- iyk ate

Q

met a really sweet young lesbian

not long ago. By young, I mean

that she was in her thirties. She
let a mutual acquaintance know how
welcomed she felt by our community.
In her own. she felt discounted and
rejected because of her relative
youth. l’d really thought things had
changed since the days when Suzy
and l trailed the grown-up_ dykes
around New York. We, of course,
werejailbait at I5 in the era when to
be a lesbian was a crime, and the
women we so admired. emulated,
lusted after and copied had no choice
but to shun us. I

Whylwould any communi-
ty today be anything but enthusiasti-
cally welcoming to those who will
carry on our spirit. our work, our his-
tories? Surely we are not fearing that
the young whippersnappers will in
some way supplant us?

I think the generation of
gays that created a liberation move-
ment, gave name and form to
women’s and gay male spirituality,
started our publishing and music

1101: ll ::n_ni.{r;l:

If not many

of the

younger queers
are taking‘ 8

up the reins,
could it be
because we're '
loathe to

hand them over?

industries. put positive images of
gays on T.V. and in films, accom-
plished the impossible with Act Up
and similar groups, is on the verge of
being granted some form of legal
recognition akin to marriage, got the
Supreme Court to outlaw sodomy
laws and Justice Clarence Thomas to
call such laws "silly” — I think my
generation of queers doesn’t need to
Worry about getting credit where
credit is due.

S ,

 

I’ve been thanked many
times for being a pioneer and for
recording the present that was
becoming our history. I’m pleased
and grateful when a younger person
recognizes and values what s/he has
inherited, and I tryto pass back the
baton. If notimany of them are taking
up the reins, could it be because

‘ we’re loathe to hand them over? I’m

not involved in activities like plan-'
ning marches or providing health
services or even keeping one of our
few remaining bookstores running,
but I suspect that there are hordes of
20- and 30-somethings who are qui-
etly learning.the ropes’. I was way
surprised when I found myself one of
a smattering of suddenly mature
women holding the lesbian pens that
would endure. The young gays will
be surprised too, when they wake up
to find themselves in charge of fund-
raising galas or managing gay-friend-
ly motels in resort towns.
There is also an army of

gay kids in their teens who have the
energy and vision to do their part-to

' sustain our community. Maybe the

next revolution needs to be genera-
tional. We can’tjust rack up victo-
ries, then sit on our laurels, com-
plaining that purple-haired 25-year
olds with nose rings shouldn’t be
canvassing for votes, or that no one
wants 72-year-olds at the Halloween
ball. Nor can the new dykes and gay
men take their relative freedom for
granted — the right wing is never

‘ going to go away. How can we com-

bine the strengths of all ages to do
what needs to be done to make the
planet safe for our people?

A wann welcome apparent-

‘ ly goes a long way, according to'that

report from my friend. We don’t have
to become best pals with someone
decades older or younger, but oh, the
thrill to see the young gays strut and
prance and many seniors dare to live
outside the closets they were born to.
When I am with a peer, how our eyes
spark with laughter and pleased self-
consciousness when we break into a

duet of some Meg Christian song.

I I’m no organizer, but I host
a potluck at my home on
Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July.

This year there was no one under 40, _

but we ranged well into our 705. The
sense of continuity and of family I
experience when I look around the
boisterous bunch of us is inspiring
and sustaining. It took all of us to get
this far and it’ll take all of us to
maintain the gains we’ve won.

V One night at a potluck
heavy in the category of what a 30-
somehing lesbian called, “short,
white-haired women,” I was brought
totears of pain as they discussed a
memorial to the women in the group
who had died. There was no question
of putting names on the plaque .-
even in death the anonymity of these
women must be preserved. We
weren’t going to spell out the name
of the organization because, daringly,
_it contained the “L” word. There was
great sadness in the plan, and
although I sensed pride, it was a
queer pride that we needed to hide.

What if, that night, there
had been some young women with
blueberry-colored hair and Doc
Martens shoes, one with a skateboard
parked at the door and another wear-
ing leather pants and a t-shirt that
ended just above her navel. What if a
third, in goth black, had sprung from
her supple, cross-legged position on
the floor and cried, “Who are you
protecting?-Not me and not your-
selves. If you really loved these
dykes you’d get enough cash togeth-
er to hire a sculptor and put up a
damn dyke statue!”

“Cool!” the other baby-
dykes ‘would shout.

The rest would have had a
choice: quietly ignore these fearless
pups or soak up a little of their outra-
geousness. The mute memorial could
have found a voice and while that
voice would have been quieter than
the kids’, it might have broken some
lifelong chains of silence. Y

Copyright Lee Lynch 2003. Lee
Lynch is the author of eleven books
including The Swashbuckler and the
Morton River Valley Trilogy. She

lives on the Oregon Coast.

  
   

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