Posts Tagged → \”Queer Rising\” \”Ken O\’Neill\” \”The Marrying Kind\”
March 17th, 2010
I’ve just returned from the St. Patrick’s day parade.
Now I glance at my watch and realize a full five minutes have passed since writing the above sentence. What on earth ever made me think I should become a humorist? And more to the point, a humorist who writes about the inequities of being queer in America.
Now that’s funny stuff!!
I guess I’m stymied because I thought I’d see representatives from the KKK or neo-nazis marching up fifth Avenue. Maybe Fred Phelps and family carrying “God Hates Fags” signs. Instead, I saw lots of smiling, happy people. Occasionally one of the participants would give us a thumbs up as they walked by. As we screamed, “Let us join! Let us join!” –as we recalled every moment of our lives when we’ve been passed up, passed over, ignored– these fine people seemed not to grasp the problem.
Still they smiled supportively at our enraged, screaming faces.
And suddenly I understood for the first time something that is actually quite basic. For most people there is an enormous disconnect between what they think is right and what they are willing to do to defend what is right.
I would guess that the vast majority of people marching in today’s parade believe that members of the LGBT community should be allowed to openly march. Some of these people even beckoned with their hands for us to join them. I don’t think they meant to taunt. I doubt they thought their action was in anyway cruel. They wanted, I’m guessing, to be supportive. They wanted to make it clear that they weren’t homophobic. Not anti-gay. Not me!
So we changed the chant from, “Let Us Join!” to “Join US! Join US!!”
And still the thumbs went up and the marchers broke into smiles. The cameras came out to take the photos-to record what? That they had seen a real live gay person? So they could show the photo later and say, “Isn’t it horrible that they won’t let gays march in the parade.”
That is what they did instead of doing what we’d asked of them. Instead of doing something that would have had an impact. They did not join us–not a single one of them. They kept on moving. Because, after all, that is what one does in a parade. Isn’t it?
And the bagpipes played. Soldiers walked at attention. Little girls danced the jig. All the while I found myself slipping away, fighting to hold back tears.
I am an Irish American. My grandfather was a member of the Ancient Order of Hibernians. These are my people.
Apparently they’ve forgotten that.
It is difficult for me to put a positive spin on today’s events. I personally had no friends or family members marching in the parade. That’s something, I guess. It’s more than Michael Bloomberg’s gay family members can say.
But what of these people, these smiling participants, who so clearly think they support me? They acted like they were my friends, but they would not join me. They would not sacrifice their good time, even though one of their own was being excluded.
I wonder if the day will ever come, when all of those people, all of my Irish brothers and sisters who believe in their hearts that I am worthy to walk with them–I wonder if they will ever say, “This is wrong. This parade is wrong.” Will they come to know that encouraging smiles are no longer enough? Will they awake seized with the conviction that they must do more?
Will the day ever come when I find myself standing on Fifth Avenue, protest placard in hand, with no one to wave it at? No one to hear my cries? Because my supporters have decided to be brave?
My hope is that the time will come when these good people remember the actual significance of this day.
And rising up together, as Patrick himself did, they will drive out the snakes that threaten us all.
By Ken O'Neill • Posted in
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February 17th, 2010
I am the son of a retired police officer. So it may come as no surprise that I was raised to respect authority. And that generally I do not make a habit of associating with known felons.
But something crazy is going on with me. I can’t help myself! I desperately want to consort with criminals. With four criminals in particular.
Right now I find myself bereft because on Friday morning I will be on a plane headed to Florida to visit my parents instead of sitting in a court room supporting–well, let’s just say it– four known felons. I know they did it. I saw them commit their crimes with my very own eyes!
The four felons in question are Alan Bounville, Jake Goodman, Justin Elzie and Gabriel Yuri Bollag. Together they are known as the Queer Rising 4. Perhaps you’ve heard of them? I think they’re dreamy.
BUT THEY’RE CRIMINALS!
I want to be their moll. (there I said it.)
I’m remembering a scene from my childhood. I was watching Donahue. Phil had as his guests woman who loved prisoners. They did anything they could for these men. Sacrificed everything for them. And got nothing in return.
Even at age six, I knew these ladies had a problem.
But now I find myself thinking: “Maybe I should cancel my nonrefundable plane ticket and stay in town to be with my boys, Alan, Jake, Justin and Gabriel. Have I mentioned that they’re dreamy?
“Dad,” I’ll say, when I call the former police officer, “Here’s the thing. I’m not coming because there are these guys. True they’re lawbreakers, I can’t deny that. But they are so dreamy. I never knew how hot activists could be. I got it bad, dad.”
