My response to Sky Gilbert's critique of my IN Toronto piece on celebrities coming out

It's always flattering when someone you admire takes issue with something you said, since, at the very least, you were worth responding to. 

So I'm glad Sky Gilbert took umbrage with my piece in this month's IN Toronto magazine, which asks the bratty question "Does coming out even matter anymore?"

Sky's critique is here.

I responded to Sky directly and wanted to share my response here, for the record.
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Hi Sky,

I appreciate your thoughtful essay and feel delighted and honoured that you took the time to respond to what I wrote.

My piece was meant to be a playful riff on a series of ideas around coming out. (It all started when a friend of mine complained that there were too many out actors and not enough out scientists, which was a weird notion I wanted to unpack.)

It might have been hard to figure out what I was saying in the piece because I was deliberately trying to be non-prescriptive--evasive even. I didn't want to tell anybody what to think or do with their lives, nor give a thumbs up or thumbs down to different celebrities. Rather, I was throwing some ideas and stereotypes into the air to see them crash into each other, hopefully provoking readers into examine their own feelings about famous people coming out. I purposely eschewed answering the headline's question so readers could answer it themselves. And you've done so yourself quite forcefully and I'm glad of that.

But I hope I was clear, especially when I write about the "enduring value of coming out"--that's the bit near the end where I laid my cards on the table--that, despite my cavalier approach and the provocative headline, I still think coming out is very important. Perhaps I buried the lead.

I just think coming out publicly has a very different social meaning than it did a decade or 20 years ago. That's progress, though not the end of our labours.

Who cares about young people?

Ontario's new law that prohibits drivers under 21 from drinking any alcohol at all before driving reminds me of something an old friend said years ago.

He used to do market research, focusing particularly on young people, what attracts them to particular brands, what values they wanted to see in consumer products, etc. He pointed out that nobody cares about youth issues except youth themselves. Teenagers might rail about not being able to vote or drink or how their schools treat them or how they are targeted by the police. But then they turn of age, leave school and they don't care about those issues anymore. In fact, young adults often put a great amount of distance between themselves and "youth" issues. I know there are adults who advocate for young people and they do great work but they are an exception, and usually paid for their advocacy.

Which is why governments can get away with clearly unconstitutional laws like these. By the time someone gathers up steam to launch a proper court challenge, which can take years, their age makes them stop caring; they move on to other things. There is not enough continuity to create a genuine movement.

Imagine if this law was applied to any other group that's protected by the Charter, which protects people from discrimination based on race, national or ethnic origin, colour, religion, sex, age or mental or physical disability. For "under 21," imagine "men," "Protestants," or "Irish-Canadians." It could never happen. That's because these characteristics are (mostly) permanent and the affected individuals would stay affected for a long time, long enough to lobby against the law.

Youth is fleeting. Governments exploit that fact every time they take away young people's rights. It's politically pragmatic but it's hardly fair.

Is Pride more important than a high school prom?

As someone trying to figure out what the current imbroglio around Pride Toronto means for the future of Toronto's LGBT community, I found Douglas Elliott's excellent speech at the Law Society of Upper Canada's Pride reception this week especially helpful.

In his assessment of the tone of the debate over whether the phrase "Israeli Apartheid" should be banned from the annual Pride parade, Elliott was bang-on. Even setting aside the name-calling, negativity and assumptions of ill-will I've heard from both sides, the language of "otherness" has played much too big a part in this debate. There have been some very eloquent, consensus-building and compassionate voices, too. But I haven't heard so much "us" versus "them" rhetoric since the Christian Right showed up to prevent the legalization of same-sex marriage. Elliott's emphasis on "we" is vital.

When Elliott set out to define the key issues, though, I lost the thread. "Pride is about our LGBT community. It is the one time of the year when it is all about us." That's true, but I was immediately reminded of another institution about which you could say the same thing: high-school proms. A few of them, here and in the U.S., have been placed in jeopardy over LGBT issues. A student wants to bring a same-sex date, the school forbids it, the conflict escalates and the school or a court threatens to cancel the prom until the matter is settled. Elliott himself is very familiar with this narrative.

