tonight should be interesting. I heard that her workshop today practically turned into a riot. Did either of you go?”
“Uh, well…” Hadley mumbled, avoiding my eyes. “I stopped in.”
“I went,” I said. “I was surprised actually at how little Miko had to say. To the workshop anyway.”
“Oh,” said Hadley.
When we got back to the auditorium just before seven-thirty it was packed. A slightly different crowd was here now; in addition to many of the straight and lesbian feminists there were men, the sort in beards and flannel shirts and the sort in suits. There were also more working women in heels and jackets.
Events like this never started on time, so I didn’t think anything of it when seven-forty-five came and went with no panelists appearing at the long table covered with pitchers of water and microphones. The four of us talked, though actually Hadley and I didn’t talk too much to each other. We weren’t having a Fight; we were having a Little Distance.
But as it neared eight o’clock and there was still no sign of anyone on the stage, the audience began to get restless. People stood up and walked around, started conversations with strangers or with friends across the aisles. I saw a lot of familiar faces. Nicky and Oak, who had still been finishing their dinner when we left the restaurant, came in and joined a small crowd of leather dykes down in the front row. I wondered if they were planning to heckle Loie. I saw Hanna Sandbakker with a tall, white-haired man. I wondered if it was her father, Loie’s uncle. They also came in a bit late and had to stand in back. Standing near the stairs that led up to the stage were the panelists: Elizabeth, serenely pregnant, chatting with various people; Miko, in a black jumpsuit and a red turban, vibrating with energy; Gracie looking a little tired, as if she wanted it all to be over.
Finally one of the conference organizers, looking worried and apologetic, came out on stage. “We’ll be starting in just a minute,” she said. “Thank you all for your patience. We’ve been waiting for Loie Marsh, but unfortunately she seems to have been delayed. So we’ll just begin without her and hope that she joins us soon.”
The panelists went up on stage and took their places at a long table. The three I knew were joined by Sonya Gustafson. I’d never seen her before and had been expecting a mousy-looking woman wearing a flower print dress, but she strode after Elizabeth, as poised and as striking as any of them, in a linen pantsuit, expensive scarf and gold earrings.
Gracie started things off by giving a capsule version of her speech earlier that afternoon. She seemed more subdued, but still very cogent as she asserted that anti-pornography activists had gotten off on the wrong track.
Sonya Gustafson was next. In a calm, authoritative voice she talked about child pornography rings and the things done to children in the name of porn.
“Many liberal and otherwise decent people like to pretend that pornography is created by consenting adults for consenting adults. Since relatively few of us ever consume hardcore pornography, we may assume that it hasn’t changed much from the days when Playboy first appeared, or that the issue is one of free speech, reminiscent of the era when books like Ulysses were banned from sale in this country. If you do assume that pornography is relatively harmless and that the issue is one of puritanism opposed to more liberal sexual values, I urge you to take a trip to one of the stores downtown and to take a look at what really is for sale. I think you will be as shocked as I was. In addition to the usual fare of bondage, domination and violence, you will find pictures that are guaranteed to turn your stomach: photographs of small children, four and five years old, mounted by huge men, very tiny children forced to have intercourse, and yes, even babies, girls and boys, with their genitalia exposed and vulnerable to
“Uh, well…” Hadley mumbled, avoiding my eyes. “I stopped in.”
“I went,” I said. “I was surprised actually at how little Miko had to say. To the workshop anyway.”
“Oh,” said Hadley.
When we got back to the auditorium just before seven-thirty it was packed. A slightly different crowd was here now; in addition to many of the straight and lesbian feminists there were men, the sort in beards and flannel shirts and the sort in suits. There were also more working women in heels and jackets.
Events like this never started on time, so I didn’t think anything of it when seven-forty-five came and went with no panelists appearing at the long table covered with pitchers of water and microphones. The four of us talked, though actually Hadley and I didn’t talk too much to each other. We weren’t having a Fight; we were having a Little Distance.
But as it neared eight o’clock and there was still no sign of anyone on the stage, the audience began to get restless. People stood up and walked around, started conversations with strangers or with friends across the aisles. I saw a lot of familiar faces. Nicky and Oak, who had still been finishing their dinner when we left the restaurant, came in and joined a small crowd of leather dykes down in the front row. I wondered if they were planning to heckle Loie. I saw Hanna Sandbakker with a tall, white-haired man. I wondered if it was her father, Loie’s uncle. They also came in a bit late and had to stand in back. Standing near the stairs that led up to the stage were the panelists: Elizabeth, serenely pregnant, chatting with various people; Miko, in a black jumpsuit and a red turban, vibrating with energy; Gracie looking a little tired, as if she wanted it all to be over.
Finally one of the conference organizers, looking worried and apologetic, came out on stage. “We’ll be starting in just a minute,” she said. “Thank you all for your patience. We’ve been waiting for Loie Marsh, but unfortunately she seems to have been delayed. So we’ll just begin without her and hope that she joins us soon.”
The panelists went up on stage and took their places at a long table. The three I knew were joined by Sonya Gustafson. I’d never seen her before and had been expecting a mousy-looking woman wearing a flower print dress, but she strode after Elizabeth, as poised and as striking as any of them, in a linen pantsuit, expensive scarf and gold earrings.
Gracie started things off by giving a capsule version of her speech earlier that afternoon. She seemed more subdued, but still very cogent as she asserted that anti-pornography activists had gotten off on the wrong track.
Sonya Gustafson was next. In a calm, authoritative voice she talked about child pornography rings and the things done to children in the name of porn.
“Many liberal and otherwise decent people like to pretend that pornography is created by consenting adults for consenting adults. Since relatively few of us ever consume hardcore pornography, we may assume that it hasn’t changed much from the days when Playboy first appeared, or that the issue is one of free speech, reminiscent of the era when books like Ulysses were banned from sale in this country. If you do assume that pornography is relatively harmless and that the issue is one of puritanism opposed to more liberal sexual values, I urge you to take a trip to one of the stores downtown and to take a look at what really is for sale. I think you will be as shocked as I was. In addition to the usual fare of bondage, domination and violence, you will find pictures that are guaranteed to turn your stomach: photographs of small children, four and five years old, mounted by huge men, very tiny children forced to have intercourse, and yes, even babies, girls and boys, with their genitalia exposed and vulnerable to
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