OnLine With Zoe

Out Love, not Out Rage

I saw Outrage on Friday.  Besides being supportive, I was curious.  I am always looking for agreement, camaraderie, unity.  I found the movie’s premise lost under the weight of the title.  Even watching the movie makers on the View that morning, it wasn’t readily obvious that author and blogger, Michael  Rogers was objecting to closeted people voting against their very people they have relationships with.  Closeted gay men in politics are voting against HIV/AIDS funding, against gay marriage, against making crimes against LGBT people a hate crime.  It is the chasm between their sexual orientation and their visible, measurable, callous voting record.  Frankly, for me, it begs the question, would they be less stalwart if they were straight.
 
The characters in the movie, opening with Larry Craig, were all recognizable.  Those of us who read gay news are aware of these men and their voting records.  I have to admit, I have zero idea what this looks like to straight people.  Heck, I got emails this week asking me if Adam Lambert is gay – straights see things very differently than I do.  Governor McGreevey was bright, radiant – no really – like someone who just discovered deep spiritual relief.  Governor Crist was slimy and resistant; what is the opposite of present? 

A paragraph  on women ~ Elizabeth Birch of the Human Right Campaign was terrific, moving and honest.  Rep. Tammy Baldwin of Wisconsin was open and relaxed.  Oh but the wives, the terrified wives, standing next to the pathetic closeted husbands at counterfeit press conferences; Mrs. Craig, Mrs. McGreevey, Mrs. Crist.  Actually there are thousands of straight spouses who are trapped infraudulent lives,  holding their families together.  How the gay spouse can do this is really beyond me.  I kissed a girl, I liked it and I came out; all within about 5 seconds.   And it is no secret that there are many, many lesbians and bi women in politics ( no I have not slept with all of them) but I can tell you that I have never seen them vote against LGBT rights or human rights for that matter.
 
But what really bothered me, deeply bothered me, was one clip of Larry Kramer, beloved founder of Act-Up.  Certainly this brave hero of the LGBT movement said dozens of quote-ables during the taping but what they chose to show was Mr. Kramer saying that activism comes from rage, from anger.  For me it was like hearing nails on a chalkboard.  I have spent over 40 years working to deepen my understanding and practice that successful, lasting activism comes from love.  You cannot convert the opponent by burning his car, breaking her windows, clubbing their kids.  Fear will never create conversion.  (aren’t we having a national conversation about torture on this right now?)

However, more importantly, the oppressed will become poisoned by the violence.  The minority has to find love in their heart and become irresistible.  That is the only way to create a healthy movement, a true lasting conversion and extinguish fear.  I was fortunate to spend some time with Jeremy Gilley, the British filmmaker who is creating International Peace Day, through his film-making of Peace One Day and The Day After Peace.  I told him that I am not as worried about those who die by gunshot as I am about those who pull the trigger as they live on with their hearts broken.  Violence is intoxicating, contagious and another disease – like homophobia.
  
Tuesday, May 26 is California’s Day Of Decision.  On Facebook, the White Night Riots video has been viraling around.  I want to tell people that clearly those 1979 riots did not work or we would not be rising up for our rights in 2009.  Releasing of violence may be billed as good for you but it isn’t.  It is not some limited energy that must be spent.  It is a viral, burgeoning disease that only attracts itself.   If you are angry, you deserve to be loved.  If you are homophobic, you need to love and be loved.  No matter what happens on Tuesday, extinguishing  anger with love is the only way that will last.  

Got MILK?

Its Friday – its the movies.  I sat in the second row center, I moved up an extra row to be really alone.  Good thing as I was weeping audibly.  I always bring a blanket incase it is cold and it was a big hankie today.  How much can you forget?  It changes every day ~ sometimes its a lot and sometimes its nothing at all but today it was just tucked away, waiting to be remembered, filled with emotion, bursting with memories, so much – too much. 

I knew MILK would be spectacular; Sean Penn, gay rights and Gus Van Sant.  Several people wrote me and said it was great.  Unexpectedly the last third of the movie knocked me out.  In 1978, my little bookstore was one of the primary organizing HG’s for the NO ON 6 campaign.  John Briggs was all over the OC and Anita Bryant was so much fun to mock.  We boycotted Florida Orange juice and hotly debated the ethics of “outing.”  We sold the Advocate, sold Holy Near tickets and never considered being closeted.  We were out lesbians in the middle of Newport Beach, Orange County, California.

