Retribution - (Part 1) Sun., June 13, 2010

It's strictly coincidental that I originally began writing this piece on the opening day of Boston's 2010 Pride festival. I've been debating about it left-n-right for almost 2 months now. A few people have told me "Don't do it, keep your mystique intact, you want people to keep reading." True, I do want people to keep reading my blog; but, by the same token, this blog is for me, it's very theraputic for me. Hopefully folks will be interested enough to keep on reading but hell, with every other Tom/Tamia, Dick/Delia and Harry/Harriet on the internet creating their own blog, well, it's understandable why and how folks lose touch with it. I have no hard feelings towards anyone who stops reading this blog, I only wish those folks well and hope that my experiences may have in some small way helped on their lifepaths.

No one has ever told me to reveal anything that I didn't want to. The best advice I have ever received from anyone was from an actual blog follower, Ramone. He said to just be myself and fuck what everyone else thinks. And he's right. I don't know how this piece is gonna turn out and though I usually don't dedicate my postings to any particular individual, I'd like to say this - I don't know what's gonna happen, if anything, after I write this but Ramone, this one is for you and for keeping the faith in me, especially when I questioned it within myself. Thanks.

Oh and one other thing - I am in total and full control of my mental faculties as I write this posting. Unlike some folks, even when I'm in severe physical pain I cant stand that feeling of being constantly drugged up, I'd rather be alert and aware of what's going on around me and deal with some of the pain/discomfort than be in what I call a drug-induced stupor.

The current Harvey Milk Foundation that has been very visual in some of our Facebook newsfeeds is a commendable, extraordinary organization that is making both an undeniable difference as well as a positive contribution in the lives of the international LGBT community, as well as with us Hiv'ers. I could never emphasize this enough, point blank, they do damn good work.

But long ago, many years before this current Harvey Milk Foundation was even born, an attempt at creating an organization virtually identical to it went very awry. In April, 1988, in the South San Francisco Bay area, a few of the trial lawyers who worked on the George Moscone/Harvey Milk murder trial, as well as several local philanthrophists, newspaper reporters and private citizens held a private, informal meeting to discuss forming an organization that would champion the civil rights - more like basic human rights - of all Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgendered people. The key emphasis here is the word "all."

But the meeting was very tumultous at best, as well as a disaster unto its own right. The entire group of (what was thought or presumed at the time at least) intelligent, rational, open-minded, even compassionate, ladies and gentlemen could not agree on one single word - inclusive. And here's where all the contention began. Some of those present at that meeting stated that the word "Transgendered" should be included; but, in name only. Their argument - more like absurdity when I look back on it - was this - how can we champion the rights of everyone when certain contingents of our various peoples are considered "freaks?" Freaks? No human being is a freak (well, maybe some of the Republicans are). That wasn't the point then and it's not the point now. Lesson #1: God doesn't create garbage. Lesson #2: God don't like ugly. Lesson #3: Inclusive means you accept EVERYONE, not just certain people. Oh but it get's better...

When one of the lawyers, as well as his life partner, suggested including a division of the organization which would specifically handle the needs and welfare of members of the Hiv/AIDS community, they were voted down. In 1988 the AIDS epidemic worldwide was still very overwhelming to say the least - how could any single person from that group of a dozen-some people even think of excluding anyone with Hiv/AIDS especially when a few of the people present at that meeting, as well as their friends, lovers and even family members, were directly affected by this disease was (and still is) beyond my entire human comprehension of the universe. How could any such unfathomable, inhumane sentiment exist in a group of people that contained some of the Bay area's most influential LGBT people of that era? Even to this day, in June of 2010, I still cannot fathom the depths of their hypocrisy and lack of compassion for their fellow humankind. Though I never knew either gentlemen personally, from what I do know about them, both Harvey Milk himself, as well as Mayor Moscone, neither would ever have tolerated such intolerance, this I know in my heart to be sound and true.

One of the reporters who was present that day had the audacity to say directly to the
aforementioned trial lawyer and his partner "What are you two? A couple of whores to the AIDS crisis?" Yeah, can you believe it? A few of those present who were allegedly the Bay Area's gay and lesbian movers & shakers of their time just stood there and did nothing. The soundwaves and mortal shock of that one single statement felt like a deep knife-stab directly into the human soul, there is no other way on this earth to describe it. But, it did prove an old addage true, that I personally never experienced until that infamous meeting - you could have heard a pin drop. Before I tell you what was said in return, I forgot to mention to you that that particular trial lawyer at the time of that meeting was suffering from Pneumysistis Carinni and Shingles, just to name a couple of his then current ailments. And, was also on oxygen because he could barely breath. Just the kind of thing that someone whom was literally halfway-dead and fighting for his life needed to hear, don't you think?

The partner of the lawyer, barely 23 years old, stood up from his seat at the elegantly, polished, oval mahoghany table and said very calmly, very emphatically and very firmly, "You bastard. You're lower than an animal because an animal wouldn't do to their own kind what you've done to me and mine. As God as my witness from this day forward I pray that every single human being who passes you on the street vomits at the sight of your face, that children in strollers scream at the sight of your presence and that everything you touch turns into dirt." There were mild gasps and clearly audible murmurs during the exchange, the rustling of loose papers being shuffled into leather briefcases followed by the laywer motioning to his partner that it was time to go. And that's exactly what they did, together, with dignity, they got up and walked out.

I still remember what the two were wearing that day...the lawyer with his light blue oxford shirt, navy blue sweater, beige Dockers, mahoghany penny loafers, thinning, semi-wavy, dark brown hair, green eyes that you could've sworn were personally created by some emerald miner, they truly shined through it all, they really did; and, that damned oxygen tank he carried around. I can still hear him saying in a low hush when his partner inquired "It's okay Honey, it's just part of my outfit." And the partner...I remember him very clearly too...a white Izod jersey shirt, navy blue Dockers, brand new shiny black penny loafers...and blonde hair, shoulder-length, not toe-head, not yellow-blonde, but the most complimentary hue between the two...and blue eyes that more than once saw the words mouthed "You wonder why I fell in love with you? It's those baby blues Honey, every single time, it's those baby blues." I remember.

Originally I didn't think this piece would be longer than one posting, but how could it not be? In telling their story, I am also telling mine. Thank you for reading.