by Mary Oishi

(Published as "Discrimination and the opportunity for Tolerance" in the June 5-12, 2003 issue of Crosswinds Weekly.)

"If only we could hire a black lesbian in a wheelchair, we'd certainly get this grant."  An elderly Board member blurts this out as we put the finishing touches on a federal grant proposal.  He's a retired executive from Long Island who devotes ample hours, tireless effort, and generous amounts of money to the non-profit I work for in Colorado.  I actually have some affection for him and don't particularly see him as mean-spirited.  Yet it's clear to me that he is completely clueless as to the multiple mantles of weighty discrimination a "black lesbian in a wheelchair" would necessarily carry every moment of her life.  It is equally clear that the advantages he has enjoyed by virtue of the happenstance of being born a healthy heterosexual white male is a reality completely invisible to him.

It's the mid-1990's and he's nearly 80, so I figure he was born somewhere around 1920.  I try to imagine how life would have been different had he been born female, all other things remaining the same.  As a young white woman in the 1930's, he may have had the option of becoming a teacher or a nurse, providing his family could afford to have him stay in school rather than work as a maid or in a sewing factory.  He would have had no chance for an upwardly mobile career:  even nursing or teaching would have been abandoned once the Miss became Mrs. and the babies started coming.

Then I imagine him as a healthy heterosexual black man, born in the same era.  I know he would never have been able to retire in scenic rural Colorado, finding fulfillment in volunteerism and philanthropy.  He no doubt would have applied for job after job and been told, "Don't call us, boy-we'll call you."  Maybe he would have landed a job for the same corporation, but retired as a janitor instead of as an executive.  And when, on a modest income, he had scrimped and saved to gather the down payment for a home, real estate agents would have directed him to houses in neighborhoods with "his kind" where homes don't build much equity over the years.  Bankers would repeatedly deny his mortgage applications.  He would suffer the indignity of being followed in stores, even if he never stole so much as a toothpick in his life.  His chances of being wrongly accused of a crime, misidentified in a line-up, imprisoned, or even murdered would have been greater by hundreds of percentages.  All this with only one difference:  if some of his ancestors had been African instead of European.

Since he retired a decade before the Americans with Disabilities Act passed, his life would most certainly have been different had he been confined to a wheelchair.  Most likely he would not have been able to access the building he worked in, much less had a job, much less retired from an executive position.

Had he been born gay, I imagine he would have acquiesced to social expectations and would have married anyway.  They would have had the same big wedding in a Protestant church with family and friends attending, showering them with gifts and smiles and best wishes.  The truth of who he was would have stalked him every day of his married life.  Eventually, unable to deny his fundamental orientation, he may have rendezvoused with another man, whereupon he would have lost his job, his family would have disowned him-and perhaps had him committed to a psychiatric facility.  This was the reality for many gay men and lesbians in the mid-twentieth century.

All of these imaginary scenarios could well have been his reality had just one trait been different for Mr. Board member.  It is no wonder the weight of one mantle of discrimination is enough to crush many-because belonging to a single "unsafe" group can be dangerous, even deadly.  Remember James Byrd?  Matthew Shepherd?  Yet there are millions of people who bear multiple mantles of discrimination.  They live their lives in a dangerous intersection, if you will.

For four years I served as a facilitator for Common Bond's Under 21 Group for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered and questioning (queer) youth.  During my tenure I heard the stories and witnessed the heartbreak of such multiple oppressions.  One young Latina was beaten to unconsciousness while she stopped at a pay phone on Central Avenue to call a friend.  When she regained consciousness early the next morning, she found the word "fag" had been carved on her stomach.  She managed to drive home and call her mother, who cautioned her not to call the police or go to the hospital because there was a warrant out for her arrest for an unpaid traffic violation.  The young woman was afraid to go out of her house after dark for several months, which meant she had to quit her night job at a convenience store-and could not even attend the Under 21 Group for support when she needed it most.

Nearly every week I heard another heartbreaking story from beautiful young men and women trying to cope with hatred, intolerance, poverty, racism-all manner of "isms."  Some could not find support and solace with their families or ethnic communities because they encountered virulent homophobia there.  The Under 21 Group was their only network of support.  One night an Anglo boy remarked, "Look at us-we're boys, we're girls, we're from every part of the city, we're from every race and religion, and look how much we care about each other.  We're a microcosm of what the world could be."

He is so right.  Perhaps no other community has such a perfect opportunity to model true multiculturalism as the GLBT community has.  Because all "queers" share one common mantle of discrimination and misunderstanding no matter what other mantles are borne, there is a common empathy.  From that basis, it is natural to extend at least understanding, if not complete empathy, for the plight of others.  Perhaps this is why gay events were some of the first to consistently provide sign language interpreters for deaf participants.

Some groups within the queer community who share ethnicity or religion or some other mantle, get together for additional support.  There is, for example, Yellow Peril, a group for Asian lesbians and Dignity, a group for gay Catholics.  There are formal and informal events for women, people of color, Latinos, African Americans, etc., within the queer community.

As gayness gains more understanding and acceptance in the wider culture, it becomes less dangerous for people of color to "come out" to their families.  And in recent years small but increasing numbers of those within the queer community whose ancestors came from Europe are beginning to recognize what being "white" really means in this society, and some are making genuine efforts to understand racism and dismantle it in themselves and in our culture.

Perhaps I am a wide-eyed idealist, but I truly believe that if we all work to eradicate from our hearts and institutions chauvinism that views other people as inherently inferior for whatever reason, someday a black lesbian in a wheelchair can live her life with the same respect and opportunity for safety and fulfillment as any straight, wealthy white man with a major blind spot.