Let me reiterate…I would rather work in an office. I would rather work in an office than have a boyfriend. In fact, it’s almost the same thing. Giving up one’s freedom…just to be like everyone else.
Accepting second best. I can’t do that again.
I have no intention of EVER having a boyfriend/partner/husband.
They say, “You’ll fall in love.” “You’ll meet someone.” “There’s someone out there for you.” Ha! It simply isn’t true. Why? Because I am not looking, not interested…scared.
It was hot yesterday. Very hot. Looks like it’s going to be another hot day today. BAFTA garden party at the British Embassy this afternoon.
My ankle is not getting any better. My ‘wait and see’ policy worked on the left leg but not on the right. I am shuffling like a decrepit. Doctor on Monday. We shall see.
Zachary came by yesterday and we hurled ourselves up the 101 and into Hollywood. Hanging with some New York friends on Doheny. A gay event…cute, pleasant people. One of them had seen the ‘A’ List and asked…about the watch.
We ended the evening slumping into sofas at a private roof top club receiving all comers. We had a pack of American Spirits so were very popular out there on the terrace.
Zachary is a dancer/performance artist. He is off to Rome to show his work in a prestigious gallery. I like his zeal. It reminded me just how much fun touring a live show can be.
Samantha joined us, she was wearing knee-high leather boots, her hair tied back…she looked like Theda Bara.
We chatted with super chic Kelly Osborne. We met a gay couple in an open relationship.
We drove home at midnight past a very fresh accident on the deserted PCH. An inebriated man sitting at the edge of the road wearing a white button down…clutching his bloody chest. His girlfriend standing by…weeping.
A two car collision. His car visible, the other car (a police vehicle) had, it seemed, crashed over the edge of the PCH and into the Pacific.
Gawkers looking into the black sea. The deputies, I read this morning, were not drowned. Look here.
I am in NYC next week, post Irene. Robby is there to see but he has a life in NYC (at our instigation) and I may very well not be a part of that. That’s OK, he’s appropriately grateful.
Early to bed after an exhausting day of brush clearance.
We hired four, sturdy day labourers from outside the Malibu courthouse. Moved a ton of dry leaves and branches from the end of the drive. Now I am obsessed with making that part of the garden beautiful.
Mulching the trees there have made them glorious this year. The cherimoya, the Mexican Guava, the Mango…all flourishing after the wet winter and mild summer. This morning the sun is shining. No marine layer.
It’s going to be a hot one.
Yesterday I had lunch with Cathy Griffin…the writer not the comedienne. Ha! Gotcha! We went to Geoffrey’s. The restaurant staff, obviously expecting Cathy Griffin the comedienne, looked a little disappointed.
I saw Matthew Perry having lunch with a friend. He looks terrible. We used to be close. I have a soft spot for Matthew.
Sydney dressed Marilyn Monroe‘s hair all through her life, creating those iconic looks…and after she passed, he dressed her hair one final time.
He was the last but one person to speak with the legend before she died.
He told Cathy that Marilyn was miserable that night because Bobby Kennedy had dumped her. Isn’t that odd that I know Max Kennedy, Bobby’s son? My friend’s father was, apart from being cruelly assassinated and a political visionary, at the heart of one of the worlds most shattering Hollywood scandles..ever.
I have never had the guts to ask him about it.
Anyway, Sydney never wanted anyone to know he was gay…or a jew. Is that self hate or realistic in 1950’s America? I guess it was all about self-preservation in those days.
A tormented soul, devoted himself to the women he worked with…Crawford, Taylor, Monroe etc. Lived in penury with a Brazilian gigolo. He sure has a great story. A little like Truman Capote and his ‘swans’, placing himself at the heart of their dramas then spilling the beans.
There are those of us who adore women, love being surrounded by women…I call myself emotionally heterosexual. So much easier to love and be loved by women.
I wonder…perhaps there’s a steamy, sexy Hollywood film idea tucked in this story?
