When Is It Enough?

Armistead Maupin, writing in the foreword to Milk: A Pictorial History Of Harvey Milk:

"To us old-timers the argument for Proposition 8 was a blast from the past, a throwback to the evil theocratic Save-the-Children bullshit that Anita Bryant was spewing over thirty years ago. Why, then, was our response so maddeningly weak-kneed and closeted? Why didn't you see images of gay people in any of our ads -- or even the word 'gay,' for that matter? Are we that ashamed of ourselves? The answer is no, thankfully; most of us aren't.

And a growing number of young people have lost patience with the black-tie silent-auction-A-gay complacency of the organizations that claim to be fighting for our rights but don't want to ruffle feathers. These new kids are friending each other on Facebook (whatever that means) and taking to the streets on their own. My husband and I met a few of them when we picketed the Mormon temple in Oakland last month. They have love in their eyes and fire in their bellies and a commitment to finish this fight once and for all."
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When will it finally be enough to galvanize the gay community to fight? What more needs to happen? Joy, over at BabbleOn, says if she was a gay woman, living in a world like today, she would be angry all the time; angry at being denounced as less than; being equated to terrorists; being called the worst thing to happen in the history of the world.

I'm beginning to think a lot like Joy.

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A committee of the Idaho state senate refused...REFUSED...to consider a bill that would have banned discrimination based on sexual orientation or gender identity.
Idaho's 1968 Human Rights Act currently forbids workplace and housing discrimination based on race, sex, religion, color, national origin or mental or physical disability. The measure defeated Friday would have prohibited discrimination in employment, education and housing on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity.

So, go ahead, be gay in Idaho. But be prepared to be denied the simple basic rights allowed EVERYONE ELSE in the United States because you're gay.

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Mad now?

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Gainesville, the bustling Central Florida town that is home to the massive University Of Florida campus, will next month vote on a repeal....A REPEAL...of their LGBT rights ordinances.

Christian activists there have placed an amendment on the ballot that will make it legal to fire, not hire, and deny housing to LGBT people.

Charter Amendment One , if approved, would make the city of Gainesville's anti-discrimination ordinance the same as the Florida Civil Rights Act, removing current protections for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender individuals.

Gainesville. Idaho. Pot-tay-to. No homos.

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Pissed off now?

Keep reading.

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Thousands of anti-gay Christian activists jammed Hawaii's capitol building in Honolulu to protest a proposed bill legalizing civil unions for same-sex couples.
Some took up positions around the block, holding signs that read

"No Civil Union"

"Destroy the Core of 444"

"We Sed No Already"--apparently education is not foremost in their minds.

"Say Yes To Jesus or Burn In Hell"

Not quite as musical as "God Hates Fags" but still, hate.

But there's good news!

They don't want us marryin' in Hawaii....or civil unioning......unioning? But at least they aren't trying to get us fired or kicked out of our homes like they are in Idaho and Gainesville.

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Now? Anyone? Pissed off? Hello? Is this thing on?

There's more.

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When first given the job of head of the RNC--Repugnant National Committee--Michael Steele said the Republican Party should reach out to gay voters.

Looked like a change in the right direction.

Wrong.

Steele now says that the GOP would not budge on LGBT rights, calling even the consideration of civil unions "crazy."

from a radio interview with Mike Gallagher:
GALLAGHER: Is this a time when Republicans ought to consider some sort of alternative to redefining marriage and maybe in the road, down the road to civil unions. Do you favor civil unions?

STEELE: No, no no. What would we do that for? What are you, crazy? No. Why would we backslide on a core, founding value of this country? I mean this isn’t something that you just kind of like, “Oh well, today I feel, you know, loosey-goosey on marriage.” […]

GALLAGHER: So no room even for a conversation about civil unions in your mind?

STEELE: What’s the difference?

What's the difference? The difference is treating people with respect, equal rights for all Americans. The difference is being human to all human beings and not be some double-talking-kiss-ass-homophobe-goosestepping-alongside-hate-mongers.

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Still not mad?

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm .

Colorado, anyone?
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During the Colorado state senate debate on extending health benefits to the same-sex partners of state employees, Sen. Scott Renfroe (Repugnant) compared gays to murderers...MURDERERS.... and quoted Bible verses calling for homosexuals to be put to death.

A government official, an elected official, calling for people to be put to death because of their sexual orientation?

Only in America, apparently.

On the floor of the State Senate, right-wing Senator Scott Renfroe also referred to gay and lesbian people as an "abomination" and an "offense to God.” Renfroe then quoted the Book of Leviticus suggesting that gay people should be put to death. Of course, he also said that women were created to be "helpers" for men, quoting the Book of Genesis.

So, I wanna get this straight. Or gay.

I can be fired and not hired; I can be denied housing. The Repugnant man wanted to reach out and now he thinks reaching out is crazy. We're murderers. Abominations.

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Now? Pissed? Now?

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While same-sex marriage bans have failed in North Carolina's legislature for the last six consecutive years, those wacky hatemongers refuse to give up.

They are once again proposing a constitutional amendment on the issue.

Here are their arguments:
"Moms and dads are not interchangeable:" Senator Jim Forrester, lead sponsor of a proposal that would put this issue on the ballot for North Carolina voters.