You only get one graduating prom in your life. The (mostly straight) students who suffer from the same-sex date controversy did not set the policy--it's not their issue, really. Why should they be made worry if their corsages will be left to rot in the fridge? Can't LGBT students do their own thing elsewhere? Isn't their choice of date a distraction from more serious education issues? Shouldn't the issue be decided somewhere offstage, so (mostly straight) students aren't pulled into it?

I don't agree with these complaints--I do indeed think equality issues are important education issues--but I suggest them here to demonstrate how rhetoric, rather than reality, frames how we decide what issues belong where. When Elliott was fighting for the right of Marc Hall to take his male date to the prom, I'm not sure he would have accepted a "not the right venue for this kind of thing" argument.

LGBT activists like Elliott have (rightfully) supported and celebrated these teenage same-sex date-takers (there must be a more elegant expression for that) as heroes. If one particular prom suffers in the larger fight for LGBT equality, then it's a small price to pay. But you certainly don't feel that way if you're an 18-year-old straight student and it's your prom. You might be angry with your school, but you might also just want the gay boy or lesbian girl to go away or, at least, tone it down. LGBT haven't traditionally settled for the "please go away and tone it down" option.

Then there's the issue of timing. Pointing out that the federal government withheld $400,000 of expected funding this year, Elliott says "I felt that this was a time when we all needed to rally behind Pride to cope with this financial squeeze." This quote reminded me of the Bruce Cockburn song "The Trouble with Normal." According to Cockburn, the trouble with normal is "it always gets worse."

Yes, the federal funding cut was a pain, probably motivated by homophobia. Yuck. But I look at Pride 2010 and see an organization as big and as rich as it's ever been. In the words of not-for-profit types, Pride has built a lot of capacity in the last few years. The budget looks to be more than $3 million, up from $2.7 million last year. There are 10 people on staff and a crew of able, smart and dedicated volunteer coordinators. I'm sure they would have all liked to have had this discussion done with 10 months ago--or 10 years ago--or 10 years from now. But if 2010 is not a year when people can--compassionately--discuss the meaning of Pride, how it relates to the community, how it relates to the mainstream, the compromises it's prepared to make to be well-funded and who should or shouldn't be allowed to participate in it, then I'm not sure when a time for that discussion would ever come.

Why not now? Would the middle of Toronto's World Pride in 2014 be better timing?

Nationally, it's fair to say that the court-driven queer activist agenda of the last two decades is almost at an end. We won. Yay! (Add an asterisk or two here; trans people should add several.) If we want to move ahead as a community, to manifest a form of activism and collective identity beyond the courtroom walls, we need to figure out who we are and what we want to do next. The current discussion about Pride's handling of Queers Against Israeli Apartheid is extremely pertinent to those questions. Well, it is if it can shake off the personal attacks, the lack of compromise, the unwillingness to admit mistakes, the broad sweeping generalizations, the paranoia and the snark.

Is it a pain for Pride Toronto that it has become a principal actor in this debate? Totally, yes. I bet they're much rather be blowing up balloons, booking talent and training parade marshals--or having a root canal. But they should also find it flattering. Pride celebrations, more than any other LGBT institution, are a repository of the struggles and dreams of our community. Even its harshest critics care what Pride does. That's not hate, that's love. I just wish it sounded more like it.

What's really been in and out of the parade

There's been so much vigorous (acrimonious?) debate over whether the group Queers Against Israeli Apartheid (QuAIA) should be allowed to march in Toronto's Pride parade, there's been little I felt I could add. But it's dawned on me today that both sides have been making not-quite-right statements about the parade's history.

As someone who's watched every parade since 2000 from beginning to end (Oy! I know! I'll never get those hours back!), I wanted to add some facts to the mix.

Several times I've read city councillor Kyle Rae implying that the content in the parade has historically been queer-specific. "What they were doing is bringing in another issue into a queer community event," he told the Globe And Mail.

Well, in past parades, I've seen anti-meat signage, anti-fur signage, "Free Tibet" signage, anti-Catholic signage and anti-Pope signage (more on the Pope in a moment). Is it true to assume Pride messaging is always positive or, if negative, aimed only at those who oppress LGBT people? Tell that to the Latin American Coalition Against Racism that marched in 2000 or the people from Gays Liberation Against the Right Everywhere who, with Rae, founded Pride Toronto in 1981. Or the marchers in 1999 who chanted "Homelessness is a national disgrace."

