Simple White-American?

I was born into a Detroit working class family in 1962, the great-great-grandchild of German/Polish/Irish/Lithuanian immigrants seeking a better life in the Motor City.  And, in the case of my French colonist ancestors, at least 10 generations of Detroiters. My ancestors fully embraced the uniquely American, European melting pot experience that had no reservations about intermarrying with other ethnic groups (…as long as they were white…and Catholic). Any collective memory of the old countries, their languages and customs, and the experience of being a new immigrant in a foreign land mostly forgotten by the fourth generation. Perhaps my Irish heritage being an exception thanks to my mother and Irish grandmother. My racial/ethnic identity is simply white-American.

When I was seven years old my family of five moved to a small town 40 miles northwest of Detroit on the leading edge of the “white flight” that cut Detroit’s population in half and turned the nation’s wealthiest city into one of the poorest in less than two generations. The community in which I grew up was predominantly white, Christian, middle class -- far enough away to be completely oblivious and untainted by the racial polarization of the metro-Detroit area. The family rarely talked about the history of racism or the 1967 riots in the city of my birth. Those were things that I would learn about on my own many years later.

In my semi-rural, suburban bubble, everyone was white, Christian, heterosexual and gender conforming. The expectation from early age was that I would do well in school and get a good job that would support a wife and family. I was taught that prejudice, discrimination and segregation were wrong in principle, but in reality, the Civil Rights Movement was just a chapter in my social studies book and not something I could really relate to on a personal level.

I graduated from high school and entered the College of Engineering at the University of Michigan in 1980, the same year Ronald Reagan was elected president. The early 1980’s was a time when undergraduate studies at a public University were actually affordable, even for a family of relatively modest means. I am grateful for the sacrifices my parents made for my education, but scholarships, federal grants, financial aid and low-interest student loans made it possible.

There is certainly nothing unique in saying that my early 20’s were transformative years. Afterall, that is the age when we begin to separate from our families and try to find our place in the world. But it was an especially traumatic period in my life because I was facing a personal identity crisis as I struggled to come to terms with my sexual orientation as a gay man. Innate feelings that I learned at a very young age to repress and hide were in conflict with who I thought I was (or who I thought I was supposed to be). I was in complete denial until the day (to steal a line from the Katy Perry song) I kissed a boy and I liked it.

This was a time when homosexuality was not accepted or really even understood by the vast majority of American society. Despite a blossoming Gay Rights Movement in the 1970’s, people still lived in fear of losing their jobs and being disowned by their families. To be “in the closet” meant having a secret life and living in fear of being discovered. For a politician to publicly declare their support for gay rights (women and transgender folks were still very much invisible) was considered political suicide. Not even the liberal Christian churches would talk about or take a position in support of gay rights.

Some in the medical profession said it was a mentally illness, the legal system said it was criminal and the church said it was a sin. An illness without impairment? Criminality without a victim? Moral condemnation for feeling affection toward another person? Deep down, I knew there was nothing wrong me, but I needed answers. 

I remember looking up homosexuality in the journals in the medical library on campus to figure out if I had a mental illness and if it was something that could be cured. I came across the work of psychoanalytic psychiatrist, Charles W. Socarides whose theories about the causes (and cures) of homosexuality were so preposterous that it was impossible to take them seriously, even by someone like myself who was struggling with internalized homophobia. Then I came across the groundbreaking research on human sexuality by Alfred Kinsey and Evelyn Hooker. I discovered that in 1974 (just 8 years before), the American Psychiatric Association removed homosexuality from its list of mental disorders (which did not go over well with Dr. Socarides!). To this day there are still psychiatrists who do what they call “reparative therapy”, a type of aversion therapy to “cure” homosexuality. Being a resourceful student, I put all that research to use and got an “A” on my Psych 101 term paper! Years later I would read that Richard Socarides, Charles’s son, had a similar experience, but he did his research in his father’s home library! Life is not without its ironies!

Discovering the “Gay and Lesbian Literature” section in the Community News Bookstore was a thrilling and terrifying experience. Would someone I know see me browsing there? Do I have the courage to buy a book with the word “gay” on the cover? I joined a student-run “coming out group” at the University of Michigan and a support group for gay and lesbian Catholics called “Dignity”. In later years I would find a spiritual home with the Unitarian Universalists, a faith community where religious dogmas don’t get in the way of doing social justice work.

During the mid-1980’s and 1990’s, I was very involved in working for LGBT civil rights. I was part of a group that in 1986 started the first LGBT Caucus in the Michigan Democratic Party (MDP). We wrote and lobbied for policy positions on hate crimes, adding “sexual orientation” to Michigan’s civil rights law, and addressing the HIV/AIDS epidemic that eventually got included in the MDP platform.

My experience as an activist for LGBT rights has given me a perspective that informs my approach to be an advocate for Palestinian rights. I know first-hand what it means when religion is used to justify oppression and deny marginalized people their human and civil rights. I learned about grassroots organizing and advocacy. I learned that changing public opinion by appealing to shared values of freedom, justice and equality is the key to making social change happen. I learned from my lesbian sisters and black LGBT brothers and sisters that we can’t work for LGBT rights without also working to end systemic racism and gender inequality because all oppression is intersectional. I leaned how important it is for marginalized communities to have allies working beside them, especially those of us who have more access to power because of our white privilege. I am currently the leader of Unitarian Universalists for Justice in Middle East (UUJME) at First Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Ann Arbor, one of 22 UUJME groups in the US.