"Throughout the entirety of sacred scripture, marriage is always and only recognized as a union between a man and woman:" Bishop Peter Jugis, of the Catholic Diocese of Charlotte.

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This is how I see it.

Everywhere I look they are trying to legislate who I am, who I love, how I live, where I live, where I work, what I do.

That is NOT America.

That is NOT right.

So I am mad now....if I wasn't before.

Are you?

Are you, as gay men and women, just going to sit idly by and let this happen. Even if you as gay people don't want marriage for yourselves, isn't it up to the individual to have that right, to choose marriage or not to choose marriage?

Are you going to say nothing as they strip your 'inalienable' rights away?

And what about you straight folks? i know you're out there. Hell, I know some of you.

Are you going to say it's enough?

Because, after they come for the gays, who's next to be denied, to be less than?

Who's next?

Emmett Till

This one breaks my heart, and feeds my anger.

1955. Fourteen-year-old Emmett Till was excited about his trip from his home in Chicago's south side to the Mississippi, Delta to visit relatives. He had been 'educated in the ways of the south,' by his mother, Mamie Till Bradley; she told him how to behave around Southern white people. Mamie Till knew that life in Mississippi was a lot different than in Chicago. In Mississippi, over 500 blacks had been lynched since 1882 and racially motivated murders were not unfamiliar, especially in the Delta where Till was going.

On August 20, 1955, with his mother's warning ringing in his ears, and his deceased father's ring on his hand, Emmett Till set off with his cousin Curtis Jones on the train to Mississippi. When Till and Jones arrived on August 21, they stayed at the home of Till's great-uncle Mose Wright, just on the outskirts of Money, Mississippi.

Three days later, the two boys drove Wright's car into the small town of Money and stopped at Bryant's Grocery store to buy some candy. Prior to going inside, Till pulled out some pictures of his white friends in Chicago and showed them to the local boys outside the store. Those boys dared Till to talk to Carolyn Bryant, the store clerk. Till went into the store, purchased some candy, and what happened as he was leaving is unclear. Till either said, "Bye, baby" or he whistled at Carolyn Bryant.

Neither Emmett Till nor Curtis Jones understood the magnitude of Till's act, so they didn't tell Mose Wright what happened. They continued to think nothing of the event as three days passed without incident; three days of the cousins enjoying their summer vacation. However, on the fourth day, early Sunday morning, Carolyn Bryant's husband, Roy, and his half-brother, J.W. Milam, knocked on the door of Wright's home.

With a pistol and flashlight in hand, they asked Mose Wright whether three boys from Chicago were staying with him. And , because when white people with guns knocked at your door in Mississippi in 1955, and you're a black man, you let them in, Mose Wright took the two men to a room where Emmett Till was sleeping.

Bryant and Milam told Till to get dressed. Wright unsuccessfully pleaded with them to just whip Till, but the two men ignored his pleas, and threatened to kill Wright if he told anyone. Several hours later, Mamie Till was notified of her son's kidnapping. A search of the area was conducted, and Mamie Till notified Chicago newspapers of her son's disappearance.

Wright told Money's sheriff who had taken Till, and he arrested Bryant and Milam for kidnapping. Little more than a week after Emmett Till arrived in Money, Mississippi, his body was discovered in the Tallahatchie River. It was weighted down by a seventy-five pound cotton gin fan, which was tied around Till's neck with barbed wire. His face was so mutilated that when Wright identified the body, he could only do so based on the ring that Till was been wearing--his dead father's ring.

Mamie Till made the decision, when Emmett's body was returned to Chicago, to have an open casket funeral. She wanted the world to know what had happened to her son. His right eye was missing, his nose was broken, and there was a hole in the side of his head. Fifty-thousand people attended the funeral. Jet magazine ran photos of Till's body; soon Till's murder became an international story.

Down in Money, Mississippi, Milam and Bryant garnered support; whites in their community claimed they were innocent and supported their defense by donating to 'the cause.'

The trial began on September 19, 1955 in Sumner, Mississippi. The entire jury was composed of white men from the defendants' home county. At trial they asserted that the body recovered from the river was not Till's body, and instead, claimed Milam and Bryant, they had taken Till but had let him go.

Milam and Bryant alleged that the NAACP and Mamie Till had dug up a body and claimed that it was Till. According to their defense lawyer, Till was hiding out in Chicago.

For the prosecution, finding witnesses was difficult for the prosecution. In the South, it was dangerous for blacks to testify against any white person, so those who knew anything were reluctant to come forward. However, white and black reporters and the NAACP were able to find witnesses against the defendants.

Barely whispering, out of fear of reprisal, Willie Reed testified on the stand that he had seen Roy Bryant, J.W. Milam, and another man with Till. Further, he testified that he heard screaming coming from the Milam barn. When Milam came out of the barn with a .45 on his hip, Milam asked Reed if he saw anything, and Reed said no. Mose Wright had decided from the beginning that he was going to testify. When Wright took the stand, he testified that Milam and Bryant had taken Till at gunpoint from his home.

After Reed and Wright testified, they were quickly escorted out of Mississippi by the NAACP.

Mamie Till was forced to testify that the body she buried was her son, Emmett Till.

Neither J.W. Milam nor Roy Bryant testified.

