The Boycott That Dare Not Speak its Name

I'm guessing it was sometime in late September of 2008. I was sitting at my desk working on my second book. My first, The Marrying Kind, was at the time still unsold. I wasn't in great spirits because I kept getting rejections from editors who said things like: great, funny, touching, I don't think I can sell it. Gay fiction doesn't sell.

While I will probably never write anything quite as "gay" as The Marrying Kind again, my second manuscript also features some gay characters. And apparently, as I was told, readers are not interested in gays.

So I'm writing, or struggling, and it's the fall of 2008, and the phone rings. And I think, let the machine get it, you're writing. Then I look at my blank computer screen.

I answer the phone.

It provides a welcome distraction.

There is a pause after I say, "hello". So I know it's a solicitation. But I'm not writing anyway, so I hang on.

It's a call from the DNC. They want my money for Obama. Well for Obama, of course. I pull out my credit card. I can't give a lot. I am an as yet unpublished author (of a book featuring gay people) and a massage therapist.

But for Obama I can spare $50.00. I mean, it's OBAMA!

I'm about to give my info when a little voice in my head says "Barack Obama does not support marriage equality, why are you giving him money?"

I looked at the credit card in my shaking hand. "You know what," I hear an angry quiver enter my voice. "On second thought, forget it!"

"Pardon?" The confused DNC volunteer asks. "I just need your card number, sir."

"No. Not a dime for Obama."

I sense the campaign worker might hang up on me. And really, can I blame him? But I don't want him to hang up. I want him to know why he can't have my fifty bucks.

"I am a gay man," I say. And now I can see Sally Field as Norma Rae thrust the STRIKE sign above her head. "I will not," I thunder on, "Give one dime, not a penny, to a candidate who does not believe I deserve the same rights that he enjoys. RIGHTS, I might add, that his own parents would have been denied in some states when they were wed."

Now I was on a role, "Please tell Mr. Obama," I say this like the future president and the poor, put upon volunteer on the phone are best buds. "Tell him, when he decides to support my civil rights, I will reward him with contributions to future campaigns."

I hung up. Had a moment of triumph. And then pictured Sarah Palin and John McCain in the white house.

"Oh my God! What have I done."

I didn't call the DNC back. Nor did I tell anyone of my boycott--I was totally on the downlow.

I did vote for Obama.

When he won, I was very glad he had done so. And I was more glad that he'd won without any of my money.

Still, I said nothing about my boycott.

Now I hear we're all hanging on to our dollars until Obama and the DNC make equality more of a priority. (About time!) I read that leading activists including Pam Spaulding, Andy Towle, Michelangelo Signorile, Dan Savage and David Mixner are requesting that folks put a freeze on their donations until Obama actually lives up to his self-proclaimed title of "fierce advocate" for GLBT issues.

So I guess I can say it now: I'm in, everybody. I'm in.

By Example

What can I do?

It's a thought I often have just seconds before I lay down on my couch in despair. Not productive, but there you have it.

I know I can be doing more to create change. To move our nation in the direction of equality.

Last week I got invited via Facebook to join a group created by Sean Chapin called: Equality Civil Rights Movement. Sean's goal get 50% of the LGBT community to devote 5% of their time to advancing the movement.

5% of my time? I can do that. (I think)

Many of you know I've written a very-pro equality novel called The Marrying Kind, which will be released sometime in June by Alyson books. It was a lot of work and I'm very proud of it. BUT I have been a bit resting on my laurels of late. The book is not coming out until June. I can do plenty of other things to advance this cause before then.

Now comes the urge to lie down. What can I do? Okay it's passed. Not lying down!

Here's one idea:

At The Marrying Kind group we're organizing a Thanksgiving event. Across the country we are asking folks to raise the topic of equality at the dinner table. Tell your family how you feel-- that civil rights for the LGBT community is something that matters to you.

If you already know your whole family supports gay rights, it's an easy conversation. If you know they don't, or you aren't sure, it's hard. I know that. But it's important. I think we have to start with our families.

That's just one idea. But it demonstrates that committing to the cause does not have to mean anything particularly extraordinary beyond raising your voice. No money. No special props.

Can't we do this for Sean? Can't we do this for ourselves?

Sean Chapin is my Facebook "friend". I don't actually know him. Though I admire him immensely.

He's asking us to commit 5% of our time.

My guess is he's committing 95% of his.

Please become a fan of Equality Civil Rights Movement

History Repeating

Faggot!

I'm thirteen and shards of glass spray up toward my face. The bottle, sailing out of the passing car window, lands at my feet, shattering, making me jump back in terror, making me scream, making me seem, to the men in the car, just like a

Faggot!

They shout one more time before speeding off.

I'm thirty-eight and shards of glass spray up toward my face. The bottle soaring from the apartment window, lands a foot away from me, in my own Backyard.

Faggot!

This time, I do not jump. I do not scream, I stifle it. I do not act like a

Faggot!

They scream one last time as I retreat back into my Harlem home. I do not return to my garden.

These two memories always rush forward when I become angry. When I'm overcome with a sense of injustice.

Last November, for weeks after the passing of Prop8, I was thirteen again, surrounded by broken glass. I was thirty-eight, too, and afraid to be in my own yard.

And now it's another November and I wonder if any of the good citizens of Maine were in that car or in that high rise. Are they the ones? Did they call me

Faggot!

Did these good citizens of Maine throw bottles at me?

If they did--they missed.

Still here. Still in one piece. I was not cut.

I was scared, true.

But I was not stopped.

I will not be stopped.