It would be bad enough if Tim Hardaway were the Lone Ranger when it comes to deriding homosexuality and proclaiming his hatred for gays.
Here, after all, is a man of no great effect, but some, and in the quest for power and influence, every little bit counts.
And how does he use his few minutes on the public airwaves but to come out as a homophobe when asked about another NBA player’s coming out as a gay man.
“I hate gay people, so I let it be known. I don't like gay people and I don't like to be around gay people,” he told the radio host in Las Vegas, site of this year’s All-Star extravaganza. “I'm homophobic. I don't like it. It shouldn't be in the world or in the United States."
Has the infamous Isaiah Washington episode been for naught? Did the “Grey’s Anatomy” star turn himself in to rehab, suffer widespread repudiation and jeopardize his career to no end?
For sure, neither is alone in his misery, for misery it must be anytime you hate something that abounds beyond your control. It’s like living in Florida and despising sunshine. Or working at Tower Records and hating music. If you don’t adapt, the hatred will eat you up.
AP Video
Problem is, Hardaway and Washington may be the only prominent figures to let their conditions slip, but there are untold numbers who suffer likewise. I’m reminded of Robert, the put-together, dignified young brother I met in a bank line shortly after the 2004 presidential election.
Foolishly, I had assumed Robert shared my displeasure over George W. Bush’s re-election. But Robert said he had voted for Bush.
“You’re kidding me, right?” I said, hopefully.
He wasn’t. Bush had cinched Robert’s vote on one issue: gay marriage -- the 11th hour trickery invented by Karl Rove to snooker folks into believing that any president of the United States had a say in whether a ban on man-to-man or woman-to-woman marriages can be etched into the Constitution (A civics refresher: It’s up to the Congress to submit any constitutional amendment to the states, two-thirds of which must ratify it. The president can only opine about the matter.).
Robert carried on for several minutes about the “sin” and “evil” and “corruption” of homosexuality.
“I have a suggestion for you, since you are so opposed to homosexuality,” I said.
Robert raised his brows quizzically.
“Don’t be one.”
Not good enough. Robert wants no one to be one. Asked me if my minister-father, now deceased, would have approved of my acceptance of homosexuals.
“My father would approve of my not hating or discriminating against people for who they are,” I told him.
That wasn’t good enough either. According to Robert, my permissiveness was what was wrong with the country and what, if not stemmed, would lead to its collapse. We need government leaders who will stop that, he argued.
I tried to counter with the real immorality -- of bootlegging a war; of squandering billions on bombs that kill when it could be put to such splendid use for housing and health care and schools that aren’t crowded and crumbling; of coddling the rich while criminalizing the poor; of criminalizing the poor; of flouting constitutional protections as if they are mere nuisances that interfere with his elitist, supremacist agenda.
Yet, none of that seemed to rile Robert nearly as much as the thought of two consenting adults of the same gender certifying their oaths to be loving and faithful to one another.
“I tell you what,” I said. “If you don’t own this” -- pointing to his body -- “you might as well get out of this line and let the bank keep your money because you can’t say you own anything.”
Robert laughed the way you do when you realize an argument is hopeless. I chuckled back, for the same reason.
Whenever I ran into Robert after that, I no longer saw the handsome young man with the nice suits and the confident gait who seemed to have it together. I saw someone whose fear, ignorance and hatred had gotten him duped. Another victim of self-wrought hatred who only seemed to be making it.
Maybe if all the homophobes came out of the closet, we could start a program to get them some help.