The trial lasted five days. In the defense's closing argument, Milam and Bryant's attorney forewarned the jury about convicting the defendants: "Your ancestors will turn over in their grave, and I'm sure every last Anglo-Saxon one of you has the courage to free these men."

The jury deliberated for only 67 minutes; a long time because, as one jury said, they'd stopped to drink soda. The jury found Milam and Bryant not guilty. They concluded that the prosecution had failed to prove that the body recovered from the river was Emmett Till.

On January 24, 1956, Look magazine published the confession of Milam and Bryant, who had agreed to tell their story, sell their story, for $4,000. According to their confession, they beat Till with a .45 in Milam's barn, and then proceeded to take him to the Tallahatchie River where they had him undress and then shot him. A gin fan was tied around his neck with wire in order to weigh the body down in the river. They burned Till's clothes and shoes.

Milam and Bryant were never charged with any other crimes relating to Till’s murder.

After the trial, blacks boycotted the Bryants' store, which forced them out of business. Both

Milam and Bryant remained in Mississippi until their deaths.

J.W. Milam died of cancer in 1980, twenty-five years after he murdered Emmett Till.

Roy Bryant died of cancer in 1994, thirty-nine years after he got away with murder.

Tough Times or A Bedtime Story, You Choose

I didn't get to see much of President Obama's--I'm with Joy at BabbleOn in that I love writing that and saying it aloud--speech last night.....and I missed all of Bobby Jindal's response....which is to say that I didn't miss much.

President Obama spoke to us like adults with a problem on our hands and some ideas to solve said problems; he took some of us to task for the way we've done things. Yeah, he was talkin' to you, Wall Street Fat Cats....

I intend to hold these banks fully accountable for the assistance they receive, and this time, they will have to clearly demonstrate how taxpayer dollars result in more lending for the American taxpayer. This time, CEOs won't be able to use taxpayer money to pad their paychecks or buy fancy drapes or disappear on a private jet. Those days are over.

And he was talking to you, too, you people who overextended yourself buying houses you couldn't afford, with money you didn't have. President Obama gave the tough talk that we haven't heard from a president in a long while; the last guy.....what Was his name?....could barely put together a sentence without string and tape.

Obama admonished those kids who dropped out of school and the parents who let them. He talked tough but these are tough times.

And then Bobby Jindal, the Great Repugnant Hope, spoke.....or told a story. I felt like I was being read a fairytale by a kindly uncle, who wasn't all there, and didn't really know what the story was about.

This is what you're hanging your hopes on Repugnants?

It was bad enough when you were all goosestepping behind Sarah Palin.....it was bad enough when you put Michael Steele--who has the nasty habit of saying different things to different people at the different time--into the head seat at the RNC. Now you give us Bobby Jindal, who, even members of your own party felt had bungled the RepugResponse.

Some of his own party called him 'amateurish,' and they were bing kind.

This is the same Bobby Jindal, who as Governor of Louisiana, will not allow unemployment benefits in his state to continue under the new stimulus package.

Bobby Jindal is flippin'the bird at ya'll Louisiana.

So we have a couple of choices.

Go with the President who talks of tough times and tough choices, not just for the bands, or for Wall Street, but for all of us. He has plans for energy, for health care, for education, all the things that We The People say we want fixed/changed.

Or go with Bobby Jindal and listen to a good story that will never have a happy ending.

I Don't Like Labels

I don't wear clothes from Abercrombie & Fitch; I don't own Nikes or Adidas or whatever shoe company is now most popular for using your feet to promote their business. My shirts don't have slogans; my pants aren't commercials.

I don't like labels.

Carlos used to play in a band when we lived in Miami--the Flamingo Freedom Band. It was known as a gay band. They marched in Pride Parades and played at all sorts of events. You didn't have to be gay to be in the band, because that would be illegal, and wrong, but most of the folks in the band were of the homosexual persuasion.

One day, at a rehearsal--I would go while they practiced and listen and read and whatever--I heard one of the guys in the band call himself a gay trumpet player. I found this interesting. He was in a band, rehearsing, playing the trumpet, but he was a gay trumpet player. Carlos and I had a discussion about this on the way home. Carlos, you see, thought of himself a s a trumpet player who was gay.

It doesn't sound like much of a difference, but the way the guy in the band said it, makes it quite exclusionary. Back to them and us.

See, I don't think of myself as gay first. I'm a human being. A human being who is male. A human being who is male and gay. A human being who is male and gay with blue-green eyes. A human being who is male and gay who is six-foot-one. The list goes on.......

Still, you can see how that works. If I start to define myself as gay right off the bat, then I exclude myself from being human and male. And if I don't like being excluded, then how can I be the one doing the excluding? Of course, that doesn't mean that I'm not proud to be gay. But is proud the right word? Am I proud, really, or do I like being gay because it's part of who I am?

Am I proud of being a man? Of having blue-green eyes? Of being six-foot-one? Why must I be proud of the things innately me? Eye-color, height, gender, sexual orientation? Those are things that were decided for me a long time ago, in a town called in utero--we all come from there. So, how can I, or should I, be proud of things about myself I cannot change? Now, don't get me wrong. I wouldn't change being a human being who is male and gay with blue-green eyes who is six-foot-one. I wouldn't change any of that, even though I could change some aspects of me if I were so inclined--not the gay part or the human part....and maybe not the six-foot-one part.

