In the aftermath of California voters barely passing Prop. 8, which shot down gay marriage, many of the pundits seemed to dwell on one fact: nearly 70% of Black voters in the state voted for the proposition.
My first thought was disappointment that so many of my own people pulled the lever against a right I, and other LGBT people, should have had in the first place.
But in all the sniping from some White gay leaders who were infuriated that one minority group couldn’t understand the perspective of another minority group, and with all the grousing from some Black gay leaders that there are bigger priorities in life than marriage, there’s a lesson lost.
We’re not communicating with and reaching out to each other before crucial decisions are made. And as a vote from the DC City Council on gay marriage will be coming up in early 2009 in a city that is 60% Black, we need to do this like yesterday.
First, the Black vote fixation was myopic. Apparently, some people didn’t realize that upward of 80% of Republicans, conservatives, white evangelicals, and weekly churchgoers also voted yes on Prop. 8. The initiative would have passed, albeit barely, even if not a single African-American had shown up at the polls. Besides, Mormons pumped $20 million into the “Yes on 8” campaign, so it’s safer to say they really tipped the scales.
The morning-after chattering confirmed that a crucial problem was messaging and outreach. Apparently, the African-American outreach from mostly white gay groups was sorely lacking. There were a couple of town hall meetings in the state and an urging of the NAACP to issue a press release. Uh, that’s it?
Imagine if you had large numbers of LGBT campaign organizers approaching churches, community centers, civil rights groups, nonproifts, colleges, and local leaders to discuss the benefits and importance of gay marriage and to offer to hear out and dispel myths and worries. Imagine if you had a series of town hall meetings in which gays of all races and ethnicities discussed in detail the discrimination they faced in health care, employment, education, and the like. Imagine a scene where Black gay couples with children discussed the legal hurdles and challenges to their parental rights to various audiences (Remember there are still states, like Florida, Utah, and Arkansas, where gay adoption is illegal.)
A good friend in L.A. who has marched in protests in the aftermath of the election believes this idea is rather naïve. In his mind, there is nothing anyone can say or do to persuade a homophobe, particularly a Bible-thumping one. I’m not so sure. You can never convert everyone. Some conservatives will never, ever believe global warming exists, for example. But putting a human face on an issue can change some hearts. It’s not so easy to condemn neighbors, metaphorically and literally, who live, work, eat, and go to school just like you. (Besides, if Americans gave up on an idea because it would be met with some resistance, we wouldn’t have declared independence from England or created the Civil Rights movement).
But my friend did bring up a good point. In general, there are relatively few out, prominent people in the Black communities, whether they are in entertainment, business, politics, or sports. We don’t have our own Elton John, perhaps because fear of backlash and rejection have allowed timidity to govern, instead of courage.
When comedian Wanda Sykes publicly came out after the election and declared she had a wife and she was angry about Prop. 8 setting us back, I was proud and pleased. But quickly, I also thought, “Where the hell was she before Nov. 4?” Wouldn’t it have been great is Sykes and other celebrities also went around to stump against Prop. 8. And what about high-profile Black heterosexuals who are gay-friendly providing a voice? On that front, things were eerily quiet, and that’s a shame. And I think it cost us.
So there’s some blame to go around. But the key is there was little dialogue between communities on the campaign trail. People were either suspicious of the other or took things for granted. Now that D.C. will be in the middle of a national debate on gay marriage soon, we should be in a position to do things differently and set a better example.
I read this week in the Washington Blade that some DC gay leaders were looking to connect with Black groups and leaders, straight and gay, to help elicit support for gay marriage if it goes to a referendum vote like in California. They’d better do it fast. Prop. 8 was a wake-up call, and we can’t be caught sleeping at the wheel.
Showing posts with label Black. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Black. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Living In Black and White
Well, this has been a week for me to reflect on my people and my orientation simultaneously.
I have been reading the Washington Blade’s series on perceptions of gays among members of African-American communities. Apparently, a survey says African-Americans are by far the least tolerant racial group when it comes to homosexuality.
I also heard the feedback of a good reporter friend who attended last week’s UNITY, a national gathering of minority journalists that was in Chicago. Apparently, the National Association of Black Journalists, which largely started up UNITY, scuttled an attempt yet again to allow entrance to the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association. Apparently UNITY is only for ethnic and racial minorities, not sexual ones.
First, let me get the disclaimer out of the way. Every perceivable group of people has members who are anti-gay. Homophobia, just like the DL, is not an exclusively Black thing. And I sympathized with a Blade letter to the editor from a Black reader who felt the whole series magnified a generalization that most Blacks are provincial bigots while every other race else has “progressed” and is cool with Will as it is with Grace.
But let’s also get a little real here. Stereotypes have at least a grain of truth and there’s no exception here. As someone who has befriended, dated, and worked with people of every imaginable ethnicity, race, color, and creed, I do have to say that my own people seem disproportionately opposed to, or at least uncomfortable with, homosexuality.
One episode that leaps to mind happened at an African-American Student Union meeting I attended as a college freshman. Following a rash of hate calls and other incidents, students from a gay group visited to see if they could join up with AASU and other groups of color to do something, assuming one minority group sympathized with another. Well, it degenerated into name-calling (one Black student actually used the words “fags” and “dykes”) and repudiation from a student’s mother, declaring the gays should be ashamed for their audacity. A near–unanimous vote shut the door on any alliance.
