Lez Miserable: “Everyone's coming out, including Hillary Clinton and Snoop Lion”

While it’s great to have Hillary and Snoop on board the equal marriage bandwagon, Eleanor can’t help feeling they care a little bit too much about vote-chasing and record sales to be celebrated as true converts to the cause just yet.


Everyone’s coming out. From Hillary Clinton to Snoop Lion (the former Mr Snoop Dogg), some of America’s most influential people are “evolving” and embracing same-sex marriage. As the US Supreme Court examines the constitutionality of the Defence of Marriage Act (DOMA) – which defines marriage as between a man and a woman, barring gays and lesbians from receiving federal spousal benefits – gay rights activists are picking up allies in the most unlikely of places. From rappers to Republicans like Ohio Senator Rob Portman, the voices demanding equality for same-sex couples are growing more diverse by the day.

Rainbow is the new black, and I mean that quite literally. In the 1960s, the campaign for desegregation shifted from being a minority issue to something demanded by the majority of the American public. The push for gay rights has now reached a similar tipping point. Of course, marriage is only the beginning. Just as post-Civil Rights America remains riddled with racism, there’s little chance of DOMA’s possible repeal erasing so many Americans’ deep-seated hatred of LGBT people.

It’s a start, at least. But you can’t help but wonder how many recent high-profile reversals on marriage equality were driven by political or commercial concerns. Take Mrs Clinton. In 1996, Hillary Clinton did a bad thing. She backed DOMA. Staunchly. When her husband put his big, fat, swirly (I imagine) signature on a piece of paper that said, “gays shall not marry”, she was right behind him. Now, seventeen years later, she claims to have “evolved”. This term, first used by President Obama to describe his U-turn on equal marriage, has become a buzzword in this latest fight for gay rights. It couldn’t be more perfect. (And by the by, it must go down like a bowl of cold grits in the creationist Bible Belt.) Because, absolutely, when you change your view on gay marriage from con to pro, you transform from grunting Neanderthal who chucks poo at mammoths for a laugh, to a homo sapiens who uses a toilet and sees nothing funny about turd-throwing whatsoever. No, really.

Now, we all know that the chances of the newly “evolved” Hill-meister running for President in 2016 are decent. So, funny isn’t it? Funny that the first potential Madam President should suddenly, as she gears up for a massive vote grabathon, start waving a rainbow flag along with all the cool kids. And her “evolution” is aimed at The Kids. According to the Pew research organisation, 70 per cent of Americans aged 18 to 32 approve of same-sex marriage – too big a demographic for any wannabe White House resident to ignore. See, we gays have fun. I can’t help feeling that Hillary Clinton is showing up to our big, sparkly hootenanny with a box of petrol station Ferrero Rocher, and a goofy grin.

And, hey, we’re a friendly bunch – so of course we’re going to vote her in. I’m not saying that anyone who’s prepared publicly to stand up for gays should be shunned even if their motive is arguably open to interpretation. We need all the help we can get, and if that means partying with fuddy-duddies, so be it. But why are we letting these people suggest that their, post-deep consideration, support for granting gays one of the most basic human rights is some grand gesture? I can only speculate on how Hillary Clinton would feel if Chelsea decided to shack up with, I don’t know, Belgravia. But, I’ll say it again, the woman backed DOMA. I can’t quite imagine her driving the removal van. Likewise, Snoop Lion/Dogg, a guy who’s never been opposed to throwing homophobic slurs into his lyrics, showing up at our big gay party seems just a little bit of a chutzpah.

As glad as we are to have him on board, an apology for the repeated use of the word “faggot” over a career spanning two decades would be nice. Same goes for 50 Cent, who’s also voiced support for the gay cause. Hey Fiddy, didn’t you tweet something about shooting up a gay wedding in a Twitter beef with Perez Hilton a few years ago?

So excuse us if we in the gay community don’t quite erect a statue in your honour and tell our grandchildren about the time you bravely “evolved” your stance on us marrying. As important as it is that the hip-hop world is starting to let go of some of its homophobia, I can’t help thinking that record sales, like Clinton’s ever-so-slightly brazen vote-mongering are playing some part in it.

Snoop Lion/Dog. Photograph: Getty Images

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood