Oral service is a beautiful thing, but lip service does nobody any good.  If results are what matter to you, then itâs not enough to say that you want to build community when the only actions you take are being friendly to others.  After all, friendship and camaraderie on their own do not make a community.  (In truth, I canât imagine communities exist where everyone is friends with one another... but if there is, I can assure you that titleholders are not a part of it.) So for those of us who do want to see the leather community grow (larger in size, stronger in presence and power), how can we translate good intent into successful action? The reality is that we canât do all the work for newbies coming into the scene, who will inevitably be challenged to push themselves past their comfort zone.  But we can do two things: 1.) help motivate them by making it clear what benefits can be achieved if they do join us; and 2.) remove some real or perceived barriers to entrance. In my last column, I raised three questions that might shape our strategy on how to build and strengthen the leather community.  Those questions were: 1.)  What barriers exist between us and potential members of our kink community? 2.)  Are we clear on what it is we have to offer? (And if so, what is it?) 3.)  Is what weâre offering valuable (or perceived as valuable) to someone not yet within the community, but who may be interested in exploring?   Letâs start with the first question. Analyzing barriers is an interesting challenge, because in order to understand the obstacles preventing others from becoming engaged or active within the leather community, we need to really understand ourselves (that is, we not only need to know what makes us tick, but we who identify as part of the community should understand what messages weâre communicating about the community that outsiders may respond to, positively or negatively).  We also need to understand those who are NOT a part of our community, at least to the extent that we can reasonably speculate on reasons for their not joining the fold and how we might address those issues.  Also, some barriers that may exist may be based on nonsense and can only be dispelled by education or getting to know us.  For instance, one barrier may be the perception that in order to be a member of the leather community, you have to own leather.  Those who are already a part of the community know this is not the caseâ but for those who are not actively involved, that might prevent them from taking their first step, especially when you consider the cost of leather and other fetish gear and our current economy.  Meeting spaces can be another barrier.  For many years, leather clubs and bars were the center of the leather community.   But bars as an epicenter for social networking excludes people under 21 years of age as well as folks in recovery.  It can be geographically limiting, and given the costs of going out and drinking, it can be financially limiting.   In addition, going to your first leather bar may be intimidating to someone who has never been-- the uninitiated might expect fisting and hardcore play in backrooms (never to realize with shock that these days most leather bars play dance music divas, rarely require dress codes that enforce leather gear, and offer no public displays of nudity beyond perhaps a jockstrap night). It is common for straight and pansexual groups to hold seminars and âmunches,â where people can congregate and network in an environment that is kink-friendly, but not intimidating.  (Locally members of Masters And slaves Together â or MAsTâmeet at Spaghetti Warehouse. Itâs hard to imagine an intimidating chat about kink over meatballs and linguini.)  Although MAsT and the National Leather Associationâs local chapter have both been successful having regular meetings outside of a play environment, Iâm not aware of such events in gay-specific, male-identified circles.  And kink lesbians seem (at least to me) even less visible, except for their online presence. For folks who grew up in the era where AIDS and the internet already proliferated, it seems like a different world than from a lot of âestablishedâ leather players and community leaders, whose preferences and fetishes were marginalized, closeted, or nurtured only in rigid quasi-secret societies.  Although kink may remain less available than other mainstream play, it is no longer hidden.  Arguably, leather folks are the second most photographed subjects at gay pride events (second only to drag queens, but beating out the pretty muscle boys that blanket gay media channels in editorial coverage and advertising images).  And although sometimes sensationalized, alternative play is no longer the love that dare not speak its name. And so we need to approach people differently than we used to.  Our needs might be the same, but the context is very different.  Hell, if the crusty old white male dominated Congress can spend its days Twittering, we can reach out with technology too. From my vantage point (and I can certainly be wrong), gay men in general seem to prefer parties over workshops, drinking and play over education and politics.    This could account for why leather circuit party events like IML are so successful, despite their costs.  And if you are already into the leather scene, you can go into such leather runs with a good set of expectations of what youâre in for and have your expectations met (not only the hook ups, but the leather markets, the meeting up with friends that you only see at these events, etc.).  For the uninitiated, leather runs can too costly, requiring someone to make a financial investment for travel, etc., before they have made an emotional invested in the scene.  (Of course volunteering at such events is a great way to meet people, learn from knowledgeable players, get a sense of how the circuit works but from a safe objective distance, at least until you are ready to take the plunge.  And volunteering at events usually means reduced or complimentary admission.) I suspect that when others seek community it is because, like me, they seek a deep sense of connection with others.  If the promise of connection is great enough (not to mention the promise of mind-blowing sex), obstacles may be overcome.  Paradoxically, the unique connections and ways that we create and maintain community may inherently put up roadblocks for those not already in our fold.  In creating safe spaces for ourselves, we can be blocking out others. Let me explain.   Human beings are social animals.  We come together because we need each other.  But how we come together, and how we choose with whom to affiliate, are often informed by common interests and needs.  These may be based in part on geography, language, socio-economic status, health status, social values, religious doctrine/dogma, history, sense of persecution, diet, rituals and traditions.   Having any of these things in common is not, in and of itself, a guarantee of community, but itâs a building block.  And the more building blocks are in place, the more tightly knit the community is likely to be.  Similarly, the more unique an element is, or the more fundamental it is to a personâs identity, the more likely it will serve as a key to enter that community.  Finding kindred spirits can make us feel warm and fuzzy (it feels good knowing that others think and feel like you), and it can also make us feel empowered. There is strength in numbers, and we are emboldened when we no longer feel like outsiders.  Think of community like a parentâs embraceâ it can simultaneously make you feel loved and appreciated for who you are, while protecting you from outsiders who donât âgetâ you.  The foundation or common touch points of the community may be irrelevant.  For instance, if your religious affiliation is very important to you, you are likely to surround yourself with others who share the traditions and values of that religion.  Jews have traditionally had tight-knit communities because there were many things that they shared, aside from religion (there are cultural Jews as well as religious ones): history, holidays, traditions, language, diet, guilt, etc.  A legacy of persecution has long given Jews a sense of purpose and urgency in coming together, not unlike the need for civil rights galvanized Stonewall era gays and AIDS served as a rallying cry for post-Stonewall queers.  Ironically, Christian fundamentalists and the conservative right under the George W. Bush administration years grew powerful not only because of their shared sense of righteous values, but a common believe that their lifestyle and values were under attack after years of the progressive Clinton administration. We come together sometimes because it feels good; we come together other times for survival. But thankfully communities can be formed around just about anything.  It doesnât have to be fear-based or faith based.   Take fans of âStar Trek,â for example. The foundation of the Trekkie community is a shared love of a sci-fi television show (or franchise) and the values that it promotes.  Trekkies have a common knowledge of the characters and their histories; they can recite lines of the series (or movies) by heart; they can tell you storylines from most (if not all) episodes.  Many collect Trekkie gear and toys, etc., and might even speak a Trekkie language (Vulcan, anyone?).  The more obscure the reference, the more respected the Trekkie. Although Iâm not into sci-fi myself, I marvel at the respect that Trekkies (whose backgrounds are often jaw-droppingly diverse) often seem to have for one anotherâalthough this attribute seems fitting, given the values of the show that bonds them together. Most Trekkies know that they are mocked as geeks, but it doesnât stop them from dancing to their own tune, secure in their knowledge that they are not dancing alone. So how do we as a kinky community keep from dancing alone?  How do we figure out what the barriers are, and how to help others to overcome?  Do we appeal to fear and indignation?  In truth, most of us donât have the rights to our bodies and freedoms of sexual expression that we assume that we have, and we could exploit these political realities.  But itâs not really a terribly sexy hook to bring people together, and itâs hard to excite people with politics of a community that theyâre not yet identifying with.  Do we aim for the warm-and-fuzzy?  I canât count the number of times Iâve heard titleholders say things to the effect that, âI never knew what kinship meant until I found my brothers in leather!â  In truth, I think thatâs the appeal that first hooked meâ but then turned me off, when I didnât find folks waiting for me, eager to embrace me and to teach me the mystical and mythical ways of The Leather Man. Should we just use our sexuality to lure them in, and then manipulate them into seeing the political state weâre in and the warmth of âfamilyâ that will ultimately welcome them once they are here? It can be overwhelming just thinking about the myriad of possibilities. Since I love the challenge of a good mind fuck, I really appreciate how complex and complicated our minds and hearts can be.  Unfortunately this complexity and diversity prevents us from having a single campaign, a single message, a single hook, which can make the whole issue of building community seem daunting if not impossible. Indeed, our diversity can be a danger in community building.  The more diverse we are, the less common we may have.   In reality, we may seem like aliens even amongst ourselves.  Aside from being non-mainstream, men into infantilism and men into blood play may seem to have nothing in common with each other. Within their own small cliques there may be a strong connection, but within the larger kink community they may just come off as weird. When trying to build a community, we typically cast out a wide net to reach out to new people. But if weâre not careful in how we go about this, we risk diluting the perceived value of the community by making it less personal and less unique.  