Date: Mon, 19 Dec 1994 08:35:49 -0500 (GMT-0500) From: "Thomas W. Holt Jr." Subject: listserv (fwd) ---------- Forwarded message ---------- Date: Sat, 17 Dec 94 17:23:36 CDT From: Phil Lott To: Ken Sherrill Subject: listserv Undressing the Log Cabin (Gay) Republicans Phillip Lott 1413 Golfview Drive Daytona Beach, FL 32114 (904) 255-8282 As Tom and I walked up the steps to the imposing front door we were suddenly struck with yet another question, Do we ring the bell or just go in? Tom told me to decide and thus began our standoff, arguing back and forth, "No, you go in," "No, you first," "No, you!" I was too nervous to realize how silly we must have looked to the New Orleans police officer on the corner protecting the fleet of Range Rovers, Range Rover wanna-be's (Jimmys, Tahoes, Mity-maxes), and Lincolns that snaked around the blocks in every direction. We were two grown men arguing over how to introduce ourselves to a group of individuals who had expressly invited us. Finally, I opened the door (without knocking or ringing) and we entered a world quite foreign from our own. What had led us to this late October cocktail party at a stylish New Orleans address is of more importance than the party itself, I suppose. But my sense of awe has continued unabated ever since the party so it and its guests will reappear in my story. As an academic research associate at a backwoods university in northwestern Florida I don't often get to attend such delicious affairs. Most of my time is spent staring at a flickering green screen that is somehow linked through cyberspace to the great university libraries in the Northeast. Our project for years has been to identify and track the anti-abortion fanatics who share our small city. However, earlier this year I was fortunate enough to assist with the compilation of an anthology on multiculturalism. That promotion convinced me that even though we are located in the boondocks, we can undertake interesting and productive research. It takes a little more effort, perhaps. And definitely a little more time is spent e-mailing and faxing to the "real" universities, but it can be done. Capitalizing on my new position and the newfound motivation it generated, I set off in search of Queer Nation. The literature in the humanities (especially Sociology) are chock full of recent references to Queer Nation and queer nationals, yet in my frequent travels to the big gay ghettos of Atlanta, Birmingham, Knoxville, Nashville, and New Orleans I had never met a queer national or even seen any notice of Queer Nation meetings; nothing. It didn't take long to find out that while Queer Nation is very alive in the cognitions of some social theorists, it is a dinosaur in the real world of American gay politics. Even the word "queer" is rarely used in the Southeast, rejected as being a retro term denoting gay and lesbian fanatics. Queer Nation Chicago does appear to exist in some form, but its members refuse to talk to me, fearing that I'm some sort of conservative spy. No other Queer Nation group in this country meets regularly or has a membership that could be considered active. Rather the groups have fragmented into a postmodernist's dream of a multitude of affinity groups targeting specific concerns faced by gays and lesbians in their particular locales. While there was little left of Queer Nation to find, I kept running across references to a group calling itself the Log Cabin Republicans. My colleagues and I had a great time making up quips about what the "log cabin" referred to. Surely it had to be the New York guppie (i.e. gay-yuppie) dream of owning a weekend cabin and a Range Rover, or was it some sort of phallic allusion to the size of this groups' members? Granted we were not kind, not knowing the first thing about the group except that its members are gay and republican. Surely a misprint, definitely an oxymoron. I finally ran a NEXIS search using the keyword phrase "Log Cabin Republicans." Much to my dismay, references to this organization vastly outnumbered references to ACT UP and Queer Nation combined. From that September day when I did the NEXIS search to the present our research has taken on a frenetic pace, something we in the academy are unaccustomed to. We found that in 1978 a club was formed in San Francisco calling itself Log Cabin, in reference to the humble beginnings of history's most famous Republican, Abraham Lincoln. It was formed to fight the Briggs Initiative in California that would have banned gays from public school teaching. That gay Republican group was instrumental in convincing Ronald Reagan to oppose the Briggs Initiative, a factor that many credit with the initiative's defeat. After that time, Log Cabin groups appear to have sprung up across the country. Earlier this year both GQ and the Los Angeles Times Magazine did feature stories on the charismatic leader of the Log Cabin Federation, Richard Tafel. During our first conference call with Mr. Tafel I was struck by his