Impact of City Sex-Bias Laws Tough to Gauge : Gay Rights: Voters will decide whether Irvine remains in the club of cities outlawing discrimination based on sexual orientation. Passage of Measure N would strip that section from a year-old civil rights ordinance.

To the amazement of passers-by at the busy intersection in downtown Washington, D.C., the message of hatred on the electronic board flashed over and over, spewing a dictum of violence against gays and drug users in a supposed effort to “stamp out AIDS.”

Offended or not, the “junkies”--as they were called in the message--couldn’t do much under the law to vent their displeasure. But gay activists and city officials acting on their behalf moved in quickly, causing the message to be turned off and promising to pursue civil fines, prosecution and business suspensions against those responsible.

They had the specific power to clamp down on the message because the nation’s capital in 1973 became one of the first of more than 60 towns and cities across the country, from rural hamlets to metropolitan centers, that made it illegal to discriminate against gays and lesbians in such areas as employment, housing and public services.

Irvine became one of those cities in 1988. Eight days from now, on Nov. 7, Irvine voters will decide whether their city remains a member of that club or, instead, follows the direction offered by local religious leaders and conservatives who charge that the ordinance legitimizes an immoral life style.

Gay activists for the most part have been stymied in efforts to get anti-discrimination measures passed nationally and in states such as California. And so they have turned with increasing frequency--and greater results--to cities and towns for protection.

But even as they hail the ordinances’ successes in deterring discrimination, activists acknowledge that tracing that impact is difficult.

And dramatic instances of putting the gay rights ordinances to the test--as seen last week in Washington in combatting the homophobic message--are the exception, rather than the rule.

Indeed, based on the experiences of other cities, Irvine’s ordinance may not have a dramatic effect on daily life in the city but instead may be a reflection of the community’s broader values and attitudes.

Irvine’s emotionally charged Measure N, if passed, would strip from the city’s year-old civil rights ordinance the section that bans discrimination based on sexual orientation. The campaign is being watched around the state and country as a test of gay political force against “traditional values” forces.

“What’s at stake here is the heterosexual life style,” said Brett Barbre, an aide to Rep. William E. Dannemeyer, an ardent foe of homosexuality. “If they can push their agenda in a conservative, bedroom community like Irvine, they can do it anywhere.”

But critics of Measure N counter that what is really at stake is the community’s respect for differing points of view and life styles.

“I personally do not believe in homosexuality, nor do I endorse it,” said Thomas Parham, an architect of Irvine’s original ordinance, “but that’s not the point. The issue is whether or not we believe that everyone in this city ought to be free from discrimination.”

Against a backdrop of intensified clashes over the gay issue throughout Orange County, the debate over Irvine’s Measure N has been a study in contrasts.

Critics of homosexuals project a city of immorality, filled with gay sex in public restrooms and homosexual teachers and Big Brothers, while the gay rights supporters speak in broad, impassioned terms about equality among all citizens and the rejection of bigotry.

Less discussed and tougher to gauge, however, is the practical impact of the city’s gay rights ordinance.

In Irvine--as in Laguna Beach, the only other city in Orange County to adopt a gay rights measure--there have not actually been any claims filed under the measure since it was adopted in the summer of 1988, according to city officials.

And a look at other municipalities around the country that have adopted similar ordinances--outlawing discrimination based on sexual orientation and providing civil remedies for relief--suggests that the Irvine experience may not be unique.

“I’ve heard we have such a thing, but I’ve never read it, and we’ve never had a case brought under it,” Gary Horowitz, attorney for the village of Alfred in Upstate New York, said when asked about the town’s gay rights ordinance.

A rural, conservative village of about 2,000 permanent residents that quintuples its population with an annual pilgrimage of students at local colleges, Alfred in 1974 became one of the first municipalities in the country to pass legislation protecting the rights of gays and lesbians.

It was the college community--a significant presence in the growing gay political movement nationwide over the past two decades--that helped fuel the measure in Alfred.

“Even though these ordinances can be pretty ineffectual,” recalls Tony Russo of New York City, a gay student leader in Alfred when the city law was passed, “we felt that the mere fact that such an ordinance was on the books would inspire people not to discriminate and to realize the repercussions if they did.”

Even in major cities that have gay rights ordinances, such as Los Angeles, Washington and New York, city officials likewise say the measures have not opened any floodgates of claims by gays and lesbians.

“I think (the gay rights ordinance) is really underutilized. There’s a low level of awareness that it even exists,” said Suzanne Sangree, a staff attorney with New York City’s Commission on Human Rights, echoing the comments of officials in several cities around the country.

Added James Mercer, a Washington human rights administrator who is investigating the offensive message that flashed on a city billboard last week: “Quite frankly, I think the symbolism is more important than the practical legal remedy.”

Yet, Washington’s ordinance was put to practical use last week when the message “Help Stamp Out AIDS Now: Kill All Queers and Junkies” flashed on the downtown message board. When the message was called to the attention of the city’s office of human rights, the plug was abruptly pulled and an immediate investigation was begun.

“What our ordinance has really done--and not just for gays and lesbians, but for the whole city--is to send a clear message that bigotry will not be tolerated in our city,” Mercer said.

Minneapolis saw its human rights ordinance challenged in 1974 when a gay man applied to be a Big Brother volunteer and was told that his “affectional preference” would be revealed to the mother of a potential “little brother.” Although initially a civil rights office decided there was discrimination in this, ultimately the Minnesota Supreme Court rejected that opinion and ruled that the Big Brothers organization could inquire about sexual orientation.

(The Minneapolis law is cited repeatedly by proponents of Measure N, who have claimed in their ballot argument and in campaign material that Big Brothers was forced to recruit gays as volunteers because of the court challenge--and have declined “because of word limitations” to reveal the final ruling by the state Supreme Court.)

Big Brother and civil rights officials in Minneapolis have said there has been no controversy over the law since the decision and that the Measure N proponents have misrepresented the facts of the case.

The major exception in putting its ordinance to active and frequent use may be San Francisco, where city officials say their human rights office is kept busy with about 50 to 60 investigations a year into specific claims of discrimination based on sexual orientation.

Most involve employment claims from gays who charge that they were not hired, were fired or were not promoted because their bosses did not like “faggots,” said Norman Nickens, coordinator of the city’s gay anti-discrimination unit.

Nearly all the complaints in San Francisco are resolved through talks between the alleged victim and the employer, landlord or other party accused of discrimination, often resulting in thousands of dollars in damages, Nickens said.

In one celebrated case, Pacific Bell agreed in 1986 to pay $3 million to settle claims that it had systematically discriminated against gays in Northern California in its employment practices, rejecting some for hiring because they were deemed “manifest homosexuals.”

But the wording of the rights ordinances--banning discrimination based on sexual orientation, not specifically against gays and lesbians--has produced some ironic twists.

Nickens recalled one woman who got a cash settlement after claiming she was fired for being heterosexual. Her gay employer, it seems, had assumed she was a lesbian until she walked into work one day wearing a wedding ring.

Critics of gay rights ordinances point to San Francisco as a harbinger of the dangers and “immorality” that await places such as Irvine that carve out “special” exemptions for gays.

And they cite the absence of claims in other major cities as a sign that there is little problem with discrimination against gays in the first place.

“Homosexuals have been very proud of the fact that they’ve been successful in their careers and endeavors but that very success belies the contention that they’ve been discriminated against,” asserted Lawrence McNamee, a Whittier radiologist and author on AIDS who has supported the Irvine initiative to strike down the gay rights provision.