I love that scene in the movie where the old friend of the recently departed dresses her hair, gossiping, remembering their adventures…even though she is dead. I love that scene.
Anyway, check out Sydney’s work. Google him.
The food at Geoffrey’s was better than I remember it. Much better. Had the lobster salad.
Writer Michael Gastor collected me and the injured Little Dog from the Malibu house at midday and we drove east.
He has been in Berlin writing a script for a German director about Julian Assange. I am toying with moving to Berlin in December. He had a great time there. I’m sure I would too.
We stopped at American Rag and bought wrapping paper and a birthday card for Transformers Producer Tom Desanto. Tom’s birthday pool party thrown by his friend Adam Press. He seemed pleased with the gifts. Books from my personal collection that he had admired last week.
We arrived early…before the beautiful, half-naked boys began playing beer pong.
I was dressed for the next event so looked like a total freak. I wore the hat I bought for Jake at Lanvin last summer. My futuristic Helmut Lang shirt was commented on but not, I think, admired. Everyone else in board shorts and…and nothing much else. Chatted to a couple of really cool kids. Managed, of course, to locate the only straight boy and settled into a long, fruitless conversation.
Michael played pool and drank whiskey. The host was charming and sweet. Dane arrived. Huh? How did that happen?
Our birthday parties couldn’t have been more different. Somebody bought him a 6 foot inflatable penis.
Really glad I made the effort and hauled my ass over there. Good God! Who knew that there were so many beautiful, young actor boys with perfect bodies? Toby arrived with his new squeeze.
Apparently Bryan Singer turned up just after we left.
At 3pm (in the blazing sun) we drove to another pool party. John and Valoree Papsidera’s ‘Paws‘ fundraiser at his office ‘compound’ downtown. The offices are an ex-swimming club that he has beautifully renovated. This man has exquisite taste. His art collection…to die for. Some great names: Clemente, Judd, Pettibon and the most gorgeous George Condo. I am newly converted to Condo.
Chatted recovery and Dr Drew with Drew Pinsky‘s Love Line side kick, the devilishly handsome Psycho Mike (Michael Catherwood). He was in Dancing with the Stars….Valoree produces that show.
Is Psycho Mike Gay?
Olivia Munn joined Psycho Mike and I.
He said, “You are the hardest working woman in Hollywood.” (unfortunate choice of words)
I said, “Oh, that sounds good, what are you doing?”
Olivia snapped, “If you don’t know who I am, you don’t need to know who I am.”
I smiled wryly.
Her mouth twisted into a sneer and she gracelessly recited her IMDB credits. I thought, the problem with you dear Olivia…you have no poise.
Chatted with a woman called Suzanne from Hidden Hills whose daughter was dating the most delicious boy. A singer and guitar player. A feast for the eyes.
I hadn’t realized that my great friend Manu is married to the gorgeous Kim Raver.
Totally adored Zach Quinto who, of course, we saw in Angels in America. We talked AIDS, his new film, his producing. That boy is a fucking star.
Fell in ‘boy love’ with Jason Ritter. Those eyes…those beautiful blue eyes.
I flirted with boys. Michael chased girls…we had a blast.
We left at 7ish for a fish and chip dinner with Henri then home to the coyote infested garden.
Robby booked his first big commercial this weekend so am dying to hear all about it.
Tracy Emin, the crazy talentless British ‘artist’ has been adopted by the Tory party and has dinner with Prime Minister Cameron. WTF? Her work installed at 10 Downing Street. Her ugly mug pressed onto Cameron’s flacid pink cheek.
Excuse me for rambling. This may have something to do with the painkillers. I don’t usually take pills but a mashed ankle and a severely strained leg…I gave in to the ibuprofen.
The news looks bad. More unemployment misery, few jobs, double dip, creationism, President takes a vacation, stock market tanks, texting in church…etc. That’s the news.
Some people are telling me that the only way the USA is going to save itself is when the American people accept third world wages. The plan: the people will become so desperate they will work any job at any wage anywhere and the corporations will abandon India and China and return to America.
