Smart analysis, as usual, by Lisa Duggan, in The Nation:
Forget everything you think you know about Utah. Yes, it's the reddest
state in the union and the headquarters of The Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints (LDS). For the past twenty-five years, Republicans
have had a virtual lock on statewide offices. Utah hasn't voted for a
Democrat for president since 1964, and last year the state chose John
McCain over Barack Obama by almost a 2-to-1 margin.
But here in Salt Lake City, it's a different story. The city and
surrounding counties are a lovely blue. The current and previous
mayors--Ralph Becker and Rocky Anderson--are well-known progressive
Democrats with excellent records on the environment, gay and civil
rights, disability access and other municipal issues, and Salt Lake
County, home to four of the five most populous cities in the state, went
for Obama in 2008.
Then there's Salt Lake City's queer community, whose smart, creative and
coalition-building strategies could provide a model for gay activists
across the country.
That last claim requires a bit of explanation. Last fall I lived in Salt
Lake City. As a leftist and New York City dyke, I had expected to find a
conservative city and a quietly assimilationist gay community. Instead,
I was repeatedly blown away by the progressive politics and outright
queerness of the capital city, which is about 40 percent Mormon.
I was in Salt Lake City in November when the passage of California's
Proposition 8 generated national outrage against the Mormon Church for
its role in sending money and volunteers to help antigay forces take
away the right of California's same-sex couples to marry. A few national
LGBT figures, most notably gay pundit Dan Savage, called for a boycott
of Utah to punish its majority Mormon population. In Salt Lake City, I
joined a furious crowd, including many gay Mormons and ex-Mormons, at a
November 7 protest at the LDS Temple. The scene was a jumble of mixed
messages, with signs ranging from Love Makes a Family, to Separate
Church and State, to Brigham Young Had 55 Wives, I Want 1! But no one I
saw advocated a boycott. Most seemed to agree with KRCL-FM public radio
station personality Troy Williams, referred to by some Utahns as their
homegrown Harvey Milk, who challenged Savage on his hourlong program,
calling for an influx of queer migrants to the state rather than a
boycott. Perhaps a New Queer Pioneer movement, modeled on the sanctified
Mormon pioneers of the nineteenth century, would do more to shrink the
impact of LDS antigay bigotry than any boycott ever could.
Not that Utah needs new queer residents to spark political, social or
cultural creativity. The city is home to a floridly queer and unusually
politically unified LGBT community. Salt Lake City hosts numerous gay
bars and businesses, a busy assortment of queer artists and
intellectuals, a thriving drag culture and an "extreme" BD/SM school. At
this year's pride rally, after the annual dyke march on June 6, the
city's residents flocked to the downtown Federal Building to hear local
drag celebrity Sister Dottie S. Dixon (Mormon mother of a gay son, as
embodied by actor Charles Frost) beseech "the almightly diva S&M
Goddess of her Most High," among other deities, to "help our surgeons ta
discover how to perfarm a complete brain transplant, so that Mitt Romney
can live with hope fer a better future." And "while yer at it," Sister
Dixon implored, "if you've got any more of them plagues of locus--please
send them ta every household that voted fer Preperation 8!"
The rally was sponsored by the rapidly expanding Utah Pride Center,
which under executive director Valerie Larabee has more than doubled its
budget in the past five years. At the Pride Center, a broad range of
local activist groups and LGBT individuals actually talk to each
other--in stark contrast to the balkanized landscape of national LGBT
organizations. Indeed, perhaps more than in any other city, Salt Lake
City's queer scene resembles the storied days of ACT UP, when mainstream
assimilationists collaborated with radical activists to develop talking
points, coordinate strategy and change homophobic policy.
This conversation across boundaries is a product of savvy activists and,
paradoxically, of the formidable political and cultural barriers created
by the Mormon Church and the statewide strength of the Republican
machine. In such a political arena, queer flamboyance and tough-minded
seriousness have to coexist in order to get anything done. In that
sense, as gay activists nationwide take stock of where the gay rights
movement has come in the forty years since the Stonewall riots and plot
a political future, they should look to Salt Lake City for pointers
instead of Boston or New York.
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