"Gay is the new black." It's slick as a slogan, but dangerous as a dogma. I understand what its purveyors are trying to do with it. But it's dangerous ground to stand on, and already is blowing up in their faces. I agree with activist Michael Crawford that it's proving to be divisive and hurtful, and doesn't represent the positioning of lesbians, gay men, bisexuals and transgendered/intersex people who are black.

The slogan promotes a habit of equating one civil-rights cause with another. Equating is ignorant and presumptuous. Just because two groups are aiming for equal protection under U.S. law doesn't mean that their issues are alike in any way.

So "gay is the new black" is provoking resentful reactions from some African Americans. They state that we gays should not dare to equate our situation to their centuries in slavery -- that they suffered far more than we did. But how do they know how much we suffered? The conservative churchgoers among them would probably not stop and consider what it was like to be burned for sodomy in Renaissance Italy, or hung for sodomy in the American colonies. After all, they believe that we're evil and deserved the punishment.

As an activist friend of mine points out, saying we're the "new blacks" also implies that African Americans have won all their battles -- which is far from the truth. So they take our equating with them as a slap in their faces.

Making Our Case

Defenders of the slogan insist that it merely means we're now taking our turn to battle for rights.

But between the lines it sends a very different message, which is that we don't think our case is weighty in its own right. The activists who want to hitch us to the African-American bandwagon betray a certain lack of confidence that we can make it on our own. After all, when we make our case to legislators and voters and courts, we can't paint the same kind of picture that black people can -- of horrible centuries spent in slavery, not only under white European rule but Arab rule as well.

But why should we try to appropriate this picture of theirs? Our history is different, and no less legitimate. We have our own horrible centuries to talk about -- religious persecution by most religions, and countless millions of smothered lives, broken hearts and spirits, and cruel public executions.

In the end, no one but the members of a persecuted group in question can know how much that group suffered. For the rest of the world, their suffering can only be imagined.

For example, nobody but pre-20th-century native Americans, and their descendants who grow up on the reservations, will ever know how it felt after the conquest. As an American who has some native American ancestry, I can only use my writer's imagination to put myself in the moccasins of my ancestors who suffered. I wasn't raised on the rez, in a family and social atmosphere that was impacted by all that violence and cruelty. So those atrocity stories that I heard from my cousins were reaching me only at third- and fourth-hand.

Danger of Comparisons

Inevitably, the unfairness of equating can also lead to people making unwarranted comparisons of one cause with another. Comparisons can prompt one group to distance themselves from another group, or to rank themselves above another group on the belief that they were more persecuted, or more deserving of rights.

Comparing sets up a dangerous social dynamic of historians and commentators who actually try to prove "who suffered more than whom." The past can give us sad examples of what happens when one group is elevated above others.

One example: after World War II, the Nazi atrocities began to be positioned as something that happened only to one persecuted group, namely the 6 million Jews who died in death camps or massacres. Because Jews occupy a special place on the spiritual horizon of Christians, the Holocaust began to be considered as a unique event -- a gruesome kind of gold standard against which all other atrocities should be measured.

Unfortunately, as a result, it became increasingly difficult to mention the 5 million non-Jews who perished in the same death camps and mass graves. According to the Museum of Tolerance, these included Gypsies, Serbs, Polish intelligentsia, resistance fighters from various nations, German opponents of Nazism, Jehovah's Witnesses, habitual criminals, vagrants and -- yes -- homosexuals. Nobody knows how many of us were killed by the Nazis -- estimates run as high as 100,000. But somehow or other, by comparison, our sufferings, and those of the other non-Jewish groups, were made to seem less important, less horrible.

Indeed, some traditionalist Jews and Christians were upset when gay activists began asking for our inclusion in U.S. museum memorials to the Holocaust. The traditionalists denied us the status of victims of Naziism. "Homosexuals seek inclusion in the [New York City] Holocaust museum because it would help them gain acceptance of their sexual behavior," fulminated Howard L. Hurwitz, head of the Family Defense Council. He added, "Homosexuals were never walled in ghettos ... or targeted for extermination."

Hurwitz's heartless comment shows how some members of a persecuted group can actually dismiss the sufferings of another group. In this case, our activist effort wasn't saying, "Gay is the new Jew." We are fully justified in seeking recognition for our part in the Holocaust, because countless thousands of us are firmly on the historical record as experiencing its horrors.

My point is -- "comparing" the legitimacy of human-rights grievances leads nowhere, except into making whoever does it look ignorant and heartless. It also reveals a deplorable lack of respect and sensitivity for the preciousness of other people's lives and struggles.

Unique as a Protected Class

When some of us say, "Gay is the new black," it implies that all civil rights in the U.S. are based on ethnicity. Hence the value of allying ourselves with a successful ethnicity cause. Comments by some African Americans reveal that even they believe that all civil rights are based on ethnicity. Indeed, many Americans still use the blanket term "civil rights movement" to refer only to the rising tide of African-American demands in the 50s and 60s.

But that narrow definition is not accurate. With passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, U.S. federal law established a number of classes of people who need protection in order to be equal under the law. Only two classes -- race and nationality -- were based on ethnicity; the rest include gender, religion, age, disabilities, marital status, familial status, and military status (veterans). Though it was race and gender issues that launched the first legislation for the 20th-century civil-rights movement, the law itself is careful not to elevate any one class over another.

The LGBT movement wouldn't want to flag itself "gay is the new woman," even though we have enjoyed support by the feminist movement. In the 1960s, the emerging women's movement did develop close ties with the black movement, starting with the inescapable fact that 50 percent of those oppressed African Americans were women, and quite a few black women besides Rosa Parks were active in the black movement, though they seldom got any recognition for it. But white women who later emerged as feminist leaders were sometimes perceived as "racist" by their black movement colleagues, because they pursued issues and strategies that mainly concerned white women.

But, in a sense, each protected class is virtually unique in its nature and circumstances. And each class surely feels that it has suffered to the max -- the battered wife, the minor who was denied rights to make a life-and-death medical decision, the abused elder, the paraplegic in a wheelchair. The greying homeless Vietnam combat veteran who was used and discarded by his country, who is now dying of Agent Orange poisoning in his cardboard shelter somewhere, feels himself to be just as wronged and overwhelmed by suffering as any black person or woman or gay man or other member of a protected class.

So it's not necessary for us LGBT people to brand ourselves as the "new anything." While we welcome support from other movements, and are willing to support them if they ask it, our cause can stand on its own merits, thank you.

Instead, we LGBT people should simply be aiming at our own unique niche in that list of protected classes. That's the only way that we're going to get the particular civil rights that we want and need. For example, we're the only class needing the right to marry.

By sticking to what is uniquely ours, we stand the best chance of winning respect and support from members of the other protected classes. And we show the utmost respect and support for their own cause as well.

« Agnes Scott College: Lesbians until graduation? | Home | Love is love »