As the movie portrays, we thought that we were going to lose; particularly in the eye of the OC.  It was a shock that we won.  The queers won.  We were going to be fully accepted, integrated and de-stigmatized.  State by state, county by county, family by family; as we came out, we certified our social membership.  I remember telling people, who had not come out, that they would be supported by those of us who were out.  Coming Out was all it was going to take.  Women and men gathered at The Magic Speller Bookstore.  We all enjoyed the lesbian and gay books, the fantastic bars and believed that the heavy lifting was over. 

Of course, within a few weeks Harvey was shot and the “twinkie defense” was more egregious than “if the glove fits, you must acquit.”  With Simpson, it was one man and a tight circle of people effected but the murder of Milk left thousands of us ignited, incited and in various levels of exposure in work, home and families.  My life was as blessed then as it is now; I was out, my girlfriend was out and we were safe.  I publicly testified at a Newport Beach City Council meeting as an out lesbian and no one in my neighborhood was visibly upset.  The store was never vandalized.  Briggs lost, Bryant lost, queers won. 

Twenty days or so, from the elation of the defeat of the Briggs Initiative and the assassination of Harvey Milk.  Twenty days or so, to dance with joy and come out to one’s self and all whom one loves.  It was brief, reelingly brief.  That shot did not instantly galvanize the movement, that takes time and radiates from progressive places (The Castro) to conservative homes (Montana) at a snail’s pace.  AIDS was the gasoline on that fire in those rosary praying, bible thumping homes.  (and you may recall Mr. Falwell kept that bullshit going right through 9/11 and Katrina). 

So I just wept.  Second row center.  Dec 5, 2008.  It sort of all runs together, like a Jackson Pollack (whom I can’t stand).  No Harvey, thirty years later it is not all done; it seems to just be getting started.  And I heard you say, its not politics, its a movement.  Sure seems slow.  Too slow. 

Women, not Angels

About a week ago I was invited to speak after a showing of Iron Jawed Angels.  I am very forthcoming about the movie; its ridiculous fabrications, the manipulative music and, most importantly, what the facts are.  I spent a lot of time putting together an abbreviated PowerPoint with emphasis on the movie plot line.  Since I was invited by a women’s studies group, I believed it would be an audience interested in the fight for the Susan B. Anthony Amendment and the women who waged it. 

When the movie was over, a history professor was introduced who was going to take questions.  I was rapt.  I never learned any of the things I know about the American Women’s Movement in a classroom and this was a welcome opportunity.  She began to explain that films tell you what to think, that the facts are unknown because it is the past, that there is no way to know what they wore, how they behaved or what was their intent.  She continued about the use of music that was not from that period and drew some conclusion about Hilary Swank as she was in Boys Don’t Cry – though never expressing any regard for Brandon Teena.

Ok, yes, I blew my lid.  I raised my hand and said that I had been invited there to talk about the film.  She said I could say a few words.  I said that you could definitely know things about Alice Paul ~ you can talk to people who knew her, I would furnish the phone numbers.  There are photos and letters and that the movie is based on a book, whose author is very much alive.    

I struggled to set up my projector, computer and presentation.  It was a packed room.  I opened with, “I feel like I am in some alternative universe as I usually speak to feminists, activists, people who are interested in political action and social justice.  I am not accustomed to addressing people who look at this as an art form with all the latitudes of artistic expression.  The devices, fabrications and outright fiction in this movie are known and worthy of discussion."

“You are the sequel.  That is both the good news and bad news.  The worst thing the movie does is represent this information as if it is all done.  Within three years of the passage of the 19th Amendment, Alice knew that women needed a lot more than the vote, they need to be explicitly included in the US Constitution.  The job remains unfinished and the biggest problem we have is that most people think the ERA passed and that women are in the Constitution.”

I have seen the movie at least 12 times.  I am beyond kvetching about the manufacturing of the boy friend, Doris Stevens stealing him, Alice implying that she could have him back when Doris is in jail.  He comforts Alice saying that Doris is having “the time of her life,” and she will write a book.  (I wish they had read it.  It is real; Jailed for Freedom.  It does make me freak to see Alice tying the boy’s shoe laces to a snappy rendition of “Ain’t she sweet.” 

