Cured: Frank Kameny — Photo: Kay Tobin via Manuscripts & Archives Division, The New York Public Library
For LGBTQ+ people in the U.S., the road towards liberation has been long, circuitous, dark, and dangerous, and those who have organized and fought for equality often were forced to do so from the safety of the shadows. A new documentary, Cured, making its broadcast premiere on PBS’s Independent Lens series, brings to light a little-known chapter of that struggle, when committed activists stepped out of the shadows to loudly and publicly resist an institution that used fear and ignorance to justify treating queer people as second-class citizens.
It was in 1952 that the American Psychiatric Association (APA) listed homosexuality as a mental disorder in the first edition of its Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM). Adding to the public sentiment that gays and lesbians weren’t just different, but were morally deficient, the DSM listing provided a clinical basis for denying queer people basic human rights, from jobs and housing to education and even custody of their children.
Labeling LGBTQ people as “psychologically disturbed” implicitly upheld the discrimination that made it next to impossible for them to live freely and openly. Even worse, the mental illness diagnosis led to thousands of gays and lesbians being committed to mental institutions, or forced into varying forms of therapy, including electroshock treatments, and in some extreme cases, full or partial lobotomies.
Cured — Photo: Kay Tobin via Manuscripts & Archives Division, The New York Public Library
But, as one gay activist argues in Cured, it was this very treatment that posed the greatest danger to his mental health. Gay and lesbian leaders like the late Dr. Frank Kameny, Barbara Gittings, and Kay Lahusen rose up, determined to see homosexuality removed from the DSM listings.
Among the surviving activists interviewed for the film who led the fight, the Reverend Magora Kennedy details how their efforts coalesced around the burgeoning civil rights and feminist movements, while Dr. Charles Silverstein recounts his personal path towards rebellion as a then-schoolteacher who sought psychiatric treatment for years in search of a “cure” for his same-sex attraction.
In the words of Sigmund Freud, there was no cure, as homosexuality was not an illness. It was “no advantage, but nothing to be ashamed of,” he wrote, decades before the DSM was even published. In 1973, the APA decided to remove the listing from the DSM.
“Millions were cured with the stroke of a pen,” says psychiatrist Dr. Richard Green. And, as Cured co-director Bennett Singer points out, “Even though this is a story from history, its lessons remain profoundly relevant today. This is a film about the process of bringing about lasting, systemic social change.”
Cured premieres October 11, National Coming Out Day, on PBS Independent Lens. Visit www.pbs.com.
Organizers of the annual Nashville Pride Festival & Parade have launched a fundraiser to help sustain future events after several longtime sponsors withdrew their support.
In an Aug. 20 press release, Nashville Pride said sponsorship revenue is down $270,000 from previous years.
Nearly 40% of the festival's longtime sponsors withdrew support for this year's Pride -- some just days before the festivities kicked off in late June -- according to Nashville Public Radio station WPLN. Among them were Bridgestone Americas, a presenting sponsor for 11 years, and Nissan, which ended its presenting sponsorship after four years.
Back in May, just after our 31st anniversary, I asked readers which of four classic cover interviews from our early years they'd like to see in print again: Greg Louganis (March 9, 1995), Sir Ian McKellen (Jan. 25, 1996), Camille Paglia (Feb. 1, 1996), or Eartha Kitt (Nov. 14, 1996). None of these conversations exist online, and they haven't been seen since their original print dates.
Out of more than 200 responses, 8% chose Paglia, 27% picked Louganis, 29% went for McKellen, and an impressive 36% cast their vote for Kitt.
Kitt, who passed away in December 2008, seemed a fitting choice to revisit. A pop culture icon for her turn as the second Catwoman (following Julie Newmar) on the late-1960s, camp-classic TV series Batman, she was slated to appear at Washington's legendary jazz nightclub Blues Alley when we spoke.
A mysterious brunette, with a bob hairdo and a snazzy leopard-print outfit, stands at the top of a cliff somewhere in the desert. She approaches the scene of a deadly car crash below. The vehicle is overturned; the driver's body, lifeless and bloodied, upside-down. The woman (Lera Abova) examines the dead body and slides a ring, emblazoned with some bizarre insignia, from its finger, ensuring that first responders don't find it. Mission complete, she hops back on her motorbike and goes skinny-dipping in a nearby lake.
It's a provocative opening sequence, disturbing and sexy and intriguing all at once. It's a shame that the rest of Honey Don't! — the latest movie from the still Joel-less Ethan Coen — never lives up to the promise of its audacious start.
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