In May last year, I could barely contain my joy when news broke that a pub in Australia (of all places) had won the right to bar heterosexuals from its premises. The management of the Peel Hotel in Melbourne felt that heterosexuals were creating a poisonous atmosphere, you see, as heterosexuals are wont to do.
Last night I was belatedly catching up on the rather good blog of Christian St. Croíx, whose myspace url I'd insert here if I could see it, but I can't because he has one of those nice-to-look-at-but-totally-user-unfriendly flash pages. So I can't.
In any case, Christian penned an entry last month entitled "The Truth (According To Me) About Straight Guys & Gay Clubs," which raised my hackles with its revelations of straight guys in gay bars and their wrong-doings.
I'm a separtist when it comes to sexuality. The few straight friends I have aren't my own - I know them through my boyfriend or through work, which doesn't really count. Christian's tale brought to mind the thoughts of one of those straight friends. She's a white French girl, and he's African-American. I like them both.
He once said over dinner that he was brought up to believe that white people are guilty until proven innocent, a philosphy I don't disagree with, and which I also felt was applicable to the issue of sexuality. It's war out there - race, sexuality, class - and we need to recognise our enemies. For those of you who insist on bringing your straight friends into gay venues, ponder on this for a monent: what do you think your straight friends say and do when you're not around? When he and she are alone; when the straight boys are bonding together? Who is the joke, the figure of fun, the pantomine, the circus freak?
Straights rolling up to the local gay bar to laugh at the freaks? It's not my idea of friendship.