The Story of Self-Hatred

David Mixner

March 27, 1993

Brothers and sisters: It is rare that I have the (opportunity) to speak so urgently among people for whom I have so much love. It is difficult to speak truth and know that it might bring pain between old friends. But today I must . . .

Because for us, truth is our sword. For us, our unity in numbers is our army. For us, our AIDS dead have inspired in us courage and determination that we ourselves did not know existed.

We now get to prepare for the battle that we have long sought: A national debate that will eventually lead to our freedom. A national debate that no longer treats us as a fringe sideshow in American politics but as an emerging and powerful civil rights movement. The future of the next generations of lesbians and gays will be decided by us—not by weak leaders, not by ballot box terrorism, not by religious fanatics who use our freedom as a tool to build their bank accounts, but rather by our strength and our courage.

History will not present us with a more historical movement than now. Each one of us will be judged by future generations by our actions in the next several months and years. If, as a family, we rise to the challenge, we truly have the opportunity to change years of oppression into a future filled with hope.

Where do we begin? Where do we find such courage? How do we build the commitment and determination that will last us through these difficult and challenging years?

We begin with our gayness. We find courage in who we are. We build our commitment by a determination that not one more generation of gays and lesbians will ever have to suffer the pangs of discrimination and self-hatred. We will no longer deny our young their dreams.

I am often asked why it is so important for me to publicly and repeatedly declare my sexuality. As I stand here among the leaders of our church, I want you to know who I am. I am a spiritual person. Each morning I pray before I begin my day. In my prayers I thank God for making me a gay person. I thank God for allowing me one more day to join my brothers and sisters in battle. I ask God for the strength to join with you in fighting for our freedom, and I ask my God to give me the time to see our young celebrate in that freedom.

You see, I used to be ashamed. I wanted to kill myself. I deferred my dreams and adapted to a life offering less of myself to this world instead of more. I felt alone and alienated and I felt terribly afraid. Then, because of the actions of a few brave drag queens, I saw strength and hope. I started to dream again. I felt pride. I felt your love and support. I could say I am gay and proud—not without fear, but I could say it.

Then came AIDS. Death and devastation. Our lives became hospital rooms, home-care delivery systems, life-support machines, and funerals. I buried 189 of my friends. I fought so that in their illness they would not be persecuted by our own government. I once again felt despair and lost hope. We grew weary and wondered if those years of fleeting liberation in the 1970s were all that we would know of freedom. We joined together in the streets, in the voting booths, in our service centers, and in our churches to support each other and to fight back.

Then came President Clinton.

Allow me to be frank and honest about our president. Our journey together as a community with the president has been an intoxicating one. We have found once again our united voice. We have discovered our own power. We raised money, walked precincts, and begged our families, employers, and friends to join us in ending our twelve years of darkness. We started to believe in ourselves again. We dreamed again of a future.

He was elected. He proceeded to keep his promises, not to us as a special interest group, but to us as Americans who wanted to participate fully in our society, who at last would be allowed to contribute our skills and talents as an open and free people.

In this process of keeping his promise to us, he encountered what we experience every day of our lives—outright bigotry and homophobia! The voices of the past rose to deny us of our moment of freedom. Military leaders are fighting to keep ancient apartheid laws on the books and to resist ending fifty years of repression and persecution. They frighten our neighbors with the big lie. They paint pictures that contain only dark colors. They resort to the same bigoted arguments that have been used for centuries to deny every emerging minority their freedom and equal rights. They sought the cover of legitimacy in Armed Forces chairperson Sam Nunn. Let me be clear about Senator Nunn. Let us educate those people, including some in the administration, that this is not an enlightened man. Listen to me carefully. Sam Nunn is our George Wallace. He is an old-fashioned bigot who will abuse his power to deny us our freedom. His hatred runs so deep that he is willing to jeopardize the nation’s economic hopes in order to deny freedom to millions. His anger is so fierce that he will focus his energy on stopping us from serving our country while the world around him in Russia and Bosnia falls to pieces. This man does not deserve the respectability that he has been accorded by so many. He has chosen hate over love . . . fear over enlightenment . . . and division over unity. We will not quake in his presence. We will not fear him. We will not give him the power to determine our future.

This brings us back to our president. We were proud to stand by his side during this last campaign. We wept when he mentioned the words gay and lesbian at the convention and AIDS on election night. We pinched ourselves in disbelief when he came and gave a gay rights speech in Los Angeles. We were filled with hope and dreams when the poet at the inauguration dared to speak our name. But for the president too—his moment has arrived.

Mr. President, our friend, hear us carefully. Only our total freedom will do. There can be no further compromises with our dreams, our rights, and our futures. An executive order issued without moral authority and decisive leadership is only a piece of paper. An executive order issued with moral authority and decisive leadership is history. Now is the time that will decide if you will sit with the great emancipator Abraham Lincoln as a man who freed millions or if you will go down in history as a man who, for political expediency, negotiated our freedom away in the backrooms of Congress. It is your choice. We have made ours. We will fight however long it takes to be free. Will you join us in creating a debate steeped in morality and not fear; one that appeals to the best that this nation has to offer, not the worst; and one where your leadership will enlighten, not distort? It is your call. Now is the time . . . not June 15, not July 15, not next year when it will be too late . . . but now!

Mr. President, do not give dignity to false compromises. Do not embrace the Vatican approach to homosexuality. What kind of freedom is it when you ask us to either remain silent or, if we do speak of our sexuality, give up the right to practice it in the privacy of our own homes? This is unacceptable.

Mr. President, do not negotiate our freedom away. Separate assignments and separate units is no more than old-fashioned segregation. No rhetoric can hide the fact that separating a whole group of American citizens because of who they are is nothing more than segregation. Bigotry that wears a uniform is nothing more than a uniform with a hood. Segregation is morally repugnant to us and we will never, ever accept segregation as a sign of progress.

Mr. President, you can make our road to freedom easier. You can speak to this nation of unity, of our unused talents and skills, and of our suffering. You can educate senators. You can provide the moral high ground that Senator Nunn is stealing from us. You can provide decisive leadership, courage, and most of all our freedom. But make no mistake—with or without you, we will be free. We will win and we will prevail.

Mr. President, do not underestimate our determination and our courage. We are willing to lose our jobs for freedom. We are willing, if necessary, to go to jail. We are willing to give our last cent for freedom. We are willing to do anything except return to the slavery of self-hatred and low self-esteem.

My friends, in closing, don’t forget what it used to be like. So many of our friends who could share with us the horrible oppression of self-hatred have passed on—but each of us here knows it. We know of the past lies to our families and friends . . . we know of the fear at work . . . we know of deferring our dreams . . . we know of being ashamed of those we loved the most . . . we know of the attempted suicides, and we know what each and every one of us had to overcome to even be here in this room. We can’t go back to that. We can’t retreat at the first sound of battle. We must join together to fight and—make no mistake about it—to win.

Thank you very much.