TR

By Tom Robotham

The homophobes are at it again. Recently, so-called Christians in Indiana, Arkansas and elsewhere have been reviving the argument that businesses should not be obligated to serve gays and lesbians because such a requirement violates the business owners’ religious freedom.

“Why should I be beat over the head to go along with something they choose?” said Crystal O’Connor, the “Christian” owner of a pizzeria in Indiana.

Beat over the head? If two gay men walk into her establishment and order a large pie with mushrooms and peppers, that constitutes an assault?

It’s hard for me to comprehend such a warped mindset. But it’s clear that in spite of the great strides this country has made in recent years toward the goal of full civil rights for gays, lesbians and other people who fall outside sexual “norms,” homophobia remains widespread.

And let’s be clear: Fear of homosexuals is not limited to people who believe gays will burn in hell if they don’t repent. Many people with whom I’ve talked—people who regard themselves as moderates or even liberals—regularly express homophobia masked as tolerance. “I don’t care what they do behind closed doors,” they insist. “Just as long as they don’t shove their lifestyle in my face.”

Upon even the most cursory examination, this argument falls apart. If you’re straight, think about this: Have you walked down the street holding your spouse’s hand? Have you ever kissed your boyfriend or girlfriend goodbye outside a restaurant after meeting for lunch? More than likely you have. And you thought nothing of it, right? Neither did anyone else. In the eyes of straight society, you weren’t “shoving your lifestyle” in anyone’s face.

By contrast, in many cases even today, if a gay or lesbian couple were to engage in such natural behavior, they would be regarded with silent disgust at the very least by many straight people in the vicinity—in most neighborhoods, at any rate.

Ironically, another indication that we still have a long way to go lies in the argument that many gay-rights activists rely upon to advance their cause. People are born gay, they argue. It’s not a choice. This, to my mind, is a tactical error. In essence what it implies inadvertently is that gay people can’t help it if they’re abnormal.

But what if it were a choice? Why would that matter? Archconservatives—the very people who tend to be most homophobic—are the ones who are always spouting off about American “freedoms.” What could be a more fundamental exercise of freedom than openly loving whomever you like, regardless of whether your sexual orientation is a choice or encoded in your genes?

THE WORD HOMOPHOBIA first appeared in print in Screw magazine, back in 1969. Since then its validity has been widely debated. Some people argue that opposition to homosexuality is not based on fear but on morality. But I continue to believe that the word has merit. Indeed, whenever I hear a man making lots of gay jokes, my first thought is, you seem awfully preoccupied with homosexuals. Wonder what that’s about.

Jokes are relatively harmless, of course. Sticks and stones, and all that. The trouble is, homophobia has so often been expressed in more hurtful ways.

This phenomenon is depicted very powerfully in Queer as Folk, a Showtime series that aired from 2000 to 2005. In one episode, Justin—an openly gay 17-year-old—has a consensual sexual experience with one of the jocks in his high school. Thereafter, the jock continually harasses Justin, and the reasons for his actions are clear: He hates Justin because he hates himself for having homoerotic desires. His building rage finally comes to a climax (sorry—no pun intended) when he sees Justin dancing with a man at the senior prom. After the dance, he follows Justin into the parking lot and beats him nearly to death.

The theme of gay bashing is revisited several times during the series. But the program develops many other important themes as well: The challenges of being HIV positive; the varying attitudes of straight parents with gay children; the relationship between two lesbians who have a son together.

I’d heard of the show back when it was airing, but had never bothered to check it out. I finally screened the pilot last month to determine whether it would be good material for a class I teach at Old Dominion University called Sex, Culture & Media.

I must say that after watching the pilot I was ambivalent about showing it. Toward the end of the episode there is an explicit sex scene between Justin and his lover. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my reservations reflected a double standard. I’ve shown a number of films and television programs with explicit scenes of lovemaking between heterosexuals. For the most part, the students think nothing of this—and why would they? Such scenes are commonplace in mass media today.

Before showing it, I pointed this out. I told the students that some of them might be uncomfortable watching Queer as Folk. All I asked is that they deeply examine the reasons for their discomfort.

Afterwards, one student said she was a bit uncomfortable because she doesn’t like sex scenes of any kind in movies or on television. Many others said they were not uncomfortable, exactly, but that it was a little “weird” to watch the show. They acknowledged that this was probably because they simply weren’t accustomed to seeing two men make love on screen.

IT FELT A LITTLE WEIRD TO ME as well when I first watched the show. But after the first few episodes the sex scenes began to seem natural—just two people, who happen to be of the same sex, making love. The reason for this is that Queer as Folk is about gay culture only in part. On a broader scale, it is about the human condition. Over the course of the series, the characters wrestle with universal emotions and circumstances: the difficulties of relationships; the challenges of parenting; the lure and dangers of drinking and recreational drugs—and perhaps most importantly, the challenges of developing a strong sense of self in a culture that tells us, incessantly, that we are inadequate if we don’t have an “ideal” body, a prestigious profession, and so on.

Alas, many straight viewers will never get this far, if they bother to check out the show at all. After screening the pilot in class, one student—a straight white man—said he wasn’t uncomfortable watching it. He recognized, moreover, that it was well acted and well written. That said, he added that he probably wouldn’t watch another episode on his own. “It’s just not my thing,” he remarked.

After class, I ran into him outside, and we continued the discussion. I told him that if he didn’t want to watch any more episodes, this was fine with me—it wasn’t required for the class. To each his own. I simply reiterated my take on it.

Well-written stories, it seems to me, resonate with us in two ways. They can mirror our own lives in some way, thus giving us both comfort and clarity—or they can help us see life from another perspective. Queer as Folk has done both for me.

Because the show is about gay men and the subculture in which they live, it has served as a powerful reminder that gay people in America continue to face bigotry in a thousand ways. As a straight man, I will never experience this bigotry first-hand, just as I will never truly feel what it is like to be black in America. But I try to be sensitive to other people’s realities, and I’m grateful for stories that remind me of this.

But because the show also transcends gay culture by exploring problems common to all of us, I’ve also found myself relating to it very deeply. If you give it a chance, I suspect you will too. For in the end, it underscores a universal truth: black or white, man or woman, gay or straight, what we have in common far outweighs our differences. Regardless of race, class, geography, gender or sexual orientation, we all want the same fundamental things: good friends and family; meaningful jobs; inner peace—and most of all, love.

Alas, because we tend to stay within our comfort zones, we often lose sight of this truth. Watching a television show is not exactly a substitute for getting to know people and learning to empathize with them. But if there’s one overarching point I make in all of my classes it’s that the mass media shape our attitudes—often in ways that bypass our conscious awareness. Sometimes, they do so in negative ways—through the glorification of violence, for example, or the degradation of women as mere sex objects. But at their best, they can have a profoundly positive impact, first by illuminating our prejudices, and finally by reminding us that beneath the thin layers of our differences lies a vast common ground.