The 2001 parade included Jewish Women Against The Occupation and people with signs stating "Bi Babes say screw the FTAA!"

All of these causes are debatable, some of them controversial. None are queer-specific. Neither is nudism, really--I've heard that even straight people are naked under their clothes--but nobody has questioned the desire of the group Totally Naked Men Enjoying Nudity (TNT!MEN) to march in the parade, even as they've questioned their right to. (As an aside: One of the criticisms I've heard levelled against QuAIA is that they're nothing but attention-seekers. Uhhh, it's a parade. Everybody who wants to be in a parade is an attention-seeker. It's the single common denominator of parade participants.)

The Toronto parade I've witnessed (endured?) has historically operated with the assumption that queer people who have what I'll call "generic" interests are permitted to, er, expose them in the parade. I haven't done a statistical breakdown, but I would bet that at least 25 percent of parade participants are queer people expressing generic interests, from their religion to their admiration for CBC radio to their distaste of the current government, whoever that might be. It's understandable that Councillor Rae has missed this; he's spent more time in the parade--and in the early days organizing the parade--than watching it. But the parade I've watched glide down Yonge Street year after year has never been a single voice speaking with a single unified message; it's a cacophony. If something in it doesn't make you uncomfortable, you're not paying enough attention.

Now, although the gayness of TNT!MEN's exhibitionist tendencies have not been questioned, their right to participate in the parade has. When Pride's executive director Tracey Sandilands talks about the words "Israeli Apartheid" making attendees "uncomfortable," she seems to be forgetting or ignoring the discomfort TNT!MEN's weenies have caused over the years. In the early 2000s, there were complaints about them almost every year. Prior to joining in the parade in 1999, then mayor Mel Lastman reportedly tried to pressure Pride organizers to get TNT!MEN to cover up. In the early 2000s, there were times when volunteer marshals at the staging grounds encouraged them to do so. Around that time, Pride adopted a semi-official hands-off policy with regard to nudity: organizers would pass on warnings from the police and inform participants that illegal behaviour would not be condoned. In 2002, police did arrest parade nudists, leading seven of them off in handcuffs, their asses still hanging out. The charges were eventually dropped and, as far as I know, neither the cops nor organizers have interfered with nudists in the parade since then. The nudists were never banned, but they have often been discouraged and, at the very least, were left to fend for themselves.

Which brings me to a not-quite-right claim I've been hearing from critics of Pride: that "Israeli Apartheid" is the first time Pride Toronto has censored something in the parade.

Actually, the kooky cult the Raelians were censored in the 2004 parade. They had brought signs that I believe criticized the Roman Catholic Pope, John Paul II, but I can't say for sure because the words on their signs (and they had a lot) were covered up with black tape and other makeshift coverings. The signs you could read said, "Not Allowed By Pride."

You could argue that the QuAIA case is the first time Pride has voted to censor a group, but, in a way, that's preferable to a last-minute crackdown because it opens debate prior to the event and allows the group time to challenge the decision. Also, at that time, Pride's board members, rather than paid staff, ran the festival. I don't know who called for or who approved the Raelian censorship, but I'm sure board members were either involved or close by. Nowadays, volunteers and paid staff can't be confident the board members will be on site to give such advice--the organic connection between community and organization has been severed by the professionalization of Pride, by money, so to speak--so the hands-on people obviously want these things settled before the event.

Regardless of whether a vote for censorship is better or worse than impromptu censorship, the bald fact of censorship has reared its head at Pride before.

Most of this information is available in the pre-2005 archives of Xtra.ca; my memory isn't that good.

Bright young thing

I have also been doing work lately for Yonge Street Media, a weekly online magazine that spotlights innovation and creativity in Toronto. Having focussed so much on theatre lately, I often feel like I'm applying arts-style coverage to business and community-building projects, which is kinda fun.

Further to the Post & Pride

This looks like a story but smells like a correction.

Who speaks for Pride?

I was mildly distressed when I read this piece in the Jewish Tribune in which a lawyer equates the critique of Israel's treatment of Palestinians as "Anti-Israel" and "Anti-Semitic." But the fact that he describes Pride's traditional freedom-of-expression stance--a stance that should come as no surprise since it comes from a group that has been silenced for centuries and has been labelled obscene and offensive too many times to count--as having "very eerie parallels to Nazi Germany" struck me as so outlandish to be laughable. Who could take this complaint seriously?

