I've spent a lot of time listening to the gloom and doom predictions from the other "side" of the gay rights divide, which has pretty much given me a thick skin. It's also enabled me to pick moments to call people on their bullshit. Every time there has been an advance in the gay rights movement, the world was supposed to end. Thirty years ago, Anita Bryant said that homosexuals are coming after the children, they're recruiting in the schools and parks, because they can't reproduce.
This in the face of the simple fact that every last gay & lesbian person on earth is the product of some type of heterosexual intercourse, whether it's from loving parents or a petri dish. Denying that basic truth is the essence of bullshit.
Gays and lesbians are a part of the fabric of this country. We are teachers and firefighters, accountants and lighting technicians. The country didn't end and the sky didn't fall when Proposition 6 failed to pass all these years ago, however much it may have chagrined poor John Briggs. We're thirty years on, and we need to learn from the past. The reason the sky didn't fall was because the rights of all Californians were protected. We, as a state, decided that enough was enough. That "...all men are created equal" meant just that: we couldn't and shouldn't prevent people from exercising their rights, nor should we take away their jobs for living the truth of their lives.
I say this because I'm not wholly optimistic about the chances of Prop 8 being thrown out by the California Supreme Court.
The surest way to radicalize a group is to dangle a right in front of them, only to snatch it away with an attitude of "maybe, if you're good, we won't take any more." That's where I think the opponents of same sex marriage have made a mistake. Increasingly, the campaign to take marriage rights away from gay people is being seen as misguided--if only because of the reaction by gays and lesbians, who are asking themselves "What's next?" The propositions that passed in Florida and Arizona answer that question in a way that ought to frighten us all. One step to the right (or across a state line) and all those hard-won battles are off the table: no marriage rights, no domestic partnership rights, no civil unions and, in some states, no employment rights.
Which is why we need to engage the middle, that mass of people in the center who may not really care about our issues. Because, fundamentally, their issues are our issues: the freedom to create a family, to hold a job, to vote, to be secure in our homes and our cities, to worship as we choose. In return, we ask that our government step in when necessary to promote and protect those freedoms and otherwise get out the way. In January 1941, less than a month after Pearl Harbor was bombed, Franklin Roosevelt defined the Four Freedoms that are essential for our society to thrive: freedom of speech and expression; freedom of worship; freedom from want and freedom from fear. That's all we ask as citizens, whether we're gay or straight. All of us need to wake up and remember those simple facts.
In that January speech, as he began defining the Four Freedoms, our President had these remarkably apt and prescient words to say:
"...For there is nothing mysterious about the foundations of a healthy and strong democracy.
The basic things expected by our people of their political and economic systems are simple. They are:
Equality of opportunity for youth and for others.
Jobs for those that can work.
Security for those who need it.
The ending of special privilege for the few.
The preservation of civil liberties for all."
Think about these words, and let the people around you know that FDR was was right: taking away basic rights diminishes all of our freedoms. Engage the left, the middle, the right. Talk to your neighbors, your co-workers, your friends. Take the Bill of Rights out of your back pocket and read it. Share what it means to you, discuss how Proposition 8 flies in the face of the equity and fairness inherent in our Constitution. One by one, we can create a radical middle that believes in the inherent equality of all, that works to ensure that no one's rights are taken away on the whim of a bare majority or of the privileged few.
Showing posts with label gay marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gay marriage. Show all posts
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
What marriage is
The arguments back and forth about the meaning of marriage struck a chord in me. They've inspired the following.
This one's going to wander about a bit, as I try to express where I'm coming from--logic, legality, awe, respect, honor, gratitude and grace come into it. And that just begins to describe the profundity of the moment when I realized that I was married. It's going to get emotional, too. I cry. Deal with it. You've seen the wedding pictures. That's me, in all my weepy glory.
People are right when they say it's about the word or, rather, the meaning behind the word marriage. There is something so deeply and profoundly meaningful about the word marriage that gay couples have been striving and struggling towards if for years.
