What James Baldwin Would Have Thought About Gay Republicans
Ever wondered why some white gay men, the poster children for diversity and liberal causes, suddenly flip the script and join Team Republican? It's like watching a vegan rave about bacon—mind-boggling. Time to untangle this mess using James Baldwin's theory of "bewilderment and complaint."
By "bewilderment" Baldwin refers to the ongoing state of confusion and disorientation Black people feel in a society structured by systemic racism. This bewilderment arises from constantly facing unpredictable and unjust situations, despite attempts to adapt or fit in.
By “complaint,” Baldwin refers to the reactive emotional state of anger and resentment that emerges from the bewilderment of existing in a racially unjust society. It's the emotional response to being consistently marginalized, dehumanized, and denied basic rights and opportunities.
How This Applies To Gay Republicans
Now, what happens when we apply this formula to our seemingly contradictory,
Republican-joining white gay men?
First, let's talk "bewilderment." Think about being gay in a world that rejects your love and denies your rights. It's like living in a maze with ever-shifting walls—there's a constant struggle to find your way in a space that wasn't built for you.
For Black folks, it's about navigating a world built for white people. For gay people, it's the experience of living in a society built for heterosexuals.
Both groups face a perpetual state of "What the hell?" as they're forced to make sense of a world that, from the get-go, wasn't constructed with them in mind.
Now, onto the "complaint" part. Ah, good ol' resentment—like the jalapeño in your margarita, you never asked for it, but there it is. When you're told over and over again that you're less-than, that fire of complaint burns inside you. The thing is, it can burn in any direction. It's a wild card.
It can ignite a passionate fight for equality (the social justice stance typified by Democrats), or it can spark a dangerous blaze of finger-pointing, blaming and feeling aggrieved (typified by the Republican party).
In this context, complaint becomes the rocket fuel propelling some white gay men towards Republican territory, despite the party's anti-gay policies. Why? Buckle up, here comes the twist.
The Republican party, especially in the era of Trump, has been masterful at framing itself as the party of grievances, despite its significant political power. Some white gay men might resonate with this "us-against-the-world" stance as it echoes their own feelings of being wronged or marginalized.
They join the Republicans not because the party is actually an underdog, but because it effectively sells itself as the voice of the "aggrieved," whether that grievance is real or perceived. In this case, the emotional satisfaction of airing their complaints outweighs the logical inconsistency of their decision.
The complaint overrides rational thought; they're so keen to rebel against a system that has ostracized them that they overlook who they're rebelling with.
It's kind of like jumping onto a pirate ship because you're tired of the navy's rules, forgetting that pirates are actually out to plunder, including whatever treasure you've got hidden.
Are gay republicans confused? Probably. Hypocritical? Most definitely. But here's the kicker—when you've lived in a state of constant bewilderment, sometimes the absurd starts to make a twisted kind of sense. It's like doing the Macarena to heavy metal; doesn't fit, but if you've been dancing out of rhythm your whole life, why not?
Three Gay Examples
Take Tim, for instance. Tim grew up in a well-to-do suburban paradise where the most controversial thing was deciding whether the community pool should be heated or not. Life was peachy until he came out of the closet.
Suddenly, Tim felt like he got yanked out of an episode of "Friends" and plopped into the "Hunger Games." He went from being Chandler Bing to Katniss Everdeen overnight, dodging social arrows instead of enjoying white, straight privilege.
Tim starts thinking, "Wait a minute! Why should I fight for my spot at the table when it's easier to serve appetizers to the people already seated?" He figures joining the Republican party is like taking a backstage pass. He may not be center stage, but he's still at the concert, right?
Then there's Mark. Mark's a stockbroker who never shies away from a Brooks Brothers sale. On paper, he's got "privileged white male" stamped all over him. But Mark's gay and he's felt the sharp jabs of that 'otherness' ever since he mustered the courage to be himself.
So what does Mark do? He amps up his white privilege like it's a superpower. This guy thinks, "If I can't beat 'em, why not join the one team that celebrates my whiteness?"
For Mark, supporting the Republican party is like buying an insurance policy in a risky market. He may not fully agree with the terms, but at least he's covered, you know?
Last but not least, meet Alex. Ah, Alex, the irreverent artist who thinks Warhol was a sellout. Alex feels like he's been cheated his whole life. He thought his skin color came with an automatic VIP pass until he realized his sexuality downgraded him to general admission.
So, Alex decides to rebel, but not in the way you'd think. He joins the Republicans to stick it to a society that he feels stuck it to him first. It's like saying, "You think I don't belong? Well, now I REALLY don't belong, and it's on my terms!"
All three of these guys—Tim, Mark, and Alex—feel jipped. They started life on the 'advantage' setting only to get slapped with a surprise software update that switched them to "disadvantage mode."
By joining a party that contradicts their interests, they're sending a middle finger to a society that they think betrayed them first. They've all got a seat in the room, but not at the table.
For them, that's a compromise they're willing to make because they believe the table's rigged anyway. So they settle for the crumbs, ignoring the fact that the same party they're serving is the chef behind the whole rotten menu.
And there you have it. three vivid examples of how feeling cheated can make people choose paths that look like a one-way street to nowhere. But when you feel like the rules have been broken, sometimes playing the game—even poorly—feels better than not playing at all.
Baldwin's theory of bewilderment and complaint doesn't just shine a light on the experiences of Black people in a systemically racist society. It also offers a mind-bending lens through which we can understand why some white gay men end up in a party that doesn't seem to want them.