Well, the National Post could, headlining its story "Toronto Pride organizers ban anti-Zionist group." The story freaked me out because it goes against so much of what Pride is all about.

I would be the first to say I don't like a Pride parade to be a series of political and commercial messages. Entrants should concentrate on being fabulous and celebrating their sexuality. But the overlap between sexual politics and all kinds of other politics is tremendous. Politicians, the most political and partisan species known to earth, clamour to be in the thing. Queer vegans shout their message. So do queer pagans. Some political causes may seem like a stretch, but I don't think anybody has any right to start drawing a line. Pride restricts groups that participate in hate speech and discriminatory behaviour, but that, traditionally, has to be clear on the face of it. If it's a matter of debate--and you'd have to be deluded to think that the relationship of Israel and the Palestinian people is not a valid debate--Pride should step back and let it happen.

(And, with Israel's boasting about its LGBT track record, it is inviting criticism from queers on other aspects of its domestic policy. There's no obligation for gay and lesbian people to shut up and play the part of window-dressing when there are other serious issues to address.)

No individual or group "speaks" for Pride in the parade or outside of it. There are occasions when I don't think Pride organizers themselves actually "speak" for Pride. Pride is a spirit or, if that's too flaky for you, a social movement that manifests itself in a formal organization, but it is not a formal organization itself. The organization creates a platform for "Pride" but it is the participants who mount it, creating the content upon that platform. There is no finely tuned message that comes out of it. Lawyerly niggling about liability and not-for-profit tax status misses the point. Take away the sponsorships and the street closure permits and there will still be Pride.

Pride organizers have struggled with this role. I remember in 2004 the Raelians being told to cover up signs that said nasty things about the Pope--"Official sponsor of AIDS... The homophobic religion that kills!"--but they were not kicked out of the parade. (B'nai Brith Canada take note.) Organizers have not always performed as valiantly as they could, for example, not kicking up a stink when police arrested a small group of men for going naked in the parade in 2002. But they have mostly stuck up for the anarchy of voices that are at the heart of Pride.

Anyway, I found the Post story a little troubling. This morning, I was interviewing Pride executive director Tracey Sandilands for a feature story about Pride for the Toronto Star. I couldn't resist asking her about the Post story. She did not claim the Post misquoted her--thank goodness or we'd be veering close to boy-who-cried-wolf territory--but said the story was wrong.

"We have never said we weren't allowing political viewpoints," Sandilands told me. She said the group Queers Against Israeli Apartheid has not been banned from this year's parade. Or at least, not yet because they have not yet applied to be in the parade. When and if they apply, it's the declared message and intent that would be evaluated for possible hate speech and discrimination that would see their application denied. Otherwise, they would be welcome.

"There so much pressure on us to take a side," Sandilands told me. "But it's not our mandate or our purpose. We don't intend to be bullied into taking a side....We are not going to take a stand on any rights or causes other than global queer rights."

If hate speech occurs in the parade without warning, Sandilands says it's up to the police to deal with it.

"We won't make that determination," she says.

I'm sure some people will find any participation of Queers Against Israeli Apartheid uncomfortable and provocative. But those two words should be considered synonymous with any bone fide Pride parade.

A figgy pudding

How strange is it to be delighted by a documentary about AIDS activism?

Inspired, sure. Provoked, of course. Overwhelmed, probably. But it was delight that most infused my feelings about John Greyson's Fig Trees, which played at Inside Out this week. I was skeptical going in: I heard it was an opera. But the moment I saw the narrator was an albino squirrel--sometimes a real squirrel, sometimes a puppety one and sometimes a boy dressed as one--I knew that opera wasn't going to be taking itself serious.

Fig Trees juxtaposes the lives and works of two AIDS activists, Tim McCaskell in Toronto and Zackie Achmat in Cape Town, South Africa, through interviews, opera arias and experimental film techniques. Having admired McCaskell for a long time, I loved that the film found in him and Achmat two subjects who could embody some of the heroism of the personal side of social change but also two subjects who are critical of an individual's role, knowing that there there is so much more to be achieved by collective action. And they're both so forward-looking, neither have ever seemed tempted to say, "That's it, honour us now for all the work we've done." The film shares this resistance to self-congratulations.

