The heart of a
movement is judged by whether we fight for those who might
easily be cast aside as "different"
I’ve been
fighting for gay rights since 1974 in Cleveland, when I
was part of GEAR (Gay Education And Rights) as
we became the first gay group to purchase our own
building. We were proud of that, although its windows
were soon broken and swastikas spray-painted on the
walls.
Back then,
although most people saw me as an exceptionally effeminate
gay man, I was largely accepted. Yet when I
transitioned, my (female) lover and I were asked to
leave lesbian meetings. I was publicly disinvited to
women’s events. I was twice thrown out of the
Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival. A National
Organization for Women chapter told me I was welcome
to join as a man. Even by 1995, when 40 of us
showed up at a Falls City, Neb., courthouse after the
murder of Brandon Teena, many gay newspapers ignored
us, not considering Teena's murder “gay news.”
Practically the
only places where I remained consistently
welcome were the gay bars where I had first come out,
where other genderqueer gays, lesbians, and bisexuals
were always sheltered. My family had largely stopped
speaking with me (even today, I have yet to be allowed
to meet my nieces and nephews, now in their 20s). I was
forced out of my tutoring job through daily harassment
by students and coworkers who refused to even speak to
me. I began a new career in clinical psychology, but
left after it became clear that few of my peers would
refer patients to me. I began another career consulting on
Wall Street, but even there gender sometimes cost me
clients and accounts.
If you’re
a gay, lesbian, or bisexual person of a particular age, you
may have had similarly painful experiences at some
point. We’ve probably been in the same marches
together, come out in the same bars, fought many of
the same battles.
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