Further Reminiscences of a Streetwalker
A straight woman takes to the streets in support of gay rights
by Sue Null

After my visiting daughter noticed I was never home for dinner because I was out tromping the streets of my precinct every night against Proposition 2, she asked, "Mom, will you think you have failed if the vote goes against you?"

"No," I replied. "I feel this is something I must do, but I cannot be held accountable for everyone's vote. I will feel very sad if the proposition passes, but I will not feel like I hadn't done everything possible to prevent it." And so it was.

Since about 60 percent of the more-than-700 people I talked to in my precinct had registered support for gay rights and therefore opposition to the proposition, I was perhaps deluded into thinking the final vote would be on my side. It was devastating to learn on the 5 a.m. news the next morning that we had lost citywide by 6,710 votes, a slim 2.64 percent. I felt like I had been run over by a steam roller. Some affluent conservative communities had voted exactly the opposite of my precinct: 60 percent in favor of the proposition.

In the final days of the campaign, I began talking to anyone within earshot, even handing out literature for PVA (Progressive Voters Alliance) at a Jones Hall concert of Peter, Paul, and Mary. I spoke to a man who freely admitted that he was a recovered homophobe; he had been brought up to hate gays, and he had thought that hatred was normal. Then he was unwillingly put in a work situation where he had to work alongside a gay man and finally realized being gay wasn't so bad after all. However, in spite of his progress toward tolerance, he still couldn't oppose the proposition.

A 50ish African-American couple at the beach said, "We don't understand. Gay and lesbian people go to work, pay their taxes, take care of themselves, don't ask for anything from us; why shouldn't they have health insurance?" An 89-year-old black man commented, "I couldn't care less who someone is sleeping with. I've been discriminated against all my life; I don't need to discriminate against others."

Married couples, by and large, seemed to stand as a couple in their opinion. I found only three couples with differing points of view. In two couples, the wife was the more accepting of gays and lesbians; in one couple, it was the reverse. One husband spoke firmly against gays; when I asked him if his wife agreed, he called her to the door and she spoke quite differently. She was a nurse, had attended many gay patients, and considered them just as deserving of human rights as anyone else.

I encountered one man raking leaves in his yard. He first said, "No," and I asked, "No to what?" in an attempt to clarify his answer. He began to ask questions and after a 15-minute discussion, he said, "Thank you for taking the time to talk to me. You have totally changed my mind. I understand it differently now. I will vote against the proposition."

I had begun to think that most Religious Right types were cold and rigid. After realizing we had different viewpoints, some would close the front door, pointedly lock it, and turn away, as if to shut me and my unwanted sinful ideas out of their lives. But then I met Elizabeth, a 30ish young Morman mother. She shut her three young children inside the house, unattended, and came out to chat with me on the doorstep, in the dark, for almost 30 minutes. While she was absolutely unwavering in her belief that homosexuality was a sin, she spoke of her great respect and love for her two gay neighbors: a perfect example, she said, of "love the sinner, hate the sin."

There was no way she could think otherwise at this time in her life. But she was inquisitive and curious as to what it was like to be a mother of gay children. She asked many questions, shared her feelings, allowed me to share mine, and in my opinion, was a true gem of a person. Would that others would react so kindly and openly even if they couldn't agree with you!

I spoke to a retired military man who exhibited the same opposition to gay rights and a similar congeniality in asking and listening. Basically, he said, "I understand you, but I'm just not ready for this."

And so it was for Houston in November of 2001. Much better than in 1985, but sadly, still "not ready for this."

Editor's note: This is a sequel to Sue Null's "Reminiscences of a Streetwalker" essay that ran in the November 2001 issue of OutSmart.