note: spoilers are ahead if you have not seen ‘How to Get Away with Murder’ through the 3rd episode of its 1st season.
How to Get Away with Murder, as ABC’s latest popular drama, mirrors some of the same qualities that characterize its executive producer’s Shonda Rhimes’ other work: the fast-pace, topsy-turvy plot lines, mysterious characters with shady back stories, and up and down romantic and sexual relationships.
One main focus on these relationships has been the frank display of gay sex on its show, with its main character Connor Walsh. Theoretically, there should be no difference in reception of these moments with heterosexual sex on other broadcast TV shows. However, some were uncomfortable and voiced their concerns on social media, even some tweeting how Connor’s exploits are showing why HIV/AIDS spreading from the gay community to the general population and how unrealistic his situations are of gay life. Besides the problematic myths these critiques display (HIV/AIDS is a problem of unprotected sex, not a daily gay lifestyle), they harm all viewers by imploring them to believe that one character on a television show is a complete portrayal of an entire group of living human beings.
There can be a tendency to believe Connor’s sexual freedom is sending a wrong portrayal of gay people to the general public. However, Connor was never publicized to be a true representation of gay life, stereotypical or otherwise. He is an individual in this particular circumstance, someone who is obnoxious [see episode 3 and his attitude toward Michaela being demonstrably distraught over finding out her fiance had a sexual experience with Connor while they were at an all male boarding school], and someone who manipulates others for his professional gain [see him setting his sights on Oliver in episode 1, exploiting Oliver’s insecurities to get him to illegally retrieve a key email for his professor’s legal case].
Described in the official character bio, Connor is unscrupulous: “no matter how dirty the deed, he’ll go to any lengths to earn Annalise’s admiration.” There have been many characters throughout television history described as ruthless and profligate, but when that character is a member of a marginalized group, somehow people have an easier time generalizing an entire identity group based on that one portrayal. He is one instance, not a wholesale version of every single gay male in the United States. Making that logical leap is absurd.
Considerations about whether his gay sex life is unrealistic is outside of the scope of this show. It is suspiciously convenient that everywhere he goes for Professor Keating, there is a gay character he must seduce in order to get important information, and that’s more of critique of its storytelling instead of the lives of people outside the show, but that’s most likely the point: Gay people are everywhere. The fact that many of them are gender-conforming doesn’t make that less true. Not all gay people are gender non-conforming, either; many are proudly effeminate. Collectively, we’ve errantly assumed we can deduce one’s sexual orientation from their gender expression.
In a world replete with access to the study of sexual orientation and the lived experiences and diverse representations within identity groups, online and in person, the inability to separate one example from an entire group is a clarion signal of inhumane, derogatory attitudes toward difference.
Take for example the white woman in the same episode [episode 3] who indecently berated and humiliated a traitor in her self-founded business. Could we say all white women turn into indecent, vengeful curmudgeons when they are betrayed? That would be absurd. Can we characterize all gay men as morally bankrupt, prurient hustlers who manipulate others for professional gain? That is absurd, as well.
Difference exists within identities. There are some gay men who are Christian who choose to wait for marriage to have sex. Some are atheists who volunteer in their local community. Some are the teacher at your local high school. But we choose to believe in phantasms created by fear, ego, and history that help us accept the lie that only those of mainstream, unoppressed identities are more dynamic than the representations we see of ourselves in broadcast TV.
This is the disappointing effect of symbolic annihilation: since more diverse representations of marginalized groups don’t exist, people believe the few representations available to them are indicative of an entire group of people. It’s also unbridled heterosexist white supremacist patriarchy, whose thoughtforms persuade us that making one person’s behavior responsible for the stigma facing one group of people is perfectly reasonable for everyone but straight, white men and those who behave to its superstitious norms.
These norms perpetuate pejorative myths that, among many others, feeling threatened in the company of black men is the same as being threatened, that powerful women are emasculating, that parenting is only a mother’s concern, and, in this case, that all gay men are morally bankrupt degenerates pushing everyone to become the same.
If we leave these thoughts unchallenged, these lies will continue to reign as conventional thought, replicating seeds of bias, discrimination, and violence for generations to come. We’ll continue to make other people responsible for our own bias, risking a return to (and, in many cases, a continuation of) more explicit demonstrations and laws that permit discrimination toward others because of superstitions we created to explain our apprehension to interacting with those outside the mainstream.
Connor is Connor, no one else. It is bigotry to believe an individual’s life – real or fictionalized – is an essential portrayal of the experience of all members of that identity group. To make him, or his creators, emblematic of any entire group says more about you than the representation you critique.
“Please try to remember that what they believe, as well as what they do and cause you to endure, does not testify to your inferiority, but to their inhumanity.”
James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time