If this is true…and I suspect that it is, we are in for a long and desperate time.
There were journalists in helicopters filming black people lining up for a ‘Jobs Fair’ in Atlanta. Well presented, educated black people. The usual people who suffer when the economy slows. Apparently some employers don’t want to interview the unemployed. I have no idea why. Can someone tell me?
The images from the helicopter reminded me of the Hurricane Katrina footage. Desperate black people. Waiting in badly organized lines.
“I’m a single mother and I am looking for a job.”
I’m not writing what’s been bugging me..apart from my aching foot.
I want to write about being gay, being a gay film maker/artist. I have not written enough about my recent brush with the ‘gay community’. I have been having the same multiple contractions of apprehension that I had years ago.
The same anxiety. The same question plagues me…even after years of therapy and insight.
What kind of gay am I?
Is this the same question as what kind of man am I? Is this a question I need answering? I just don’t know who my tribe is. The community that has sprung up around me on WordPress is as good as it gets. I like that you write to me. Some of you disapprove but you can’t get everybody to love you all the time.
Those of you who wanted the coyote to rip my throat out…well, it didn’t.
I called my friend Zach and I said, what kind of gay are you? By the time he replied I had lost interest.
I don’t want to know what sort of gay he is. I want to know who I am.
I tried to make gay films for a gay male audience…specifically, unapologetically. We need to see ourselves as we really are. We need to champion the language and locations of our lives as well as be critical of our bad choices, challenge our culture…reveal it, understand our politics..the differences as well as the similarities.
I loved making gay films, I loved travelling the world…meeting you in cinemas on every continent, in every major city. I like meeting you, eating with you, sleeping with you.
You were very accommodating!
Recently, I have been tempted by the mass market.
I had a meeting with a well-known, important producer about my Surrogacy film. Even though he was moved by the story he said that the story would be much improved if I could somehow incorporate a straight man’s perspective. He thought a latino character would complicate the story.
He was part of the problem…not the solution.
His ‘take’ was woefully un-evolved. Shame based.
At first I was irritated then it nagged at me: the suggestion that a regular audience could only identify with us if we sympathised with them.
I have sympathised with straight characters in movies all my life. I have gone out of my way to understand their lives and loves. I have walked in their shoes.
We all do.
I don’t think my producer friend is very interested in me. He wasn’t interested in the film or the rare books he came to see. I think he was interested in the twins. Why shouldn’t he be? It amuses me that he would have made so much effort to accommodate me when all he had to do was take Robby’s number.
Of course he has more to offer Robby than I ever could. Robby would be a fool not to capitalize on that friendship.
Korda Marshall borrowed and broke the rare and valuable Venini vase that The Duchess of Argyll had given me. Now he is rich I wrote to him asking him to replace it. He did not reply to my email.
Robby is very special, he has a quality that may not get him modeling jobs but…and I rarely say this, may make him a star.
I felt that about Tom Hardy. He used to be such a brat. I had a very ‘loud chat’ with Tom in Soho House, London years ago about his excessive drinking. He heeded my advice and gave up. Then, a year or so later, he thanked me for telling him the truth. A truth few dared to tell him.
In actuality I just repeated what Anthony Hopkins told me Lawrence Olivier had said to him about his drinking when he was a young actor at The National Theatre.
It seemed to work.
Pink (Alecia Moore) told me that the hardest thing she ever had to do was ditch her band. The label wanted her and not the band. They were her best friends. She had to tell them as if it were own choice.
We all abandon those who helped us at the beginning. We have to make hard decisions in life if we are going to get on. Leaving our best friends behind so that we might succeed. It is the secret story behind every Hollywood success. Those that got left behind.
Lastly, from one of my personal heroes British gay activist Peter Tatchell:
“TheUK establishment is quick to condemn rioters. Yet, the police took bribes & failed to investigate phone hacking. No officers jailed. Cash for knighthoods & peerages. No one jailed. MPs abused expenses system. Only a few jailed. Editors bribed police. None jailed. Priests raped kids. No jail for most. Army killed & tortured civilians in Iraq. Soldiers not jailed. British elite = hypocrites. No right to moralize.”
