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Among the Baptists |
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By John F. Medeiros
It was an e-mail to end all e-mails. It was an e-mail that tossed me "ass over teakettle" into the world of gay activism. It was Soulforce's e-mail requesting a 48-hour response to its call to action opposing the nonsense peddled annually by the Southern Baptist Convention at its June 14 meeting in Orlando, Florida. I read it carefully and wondered if Soulforce could really make a difference in Florida, where being a Southern Baptist is the passport to success in almost every venture from business to politics. However, as an averred atheist, I was elated that Soulforce, or any force for that matter, had targeted an organized church's stance on homosexuality. "Good," I thought, "It serves those self-righteous Christians right." But was I willing to participate? I would have to take precious vacation time from work. I would have to make a commitment to disobedient activism. I hesitatingly agreed I would help them in the cause. Numerous pessimistic emails were received, as negotiations with the State Attorney's office showed an unwillingness to cooperate toward any easy solution to our impending arrests. Amounts up to $700 in fines and court costs, and the possibility of up to a six-month jail sentence, had finally made up my mind that it was someone else's battle. My e-mail to the good reverend was this: "Sorry, I can't afford that kind of money and I certainly cannot afford a six-month jail sentence. I'll give you support on the sidelines. No arrest for me!"
I was very surprised to find that a nucleus of the "ordinary" folk were repeat participants from previous protests, the most recent of which was in Cleveland, Ohio, opposing the policies of United Methodist Church. What dedication! In the course of the five-hour session, each speaker reminded us that loonies were using the vilification of gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and transsexuals from the pulpit by so-called Christians as a justification for maiming and killing. It affected me greatly. I made a last moment decision to be arrested, and that it would be in the memory of the thousands of gay and lesbian unfortunates who perished during the previous centuries because of the Christians, for the gay victims of the Holocaust (both survived and perished), and for my dear, sweet deceased love, Jeffery Miguel Soto. I was in! I was out of my mind, but I was in. The hour-long journey home seemed robotic as my mind focused more on what I'd agreed to do in the morning than on my driving. It was after midnight already. The alarm was set for 5 a.m.; it wasn't needed, though, as the clock face and I got to know each other quite well in the course of the few hours I had left before having to get up and get out.
We were bused to the Orlando Convention Center early so as to make a presence before the actual protest. Except for our ministers, we all wore Soulforce's Stop Spiritual Violence T-Shirts to ensure there was no question as to who and what we were. The on-site Omni Hotel agreed that we could participate in a prayer-in on their property for 25 minutes, starting at 9 a.m. While in and around the hotel lobby prior to the actual gathering, convention participants, including one who said, "I am a pastor," actually approached some of us and declared we were doing the right thing. At the appointed hour we went to the designated spot and began to sing hymns and pray, which was a little uncomfortable for me. I gave it my best shot. Press coverage was enormous! Our leaders were interviewed at length while some of us were approached for photos, TV taping, and short interviews. It was very exciting. Just before 9:25, the participants who did not wish to be arrested were asked to leave the group. The 28 of us who stayed closed ranks and quietly moved from the spot to a position across the street. It was there that we would be arrested. Of course, the press had a field day following our every move. It was euphoric! But the moment had come. An Orange County Sheriff's Department spokesman climbed onto a landscaped bank and declared that we were in unlawful assembly and that we were subject to arrest if we did not disperse within three minutes. None of us moved. We continued to sing and hum "We Shall Overcome" while a phalanx of deputies marched to our position, placed their hands on us individually, and declared, "You are under arrest for unlawful assembly." The first person arrested was Rev. Ed Harris. I felt as if my virginity had been taken at approximately 9:35 am, and my heart was pounding, as this had never happened before. Escorted to police vans, we were patted down and handcuffed with our wrists ahead of us. Deputies were gentle and polite, but firm. I was fortunate enough to sit by Rev. Creech and the two Rev. Lawsons—I was still in good company! As each van was filled, it was driven off into an underground garage for initial processing, after which we were again put into vans (still handcuffed) and driven off to the Orange County 33rd Street Central Booking Facility for a dehumanizing series of fingerprintings, mug shots, confiscations of personal effects, and other processings. Oddly, though, I never heard anyone mention my Miranda Rights. No one else got "Mirandized" either. I guess that happens only in the movies or on TV. Men and women were separated and led off to large, cold holding cells. We eventually were transferred to the general prisoner population but remained as a group, except for Rev. White and, for some unknown reason, a participant from D.C. Prisoners could not believe that we had voluntarily been incarcerated for protesting against the Southern Baptists—and doing so to stick up for "fag rights." At one point I jumped in to defend our actions and, in the course of discussion, declared that I, as a homosexual, was entitled to the same human rights they enjoyed. Never in my life have I had an inkling that I would someday stand in the middle of a jail cell with some 35 or so prisoners to declare that I was gay! Visions of stereotype prison movies popped into mind—but those visions quickly vanished with the realities of being in Cell 4 with a hodge-podge of not-so-photogenic prisoners. I was very surprised at the vast biblical knowledge some of the prisoners possessed and used in arguing that homosexuality was not in the natural order and, therefore, against God. It greatly reinforced the purpose of our protest against spiritual violence that begins with the words used against homosexuality in the name of God—and that's what these people remembered. The Revs. Creech and Harris were extraordinary in their debates with prisoners. As a result of one of those sessions, one prisoner declared that he had heard enough of the Sodom and Gomorrah being quoted that were relevant to his situation and that he was, from that point on, turning his life around. Eventually our cases came up at the court hearing. Unfortunately, the State Attorney continued to play hardball and would not allow us to make a plea. When the judge was questioned as to why the normal plea procedure was not being used, the judge stated that the State Attorney's office had told him they did not have enough information on Soulforce and its members to make a proper decision for our disposition. Rev. White politely told the judge that Soulforce and the State Attorney's office had been exchanging correspondence for five weeks. It didn't matter to the judge. We all opted to get out on bail, which took six hours to process. The ordeal lasted a little more than 37 hours! We will still have to deal with a court appearance in the near future and are braced for the worst. As it so happened, I was the very last to be processed out of the jail. As I walked through the building's doors, I was greeting with applause and shouting from the "Orlando Soulforce 28" as we called ourselves, and by supporting Joy MCC members. Each departing prisoner got the same joyous ovation, but I got it from the whole group! Drinks and sandwiches were greatly appreciated and consumed while we exchanged war stories with our female counterparts. In essence, we were again unlawfully assembled—and at the doors to the Central Booking Facility. It didn't matter this time; my virginity had already been taken. Would I do it again? You bet! What did I learn? I learned that there are people in this world that are truly superior human beings who care more for others than themselves. I learned that this atheist could love a preacher like the Rev. Jimmy Creech and find no conflict in my thoughts about organized religion. |
John F. Medeiros 
The Rev. Mel White 
© 1997-2000 BEI