Queers: Beware Your Friends

"I'm a Christian. And so, although I try not to have my religious beliefs dominate or determine my political views on this issue, I do believe that tradition, and my religious beliefs say that marriage is something sanctified between a man and a woman."

That was the week that was. Also:

Virginia Democrats saw the worst campaign since Al Gore’s put out of its misery by a wide, wide … Oh baby could the campaign have really been that bad? Oh yes it was! … wide margin. On the upside, while he’s going to do incalculable harm, at least Bob McDonnell is not going to lie Virginia into a war.

New Jersey voters turned out their most embarrassing governor since Bill McGreevy. It was no mean feat to be both embarrassing and dull. At least McGreevy’s crash and burn had some tawdry juice.

Voters in New York’s 23rd Congressional District are still writhing on the ground, rending their garments and crying out to an implacable god, “Why us, Lord, why us?”

Gay men, lesbians and bisexuals who are starting to make up their minds are also troubling deaf heaven with their bootless cries. The good citizens of Maine passed Question 1, a referendum overturning their state’s law recognizing same-sex marriages. More than any election closer to geographic home, this result gave me a sense of my world and my options becoming a bit more constricted.

But was it a surprise? After prop 8 in California? After going down in flames in every state (31 in all) in which gay marriage has been put before the generous spirited electorate? This time it was going to be different? Because it was New England? Boy are we headed for more painful wake-up calls in Vermont and New Hampshire.

Let’s face it, beyond the thin gruel of domestic partnership (Can it be said enough? “Separate but Equal is inherently unequal.”), we can’t expect much from our fellow citizens. No more than African-Americans could. Or women. One shudders to consider the result of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 or the Voting Rights Act of 1965 being subject to a plebiscite. Every act of enfranchisement, of providing the rights incumbent upon simple humanity, never mind citizenship, since the founding of the republic has come from legislation or through the courts. The actions of a mob whether wielding ropes or tea bags or ballots are an ugly thing to behold.

Oh yeah, that Christian is Barack Obama.

Barack Obama who was the keynote speaker at this year’s annual dinner of the Human Rights Campaign, “America’s largest civil rights organization working to achieve lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender equality.” Much to the shock, shock of all, Christian Obama’s remarks contained reassuring platitudes without a word about implementation.

Evidently the Human Rights Campaign was taking the same approach as the Norwegian Nobel Prize committee, recognizing promise without waiting for accomplishment. I assume that each holds the unspoken fear that promise is all they will ever see.

Bull Durham: The Metaphor

On Nov. 3 of this year, voters in Virginia and New Jersey go to the polls to elect their governors. These voters are inevitably thinking why couldn’t we be in one of the normal years? Then everyone wouldn’t be staring.

Virginia voters have a choice between a man who never met a position he could hold. Or couldn’t hold. Or could hold but not too tight. And one who advocates the imposition of sharia law. Although, he insists that the document in which these covenants were put forth was a youthful indiscretion. It seems to me that the indiscretions of a married father and army veteran of 34 are rarely characterized as youthful.

Most New Jersey voters are probably quoting Noel Coward for the first time in their lives: “If I had to choose between them I’d take hemlock.”

Regardless of the caliber of the candidates put before me I have never missed a primary or general election since turning 18 in 1974. This makes me ineligible to run for governor of California.

If you are Democrat holding office in Virginia, you may thank me for supporting your primary opponent. If you are a woman running for the state senate, Congress or the presidency and you see me approaching with an open checkbook run, run like the wind.

Now that I have relocated to Atlanta, the electoral politics before me is table rasa. Since I don’t know the players, I am starting with the candidates for City Council in my district. To that end, I recently attended a candidates’ forum.

The four men and two women sat at two long folding tables, facing the audience from a middle school stage. The whole thing could have been over in 20 minutes as little was revealed over the course of ninety minutes that changed the impressions created by their opening statements.

The first candidate seemed ill-informed and possessed of no particular platform. I would have been embarrassed for him had he not seemed so impervious, serenely confident and self-satisfied. He was only killing time until his inevitable election.

Next up was a young woman who was clearly quite intelligent, but also anxious and only marginally better informed. She was more excruciating to watch as she clearly knew how inadequate her answers were.

She was followed by an Ichabod Crane-ish fellow who had done his time in the trenches. He knew the community, he knew its issues and he had thoughtful proposals for addressing them. He even had responsible ideas for funding his initiatives. Unfortunately, his was not a legislative disposition. He was arrogant, impatient and given to hectoring. I couldn’t imagine him building the coalitions necessary to advance his good ideas.

Then came his mirror image, mild, amiable, a bit cuddly looking, with occasional flashes of a surprising edge. He gave the impression of a man who thought enough to get by and not one iota more. He didn’t so much have fire in the belly, as a few glowing embers of ego. He struck me as someone whose name was frequently preceded by “good ole.”

The other woman running was tall and patrician, with a natural graciousness that made it possible for her to put all and sundry, from the largest donor to her housekeeper, at ease. She seemed to know every organization mentioned, and several she brought up herself, intimately and authentically. She was, however, the only candidate to pull a gimmick. The other five candidates sat through their opening statements while she made a rather ostentatious point of standing. And her solution to most municipal concerns was outsourcing. I might have respected her if she had offered to put her own position first.

The final candidate was the most intriguing. A successful entrepreneur with roots in the community, but not the history of civic engagement of Ichabod or Lady Bountiful. The most poised and articulate speaker. He knew the issues facing the district and the city cold. His proposed solutions were a little vague and his funding mechanisms even vaguer. Both his vagueness and his hint of charisma made him seem a natural.

And aren’t city councils and county commissions and the like really political farm teams? They provide most players with their final stop and a chance to parade before small, but intense legions of followers. A few players are groomed for bigger things. Sometimes a natural talent will emerge; sometimes the most disciplined player will advance. We all think we can pick ‘em, but really we only know in retrospect.

In fairness, someone should tell Lady Bountiful if she sees me approaching with a check book to run, run like the wind.