Civil Rights: Test Case for a Gay Cause

By NANCY GIBBS

Among the items hurled at California Governor Pete Wilson last week were oranges (he caught one and threw it back), eggs and ugly epithets. "Liar! Coward! Shame! Shame!" cried the protesters at Stanford, where Wilson was delivering a speech marking the university's centennial. Surrounded by police in riot gear, he plunged through a 10-minute address, unheard by much of the audience of 4,000 over the catcalls of 300 protesters from gay-rights groups like Queer Nation and ACT UP. Over the clamor, Wilson offered the observation that "this is neither the time nor the place for fascist tactics."

It was a week of rage in California, as gay activists smashed windows in government buildings, torched the California flag and burned Wilson in effigy. The Governor had betrayed them, the protesters declared, when he announced that he was vetoing AB101, a bill designed to protect homosexuals from job discrimination. Wilson, who won his office with the help of gay support, had indicated in April that he would sign the legislation. But last week, after receiving 100,000 letters from impassioned conservatives urging him to scrap the bill, he changed his mind.

The legislation would have allowed gays who believe they have been discriminated against to seek penalties against employers through the state fair employment and housing department. The law currently applies to victims of bias on the grounds of race, gender, age or physical disability; AB101 would simply have added "sexual orientation" to the list. Businesses that employ fewer than five people would be exempt, as would religious organizations. But the legislation would have covered more than 80% of the state's employees.

Wilson's veto sent a chill through civil rights activists across the country. Four other states -- Hawaii, Wisconsin, Massachusetts and Connecticut -- have passed broad antidiscrimination laws, and a national bill is pending before Congress. Gays had viewed California, as the country's most populous state and a leader in civil rights legislation, as a critical test case.

Though polls last week found that 62% of Californians wanted Wilson to sign the bill, he justified his decision on the grounds that it would unleash lawsuits, stifle job creation and unduly burden businesses. Gays were already protected from discrimination, he said, under the privacy clause of the state constitution. Each year the department of fair employment and housing handles more than 10,000 complaints, roughly one-quarter of which end up in court.

But there was something disingenuous in Wilson's objections. Proponents of AB101 point out that similar laws have not led to endless litigation in other states. In Wisconsin during the past 10 years, just over 500 cases have been filed, or less than 1% of all discrimination complaints in that state. A California senate judiciary-committee analysis found that few of the state's 10,000 complaints actually resulted in expensive hearings or litigation. During each of the past three years, records show, the fair employment and housing commission has decided fewer than 20 cases, and half of them came down in the employer's favor.

The real reason for the veto had more to do with Wilson's political fortunes. The Governor has known for some time that he was in trouble with the G.O.P. right wing, which has been twitching over his decision last summer to raise taxes $7 billion. Wilson's support of abortion rights opens him to charges of being against traditional family values. Also threatened is Senator John Seymour, whom Wilson appointed to take his seat when he was elected Governor last year. Seymour faces a tough challenge for re-election from conservative Republican William Dannemeyer, a strong opponent of gay rights. By vetoing the bill, Wilson may have hoped to steal some of Dannemeyer's thunder and appease the right wing in one stroke.

+ Some political analysts think Wilson may have his sights fixed on more distant horizons. If he were thinking, for instance, of running for President in 1996, he would need to carry conservative voters in the California primary. "You can't sign this bill and run for President in North Carolina and Mississippi in 1996 without some major problems," observed the Rev. Louis Sheldon, chairman of the Traditional Values Coalition, a group of 6,500 churches.

But Sheldon and other conservatives were not won over. In his veto message, Wilson said he hated to give comfort to "the tiny minority of mean-spirited, gay-bashing bigots," a characterization which served only to inflame the right wing. Some conservative leaders viewed Wilson's flip-flop on the bill as a patent effort to placate their troops, and promised that they would go ahead and support Dannemeyer anyway as the true conservative. Some leaders of the gay-rights movement, meanwhile, promised a fire storm. Though moderate gay groups deplored such tactics, some radical activists threatened to "out" members of Wilson's staff. "We will haunt the Governor as long as it takes to get this bill passed," says Queer Nation member John Woods, "or until he's no longer Governor." So, in the end, Wilson loses on both counts: one side rejects his principles; the other questions his politics; and he winds up as the man in the middle, a lonely place in the politics of extremism.

With reporting by D. Blake Hallanan/San Francisco, with other bureaus