When reading this article think about the hysterical, homophobic ranting of Pastor Marvin Winans of Perfecting Church over the past week about the Freedom Institutes recent town hall...
Many thanks to Detroit’s LGBT and same-gender-loving community for being in attendance. It turned out to be a relatively civil conversation in which everyone felt was productive and needed.
Sharon Lettman of NBJC, Curtis Lipscomb of the Kick Agency for LGBT African Americans, Bernadette Brown of Triangle Foundation/Michigan Equality, Terri Leverette of Michigan Fairness Forum, and the honorable Charles Pugh – Detroit City Council President did an excellent job putting a black face on LGBT issues in Detroit.
Everyone agreed that gay is not the new black, and additional dialogue is needed. Thanks to Rev. Wendell Anthony, First Lady Monica Anthony and Heaster Wheeler of the Freedom Institute and Detroit Branch NAACP for having the courage to engage and continue the dialogue.
=========================================================
The Christian Right's Gay Problem
by Michelle Goldberg /May 5, 2010 / The Daily Beast
Dr. George Rekers, a Christian anti-gay leader, was caught with a hooker from Rentboy.com—the latest example of hypocrisy on the religious right. Michelle Goldberg on why Ted Haggards keep happening.
In 1996, three researchers from the University of Georgia published a study in the Journal of Abnormal Psychology about the links between homophobia and homosexual arousal. The authors, Henry E. Adams, Lester W. Wright, Jr., and Bethany A. Lohr, started with 35 straight men identified as homophobic and 29 straight men that were not. Both groups were shown heterosexual, lesbian and gay male porn while their erectile responses were measured. “Only the homophobic men showed an increase in penile erection to male homosexual stimuli,” reported the researchers.
It was empirical evidence for a theory long popular among psychoanalysts: that those most hostile to gay people are often driven by terror and shame about their own desires.
So it’s not terribly surprising that Dr. George Rekers, a major figure in anti-gay Christian right circles, has been caught traveling with a male prostitute who advertises on Rentboy.com—becoming the latest in a long line of disgraced culture warriors.
As Penn Bullock and Brandon K. Thorp reported in Miami’s New Times this week, Rekers brought the escort, who advertised his “smooth, sweet, tight ass" and "perfectly built 8 inch cock (uncut)" on an all-expenses paid trip to Europe. Rekers later claimed, in a Facebook message to the blogger Joe Jervis, that he had hired the young man so as to save his immortal soul: “Like John the Baptist and Jesus, I have a loving Christian ministry to homosexuals and prostitutes in which I share the Good News of Jesus Christ with them.” Meanwhile, on his own website, Rekers offered a somewhat contradictory explanation, saying that he “requires an assistant to lift his luggage in his travels because of an ongoing condition following surgery.”
Rekers lacks the name-recognition of Ted Haggard, the megachurch pastor and former head of the National Association of Evangelicals who, in 2006, was brought down in a scandal involving a gay prostitute and crystal meth; or of anti-gay former Senator Larry Craig, who was famously arrested for “lewd conduct” in an airport restroom. Behind the scenes, though, Rekers has been a significant force in the fight against gay rights.
The founding chairman of the Family Research Council, Rekers is a leading advocate of conversion therapy to turn gay people straight. As a retired professor of neuropsychiatry and behavioral science at the University of South Carolina, he often writes in a scholarly, dispassionate manner, and his work is frequently used to give anti-gay arguments a veneer of scientific legitimacy. As he says on his website, “Dr. Rekers has delivered many invited research presentations on child and family variables before committees of the United States Senate and House of Representatives, and has served as an invited expert for White House staff and several presidential Cabinet agencies such as the Department of Health and Human Services.”
In 2008, Rekers was one of two expert witnesses that the state of Florida called on in its bid to defend its ban on gay adoption. Gay people, he testified, “would have less capability of providing the kind of nurturing and secure emotional environment for children.” (As the Miami Herald reported, he also suggested that Native Americans be banned from adopting because they’re prone to mental illness and substance abuse. "They would tend to hang around each other," he said. "So the children would be around a lot of other Native Americans who are... doing the same sorts of things.")
Rekers' work purports to show that homosexuality is caused by disturbances in children’s proper sex-role formation. Because his views on what constitute proper sex roles are extremely rigid, his anti-gay activism is linked to a fulsome affirmation of patriarchy. In the 1980s, he authored a paper, “The Christian World View of the Family,” for The Coalition on Revival, a group that brought together different theological strands in the Christian right, including some who advocated scrapping democracy in favor of a theocracy.
