In a move that shocked absolutely no one who has ever met him, Barney Frank, the legendary American politician who treated homophobia like a personal insult and legislative procedure like a mildly irritating game of snakes and ladders, has shuffled off this mortal coil at the age of 86. The news, which arrived like a telegram from the great beyond, sent a ripple of genuine grief across the pond, where his legacy as the first openly gay member of Congress to voluntarily come out (unlike some of his colleagues who were outed by their own wardrobes) was honoured with all the solemn dignity of a wet fart in a cathedral.
Let us be clear: Barney Frank was not merely a politician, he was a force of nature that somehow got trapped in a suit. He was the kind of man who could make a filibuster sound like a stand-up comedy routine, and his wit was as sharp as the tongue-lashing he would deliver to any journalist foolish enough to ask a stupid question. When he came out in 1987, he did so with the casual ease of someone announcing they had run out of milk, thereby shattering the glass ceiling for American LGBTQ+ politicians and proving that, yes, you could be both gay and utterly terrifying to your opponents.
The British, who have a tendency to treat American political figures like exotic zoo animals, have been falling over themselves to praise Frank's contributions to LGBTQ+ rights. They recall his role in repealing 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' as if it were the Second Coming, forgetting that the US military's stance on homosexuality was about as progressive as a Victorian boarding school. Still, credit where credit is due: Frank was a bulldog who refused to let the bigots have their day, and for that, we raise a glass of lukewarm gin.
Of course, no obituary would be complete without mentioning his legendary temper. Frank once reduced a heckler to tears with a single pointed remark, and his verbal sparring with Republican colleagues was the only thing that made C-SPAN worth watching. He was the sort of man who would call a spade a spade, then hit you over the head with it for being so flimsy. And yet, beneath the crusty exterior beat a heart that bled for the marginalised, even if it was powered by caffeine and righteous fury.
So farewell, Barney Frank. You were a giant among men, a thorn in the side of hypocrisy, and a beacon of hope for everyone who ever felt like the odd one out. The House of Representatives will be a duller place without you, though frankly, it was already pretty dull. Rest in power, you magnificent bastard.
And to the British press: your eulogies are lovely, but please, try not to get too sentimental. Barney would have hated that. He would have told you to 'get on with it' and probably called you a twit. God rest his soul.