relaxed air and willingness to answer any question I posed, at length. Somehow I could envision him in an unobtrusive Washington office, surrounded by antiques, perhaps with his feet propped up, leaning back in a refurbished Chippendale. We, on the other hand, had rushed to find a place where we could share a phone line and record our interview. We ended up at my dining room table recording the conversation on my answering machine. Dirty dishes in view, my sick cat hobbling about, hacking up hairballs and licking at spots most humans only dream about licking. Tafel was quick to steer the conversation to matters of politics. He has a disarming quality ] "Call me Rich," "Ta-a-afle, it's pronounced like baffle." He explained that, as we had assumed, gay Republican groups "spontaneously grew up in the 80s, disconnected from one another." He noted that this was in response to groups like the Human Rights Campaign Fund in Washington that claim to be nonpartisan "but are almost invariably Democratic." Gay Republicans, according to Tafel, "felt like they had no place . . . so they sort of did this thing. . . and they kind of varied in quality and size and that sort of stuff. . . and they always had different names." In 1990, nine of the national gay Republican groups, located mainly in California, met in Tampa, where they decided to merge under the name "Log Cabin Federation." And so the national federation was born, with local groups adopting names like Log Cabin New Orleans. Tafel, who had been working in politics and was "sort of known to this crowd" found himself elected its president. Now serving as Executive Director of the Federation with two full- time staff assistants in Washington, Tafel proudly asserts that the current president of Log Cabin, Abner Mason, is an African- American. Other minorities on the executive committee include a Jewish lesbian vice president and an African-American national chair. The federation boasts 8,000 identifiable members with 41 chapters in 22 states. Tafel explains that many supporters remain in a "second closet" as Republicans because they fear reprisals from fellow gays and lesbians in the community. That fear is particularly evident, according to Tafel, among gay business owners. On politics, the Log Cabiners are arguably moderate. Tafel is himself pro-choice, though he says that "abortion is not used as a litmus test for membership." He believes in a strong military and is a fiscal conservative. On AIDS, the federation supports funding for treatment and research and affordable health care for people with AIDS, arguing that it is "responsible funding." At the same time it opposed Clinton's health care plan. Tafel himself wrote an editorial for the Washington Times criticizing Clinton's plan because he felt "price controls would negatively affect AIDS research." His approach, while not in line with the gay community's call for single-payer programs, has debatable merit. Tafel was quick to criticize NAMBLA when he first assumed office in 1990, and the opposition from the Left was equally quick and condemnatory. He proudly recounts how those same groups have since disowned NAMBLA. When Tafel talks about other gay and lesbian groups, my objectivity flies out the window. During our first discussion he responded to my remark that ACT UP and Queer Nation "paved the way for his group to be so outspoken" with a definitive, "They did not!" He sees "queer" activists as counterproductive but concedes that he respects many of the accomplishments of ACT UP. On the Left, Tafel sees a failed "experiment with socialism," noting Clinton's increasing decline in the popularity polls. On the term "queer," Tafel bristles, openly admitting his displeasure with the term. Before and during our initial interview I found myself comparing Tafel to a young Randall Terry. I asked Tafel if I could attend one of his talks the next time he was in the Southeast. He noted that he would be in New Orleans for a fundraiser in two days. I jumped at his invitation to attend, hoping that by attending, I could confirm the horrible presumptions I had about him and his organization. The fax arrived moments after we had hung up. It was a tasteful, sophisticated invitation to a cocktail party. It identified Log Cabin as "a National Organization of Concerned Republicans for Individual Rights and Responsible Government." Dress: Casual. Donations: $20 Students, $25 Individuals, $45 Couples, to help renovate the New Orleans Republican Headquarters, to be done by Louisiana Log Cabin. My first angst was over the "donation." First I would have to hope my clunker car could make the 180-mile trip from my home in Pensacola, Florida. Second, I would have to come up with $45 for myself and a guest, (I couldn't go alone), plus gas money to get there and back. For years as a member of the Human Rights Campaign Fund, membership 80,000, I had never so much as been privy to an invitation for anything but my annual dues, and they were considerably