If the phrase âleather communityâ is an umbrella term for kinky gay men and lesbians, just as âqueerâ may represent all sexual minorities (gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, questioning, curious, etc.), we will have a community of common interests where members may perceive that they have nothing in common at all.  I often wonder how much of our strange little leather worlds are known to outsiders, and wonder when we would do better by drawing the line between sharing or advertising our quirks and keeping our mouths shut.  In this day in age, I know itâs impossible to do soâ but I question whether it would be better to have gatekeepers to prevent folks from learning too much, too fast, and without context. We canât control all false impressions that outsiders have of other community, but we can control some. For instance, are displays of pony play at Pride parades titillating or preposterous?  Does such a vision scare away more folks than it arouses?  Are we doing a disservice to ourselves by promoting this visibility that might turn many people off, or would be undertaking a greater evil to censor ourselves and our passions?  In settings where play cannot be explained or put into context, what messages are we putting out thereâand does it have any effect, beyond folks taking pictures? Truth be told, so much of the leather community seems to inspire fear in others that part of me really likes the childlike playfulness of these scenes (even if I donât get a sexual charge from them at all), but I do question whether weâre doing harm in the name of doing good.   There is a group of leather folks who have formed a kind of tribe under a matriarchal figure, and they call themselves Mamaâs Family (no relation to the Carol Burnette show or the Vicki Lawrence spinoff series).  The overall goal of the group is fundraising and volunteer service, and they have a beautiful message: âIn Leather We Are Family. No one can do everything. Still everyone can do something. Together, we can do anything.â  Itâs all good spirits, good natured, and good will.  And remarkably silly.  Folks who are named as Mamaâs boys and girls receive colorful titles such as âMamaâs Drama Queen,â âMamaâs Trailer Trash,â âMamaâs Undertaker,â âMamaâs Hell Mary.â  For folks within Mamaâs Family, the title is a funny badge of honor, and family members look forward to others being pinned and receiving outrageous names.  To outsiders who have never heard of Mamaâs Familyâ itâs as outlandish and, sometimes, off-putting, as blood play and infantilism.  And folks who havenât seen pictures of Mama (a woman of color) might cry foul over titles that could be interpreted as racist (âMamaâs Chinese Gentleman,â âMamaâs Latina,â âMamaâs Ebony Bootblackâ).  Inside jokes risk alienating outsiders. We walk a fine line. Even our language and ideology can be confusing or off putting. All too often those who are in the community still refer to concepts like Old Guard/New Guard, dividing leather folks in age and in outlook.   Many folks who consider themselves traditional leather men and women stake claim to these Old Guard ideals and rituals, and in the process they often come across as seeming more righteous, true, authentic leather men in contrast to the rest of us.  Such attitudes reinforce outsider status to newcomers, and even alienate leather folks who donât identify with those rigid standards and traditions, such as The Next Generation (roughly folks in ages 18-35) or late-comers who entered the community without the mentorship and history of these earlier sexual pioneers. In a recent podcast, I heard former International Leather Sir Oliver Pratt (who identifies with the principles of Old Guard) speak of a couple to whom he offered a âcollar of protection.â  And I cringed.  While I admit to being predisposed to dislike Pratt after his rude and dismissive behavior to the Philadelphia leather community when he visited our town last summer for the 2008 MidAtlantic Leather Sir and boy contest, I found his overall interview on Dartâs Domain (available on iTunes) to be quite good.  I thought Pratt came off far more human and humble than his local appearance would suggest.  But using phrases like âcollar of protectionâ conjures to mind sci-fi and fantasy conceitsâlike a spell from a Harry Potter movie or, worse yet, hokey role playing games like Dungeons and Dragons.  And when using a phrase like âcollar of protection,â one has to ask the question, what are you protecting others from?   Offering protection in the leather scene certainly seems to suggest that we are dangerous and harmfulâ if not, why you need protection? Itâs one thing to offer someone an opportunity to learn play techniques, to serve, to submit, to get piggy.  But language carries weight, and I fear that sometimes we use vernacular that is bloated with self-importance that weighs us all down and distorts the truth.  Yes, itâs true that not everyone who is a player knows how to play safelyâ but thatâs why we should use common sense and social networking for references.  As I see it, if you need a âcollar of protection,â youâre not ready to play with the big boys (or Sirs).  As a larger community, we need to be thoughtful about who we are and the journey weâve taken to get where we are.  We need to be mindful of others who are just starting out on their path, and assist them (when appropriate) by providing guidance and encouragement.  We need to keep in mind that our experience is not theirs, and our history is not theirs (although we may share histories in the future).  We need to remember that providing a context to who we are and what we do will make a tremendous difference in providing a welcoming tone and an open door, into which they may enter at their own pace. I welcome feedback and responses to this and my other writings at sir@scottdaddy.com.

[ Sat, 1 Aug 2009 04:01:00 GMT ]

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