Ok, Katherine Leighton is fiction but serves a descent purpose giving voice to rich wives who risked their security and possibly losing their children by joining the movement .  Ben is made up entirely which is particularly aggravating as he mocks Alice driving and finally gets her to take off her pink silk hat (oh barf).  Why not talk about the actual men who supported suffrage?  And why did they chose to portray Susan B. Anthony as sharing in the raising of Stanton’s children – her letters make it pretty clear – she wanted Elizabeth to stop with the kids and get on the road for suffrage.

Why not talk about Jeanatte Rankin, first woman elected to Congress, sole vote against the war and called for an investigation of the Occoquan Women’s Workhouse?   Why not talk about the extraordinary women; Alice with a Ph D; Inez, refused at Harvard Law as she was female, earned a law degree at New York University. 

And what is the harm?  Ask Hillary Clinton.  Strong women, brilliant women in a life long battle for human rights are infantilized, trivialized and sanitized only contributes to the castigation of opinionated, capable, aggressive, dedicated women.  Someone tell Tim Gunn what he does when he (an accepted gay man) describes Hilary Clinton as “dressing gender-confused.”

So much was good about the story and, even, in the movie.  Doris Stevens gazing at the State House ceiling at “the Apotheosis of George Washington,” in which women circle the heavens.  The allusion to Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman in watching Katherine Leighton hide her little leather bound journal of poetry.  The brutality of the force feeding.   

My favorite scene is Alice listening to the ghost of Susan B Anthony while placing her ear on Susan’s desk.  I almost lost it when I stood in a room with Alice Paul’s desk.  It is not done, it is a long, arduous relay of activists and visionaries.  To the college kids I have the privilege to address I want to say - this one central message ~ As Alice’s desk whispered to me ~ YOU ARE THE SEQUEL. 

The very best of Sicko

I loved Sicko, but then I love Michael Moore.  This little clip is my most favorite moment.

It is one of my dearest dreams that everyone who has not voted, VOTES.  Can you imagine if all of the poor, the hopeless, the disenfranchised voted?  What would happen if everyone 18 - 29 voted or all women?  Just seizing power, which is rightfully theirs, would scare the power brokers out of their minds.   

85 Minutes spent well

It is Friday.  It is movie day.  My favorite theater re-opened with all new seats and clean floors.  I went to see Once.  I knew zero about it, just that it ranked very high on Rotten Tomatoes.

So here's the deal, 85 minutes and no one got beheaded, no one screamed, no one drove their car into another, no one flew off a roof, no one farted or barfed, no one was made of metal, no swords no guns, no knives, no one cut off a dick and fed it to a dog.  Can you believe it?  That alone is worth the price of admission. 

I forgot what tenderness can be on a screen.  I forgot what a whisper, a glance, a moment captured looked on a screen.  And can you imagine a loving mother, grandmother, father?  Sober friends enjoying A COUPLE of beers.  Simple clothes, common streets, a dog and a sunrise and NO meant NO.  Holy Mother of God ~ NO MEANT NO.

And if that isn't enough; songs, gorgeous songs about love and life.  I began to remember what it was like to be touched lightly, kindly, deeply at the movies.  You must see Once - maybe Twice.

Double Feature

I had to make up for a couple of weeks, so today I went to two movies.  Although I don't like admitting it, I am still baffled about them.  It just seemed so odd ~ odd how they fire ideas, odd how they relate to one another and odd how they confirm my inkling about 2008.

First I saw, The Devil Wears Prada.  I did not read the book, read reviews of the book or reviews of the movie.  I just walked in expecting "The Princess Diaries goes Manhattan."   Lets start with Streep's hair - hey right on - white!  Love it.  And it was Meryl Streep, for god's sake.  Stanley Tucci ~ nothing bad there.  I thought I would love this movie.  But as it rolled on, I got more and more confused until it dawned on me - this entire movie is about hating women. 

The woman up and coming, the woman who has made it, the divorced mother, the twins, the two assistants ~ they all hate each other.  Power was hateful.  Choosing one's career was a crime.  Friends and lovers wanted her to stop working late, working hard, working with excellence.  And then the boyfriend says she was doing it all for the shoes.  Crap.

Movie two was just as odd.  It was the most female affirming movie I have ever seen.  I am actually moved to tears about it.  I sat in a theater and watched Al Gore honor, love, protect, admire Mother Earth.  In An Inconvenient Truth, he showed photos of her from space, from the North, from the South, her forest, her land, her seas.  It was so moving.  I feel as though it could have been Mother Earth's eulogy but Gore is not giving up his love for her and appeals to us to help revive her.  Oh that we loved her so much.