less than the $100 I estimated it would cost me to attend this function. One colleague ventured that perhaps the Human Rights Campaign Fund had better things to do with its money. I decided to see for myself. I had 24 hours to prepare for my trip. Both my lover and my ex-lover (we cohabitate) were out of town for the weekend, and my sick cat needed constant nursing. I would go to the party, turn around, and come right home. I began my preparations by asking friends and colleagues to go. They couldn't or wouldn't, the common response being "Gay Republicans? You've got to be joking!" My coauthor on the Queer Nation project had a speaking engagement in West Palm Beach the same day. Friends and family refused, fearing that I would either disrupt the party because of my close ties to ACT UP New York or I would imbibe to excess and insist on spending hours jaunting through Caf* Lafitte's or The Bourbon Pub in the French Quarter. I queried everyone about the casual dress. In the South, casual in a four-star restaurant can mean simply that a shirt and shoes are required. I opted for slacks, a denim shirt and tie, and my obligatory "official" AIDS Awareness ribbon. I figured they wouldn't throw me out if I was wearing a tie, even if a jacket (which I would have never found anyway) was required. En route to New Orleans, you cross the coastal plains of northwestern Florida, southern Alabama and Mississippi, and Louisiana's St. Tammany Parish. I usually relax when making this trip, fantasizing about the rich history of Lafitte and his band of pirates or imagining how the settlers managed to survive the mosquitos and alligators or how the native Choctaws survived none of the above. This day I became more anxious. Fearful of what I would encounter, knowing I would feel out of place, I kept wondering if I would end up making a scene with ] yuck! ] Republicans. I decided to drop in on my friends Tom and Shaun and beg them to attend with me. When I reached the top of the I-10 bridge over Lake Pontchitraine, I could see the skyscrapers in the French Quarter. It was a warm, clear evening with sailboats slicing across the setting sun. I deemed such a beautiful scene a good omen. The night could not be a total disaster. Tom agreed to accompany me. You must picture Tom. Though not Cajun, he has mastered the cajun drawl. A self-declared New Orleans native, his jet black hair and grey-blue eyes made him a sure winner for King in last year's Mardi Gras parade in Metairie. He has a boyish charm that he accentuates by carrying his stuffed teddy bear Liam with him everywhere (including forays to Pensacola's famous gay beach, dressed in bear-beach attire, of course). He reminds me of my new lover Mikey. Mikey, however, is muscular, blond, green-eyed and covered with hair. Tom is tall and fit. One overlooks the suggestion of musculature, overpowered by his playful nature. They both exude a sexuality free from pretentions. I often sit for a while watching Mikey sleep. He has that raw sensuality that you like to just sit back and admire. It's when they open their mouths that I begin to have problems. They live life to its fullest without bothering with politics, religion, or theory. They're the personification of what Larry Gross has called "fresh air, queer air." Mikey loves to argue with me over my leftist leanings, just to get me going since he probably could care less. Tom wouldn't bother, perhaps preferring to speculate about the penis size of an unknowing admiree, or to discuss the latest disco mix he heard at the bar last night. Tom told me that since it was close to Halloween, he could dress up like a young Republican, adding, "Oh, it'll be sooo gross." We opted to leave Liam behind, put on our "traditional Republican" khaki slacks and madras ties, and set off towards the Garden District. We found the New Orleans "bungalow," site of our cocktail party, located between the Garden and Carrelton districts, about a half mile from Tulane, the fashionable area in New Orleans. The police officer on the corner was a dead giveaway that something important was happening at this address. This, mind you, is a city where all four hubcaps were stolen off of my 84 Cutlass Supreme in a friend's fenced driveway. I mean, Who would want them? The house was secluded in the Palm Beach style with huge clumps of banana trees and holly obscuring what was not already hidden behind 15-foot fences. Tom conservatively estimated its value at a quarter of a million dollars. Kevin greeted us and kindly pointed us toward Rich Tafel. We pretended to ignore the understated table with Lincoln's photo, an acknowledgment to the hosts, and a priceless crystal and silver goblet full of checks, "donations." The house, belonging to two M.D.'s, was furnished with an elegant mix of antiques and contemporary art. Tom regarded it as the perfect combination of "gay and pissy." Contemporary leather sofas sat amidst antique rugs, precious armoires and contemporary sculpture everywhere