Play That Funky Gay Card, White Boy

by Charles Winecoff

I’ll never forget a dinner party I attended in the early ’80s, where I first heard the term “African-American.”  I got a big laugh at the table when I declared, “Oh, that’ll never catch on.”  It was way too much of a tongue-twister for everyday use.

Today, “African-American” is as ubiquitous as “the” (and used to describe all US blacks, no matter where they come from).

 

Flash forward to 2002: Halle Berry pulls out all the stops, dedicating her Oscar win to “every nameless, faceless woman of color that now has a chance” (as the camera cuts to her white mom sitting in the audience).  The next morning, I’m in the office of a TV honcho when I overhear a curious voice mail on his speakerphone.

The message is from a woman, clearly a black woman, and she’s livid.  For whatever reason, she needs to unload on the “infotainment” kingpin:  “I watched Halle Berry on the Academy Awards last night, going on how she’s doing so much for black women - and I am damn mad!  Because Halle Berry is not black!  Do you hear me?  She is not a black woman!

A few days later, I mention the voice mail to a New York sophisticate, who responds with immediate indignation.  “Halle Berry can say whatever she likes,” he snaps.  ”She’s a little girl from the projects who’s made something of herself!  She has every right to be proud!”

“A little girl from the projects?”  Gee, why not just call her a pickaninny while you’re at it?

Meanwhile, anyone who watched the recent, minimalist Academy Awards telecast probably noticed Ms. Berry’s pared-down new nose.  Why the Oscar-winning ”woman of color” - and celebrated Revlon beauty – felt compelled to undergo a rhinoplasty is a question only her psychiatrist can answer.  But Ms. Berry is starting to not look like Ms. Berry anymore.  In fact, she now looks even whiter – excuse me, more Caucasian – than she did before.

So much for ethnic pride.  (And Halle, if you’re reading this, please ponder Michael Jackson’s mug before you do any more damage to your beautiful face.)

At least Berry had the chance to revel in some heritage, if only for a moment, before tossing it away.  That’s a privilege I’ve never enjoyed – because I come from the people of no color.

My pale-faced Southern grandparents still used “colored” and “Negro” when I was a boy - quite innocently – but my Yankee parents were careful to avoid the mistakes of the past and never used even a single remotely derogatory racial term in our house.  Sensitivity to offense ran silent, and very deep.

For instance, we had a black housekeeper who used to putter around our apartment, cleaning, singing about Jesus – and committing petty thievery.  My parents wanted to let her go, but the woman put on such a brazen, kindly church lady act, they just couldn’t bring themselves to shatter the illusion.  Years went by.

Finally, we moved.  My mom figured she could ”fire” the housekeeper by just packing up and disappearing.  No fuss, no muss – no guilt-inducing confrontation.  Perfect.

But no sooner had we relocated to bigger and better digs than who showed up at our front door, grinning from ear to ear and praising the Lord?  She stayed on for another five years (and kept stealing too).

That’s right, my mother was being robbed on a weekly basis – and she felt ashamed.  Ms. magazine had arrived too late.  But it probably wouldn’t have helped anyway, because, just like the ladies who gave birth to Halle Berry and Barack Obama, my mom was Caucasian.  And to this day, racism trumps sexism – and homophobia – combined.

Welcome to the PC plantation, where “white guilt” keeps the slaves in line.

By the 1970s, cultural Marxism was already running rampant in schools, often under the guise of stereotype-busting (a new fad then).  In Anthropology, we sat through a slide show that illustrated how white people physically resembled apes – not blacks, who often got compared to primates in vulgar jokes.  Caucasians were actually the less evolved race – awesome!

In American History, my skinny fellow geeks and I nodded and laughed – in seemingly harmless agreement of how awful our ancestors were – every time we were reminded that white settlers had killed Indians.  I can’t recall if it was just a masochistic viral rumor or something we were actually taught, but we also half-joked that the original Thanksgiving feast had been a diabolical ploy for Pilgrims to invite trusting redskins to dinner - and then poison them.

