As in the case of the new racial consciousness, the multicultural movement has pushed homosexual awareness furthest on America's college campuses. Stanford is in the forefront. In recent years, the campus has been convulsed by homosexual protests, awareness days, and AIDS die-ins. California Governor Pete Wilson was booed and whistled down by homosexual activists when he tried to give a campus speech in 1991.53 In all these instances, the protestors directed their indignation at pervasive “homophobia” (defined as the irrational fear of homosexuals). But as with the elusive institutional racism, it is easier to complain about homophobia than to find it.
A case study of this evidentiary difficulty, and of how it could be creatively overcome, was provided in the fall of 1988. At the time, several of Stanford's homosexual activists were seeking to push the university administration to be more sympathetic to their agenda. These activists had determined that their best strategy would involve casting homosexuals as victims in the multicultural drama. The centerpiece of their effort would be to convince others that homophobia was a major problem on campus. In an open letter on Stanford's gay computer bulletin board, computer science lecturer Stuart Reges summarized the dilemma confronted by these activists and suggested a solution:
If the only evidence [of homophobia] we have to give [President] Kennedy is the Otero incident [involving Kenny Ehrman] and the fact that our posters are constantly abused, I don't think we have a compelling case. If there are lots of other recent specifics, I'd love to hear about them. If not I think the best way to move forward on this front is to try to generate such evidence.54
To Reges, the lack of evidence did not imply the lack of a “compelling case.” He would not so easily be deterred from his crusade. Comparing himself to Gandhi in his desire to “expose injustice,” Reges suggested generating evidence by provoking homophobic incidents. Stanford's fraternities would be “a great place to start”:
Try leaving flyers announcing the upcoming dance on tables in their dining halls and see if some of them get angry and tell you to leave…. If a lot of gay couples showed up [to fraternity parties] and started drinking their beer and dancing together, I bet we'd find out just how open they are.55
Should fraternities fail to display the requisite degree of homophobia, Reges urged gays to target Encina gym, “another hotbed of homophobia:”
If the posters [for the gay, lesbian, and bisexual dance] are constantly ripped down, you'll have a perfect excuse to declare the area a disaster and have a kiss-in outside the gym some afternoon, and be sure to stay long enough that you force the football team to walk past you at the end of practice.56
Reges correctly noted that such incidents had been “the best way to get the University to act” in the past: “Three years ago the Steering Committee [comprised of leaders of the gay community] was composed of a group of students who were particularly good at this, and we managed to collect a lot of powerful anecdotes.”57 In other words, Reges encouraged protests against a homophobia these very demonstrations were designed to generate. Just as the new race-conscious programming resulted in “racial” episodes, Reges's plan would generate homophobic episodes.
In more than one sense, one suspects that the gentleman doth protest too much. At Stanford, attacks on homosexuals almost never occur. Even private disapproval of homosexuality is extremely infrequent and is dealt with in a harsh way—witness the reaction to Kenny Ehrman. For that matter, the specific provocations suggested by Reges were unlikely to lead to major incidents. One member of the Beta Theta Pi fraternity calmly explained, “Our parties are open to the whole student body. But nobody coming expressly to incite an incident is welcome.”58 And while students on the football team might stare at people staging a “kiss-in outside the gym,” probably not much more than that would happen.
If homophobia did not exist in the Beta fraternity house or Encina gym, then maybe it could be found among those who thought Reges's proposal was a silly idea. And, in a final twist, that is exactly what happened: When the Stanford Review reprinted Reges's advice in a news story, he declared that this article itself provided the much-needed evidence of a pervasive “anti-gay” bias; the very existence of such students who wrote for the Review, according to Reges, suggested that things had gotten “even worse” for campus homosexuals.59
Obviously, Reges's strategy is self-falsifying, because the need to manufacture incidents indicates that there is not much of a problem. Nevertheless, for purposes of galvanizing the homosexual community, Reges's proposals were not self-defeating. Quite the contrary, one student wrote back: “I thought [Reges's] suggestions about uncovering homophobia in order to spur the University into action were great!!”60 Even though this student would play a role in Reges's homophobic production, he apparently did not perceive the fiction he (like Reges) was helping to create. The line between drama (“generating” homophobia) and reality (“uncovering” homophobia) had evaporated, as even the actors staging these spectacles had brought themselves to believe that their oppression was real. So long as no single actor stars in every scene, presumably, every actor could believe that not all of the multicultural world is just a stage.
These stages of oppression are not part of a grand theater in which some people cleverly deceive others in order to receive various kinds of benefits. The actors in these dramas simply do not realize that they are on stage. Unlike in The Wizard Of Oz, there is nobody behind the curtain pulling levers to create an illusion for the spectators. Rather, these spectacles are exercises in narcissism that depend on the passionate commitment of all participants, whose very being is defined by their supposed oppression. Just as the essence of the new racial identity is institutional racism, so also is homosexual identification linked to the hunt for nonexistent homophobia.
