San Diego Gay Community Emerges as Powerful Political Force

Nicole Ramirez-Murray, a longtime gay activist who jokingly describes himself as “a living dinosaur,” well remembers when, only a few years ago, most San Diego politicians “didn’t want to meet with gays, didn’t want support from gays and weren’t thrilled about even being in the same party as gays.”

So, it was with a sense of pride, mingled with slight amazement, that Ramirez-Murray found himself and fellow gay political activist Susan Jester sitting in the living room of City Councilman Bill Cleator’s Point Loma home earlier this year.

A staunch conservative, Cleator, by his own admission, had had virtually no contact with the gay community during the prior 6 1/2 years at City Hall and was widely seen as a symbol of mainstream Republicanism for whom gay support was political anathema. But in the midst of his mayoral race against Maureen O’Connor, Cleator was openly courting the gay vote.

“We’d worked so hard just to get to that point--to be treated as part of the process,” Ramirez-Murray recalled. “I sat there thinking, ‘Well, we have come a long way, haven’t we?’ ”

Indeed, a decade after coming out of the political closet, San Diego’s gay community is gradually emerging as a force to be reckoned with in local politics. Local gay groups raise and spend tens of thousands of dollars on politics annually, have become a prime source of volunteer manpower in numerous campaigns, and played a pivotal role in the election of Roger Hedgecock as mayor in 1983.

The San Diego Democratic Club, a gay group that had only several dozen members in the late 1970s, now has a membership exceeding 250, making it the largest Democratic club--gay or otherwise--in the county. During this year’s mayoral campaign, a gay-sponsored candidates’ forum was one of the largest held, drawing all of the major contenders and an audience of several hundred people. And next year, at least one and possibly two openly gay candidates are expected to run for the San Diego City Council.

In addition, many gays believe that the community is poised for an explosive growth in political activism this fall, spurred largely by intense opposition to Proposition 64, the controversial Lyndon LaRouche-inspired initiative that could, if approved, authorize the quarantining of AIDS patients.

Dr. Brad Truax, one of the city’s most widely respected gay activists, predicts that more than $200,000 will be raised over the next several months in the local gay community to try to defeat the measure, which Ramirez-Murray characterizes as “a life-and-death fight for our right to exist as a community.”

“Like other communities, gays tend to be rather lethargic until they feel threatened,” said gay writer Fred Scholl. “When the dust settles, I think Prop. 64 is going to result in increased political involvement and expertise among gays.”

Increasingly aware of the still largely untapped political resources available in the gay community, many local politicians--including some who, like Cleator, kept an arm’s-length distance in the past--now aggressively solicit gay support.

“Ten years ago, gays were treated like pariahs,” said political consultant Don Harrison. “Now, just about everyone courts them.”

There are formidable obstacles, however, that stand in the way of San Diego’s gay community exercising political clout like its counterparts in San Francisco and Los Angeles. Its smaller size and the relative infancy of local gay political groups are major factors in that disparity, but hardly the only ones.

“We’re still a minority with limited public acceptance, especially in a conservative city like San Diego,” said Alan Giesen, former president of the San Diego County Log Cabin Club, a gay Republican organization. “While it’s no longer socially acceptable to tell jokes about blacks, people still laugh at faggot jokes. As long as that’s the case, you’ve got problems, socially and politically.”

Although Hedgecock’s victory helped alleviate politicians’ fears that they perhaps had more to lose than gain by seeking gay support, concern still lingers that backing from gays may bring a backlash from straight voters.

“Five or six years ago, you’d wish that your opponent got the gay support,” said Allan Royster, former San Diego County Republican Party chairman. “Now, most politicians have accepted the fact that gay support probably won’t hurt them. But I still don’t detect a lot of enthusiasm for going after it, either. I think most candidates, if they had their druthers, would just as soon not have either the support or opposition of gay groups.”

Furthermore, some gays fear that the growing public concern over AIDS could undermine their recent political advances by giving skittish candidates a new reason for wanting to not seem too closely identified with gay groups.

Not surprisingly, it is difficult to get a precise picture of the size, nature and political composition of the gay community in San Diego, partly because many gays still are closeted or, at least, maintain a low profile for personal or professional considerations.

Based on Dr. Alfred Kinsey’s contention that about 10% of the American population is gay, and with a few percentage points added for California’s more liberal life style, gay leaders estimate that there may be more than 100,000 gays and lesbians in San Diego. The highest concentrations of gay residents can be found in inner-city neighborhoods such as Hillcrest and North Park, as well as the beach communities.