It's not just a societal norm, or cultural acceptance, or legal recognition, nor is it merely the status of being married. The legitimization inherent in the institution of marriage includes all of those things and more. Steve & I have considered ourselves "married" for most of the past 20 plus years. Having our status in those quotes for most of our time together has meant one thing: we aren't fully a part of all that is important to us. Our families. Our society. Our culture.
It's the same culture and society every citizen and resident of this country lives in. I'm from a Chicago Catholic family (as evidenced by my 6 siblings) transplanted to Northern California. Steve's family background is Pentecostal & upstate Pennsylvania German. We have an idiot brother-in-law, the troubled sister back east, the nieces and nephews we treasure beyond reason. We pay our bills, vote, pay our property taxes. But society still considers our relationship as something less. Less than other committed relationships, less likely to succeed, less likely to last.
It isn't always overt, and is usually more subtle. It can be something as simple as saying to your employer, "I have to leave, my partner is in the hospital" and being questioned about it. Rather than simply being told "Go" like the woman in your office who came in two weeks ago and said "My husband just got taken to the hospital." Your commitment to your partner is being questioned, even if your employer doesn't realize it. Suddenly, you're second class, your relationship doesn't have the same value as another.
Or you can be in the emergency room. Your partner is outside the entry, you know he's there, but you can't have him next to you, because the nurse doesn't think it's important. Worse yet, it becomes clear she doesn't think same sex couples should be allowed in her emergency room. You're terrified and alone, and you let the nurse know that's your domestic partner, and by law he's entitled to be there, by your side. The law says so. And she doesn't care. It's another 20 or 40 minutes before he's finally there next to you, let in by a different, more sympathetic nurse. And when you complain, you're told there's nothing that can be done. That your terror and pain are meaningless beside the prejudice of one woman, who should have known better. You don't even get an apology, not the first time it happens, nor the second.
So when you're next in the hospital, you fill out the paperwork, the powers of attorney, the designation of your "partner" as your care-giver--that piece of paper that exists specifically for those who don't have family around, that would normally be allowed by your side 24/7 without having to say anything except, "That's my husband." or "That's my wife." And you realize the power and the societal depth of meaning behind the word "marriage."
You don't just want it, you need it. You realize deep in your gut that separate isn't equal.
You see how profound the institution is. It's the one word that opens doors, and, at the same time, precisely describes the commitment you have for your partner. He's your husband. No quotes. No snickers. He's the rock you've built your life upon. The one person who's happiness is essential to your own.
That one word, marriage, moves mountains, hearts, and even nurses. In a myriad of ways, you see that it's an equalizer.
You hear of a court decision, and as you read it, tears fall down your face, unbidden. And you let out a cry from deep in your soul, so deep you don't know where that sound came from. You've never heard it before, it's a sound of joy, and sorrow that it's taken so long, and celebration, and the release of a pain, a burden you didn't know you were carrying.
The day comes that you go to the County Clerk's office to take out the marriage license, and you're choked up. You can't breathe, and it's wonderful. A hall is rented, a caterer and a DJ hired. And when you walk down the aisle, you shake. And when your partner takes your hand, your hand trembles. The minister says "Who gives these men to be married to each other?" And you hear your parents' voices, ringing with more pride and joy than you've ever heard, damn near singing "WE DO!" Your hand shakes, as you grip the ring in your right hand, and say "with this ring, I thee wed." And you see a single tear, sliding out of the corner of your stoic, Taurus, husband's eye. So you reach up, and wipe it away. Because that's what you do when you're married.
You hold your husbands hand and comfort him. You share the moments that touch the center of your life together. You go to him. You go with him. To the hospital in Texas, where they treat you as a couple, even (or especially) after you've gone all Shirley McClain on the (male) nurse's ass: "Give him more painkillers!"
Because your "husband" is in pain, and the only thing you want is for it to be eased. For the pain to end.
Years later, when you swear to love, honor and cherish him, you understand that it's the small moments that make it worth it. When he makes you German food, and won't let you in the kitchen until it's done. Or you go with him to see his favorite group down at Humphrey's by the Bay, that silly Australian group that sings those sappy songs about being lost in love. And you have a terrific time, simply because he does. Those are the moments that remove the scare quotes. He's your husband. No quotes. No snickers.