I like being gay. I like who I am. I like being part of the gay community. I like the struggles of those who came before me, and the hope of those to come. But proud?

Proud I save for accomplishments, whether mine, or human, or male, or gay. I'm proud of the people fighting for gay rights, gay marriage, an end to hate. I'm proud that I am an openly gay male who doesn't feel fear or shame for admitting that to anyone. That was my accomplishment, my pride. Realizing that I'm just fine being gay.

But if you want to smack a label on me, start with human.

Repugnants In South Carolina

Carlos wrote a letter to the, ahem, Honorable Lindsey Graham, our senator from the not-so-great-still-struggling-with-being-backwards state of South Carolina. He wrote about pending legislation that would allocate money for medical treatments for people afflicted with various eye troubles, among them Retinitis pigmentosa.

Now, it was done via email, but still, Carlos received a letter, a form letter, from Lindsey O--as in Oh My God You Are An Idiot. Graham. And in his letter Graham thanks Carlos for his letter, then thanks Carlos for writing about the stimulus package.

Huh? What? Huh?

Hello Lindsey? Read your mail. Or have your minions read your mail. As Carlos' appeal for funding regarding Retinitis Pigmentosa was email generated, it had nothing to do with the stimulus package. Nothing, Lindsey, nothing. Didn't mention stimulus. Wasn't even a particularly stimulating email-generated-appeal.

How can we, as a people, be expected to trust, approve, like, our elected representatives when they don't even bother to read what we send them? I may send a letter to Lindsey about shoes and see what he says about that. He'll probably be glad I wrote to express my concerns about the war in Iraq.

But the most annoying part of Lindsey's response--and he doesn't deserve the respect of a title since he doesn't show enough respect to acknowledge the content of a letter--is how he blasts the stimulus package.

It's 'toxic, he says.

It's an 'orgy of government spending,' he says.

Toxic and orgy. Two buzz-words to get the Real Americans down here in South Carolina up in arms. I am sure people are already panicking because the stimulus supports orgies. Of course, another example of how Lindsey twists words, and puts that old Repugnant Fear of fill in the blank out there to feed the frenzy of his constituents, is to say in one sentence that the unemployment rate in South Carolina is 9.5%, and then in the next sentence say that some 65,000 job cuts were announced last month.

But Lindsey, dear sweet smug stupid naive Lindsey, doesn't mention until the very last word of that sentence that the jobs were lost nation-wide. No, he wants us South Carolinians--because we're two dumb to put two and two together--to think those 65, 000 jobs were lost here. And that it's the Democrats fault.

And Lindsey? Instead of complaining how the Democrats passed this package without any help from the Repugnants, why don't you get off your rather large posterior and so something rather than complain, because, dear Lindsey, I'm done with you. I am going to work tirelessly to see that your lazy behind gets a trip back home come next election.

The last thing we need in South Carolina is more of you.

Paul Robeson

On April 9, 1898, Maria Louisa Robeson gave birth to her fifth and last child, Paul Leroy Robeson. Theirs was a happy family, but like all families, knew its share of tragedy, personal and financial. When he was just six, Paul's mother was killed in a house fire, and a few years later his father, William Drew Robeson, lost his Princeton pastorate, forcing him to move his family to Somerville, New Jersey, where he was pastor of the St. Thomas AME Zion Church.

One of only two black students at Somerville High School, Paul Robeson excelled academically, competing in debate and oratorical contests, as well as being an exceptional athlete. It was also at Somerville where Paul got his first taste for acting, appearing in the title role of Shakespeare's Othello. Robeson not only graduated with honors, but placed first in a competitive examination for scholarships to Rutgers University; his brothers had chosen all-black colleges, but Paul was attracted to the challenge of attending Rutgers, a mostly white school.

College life, it turned out, was both pleasure and pain for Paul Robeson. He tried out for the football team--where blacks were neither welcomed not wanted--and encountered physical attacks from the other athletes. But he was not one to be held down because of the color of his skin. He persevered, and not only was given a spot on the team, but was named first on the roster of the All-American college team; Paul Robeson graduated with 15 letters in sports. Academically he was equally successful; Robeson was elected a member of the prestigious Phi Beta Kappa Society and the Cap and Skull Honor Society of Rutgers, and graduated in 1919 with the highest grade point average in his class.

With college life behind him, Robeson moved to the Harlem to attend law school, first at New York University, and later at Columbia University. While in college, he made his acting debut, playing the lead role in Simon the Cyrenian by poet Ridgely Torrence; in 1921 he sang in the chorus of Shuffle Along, by Eubie Blake and Noble Sissle.

Working odd jobs, and playing professional football, to pay for college, Robeson met Eslanda "Essie" Cardozo Goode. Essie was a graduate of Columbia, and employed as a chemist, the the first black staff person at Presbyterian Hospital in New York. Paul and Essie were married in August of 1921, and their son, Paul Jr., was born in 1927.

To support his family while studying law at Columbia, Robeson played professional football for the Akron Pros and the Milwaukee Badgers; he spent the summer of 1922 in England, appearing in a production of Taboo. Upon graduation from Columbia in 1923, Robeson worked days as an attorney, and nights singing at the Cotton Club. But suddenly Robeson quit the law firm--a secretary refused to take dictation from a black man--and was offered a role in Eugene O'Neill's All God's Chillun Got Wings.

