Odd that the same year, more than a quarter century in the past — 1998 — would pop up under two completely unrelated contexts this week. Yesterday I traced the origins of "Snoopy in a blender" to a 1998 story. And today's post is prompted by a long overdue shift in policy by the United Methodist Church of Christ last week. Turns out gays are okay after all. Or at least they can serve as clergy.
And now God, as represented by the United Methodist Church, has welcomed the LGBTQ community into the ranks of the chosen, i.e., themselves. A little late, surely, but better late than never. I tried to tell them back in 1998:
I live in a gay part of town. Not the gayest — that would be about two blocks west and maybe four blocks north of our place. But gay enough. Every summer the Gay Pride Parade rolls past my block, which has a small, sedate gay bar on the corner.
I've never been in the bar. When I pop out of the house for a beer — say, on the pretext of picking up the milk, I pass by the corner gay bar and walk another block to a straight bar, there to drink straight beer. Birds of a feather . . .
That said, once or twice, I will admit, I have ventured into one of the local gay bars for a quick drink to see what they are like inside and to prove to myself that there is nothing to be afraid of. They served me a beer; they took the money. The TV blared. I finished my beer, unmolested, and emerged with my heterosexuality intact.
It isn't the sort of thing I tell everyone (well, until now), but it didn't strike me as the biggest deal, either. I think it's important to not be afraid of things unnecessarily. Ignorance is fertile soil for hate.
For instance, before I moved to the neighborhood, I had to pause to seriously ask myself whether I really wanted to live in a gay area. I worried it would become oppressive in some way I couldn't foresee. But after a little thought, I decided it probably wouldn't be a bother. And it hasn't been.
Then again, I'm lucky. I've always felt pretty secure about myself. I don't feel threatened. Strolling with my sons through the neighborhood, I don't worry that the boys will somehow be infected by gayness. When we're on the street and a group of laughing, young, fit men — a group I assume to be gays headed toward the bars — passes, I don't shield my kids' eyes. I don't worry I'm exposing them to some toxin. The mighty edifice of heterosexuality doesn't crumble that easily, in my view. And while I'd rather my boys not grow up gay — that seems like a tough road, at least for the parents — I figure the die is pretty much cast, and I'll find out one fine day.
None of this strikes me as extraordinary. In fact, it seems the basic attitude of liberal American decency at the end of the 20th century.
But obviously, people must feel otherwise. The Methodist Church is holding a trial in a few months to see if the minister at the Broadway United Methodist Church — just a few blocks up from me — should be booted out of the clergy for performing a rite marrying a gay couple.
The immediate reason — it's against the Bible — grows pale the more you look at it. Many things are banned in the Bible, from dishonoring your parents to eating lobster. Going hammer and tongs after gays, the way organized religion feels compelled to do, seems awfully selective. Why boot out just gays, and the ministers who unite them, and not, say, adulterers? Why not those who swear? They're banned, too.
I suppose the quick answer is that gays are targeted because they can be. The Methodists can't very well toss out a minister for marrying an interracial couple, or a Methodist and a Baptist, or a liar and a thief. Gays are one of the few subgroups left that can be openly persecuted. The awning of law and custom we've built up doesn't quite cover them yet, and certain people are horrified at the thought that it someday might. Who would be left to openly loathe?
Part of it is that the rest of society is so quiet when gays are persecuted. Yes, we cluck our tongues when young gay men are brutally murdered, as if to say, `Well, we don't want to kill them now, do we?" But the fear of being labeled gay is so strong that it is easier to be silent or look away.
Let me get this straight: God cares about our sexuality, but not about our moral courage. Right . . .
I live in a gay part of town. Not the gayest — that would be about two blocks west and maybe four blocks north of our place. But gay enough. Every summer the Gay Pride Parade rolls past my block, which has a small, sedate gay bar on the corner.
I've never been in the bar. When I pop out of the house for a beer — say, on the pretext of picking up the milk, I pass by the corner gay bar and walk another block to a straight bar, there to drink straight beer. Birds of a feather . . .
That said, once or twice, I will admit, I have ventured into one of the local gay bars for a quick drink to see what they are like inside and to prove to myself that there is nothing to be afraid of. They served me a beer; they took the money. The TV blared. I finished my beer, unmolested, and emerged with my heterosexuality intact.
It isn't the sort of thing I tell everyone (well, until now), but it didn't strike me as the biggest deal, either. I think it's important to not be afraid of things unnecessarily. Ignorance is fertile soil for hate.
For instance, before I moved to the neighborhood, I had to pause to seriously ask myself whether I really wanted to live in a gay area. I worried it would become oppressive in some way I couldn't foresee. But after a little thought, I decided it probably wouldn't be a bother. And it hasn't been.
Then again, I'm lucky. I've always felt pretty secure about myself. I don't feel threatened. Strolling with my sons through the neighborhood, I don't worry that the boys will somehow be infected by gayness. When we're on the street and a group of laughing, young, fit men — a group I assume to be gays headed toward the bars — passes, I don't shield my kids' eyes. I don't worry I'm exposing them to some toxin. The mighty edifice of heterosexuality doesn't crumble that easily, in my view. And while I'd rather my boys not grow up gay — that seems like a tough road, at least for the parents — I figure the die is pretty much cast, and I'll find out one fine day.
