The passage of
Proposition 8 in California brought me great sadness. I was not affected personally, materially; but its passage was an affront to all of us who either enter into or simply believe in the validity of same-sex unions. I'm fatigued by the rationalizations for Prop 8's support:
The Bible says, Thou shalt not lie down with a blah blah blah. Separation of church and state: it's not just a good idea; it's the law.
I believe in protecting the institution of marriage. From what? Last I checked, no one was imperiling or trying to invalidate any straight marriages.
Marriage should be for a man and a woman because that's how procreation happens. Specious logic; do we then invalidate marriage for those who physically cannot have children? Marriages of the elderly?
Gay men have the right to marry - they have the right to marry women. Great, so you want more Jim and Dina McGreevys. Wise.
Gays are promiscuous. Not more so than other guys. But even if we were - you wouldn't want us to marry and change that a little bit?
I don't want to have to explain to my child why those two men are holding hands or those two women are kissing. Your parents in the 1960s probably didn't want to have to explain to you why that black woman and that white man were holding hands and kissing. Sorry, but it's an increasingly diverse and multicultural world, and your fear of complication does not trump my civil rights.
Now, I would be OK with a compromise that leaves "marriage" for religious faiths to decide and legitimizes "civil unions" for the legal aspects. In fact, I think that's the compromise that ultimately we as a culture will come to. But until then, I refuse to sit silently and countenance those who believe my love to be inferior to another's, who believe inferior or illegitimate my ability to commit heart and soul to another person, to raise a child, to be a devoted parent and upstanding member of my community, to be fully human and fully American.
No, I am not inferior, and neither is my love.
So I spent part of this weekend with thousands of others in a rally at City Hall (
one of several in cities throughout the U.S.) that served less as a protest against Prop 8 and similar discriminatory measures than as a declaration of civil rights and a reminder that love is what is needed right now - but also as a message to the Mormons, Catholics, and other religious groups behind the antigay movement that we will stop their juggernaut before it threatens to trample us in other states. The nearly impromptu gathering was warming, reassuring, dare I say triumphant.
"Legalize Our Love," a call for marriage equality from the husband-and-wife duo Timbuk 3, might have been a better reflection today of the partnership longings expressed at Saturday's rallies. But instead I've gone with
"There But for the Grace of God Go I," a too-clever-for-its-own-good slice of discofied social commentary written by August (Kid Creole) Darnell. Buried in its squeaking groove was the story of a family who have decided to move out of the Bronx so their daughter can grow up in a presumably safer place "with no blacks, no Jews, and no gays." But you can't control who and what a person will become, and the daughter (a "natural freak") gets pregnant and takes off with some guy at 16.
I like that they call the daughter a
natural freak: it's a sly reminder that we are all individuals with sexual selves, and some of us have a natural sexuality that deviates from the norm. We outliers are not products of failed parenting or of corrupted morals - we're just not the norm.
This shouldn't be so difficult to understand. But enough people are having trouble with it that they've passed laws in California (and 28 other states!) to prevent us from marrying and in Arkansas to prevent us from adopting children or being foster parents. It's frustrating to be deprived of rights by people waving their Bibles instead of opening their hearts; we who are gay in America will need our own
Loving vs. Virginia to be fully integrated into society. And I hope when it happens, it has as fitting a name.
The last day - indeed, the last panel - of the EMP Pop Conference saw musicologists discussing work that either never saw the light of day or simply did not see enough of it. This was the most educational part of the conference for me; I finally gained some exposure to the dirty funk of Betty Davis (fascinating, but I'll take Millie Jackson over her, as underserved '70s R&B goes) and learned that Chic produced an album for Johnny Mathis in 1981, I Love My Lady, that was never released at all.
