By Goldstein, Richard
The Nation , Vol. 275, No. 1
The precipitous rise and fall of Pim Fortuyn, the Dutch politician who was assassinated in May, sent a shock wave through the European left in several respects. Not only did it signal the emergence of yet another popular right-wing figure, in the world's most liberal democracy, no less; it also presented the novel image of a gay man running on an anti-immigrant platform. It's always been assumed that any homosexual who hoped to rise on the right would have to be closeted. But Fortuyn was not just out; he made his sexuality a positive issue, flaunting his taste for Maggie Thatcher's purses. In Fortuyn's hands, queerness became an emblem of Dutch values, and he used it to stoke xenophobic passions. He was able to combine a libertarian embrace of personal freedom with a classically conservative law-and-order program that included slashing the public sector and, most infamously, closing the Netherlands to immigration. The idea of a gay man embracing such an odd combination of values baffled most observers, but it makes sense in the context of the gay right. Like Professor Pim, they make it seem rad to be trad.
If the very concept of an out-and-proud conservative seems like an oxymoron, you haven't been following the gay right's march across the American media. In a recent Kaiser Family Foundation survey, 66 percent of lesbians and gay men called themselves liberal and only 7 percent said they were conservative. Yet the loudest queer voices belong to homocons. Andrew Sullivan, Camille Paglia and Norah Vincent are the hot gay pundits, and they owe their success to liberal publications. Though Sullivan now claims he has been barred from writing for The New York Times Magazine (allegedly because he makes the new executive editor, Howell Raines, "uncomfortable"), for the past four years he has been the signature of that paper's interest in the gay community. Paglia regularly makes the rounds of hip publications, from Interview to Salon. Vincent is a creature of the alternative press; she leapfrogged from the Village Voice to the Los Angeles Times. Though the gay left survives in progressive journals, and though some liberals (such as Detroit News columnist Deb Price) can be heard in the heartland, radical queers can't compete with homocons when it comes to major media. As a result, gay and lesbian commentary in America is skewed sharply to the right. It's as if the press had designated a foe of affirmative action like Ward Connerly to be the spokesman for his race.
But the gay right is not just a media sensation. The current power struggle between two conservative gay groups--the Log Cabin Republicans (allied with John McCain) and the Republican Unity Coalition (a pro-Bush contingent)--shows the buzz homocons have generated in the GOP. The Christian right makes it necessary to keep this flirtation on the down low, but Republican strategists are aware of the gay community's political charms. Homosexuals are concentrated in key electoral states, and they give heavily to campaigns. In 2000, the Democrats raised some $18 million from the gay community. No wonder both parties are wooing this constituency. By presenting itself as a matchmaker with credentials among the most desirable homosexuals--affluent white males--the gay right has garnered influence beyond its meager numbers. But its real strength, like Fortuyn's, is its positive image in liberal society.
Of course, liberal society is not a monolith. Some of its members remain open to self-examination and social change, but others have retreated from this critical edge, and a powerful backlash culture reinforces their flight. Homocons appeal to retreating liberals in a way that radical queers do not. For one thing, they don't seem all that conservative. The fact that they are out and proud can make their most reactionary ravings seem vaguely progressive, and they maintain the illusion by the enemies they keep. …