None of this strikes me as extraordinary. In fact, it seems the basic attitude of liberal American decency at the end of the 20th century.
But obviously, people must feel otherwise. The Methodist Church is holding a trial in a few months to see if the minister at the Broadway United Methodist Church — just a few blocks up from me — should be booted out of the clergy for performing a rite marrying a gay couple.
The immediate reason — it's against the Bible — grows pale the more you look at it. Many things are banned in the Bible, from dishonoring your parents to eating lobster. Going hammer and tongs after gays, the way organized religion feels compelled to do, seems awfully selective. Why boot out just gays, and the ministers who unite them, and not, say, adulterers? Why not those who swear? They're banned, too.
I suppose the quick answer is that gays are targeted because they can be. The Methodists can't very well toss out a minister for marrying an interracial couple, or a Methodist and a Baptist, or a liar and a thief. Gays are one of the few subgroups left that can be openly persecuted. The awning of law and custom we've built up doesn't quite cover them yet, and certain people are horrified at the thought that it someday might. Who would be left to openly loathe?
Part of it is that the rest of society is so quiet when gays are persecuted. Yes, we cluck our tongues when young gay men are brutally murdered, as if to say, `Well, we don't want to kill them now, do we?" But the fear of being labeled gay is so strong that it is easier to be silent or look away.
Let me get this straight: God cares about our sexuality, but not about our moral courage. Right . . .
—Originally published in the Sun-Times, October 27, 1998
Note: The minister, whom I did not not name, was Rev. Gregory Dell. He was tried by the United Methodist Church in 1999, found guilty, and given a year suspension. He returned to the Broadway UMC until 2007, when he was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. He and his wife moved to North Carolina, where he died in 2016.
So I go to Jewel & Walgreens in Andersonville all the time & see lots of gays there, especially while waiting for the Clark bus. They seem nice, friendly & bother no one.
ReplyDeleteAs for the Mormons, since you brought them up, it was in 1890 that their then president had a "revelation from god" that polygamy was to be no more for them. Of course, the actual reason for that was, Congress had banned polygamy in the US & had told them, that Utah was never going to be a state until Mormonism banned polygamy, which they did. So Utah was finally granted statehood in 1896.
Thank you
ReplyDeleteGreat line, "Ignorance is fertile soil for hate."
ReplyDeleteIt bears down on just about everything. Take for example your 1998 assessment of fear of gays and apply it to the Middle East conflicts that are stirring fear and hatred around the world - nothing new there. When I was an innocent student at the School of the Art Institute, I was accused of being gay by an uncle who associated gayness with artists. He was wrong and caused a lot of pain for me as a young man. Being straight, I never felt threatened in the company of gay friends, many of whom were artists, others were professors, priests (yes, priests) and directors of cultural institutions.
Neil, that brings me to Jean Dubuffet's sculpture, which you so succinctly panned yesterday. I have enjoyed the times you have used the art of the past to illustrate a point, but you, like my uncle, are wrong about Dubuffet. To hate his sculpture is to be ignorant of its significance. May I suggest you look into Art Brut? Chicago has had a very rich connection with it and Dubuffet's theories. You may not like it, but please try to understand its place in contemporary art. Our friend Ed Paschke loved that work and like many of the Chicago Imagists was inspired by Art Brut.
"Monument with a Standing Beast" is denigrated by the cartoonishness of "Snoopy in a Blender" and plays into the glut of ignorance, the same way the "Untitled Chicago Picasso" is compromised when described as a baboon or Afghan dog. It is pure and simple, straight out of Picasso's series of women's heads. To jostle the doubters, I like to point out that what appears to be hair from the front becomes a vaginal opening when seen from the back. Go see for yourself. Amazingly, Mom's For Liberty don't know this or they would be demanding its removal from Daley Plaza.
This did not come easy for the Methodists, and happened only because almost 8000 congregations left the denomination so they could continue their discriminatory ways free of the coming tide of change. A former colleague who has been active in the struggle since the beginning, was practically in tears when invited to offer communion after the vote.
ReplyDeleteIn the summer of '70, I lived at Broadway and Oakdale, when it was known as New Town. Lived in one of those horrible new four-plus ones, in a ground floor studio. Big mistake. It was a thin-walled box. The neighborhood's teeming diversity was something totally new to me, and even a tad mind-boggling, after suburbia and college.
ReplyDeleteThe area was well on its way to becoming a flat San Francisco. The gayness never bothered me at all, and didn't really affect me, except for the one time I took my girlfriend swimming at Belmont Rocks. The tranquility of that Sunday afternoon was shattered by a marauding mob of gay-bashing greasers, followed by the police. Really freaked us out, and we never went back.
Didn't care for the density and the weekend crowds and the noise--and there were the constant parking hassles. So I broke my lease and moved to East Rogers Park, and later left town. Took a few more years to finally cure my itchy feet and my hippie ways, before settling down in Evanston. Gone for over thirty years, and I still miss it.
so, just paid my est taxes for june and dropped some money on your rag (long time subscriber). hope it's joe that spends the tax money
ReplyDelete