by Katherine A. Hermes, JD, Ph.D.
Gay liberation is, to use an old feminist phrase, when the personal gets political, and it is everywhere in between.
When historian John Boswell proved that Christian Europe had a long history of social tolerance toward gay men, from ancient Greece to the 14th century, he liberated us with the knowledge that gay-hating by churches was not something that had existed forever; it was an invention!
When Aelred, who became a saint, wrote in the twelfth century about his love for a young man, “I deemed my heart in a fashion his, and his mine,” he liberated his love and his emotions. “He was the refuge of my spirit, the sweet solace of my griefs, whose heart of love received me when fatigued from labors.”
When Henry Gerber was inspired to create the Society for Human Rights in Chicago in 1924, he began a movement known as the Gay Liberation Movement. He said all he wanted was “the legal pursuit of happiness which is guaranteed them by the Declaration of Independence and to combat the public prejudices against them by dissemination of factors according to modern science among intellectuals of mature age. The Society stands only for law and order.” And he liberated us.
When Carol Ann Duffy was named Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom in 2009, the first woman and also the first lesbian to hold the title in the post’s 341-year history, she liberated her country with these once-censored words, “Today I am going to kill something.” And she killed the fear of Tony Blair, who once decided against her because he thought the middle of England might explode. Alas, it is still there, though he is no longer prime minister.
When Diane Schroer, a transgender woman, lost a job offer because of her sexual identity status, and then won a groundbreaking federal sex discrimination lawsuit, she liberated Title VII of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, because she made it apply to transgender people.
When a lover writes, “I sink into your embraces…I cover with tightly pressed lips not only your eyes, ears, and mouth but also your every finger and your toes, not once but many times,” we read words of love that could be between any sex. But these words were written man to man, bishop to bishop, in the court of Charlemagne.
When the black novelist, poet and scholar Melvin Dixon, who died of AIDS, wrote two fine novels Trouble the Waters (1989) and Vanishing Rooms (1991), he spoke man to man, black man to black man, to a frightening court of public opprobrium. But his beauty and art prevail.
These are the times of gay liberation. Gay liberation happens in all times and all places. When Mariannes walked the streets of nineteenth-century London, strolling into cellars serving their kind, or when butches took their femmes to lesbian bars in 1950s Buffalo, New York, they were engaged in gay liberation.
Gay liberation happens in courtrooms, too. In a co-parent custody case involving lesbian partners, only one of whom had legally adopted the children, a Montana Justice James C. Nelson wrote a brief, emphatic concurring opinion, venturing onto the topic that was barely alluded to by the State Supreme Court: that this case involves “homosexuals in an intimate domestic relationship,” a fact that Nelson called “the elephant in the room.” Nelson, who had written a stirring pro-gay declaration in an early Montana Supreme Court case, offered a repeat performance here. “Sadly,” he noted, “this case represents yet another instance in which fellow Montanans, who happen to be lesbian or gay, are forced to battle for their fundamental rights to love whom they want, to form intimate associations, to form family relationships, and to have and raise children – all elemental, natural rights that are accorded, presumptively and without thought or hesitation, to heterosexuals.”
We hear a lot about the politics of the closet, how complex it is, how powerful it is, but in fact, liberation has always been something gay people have embraced, because love is more powerful than hate, even self hate. Gay liberation is not new. We can recite our recent history, with Mattachines of the fifties and Stonewallers of the sixties and Lily Tomlin and Ellen DeGeneres and Lady Gaga, with Pride marches in 1979, 1983, 1987, 1993 and 2000, and our National Equality March in 2009. And it’s a great history. But even when we weren’t marching, or we weren’t pressing for legislation to end DOMA, DADT, discrimination and hate crimes, we were writing, singing, painting, building, serving in the military, caring for our families, having children, making love.
Do not ever let straight people or gay people take from us our history, our culture, our memory, our identity. Gay haters will try to erase us, to say our writers weren’t gay—Oscar Wilde was married to a woman after all!– our artists weren’t gay (who, Michelangelo? NO! It can’t be; he painted in church!)–our teachers weren’t gay, our movie stars weren’t gay. They will tell you women who had romantic friendships weren’t lesbians, that calling each other “dearest” and “beloved” were just terms of the day, so quaint and antiquated, but when a woman says “darling” to her darling, she means “my darling” not “my BFF.” Do not let them take from us our books, our pictures, our claims to love as deeply as anyone has ever loved. Every moment of being out there, of not letting people call it a preference, of not accepting second class status, is gay liberation. And if in the fight for your love you fight for your right to love, that too is gay liberation.
Katherine Hermes is currently a Professor of History at Central Connecticut State University, specializing in legal history, Native American history, and colonialism. She co-authored Sex and Sexuality in a Feminist World with Karen A. Ritzenhoff. Katherine is a progressive LGBT rights activist based out of Connecticut.
Prof. Hermes,
Brava. I am glad beyond measure to hear someone so eloquently state how sweeping gay lib is in reality. Thank you so much for your work. It is always nice to know that work can be done to further “the cause” (as it is so often collectively called) that is not necessarily in the usual method. I am but a budding young scholar (musicology) who works in queer studies. Because my personality is not one that facilitates picketing, organizing, leading, etc., I hope that through my writing and teaching I can help bring to the fore those issues which most affect us. I believe it is through knowledge and understanding that true tolerance and love grows. Thank you. You reassure me that what I do IS indeed helping.
Dear Jesse,
Thank you so much for your response. I am glad you liked the essay. I think it is unbelievably wonderful that a musicology scholar can work in Queer Studies! That in itself is an inspiration. I wish you the best in your career.
Kathy Hermes