Read Queer and Loathing: Rants and Raves of a Raging AIDS Clone Online
Authors: David B. Feinberg
Tags: #Biographies & Memoirs, #Memoirs, #Gay & Lesbian, #Nonfiction, #Literature & Fiction, #Essays & Correspondence, #Essays, #Politics & Social Sciences, #Social Sciences, #Specific Demographics, #Lesbian; Gay; Bisexual & Transgender eBooks, #LGBT Studies, #Gay Studies
Queer and Loathing: Rants and Raves of a Raging AIDS Clone (4 page)
BOOK: Queer and Loathing: Rants and Raves of a Raging AIDS Clone
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The general plan for October 11 is as follows: There will be a moving picket line in front of the FDA. Some people will get arrested by crossing police lines. This least-effort mode appeals to me. Perhaps I can work on my tan. Others will try to break into the building, including Green Eyes. I consider escalating my radical quotient, then recall my completely Semitic background. Not worth the effort.
All those who want to be arrested must join affinity groups of ten to fifteen people, plus one or two support people. As an affinity group, we will decide our plan of action: Will we break into the side entrance and trash typewriters, steal files, write memoranda restructuring the FDA, make long-distance phone calls, drop buckets of blood on FDA Commissioner Frank Young’s desk? Will we hang banners outside, sell illegal drugs, create a diversion so another group can break into the building?
Only three of us are committed to getting arrested at the action ; the rest came to the training for information and for possible future actions. So I only have to go to every ACT UP meeting until the demo so I can find an affinity group to join.
Previous Entanglements with the LawI’ve been to demos before—the Anti-Nuke rally in 1980, when more than half a million swarmed up to Central Park; the July 4 Sodomy March in 1986, protesting the Supreme Court’s
Hardwick
decision, which said rights to privacy do not cover consensual homosexual acts; and numerous others—but I’ve never been arrested before. In fact, the only time I was ever arrested was back in Hollywood, California, in 1978. I was taking an old college roommate to the airport and we were late. My cheap Chevy-as-in-cheese Vega sat there at the light, left signal blinking, gears grinding, engine preparing to melt down. The light changed; the car in the approaching lane paused, as if to let me by. Grateful for the opportunity, I hung a quick louie and was on my way.
Hardwick
decision, which said rights to privacy do not cover consensual homosexual acts; and numerous others—but I’ve never been arrested before. In fact, the only time I was ever arrested was back in Hollywood, California, in 1978. I was taking an old college roommate to the airport and we were late. My cheap Chevy-as-in-cheese Vega sat there at the light, left signal blinking, gears grinding, engine preparing to melt down. The light changed; the car in the approaching lane paused, as if to let me by. Grateful for the opportunity, I hung a quick louie and was on my way.
For years I have been afflicted with some sort of psychomotor-neurological blind spot that impairs my judgment. I cannot blame it on excessive consumption of mind-altering drugs; I guess I’m
just retarded.
The car in the approaching lane, which had one of those rotating red lights on the roof, flagged me down. It was a police car. I explained our plight and my misunderstanding. The officer was not amused.
just retarded.
The car in the approaching lane, which had one of those rotating red lights on the roof, flagged me down. It was a police car. I explained our plight and my misunderstanding. The officer was not amused.
Back in the seventies I was under the mistaken impression that I could operate under a different set of rules. Aliens stole my Buick: They were bound to beam me up at any time. No sense in carrying earthly possessions like a wallet, a driver’s license, or a watch. My friend hopped into a cab, cursing under his breath; the brute cuffed me behind my back, had my car towed; dragged me to the station, threw me into the holding tank. My neighbors climbed in through the window and rescued me with my license.
So I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of getting arrested. I mean, some fags like uniforms and leather and authority and play-acting and nightsticks, but
it’s not my scene.
For me, there are two surefire ways to lose an erection while I am jerking off: the police banging on the door at six in the morning, demanding entry; and a member of my immediate nuclear family banging on the bathroom door at six in the morning, demanding entry.
