Living in a Ghetto
A piece in a recent edition of The Economist states that Americans are nearly twice as likely today to live in a community dominated by their own political beliefs than they were thirty years ago. Forty-eight percent of Republicans choose to live among other Republicans, and 48% of Democrats choose to live among other Democrats. That's true for Ray and me. Four years ago, we moved from Naples, Florida, which is in one of the most conservative Republican counties in the state, to Ft. Lauderdale, which is in one of the most progressive Democrat-dominated Florida counties. But it wasn't just to get away from the people who in the middle of the night put Bush bumper stickers on our Gore street sign, one of only a few in the entire town. We moved to be nearer to other emotionally healthy gay people, to "family." And, what's wrong with that?
Our straight friends and fellow Unitarian congregants in Naples, whom we loved, verbally lamented our move. "Stay here," they pleaded. "We need you. You can make a difference in Naples. In Ft. Lauderdale, you'll be just another liberal gay Democrat among a bunch of other liberal gay Democrats who don't need any further education. Fight the fight where it's happening." Our out gay friends there, limited in number as they are, understood completely. "Save us a spot," many of them, even those who vote Republican, said. "We'll be there soon."
It's hard for a plant to live, much less to grow, in soil that is toxic. There are plants than can survive without sun and in the most challenging and unforgiving growing conditions. Throughout the United States and the world there are heroic out gay men and women who refuse to leave their countries or home towns just because it doesn't feel safe or welcoming. Their work, their families, their historic roots, their partner, and even their stubborness keeps them where they are. If they are out and emotionally healthy, they put a critically important face on the issue for all of us, and they impact the thinking of their neighbors and colleagues in a way that none of us can do from the comfort of our gay ghettoes. I did such work in Detroit for several years, but I got burned out there and for the sake of my survival, I needed to move.
Today, Ray and I live in two of the most beautiful, the most gay-populated, and the most progressive communities in the world, Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, and Provincetown, Massachusetts. We walk hand in hand, kiss our same-sex friends "hello" and "goodbye" on the street, go to gay-themed films that don't show in Naples, write letters to the editor without worrying about being harassed, and put up our "Hillary" sign without fear that it will be defaced. It feels wonderful to breathe so freely, to be represented by politicians (the outgoing mayor of Ft. Lauderdale being the exception) who support you, and to read editorials that champion your cause. It's rich loam in which we grow today, but it wasn't always so.
Ray grew up in Wichita, Kansas. I grew up in Flint and Birmingham, Michigan. In our thirty-two years together, we've lived in Brookline and Gloucester, Massachusetts, Hillsborough, New Hampshire, Atlanta, Georgia, New York City, San Francisco, and Naples, Florida. In New Hampshire, we were the only gay people on the block, and when we were packing up to move away, a neighbor, with the help of scotch, slurred that we were great guys but that no one wanted us to move in when we did. An elegant Southern neighbor, a courtly gentleman, smiled and waved at us on the street but whispered with disgust to other neighbors that we were "professional homosexuals." In Brookline, someone left a sign above all of the mailboxes in our apartment bulding foyer that read "Get out of town McNaught. I hope you die of AIDS." In Naples, when the local newspaper carried a report on our marriage in Canada, one phone caller referred to us a "pipe smokers," a term I had not heard before.
Intolerance can be found everywhere, even in Provincetown and in Ft. Lauderdale, but it is less likely to be experienced there than it is in Wichita or Flint. There are good heterosexual Republicans living in Naples, but I got worn down by having every social situation end up being a "teachable moment." I love educating others about gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender issues. I've done so gratefully and enthusiastically for my entire adult life, and I have often faced hostile or unwelcoming audiences throughout the United States and in the rest of the world, but that's what I'm paid to do. When I wear a "Provincetown" T-shirt to the grocery store, though, I don't want to be confronted with "I hate that place," as I was in Naples. "Why?" I asked the middle-aged woman in the produce section. "I'd rather not say," she replied after eyeing me up and down. I want to go to the grocery store, to church, and to dinner in a restaurant and feel safe, welcome, understood, and valued.
