Freedom to Differ. Diane Helene Miller
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the study of lesbian representations may help us understand how metaphors of voice and visibility influence the self-identities of other marginalized groups.
The lesbian and gay rights movement that has evolved over the past three decades shares some characteristics with lesbian feminism, while differing in other respects. The predominance of metaphors of visibility and voice and the emphasis on a close connection between being seen and being heard are shared by many minority groups. Yet strategies for addressing these issues often differ. For example, some lesbian feminists are committed to developing and valuing a space along the margins of society from which to challenge patriarchal institutions and develop a culture of their own. Such efforts may be located on a spectrum of possibilities, bounded on one end by absolute separatism and on the other by the goal of complete assimilation. The mainstream lesbian and gay rights movement often falls nearer the latter end, striving to attain equality within existing institutions. Patterned implicitly and often explicitly after the model of change established by the black Civil Rights movement of the 1960s, the movement for lesbian and gay rights argues for the recognition of its members as constituting a “suspect class” as defined by law and thereby entitled to the protections granted to other minority classes based on characteristics such as race, religion, or disability (Robson 1992).
Lesbian legal theorist Ruthann Robson provides a helpful definition of the concept of suspect class status as it relates to sexual orientation:
The hallmarks of a suspect class are … derived from legal notions of race. Traditionally, a suspect class must be a social minority that has been historically discriminated against and continues to be relatively politically powerless, and its members must possess immutable characteristics that are identifiable. Although these criteria are certainly not absolute, arguments that lesbians are within a suspect class based on sexual orientation must work within the traditional hallmarks. The most troublesome factor is the immutable identifiable characteristic. Discussions of the applicability of this factor lead to debates whether lesbianism is an identity or an activity. For legal protection, it must be an identity, and a relatively unchanging one. (1992, 82)
By appealing to the still-controversial claim of an innate and immutable lesbian or gay identity, the argument for suspect class status places issues of identity in the forefront of gay and lesbian civil rights efforts.
More broadly, “suspect classifications” are defined by law as “acts of classification that are suspicious under equal protection doctrine” (Halley 1991, 354). The establishment of a group as belonging to a suspect classification is the first step in protecting its members under this doctrine. Equal protection laws scrutinize government acts that appear to disadvantage a group based on an irrelevant characteristic of their identity. For example, it is legal for the government to distinguish between classes of individuals according to their annual income, and to tax them at different rates based on this distinction, without violating the equal protection clause. It is illegal, however, for the government to impose different rates of taxation on individuals of different races who earn the same annual income, because race constitutes a suspect classification and therefore is not an appropriate basis for such distinctions (Wolinsky and Sherrill 1993). The suspect classification designation is intended to protect all citizens against decision making based on certain protected characteristics.
This emphasis on decision making or “acts of classification,” rather than on minority individuals themselves, highlights a frequently misunderstood element of anti-discrimination laws. In relation to racial discrimination, for example, “the fact that most race-based suits are brought by people of color does not change the fact that anti-discrimination provisions protect all citizens of all races” (Fajer 1996, 211). The scope of such laws is therefore not limited to protecting the members of minority groups. “A landlord does not violate the Fair Housing Act by refusing to rent to an African-American, but rather by refusing to rent to anyone on the basis of their race.” This distinction is important because an individual who is not a member of such a group but who is discriminated against because he or she is perceived as belonging to that group is still protected under such laws. Thus “firing someone because you incorrectly believe them to be Jewish ought to be illegal, even if the person is not a member of the ‘protected class’ of Jews” (Fajer 1996, 210). This clarification suggests that gaining protections based on sexual orientation is not just an issue of concern to gays and lesbians. Such a change in the law would benefit not only self-identified gays and lesbians but also a much broader range of men and women whose appearance or behavior does not conform to traditional gender roles. Because they may be perceived as gay or lesbian, they, too, are at high risk for discrimination. Heterosexuals would also be protected under such laws from decision making that would exclude them from privileges based on their heterosexuality, if such protection were needed.
The reality of the need for civil rights is unavoidable in the face of rampant institutionalized discrimination against lesbians. Like gay men, lesbians can still be legally harassed in the workplace, fired from jobs, discharged from military service, evicted from homes, and denied custody of children on the basis of sexual orientation alone (Phelan 1994). The question, then, is not whether lesbians should engage in civil rights initiatives but, rather, what is gained and what is lost in specific examples of such endeavors. This book focuses that question on the potential for lesbian self-definition and representation, examining how these possibilities are shaped by the language of civil rights arguments. This approach shifts the question of civil rights away from wearying debates about the nature or “origins” of homosexuality. It concentrates instead on how “lesbianism” and homosexuality in general are constructed through language in two interconnected arenas of civil rights struggle.
The cases of Roberta Achtenberg and Grethe Cammermeyer illustrate various dimensions of the public debate over lesbian civil rights. These women’s stories are unusual in that both received national media coverage rarely accorded to gay rights cases generally, and to lesbian rights cases especially. Such high-profile cases are particularly significant because they make visible the struggle for control over meanings of lesbianism as it occurs within some of the most influential realms of American public life. At the same time, the cases thrust these particular lesbians into the limelight “as lesbians” and thus establish them, with or without the blessing of gay and lesbian communities, as representatives of a much larger but far less visible constituency.
This work adds to a growing body of scholarship on lesbians that has been largely concentrated in the fields of literature and history. Lesbian fiction and poetry have been the subject of an increasing number of articles and books, yet virtually no scholarship outside of law reviews looks at the nonfictional discourse surrounding lesbian issues. Even though Achtenberg and Cammermeyer are nationally known figures whose words and actions place them at the forefront of the public debate over lesbian and gay rights, to date no scholarly work (other than law articles) has been published about either woman. Yet what is said about them and the language used to portray them—whether by supporters or opponents, whether in a Senate chamber, military board hearing, or court of law—will have profound effects on public perceptions and understandings of lesbians. Of equal, if not greater, significance is the fact that because many lesbians themselves lack representations or role models, what we come to know and understand about these public figures through the discourse that surrounds them may deeply affect lesbians’ self-images and identities. These include, importantly, the self-images of young women just beginning to identify themselves as lesbians. For these reasons, it is vital to examine the rhetorical strategies employed in these debates and the key terms of voice and visibility, highlighting both the emancipatory and the regulatory potential of these strategies.
At a time when American politics have shifted abruptly to the right and conservative groups have succeeded in reversing the civil rights gains of other minorities, there is an urgent need to assess the direction of the lesbian and gay rights movement (Vaid 1995). The juxtaposition of lesbian visibility—witness the capitalist production of “lesbian chic”—with the evident power of the religious right forces us to examine existing representations in order to ascertain whether all increases in visibility mark progress. If not, we need to ask whether and when the aims of lesbians and gay men are undermined by the achievement of minor concessions and provisional tolerance that stave off larger demands. Likewise, we need to examine these representations