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June 2011

“We have a high percentage of blacks in prison, and that’s tragic, but are they in prison just because they are black or because they don’t want to study as hard in school? I’ve taught school, and I saw a lot of people of color who didn’t study hard because they said the government would take care of them.”

She was no more kind towards women, whom she believed earned less money at their jobs because they “tend to think more about their family, wanting to stay at home more, wanting to be with their family, have more leisure time.”

Hello hateful racial and gender stereotypes. As for her views on homosexuality being a choice, she had more despicable words: “They are not born that way. God would not call something an abomination and make someone where they had no choice. They have the opportunity, they have the power to say no to that lifestyle… None of us gets to choose the temptations we deal with. We are all tempted. We are all sinners. We can all say no to destructive temptations.”

How does my being gay translate into something destructive? And if it is indeed against what God wants, He will deal with me when I meet Him. It has no effect on you, Ms. Kern. If we were all bound to the sins of others, we would all be going to Hell no matter how you spin it.

This is the main point that the Bible-believers miss: you cannot single out one portion of the Bible and use that so literally, while ignoring all the others. And to attribute the portended downfall of civilization to gay people – instead of, let’s say, religious zealots who murder anyone opposed to their beliefs – is absurd. The fact that you’re singling out homosexuals makes it an act of homophobia, in the same way that singling out blacks as lazy is racist.

Until an oppression is lifted, you never realize how much it’s been weighing you down. If all your life you’ve been told you are not as good as someone because you are gay – either literally or symbolically – if that’s all you’ve ever known, when the realization comes that you are as good, that you are equal… it’s a big deal. That’s what I’m going through now as New York State becomes the sixth state in the nation to make gay marriage legal.

It feels different when it’s your own rights that are being decided – and when the right decision is made, it feels a little overwhelming. The majority of people won’t ever know what that feels like (that’s why they’re the majority). But for the minority of us who have been denied certain basic human rights – to anyone for that matter who’s been hated or discriminated against for being different – being granted the acknowledgment that we are equal is a big thing. I hate to say that it validates us, because we have always been valid, but in a way that’s what it feels like.

It says we are human.

It says we are worthy.

It says we deserve our love.

As I sit here writing this, with tears once again welling up in my eyes, I am simultaneously touched, saddened, emboldened, and exhilarated that I get to live in this great state, in this great country – where so much is wrong, but where so much can be made right.

I have to admit, until we received it, I never realized how much it bothered me, and how much it worked to silence me. Last night, as we passed people on the way to the gay bars where we were going to celebrate, I walked proudly down the street. It used to be that I would cower a bit and hasten my pace, hoping they wouldn’t notice my white pants or flamboyant shirt. I used to keep my head down and avoid eye contact, remembering moments when someone would shout ‘fag’ at me. Not tonight. I walked with head held high, daring someone to say it. Tonight I felt liberated.

How sad that it was that way, and I wish I’d had that same belief in myself for all these years, but I didn’t. Because no matter how well I carried myself, no matter how confidently I may have come across, internally I never really felt it. That’s what a society that treats you as less than equal has the power to do. It is soul-crushing – it is a stamping-out of one’s spirit, a trampling of one’s heart.

Over the years I put up many barriers and a lot of armor to deal with all my doubts and feelings of inadequacy- a wardrobe to impress, a wit to charm, a nonchalant arrogance and aloofness that was meant to read as ‘I don’t care what you think of me, I’m just as good as you’ but I never, ever truly believed it.

This morning, as the sun begins to peek out from behind a bank of clouds, I’m starting to believe.

Yesterday Andy and I attended the Rally for Love & Marriage at the State Capitol. It was my first rally, and it was awash in love and respect. The crowd was estimated at around 500, which was way more than I thought would be there. There was some singing and the occasional brief chant (both of which I do not do in public), but more importantly there were supportive speeches by Assembly Persons, Senators, labor reps, and various religious leaders of all denominations. It was a powerful statement on how much of this state supports marriage equality.

Kicking it off was Republican Senator Jim Alesi, who was the first to break ranks with his party and give a definitive ‘Yes’ for marriage equality. Based on the thunderous applause he received, it struck me that the political consequences for supporting marriage equality go both ways. In this instance, Senator Alesi gained a number of fans. Senator Roy McDonald is the only other Republican to indicate his support for the bill, and he’s seen his own support ebb and flow from it. It also struck me that Senator Skelos – the Senate Majority Leader – will likely be held responsible should this bill not come to a vote, and that will have its own political fall-out.

Personally, I would want to be on the right side of history, on the side of equality, but that’s why I’d never make a good politician. For now, the fate of marriage equality rests in the hands of a few Senators in the state where I was born and raised. I hope, and I pray, that they make me proud.

It’s the smart thing to do.
It’s the right thing to do.
And it’s the time to do it.

History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the vitriolic words & the violent actions of the bad people, but the appalling silence & indifference of the good people.
~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

It happens almost every year, whether it’s a Pride Parade in Albany, Boston, or Rochester: I get a little teary-eyed. If there weren’t a ton of people around me, I’d probably let out a torrent. Instead, I keep it mostly inside, and on a rainy year like this no one notices a few extra drops on my face.

I can’t fully explain it. Part of it is the simple act of marching ~ the collective energy and efforts of a group of people who have, at some point in our lives, been marginalized and hated ~ if not specifically or individually then as a whole ~ all together and in unison.

Part of it is the various groups ~ the Youth Group, the Gay Fathers, the Dykes on Bikes ~ each one of them is moving in their own right, each one has a tale to tell, of hurt and hope, of triumph and tragedy, of life and death.

And part of it is simply the sea of smiling faces ~ friends, families, and complete strangers, all coming together in celebration and commemoration. For all these reasons, I always feel overcome at various parts of the parade, and it never fails to elicit a few heartfelt tears from an otherwise-stone heart. Such was the case as I stood under a concrete eve near Shreve, Crump, & Low, watching the Boston Gay Pride Parade move slowly by in the rain. From the giddy drag queens to the dancing go-go-guys, from the Trolleys of gay octogenarians to the little rainbow-flag-waving child, everyone was joyful and happy, despite the non-stop rain and a chilly breeze. Even the leather-masked men were all smiles through their harnesses.

I still believe that if you think of someone at their happiest, when they’re smiling or laughing or finding joy in the world, you can never really be mad at them. You can’t hate someone’s happiness. (At least I can’t.) More importantly, you can’t hate someone’s love.

Whenever I try to understand the reasons for attacking gay marriage, I can’t get beyond the fact that it is, at its core, an attack on love. And how can anyone be hated for loving? That kind of hatred is something I cannot access, cannot fathom. That kind of hatred doesn’t make sense to my head or heart. And on that rainy day in Massachusetts, in the city where Andy and I were married ~ just a few blocks from where we were joined in the Boston Public Garden ~ there was nothing but love around me. In that safety, in that warmth, in that relief, I cried out of joy and hope for what the world could, and should, be.