you turned. A fortune had been spent to decorate this bungalow and its owners obviously had entertaining in mind. The 12-foot ceilings and glass walls opened onto a black slate patio surrounding a breathtaking sunken pool. Four servers, two bartenders, a uniformed chef and chef's assistant were all at our service. Service on fine silver, service with the best of everything from pat[ to shrimp etoff[. I was suffocating. It wasn't that I had never seen such an ostentatious display; I had. Years ago, though, I abandoned such pursuits in search of some deeper understanding of life. The mood was euphoric, and here was a group of people that everyone would find enjoyable at some point in their lives. I felt ambivalent about being there, Tom was in his element. We ignored Mr. Tafel so that I could get a smoke on the patio. We surveyed the 4,000 or so feet of the bungalow that was open to guests admiring the paintings, objets d'art, and books ranging from Shilts' And the Band Played On to Limbaugh's So I Told You So. The guests, too, were eclectic: blue-haired society dames and young queers mixed as if this was a weekly soiree. At least 50 people milled around in small groups, talking, whispering, looking. Probably sixty percent were men. Ages ranged from Tom, Rich, and myself, in our early thirties, to men and women in their eighties. A friend would later comment, "New Orleans is a party town, and that was the party to go to," implying that many guests may have gone to be seen rather than to show support for New Orleans Republicans. Tom immediately recognized several "girlfriends" and struck up conversations. I found my way to Rich and interrupted his intense conversation with several young men, including the two African- American executives under his charge. They immediately scattered, as if on cue, and we began to chat. I was shocked by his appearance. The GQ piece made him look like a goofy teenager. They posed him under a tree, waving a miniature American flag. The L.A. Times Magazine photos were equally unflattering, posing him with several organization execs behind a suede backdrop in conga- line fashion. Rich is tall ] almost as tall as my 6 feet 2 inches ] dark and handsome in an all-American, JFK, Jr. kind of way. He is the kind of man who immediately puts you at ease, makes you feel that you're the most important person in the room, and hangs on your every word as if totally fascinated with only your presence. I found myself wondering what he would look like without the preppie cardigan and tie, knowing that his frame was probably muscular and trim. I had to snap back to reality and concentrate on the discussions at hand. Being totally in awe is kind of like being totally drunk; it's very uncomfortable. We discussed women in the movement, we discussed leaders, we discussed the sociological aspects of movement politics. I was impressed with his understanding of not only the obvious but also the more sublime aspects of queer theory in academe. I found much to admire about the man, his intellect, his charm, and his unpretentious use of the language. No politician I've ever met, or followed, has so skillfully communicated complicated theory while using colloquialisms like "stuff" and "yeah." I suspect these qualities are matched by a tough, determined streak. Imagine his adversaries within the Republican party, much less in the gay Left. His Oxfordian lieutenants were the only dark spot on my gay Republican cocktail party experience. Yes, I'm referring to their presence as the only African-Americans at the function and their unwillingness to discuss that fact. One of them interrupted my conversation with Tafel after about 15 minutes. Later, he interrupted again saying, "Councilwoman so-and-so will only be here for a few more minutes. You must speak with her." Tafel himself would never dream of showing one person's priority over another. Each member, supporter, or onlooker seems equally important in his sharp political eye. He finally drifted away to speak with the councilwoman but not before promising to return to our conversation. I struck up a conversation with the piano player, a lesbian founder of Log Cabin New Orleans. She offered her card if we'd like to talk further about women in the movement. Her demeanor was informal, her interest genuine, and her political philosophy firmly conservative. Being a well known cabaret performer might have contributed to her manner, yet I found her much more forthcoming than the academic types I usually deal with. Others approached me and spoke with the ease of old friends. No one pushed politics on Tom or me. Had I not repeatedly brought up the subject, it surely would have gone unmentioned. One middle-aged woman identified herself as part of the "theater set," saying that she had to welcome such a handsome young man to the group. I inferred that the drinks were strong (I did not dare partake) or her eyesight was poor. I got the feeling of a group secure in its position and