You know it's worth it, then and there, when you say "I do." Every minute of the last 20 years that has gone into this moment. The joys, and sorrows, deaths, births, surgeries, those flat broke evenings when you created a meal out of 1/2 a pound of hamburger and a can of tomato soup. The hours he's spent waiting for you to put down the damn book. The comfort you've felt just knowing that he's there, by your side or in the next room.
You realize, deep in your gut, separate is not equal.
Judges preside as ministers and lawyers fight over whether you should be "granted" the right to marry. You want to take the good book and the marriage code and the god-damned constitution and shove them all right down their throats.
Something so basic, profound, and essential as marriage isn't granted. Or earned.
It just is.
You earn the right to stay married, but that's between you and your husband. It's no one else's damned business. It's not the concern of the Liberty Counsel, or the Catholic Church, or some half-educated fundraiser from Colorado Springs. The only rights granted are between Steven and myself. He grants me the right to be idealistic and to be foolishly enamored of a small British car. I grant him the right to tell me to bring home a gallon of milk, and to be cynical about just about anything except our love for each other.
That's what marriage is.
This one's going to wander about a bit, as I try to express where I'm coming from--logic, legality, awe, respect, honor, gratitude and grace come into it. And that just begins to describe the profundity of the moment when I realized that I was married. It's going to get emotional, too. I cry. Deal with it. You've seen the wedding pictures. That's me, in all my weepy glory.
People are right when they say it's about the word or, rather, the meaning behind the word marriage. There is something so deeply and profoundly meaningful about the word marriage that gay couples have been striving and struggling towards if for years.
It's not just a societal norm, or cultural acceptance, or legal recognition, nor is it merely the status of being married. The legitimization inherent in the institution of marriage includes all of those things and more. Steve & I have considered ourselves "married" for most of the past 20 plus years. Having our status in those quotes for most of our time together has meant one thing: we aren't fully a part of all that is important to us. Our families. Our society. Our culture.
It's the same culture and society every citizen and resident of this country lives in. I'm from a Chicago Catholic family (as evidenced by my 6 siblings) transplanted to Northern California. Steve's family background is Pentecostal & upstate Pennsylvania German. We have an idiot brother-in-law, the troubled sister back east, the nieces and nephews we treasure beyond reason. We pay our bills, vote, pay our property taxes. But society still considers our relationship as something less. Less than other committed relationships, less likely to succeed, less likely to last.
It isn't always overt, and is usually more subtle. It can be something as simple as saying to your employer, "I have to leave, my partner is in the hospital" and being questioned about it. Rather than simply being told "Go" like the woman in your office who came in two weeks ago and said "My husband just got taken to the hospital." Your commitment to your partner is being questioned, even if your employer doesn't realize it. Suddenly, you're second class, your relationship doesn't have the same value as another.
Or you can be in the emergency room. Your partner is outside the entry, you know he's there, but you can't have him next to you, because the nurse doesn't think it's important. Worse yet, it becomes clear she doesn't think same sex couples should be allowed in her emergency room. You're terrified and alone, and you let the nurse know that's your domestic partner, and by law he's entitled to be there, by your side. The law says so. And she doesn't care. It's another 20 or 40 minutes before he's finally there next to you, let in by a different, more sympathetic nurse. And when you complain, you're told there's nothing that can be done. That your terror and pain are meaningless beside the prejudice of one woman, who should have known better. You don't even get an apology, not the first time it happens, nor the second.
So when you're next in the hospital, you fill out the paperwork, the powers of attorney, the designation of your "partner" as your care-giver--that piece of paper that exists specifically for those who don't have family around, that would normally be allowed by your side 24/7 without having to say anything except, "That's my husband." or "That's my wife." And you realize the power and the societal depth of meaning behind the word "marriage."
You don't just want it, you need it. You realize deep in your gut that separate isn't equal.
You see how profound the institution is. It's the one word that opens doors, and, at the same time, precisely describes the commitment you have for your partner. He's your husband. No quotes. No snickers. He's the rock you've built your life upon. The one person who's happiness is essential to your own.
