Same “integration” euphoria bamboozling Blacks, now fooling gays

Greetings dear readers!

Trouble rumbles right along in “rainbow” paradise…

Getting drunker and drunker on the emotional elixir (brewed from long thought impossible legalized civil gains) white gay mainstreamers seem enamored with a “slippery slope” achievement: integration into hetero dominated culture.  I see something disturbing.

White gays appear oblivious to what Blacks have run up against—and critically lost—in this regard.

I and other Blacks know that the system is still operated and steered by a white political machine.

At best Washington’s so-called liberal element gives lip service (with a “liberation lite” practicality) to addressing entrenched discrimination.  Simultaneously the left’s elite “stars” remain jovially bedded with right-winged social admirals—highbrows who share their conservative prestige; white politic kinship zone coziness superseding all.

The worst sees power mongers—super-grown demons who are unbridled socio-economic manipulators—hacking and slashing to undo humanitarian social gains.  Shored up are structural interests of the filthy rich (and their peculiar accommodators from highly unlikely corners—including gays).

Like Mississippi Delta Blacks (in Joe Klein’s article) modern gays lose perspective.  Here’s a duplicated example: aside from symbolic homage paid to the “image” of recent martyr Harvey Milk, no advice (and rallying force) is sought from extensive gay ancestral sages—wisdom to steer its constituents to the next far-sighted institutional survival level.

Here’s one duplicated result: boosting substantial gay validation to counter the daily imagery bombardment “on the psyche” (of straight “holier-than-thou” lifestyle values) has lost its IMG_1701importance in key Castro institutions.  In San Francisco, the damaging effects already scream loudly.

I, as one of the few remaining veterans on this extremely small homo communal landscape know a thing.  San Francisco’s bar scene overwhelmingly set prime institutional foundations or critical havens here for gays, offering secretive long overdue relief (just like at most locales—including San Diego, where I “came out”).

Following the early 20th century spark ignited in North Beach major bustling clusters dramatically sprouted in the Polk, SOMA (South of Market St.) and Castro Districts—on unprecedented levels.

Gay bar owners back then were intimately invested in their patrons, fraternity-like set-ups being exceptionally protective to shield them from barrages of damaging hetero garbage—especially psychologically.

The goal was to be liberated and gay in spite of that cramping hostile world—not to become straight-valued as a liberating step towards being (and discovering) expanded gayness.

Emotionally (and physically) spent gay hopefuls had never before seen this level of opportunity: mingling person-to-person familiarity could “catch hold,” enabling friendship pockets to deepen and expand.  Countered was the constant hit-and-miss public escapade that gave brief sexual relief, shrouded by violently dangerous vulnerability—with hardly any expanded enduring friendship units.

Such glowing development magnetically grabbed the “gay desperate” world’s attention.

Something though still remained: general society’s all consuming drive to bash and abuse gays (physically, spiritually and psychologically) awaited everyone stepping back outside of what for gays had become modern “urban forts”—the bars.

Suddenly, swiftly multiplying, thriving gay enclaves spilled brilliantly (and defiantly) up and into America’s jealously possessive light of day—a shocker indeed for one viciously guarded society (used to being in absolute repressive control).

And then this: AIDS devastation ripped through oceans of lives, immediately resulting in great institutional loss; scaring the wits out of those yet to be fully honest with their homo-connected selves—young and old charging back into heavily padlocked closets.

Most veteran “gay liberation politic” owners and clientele tragically disappeared—their batons of wisdom never passed, now dangling precariously.  And how ironic that a Gay (so-called multipurpose) Community Center would not be founded until relatively recently—decades after that burgeoning bar explosion.

Few bars remain in the Polk; a smidgen clings to rebel minded SOMA; Castro retains the most multipurpose establishments but caters to something else—a super sense of absorbed conventionality.

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