The Decline and Fall of Western Civilizationit’s not my scene.
For me, there are two surefire ways to lose an erection while I am jerking off: the police banging on the door at six in the morning, demanding entry; and a member of my immediate nuclear family banging on the bathroom door at six in the morning, demanding entry.
If you’re not careful, calcification of the brain can set in as early as the age of twenty-five. It’s when you stop listening to FM radio for the latest hits and tune into oldies stations. You hear the latest songs (rap, new wave, salsa, Urdu tribal love chants) and you just don’t care! The arteries in your cerebral cortex have started to harden; the synapses shoot and miss targets more and more frequently. You’re going down the tubes.
Well, you’re not alone. The entire country has been going down the tubes for the past ten years. The world is overrun with incompetents: I’m only doing my job.
Look at SAT scores, discourse analysis, deconstructionism, Contragate, the fact that the American people elected Reagan not once but twice! You’ve seen those TV shows where one high-school student identifies the Ayatollah Khomeini as a Russian gymnast; another guesses that Chernobyl is Cher’s full name; and a girl, asked to identify the Holocaust, brightly replies that it was “that Jewish holiday last week, right?”
Situation normal, all fucked up.
Ronnie Reagan says at the Republican National Convention that facts are stupid things. Bush mumbles about the safety of the blood supply at the first presidential debate with Dukakis. Meanwhile, the youth of America sit glazed in front of empty-vee watching Monkees reruns.
Situation normal, all fucked up.
Ronnie Reagan says at the Republican National Convention that facts are stupid things. Bush mumbles about the safety of the blood supply at the first presidential debate with Dukakis. Meanwhile, the youth of America sit glazed in front of empty-vee watching Monkees reruns.
I’m not saying that ACT UP hasn’t been besmirched by this appalling trend. Witness the buzzwords
empowerment, inclusiveness,
and (my least-favorite word in the entire English language)
demystification.
Rarely will a Monday meeting go by without the mention of one of these dread utterances, and every time I hear one
my skin crawls.
These nattering nabobs of negativity have got to go. They have too many goddamned affixes and not enough substance. I just hate empty rhetoric.
empowerment, inclusiveness,
and (my least-favorite word in the entire English language)
demystification.
Rarely will a Monday meeting go by without the mention of one of these dread utterances, and every time I hear one
my skin crawls.
These nattering nabobs of negativity have got to go. They have too many goddamned affixes and not enough substance. I just hate empty rhetoric.
While I’m at it, I might as well mention that I’m getting a little sick of all of these equations, with my fucking math degree from the Massachusetts Institute of Technocracy and a job in the exciting field of computer programming. I mean, SILENCE = DEATH is quite effective. I even like ACTION = LIFE. But after a while it gets pretty annoying with flyers with headings like “SILENCE = GOLDEN,” “INCORPORATION = ENTANGLEMENT,”
und soweiter.
What is this, Orwell’s 1984? War is peace, ignorance is strength, et cetera?
More Stupidityund soweiter.
What is this, Orwell’s 1984? War is peace, ignorance is strength, et cetera?
The horrifying thing is that we are the experts. My friend McCully from Manhattan Beach, California, told me this story about a scientist who was writing a position paper about nuclear winter, ensconced in some think tank in Santa Monica, or maybe it was Toledo, Ohio; anyway, at the end of one especially stressful session, he felt a need to get another opinion, to ask the adults, as it were, and at that point he realized that he was the only expert in the entire world in his particularly arcane field.
He was the adult. There were no other adults.
He couldn’t have been older than forty.
He was the adult. There were no other adults.
He couldn’t have been older than forty.
Is that what empowerment means? Or is it merely the existential anxiety one feels when faced with the uncertainty of the future and the knowledge that one is responsible for one’s actions?