That one word, marriage, moves mountains, hearts, and even nurses. In a myriad of ways, you see that it's an equalizer.
You hear of a court decision, and as you read it, tears fall down your face, unbidden. And you let out a cry from deep in your soul, so deep you don't know where that sound came from. You've never heard it before, it's a sound of joy, and sorrow that it's taken so long, and celebration, and the release of a pain, a burden you didn't know you were carrying.
The day comes that you go to the County Clerk's office to take out the marriage license, and you're choked up. You can't breathe, and it's wonderful. A hall is rented, a caterer and a DJ hired. And when you walk down the aisle, you shake. And when your partner takes your hand, your hand trembles. The minister says "Who gives these men to be married to each other?" And you hear your parents' voices, ringing with more pride and joy than you've ever heard, damn near singing "WE DO!" Your hand shakes, as you grip the ring in your right hand, and say "with this ring, I thee wed." And you see a single tear, sliding out of the corner of your stoic, Taurus, husband's eye. So you reach up, and wipe it away. Because that's what you do when you're married.
You hold your husbands hand and comfort him. You share the moments that touch the center of your life together. You go to him. You go with him. To the hospital in Texas, where they treat you as a couple, even (or especially) after you've gone all Shirley McClain on the (male) nurse's ass: "Give him more painkillers!"
Because your "husband" is in pain, and the only thing you want is for it to be eased. For the pain to end.
Years later, when you swear to love, honor and cherish him, you understand that it's the small moments that make it worth it. When he makes you German food, and won't let you in the kitchen until it's done. Or you go with him to see his favorite group down at Humphrey's by the Bay, that silly Australian group that sings those sappy songs about being lost in love. And you have a terrific time, simply because he does. Those are the moments that remove the scare quotes. He's your husband. No quotes. No snickers.
You know it's worth it, then and there, when you say "I do." Every minute of the last 20 years that has gone into this moment. The joys, and sorrows, deaths, births, surgeries, those flat broke evenings when you created a meal out of 1/2 a pound of hamburger and a can of tomato soup. The hours he's spent waiting for you to put down the damn book. The comfort you've felt just knowing that he's there, by your side or in the next room.
You realize, deep in your gut, separate is not equal.
Judges preside as ministers and lawyers fight over whether you should be "granted" the right to marry. You want to take the good book and the marriage code and the god-damned constitution and shove them all right down their throats.
Something so basic, profound, and essential as marriage isn't granted. Or earned.
It just is.
You earn the right to stay married, but that's between you and your husband. It's no one else's damned business. It's not the concern of the Liberty Counsel, or the Catholic Church, or some half-educated fundraiser from Colorado Springs. The only rights granted are between Steven and myself. He grants me the right to be idealistic and to be foolishly enamored of a small British car. I grant him the right to tell me to bring home a gallon of milk, and to be cynical about just about anything except our love for each other.
That's what marriage is.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Putting an end to the pity party
Just as I'm all set to go on feeling bitter... someone I know as an online acquaintance turns out to be a true friend. Earlier this morning, over on the political site, I was all set to go off on a trogdolyte who had come on board to gloat over the passage of Prop 8. On that thread, I pulled back from attacking the troll, apologized for being bitchy and went about my business.
I just took another look at that thread, in hopes of being able to post a rational reply, when I found this:
Note to self: memorize the above, and refer to it every time I'm face-to-face with an idiot. At the very least, it'll help in preparing a measured response.
Every once in a while, you come across a random act of kindness that just touches you, and helps restore your optimism & belief in the basic goodness of people.
Thank you, Ricky, for putting an end to this episode of the pity party. (and perhaps a few of the future ones, too.)
I just took another look at that thread, in hopes of being able to post a rational reply, when I found this:
Jim, it's infuriating, but we're winning. This will be overturned. Of course, please do continue to go on about it, and I'm right there with you. I just want you to not feel so hurt anymore. You can see the fear in their eyes. It's 1962, and the Civil Rights Act is coming, and not all the sheriff's dogs can stop it. And you get to know that in advance.