“We affirm that the husband has final say in any family dispute, insofar as he does not violate biblical principles; that a husband’s headship is irrevocable; and that if the husband is incapacitated, the wife may exercise his authority as his deputy, not as his replacement,” he wrote, going on to vigorously condemn female employment. In cases of family crisis, he allowed, “the wife may, with her husband’s approval, accept temporary outside employment, but... the family should view this as bondage, strive to liberate itself, and petition God for liberation.”
Satisfying as it is to see such a man unmasked, Rekers deserves a measure of pity as well as scorn. If he portrayed homosexuality as a life-destroying temptation that only the strictest of measures could contain, that’s because, for him, it was. He seems like he’s devoted his life to a hysterical battle to preserve his own threatened sense of masculinity, and now he stands defeated and exposed.
Michelle Goldberg is the author of The Means of Reproduction: Sex, Power and the Future of the World and Kingdom Coming: The Rise of Christian Nationalism. She is a senior correspondent for The American Prospect, and her work has appeared in The New Republic, The Nation, the Los Angeles Times, Glamour, and many other publications.
5.07.2010
4.05.2010
Lazy Thinking: Equity = Welfare
I'm sure structural and institutionalized racism has nothing to do with health disparities, and other issues of equity in our society (note sarcastic tone).
Some misinformed folk equate equity with a welfare state. I call this lazy thinking. The same folk would say that once we (black folk) were emancipated, no white folk tried to cheat us out of our land, wealth and/or businesses. Also, no one tried to block us from voting either... right!!!
If you let me out of a cage (slavery), without any tools or skills to succeed, into a society where oppressive systems have already been put in place for women and poor whites, what makes anyone think the rules are any easier for black folk in
Even the President of the United States has to lead by different rules as a black man. Tea parties, succession talk, unwillingness for bipartisanship, the rise in militia groups.
I understand most white folk in this country are relatives of immigrants (Irish, Polish, Italian, Dutch, etc.), but ignorance of
America is our spiritual and ancestral home on many levels given our circumstances. While this isn't an excuse, the rules do keep changing to maintain the status quo, hence disparities cannot be ignored. Even if you don't think it's your responsibility.
All white folk benefit from the historical, structural, unequal systems established by white paternal masters of the past. It's much more complicated than one merely "pulling them self up by the boot straps" or the pointless ranting of "how about personal responsibility?".
Let's take this conversation to a high level.
5.29.2008
Faith in Transition
I spent my youth sitting in Missionary Baptist pews, often wondering whether God was with me or above me. Although I always paid credence to the saying that “God doesn’t make mistakes,” I still felt out of place in church – never quite whole with my self and sexuality. I always felt imperfect, alone and often questioning why such a flawed young vessel was given such a heavy burden of being attracted to the same gender.
I was fortunate. I didn’t grow up in a church that made sexuality a focus in teaching the Gospel. Nevertheless, the undercurrent of shame was always in the shadows. With the coming of each year more and more questions arose. The more I learned about my sexual self, the more I came to question God. I questioned His purpose for me, which in turn depreciated my self-worth with each passing prayer.
I remember making mental notes of the contradictions that didn’t seem to reflect my own reality. Miracles seemed to happen for everyone else but me. Before my teenage years, I use to pray that God would bless me by changing my physical self to match my attraction to the same gender. I remember praying before going to bed for what seemed like months. Finally, after many disappointing nights, my faith in miracles subsided.
I left the church and organized religion after heading to college. The Sunday Bible School mandate I had lived with for 18 years was over. But the bonds were still there. The extended family and sense of community had unknowingly impressed upon me morals and values. Even my sense of social justice, activism and community organizing were all based on the foundation my church and family provided.
It took a while for me to learn that my faith was never in doubt, just in a state of transition. My love for Jesus Christ had never wandered; it just took more of a spiritual path. I’ve learned that it’s okay to question translations of the Bible. It’s even okay for me to question the application of Christianity to my everyday relationship with God as a same-gender-loving man of African descent.
Through this constant questioning, I admit to loving Christianity more so today than ever. No more am I worried for the souls of billions who won’t know the joy of God because they haven’t been “saved.” I no longer pray for impractical miracles to make me whole.
Today, I constantly seek God in every aspect of people by cherishing the person I see in the mirror. I know God is with me, and not some mythical deity hovering above. Hence, my faith has grown, and it has allowed me to embrace my full humanity, with all the nuances that make me unique to this earthly experience. I am a proud black, same-gender-loving man who knows that God is love. And He sure loves this flawed vessel.
(c) Johnny Jenkins Jr.