I have spent the past day or so in bed. The dog is less sick, eating again. We have to get his drain removed. He is wearing the Elizabethan collar but hates it.
My left leg is getting better…my right ankle isn’t. Robby stayed over last night. Today he watered the garden, filled the hot tub, went to the supermarket and ran around the house as I finally caught up on all the various tasks that could be accomplished from my bed.
Jen and Jason were incredibly helpful. Anna brought supper.
Surrounded, as usual, with love. Occasionally it is hard to recognize just how lucky I am.
Robby and I have a wonderful relationship. We talk and play and the more I know him…the more I trust him. In fact, I might trust him more than any person I know right now. He has been a perfect antidote to JB. I feel hopeful again because he brings me love.
Crippled and confined to the couch he was pottering about the house making everything look good.
We were talking about how private one needs to be in life.
He is a tentative soul.
He wondered why I write every personal detail here in this blog. Make public what most people keep private. Something that delighted Jake until (of course) he was part of it, part of the narrative…then it wasn’t quite so alluring.
Learn this lesson: If you don’t like your private life being scrutinised…avoid public figures…you will lose your anonymity.
The reality guy who killed himself this week? He had no idea just how pernicious reality TV really is.
We mused about what remains private and what should be public. I am quite clear why I write everything here.
If, like me, you have lived an audacious, notorious life then for every eager friend there is a fool desperate to pull you down.
It is best to live without secrets. Many years ago I was taught that we are as sick as our secrets. What does that mean? If you are cheating on your wife you will be defined by your deception. If you are lying to your friends you will be hindered by self-doubt.
If I have made mistakes, told a lie, cheated a friend or been generally disreputable then I write it here. My part in what ever unfolding drama is worth noting. We tend to focus on who to blame and rarely acknowledge our responsibility.
Keeping my side of the street clean.
That is why I have struggled so badly with you-know-who. It has been incredibly difficult to own my part. I don’t want to admit my short comings.
I make him responsible. I blame him. I say: He lied to me. He cheated. He duped me. He did drugs in front of me. All of this is true…of course, but has to be balanced with: I am responsible. I lied to him. I chose somebody inappropriate. I allowed myself to be duped. I had no boundaries.
When I point at him three fingers point back at me.
What is the answer?
I aim to be ashamed of nothing. This leads, inevitably, to peace of mind.
You, dear reader, know everything! There’s nothing I’ve not written about. You know every insane thought, every defect, every leak and misery.
You know everything…so I fear nothing. Not one of you has anything on me.
When you live a lie you are vulnerable. I don’t want to be vulnerable.
Back to NYC next month to see JB in court but it’s fashion week and I’ve been invited to a slew of fashion week events. Robby will be in town so we can do some fun shit. I love that boy. Jenny will be there too and wants to come to court with me. Before we vanish to The Hamptons.
There is a great deal to do these coming autumn/winter months.
Through archival acquisitions, oral history interviews, public programming, exhibitions, and publications, the Research Institute is responding to the need to document the historical record of this vibrant period.
Between October 2011 and February 2012, a major exhibition at the J. Paul Getty Museum will present a survey of postwar painting and sculpture in Los Angeles.
It will be a great deal of fun.
In tandem with PST, Art Platform—Los Angeles, the west coast cousin of The Armoury, is collaborating with Pacific Standard Time to organize an extraordinary series of events and services to highlight this historic period and unprecedented weekend of art in Los Angeles. Rather wonderfully I am part of their VIP Programme.
Tonight Eric is bringing supper. The little dog will get better. I am willing him to. Help me think him right.
The poor little darling was in worse shape than I thought. The coyote bite was much deeper than it looked. Today Jason and the kids took him to the Malibu Coast Vet and Dr. Victor made it better. Whilst he was asleep Victor cleaned his teeth and cut away a skin tab behind his ear.