needing not flaunt its beliefs. Tom was fascinated with the gay nobility in attendance calling the crowd the "creme de la creme of New Orleans." My own impression was that these individuals were even wealthier than the crowd at the leather ball we had attended during Mardi Gras last year. Tom introduced himself to the prominent but elusive Vieux Carre bar owner, whos support was probably understated on the invitation that identified him as "provider of the refreshments." I stood back and observed, wondering how social theorists and the gay press could overlook such a curiosity. If a gay Republican fundraiser could draw at least 100 of New Orlean's richest and most influential people out on an October evening when they probably would rather have been in Key West or Palm Springs, what numbers was this movement drawing in Washington, Atlanta, New York, and California? I finally convinced Tom that we had to leave, though he was relishing the potent cocktails and fine hor d'oeverus. It was approaching nine o'clock, and I had a three-hour drive back to Pensacola. I went to say good-night to Rich. He was again surrounded by his lieutenants. He firmly shook my hand and said, "Now you can really write about us from a sociological perspective, huh?" I agreed and thanked him, told him we'd be in touch the following week for more interviews. Was I so impressed and awestruck by the evening that I now consider myself a gay Republican? No. I remain philosophically opposed to most of what they represent. Do I continue to harbor animosity toward gay Republicans? Yes and no. For years we've yelled and yelled loudly about how diverse our community is. Why not accept gay Republicans as part of that diversity? They are arguably moderate Republicans at worst so why not develop a dialogue with them and work toward common goals like civil rights? The Log Cabin Federation, no matter what any of us thinks of it and its members, is a force that must be reckoned with. How its members brandish their wealth implies a lack of compassion for less fortunate Others in society or even unabashed elitism. More importantly, it implies power that most gay/lesbian groups can only dream about (or fabricate, as was the case with most Queer Nation groups). If the time has come to recognize the considerable diversity of our community, to realize that it comprises distinct communities split along philosophical, ethnic, and economic lines (much like the general population), then the time has come to reemphasize that as gay individuals we have common goals. I don't believe that the Log Cabin Republicans understand what their positions mean to Others in the gay community. I don't think any one of them, including Richard Tafel, would concede that their positions make them active participants in the backlash play being directed by world-class homophobes like Pat Buchanan and Newt Gingrich. When I asked Rich about "gay backlash," as identified in the Los Angeles Times Magazine feature, he quickly dismissed the question, saying that "we are working to advance gay causes." At the party I expressed my opinions about backlash and his role in reactionary phenomena. Tafel didn't dismiss me; he just listened and acknowledged that our opinions differed. I recounted to Tafel the famous sociologist Seymour Martin Lipset's description of the first political backlashes in American history more than a hundred years ago. The original backlash was aimed at the Chinese, the Catholics, the Jews, the African-Americans, the Others as perceived by the largely white, male, fundamentalist, Protestant right. Those first backlashes gave rise to the Republican party. The Republicans have openly sponsored other backlashes, namely, against women in American society in the 1980s. Susan Faludi's bestseller Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women describes how Republican architects mapped out the backlash, but even women within the feminist movement ultimately contributed to the backlash, believing the rhetoric and participating in their own subordination. Today we see a growing backlash against the Left in general and homosexuals in particular. Its visibility as exemplified by recent features on retro-conservatives in the New York Times Magazine, Los Angeles Times Magazine, and Chicago Tribune Magazine, may be the only surprising aspect of this backlash to many. We often imagine ourselves as having progressed into a politically encompassing, socially equalizing understanding of society's Others. This backlash will prove that little has changed. Its architects are the same, and the Log Cabin Republicans may prove to be the most embarrassing self-subordinators of our time. While political backlash may be the most important problem I see in Log Cabin Republicans, Tafel's reluctance to give credit where credit is due is also problem. I told him that every gay organization from the Mattachine Society to Queer Nation has made it easier for all of us to be outspoken. He quietly