All God's Chillun was an instant success, although success brought threats by the KKK because of the play's interracial themes, and the fact that a white woman kissed Robeson's hand. All God's Chillun was followed by performances in a revival of The Emperor Jones, the play Rosanne, and the silent movie Body and Soul.

In 1925 Robeson gave a concert at the Provincetown Playhouse, singing Negro spirituals and folk songs. The concert was such a success that Robeson, and his accompanist, Lawrence Brown, embarked on a tour of America with the show, but were sorely disappointed; the reviews were good, but the crowds were small. They made almost no money.

After the failure of the tour, Robeson realized his success lie in performing, and his career took off. In 1928 he accepted the role of Joe in a London production of Show Boat; his rendition of "Ol' Man River" received the most acclaim, and earned him a great deal of attention from British high society. There were Robeson concerts at the Royal Albert Hall, and Sunday afternoon concerts at Drury Lane and yet, in spite of all his success, all the acclaim and attention from the British elite, Robeson still had to deal with racism. At one point during his stay in England, he was refused admission to a London hotel; because of his protestations of his treatment, many major hotels in London said they would no longer refuse service to blacks.

Paul Robeson returned to the United States in 1929 to perform at Carnegie Hall, but his permanent residence was in England, where he accepted the lead role in Shakespeare's Othello--the role he played years earlier in high school. This production marked the first time since the performance of the black actor Ira Aldridge in 1860 that a major production company cast a black man in the part of the Moor. Robeson was a tall, strikingly handsome, with a deep, baritone voice and an almost shy manner; audiences were mesmerized by his performance in Othello.

His career was on the rise, but his personal life, and his home life, began to suffer. Essie Robeson, who has written a book about her husband, Paul Robeson, Negro, sued for divorce in 1932. Robeson had fallen in love Yolande Jackson, a white Englishwoman, calling her 'the love of my life.' Jackson accepted his proposal of marriage, but later called it off, forced to end the relationship by her father, Tiger Jackson, who was, to put less than tolerant of black people in general and Paul Robeson in particular. With his marriage plans to Yolande Jackson canceled, Paul and Essie came to an understanding regarding their relationship; the divorce proceedings were canceled.

Once again Robeson returned to America, albeit it briefly, to star in the film version of Emperor Jones; his stay was short lived. He felt he was treated badly by a racist American film industry, and because the black community itself criticized him for taking the role in Jones. Returning to England, Robeson immersed himself in the studying of singing and language, mastering several languages, and became an honorary member of the West African Students' Union, becoming acquainted with African students Kwame Nkrumah and Jomo Kenyatte. Robeson also gave a benefit concert for Jewish refugees which marked the beginning of his political awareness and activism.

His desire, his need, to aid those less fortunate, and the oppressed in their fight for freedom and equality, was deeply rooted in his own family history. Robeson's father was an escaped slave who eventually graduated from Lincoln College; his maternal grandfather, Cyrus Bustill, was a slave who was freed by his second owner and became an active member of the African Free Society. Understanding and recognizing the heritage that brought him so many opportunities, Robeson performed in a series of films--Sanders of the River in 1935, King Solomon's Mines in 1937, and Song of Freedom, also in 1937--that presented blacks in other than stereotypical ways.

In the Soviet Union in 1934 to film Black Majesty, Robeson was impressed with the education against racism for schoolchildren; he began studying Marxism and Socialist systems in the Soviet Union, and decided to send his son, nine-year-old Paul Jr., to school there so he would not have to contend with the racism and discrimination Robeson endured in both Europe and America.

While continuing to act in atypical black roles, Robeson once again received rave reviews for his performance of "Ol' Man River" in the 1936 film production of Show Boat. He also embarked on a more active role to fight injustice throughout the world by being a co-founder of the Council on African Affairs to aid in African liberation; he sang and spoke at benefit concerts for Basque refugees; he supported the Spanish Republican cause, and sang at rallies to support a democratic Spain. At a benefit at the Royal Albert Hall in London, Robeson is quoted as saying "The artist must elect to fight for freedom or slavery. I have made my choice. I had no alternative." Paul Robeson seemed hellbent on taking a new direction in both his personal and professional life.

In 1939 Robeson returned to America, stating that he would soon retire from his life as a 'commercial' entertainer. He gave a recital at Mother AME Zion Church Harlem where his brother Benjamin was pastor, and that same year he premiered the patriotic song "Ballad for Americans" on CBS radio--a preview of a play by the same name. The song was so well received that studio audiences cheered for 20 minutes after the performance. Robeson's popularity in America soared and he remained the most celebrated person in the country well into the 1940s. In the American production of Othello in 1943, Robeson's performance placed him among the ranks of the greatest Shakespearean actors.

But after his run in Othello, Robeson's political commitments became foremost in his life. He championed a wide variety of causes, from South African famine relief to support of an anti-lynching law; in September 1946 he was among the delegation that spoke with President Truman in support of anti-lynching legislation. Robeson adamantly urged Truman to act; his anger and passion overflowed; he began to praise the Soviet Union and denounce United States' allies.The following month, when called before the California Legislative Committee on Un-American activities, Robeson declared he was not a member of the Communist Party, but praised their fight for equality and democracy. But the damage was done; the attempt at branding him un-American caused many to distrust his political commitments.