Just like the woman on Donahue, I will write my boys long letters to keep their spirits up. I will describe the details of my far less exciting days, while I dream about being reunited with QR4.
I think I’m becoming one of those crazy Donahue women (except I’m still a man, of course). Oh, and I guess another difference is I think the men that they loved were serial killers. Where as the men that I love are fighting for equality and the end of segregated marriage laws.
But aside from those minor details, I’m just like those women.
Alan, Jake, Justin and Gabriel–they’re like a boy band. Incidentally, boy bands are often made up of known felons. Oh my God!!! I can’t wait for their first single. You just know that HRC and Courage Campaign and Freedom to Marry are going to be fighting to have QR4 get chained up for them and perform.
Oh my sweet perpetrators. I am the Bonnie to your Clyde (x4)
How can I not be there for you on Friday? What if I, just this once, sent many others in my place?
What if on Friday, Feb 19th at 9:30AM hundreds of my friends arrived at 100 Centre Street Part A 4th floor NY NY 10013
Of course these hundreds of friends are not a substitute for me your loyal, QR4 fan.
Fan?
No. Fan seems too insignificant a word to describe the way I feel about you activists. Soul mates! That’s better. True there is the small detail that we don’t know each other. But when I saw you in your chains. Well…. enough about me.
A brief reminder to my hundreds of friends who will be in attendance at 9:30 Friday morning. The boys? The boys are mine. Don’t think because I’m not there that Alan, Jake, Justin or Gabriel are going to settle for you.
You can be a fan. But you aren’t a soul mate.
So step back.
By Ken O'Neill • Posted in
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February 12th, 2010
It was cold this morning and I didn’t want to leave the house. Marcus and the kids (cats) were snugged up in bed. I dragged myself from under the comforter and made my way slowly to the kitchen. Before I put coffee on, I checked e-mail on my phone. Maybe it was cancelled.
It wasn’t.
Sigh.
There was no escaping. I was going to have to go downtown to the Queer Rising Marriage Equality Rally. I live in Harlem. Worth Street is nearly an hour away. That’s far!
And let’s not forget it was cold outside. Oh, and did I mention I had to be there by 8:00?
Maybe I wouldn’t go after all.
I hate being an activist.
I’m not very good at it.
On second thought, I’m not an activist.
I went anyway.
There were a lot of nice people there. People who are committed to equality are often nice. (Not always, of course. But often.)
I had not come prepared with a sign. (Because, as I previously stated, I hate being an activist and I’m not an activist.) But one of the real activists had made several signs–as real activists are want to do–so she gave me one to hold. It said Queer Rising in big letters and had many rainbow colors. Not the sign I would have made but I hadn’t made a sign. And as the say beggers (you know the rest.)
Anyway, not the sign I would have made but, I liked having the sign to hold because it gave me something to do with my hands. (and it made me look like an activist, which I’m not.)
I stood at a safe distance from the actual activists, but did participate in the chanting and general shouting for equality.
Then a gay man and a lesbian came and talked to us. They told us they had just received a marriage license. Even though, they don’t love each other, or even know each other very well. They had previously tried to get licenses with the people they actually love. But since the great loves of their lives were of the same gender, they were denied.
Not a surprise. But really a drag. Right?
Suddenly I began chanting a little louder!
Then I thought maybe we would go for snacks. But we weren’t done yet.
More actual activists emerged from the building and chained themselves together, effectively barring entrance into the building.
Lot’s more pro-marriage-rights slogans were chanted!
Also police came. (Not being an activist, that frightened me.)
I continued to carry my Queer Rising sign and considered blocking my face with it in case there were camaras, like the Gotti family does when they are exiting a court house.
But the police were not interested in me. Because I was across the street where we were asked to stand. (I was taught by nuns and therefore obey authority.) And besides, not to belabor the point, but I’m not really an activist.
So anyway the police clipped the big heavy chains and arrested the (real) activists and escorted them to the Paddy Wagon.
And just for a minute I wished I was an activist. I wished I cared enough about civil rights to go to prison for what is right. I wished I was fighting more. Shouting louder.
I wish I was braver.
And then I remembered something: At least, I showed up.
I did chant.
I did hold a sign.
And maybe that’s not enough. But it’s something.
It’s a start.
And maybe next time I’ll chain myself to the door too. (Totally kidding, Mom.)
But I think I will keep showing up. I will keep chanting. I will make noise, albeit respectful, somewhat subdued noise. I can do these things…
(Even though I’m not an activist.)
And maybe someday…
Who knows?
By Ken O'Neill • Posted in
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