But perhaps more often – and I feel this acutely with some of my family – there is a code of silence. There’s no obvious vitriol but an unwillingness to ever bring it up. I’ve seen how family members ask straight relatives who they are dating, etc., but there’s stony silence with me. They’d rather not know. And few are willing to debate or discuss things like gay marriage. It’s like, “By the way, how about those Lakers?”
My theory: Much of it likely comes from the role the church has played in many of our lives. Like I explained to my partner recently, the Black Church has been a cornerstone of community and way of life – not just something done for a few hours every Sunday. The civil rights movement sprung from the church, as well as many of our recent leaders and spokespeople. There is a rich and impressive history. But that same church (I mean some people, not God or Jesus) casts a long shadow. Even if someone these days isn’t a regular church-goer, the lessons and the culture shape his or her attitude on issues.
And unfortunately, a disdain of homosexuals has been a lesson that has been pushed in many of our pews. In my old church, gays were “sick” and needed prayer, help, and/or the Holy Spirit. The pastor would sometimes express these notions when they weren’t germane to the sermon, as if the congregation needed a refresher course on Moral Majority 101. Many other Black friends and relatives have reported the same things even, as we all laughingly point out, many of our churches had musical directors and/or choir members who were very much “family.” Few of my friends of other races, even coming from conservative congregations, have heard anti-gay rhetoric coming from the pulpit.
I wish I had a dollar for those, even non-regular churchgoers, cling to homophobia because they were taught homosexuality was wrong and, well, you know what the Bible says. God isn’t a refuge but a cover for moral indignation and bigotry. And that bleeds into a sense of internalized homophobia and self-hatred I see among many non-straight brothers. And that in turn affects the quality of relationships, our treatment of each other, and our self-worth. Being out and proud seems to be an affront to our elders and culture, so being closeted is easier and safer. But that just lets outsiders define us and devalue our relationships, continuing the cycle of dysfunction.
Will new generations turn the tide in perception of gays? I hope so, as I see a lot fewer people younger than me shaped by the attitudes of old. We need to go forward. I’m tired of looking back.
I have been reading the Washington Blade’s series on perceptions of gays among members of African-American communities. Apparently, a survey says African-Americans are by far the least tolerant racial group when it comes to homosexuality.
I also heard the feedback of a good reporter friend who attended last week’s UNITY, a national gathering of minority journalists that was in Chicago. Apparently, the National Association of Black Journalists, which largely started up UNITY, scuttled an attempt yet again to allow entrance to the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association. Apparently UNITY is only for ethnic and racial minorities, not sexual ones.
First, let me get the disclaimer out of the way. Every perceivable group of people has members who are anti-gay. Homophobia, just like the DL, is not an exclusively Black thing. And I sympathized with a Blade letter to the editor from a Black reader who felt the whole series magnified a generalization that most Blacks are provincial bigots while every other race else has “progressed” and is cool with Will as it is with Grace.
But let’s also get a little real here. Stereotypes have at least a grain of truth and there’s no exception here. As someone who has befriended, dated, and worked with people of every imaginable ethnicity, race, color, and creed, I do have to say that my own people seem disproportionately opposed to, or at least uncomfortable with, homosexuality.
One episode that leaps to mind happened at an African-American Student Union meeting I attended as a college freshman. Following a rash of hate calls and other incidents, students from a gay group visited to see if they could join up with AASU and other groups of color to do something, assuming one minority group sympathized with another. Well, it degenerated into name-calling (one Black student actually used the words “fags” and “dykes”) and repudiation from a student’s mother, declaring the gays should be ashamed for their audacity. A near–unanimous vote shut the door on any alliance.
But perhaps more often – and I feel this acutely with some of my family – there is a code of silence. There’s no obvious vitriol but an unwillingness to ever bring it up. I’ve seen how family members ask straight relatives who they are dating, etc., but there’s stony silence with me. They’d rather not know. And few are willing to debate or discuss things like gay marriage. It’s like, “By the way, how about those Lakers?”
My theory: Much of it likely comes from the role the church has played in many of our lives. Like I explained to my partner recently, the Black Church has been a cornerstone of community and way of life – not just something done for a few hours every Sunday. The civil rights movement sprung from the church, as well as many of our recent leaders and spokespeople. There is a rich and impressive history. But that same church (I mean some people, not God or Jesus) casts a long shadow. Even if someone these days isn’t a regular church-goer, the lessons and the culture shape his or her attitude on issues.
And unfortunately, a disdain of homosexuals has been a lesson that has been pushed in many of our pews. In my old church, gays were “sick” and needed prayer, help, and/or the Holy Spirit. The pastor would sometimes express these notions when they weren’t germane to the sermon, as if the congregation needed a refresher course on Moral Majority 101. Many other Black friends and relatives have reported the same things even, as we all laughingly point out, many of our churches had musical directors and/or choir members who were very much “family.” Few of my friends of other races, even coming from conservative congregations, have heard anti-gay rhetoric coming from the pulpit.
I wish I had a dollar for those, even non-regular churchgoers, cling to homophobia because they were taught homosexuality was wrong and, well, you know what the Bible says. God isn’t a refuge but a cover for moral indignation and bigotry. And that bleeds into a sense of internalized homophobia and self-hatred I see among many non-straight brothers. And that in turn affects the quality of relationships, our treatment of each other, and our self-worth. Being out and proud seems to be an affront to our elders and culture, so being closeted is easier and safer. But that just lets outsiders define us and devalue our relationships, continuing the cycle of dysfunction.
Will new generations turn the tide in perception of gays? I hope so, as I see a lot fewer people younger than me shaped by the attitudes of old. We need to go forward. I’m tired of looking back.
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