A disturbed peace

Familiar, unexpected faces in Gay March

By Brian McNaught Since moving to Boston, I have walked Jeremy, my Irish Setter. around the same path each day and from time to time have spotted a handsome. young guy clip ing lawns and hedges. Sometimes he would smile with interest but generally he would make eye contact and then look away shyly. "He's gay." I decided. "He's probably 15, gay and doesn't know how to deal with it." I wrestled with what approach I should take. Remembering how isolated and frightened I felt in high school, I wondered if I shouldn't introduce myself and subtly reveal my sex-

ual orientation. Then he would have someone with whom he could share his secret. Yet, would I be introducing myself if he wasn't attractive? Maybe I shouldn't start something. Besides, what if he's straight? What if he's a homophobe? I have to live in this neighborhood. Better keep walking.

Finally, after three and a half years, we spoke our first words. "What's the dog's name? he asked, looking up from his weeding. "Jeremy." I said, feeling an embarrassed rush. "Nice dog." "Thanks." "See you later." "Yea, see you later." After a few more of these brilliant exchanges, we learned each other's name. "His name is Caleb," I told Ray. "He's a senior in college--older than we

Religion

thought-but I still think he's gay." Perhaps next Spring I'll ask him. Yard work is finished for the year.

"Brian," I heard an excited voice shout as I was marching with about 10,000 other gay men and lesbians down the streets of Washington, D.C. "Brian," I heard over the laughing and cheering and singing and chanting and clapping. "I knew you were a homosexual!" screamed the familiar figure who made his way through the crowd. "Caleb!" I exclaimed. "I knew you were gay too." Then from behind me came a chorus of "Hi, Caleb" from the large contingent carrying the banner of one of Boston's most popular bars. So much for the isolated and frightened theory.

A bit later in the day, as I was looking out from the speaker's platform upon the jubilant sea of gay humanity which stretched in powerful waves to the base of the Washington Monument, I spotted a ruggedly handsome, mustached man waving and smiling at me from the front ripple of spectators. I waved and smiled back. Another brother intoxicated by the spirit of the moment, I thought. At the end of the presentation, however, the young man was awaiting me behind the platform, his hand still waving, his smile still glowing. As my body swelled with that all too familiar sensation of guilty

excitement. I strained my eyes to see more clearly. "Frank." I gasped, "I can't believe it." It was my younger brother's best friend from high school whom I hadn't seen in 10 years. We kissed and hugged and exchanged quick stories between our cheers for the bold declarations of independence which were resounding from the stage. "If you're ever in New York..." he insisted as he walked backwards into the mass. "I promise..."

Caleb and Frank are only two of the many familiar faces I spotted in the parade and rally which brought together a mighty army of lovers from throughout North America. They are only two of the many thousands of stories which are being told and retold to friends back home who ask Marchers, "What was it like?"

It was like nothing I had ever been a part of before. It was magic. It was spiritual. It was energizing. Though clouds threatened us throughout the day. I remember it as a bright and nippy. The sky was aglow with multi-colored flags, placards and banners which proclaimed the good news of being gay--of being gay and from San Francisco; of being gay and from Atlanta; of being gay and from New Mexico, Alaska, Oklahoma, Michigan and Missouri; of being gay and religious; gay and atheist; gay and black, white, red, yellow and brown; gay and young:

The enemy of humanity

by David B. Goodstein

My observation of history shows me that organized religion has been and still is about domination of other people by causing them to feel guilt and to believe they are bad and need priests to intercede for them to get better and to go to Heaven. More people have died on account of religious bigotry than any other form of human aggression.

How dare the Pope, even in gorgeous fulldrag, tell me I have to be celibate all my life? How dare the Pope talk about ending poverty in the face of his own organization's use of its economic resources and stand on population control? How dare an allegedly celibate mantell women they have to subordinate themselves to men and not even have control over their own bodies?

How dare a 12th-century mind in a 20th-century dictator kill men for loving each other and talk about corruption? What kind of government do we have that we find ourselves kowtowing to a Persian, sexist murderer for a few barrels of oil while doing nothing to free ourselves from the stranglehold he and a few other petty despots have on us? If you think you have nothing at stake in the energy crisis, think of a world controlled by the Ayatolleh and you might work harder for solar

Anarav

How dare a conference of pompous bishops and snobbish laity say gay people shouldn't be ordained because we can't serve people's spirituality? An Anglican Church without homosexual priests would be about as viable in the world as a beef industry without cattle. Once I went to the ordination of a gay Episcopal friend of mine. There were 25 priests there to celebrate the auspicious occasion. All were gay. I have met dozens more. What kind of religion keeps its priests frightened and in their closets rather than standing up for who they are? How dare such cowards think they can minister to anyone about truth and integrity?

How dare a group of bigoted rabbis clinging to a 17th-century attitude about the world, wearing ridiculous costumes totally inappropriate to 20th-century Israel and interferring with every positive step Israelis wish to take, get

away with telling gay Jews they can't plant trees in Israel like every other Jew can? Survivors of the holocaust turn into persecutors and still expect respect and support. If the Old Testament teaches Jews anything it has to be that an uncharitable, intolerant Israel cannot survive.

I am outraged by the behavior of religious leaders in 1979. Religion is the enemy of humanity. It separates people and teaches them to hate each other instead of celebrating the variety of people that make life on this planet tolerable. I am bewildered by gay people who continue to go to churches, mosques, and synagogues. They either have incredible courage or incredible stupidity. I support their efforts to transform those institutions of persecution and suffering: they certainly have their work cut out. May God help them.

--courtesy of The Advocate

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gay and old; gay and proud; gay and alive; gay and whole. "We are everywhere," we chanted as we marched to the beat of kazoos and tambourines. "We are everywhere," we screamed as we danced and skated and skipped like children. We embraced each other with shiny-faced grins of excitement. We renewed each other with winks and squeezes and outstretched arms. "We are everywhere," we insisted, "and we will be free."

Funny thing, I didn't want to go to the March. I was upset with the reports I was getting about the planning process and the division it was causing among community leaders. I felt blackmailed into coming. I thought I had to be there for, the mere sake of body count. I wish that my friends across the country who didn't come had been there. They too would have been delighted. They too would have been healed by

HIGH GEAR PAGE 7

the day of unity we experienced. That's not to say there wasn't things we can't improve upon next time. And there will be a next time.

Next time I want to be one of 500,000. Next time I want to walk through the crowd and see the faces of my high school basketball coach, the lifeguard at the pool and my fraternity pledgemaster. I want to be able to throw my arms around the Brother who taught me English Senior year and to kiss the guy who after school used to watch "Adventures in Paradise" with me. Hell, I want to kiss Gardner McKay! I want to see more nuns and more Gls and more grandparents. Next time I want to see a bishop hold up his half of the sign which reads "We Are Everywhere."

Incidentally, the minister who lives down the street has a son who might be there. I think he's 16 and feeling isolated...

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