Note to self: memorize the above, and refer to it every time I'm face-to-face with an idiot. At the very least, it'll help in preparing a measured response.
Every once in a while, you come across a random act of kindness that just touches you, and helps restore your optimism & belief in the basic goodness of people.
Thank you, Ricky, for putting an end to this episode of the pity party. (and perhaps a few of the future ones, too.)
And then I calmed down a little (more political stuff)
And a post from yesterday, at that same political site. I was replying to a person who was using the quote below as evidence that "blacks" were responsible for the passage of Prop 8.
Shannikka at Daily Kos has something interesting to say on this:
Analysis of Black Vote Results on Prop 8
Bottom line, based on the writer's analysis of the number of registered black voters in Californa, even if ALL of those black voters had voted "yes" on 8, Prop 8 would have won by 80,000 votes.
I don't know about the accuracy of the population counts, or the validity of the analysis of the numbers (I leave that to the statisticians amongst us), but if these numbers are in anyway valid, I suggest that the "the blacks are responsible" argument should be dropped.
Even if the numbers are completely off, the fact remains that the vast majority of voters who voted against Prop 8 were white.
Draw whatever conclusions you will from that.
As to the "unfairness" of targeting the LDS Church, I submit that providing 50% to 70% percent of the funding of Yes on 8 removes the "un" from the equation. Especially in light of the (from a Catholic perspective, I don't know what else to call it) pastoral letter published by the LDS hierarchy back in June, which strongly encouraged Mormons to donate & be active in the fight against Prop 8. The out of proportion effect (in comparison to their actual numbers) of the Mormon participation in the Yes on 8 campaign feeds right into my previous statements re: accepting the consequences of entering the political arena.
Specifically, if a Church (or anyone, for that matter) enters into a political discourse, they must be prepared to accept the consequences of someone disagreeing with them. Which explains why there are demonstrations going on in front of Mormon temples across the state. Yes, I'm angry at the Mormons who voted for Prop 8--but I'm also angry at EVERYONE who voted for it. From my perspective, it's not a religious issue, but a fundamental rights issue. ALL of us are affected, one way or another.
Ultimately, I don't think any one group was responsible for the passage of Prop 8. I believe the No on 8 campaign dropped the ball--for example, by failing to show that, hey, married gay couples aren't all that scary. (I simplify). Catholics, blacks, Hispanics, Mormons, Asians, Evangelicals of various stripes, Whites and, yes, gays and lesbians, all share that responsibility. Proceed from there, without bias or bigotry.
CNN is reporting that seventy percent of blacks voted for this amendment.
Without the black vote this amendment would not have passed.
Whites were slightly leaning towards it, while asians and latinos were split.
Shannikka at Daily Kos has something interesting to say on this:
Analysis of Black Vote Results on Prop 8
Bottom line, based on the writer's analysis of the number of registered black voters in Californa, even if ALL of those black voters had voted "yes" on 8, Prop 8 would have won by 80,000 votes.
I don't know about the accuracy of the population counts, or the validity of the analysis of the numbers (I leave that to the statisticians amongst us), but if these numbers are in anyway valid, I suggest that the "the blacks are responsible" argument should be dropped.
Even if the numbers are completely off, the fact remains that the vast majority of voters who voted against Prop 8 were white.
Draw whatever conclusions you will from that.
As to the "unfairness" of targeting the LDS Church, I submit that providing 50% to 70% percent of the funding of Yes on 8 removes the "un" from the equation. Especially in light of the (from a Catholic perspective, I don't know what else to call it) pastoral letter published by the LDS hierarchy back in June, which strongly encouraged Mormons to donate & be active in the fight against Prop 8. The out of proportion effect (in comparison to their actual numbers) of the Mormon participation in the Yes on 8 campaign feeds right into my previous statements re: accepting the consequences of entering the political arena.
Specifically, if a Church (or anyone, for that matter) enters into a political discourse, they must be prepared to accept the consequences of someone disagreeing with them. Which explains why there are demonstrations going on in front of Mormon temples across the state. Yes, I'm angry at the Mormons who voted for Prop 8--but I'm also angry at EVERYONE who voted for it. From my perspective, it's not a religious issue, but a fundamental rights issue. ALL of us are affected, one way or another.