In spite of its chimerical nature, the homophobia desperately sought by Reges served its function well, because it drew attention to the supposedly special needs of homosexual faculty, students, and staff as a class of victims defined by their sexual preference. And his efforts opened the door for others to push homosexual identification in ever more aggressive ways. Freshman Brady Mickelson described one of these performances, staged during the “Faces of the Community” orientation program:
[W]e frosh were greeted by a young woman who, as a freshman troubled by depression and anxiety, discovered that she was a lesbian (or, in her words, queer). She explained how “free and relieved” she felt after declaring her queerness to her dormmates. After relating her struggles as a queer in today's world, she counseled us to “overcome our fears of being queer” and to question our own sexuality, rather than to be influenced by the opinions of society. She closed her remarks by commenting on how she had overcome her fears about being queer to the point that she was able to declare her status to an audience of 1500 people. She retired to great applause.61
The favorable reaction directly contradicts the woman's claims about hostility towards homosexuals, but simultaneously the crowd's applause is an indispensable part of an identity that demands recognition.
These bizarre shows continue throughout the school year. As another telling example, consider the grandiose fears voiced by Stanford Daily columnist and RA Corey Davis:
I'm still scared to be an RA. As a politically conscious and openly gay black man, my biggest worry is how I'm going to relate to a generally naive group of freshmen, some of whom have never met a black or openly gay person, let alone discussed issues of race or sexuality. Will someone scribble “nigger” on my door, or hold a KKK-like vigil outside the dorm? Will some macho stud threaten to kick my ass because I'm gay? Or worse, will the residents ignore me and refuse to engage me about issues of race and sexuality, and about myself?62 (emphasis added)
Of course, nobody at Stanford would organize a “KKK-like vigil” outside Davis's dorm room (presumably a reference to the Otero episode—it had by now evolved into an elaborate myth), and it seems unlikely that “some macho stud” would attack Davis for being homosexual. But, s
o long as Davis could imagine there might be such people, that was all that mattered. His self-characterization unwittingly admitted the truth: It would be “worse” for him to be ignored than to be beaten, so determined was he to live out the drama of his oppression.
Over time, these shows convinced others as well. In the fall of 1988, the university began funding the Lesbian, Gay, and Bisexual Community Center (LGBCC) in order for the group to pay for “coming out” days, Gay and Lesbian Awareness Week, and other events to combat homophobia.63 In 1991, married-student housing was made available to homosexual partners who wished to live together (the fact that the children of married couples would gain exposure to homosexual relationships was seen as an additional plus).64 And in 1991, Stanford Law School hired its first openly homosexual faculty member under a new affirmative action policy that gave preferences to openly homosexual applicants.65 The law school's hiring committee argued that those who had proclaimed their homosexuality would provide positive role models for students to emulate. The professor's arrival itself became the occasion for more awareness, as the entire law school was decorated with a display of lavender balloons to mark the festive day. The fact that performance in the bedroom could be viewed as a predictor for performance as a law professor speaks volumes about the homosexual movement's desire not merely for equal treatment, but for special treatment.
The major danger posed by this agenda has nothing to do with the rights of individuals to do as they please in private. It is irrelevant, in large part, whether homosexual behavior is in any sense right or wrong. What is instead relevant is that much of the behavior is being conducted in public, for the express purpose of shocking and offending others. This shock is then called “homophobia” and is used as evidence of the oppression and victimization of homosexuals. It is this victim status that is important, resulting in special privileges and concessions for homosexuals. Over time, as Americans become increasingly jaded and indifferent to all sorts of self-proclaimed victims, the dosage will have to be increased. More outrageous behavior will be needed to generate the same sort of response and the same level of privileges. Already, deeds and acts that would have led to shock and outrage only two decades ago hardly raise an eyebrow today. As the cycle escalates, the demands have less to do with tolerance or acceptance than with aggressive advocacy.
Even in purely economic terms, the costs are substantial. In early 1993, for instance, Stanford extended employee housing and health benefits to the “domestic partners” of homosexual faculty and staff. The university's explanation hardly drew notice when it declared, “We think that redefining ‘family’ for purposes of the benefits program to include longterm, committed domestic partnerships appropriately reflects the changing social reality and values of the Stanford community.”66 With this rhetoric, the university carried the irrational fear of homophobia to a logical conclusion. Even the absence of benefits had become interpreted as a “penalty” on gay and lesbian relationships—presumably, one that was not even noticed by the larger society, which had not defined cohabitant homosexuals as “families.”
On its face, the argument proved too much. If “domestic partner” relationships should be subsidized by the larger community, then why not a whole range of others, like parent-child, grandparent-grandchild, sibling-sibling, friend-friend, etc.? Indeed, why should those who are fortunate enough to enjoy “committed” and “longterm relationships” receive an entitlement funded by those unhappy souls who are all alone? Why should the lonely be “penalized”? Why, alternately, should the policy be limited to monogamous relationships? If heterosexuality is no longer a standard, why should monogamy be? Is it not “intolerant” to deprive any alternative lifestyle of support including polygamy, polygyny, etc.? The end result is something of a random scrambling of people into “relationships,” all claiming the right to live off everyone else.