And, of course, Christopher Columbus was a genocidal tyrant.

We were forced to read Death of a Salesman, but we really didn’t need to.  Even as teens, we already knew the American Dream was a big lie.  But thanks to our revolutionary insight, one day there would be no more war, no prejudice, no supremacist thinking.  We would all join hands and sing – just like in the Coke commercial.

Meanwhile, minorities all around us self-deprecating, private school honkies were rediscovering their roots and taking “pride” in their history.  It was all the rage.  “Orientals” became “Asians.”  “Mexicans” became “Chicanos,” then “Latinos.”  “American Indians” became “Native Americans.”  Even “swamps” found self-respect as ”wetlands.”

As a white boy, I felt left out.  My only identity was self-negation.  Was there no special status weapon for the hapless descendants of Euro-devils – or, as Susan Sontag described my Caucasian kind, “the cancer of human history?”

When I realized I was gay, I thought I had finally found my answer, my panacea, my defense against race-based low self-esteem.  Boy, was I in for a surprise.

While the gay community made huge strides very fast, there was plenty of identity confusion within the tribe itself.  Lesbians felt left out, so “Gay” became ”Gay and Lesbian.”  But the dykes didn’t want to settle for second billing either, so, in a strange capitulation to traditional sex roles (and chivalry), the moniker was changed to “Lesbian and Gay.”

We’ve since become even more inclusive, adding on a “B” for “Bisexual,” a ”T” for “Transgender” (much to the secret chagrin of many gay men) – and most recently a “Q,” for ”Questioning.”  So the current acronym LGBTQ pretty much leaves nothing to chance.  If you’ve ever glanced at another person of the same sex, you’re in.

But in their knee-jerk allegiance to all things PC, gays got hung up on race too.  I’ll never forget one ear-opening conversation I had with a white lesbian school teacher in the LA public school system, who was lamenting she couldn’t communicate with one of her students – because she didn’t know enough Spanish.  When I suggested the boy should learn English, I was reprimanded:

“But he’s Mexican-American.”

“I know.  He needs to be able to speak English.”

“But he’s Mexican-American.”

“Right.  So he should learn English.”

“But he’s Mexican-American.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t he do better if he knew English?”

“He’s Mexican-American.”

Okay.  Gotcha.

Even as a recovering alcoholic on a balmy California spiritual retreat, my status wasn’t good enough.  At the time, Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now was the New Age book du jour.  Curious to see what all the deep breathing was about, I opened a friend’s copy.

My eye immediately fell on a quote from a Native American - always our spiritual betters - about evil Anglos: “Most white people have tense faces… a cruel demeanor.”  Thanks, I needed that.

Why did the enlightened Mr. Tolle even mention this?  To riff on the toxic effects of Western industrialization, of course – “which now covers almost the entire globe” and “has created a very unhappy and extraordinarily violent civilization that has become a threat not only to itself but also to all life on the planet.”

So much for “non-judgmental” serenity.  Was there no escaping the psychic self-flagellation?

Ironically, it took The New York Times to really hit it home just how far down the PC totem pole I rated.  In September 2002, a string of vicious gay bashings had occurred very near where I lived in West Hollywood – and the perpetrators, two African-American males, were still at large.  Using a baseball bat and a metal pipe, the attackers had, in one case, beaten a 55-year-old man while his back was turned, and in another, left a 34-year-old actor bloody and unconscious on the sidewalk, his brain swollen.

(That same month, also in WeHo, two Jewish men were attacked by a group of Muslims who shouted “Kill the Jews!” – but that’s another story.  Sort of.)

Before the month was out, the Times deigned to run a story about the nasty spree, under the snotty headline “Attacks on Gays Upset Los Angeles Suburb.”  While the paper paid lip service to the brutality of the crimes - declaring, naturally, that the WeHo bashings were “part of a wider, more disturbing trend in Los Angeles” – it completely dropped the ball when it came to identifying the violent duo of color.