These two movies in one day plants me squarely at the crossroad where I wrestle with voting for non-feminist women.  I feel so strongly about women in leadership.  I know the world's advancement requires women in leadership.  However, can I vote for a non-feminist woman running against a feminist man?  Gore v. Rice.  We just may find out. 

 

Just a Nudge

Some days I get up and wonder why I am still on fire about the liberation of women.  Why would it be so important to me and clearly not of much interest to the people in the market, on the TV, driving on the freeway?  I think I am just a nudge and imagine people sighing, "oh that Zoe is at it again."  Then I just fold it in and go to the movies.

Of course I would choose to see Water, written and directed by Deepa Mehta.  This is her third in the series, Earth, Fire and Water.  This is the story about the lives of Hindu widows, who are believed to be half dead as the other half died with their husbands.  Their heads are shaved, they are shunned into living in stark communities (ashrams), sustained through begging.  Even if a girl is married at the age of seven, even if she never meets her husband, she must live the life of a beggar and the most she can hope for is to be bought for the nightly pleasuring of a man from the Brahmin class. 

The movie is set in 1938, ten years before the assassination of MK Gandhi when he was working to lift both women and untouchables (Harijan, as Gandhi called them, which means Children of God) out of entrenched and scripture endorsed oppression.  Mehta shows us Gandhiji stopping at a train station, speaking about his discovery ~ that it is not that God is truth but rather, Truth is God.  After 2 hours and 30 minutes of laughing, crying, weeping and appreciating that it is not 1938, a paragraph appears on the screen explaining that today, in India, 34 million widows live in poverty, suffering these same terrible injustices.

It took over five years to make Water, as when Mehta began filming in 2000, angry right-wing Hindu fundamentalist mobs burned her sets and threatened her life.  You may recall that this same group bombed theaters in Bombay and New Dehli when Fire, a film about lesbians, was being shown.  As you can guess, Mehta lives with death threats daily .

This movie is utterly fantastic.  The women will make you throw open your hearts.  The scenery is brilliant, all along the Ganges with roaming cows, wild dogs, bright saris and vendors cooking food in open pits.  (Shall we just not mention that the US poster has a man [handsome but not central] featured in the foreground?)  You will mourn for a little girl who wants to go home and be amazed at how easily the culture has made it all seem okay, not just okay but proper.  What do we accept as if it is okay? 

I love this movie, this writer, this director.  And, in case you think I forgot, I can't stop being a nudge.

Friday at the Movies

Thirty years ago I began going to the movies at The Lido Theater in Newport Beach.  In 1976 there was a sign at the staircase that directed people to the smoking section upstairs.  Truly, you could watch a movie and smoke cigarettes.  I think I saw Blazing Saddles a couple of times there puffing on my ciggies.

Today I stopped at the door and asked the ticket taker how long before the movie begins.  He said the movie was starting at 11:45.  No, I explained, what time does it actually START -- do I have time to go next door to Starbucks for a coffee.  He told me that, while I may have time to buy one, I would not have time to drink it as I could not bring it in the theater. 

What happened?  What happened to that kid?  I was going in the theater to see a movie about a young woman who gave her life to the resistance and I could not bring in a coffee.  It is noon on a Friday - 5 people in the theater - max and I would be stopped at the door if I tried to bring in a latte grande. 

Sophie Scholl The Final Days, was a deep, devastating movie.  Sophie Scholl was a sister, a nurse, a protestant, a thoughtful , mindful, wonderful woman who loved the sun and her family and humanity and really believed that everyone, if they only listened, would find strength in their conscience.  As she worked her way through days of interrogation she seemed to be saying that what separated her from her captors was the recognition and development of ones conscience.  Oh that she be right. 

For most of my life I would have said she was right.  I have bet my life several times that she is right.  I really believed that since most Americans believe that men and women are equal, our Constitution would easily adopt the ERA.  Since most Americans believe that a woman should be able to make her own private choices about her reproductive rights, Roe V Wade was the informed reflection of the American conscience. 

Today I saw South Dakota make their move.  12 states are poised to follow.  Sandra Day O'Connor has gone home.  This is no coincidence.  Obviously, I want women to refuse any legislation on their reproductive organs.  I want women to demand physical autonomy.  Of course I wanted to bring a f'ng cup of coffee in the movies.