In practice, only a small subset of all possible relationships can receive special rewards indirectly paid for by everyone else. Society may have an interest in helping parents raise children, and this was the traditional justification for benefits to married couples. No analogous justification was offered for the “domestic partners” policy. But none was needed, because once the debate had been framed in terms of ending an oppressive penalty for a new class of victims, the burden of proof had shifted to the “homophobic” status quo.
Gender and “Sexism”
Far more than racial issues or questions of sexual preference, gender relations stand at the foundation of the social order. In the case of angry racial minorities and militant homosexuals, hostile separatism is bad, but at least it may enable people on different sides to avoid outright conflict. In the case of men and women, however, such a systematic separatism can scarcely be conceived if society is to continue. If gender relations become dysfunctional, everyone will be impacted in an immediate and obvious way. Multiculturalists have spent a great deal of effort recruiting women (even though they are not a minority), because if they were ever able to enlist even one of the two genders, then the cultural war against the West would largely be won.
Although no unitary conception of sexual and gender identity has gained ascendancy in America, the multiculture offers its own well-defined framework. The multiculture's conception of “sexism” plays a role analogous to that of homophobia or institutional racism in other contexts, informing women of how they should view themselves and how they should view men. Junior Sarah Horsley, representing the Stanford Women's Center, hinted at the connection between all of these vectors of oppression: “We believe that race, class, gender and sexual orientation intersect. Disrespect for one community translates into disrespect for us all.”67
In important respects, the multiculture has co-opted feminist attitudes about gender relations, although one must be very specific about just what that means. American feminists have changed since the 1920s, when they fought for women's suffrage, and since the 1960s, when they sought equal rights. As with the metamorphosis of the civil rights movement, the focus of the feminist movement gradually shifted from equality to differentialism. Modern feminism cares less about equality than about celebrating a distinct female identity. Feminists sometimes describe the new identity in terms that suggest there is some radical incommensurability between men and women. The implication is that men cannot understand women and women cannot understand men, they are so different from one another. “There is a particular ideology that people have because of their identity,” explained OMD Director Sally Dickson. “You are a male. You think in a way that I will never be able to understand because I am a woman.”68
There is nothing a priori wrong with the idea that there are some differences between men and women. Unlike in the case of racial groups, there are indeed some real differences between the two sexes. It was a major mistake of academic feminists to reject gender distinctions grounded in nature as the product of culture (see chapter 3). But the mere existence of some distinctions does not tell us exactly what those distinctions are—and it is in these details that cultural feminism becomes truly radical.
For cultural feminists, women are different from men primarily because women have a unique consciousness that gives them special insights into reality. As in so many other contexts, this new consciousness primarily involves the awareness of oppression, in this case along a gender vector—oppression against women, by men. Men will never be able to understand women because they are not the victims of sexism. In the formulation of Anita Hill's supporters, men “just don't get it,” and perhaps never will. Like the new upper-case Black identity, the new gender identity has relatively little to do with biology. It is ideological in nature: Biological women can become real Women only when they recognize that they are being oppressed by men. The biology may be necessary, but it is not a sufficient condition.
To generate awareness of the special identity of women, each year Stanford distributes A Woman's Guide to Stanford.69 The book focuses on the need to combat sexism, since that is what
the new gender identity is all about. Incoming female students are warned that “Sexism is more than discrimination or exploitation; it is an attitude. As such it can be manifested in numerous ways—words as well as actions, explicit or implicit. Sexism can be conscious or unconscious, but either way it is offensive and uncomfortable and should be exposed.”70 As in the case of institutional racism and homophobia, the most common forms of sexism are not readily apparent. Because most men in America no longer believe (if they ever did) that women should be pregnant, barefoot, and in the kitchen, exposing the remaining vestiges of sexism becomes much more complicated. Professor Dolores Huerta went so far as to declare that the lack of evidence might be evidence: Women “are so oppressed that we don't even know how oppressed we are—there are layers and layers of institutionalized oppression.”71 Paradoxically, oppression was both pervasive and undetectable. Once again, sexism (like homophobia and institutional racism) had been defined so subtly as to be nonfalsifiable.
If sexism has prevented women from recognizing their own identities, or even the fact of oppression itself, then perhaps special education efforts could make them aware of their submerged gender identity. That was the rationale for the two-week annual women's “herstory” conference.72 The name of the event, which includes lectures on birth control, speeches on feminism, and an open-mike dance, contrasts explicitly with regular history (the study, presumably, of “his story”). “It's important to acknowledge that women's history is not taught in mainstream education,” explained Elizabeth Osgood, a junior involved with the Stanford Women's Center.73 “His story” was not telling women about male oppression. “Just the use of the word ‘herstory’ draws attention to the gender bias built into our society—a problem that extends even to the structure of our language,” organizers proclaimed.74 As in the case of institutional racism, the failure to acknowledge a distinct female “perspective” was itself indicative of oppression. The coincidence that a single word (“history”) contained a male pronoun (“his”) was the one remaining trace that gave everything away, as the all-consuming hunt for sexism had reached the recesses of the English language itself.
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