We love Dr Victor. He is incredibly handsome.
I am in pretty bad shape. I can only crawl. So I am crawling to the bathroom.
We are laying in bed together. Time will heal both of us.
The more I think about that brazen coyote the more it scares me. He was waiting a few feet from us. Waiting. It was very frightening.
Must buy a gun. It could be me next time.
Pain is very exhausting. The shock really compromised me. Anyway, we’ll get through this.
This is a picture of the drain and the scar. I could show you my swollen foot but that’s more disgusting than this:
Yesterday CNN fetched me over to their Sunset Blvd building to discuss the death of reality adjunct Russell Armstrong whose estranged wife Taylor is part of Andy Cohen‘s Housewives Of…circus/franchise.
Are you aware of how many reality TV stars commit suicide?
The problem with reality TV is that it’s never real, so when something real actually happens the reality TV community…reels.
I was on the show with Omarosa from the The Apprentice. I really liked her. She is so beautiful
Her take on Russell was more pragmatic than mine. He should have gone for the cash. I felt that Russell probably saw his wife’s involvement in the show as an opportunity for them both to do well.
Taylor threw her husband under a bus. Claiming all sorts of headline grabbing reasons why her marriage wasn’t working…except the glaringly obvious problem…reality TV. Essentially thrown out of the show poor Russell, swimming in debt and hideous accusation hung himself. Fully clothed.
No more red carpet for Russell.
Reality is all at once intrusive and life affirming. Getting the big bucks for being ones self. As I have said many times before, I found the entire experience unexpectedly validating.
Would I kill myself naked? I suspect I might.
Having been in two wildly different types of reality TV shows I felt very relaxed discussing my experience. Of course, I mentioned the restraining order. It was the perfect opportunity.
Had coffee at Groundworks with a friend. The excessively large limo they sent gliding back up the mountain.
Had dinner with Robby in Santa Monica. We ate huge raw steaks.
When I got home I walked the little dog. He was being tentative. At the edge of my terrace, no more than ten feet from my front door, a huge coyote lunged at The Little Dog puncturing his back. I lunged at the coyote screaming like a banchee but in my haste falling down a flight of stairs as I fought back. As it ran into the night, I felt my ankle go. I felt that huge muscle in my left leg tear. In extraordinary amounts of pain I sat on the step and sobbed.
Then something weird happened. I started to shake violently. Teeth chattering, body convulsing I crawled back up to the house. I tore off my clothes and dragged myself into bed. I called Robby who came back almost immediately and very kindly iced my foot and leg. That boy is a fucking dream.
Finally my body calmed down. The dog was/is petrified and it will take a few weeks for him to recover. Damn it, it will take me a few weeks to recover.
Did you ever play Monopoly? Do you remember winning? An embarrassment of riches. Did you ever cheat? Letting your friends stay at your hotel on Park Lane for free because you wanted the game to go on? The thrill of being benevolent, philanthropic?
Did you enjoy forcing your enemies off the board. Did you learn about risk, acquisition, luxury?
Whenever I won the game of Monopoly I felt badly. It gave me no pleasure bankrupting my friends.
The game ends when one player takes total control of the bank and the board.
We are witnessing in the USA the end game. A few men and women who have won over all the rest. They have trillions of dollars. Some have acquired this cash from (amongst other things) war profiteering. From private prisons. From bloated healthcare costs. From gouging oil, gas and utilities. Stealing directly from the people.
The rich pay for laws to protect their interests, the rich consider the rest of us expendable.
Their riches and how they acquired them have not gone unnoticed.
In London, the people know something is up with the system. They couldn’t articulate what is wrong…because we have deliberately kept these people stupid. They just needed an excuse to act upon their frustration.
They have an inkling that they might be able to throw the Monopoly board in the air. Fuck the winner. I’m taking mine.
The rich have some serious thinking to do.