I was fortunate. I didn’t grow up in a church that made sexuality a focus in teaching the Gospel. Nevertheless, the undercurrent of shame was always in the shadows. With the coming of each year more and more questions arose. The more I learned about my sexual self, the more I came to question God. I questioned His purpose for me, which in turn depreciated my self-worth with each passing prayer.
I remember making mental notes of the contradictions that didn’t seem to reflect my own reality. Miracles seemed to happen for everyone else but me. Before my teenage years, I use to pray that God would bless me by changing my physical self to match my attraction to the same gender. I remember praying before going to bed for what seemed like months. Finally, after many disappointing nights, my faith in miracles subsided.
I left the church and organized religion after heading to college. The Sunday Bible School mandate I had lived with for 18 years was over. But the bonds were still there. The extended family and sense of community had unknowingly impressed upon me morals and values. Even my sense of social justice, activism and community organizing were all based on the foundation my church and family provided.
It took a while for me to learn that my faith was never in doubt, just in a state of transition. My love for Jesus Christ had never wandered; it just took more of a spiritual path. I’ve learned that it’s okay to question translations of the Bible. It’s even okay for me to question the application of Christianity to my everyday relationship with God as a same-gender-loving man of African descent.
Through this constant questioning, I admit to loving Christianity more so today than ever. No more am I worried for the souls of billions who won’t know the joy of God because they haven’t been “saved.” I no longer pray for impractical miracles to make me whole.
Today, I constantly seek God in every aspect of people by cherishing the person I see in the mirror. I know God is with me, and not some mythical deity hovering above. Hence, my faith has grown, and it has allowed me to embrace my full humanity, with all the nuances that make me unique to this earthly experience. I am a proud black, same-gender-loving man who knows that God is love. And He sure loves this flawed vessel.
(c) Johnny Jenkins Jr.
8.25.2007
Dark Honey Sonnet (Diaspora Rhyme)
Is it the fire the wind or the earth
That let us set a spell between pea green
Walls and blind windows drenched in the cloaked girth
Of shadows shuttering softly between
The trees concrete steel and us colliding
Rising and free falling I breath a scene
That never flickers from faint breeze gliding
The slow steady crest of dark honey seas
We lions chant epiphanies riding
Chariots crashing fallen leaves from trees
That have stood still longer than mans first will
Yes I should beg or shall I plead and seize
the nectar the essence of how you spill
Your will for me sweat pressed flesh making deals
With me to soothe this fire that I feel
That let us set a spell between pea green
Walls and blind windows drenched in the cloaked girth
Of shadows shuttering softly between
The trees concrete steel and us colliding
Rising and free falling I breath a scene
That never flickers from faint breeze gliding
The slow steady crest of dark honey seas
We lions chant epiphanies riding
Chariots crashing fallen leaves from trees
That have stood still longer than mans first will
Yes I should beg or shall I plead and seize
the nectar the essence of how you spill
Your will for me sweat pressed flesh making deals
With me to soothe this fire that I feel
8.14.2007
Life, Style & Privilege
In the future, I must insist that your cease and desist in referring to me as a lifestyle. A lifestyle involves choices between a love seat and a chase; a day bed or a king sized spread. The difference between Tommy Hilfiger and Phat Farm name brands; Martha Stewart Magazine and an Oprah Show favorite or Land's End.
Although this may fall upon deaf ears, my life is not a style. A style adds no purpose to the fabric of this pile, of flesh. A style is just worthless, when stuck in the pine wood strife of other's misled materials unblessed.
Moths won't feast within my closet of tart flesh because style adds no value to the flavor of truth within my voice, nor my moral choice between right and wrong; the tenor tone to the songs I sing; the color of my skin or the love I hold within.
Keep condemning me, judge the person you think you see as decadent, a social malcontent, stuck in hedonistic cacophonies. And I'll keep uttering, my life is not a style for you to bury six-feet under a red dirt pile with other fads.
Me a man not afraid to be called a fag, so don't let the smooth taste fool you, and the moral truth that lags your naked truth. The straight privilege that serves as your unbridled proof that I'm less than a man; lets your God daunt me less than, giving you a choice to bash me upside the head with your own sexual insecurities.
My mission is to check, and dismiss the delusion, I'm okay with being terrorized by my own kind. Within the confusion I'll go down fighting, not for a lifestyle, but for my life. I peep skin-folk who act like kin-folk, but no better than Nazis' faking like a catholic Pope, pulpit prophets spewing toxic ciphers to dash my hopes.
What concerns me are your choices as straight folk. Your mob mentality entitles you to feast on assumptions while frolicking with morality at your leisure. Demonizing the wickedness within your own fleshly pleasures.