In 1949 Robeson embarked on a European speaking tour, speaking out against the discrimination and injustices that black Americans faced on a daily basis. News of his remarks were distorted by the United Sates media, and the backlash from whites culminated in riot before a scheduled concert in Peekskill, New York. Advised of the violent protest, Robeson returned to New York City, but did agree to a second concert in Peekskill for the people who truly wanted to hear him. The concert took place but afterwards another riot broke out, leaving over 140 people seriously injured. With such violence surrounding Robeson's concerts, many groups and sponsors no longer supported him.

Robeson had received by so much negative press that, in 1950, he made plans for another European tour; his plans were derailed when the US government refused to allow him to travel unless he agreed not to make any speeches. With no passport, and denied his freedom of speech abroad, Robeson spoke out publicly, and in his own monthly newspaper, Freedom. Having been barred from all other forms of media, Robeson's newspaper was his primary platform until 1955. While he was supported by the National Negro Labor Council, the Council on African Affairs, and the Civil Rights Congress, the NAACP openly attacked him; other groups shunned him in fear of reprisals. Undaunted by the negative attacks, Robeson traveled around the US, encouraging groups to fight for their rights and for equal treatment.

In May of 1958, Robeson gave his first New York concert in ten years to a packed Carnegie Hall. When the concert was over, he informed the audience that the passport battle had been won, and from 1958 to 1963 he traveled to England, the Soviet Union, Austria, and New Zealand. He was showered with awards and played to packed houses throughout his travels, but he was also hospitalized several times in Europe for a disease of the circulatory system, forcing him to return to America. With the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1957, much had changed in America, and Paul Robeson was enthusiastically received home upon his return.

Essie Robeson died of cancer in 1965, and Paul Robeson went to live with his sister Marian in Philadelphia, where he remained in seclusion until he died in January of 1976. Four days later, on what would have been his 75th birthday, a "Salute to Paul Robeson" was held in Carnegie Hall.

Paul Leroy Robeson's funeral was held at Mother AME Zion Church in Harlem before a crowd of 5,000.

Paul Robeson was a man who loved to entertain, to perform, to sing to act; he loved that. But he lived to fight for oppressed, and particularly black people. While it is clear that his rich voice, and his acting talents would have brought him more money, more fame, more accolades, it is because of his vision, his actions, his voice, as an activist both here and around the world, that Paul Robeson will be remembered as a truly great American.

It Really Was A Huge Ackman

I was worried.

I admit it.

I thought my boy Hugh might bomb, because everyone kept saying it was going to be new and different and all sorts of things, and we all know that Hollywood is not known new and different and all sorts of things.

I mean, how else do we explain Tom Cruise's career?

But that opening number, with Hugh dancing! Hugh singing! Hugh joking! was fantastic. It was the best Oscar opening since the Billy Crystal days of yore. It was Mickey-and-Judy-Let's-Put-On-A-Show-Phenomenal!

I loved him singing of, ahem, sorry Miss Winslet, "excrement' to Kate.

I loved Anne Hathaway being dragged up onstage to play......Dick Nixon?

I loved having past winners come out and announce the nominees. Cool idea. Different idea. New idea. Who knew?

Penelope Cruz won.....meh. I don't get her. I don't think she's talented. I don't think she's that attractive. Let's face it, the last time I thought of her was the last time I saw her. Again......meh.

Steve Martin and Tina Fey, two of the funniest people who don't look like they're reading from a teleprompter, cracked me up. I seriously thought that I would love to see them in a movie, or better yet, having dinner at my house and then watching a movie.

And that sly aside about a made-up religion with an alien leader?

Tom Cruise is having a time-out even as we speak.

I thought it was funny when Jennifer Aniston appeared onstage. I looked at Carlos and said, I wonder how long until they show Brad and Angelina.

He said, Why?

I stopped to explain about Jennifer and Brad....married...divorced....Brad....Angelina....babies. I almost missed Angelina smiling in the crowd. Does anyone really think Angelina cares one whit about Jennifer Aniston? Or that Jennifer Aniston cares one whit about Angelina?

But I digress.

I had to do a whole Six Degrees Of Separation for Carlos.

Jennifer Aniston presents with Jack Black.

Jennifer Aniston was married to Brad Pitt.

Brad Pitt is whatever with Angelina Jolie.

Angelina Jolie did an animated film with Jack Black.

Jack Black is onstage with Jennifer Aniston in front of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.

Way over Carlos' head.

I loved Dustin Lance Black's acceptance speech for the Milk screenplay. It made me tear up, which, as a gay man, I am prone to do. But this is what he said:

"Oh my God. This was, um. This was not an easy film to make......When I was 13 years old, my beautiful mother and my father moved me from a conservative Mormon home in San Antonio, Texas to California and I heard the story of Harvey Milk. And it gave me hope. It gave me the hope to live my life, it gave me the hope to one day live my life openly as who I am and that maybe even I could fall in love and one day get married. I want to thank my mom who has always loved me for who I am, even when there was pressure not to. But most of all, if Harvey had not been taken from us 30 years ago, I think he’d want me to say to all of the gay and lesbian kids out there tonight who have been told that they are less than by their churches or by the government or by their families that you are beautiful, wonderful creatures of value and that no matter what anyone tells you, God does love you and that very soon, I promise you, you will have equal rights, federally, across this great nation of ours. Thank you, thank you, and thank you God for giving us Harvey Milk"

Side note: Black wrote the introduction to a book called MILK: A Pictorial History Of Harvey Milk that you can read HERE

And I don't get all those techno awards where the winners, who I'm sure are fabulous at their jobs, feel the need to thank anyone and everyone, and drone on and on. Of course, it does provide a much-needed bathroom break, but really.....Get off already!

