The following essay appeared in an edited form in Issue 117 of LGNY. This is the preliminary version.
Torrents in late August led to an exhausting day of inspecting every item in my only closet for water damage. At one point it was literally easier to keep my cats out by closing myself in. This was not an ideal weekend. The Monday morning puns starting with "after all these years **out**..." were likely. But in those few uncomfortable moments that I was quite literally in the closet, with two beasts scratching anxiously at the door, I flashed upon something an activist mentioned back in June.
Despite the progress of the past 30 years, he commented that many more people than we realize are "still very much closeted in a major way." Whether it's from their parents or people at work. "For some people it's not a closet, but a cage."
Breathing in the thin, hot air, I wondered, "What would it be like? Will I come out at my next job before the 90-day trial period?" What about a future boyfriend's intolerant family? My nursing home? What circumstances will make the closet a convenience for me?
None.
In The Pleasure Principle, Michael Bronski points out that the convenience of the Closet is much more for the straight majority. He also notes that things will not change for homosexuals until more heterosexuals change.
That won't happen until more of us do our part. The one-time announcement of your gayness no longer suffices. Strangers often presume we are heterosexual, and it is in these initial moments that we can often do some vital work. Our silence probably does more harm than any bigot's rantings.
After spending that day, literally, in the closet, I went to see Dick. During the previews, two guys were talking; when Kevin Williamson's name came on the screen, one said, "I hear he's gay." The second said, "I don't know if I should say this, but..."
"What?"
"Well, it's hard to believe he's gay, because he writes male characters so well..."
Arggggghhhh! I mentally composed a confrontation for a half hour, only to find they had moved elsewhere, gone for good. Engaging them, even in the gentlest, most inquisitive way, had tremendous backfire potential, but I was uncontainable. But surely, scenes like these play themselves out in our own lives, with people we do know, who we can approach, and that's probably when we fail most often.
Earlier this year, I was reading Coming Out Spiritually on the Uptown IRT Local. A good-looking young man across the car squinted at the title, and asked me what it was about. He then sat next to me. I told him about the book; how many queer folk disconnect from spirituality because of organized religions' intolerance. We talked a lot about assumptions. What I anticipated happened. He casually mentioned that he was a Christian, and I told him "I know, and I am assuming that you are about to invite me to a Bible study meeting. And a lot of gay people would stop talking to you right them. Well, I can tell you right now that I would never go. And I have to get out at 66th Street. But if you're not in a hurry, you can get out with me and we can talk some more until the next local comes."
And he did follow me off the train, and we talked more. Rather, I talked and he listened. The one thing I remember him saying was, "I'd like it if everyone thought the way I did, but I know that's impossible."
The biggest disservice we do ourselves is to write off people from whom we might expect bigotry. Now I realize this young man was surely atypical. But, I still think that finding a middle ground between silence and screaming will be our most consistent ally. Silence is definitely our enemy. Screaming, while it's worked wonders when deployed well, often just tunes people out.
Not everything has to be a "big gay deal," but as a group we too often seem despearate to ever make a scene in the mall of mainstream acceptance. Some of you will quickly cry out, "I'm not an activist!" but you are. Opportunities to educate others, by just living your life openly, present themselves daily. You are not required to block traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge, but we are required to be outraged and let people know why. Instead of saying "I'm okay," tell them you're really sickened by the latest grisly gay-bashing murder, or another dumb comment from a candidate, or anything Fred Phelps says or does. We're quick to claim our special, magical status; part of that is to enlightened the rest of the population.
National Coming Out Day (October 11) is something that doesn't get much attention. We're outdo ourselves at our parties and grieve deeply at memorials, but it's the everyday business of being ourselves, full time, that is overlooked most often. Now I will admit that I am a bit unusual. I've inherited an overly healthy sense of outrage and injustice from Mom, and the skill of keen observation from my father. Optimism came to me via osmosis from Grandma. She spent 100 years of her life being an optimist.
And it is because I am optimist, and because I have been rewarded with a lot of things because I am an optimist, that I have to tell you something. The shadow behing optimism is fear, and you have to step out of it. You have to stop breathing in the hot, thin air at those times you're wondering if you'll ever tell your nephews you're gay, because your sister's uncomfortable. Those times you want everyone you know to call Bruno's office toll-free, but you "don't want to make a big gay deal about it. Those times your lover's mother is coming to town and suddenly separate bedrooms must follow. Do you really think she believes that story about you following each other cross country? Real life is worth more than imagined fears, no matter the price.
This sort of stuff still happens. I've heard all these stories this year, in 1999, from people my age. Of course I have had those portentious moments, but le me assure you, for every horrible scenario I have ever imagined, I was rewarded with much greater realities. My chasidic cousins don't seem to have any real trouble with me. The first friend I came out to, now a fundamentalist Christian, still listens to my gay thoughts more than she talks. Well, we didn't talk for ten years, but I remained optimistic. There are still some impasses there, but they're a lot further down the road than they used to be. (It helps that her brother's gay, too.) Neither of us are willing to shut down completely anymore. Talking has changed more than not talking, for both of us, in so many ways.
October 11 is as good a time as any to make a big announcement, but coming out every day will underscores the difference between just surviving your life and living it brilliantly. The intrinsic unfairness of our plights, real or imagined, will not move people if we pursue Persephone lifestyles, enduring small hellish moments intermittently and being thankful for the balance. Every last one of us has the power, and the obligation, to broadcast our personal eloquence. We've got to take those closet doors, once and for all, off their hinges, and make them the coffin lids for indifference, whether it's your own or someone else's.
Next entry...Up Goes the Triangle