Out on a Limb

My neighborhood, my cherished Greenwich Village, my home for the last six decades, was desecrated last Sunday when a rag-tag group of protestors, led by Proud Boys, invaded us to protest. Yes, I would argue until breathless their right to gather and express their bile. That being said, their appearance made me nauseous and angry.

They were across the street from the Gay Center on 13th St; their false sanctimony was for the protection of children who might be told a story by a man in a dress, children accompanied by an approving parent. The protestors are part of an anti-drug national wave, ostensibly to protect children from sexual proselytizing. The stories I am told are from the school of Aesop’s Fable and similar tales.

They are accomplishing a national dialogue on drag while side-tracking, with no… sabotaging… focus on a real American disease of child abuse. Sexual abuse of young boys and girls gains media attention because of fears and fascination with sex. The beatings and torture of children, abandoned young people, and those living in abject poverty and going to bed hungry every night are less visible to the public.

We would never permit a boxing match with a 6-foot, 200-pound man vs. a 4-foot, 80-boy or girl. But corporal punishment is pro forma in our country.

The presence of cops at the demonstration denied me the opportunity to talk with the shameful Proud Boys, whose mission seems to be in the best tradition of schoolyard bullies, locating the most vulnerable and satisfying some hidden need to reveal strength or muscle or power, but only exposing themselves as weak and pitiful.

I would have told them that in my more than five decades involved with The Fortune Society, I have met, worked with and listened to hundreds of men and women, reflecting on childhoods in which unimaginable acts were inflicted on them. This is a population that overwhelmingly shares the experience of childhood traumas, beatings, torture, abandonment, betrayal, hunger and sexual attacks. They were little people who had had their hands and jaws wired shut, knocked out by an adult person, locked in closets for 3 or 4 days, dumped in freezing cold bathtubs in the winter with the windows open, or in boiling tanks causing severe burns and leaving lifelong scars, abandoned on a street corner at the age of 5 and left to find food and shelter. Often they were placed in state homes or foster care where sexual humiliation is often a factor. Mostly, a male relative inflicted pain and the child was shamed into secrecy. There are stories of staff members in government-run facilities who beat and sexually subdue young boys and girls and institutions where abandoned or battered youth were placed. We have all read stories of teachers and religious leaders who have insinuated themselves with sexual demands.

At times I think I have heard the worst experience a child could endure until I hear the next one.

And NEVER, ever has anyone tortured and/or sexually abused as a child; NEVER has any man or woman told me that the pain inflicted on them, the shame and the abuse that led them to drugs or drink to blunt the pain; NEVER has the torturer or sexual violator been a drag queen.

So let’s talk about protecting our children. We don’t need a law like the one signed by the Governor of Tennessee which outlaws drag, punishable by imprisonment. As stated by the Governor, it is to protect children, while there are dozens and dozens of strip joints in the state and I suspect we could find more than one minor sliding down a pole and another sneaking in as a customer.

So I accuse those bigoted protestors not only of misappropriating their energy by targeting drag. They are creating a climate of distraction, attention away from the real dangers facing too many children today in America.

I’ve seen Milton Berle in drag, also Flip Wilson, Mickey Rooney and Rudy Guiliani, among others, three of whom made me laugh, one not a pretty sight. No child was damaged as far as I know. I’ve also been witness to genuine artists who cross-dress. The late brilliant Charles Ludlum and the very much alive Charles Busch have made great contributions as theatre artists, playwrights and performers.

There have also been some hysterically funny men in drag: Charles Pierce, Craig Russell and T.C. Jones, for starters. I have found that artists like Charles Busch and Charles Pierce were respectful, almost reverent about the women they created. Drag, in fact, goes back to Shakespeare when all the roles were assumed by males: Juliet, Desdemona etc. Little boys telling stories to other little boys.

Drag queens, in or out of the theatre or in libraries where stories are being read, have no history of abusing or raping or violating adult women, and nightmare acts are exclusively the domain of heterosexual men. The targeting of drag queens could well be the first shot at scapegoating the path of fascists and fascism. The bullies have found a group least likely to have an army of defenders. Drag queens are easy to ridicule and outlaw.

Do I understand why some men want to wear dresses? I don’t have to understand it or why some women wear pants, a challenge to our tradition of gender assignments of clothing, which reveals little about character. Calling names and threatening violence is much clearer evidence of character.

I also don’t understand transitioning from one gender to another. And while we’re at it, I don’t understand orthodox Jewry, why people play cards or big-budget comic strip movies. I certainly don’t understand Log Cabin Republicans or accordion players. Add to the list: Fox News, mountain climbing, Mike Lindell, the Boston Red Sox, outdoor dining, cruise ships, Jim Jordan, motorbikes, kale salads, Rikers Island or the Proud Boys.

There’s a great deal I don’t understand. I don’t have to, but I can assure you that there are a lot of folks who don’t understand me. And none of us in this America should be picketed or outlawed cause someone doesn’t get it. All of the aforementioned I don’t understand have the right to be, my distaste or disapproval or incomprehension, notwithstanding, with the possible exception of Mike Lindell and his pillow case ads. Well even him, the ultimate challenge to my great tolerance and sense of fair play.

We’re only on this planet for a speck of time, a blink in the eye, in the millions of years of this galaxy. Leave the drag queens alone. Real men do more than not cry. They are protectors of the most vulnerable, and they do that because they know who they are. If you are a real Proud Man, start with protecting the children.