It is all very well to take all the money but what use is it when the cities are burning?
The rich must surely know that their ‘hard work’ and ‘good fortune’ without paying fair taxes is destroying their country…perhaps the world. It has not gone unnoticed. For that is the way of humanity. The people wake up and disparity is challenged.
Cameron said: “In the banking crisis, with MPs’ expenses, in the phone-hacking scandal, we have seen some of the worst cases of greed, irresponsibility and entitlement. The restoration of responsibility has to cut right across our society.”
The leader of the opposition agrees!
At last. An intelligent, cross party reaction to the shopping with violence that devastated London and other British cities.
Times they are a changing.
Solution is hard. What can any government do to put the pieces of society back together when it seems irreparable? Blame is frankly irresponsible, context is key.
Is it impossible to teach young people how to respect the established order when the established order is revealed to be corrupt? Respect cannot be forced upon our youth. As much as this breaks my heart to write: we must listen to those thugs and vandals.
Now, I am not interested in sitting down with a bunch of dim-witted, inarticulate youths. They have nothing to say that will teach me anything. Their actions, however, must be respected and understood.
There is no boot camp, army training, national service, prison that will change these young men and women. We have created monsters. We have given them false hope, rancid dreams, easy money.
They do not aspire to anything more than gadgets and fancy trainers.
Their limited aspirations are shocking to someone like me. Gadgets and trainers. Good God.
When Bagdad was sacked the youth took really valuable antiquities from the museums. They seemed to understand the value of their culture. Perhaps we are what we steal?
Rampaging through a city, stealing, breaking and screaming….takes a certain amount of guts. Physically challenging an army of police officers. Their actions must be understood.
We will never return to a time when young people respected their elders, the establishment, society and themselves. That time never existed. Young people have always and quite rightly challenged the status quo.
I’m glad Cameron mentioned the banks. Nobody would do that here.
The more I dwell upon the bank bailouts in the USA the more I realize just how catastrophic it was for the American People. Cauterizing the banking crisis with huge amounts of cash rather than letting those institutions fail has proved very problematic. It confused the message of capitalism. It undermined capitalist principles and laid bare the lies of successive US governments.
Mostly it disheartened those of us who understand that change is imperative for growth.
If the banks had been allowed to fail a new order would be established. A power shift. Other men would hold the reins. New ideas would have flourished. Capitalism would have sorted it out all on its own. Where there is weakness others come to make good. New opportunities revealed for the brave. The next generation of fearless entrepreneurs would have made themselves known.
By bailing out the banks we merely hold on to what we know rather than doing what humans are best at…striking into the unknown.
Does the USA deserve it’s AAA credit rating? Does it matter? I heard many times that Americans, after losing their AAA rating..had their self-esteem knocked.
America’s self-esteem exists in a putrid vat of delusion and self aggrandisement.
I am told over and over again that the US economy is the largest in the world. That may be true but somehow the people have become confused. They tell me that their police, fire department, health system etc. is the best in the world. We are the best at everything. We are the champions of the world. My army keeps you free.
I keep my mouth shut.
It is obvious to those of us who have lived in many different countries that this simply is not true.
I often tell the gays in this blog to get off their asses and break some windows if they want to see change in their country. I am scolded for doing so. Government is petrified of insurrection, rebellion, people on the streets.
David Cameron and the leader of the opposition have impressed me with their willingness to understand what is happening in Britain. Commentators, baffled by the violence, murder and mayhem are trying to work it out. It just didn’t make any sense. Now it is.
The British, like the French are good at letting their frustrations boil over onto the streets. It is part of the fabric of our lives. It sends messages, good and bad, to everyone who complacently enjoys a peaceful life. That peaceful life cannot be taken for granted. Peace, harmony, respect, order…they are earned together.
Together we create society so together we must find solution if we are to keep what we value.
P.S. Yesterday the beautiful deaf boy came to the house and came over my chest.