Using voting turnout patterns for the general public as a guideline, Democratic Club President Doug Scott estimates that there are 35,000 “very concerned” gay voters in San Diego whose level of activity ranges from simply being committed voters to working in or contributing to campaigns. The Democratic Club has a computerized list of 4,000 gays that can be used in fund-raising and get-out-the-vote efforts.

“We are not and never will be the one community that calls the shots in elections, because no community can do that,” Scott said. “We are, however, a community that, in coalition with others, can have a significant impact on elections. We’re becoming an important part of the overall mosaic.” Scott and others, admit, however, that gays need to become more adept at building coalitions with other minorities to enhance their political effectiveness.

The origins of local gays’ political activism can be traced to their social activism of the mid-1970s, when San Diego’s gay community began displaying a new openness and, on occasion, militancy--a contrast from the quiet, small-town existence that left it largely invisible to the straight population. The first Gay Pride Parade in 1974, for example, was perhaps more of a political statement than a social celebration.

Later, alleged police harassment of gays at bars and bathhouses, coming during a period in the late 1970s when more and more gays were “coming out,” triggered an awakening in the gay community. Those episodes inevitably drew gays into the political-governmental milieu as protests in the streets yielded to appearances before the City Council and other governmental agencies for redress of grievances.

Meanwhile, the kinds of economic, social and spiritual alliances that could be translated to political power proliferated within the gay community. Organizations such as the Metropolitan Community Church, the Greater San Diego Business Assn., the Gay and Lesbian Community Services Center, and nearly 100 clubs ranging from bowling leagues and gourmet cooking groups to academic unions and senior citizen clubs, brought together gays of like interests. It was a political organizer’s dream.

The first major gay-oriented political club formed here was the San Diego Democratic Club, organized in 1975 by Robert Lynn, a gay lawyer. Six years later, the Log Cabin Club--”Republicans concerned about individual rights,” according to its motto--held its first meeting on Lincoln’s birthday. Gay Libertarians and Latinos have since formed similar clubs.

Truax recalls that the Democratic Club, in its early years, had difficulty getting major candidates to even appear before it, a reluctance attributable to local politicians’ fears that gay support was, in the words of former City Council candidate Evonne Schulze, “the kiss of death.” Many argue that Schulze’s own 1977 council race validated that fear.

In the closing days of that race, a religious newspaper called The Church News trumpeted Schulze’s gay support under the headline, “Homosexual Groups Endorse Schulze,” prompting a flap that was reported in the secular press.

“That killed me--absolutely killed me,” said Schulze, who lost by less than 600 votes to Larry Stirling. “Ten years ago in San Diego, the gays’ endorsement was a strike against you with a lot of voters. It still is with some people.”

Others blame former county Supervisor Lucille Moore’s 1980 defeat, a race in which she also received strong gay support, on the same phenomenon.

But other local candidates have received strong gay support over the years and prospered at the polls, including Rep. Jim Bates, Assemblyman Lucy Killea, Assemblyman Pete Chacon--all Democrats--and Judge Larry Kapiloff, who, in the early 1970s, was the first major politician to actively campaign in the gay community.

Even so, the perception that support from the gay community might be a political liability did not change dramatically until Hedgecock’s 1983 mayoral race.

Running under the slogan “A Mayor for All San Diegans,” Hedgecock made it clear that gays were a major component of the coalition of environmentalists and neighborhood activists that he hoped to ride into City Hall. More than his opponent, Maureen O’Connor, Hedgecock campaigned frequently, openly and without apology in gay areas.

Gay groups and individuals responded by raising nearly $40,000 for Hedgecock and providing dozens of campaign volunteers, including some of his top aides. Perhaps gays’ most valuable contribution, however, came on Election Day, when Hedgecock’s particularly strong showing in gay areas figured prominently in his narrow 52%-48% victory.

“When you add up the contributions, the workers and the votes that Roger got from gays, I don’t think we could have won without it,” said Schulze, one of Hedgecock’s top campaign aides and later a member of his City Hall staff.

Attorney J. Michael McDade, Hedgecock’s former campaign manager, does not go quite that far, but he said: “For someone who was very skeptical of their ability to produce, I became a believer very early on in ’83.”

“What makes the gay community so strong is its cohesiveness,” McDade added. “For the most part, gays seem to be able to march in the same direction at the same time. They also still have the zeal for change that you find with oppressed minorities. That’s the makings of a potent political force.”

A strong mutual loyalty developed between the gay community and Hedgecock during his brief mayoralty, terminated by his 1985 conviction on campaign-law violations. Hedgecock named several gays to city boards and commissions, established one of the first task forces in the nation to study the AIDS crisis, invited a gay choir to perform at his inauguration and often addressed gay groups.

And, in a significant symbolic gesture, Hedgecock chose Hillcrest as the first neighborhood in the city that he visited while trying to rally public support in the face of his legal woes.