It’s scary to find out you are as smart as the media, as smart as the opinion-makers. One fine day, just for the hell of it, the Jewish media conspiracy decided to make Vanna White a celebrity, just to see if it could be done. And it worked.
So in the Soviet Union, the official disinformation is that AIDS is caused by experimental germ warfare by the United States government that somehow got out of hand. Luckily, in the U.S., we’re too savvy to believe this explanation, aren’t we?
And back in New York City, our Commissioner of Health decides that there are only 50,000 homosexuals infected with HIV, as opposed to the previous estimate of 250,000. This was done using a simple ratio of infected San Francisco fags over dead ones. Solve for x. But the infection rate was estimated at 50 percent, and I have personally slept with considerably more than 100,000 New York queers (okay, maybe a few were tourists)
in just the past six months.
Does this make any sense? Back in the fifties, Kinsey came up with a conservative estimate that 10 percent of the male population is gay; that gives at least 600,000 fags in New York City. And N.Y.C. is a major metropolitan area with a special appeal, drawing homosexuals like NoPest strips draw flies. So you would have to assume an infection rate of less than 8.33 percent. And with these new estimates, maybe the public at large is going to stop paying attention to the health crisis. Are we just being paranoid when we distrust these figures? You figure it out.
in just the past six months.
Does this make any sense? Back in the fifties, Kinsey came up with a conservative estimate that 10 percent of the male population is gay; that gives at least 600,000 fags in New York City. And N.Y.C. is a major metropolitan area with a special appeal, drawing homosexuals like NoPest strips draw flies. So you would have to assume an infection rate of less than 8.33 percent. And with these new estimates, maybe the public at large is going to stop paying attention to the health crisis. Are we just being paranoid when we distrust these figures? You figure it out.
In October
Scientific American
has an AIDS issue, with a review of Randy Shilts’s
And theBand Played On
by someone from the National Institutes of Health. It wasn’t particularly favorable. But isn’t that like Josef Mengele reviewing the Talmud, or Richard Nixon reviewing
All the President’s Men,
or Prime Minister Pieter Willem Botha reviewing
Biko?
What would you expect? Praise?
Memories of UnderdevelopmentScientific American
has an AIDS issue, with a review of Randy Shilts’s
And theBand Played On
by someone from the National Institutes of Health. It wasn’t particularly favorable. But isn’t that like Josef Mengele reviewing the Talmud, or Richard Nixon reviewing
All the President’s Men,
or Prime Minister Pieter Willem Botha reviewing
Biko?
What would you expect? Praise?
Two weeks before the demo the incredibly glamorous Susan Sarandon (millions of lesbians and heterosexual males performed acts of self-abuse inspired by her breasts) visits ACT UP, offering moral support. She will be working at a fashion benefit for several AIDS groups, possibly including our own. Susan wears a low-profile, low-star-wattage outfit—an army-surplus jacket and jeans; yet she is a true goddess in our midst, our Kewpie-doll heroine. My local media experts tell me that she recently appeared on “Letterman” wearing a SILENCE = DEATH button: courage in the face of sarcasm and ridicule. The following day she goes on “Good Morning America” and talks about the planned action at the FDA.
Susan leaves to applause! acclaim!—and
not a moment too soon.
The evening’s meeting quickly degenerates into the usual chaos. The two newest facilitators, elected last week to thunderous applause, allow the meeting to disintegrate into complete anarchy. Today has been one long demonstration: a protest at noon at the Waldorf against a Republican campaign fund-raiser with Reagan present; a rally a four at Sheridan Square called Gays of Rage, modeled after the black community’s Days of Rage, against racism ; and the regular Monday-night meeting at 7:30.
not a moment too soon.
The evening’s meeting quickly degenerates into the usual chaos. The two newest facilitators, elected last week to thunderous applause, allow the meeting to disintegrate into complete anarchy. Today has been one long demonstration: a protest at noon at the Waldorf against a Republican campaign fund-raiser with Reagan present; a rally a four at Sheridan Square called Gays of Rage, modeled after the black community’s Days of Rage, against racism ; and the regular Monday-night meeting at 7:30.
I went to the Waldorf demo. NOW was picketing around the corner; several gender-fucking fags pick up “I’M A WOMAN AGAINST BUSH” stickers. We carry signs: “ ____ KILLED BY GOVERNMENT NEGLECT” or “ STILL ALIVE DESPITE GOV ERNMENTNEGLECT.” We fill in the blanks with Magic Markers. That’s how I find out that Neil B. is dead. So that’s why he didn’t answer my phone calls. Boy, am I bummed out. The same thing happened in the spring when the New York Memorial Quilt was displayed in Central Park, and last year when the Names Project was in D.C. I’d see names of people I didn’t even know were sick. In San Francisco, people come across names of friends they haven’t seen or heard of in years in the obits of the
Bay Area Reporter.
I feel like punching out the nearest government official. I want to deck the entire Department of Health and Human Services. Why are they killing us through government inaction?
Bay Area Reporter.
I feel like punching out the nearest government official. I want to deck the entire Department of Health and Human Services. Why are they killing us through government inaction?
I don’t know about the rest of you, but I can take only one demonstration a day. I have this limited tolerance for activism. I also have this job that appears to be more tenuous every day. They know I haven’t been paying attention for the past three years. Nonetheless, I must keep up the facade. This requires my physical presence in the office—in most cases, a necessary and sufficient condition to retaining gainful employ at this establishment. So after the requisite two-hour lunch, I return to work, and skip the Gays of Rage demo. People are testifying in Sheridan Square about their personal experiences of anti-gay violence. It’s fall in the Big Apple: open season for fag-bashing. Several queers have been beaten, and a few have been killed in the past few weeks. But it’s not really my style. If I wanted to hear personal testimony, I’d go to a twelve-step meeting, join a Baptist revival church, or buy
People.
People.
So by the time the meeting starts, a lot of people are all fired up and ready for action. The new facilitators, elected chiefly for decorative value, are no match for tonight’s rabid brew.
A member tells us about the Names Quilt fuckup. Cleve Jones is bringing the Names Memorial Quilt to Washington on Columbus Day weekend, a few days before our planned demo. He had applied in January with the National Parks Service to display the Quilt on the Mall. Due to the summer drought, the Mall has been closed for resodding. The Ellipse is the only other outdoor location large enough to display the ten thousand panels of the Quilt. But the Parks Service has committed the Ellipse to the Ukrainian Millennial Society, which is celebrating a thousand years of Chris tianity in its homeland. The Ukrainians had applied for their permit only three weeks ago. ACT UP will flood the phone lines to the National Parks Service until justice is done!
The Issues Committee announces seventy-three more FDA teach-ins.
The Media Committee tells us that ACT UP/ACT NOW has received great media response thanks to our press kits. The FDA takeover is even mentioned on the front page of USA Today.
Our resident megalomaniac tries to disrupt the meeting for an impromptu demo, a continuation of the Gays of Rage. With inflammatory rhetoric reminiscent of a certain reverend associated with the Tawana Brawley case, the demagogue exhorts the group to leave and stop traffic on Sixth Avenue. “We have enough people here to really make a statement. We know that there are policemen attending this meeting. We have to leave right now!” A member dashes out, and Megamouth accuses him of being an informer. Energy is high. Blood is boiling. I am mad. I can focus on only one issue at a time. I’ll deal with fag-bashing after AIDS is cured, thank you. What does this have to do with AIDS? The facilitators, buffeted about by angry rhetoric in this baptism by fire, barely regain control. The meeting will continue with important business until ten; at that point, members may leave for the demo. Megamouth whines (if it is possible to whine at 150 decibles) that we have to seize the moment, and by ten the police will be there. Was there a vote? Just some more virulent discussion.
BOOK: Queer and Loathing: Rants and Raves of a Raging AIDS Clone
9.64Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
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