Two weeks ago, I attended a panel, the only panel, just 45-minutes long, for 2007's Out On Film, Atlanta's GLBT film festival. It had a very generic title: The State of Queer Film. The moderator opened with what appeared to be a simple question: the criteria for queer cinema. The panel of four quietly concurred that it simply meant queer-themed film. Sure, that's digestible. Then one of the panelists hastily added, "It doesn't matter who makes the films." I was taken aback by this unexpected aside and the accompanying nodding of the rest of the panel (although the two lesbian filmmakers seemed less enthusiastic as they concurred). It was an odd moment that was followed by an even stranger one: one of the panelists came out to the audience of about 25 people as a heterosexual. The panel awkwardly meandered after this revelation with defensive statements like, "I don't feel the need to bring my sexuality into the workplace," and "I don't feel the need to shout it." I felt uneasy about these comments. Where had I heard this kind of thing recently? A similar quote by Ben Elliott had been published in a ferociously fact-based story on the former Atlanta bar owner by Southern Voice, our gay newspaper. Mr. Elliott said of his dealings with anti-gay Republican politicians to whom he frequently contributes money that he "doesn't wear [his homosexuality] on [his] sleeve." Why? Because he wants to be a recipient of that favor bank.

    Was something similar going on here?I thought so. And two weeks later I still do. But I had knowledge that I'm sure most of the filmgoers that week did not have. I worked for Out On Film just prior to this year's festival. I'd been approached by its managing director because they recognized that with their staff of six, only two could identify as GLBT, and they needed a warm gay body. Adding me still didn't even make it a 50/50 split, but it seemed to me at the time that they were earnest in this effort. Then one day, in anticipation of my much-needed gay expertise being extended to a straight co-worker from Alabama who was hired to coordinate the parties, my boss sent me an email asking me not to "out" her as bisexual to this person. 

    I couldn't believe it. In my subsequent phone calls and emails with my boss, she rabidly defended her right to be in the closet. My position was that if she worked for the kind of corporate entity where her livelihood could be threatened, I could understand. But this was not the case. Just the opposite! She was now a self-appointed leader in our arts community. How could she be the managing director of Atlanta's gay film fest and be selectively, defiantly closeted? I couldn't reconcile this, and I refused to be put into a position where I was expected to lie. So I resigned. 

    My resignation left the team with only one member who is openly gay and two-thirds of it straight. Should the gay community of Atlanta simply be grateful that there is a predominance of straight people willing to put on a gay film festival for us? Considering they're pulling down paychecks from it, it's difficult for me to accept that it's completely altruistic. 

    Now let's go back to that lone panel they presented for us and it's seemingly generic title: The State of QUEER Film. Yes, queer. It now occurred to me that a lot of straight people, including the moderator of the panel, felt very comfortable using this word. Our word. The word we use with each other. I think the state of "queer" film is that we need to take it back.