That said, the Asian guy, that won for something? I don't know. I was coming back from the bathroom. He'd say a word in Japanese....then Thank you...another name in Japanese....the Thank you....on and on until he finally says Domo arigato Mister Roboto! Loved it!

When the award was given for Best Costumes, Carlos perked up. The Duchess won and Carlos loved the movie and the clothes; I think he wants to be a duchess or just dress like one.

Then we had Ben Stiller's crazy, bearded Joaquin Phoenix impersonation. It was funny...at first....but like a Ben Stiller movie it dragged on too long. I spent so much time explaining the joke, the Joaquin Phoenix reference, the beard, the glasses, to Carlos that even I stopped thinking it was funny.

Now, after loving the Musical Number that opened the show, they had to go and muck it up. I mean, c'mon, Beyonce. Take a night off already. You sing! You dance! I get it. Move on.

The musical may be making a comeback, but if it looked anything like it did on the stage last night, it should be ashamed of itself.

Of course, having said I liked the idea of five past winners announcing the nominations, I was a bit taken aback by the five past Best Supporting Actor winners. It was a little like a presidential debate. I was waiting for the, Sir, I know Heath Ledger and you are no Heath Ledger moment.

But I loved Heath Ledger's family accepting for him. His mother and sister were heartbreaking, and his is a career that was all too short.

The Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award was given to Jerry Lewis.

He didn't speak long.

I guess that makes him a true humanitarian.



I usually skip out on the Death Parade, you know, the In Memoriam they like to do. It's all a bit morbid listening to who gets the most applause. Even in death there are Oscar winners and losers. But having Queen Latifah sing I'll Be Seeing you was a great idea. It's a beautiful song, an appropriate song, and you didn't get the Dead Man Popularity clap from years gone by.

And Latifah looked good, although Jenny Craig may want some of her money back.



I loved Kate Winslet winning. I would have loved La Streep, but La Brit Streep is just as good. And I loved her shouting out to her Dad who whistled so she could find him. It was not the usual I want to thank nonsense.

And this picture of all those previous winners crowding around to thank her. You hear so often about women not supporting women, so it was nice to see this display.

Then Sean Penn. I was so hoping he would win. Not just because he was the actor who brought Harvey Milk to the screen, and not because I am not a fan of Mickey Rourke. But because Sean Penn is a brilliant actor. He didn't win because he played 'gay,' and that's such an achievement. he won because he was brilliant in bringing Harvey back to life for a couple of hours.

I loved his speech:
"You Commie homo-loving sons of guns! I did not expect this, but I — and I want to be very clear that I do know how hard I make it to appreciate me. Often. But I — I am touched by the appreciation and I hoped for it enough that I scribbled down — so I have the names in case you were Commie homo-loving suns of guns. And so I, I wanted you to thank....The great Cleve Jones. Our wonderful writer, Lance Black....Finally, for those — two last finallys — For those who saw the signs of hatred as our cars drove in tonight, and, I think that it is a good time for those who voted for the ban against gay marriage to sit and reflect and anticipate their great shame and the shame in their grandchildren’s eyes if they continue that way of support. We’ve got to have equal rights for everyone.....Thank you all very much."

And Best Picture went to Slumdog Millionaire. I liked learning that, until it was screened at the Toronto Film Festival, Slumdog was headed straight to DVD. And then it gets saved by Fox Searchlight and goes on to be the Best Picture of 2008.

It's like that old children's story: The Little Slumdog That Could.

So it's over.

Hugh was hot.

I love a man who can sing and dance and speak with an accent.

Hmmmmmm......Carlos? Do they have a dance academy here in Smallville, cuz I was just thinking that maybe you could head on out there and sign up for ..................

Does The Carpet Match The Drapes?

Okay, so it's over, and it was a pretty good show, actually, it was better than it had been in a long while. And that's due to a certain Mr. Hugh Jackman and his Huge Ackman--I've told Carlos this is my last time saying, Huge Ackman--we'll see how long that lasts!

But before I get to Huge, er , Hugh, let's talk about a bit about the E! Red Carpet Show. First off: enough with the exclamation point E! because your show really isn't that exciting--it should be called e red carpet actually. You spend more time going from Ryan to the Italian girl to the gay guy and back again. And don't get me started on Debbie Matenopoulus; they say Paula Abdul drinks. Well, then Debbie draaaaaaaaaaanks. Girl was buzzed and a buzzkill!

But let's talk fashion because I know all about it. I say this, sitting here in flannel drawers, yesterdays socks and an old T-shirt. But I know fashion.

Now, Miley-Lindsay-Britney Cyrus arrived first, on her way to rehab, or home from rehab, I don't know, but she puts the ob in obnoxious, and I have no idea what that even means.