Let utterance of this phrase resonate epiphanies; my life is not a sin, nor is it a "style". My God doesn't make mistakes. I didn't choose to be gay, it choose me. I just choose not to fight it. Embrace it, and not deny it my own naked truth.
I admire your ferocity to protect your life, style and privilege. Walking hand and hand on any city street; kissing in the park; government sanctioned unions that provide your children healthcare; no preachers yelling blasphemy at you and your lover after dark; bedroom activities free from public glare.
So I fight for a life that's limited with very few privileges. Me a black gay male, in a white straight world stuck in someone else's choices to define me, a fashionable fad while straight privilege allows you simply to love like decadent nomads.
Although this may fall upon deaf ears, my life is not a style, and let utterance of this phrase resonate an epiphany when you refer to me as a lifestyle again.
© Johnny Lee Jenkins Jr. | JyObadele
Although this may fall upon deaf ears, my life is not a style. A style adds no purpose to the fabric of this pile, of flesh. A style is just worthless, when stuck in the pine wood strife of other's misled materials unblessed.
Moths won't feast within my closet of tart flesh because style adds no value to the flavor of truth within my voice, nor my moral choice between right and wrong; the tenor tone to the songs I sing; the color of my skin or the love I hold within.
Keep condemning me, judge the person you think you see as decadent, a social malcontent, stuck in hedonistic cacophonies. And I'll keep uttering, my life is not a style for you to bury six-feet under a red dirt pile with other fads.
Me a man not afraid to be called a fag, so don't let the smooth taste fool you, and the moral truth that lags your naked truth. The straight privilege that serves as your unbridled proof that I'm less than a man; lets your God daunt me less than, giving you a choice to bash me upside the head with your own sexual insecurities.
My mission is to check, and dismiss the delusion, I'm okay with being terrorized by my own kind. Within the confusion I'll go down fighting, not for a lifestyle, but for my life. I peep skin-folk who act like kin-folk, but no better than Nazis' faking like a catholic Pope, pulpit prophets spewing toxic ciphers to dash my hopes.
What concerns me are your choices as straight folk. Your mob mentality entitles you to feast on assumptions while frolicking with morality at your leisure. Demonizing the wickedness within your own fleshly pleasures.
Let utterance of this phrase resonate epiphanies; my life is not a sin, nor is it a "style". My God doesn't make mistakes. I didn't choose to be gay, it choose me. I just choose not to fight it. Embrace it, and not deny it my own naked truth.
I admire your ferocity to protect your life, style and privilege. Walking hand and hand on any city street; kissing in the park; government sanctioned unions that provide your children healthcare; no preachers yelling blasphemy at you and your lover after dark; bedroom activities free from public glare.
So I fight for a life that's limited with very few privileges. Me a black gay male, in a white straight world stuck in someone else's choices to define me, a fashionable fad while straight privilege allows you simply to love like decadent nomads.
Although this may fall upon deaf ears, my life is not a style, and let utterance of this phrase resonate an epiphany when you refer to me as a lifestyle again.
© Johnny Lee Jenkins Jr. | JyObadele
6.24.2007
Greensburg, Kansas | June 2007
On a recent trip across the United States I drove though Greensburg, Kansas. The town was recently flattened by a tornado that destroyed 95% of the town. It was horrific just driving through it. Temporary hospitals were still providing service months afterwards. We had no idea we'd drive through the center of town.
5.20.2007
Nestled In Nooses
i am conditions
nestled in nooses
walking fences
wary of a naked truth
who whithers like
summer into fall
conditions upon a
journeys path dissolved
whithering like ivy
upon a crumbling wall
i am conditions
nestled in nooses
wary of a truth
naked anxious like a
flower begging for
the spring sunshine
refreshed with the rain
hopeful we might fall
in love again cuddled
in the tight embrace
of how it all began
how precious were we
so i held you like autumn
holds gold in maize
a blazed in indigo sky
and cinnamon haze
still i am conditions
nestled in nooses
while the seasons
keep passing us by
nestled in nooses
walking fences
wary of a naked truth
who whithers like
summer into fall
conditions upon a
journeys path dissolved
whithering like ivy
upon a crumbling wall
i am conditions
nestled in nooses
wary of a truth
naked anxious like a
flower begging for
the spring sunshine
refreshed with the rain
hopeful we might fall
in love again cuddled
in the tight embrace
of how it all began
how precious were we
so i held you like autumn
holds gold in maize
a blazed in indigo sky
and cinnamon haze
still i am conditions
nestled in nooses
while the seasons
keep passing us by
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