listened but largely disagreed. Tafel sees assimilation as the Log Cabiners ultimate goal. I illustrated to him how problematic that argument can be. Historically, groups that have assimilated have done so at the enormous cost of losing their cultural identity. Putting history aside for a moment, if most gay Republicans are economically elite, assimilation may be an unnecessary concept. Their money provides them with privilege and power which they in turn use to do ] or be ] whatever they choose. One might assume that they have already assimilated, "passing" in all but the most conservative, Republican circles. In my own experience, our modest middle-class home has come under attack by intolerant bigots (and their offspring) because they perceive us as different (Others). In their society, they should have more. They have control over what political statements are displayed and where. The display of a small gay flag on one of our vehicles led to unpunished vandalism of the vehicle, our property, and disruption of our lives. We undertook expensive security precautions following the attacks, but we by no means can enjoy the safety that most gay elite do, simply because of where they can afford to buy their homes. Imagine similar responses to "gayness" in communities less familiar with confronting violent fanatics than Pensacola, Florida. I also noted that assimilation is a dangerous goal to seek when those you wish to assimilate with regard you as their cultural and moral enemies. Political pundints have suggested that President Clinton's lame attempts to normalize homosexuality may have contributed to the overwhelming Republican victory in the November 1994 elections. We, "the gay community," are after all the focus of the Republicans' family-values rhetoric, the target of their malice, and in many ways their philosophical raison d'etre. They seek our demise. I talked with Tafel about my concern with memorializing those who've died during the fights for equality. While many activists see the red ribbon as a symbol of retro queer inactivity, I wear one everywhere in memory of those who died before they got a chance to live their lives, to decide if they were liberal or conservative, to make a stand. Log Cabin Republicans avoid such "political" statements. With assimilation as their goal, why identify with a "gay" movement? Such paradoxes highlight that "the" gay community, whatever it is, must respect its own diversity and offer opinions, not barbs, to groups that they see as Other. In other words, while I find the Log Cabiners' apparent classism repugnant, I also see that their leader is rational and willing to listen to opposing positions. The increasing popularity of some conservative gay writers (specifically Bruce Bawer and Camille Paglia) fuels a philosophical divisiveness embodied in the faces of the Log Cabin Republicans. Bawer's and Paglia's references to the gay Left are often vulgar and laced with an ignorance that should be addressed calmly and rationally. Opportunists like them feed on the controversy they create. A rational gay Left will respond to the queer bigots like Paglia and Bawer, then ignore them. Tony Kushner's example in The Nation (July 4, 1994) is a model the Left should follow: Expose the ignorance, then move on. The Left's focus should include a productive relationship with the Right, despite philosophical differences, if only because the Right would appear to have many gay members. Toward that end, I close with the Log Cabin Federation's address, phone number, fax number, and e-mail address. Send them a message about what you think they should communicate to the Republican Party when they get a place at the table. As Tom and I finally left the party, I was flush. Was I blushing? Had Richard Tafel impressed me that much? I was wishing that I had had a few cocktails, that I had loosened up a bit and enjoyed myself. I can argue politics and social theory for hours, and most people don't want to hear it. I had passed up the perfect opportunity, opting instead to rush home to care for my sick cat. I was wishing that I didn't always overanalyze things and make myself crazy before important functions. I was also fantasizing about the 1996 Republican National Convention. I was seeing Pat Buchanan, George Bush, Pat Robertson, Dan Quayle, . . . and Rich Tafel. What a wonderful sight that would be, to have an intelligent gay man debating these accomplished bigots! From their own position. I don't think it will ever really work for gay Republicans. I think they will ultimately make it harder for the rest of us, but I must admit it will be fun to watch. I was exhausted from thinking. Mikey and Tom would have warned me that would happen. I started laughing as we sped towards the French Quarter to find Tom's lover. I was daydreaming that while they're debating in 1996, I'll be picturing one of them without his Republican blue blazer and red/white/blue tie and quietly cheering him on, despite our differences.