Instead of offering serious stats of the criminals (which were available from local police and would include, at the very least, skin color), the Times described them delicately as “two men…  Suspect No. 1, perhaps 5 feet 5 inches tall, wears a nylon cap.  Suspect No. 2 is more than 6 feet tall and wears his hair in cornrows.”  Wink wink.

Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but in Hollywood, I’ve seen several white men with corn rows (and it doesn’t look good).  But we wouldn’t want to offend anyone.

Talk about racist – the Times politely signalled that the bashers were black by mentioning a nylon cap and cornrows.  If the victims had been African-American and the attackers white, do you think the Times would have described the perps’ race by listing their Brooks Brothers shirts and Polo Tassel Tie Loafers?

It was like God turned on a klieg light.  Finally, I understood that even in the flattened, cautious world of PC victimhood, there exists a hierarchy – a glass ceiling that gays haven’t cracked yet.  We’re still second class, and still expendable.  Why?  Because homosexuals continue to be stereotyped as affluent white males – and in the adolescent, Che fashion accessory, power-to-the-people, make-believe world of “social justice,” we’re still the enemy.

So gay men really do need all the “T”s and “Q”s they can get.  Because so-called progressives who believe the US government staged 9/11 for profit and created AIDS to kill blacks won’t be coming to our rescue any time soon.  We’re on our own.

Where does this leave us?  Mad as hell, I hope – but not at the Mormons, who are as maligned as any other wealthy Caucasians (plus they’re polygamists!), nor at closety musical theater queens who wrote checks in support of Prop 8.  No, LGBTQ people should be mad at themselves for ditching the reality of diversity for the myth of “equality.”

Because equality, my friends, is not the same as freedom.

Odd as it may seem, the lesbian and gay community actually presents an almost-perfect microcosm of the West as a whole – open-minded (at least in theory), multi-racial, multi-classed, pan-religious, and hard to pin down.  By ignoring that commonality with our fellow Americans, and reducing ourselves to just another whining victim group, we have put ourselves at risk.

Once leaders, we’ve become followers – malleable sheep in the PC pack.

Instead of mindlessly assuming that, by virtue of his pigment, the first black President (who happens to be against gay marriage) will finally tackle our issues, the LGBTQ community should be watching him closely as he endorses a limp Hallmark card of a UN resolution to decriminalize homosexuality – while at the same time courting the religious dictators of the most virulently homophobic regimes on earth, who regularly imprison, torture, and execute powerless gays (and bloggers and women).

Not to mention nominating Harold Koh for State Department legal adviser, a man who sees nothing wrong with allowing (anti-gay) sharia law to be applied in US court cases.

The friend of your enemy is not your friend.

As human targets in a global shooting gallery, fags and dykes should be insulted by any elected official who thinks euphemisms such as “man-caused disasters” (to describe acts of terror perpetrated against civilians – like us) and “Overseas Contingency Operation” (to suggest the war on Islamic supremacism) can make anyone love us.

The mullahs and ayatollahs - who believe the only good L,G,B,T or Q is a dead one - are not a race.  They are totalitarian ideologues who have been shielded from the full force of Western common sense and scrutiny because of the guilt-inducing ammo of their skin color.  That’s not a racist statement, it’s just a sad fact.

Gay people spent forty years fighting stereotypes – only to become politically correct self-parodies, who fall silent at the mention of radical Islam, and go weak in the knees before the studied presentation copy of (to quote Joe Biden), a “clean,” well-spoken, half-black man.

The gay community is as much to blame as any bourgeois gated community for projecting a patronizing, “natural” wisdom onto this enigmatic new Leader of the Free World.  And more than anyone, we should know how looks can deceive.

You can’t judge a book by its cover, a man by his wife - or a wolf by its clothing.