‘Invisible And Overlooked’ Newsweek By Jessica Bennett
September 18, 2008
A growing population of lesbian and gay senior citizens
seeks recognition for their unique needs and challenges.
Bob McCoy is a youthful, active 78-year-old. He sings in his church choir,
takes a weekly computer class, and regularly attends social gatherings organized
by a gay senior citizens group in Brooklyn, N.Y., where he lives. But McCoy
worries about a day when he can no longer care for himself: he has no close
family, no partner, and he's outlived most of his friends. "I'm used to having
friends I can call up and say, 'Let's go to [a movie],'" he says. "But now
there's nobody to call."
Newly engaged, Jim Fetterman, 62, and Ilde Gonzalez-Rivera, 56, look forward
to growing old together at their home in Queens, N.Y., where they share a garden
and a green Cadillac. But the couple isn't sure if or when they'll be able to
marry. Their house is in Rivera's name, but because the couple can't legally wed
in New York, Fetterman won't automatically inherit it, should his partner die.
And even though they are registered domestic partners in New York City, neither
man will have access to the other's Social Security, because the federal
government doesn't recognize their relationship. "It's not something we like to
think about, but there's a certain amount of anxiety that comes with not having
those things," says Fetterman.
These are typical faces of the gay and aging—a growing population often
overlooked by mainstream advocates. Gerontologists haven't traditionally viewed
sexual orientation as relevant to their work—and, according to a study by the
National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, most national health surveys of elderly
citizens fail to assess sexual orientation. But gay seniors confront unique
challenges: they're twice as likely as straights to live alone, and 10 times
less likely to have a caretaker should they fall ill. Older gay men are at high
risk for HIV, and many suffer the psychological effects of losing friends to the
AIDS crisis. (See our report on HIV and aging.) Many face discrimination in
medical and social services, and on top of it all, they're less likely to have
health insurance: one survey, by the Williams Institute on Sexual Orientation
Law, at UCLA, estimates that gay seniors are half as likely to have coverage as
their straight counterparts.
"In many ways, this population is a mirror opposite of what the mainstream
aging community looks like," says Karen Taylor, director of advocacy and
training for the New York-based Services and Advocacy for Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual
& Transgender Elders, or SAGE, the nation's oldest senior network. "The average
senior in the United States lives with one other person; two-thirds of LGBT
seniors live alone. If you don't have those informal support networks built into
your life, then everything else becomes a bigger issue. Who forces you to go to
the doctor? What happens if you fall?"
As this community grows, in both population and visibility, those questions
are becoming harder to ignore. Over the next 25 years, persons in America who
are 65 and older are expected to grow from about 12 to 20 percent of the total
population, and various estimates indicate that lesbian, gay, bisexual and
transgendered individuals will comprise 7 to 10 percent of that senior
population. Meanwhile, like the Baby Boomers of all stripes, aging gays and
lesbians are radically redefining what it means to be a senior—and how they fit
into the larger community. They're coming out of the closet, vocalizing their
experiences and needs, and, most importantly, demanding public recognition. "If
you go back 40 years, there were virtually no openly gay seniors," says Gary
Gates, a senior research fellow and demographer at the Williams Institute. "But
now you have a large enough group that people are paying attention."
This year, SAGE is celebrating its 30th anniversary, and running an ad
campaign in New York to raise awareness about their constituents. And when the
organization holds its national conference on aging next month, it will be
sponsored for the first time by the AARP. Just that acknowledgement, say
advocates, is huge: with 40 million members, the AARP is considered one of
America's most powerful lobbying groups—and an influential voice on health care
and social policy. "When we look to the future, we know we cannot progress if we
don't bring in these other communities," says the Washington-based
organization's chief diversity officer, E. Percil Stanford. "The [gay and
lesbian] community is quite often invisible and overlooked."
That recognition is much needed—especially for older seniors, many of who
spent years hiding their sexuality, and in some sense, still do. Many of today's
seniors were already in their 20s and 30s when the Stonewall riots took place in
1969, considered the birth of the gay rights movement. Until 1973, homosexuality
was still considered a mental illness, and in some jurisdictions in the United
States, gays could be prosecuted as recently as five years ago, before the
Supreme Court struck down a Texas sodomy law. Attitudes may have changed, but
many seniors harbor chilling memories of being shunned, isolated, and in fear
for their physical safety.
Social worker Lee Chew, 59, remembers, in junior high school, looking up
"gay" in the dictionary, to find out just how "sick" he was—and deciding, until
he was in his mid-20s, "to keep this to myself." At 90, Jerre Kalbas, one of
SAGE's original female members, tells stories of growing up in the 1930s, when
women weren't supposed to even wear pants. She describes men hooting at her on
the street, yelling "dyke"—and even though she had relationships with other
women, she was terrified she'd be exposed to her family, or fired from her job.
McCoy, who spent years as an Army communications official, remembers going to a
bar in Greenwich Village in the late 1960s, and climbing out a bathroom window
to escape police officers during a surprise raid. Fetterman, who came out to his
wife and the Episcopal church where he was a priest just six years ago, was
dismissed from his job and kicked out of his home. "My entire life came crashing
down," he says.
Some seniors, like McCoy, still won't offer up their orientation willingly.
(Though McCoy considers himself out, he still hasn't told his doctor, therapist
or social worker he is gay.) And in some cases, that internalized fear may
actually prevent lesbian and gay seniors from accessing public services. One
study, by the Milwaukee County Department On Aging, found that gay seniors who
feared they wouldn't be welcome at an aging center were five times less likely
to step foot in the door.
For those who can afford it, there are gay-specific retirement communities
and free service centers dotted around the nation, mostly in urban areas. But
most regular nursing homes give shared-room preference to their married clients,
and only a few states require employers to give leave for employees caring for
same-sex partners. Inside care centers, advocates tell stories of social workers
using gloves to treat only their gay patients, or those patients being shuffled
around from room to room to avoid harassment from other residents. In rare
cases, social workers say that couples have gone to the extent of agreeing not
to visit each other, for fear the staff will treat them differently. And many
patients revert back into the closet to protect themselves. "If you can imagine
a situation where you're 80 years old, with no kids, a partner passed, no
cousins or relatives and not one service that will provide you help with an
emoticon of respect, that's what most LGBT seniors in this country face right
now," says Michael Adams, SAGE's executive director.
Financial and estate-planning matters can complicate things further. In most
cases, gay survivors don't have rights to a partner's pension plans, and are
taxed on 401(k)s and IRAs they might inherit. Same-sex couples must also pay
federal estate taxes on jointly owned homes where married couples don't.
Sometimes they even have to fight with blood relatives over how to dispose of a
partner's remains. To approximate some of the protections of marriage, many gay
couples have to set up extra legal frameworks, such as powers or attorney and
joint tenancy agreements. "Senior citizens have enough of a challenge just
figuring out all the paperwork for health insurance—but gays and lesbians have
this added layer," says attorney David Buckel, the director of the Marriage
Project at the Lambda Legal Defense and Education Fund, a civil rights group.
"It can be overwhelming."
The good news, of course, is that attitudes are changing. At New York's gay
pride parade earlier this year, SAGE made the rounds in two purple trolleys,
amid 90-degree heat, with walking canes and colorful streamers waving out the
windows. Some had been coming to the parade for years; for others, it was their
first time. One couple, in matching T-shirts, held a sign that read: "Together
51 Years"—to raucous cheers from the crowd. "The fact is," says Adams, "the [gay
and lesbian] community is going through a sea change in terms of the way we live
our lives." For gay seniors, there's no time to waste.