Watching her, fresh from being hosed down and disinfected by a troupe of circus elephant bathers, I was going to say that her dress was as overbearing as her personality. I know a lot of crazy folks who wear tin foil on their heads to drown out 'the voices,' but did she need an entire aluminum foil ensemble?

Then Carlos passed through the room as she was talking.

He saw the dress and said, Who's the pinata?

I laugh because every time I see her I get the urge to hit her with a stick

Next up we have e's resident queen--no, not Ryan Seacrest, although.....--Jay Manuel, with his white tux he had shipped in from the 50s and his bluish hair, the plucked brow, the pursed lips; Joan Crawford didn't spend as much time in hair and make-up!

Now, I'm sorry to bash. I am an out proud homo, after all, but he's too much of a queen. That breathy Marilyn Monroe voice makes me cringe; the ways he 'draws' his designs on the dresses; he is just too fond of himself. I couldn't find a picture of him from last night because he's Jay Manuel and, let's face it, without Tyrannosaurus Banks, we'd all be going Who?

Now we can get to Seacrest....I laugh because Brad and Angelina--we're on a first-name basis, you know--snubbed him at The Golden Globes. And last night on the e red carpet he must have mentioned their names four times in the first thirty seconds. And then of course, Angelina wouldn't speak to him, because he was a dick to her once. Don't piss of Angie, Ryan. Didn't they teach you that in Hostess School?

He is the Twinkie of hostesses; and not twinkie in that gay sensibility, but twinkie as a cream-filled slab of vanilla cake. Bo-ring!

But here are Brad and Angelina.

I love them.

She's hot. I get a funny feeling....down there...when I see her.

He's hot. I usually take my men tall dark and handsome, and with an accent, but he's f-o-i-n-e.

I'm getting hot.

And Zac Efron--who people say is gay, and I say Why not?

I don't think he's that cute, but then I like my men to look like men and not like they just shed a diaper, and he had a sort of deer in the headlights look in his eye. Then he admitted that his next movie, something about 17, was just like Big.

Um, Zac, hate to break it you sweetie, but I saw Big like fifty years ago, and I don't need to see a remake. Of course, it's been a long time since I was a thirteen-year-old-girl, so who am I to say?

Vanessa Hudgens--Zac's alleged beard/girlfriend. What she is doing there I don't know. But then she went and compared herself to Audrey Hepburn.

Huh? What? Huh?

More like Audrey Griswold from the Vacation movies.

I do see a future career for her in the film industry; perhaps stuffing envelopes for NetFlix?

SJP always wears the same big poofy skirt like she's trying to hide an ass or a pair of hips the size of Idaho. Enough SJP. You have a slammin' bod--and this is from a gay boy who has no idea what to do with a woman's slammin hot bod.

Howsabout next time, you put on a lil sumpin sumpin sexy and tight.

You aren't Cinderella anymore.

Mickey Rourke, I get it. You're a rebel, but c'mon man, at least look like you took a bath before you slipped into somethin' fugly.

You look a little Saturday Night Feverish...and not hot like a fever, but sickly like a fever.

Hey Mickey you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my....never mind.

But, hey, Mickey, This is how it's done. This is rebel chic for the Oscars.

Sean Penn doesn't follow the rules either but he looks good doing it.

I saw Melissa Leo--I know, who? But she's up for Best Actress.

She showed up wearing a nice dress, I mean, copper is the new, er, pink?

But seriously Melissa, did you have to wear Jane Fonda's old 9-to-5 hair. Even she stopped wearing it in the 80s.

Kate Winslet, or as I sometimes call her, Meryl Winslet or Kate Streep, is just about the classiest woman in the world! And I could listen to her speak all night.

Frida Pinto from Slumdog looked dee-vine, and I began to do an Indian accent which lasted about an hour until Carlos screeched at me to stop.

Jessica Biel was on the e red carpet on her cell phone. She was probably looking for her career. Or maybe she was calling Red Lobster to tell them she walked out still wearing the bib

I loves me some Annie Hathaway. Smart. Funny. Sexy. Gay friendly.

And she looked gaw-geous.

But then that mincing Marilyn-wannabe Jay Manuel took out his blue pen and began to draw little circles on her dress and shouting at us, These are called piettes, people. Piettes! I had no idea a quiz was involved.

I began saying These are piettes people in my Indian accent. Carlos was not amused.

Penelope Cruz stopped by to chat and she still has the thickest Spanish accent I've ever heard. She's been in Hollywood since the 1940s and I still have to stop and listen when she speaks.

She makes Carlos sound like he's from Jaw-juh.

Pretty dress, but I thought it was the Oscars and not My Best friend's Wedding.

Meryl Streep is a goddess. She could wear a potato sack with a paint can hat and she'd be a goddess. In fact, I think she did wear a potato sack and a paint can hat to the Globes, and she looked regal.

J'adore La Streep. J'adore.

That drives Carlos crazy because he's on Team Glen Close and I am definitely Team Streep, so he gets a tad annoyed by my adoration of La Streep.

Speaking of Carlos. He was passing through the room as I watched the e red carpet arrival show, and when it grew boring--Jay Manuel anyone--I switched to another channel. He walked in and I was watching HGTV. He asked if the Oscars were already over.

Silly man, It's still Sunday!

We've got another twenty-four hours!