it easier, layer by layer, baby-step by baby-step, for us to come out of the closet. More of us on tv. More of us on tv shows. More of us angry about our portrayal on those shows. More of us at a march. More of us debating each other on politics and strategy. More of us getting married. More of us getting divorced. More. More. More.
That’s what Barney Frank missed when he said we would be wasting our time. Because our time will come when the country has moved to the point where to be against equality for all Americans is to commit political suicide. And that time will come after we have been exposed over and over and over for who we really are: exactly the same as everyone else. Barney Frank is shortsighted if he thinks that the march was only about politics. And the LGBT leadership is shortsighted if it thinks that one strategy or another is a better path towards our inevitable equality. As we squabble publicly we seem to be missing the bigger picture: our disagreements and debates are less important than the fact that they are, more and more, being played out in public. For children to see. And every time they see us, it reinforces that there is nothing wrong with being L, G, B or T.
Obama might one day get the votes, the support and the backbone to make him feel comfortable doing what’s right. And should he do that it will surely send a very loud, clear, positive signal to all of our children as well as give us the equality that we are entitled to. But he will always come from a political homebase that tells him that doing the right thing in terms of the LGBT community is risky. It’s who he is. It’s what he has been taught.
How do we change that? By changing the way our children view themselves and their sexuality. They are our future voters. They are our future leaders. We need their homebase, their default stance, to be that inequality for anyone is the politically risky choice.
Not very long ago, taking the position that schools should be segregated wasn’t only tolerated or accepted, it was necessary for politicians from certain districts, with certain conservative constituents, to keep their jobs.
Times have changed.
When I question the efficacy of my small contributions to the cause, I try to remember that every time I go out in the world I help to move the times along. Donating whatever money I have or making phone calls on behalf of a candidate. If just one more person votes for a candidate who believes in equality, and if that vote puts one more person into office who votes for equality, and if that message gets sent out into society, then one more kid will feel safe, comfortable and confident coming out of the closet.
Thank you, Harvey, for telling me that it’s o.k.
Now, in my own way, I’m doing the same.
And so on and so on and so on.