Ultimately, I don't think any one group was responsible for the passage of Prop 8. I believe the No on 8 campaign dropped the ball--for example, by failing to show that, hey, married gay couples aren't all that scary. (I simplify). Catholics, blacks, Hispanics, Mormons, Asians, Evangelicals of various stripes, Whites and, yes, gays and lesbians, all share that responsibility. Proceed from there, without bias or bigotry.
RANT MODE - ON (in which I get political)
On Tuesday night, I published the following on a political site I in which I participate. By Wednesday morning, I'd calmed down (a bit), and was able to write the Still Married post. This morning, I find myself leaning towards the angry & bitter again. Per my husband, it seems that someone in the San Diego media has unfortunately put a microphone in front of Rev. Jim Garlow, one of the San Diego lumpen-preacher-tariat. Evidently, Rev. Garlow has made it clear that he intends to go after the 18,000 marriages that took place between June and November--and he's looking for volunteers to help him. Which leads to the following:
RANT MODE : ON
This one is killing me. A San Diego spokesman for Prop 8 just started talking on our local NBC station about going after the marriages that have already been performed.
I'm ****-ing sick of this ****.
Protect marriage from what? A group of people desperate to HONOR the traditions we come from, despite the prejudice and discrimination we've received for decades. Hell, yes, I'm bitter. Only 30% of the vote is in--and already my marriage is being threatened.
I guess 3 1/2 weeks of full citizenship is all I could have counted on.
Don't tell me it isn't bigotry. That's not the perspective I've got, now that same sons of bitches that want to ban future gay marriages are telling me that next, it's my turn.
All I ask is consistency. For 30 odd years, the mantra I've heard from the right & the religious has been gays are evil, promiscuous & unable to sustain a relationship.
I'm 20 years into my relationship, god-dammit. And now, after 3 1/2 weeks of finally, finally being married, some slimy son of a bitch, self righteous & self serving pig wants to take it away from me. Well **** you. And **** you LDS Church, **** you Focus on the Family and **** you Knights of Columbus. Salt Lake City, Colorado Springs & New York have no ****ing business trying to change California law.
And **** our damned governor & President elect. One of 'em had a ****ing responsibility to do something more than making a statement of support 5 months ago, the other had an opportunity to help set an example of change for the nation, and both of them chose expediency over civil rights.
Thanks, guys, way to lead your state & set an example for your nation.
I'm holding the onto slimmest of hopes that the numbers change over night. Take a look at my blog. Read the ceremony, it's posted right there. Then tell me where I'm wrong on this.
If you think I'm going too far with the above: I challenge you to explain how telling approximately 10% of the people in California that they are to become permanently second class citizens is fair, equitable or, for that matter, constitutional. Then explain how it's fair, equitable or, for that matter, constitutional to go after the legally acquired rights of the 18,000 same sex couples who've gotten married in the last 4 1/2 months. Tell me how it's not religious bigotry & fear run amok.
Look in the ****-ing mirror and tell me.
RANT MODE: OFF
I'm off off to bed, where I hope I can sleep. Maybe in the morning I'll feel like apologizing. Then, again, maybe not.
The passage of Prop 8 is not about restoring or preserving the meaning of marriage. It's about destroying the possibility of marriage for loving couples, and, according to the spokesman I heard tonight, it's also about going after marriages that have meaning--and denigrating them; denying the validity of the relationships that underly those marriages & diminishing the most basic, fundamental civil rights of the people involved.
I've edited the above a little, for clarity.
RANT MODE : ON
This one is killing me. A San Diego spokesman for Prop 8 just started talking on our local NBC station about going after the marriages that have already been performed.
I'm ****-ing sick of this ****.
Protect marriage from what? A group of people desperate to HONOR the traditions we come from, despite the prejudice and discrimination we've received for decades. Hell, yes, I'm bitter. Only 30% of the vote is in--and already my marriage is being threatened.