For politicians who previously had been fearful of being perceived as too closely aligned with gays, Hedgecock’s election and gays’ loyalty to him were eye-openers--particularly because the Republican mayor had captured votes long considered the province of Democrats.

“That was a real turning point,” said Democratic Club President Scott. “Other politicians saw that the world didn’t shudder, rumble and collapse when (Hedgecock) accepted gay support. That led to some real progress.”

Much of that progress, however, has been measured in small strides, not quantum leaps: the return of telephone calls and questionnaires that once went unanswered; a greater willingness among public officials to speak to gay groups; a Republican group’s agreement to share a voter registration booth with the Log Cabin Club. These and other seemingly mundane developments mark gay clubs’ increased entry in political circles in recent years.

The lessons of 1983, however, were not lost on O’Connor, who this year was more solicitous of gay support than she had been in her earlier race. As a result, O’Connor received numerous volunteers and some financial donations from the gay community, though considerably less than those received by Hedgecock. Despite Cleator’s new openness, O’Connor polled 60% of the vote in heavily gay areas of Hillcrest and North Park.

Seeking to expand their role within mainstream political channels, six gay candidates were recently elected to the San Diego County Democratic Central Committee; next January, three gays will serve on the GOP Central Committee.

But while gay leaders in both major parties say they are satisfied with their input and rapport with party officials, they also concede that problems remain.

The problems are perhaps more acute for gay Republicans, who for years were forced to battle what Log Cabin Club President Jester describes as “the perception that gay was synonymous with Democrat and liberalism.” Despite the 80-member club’s track record of aiding GOP candidates, many Republicans apparently are not yet ready to embrace the gay group.

“I don’t think the Republican Establishment as such has really figured out what to do with these people,” said state Sen. William Craven (R-Oceanside). “They don’t want to just say, ‘Go away,’ because that’s a loss of support. On the other hand, they’re not ready to snuggle up to them because they’re not comfortable with that life style.”

Gays in both parties also acknowledge that some candidates still occasionally express reluctance over accepting open support from gay groups.

“We still find some candidates who say, ‘We want your votes, we especially want your money, but we’re not so sure about an endorsement,’ ” Truax said. “But we’ve reached a point now where we tell those people that if they’re looking for closeted help, they’ve come to the wrong place.”

To show politicians that, as Jester puts it, “the pluses outweigh the minuses,” gays increasingly point to evidence demonstrating their positive impact on elections.

They emphasize, for example, that numerous office holders in both major parties have received sizable financial donations and other contributions from gays in recent campaigns. In addition, vote breakdowns from elections over the last three years show that gay-backed candidates have often received vote totals as much as 10% higher than their citywide averages in areas with high concentrations of gay residents--a finding that, while not scientifically conclusive, bolsters gays’ contention that they know how to produce at the polls.

A major question on the immediate political horizon, however, is whether gays can produce not only for gay-endorsed straight candidates, but also for gay candidates themselves.

There have been only two openly gay candidates in San Diego political history, both unsuccessful--a 1979 City Council race by a businessman named Al Best, who finished fifth in an 11-candidate field, and Giesen’s failed bid for the Republican nomination in the 79th Assembly District race two years ago.

Next year, however, at least one and possibly two gay candidates may seek embattled Councilman Uvaldo Martinez’s seat, depending on the timing of the election.

Neil Good, the administrative assistant to county Supervisor Leon Williams, has said that he intends to run for the 8th District seat in the event that Martinez resigns or is forced from office if his trial next month on felony charges of misusing a city-issued credit card ends in conviction. Jester recently said that she would not run in any special election, but might seek the seat in the regularly scheduled September, 1987, council race.

The key to any gay candidate’s chances of success, many argue, is establishment of broad-based support throughout the city, not merely within the gay community itself.

And in the eyes of many gay leaders, Good, a longtime Democratic activist with solid political and professional credentials who describes himself as “not a gay candidate, but a candidate who happens to be gay,” is precisely the type of candidate who may be able to transcend the label “gay.”

However, the consensus of political observers, gay and straight alike, is that the immediate future looks bleak for Good or any gay candidate.

“It’s sad to say, but I’m afraid that San Diego still isn’t ready to accept a gay in office,” said Schulze. “Not many people are going to admit that they’d vote against somebody just because he or she happens to be gay. But in the privacy of the voting booth, prejudices can hang out.”

Good, however, professes confidence that he will be able to overcome whatever obstacles he might face as a candidate simply because of his sexual identity.

“Times are changing,” Good said. “When you’ve got Bill Cleator getting campaign advice from a drag queen, you’ve got to say that San Diego is getting more sophisticated about these things.”