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Does anybody even bother to watch the news anymore? I’m beginning to wonder if it’s worth it. After all, how many more murders, rapes, fires, and other sundry natural and unnatural disasters can we watch. Which brings me to the point of this piece.
I never thought you’d catch me saying this, but I’m beginning to side with those who think the government is out of control. It’s unresponsive to the people it’s intended to serve. That worries me, because if we all opt out of the program, what’s going to replace it. We have some clues.
Into the vacuum have stepped the Republicans, whose mission it seems is to save us from ourselves and those ne’er do wells, the Democrats. On the Democrats, I’m tending to agree but I’m also beginning to wonder if what we’re replacing them with is any better. You know the old bromide — that the cure is no better than the disease.
Consider that after the sound and fury of the Contract With America that nothing has really escaped the Capitol Beltway which would effect let alone benefit our lives save the abolition of the 55-mile an hour speed limit. Is that to be the legacy of our times? Are we better served by the endless Whitewater investigation? Are we better served by the focus on the fiasco of the White House travel office? What’s the point of belabouring the notion that Vince Foster was murdered by Hillary Clinton and her cronies? Does anybody really believe that? And, lastly, what’s the point of shutting down the government and paying its workers to do nothing, especially after nearly driving those same workers into default and depression? Who’s minding the store?
Which, lastly, brings me to the real point of this commentary. The people who should be minding the store is us. Last I looked, the Constitution, which we claim to hold dear, began “We, the people”. That doesn’t mean the politicians. That doesn’t mean the news media. That means us, you and me. Are we really more concerned about satellite dishes, what’s on television, and going online than we are about that which affects our daily lives?
It’s popular for my generation to lambast the generations that follow about apathy and about Beavis and Butthead, among other things. However, maybe that says more about us than it says about them. After all, we raised them. We’re the ones who taught them about mindless consumption while giving lip service to taking care of our fellow man.
At work, like many people, I say:
“Don’t bring me problems! Bring me solutions!”
Well, I’m sorry.
No solutions today.
Ciao for now!
If you’ve been paying attention, and there’s no reason why you should, you may have noticed that I haven’t been around for a couple of months. I didn’t get tired. I have plenty of things to say. Rather, I suffered a shoulder injury. Throughout the entire month of November, it was unbearable to sit at a terminal and whack away at the keyboard. That’s a problem since my profession requires I do just that.
Since then, it’s been trying to regain my balance and catch up on work. So, of course, I wasn’t happy when the holidays rolled around starting with Thanksgiving. Who wants to fool around with a turkey when you can barely lift it? That passed quickly and my partner wanted to have our Christmas tree up that weekend. Sheesh! That did NOT pass quickly. It took a week.
After that, it’s been the unbearable, incessant running around to get prepared for the Christmas holiday. I had gifts to find, gifts to purchase, gifts to wrap, gifts to ship, and gifts to hide. Who needs it? Bah! Humbug!!
Does anybody really like this time of the year? I’m getting so that I hate it. The stores, the crowds, the cars… yuck!
Finally, though, in the last two days, we got to the part of the holiday I tend to like. You know. The part where we get together with the people we work with and realize they’re not SO bad, after all. The part where we contact long-lost buddies and renew friendships from time immortal. It’s the part of Christmas I like most. The gifts are great, but good friends are better. If we have a loving family to spend it with, that makes it all the more worthwhile.
So, I’m not such a Scrooge — even if I am ill-tempered. I’ll call my family back East and say “Hi! Merry Christmas!!”. I’ll make contact with my friends and acquaintances before the big day. My partner, Dave, and I will spend the day together quietly playing with our new boy toys. And, somewhere along the way, I’ll pray for the proverbial peace on earth, etc. etc.
I’m sorry. Pain makes me grumpy.
Has anyone seen my Kwanzaa candles??
Ciao for now!
Lord Byron (1788-1824)
It is not one man nor a million, but the spirit of liberty that must be preserved. The waves which dash upon the shore are, one by one, broken, but the ocean conquers nevertheless. It overwhelms the Armada, it wears out the rock. In like manner, whatever the struggle of individuals, the great cause will gather strength.
I was not fortunate enough to be able to travel to Washington D.C. today to be a part of yet another historic occasion. After spending time in another of the “masses” in April, 1993, I can only imagine what it must have felt like to have been there. Rather, today, I sat and observed the happenings on CNN and C-SPAN. At various times, I cried. I laughed. I worried. I criticized. Generally, though, I came away happy, with a sense of good will and with hope for a better tomorrow for myself, my distant family, my people, and my nation. (I even learned a new word: diaspora.)
It was called the Million Man March, a gathering of African-American males from across the land, as far and wide as the land itself. There were many things said about the March, true and false. Probably still so. That women were not invited. That admission was charged. However, most charged were the comments that Black people should not participate because of the leadership which suggested the March.
Last week, when discussing the March with a Black male friend of mine, I was disquieted that Minister Louis Farrakhan was the principal voice behind the March. I’m still disquieted as I write this. I sat today and heard co-organizer Benjamin Chavis say that you cannot separate the messenger from the message. Al Sampson of Fernwood United Methodist Church in Chicago implied the same thing. Still, many others feel that the message and the messenger are indeed separate. Regardless, Minister Farrakhan should be respected for making the call. As stated in the American mythology Star Trek, “Only Nixon could go to China”.
However, I am even more disquieted by a gnawing at my insides. I’m sitting here wondering how I, a black gay male, would be received in the Black community’s new world order. Minister Farrakhan asked us to return to our neighborhoods, join an organization, join a church, give up drugs, and black-on-black crime. Is there tolerance enough in this movement to include me and those like me? Or, are we to suffer a distinction that will keep us apart from our communities?
I don’t have an answer for that; I’m not sure I should even care. For if the messenger is listening to his own message, then it should not matter whether I am gay or not. All that should matter is that I have something to offer like the other million or so men on the Mall today.
Ciao for now!
My apologies to those who might think this is about the new movie starring Wynona Ryder and others. I admit it. I did it deliberately to draw you in.
Two weeks ago, outside the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, I was fortunate to view once again the AIDS Memorial Quilt. I first saw it in April, 1993 when I attended the March On Washington. It was then and now a powerful experience.
The Quilt is massive. I was told in Pasadena that it is 35,000 panels large. And, it grows at the rate of 5,000 panels a year. If you get the opportunity to see each panel, it can represent one or more persons who have died of AIDS and its complications. In my two experiences with the Quilt, I’ve become overwhelmed by its awesome size and by what that size represents. That’s thousands upon thousands of Americans who have died of this painful scourge. Thousands and thousands of Americans who have been seemingly ignored by their own government.
The Quilt holds a special place in my heart. My sister, a practicing heterosexual, died of AIDS in 1991. She was 41. In fact, I didn’t realize until this moment that in terms of years, I have outlived my sister. Marcia was a beautiful woman who had five children. Two of those children, my youngest nephews, have NO parents. Their father had also contracted AIDS and died years before. Marcia was much on my mind when I first saw the Quilt in Washington, D.C. that spring day. I looked at the panels, thought of my sister, and looked at those alabaster buildings which seem to contain an uncaring, unfeeling bureaucracy uninterested in the plight of millions of Americans.
Some of my friends from The Fireplace and I are getting together next October in Washington D.C. We want very much to put faces and human contact on the correspondence of people we’ve only met on cyberspace and on the telephone. We also want to view the entire AIDS Memorial Quilt on the Mall. It will be a massive effort, but I — for one — feel that it will be necessary to demonstrate to the American government and the people it represents the awesome responsibility it faces every day until this plague is wiped out. I can’t think of a better time, one month before the National elections, of making this pilgrimage.
I wish you will join us there.
Don’t settle for misinformation. I hope you’ll check out some of the resources below the line for information about AIDS and HIV. Thanks!
Ciao for now!
As an Afro-American male, I’d be less than honest if I didn’t say that I’d be proud to have Colin Powell as my President (and, obviously, as yours as well). I think he represents what’s best about America and just coincidentally happens to be an Afro-American (or if you prefer, an African-American) himself.
As a gay male, however, I am disquieted by Gen. Powell’s dual nature about gays in the military service. On the one hand, there is the General’s public persona where he claims that gays and lesbians would be disruptive to the military services. On the other, there is the private persona where, if I am to believe what I am told, he openly accepts gay military on his staff. Now, I understand the necessity of having a public persona and a private persona. However, to have such diametrically opposed views as these seem to be seems to me to be a cause for concern.
Earlier this week, I had the opportunity to meet and listen to David Mixner, whom you may recognize as President Clinton’s advisor on gay and lesbian issues. (I hesitate to describe Mr. Mixner as that considering how Mr. Clinton has treated him since the inauguration.) Mr. Mixner stated that gay and lesbian politicos will be meeting with Gen. Powell to determine what his stand is on issues important to the gay and lesbian community. Mr. Mixner feels that, although the President has been a firm (albeit invisible) supporter of the community, we should not put “all our eggs in one basket.” This is a sentiment to which I wholeheartedly agree, as a gay man and a Black man. Mr. Mixner also stated that Sen. Dole, who had been a supporter of gay and lesbian equal rights recently returned a contribution, presumably so as not to appear beholden to the gay and lesbian community.
Of course, all of this is so much conjecture, but it gives us pause — time to reflect on the things that we should be doing with one year remaining before the presidential and Congressional elections. I, for one, will be reading Gen. Powell’s book, My American Journey (Random House, 1995). Realizing that the views that I am reading are distilled, I want to be able to understand where the man is coming from. Also, I’ll be looking into Mr. Clinton’s and Mr. Dole’s records regarding the things I heard about them as well. I’m already registered to vote, as you should be, and I participate in all national, state, and municipal elections, except party primaries as I am not a member of a political party.
I remember my awakening as a gay male in January, 1993 when President Clinton proposed the abolition of the ban on gay and lesbian military personnel. I also remember my disappointment when the President failed to appear at the 1993 March On Washington. And my disappointment when the government imposed their “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy on the military. It seems that for as many moves as we make forward, we take as many in reverse.
The time is once again coming for us to step us and make our voices heard. Let’s do it intelligently from a position of knowledge. Let’s not do it from a position of fear and intimidation.
Ciao for now!