I guess 3 1/2 weeks of full citizenship is all I could have counted on.
Don't tell me it isn't bigotry. That's not the perspective I've got, now that same sons of bitches that want to ban future gay marriages are telling me that next, it's my turn.
All I ask is consistency. For 30 odd years, the mantra I've heard from the right & the religious has been gays are evil, promiscuous & unable to sustain a relationship.
I'm 20 years into my relationship, god-dammit. And now, after 3 1/2 weeks of finally, finally being married, some slimy son of a bitch, self righteous & self serving pig wants to take it away from me. Well **** you. And **** you LDS Church, **** you Focus on the Family and **** you Knights of Columbus. Salt Lake City, Colorado Springs & New York have no ****ing business trying to change California law.
And **** our damned governor & President elect. One of 'em had a ****ing responsibility to do something more than making a statement of support 5 months ago, the other had an opportunity to help set an example of change for the nation, and both of them chose expediency over civil rights.
Thanks, guys, way to lead your state & set an example for your nation.
I'm holding the onto slimmest of hopes that the numbers change over night. Take a look at my blog. Read the ceremony, it's posted right there. Then tell me where I'm wrong on this.
If you think I'm going too far with the above: I challenge you to explain how telling approximately 10% of the people in California that they are to become permanently second class citizens is fair, equitable or, for that matter, constitutional. Then explain how it's fair, equitable or, for that matter, constitutional to go after the legally acquired rights of the 18,000 same sex couples who've gotten married in the last 4 1/2 months. Tell me how it's not religious bigotry & fear run amok.
Look in the ****-ing mirror and tell me.
RANT MODE: OFF
I'm off off to bed, where I hope I can sleep. Maybe in the morning I'll feel like apologizing. Then, again, maybe not.
The passage of Prop 8 is not about restoring or preserving the meaning of marriage. It's about destroying the possibility of marriage for loving couples, and, according to the spokesman I heard tonight, it's also about going after marriages that have meaning--and denigrating them; denying the validity of the relationships that underly those marriages & diminishing the most basic, fundamental civil rights of the people involved.
I've edited the above a little, for clarity.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Still married
We lost last night. By 500,000 votes of well over 10,000,000 cast. Multiple lawsuits have been filed, in an attempt to throw out Prop 8 . We'll see if they work. There is precedent, but it's rarely invoked. The logic behind throwing out Prop 8 is there, but I don't know if the justices are there yet.
Meanwhile, I know this much: I am married. To the man of my dreams.
I have his love and support, and the love and support of my family and friends.
That's what matters.
The anger and bitterness will pass.
And I'll still be married.
Yes on 8 supporters will try, and may succeed in, revoking my marriage, along with nearly 16,000 others. It'll be heartless and soulless.
And I'll still be married, in my heart and soul.
It may be 20 years before my nieces and nephews can, if necessary, take advantage of truly bias free marriage laws in California. It may take 40 years for the rest of the nation to catch up to where California was 2 days ago.
But I'll still be married.
Because I vowed to love, honor and cherish, til death do us part. I meant it on October 12th. I mean it today, tomorrow, and for all the tomorrows Steven and I have left on this earth together. And, if we're lucky, beyond then.
I don't know what the future will bring, but I know this: we're still married.
Meanwhile, I know this much: I am married. To the man of my dreams.
I have his love and support, and the love and support of my family and friends.
That's what matters.
The anger and bitterness will pass.
And I'll still be married.
Yes on 8 supporters will try, and may succeed in, revoking my marriage, along with nearly 16,000 others. It'll be heartless and soulless.
And I'll still be married, in my heart and soul.
It may be 20 years before my nieces and nephews can, if necessary, take advantage of truly bias free marriage laws in California. It may take 40 years for the rest of the nation to catch up to where California was 2 days ago.
But I'll still be married.
Because I vowed to love, honor and cherish, til death do us part. I meant it on October 12th. I mean it today, tomorrow, and for all the tomorrows Steven and I have left on this earth together. And, if we're lucky, beyond then.
I don't know what the future will bring, but I know this: we're still married.
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