So happy that it reopened after the fire that took it out a year ago. Great food, lovely people, delightfully limited menu. We ate goat stew. We ate delicious flat bread. We ate home-grown tomatoes and burrata.
Party at Gabe’s. Sat by the fire talking to a beautiful surfer with long blond hair and thick thighs.
Finally, this beautiful army man blew his brains out because he thought no God would ever forgive what he had done to others in Iraq. Very sad.
Sunday morning, Malibu. You understand don’t you that I have not been to an AA meeting, therapy or spoken with my sponsor…not properly, for a week or so? It leaves one feeling quite raw.
I should devote myself to healthy choices this week.
Joe left yesterday afternoon. Back to NYC. A friend popped over for dinner last night. I made the most delicious Italian feast. We had a cuddle. He left.
Totally forgot all about the party I was meant to be going to yesterday. Instead I hung around in Hollywood. Met a bunch of cool, young Hollywood types who shared their Obama disillusionment.
How in hells name will he turn this around?
Obama is fucked, the liberals have been fucked over.
How will he turn this around?
He can’t, it’s too late.
If only he would grow some balls, stop goofing around, stop reminding people that he is President. Tap dancing when he should be banging heads together. Somebody should remind him that he’s not a contestant on Dancing With The Stars.
Can you imagine what’s going on in the White House? Obama looks petrified. Overstretched, isolated, mocked. When he speaks I can barely listen. Continually grasping for the flayed notion that consensus politics will save him…us. Grinning inanely.
When CNN anchor Don Lemons suggested to me at dinner that “Obama was frightened of white people.” I was shocked. But, I’ve seen it in Obama’s eyes. Lemons was right. He’s frightened of everything. The most ill-equipped man ever to preside over the free world.
Who is running this country?
If you’re wondering why we are still sending drones into Afghanistan? Perhaps it’s because Obama has no control over the military. If you are wondering what happened to his inspiring oratory? Realize that even his speech writers have deserted him.
I wonder what he promised Geitner to stay by his side? A penis enlargement?
If you are a liberal who is sick of watching Obama partying and quipping when your country is falling into a fascist abyss…demand that he is replaced by Hillary.
The Clintons, after all, have already stolen the money.
What will come next? I urge you to worry. Especially my gay and lesbian brothers and sisters. There is a real and present danger that we cannot, must not ignore. Perry and Bachmann have every chance of being elected.
There will be a time, very soon, when you will start taking this threat seriously. You will set aside your hook-up sites, your apple martinis, the marriage sop you take for granted, the liberal air that you breath…and remember this:
In the 1920s, homosexual people in Germany, particularly in Berlin, enjoyed a higher level of freedom and acceptance than anywhere else in the world.
However, upon the rise of Adolf Hitler, gay men and, to a lesser extent, lesbians, were two of the numerous groups targeted by the Nazi Party and were ultimately among the 6 million Holocaust victims.
Beginning in 1933, gay organizations were banned, scholarly books about homosexuality, and sexuality in general, were burned, and homosexuals within the Nazi Party itself were murdered. The Gestapo compiled lists of homosexuals, who were compelled to sexually conform to the “German norm.”
Between 1933–45, an estimated 100,000 men were arrested as homosexuals, of which some 50,000 were officially sentenced. Most of these men served time in regular prisons, and an estimated 5,000 to 15,000 of those sentenced were incarcerated in Nazi concentration camps.
It is unclear how many of the 5,000 to 15,000 eventually perished in the camps, but leading scholar Ruediger Lautman believes that the death rate of homosexuals in concentration camps may have been as high as 60%. Homosexuals in the camps were treated in an unusually cruel manner by their captors.
After the war, the treatment of homosexuals in concentration camps went unacknowledged by most countries, and some men were even re-arrested and imprisoned based on evidence found during the Nazi years.
It was not until the 1980s that governments began to acknowledge this episode, and not until 2002 that the German government apologized to the gay community. This period still provokes controversy, however. In 2005, the European Parliament adopted a resolution on the Holocaust which included the persecution of homosexuals.