So I loved the two people profiled. But I also loved Fig Trees' ingeniously eclectic style. There was AIDS and opera and an albino squirrel, yes. But there was also Gertrude Stein, palindromes, train sets and satirical music videos. Some of it was out of left field but none of it was random. I've seen a few things lately where their makers' tendencies to throw a lot of "stuff" at audiences seemed aimed at covering a lack of rigour in the writing process, as if a first draft was rushed into production. While I would not claim to understand all of the connections Greyson makes in the film, they are asserted with such inventiveness and purpose, I feel I have put my emotions and thoughts in the hands of someone who has thought things through. Fig Trees is frequently silly, but never shallow.

Even if audience members left with new (or renewed) disgust with corporate and government complacency in the face of HIV/AIDS, a deeper sense of the daunting task of the fight against HIV/AIDS, I don't think Fig Trees left any room for despair.

Book of Judith could have used a little more Snow

When writing about a play that's about the making of a play, I figure it must be all right to write about writing about it. In the case of The Book of Judith, which plays till the end of May in a tent on the lawn of the Centre for Mental Health and Addiction on Toronto's Queen West, that also might be the appropriate approach. Being self-reflexive also gives me the chance to violate a couple of other rules I try to maintain: not writing about what's not on stage but could have been (under normal circumstances: what's the point of coulda, shoulda, woulda?) and not pulling apart the production's intentions from its execution.

Let's start at the beginning. I met the show's creator Michael Rubenfeld for an interview for Eye Weekly and found him totally likable and smart. My first questions, as they often are, were about how the show came to be and he had a compelling narrative. As we talked, I realized that this creation narrative--how he met the play's subject, Judith Snow, a quadriplegic who is an international advocate for the inclusion of disabled people, how they started working on a play, how it fell apart and how he pulled it back together again--was the spine of the play. Interesting enough. It got me wondering what the play itself was going to say about the experience. If the play was about his journey from seeing Snow as little more than a freak to seeing her as a person whose very existence in the world challenged our views of it, I was curious what it was about Snow that triggered this awareness and what it was about Rubenfeld that was different now.

The resulting play is difficult to write about without sounding like an asshole. I think there was a lot of talent on the stage, including the choir. I think we need more art--more dialogue in general--on concepts around disability and inclusion. I think Judith Snow is a worthy subject of hagiography. I think the play's heart is in the right place. I think the play will make people think more about disability and, because Rubenfeld is more connected to Toronto's artsy scene than its disability community, it will touch a lot of people who may not have otherwise thought about disability.

But I was surprised how wafer-thin the play's thinking was. Rubenfeld introduces Snow as an "oddity and an inspiration," someone defined by her disability, her physical dependence on other people to help her get through her life, and then talks about how, through the process of creating the play, he discovered how she is so much more than that. But he doesn't give that "much more" to us. The play, for all its whole-person thinking, still focuses on Snow's disability. We don't get a sense of her as a person or a sense of her intriguing views of the world except in the quotes from her contained in the beautifully designed missal. I would have liked to have had much more Snow--what are her hobbies? if she wants to get laid, what kind of a man is she interested in?--and much more of how specifically she changed Rubenfeld. But the show only skims the surface. Rubenfeld performs the piece in evangelical revival-tent style and it's almost as if this approach prevents him from digging down: What was Snow before this project? What was he? What are they after? We're told over and over again how she changed him, but, aside from the fact that he's doing the show itself, he doesn't really show us. The audience is kept on the outside and, for a show about inclusion, I think that's a shame. It's like the process of the play and his emotional journey through that process--the government funding, his girlfriend breaking up with him partway through--overwhelmed the play's original mission: to show what Judith Snow, in particular, brings to the world.

So that's what I thought the show should have been: more Snow, less belly-button gazing. But I also think that, despite my qualms, the show is an important one to do, about a theme that deserves more attention.

Was what's there interesting enough? Mostly. The music by Andrew Penner was great and fun. Rubenfeld is a compelling performer but the preacher-style felt one-note. The audience participation was a nice touch, as was the surprise almost-ending. As for the ending itself: There wasn't one. The Book of Judith is a worthy production offers breezy entertainment and feel-good sentiment. But if you want to have a sense of the emotional journey of Snow and Rubenfeld, you might have to produce a play yourself.