I admire people who make the conscious choice to stay where they are to educate others, as opposed to those who stay out of fear of the unknown, but during this period of my life, I don't want to have to work so hard during my play time. And I know that there is a big difference between out gay people and emotionally healthy gay people. You can be out and not emotionally healthy, but not emotionally healthy and not out. To heal our psychic wounds, and to create a life that allows us to grow to our full potential, requires that we surround ourselves with emotionally healthy gay and unconditionally affirming straight people. In my life, they both tend to be Democrats, and sometimes I have to pull up roots to find them.
Our straight friends and fellow Unitarian congregants in Naples, whom we loved, verbally lamented our move. "Stay here," they pleaded. "We need you. You can make a difference in Naples. In Ft. Lauderdale, you'll be just another liberal gay Democrat among a bunch of other liberal gay Democrats who don't need any further education. Fight the fight where it's happening." Our out gay friends there, limited in number as they are, understood completely. "Save us a spot," many of them, even those who vote Republican, said. "We'll be there soon."
It's hard for a plant to live, much less to grow, in soil that is toxic. There are plants than can survive without sun and in the most challenging and unforgiving growing conditions. Throughout the United States and the world there are heroic out gay men and women who refuse to leave their countries or home towns just because it doesn't feel safe or welcoming. Their work, their families, their historic roots, their partner, and even their stubborness keeps them where they are. If they are out and emotionally healthy, they put a critically important face on the issue for all of us, and they impact the thinking of their neighbors and colleagues in a way that none of us can do from the comfort of our gay ghettoes. I did such work in Detroit for several years, but I got burned out there and for the sake of my survival, I needed to move.
Today, Ray and I live in two of the most beautiful, the most gay-populated, and the most progressive communities in the world, Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, and Provincetown, Massachusetts. We walk hand in hand, kiss our same-sex friends "hello" and "goodbye" on the street, go to gay-themed films that don't show in Naples, write letters to the editor without worrying about being harassed, and put up our "Hillary" sign without fear that it will be defaced. It feels wonderful to breathe so freely, to be represented by politicians (the outgoing mayor of Ft. Lauderdale being the exception) who support you, and to read editorials that champion your cause. It's rich loam in which we grow today, but it wasn't always so.
Ray grew up in Wichita, Kansas. I grew up in Flint and Birmingham, Michigan. In our thirty-two years together, we've lived in Brookline and Gloucester, Massachusetts, Hillsborough, New Hampshire, Atlanta, Georgia, New York City, San Francisco, and Naples, Florida. In New Hampshire, we were the only gay people on the block, and when we were packing up to move away, a neighbor, with the help of scotch, slurred that we were great guys but that no one wanted us to move in when we did. An elegant Southern neighbor, a courtly gentleman, smiled and waved at us on the street but whispered with disgust to other neighbors that we were "professional homosexuals." In Brookline, someone left a sign above all of the mailboxes in our apartment bulding foyer that read "Get out of town McNaught. I hope you die of AIDS." In Naples, when the local newspaper carried a report on our marriage in Canada, one phone caller referred to us a "pipe smokers," a term I had not heard before.
Intolerance can be found everywhere, even in Provincetown and in Ft. Lauderdale, but it is less likely to be experienced there than it is in Wichita or Flint. There are good heterosexual Republicans living in Naples, but I got worn down by having every social situation end up being a "teachable moment." I love educating others about gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender issues. I've done so gratefully and enthusiastically for my entire adult life, and I have often faced hostile or unwelcoming audiences throughout the United States and in the rest of the world, but that's what I'm paid to do. When I wear a "Provincetown" T-shirt to the grocery store, though, I don't want to be confronted with "I hate that place," as I was in Naples. "Why?" I asked the middle-aged woman in the produce section. "I'd rather not say," she replied after eyeing me up and down. I want to go to the grocery store, to church, and to dinner in a restaurant and feel safe, welcome, understood, and valued.
I admire people who make the conscious choice to stay where they are to educate others, as opposed to those who stay out of fear of the unknown, but during this period of my life, I don't want to have to work so hard during my play time. And I know that there is a big difference between out gay people and emotionally healthy gay people. You can be out and not emotionally healthy, but not emotionally healthy and not out. To heal our psychic wounds, and to create a life that allows us to grow to our full potential, requires that we surround ourselves with emotionally healthy gay and unconditionally affirming straight people. In my life, they both tend to be Democrats, and sometimes I have to pull up roots to find them.
