Civilized!

On Tuesday, the Colorado General Assembly voted to legalize civil unions for same-sex couples in Colorado. To understate the point, this is huge! It’s something activists in the state have worked long and hard to achieve. In this state, it’s made even more marvelous by the fact that just 20 years ago, some folks were calling Colorado the “hate state” for its passage of Amendment 2.

Back then, Colorado was notorious as the (to all media appearances) least LGBTQ-friendly place in the nation. In truth, that judgment was overblown—media frenzies do that. And in truth, Amendment 2 ended up having some very positive long-term consequences—including, arguably, Tuesday’s success. But no one could have predicted that just two decades later, same-sex couples would have that same state’s approval to form legal unions. It’s not yet the whole shebang, and folks were pointing out that it wasn’t marriage before the applause even died down. But it’s a step—a giant step—in this long trek.

Besides, for Coloradans this really is as good as it gets … at least for now. Civil unions are the greatest possible victory in a state that has an explicit constitutional ban on same-sex marriage. We’re not the only state in this particular fix. It’s one of several patterns in the crazy-quilt national patchwork of state-by-state laws that include legal support for, indifference to, and prohibition against same-sex unions of various sorts. The result can be a legal and logistic nightmare for same-sex couples, who may be married in one state, have no legal protection in the next, and see their relationship explicitly negated in a third.

Who can possibly keep up with it all? Well, conveniently, Sean Sullivan, a blogger for the Washington Post, has done us the great favor of summarizing the current status (well, current until Tuesday) of various laws and constitutional amendments related to same-sex marriage (ssm) around the country. To see where your state stacks up (and to be astonished at the piecemeal quality of marriage rights at this juncture), check out his blog here. These maps are really eye opening. Some of them are also clickable, if you want even more detail about your state—or someone else’s, for that matter.

All of this becomes really relevant given the pending Supreme Court consideration of two marriage equality cases, which I wrote about recently. It turns out that the potential impact of these two cases is greatly complicated by this legal hodgepodge. Right now, nine states and DC have marriage equality. The rest have an assortment of conditions ranging from constitutional and legal prohibitions on ssm through various partnership and civil union statutes (and various combinations of the above) to total silence on the issue. The two cases that will soon be considered by the Supreme Court may solve none, some, or all of these discrepancies among states.

One case challenges California’s Proposition 8, which rescinded marriage rights briefly accorded in that state. That ruling could affect only California or, in the broadest case, it could affect all states with legal bans on ssm (like Colorado). The other case challenges the federal Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA; in all federal matters, marriage is between one man and one woman). It argues that it’s unconstitutional for the federal government to refuse federal marriage rights (social security, tax benefits, etc.) to married same-sex partners living in states where marriage is legal. This ruling could have a narrow impact (in just those nine states and DC). Alternatively, a broad ruling could ripple far beyond those jurisdictions, opening the way to broader enactment of marriage equality laws.

To add to the uncertainty, legal technicalities could influence both these rulings and their long-term impact. Basically, the court could decide these cases in a million different ways (approximately). If you’re curious about these things, here’s a pretty comprehensive discussion of the ins and outs of the matter.

Most folks who track these things carefully (which does not include me, except remotely) expect that the court’s rulings will not be so broad as to affect marriage rights in all the individual states. With the current court’s conservative leanings, we might even hope that the rulings will be narrow, since having a negative outcome from the Supremes at this point could stall the movement for a long time. In fact, some people argue that, given the recent rather steady—and occasionally dramatic—progress toward acceptance of marriage equality, we might be better off with the slow, steady slog of legislative and ballot box change. Whatever, hope springs eternal.

Stay tuned. The court will be hearing oral arguments on these cases on March 26 and 27, and they’ll probably issue rulings by June.

Sending light to North Carolina

Today, the citizens of North Carolina are going to the polls to vote on a constitutional ban against same-sex marriage—which is to say, an amendment prohibiting marriage equality. The amendment is expected to pass.* There’s been lots of coverage of this as a political issue. But I’m thinking today about the LGBT folks and their allies in that state. I’m thinking about how this day feels to them—the day when their rights are being put to a popular vote. And about how tomorrow will feel, the day when they wake up wondering who voted to deny those rights. It takes me straight back to 1992.

I remember waking on the morning after Amendment 2 was passed by Colorado voters in November 1992.

For those who don’t know about Amendment 2, a short primer: A2 was a citizen-initiated ballot measure that would overturn all existing legal protections for LGB people and prohibit the passage of any such protections in the future. Simply, it would legalize discrimination against LGB people. A2 was ultimately declared unconstitutional by the US Supreme Court—but not before it had profound effects on LGB individuals and communities and their allies. (My apologies for the absent “T.” We weren’t addressing trans issues at all at this point.)

Like lots of other folks, I believed the polls that said A2 wouldn’t pass. I was prepared to be outraged that many of my neighbors, co-workers, even my family would have voted for it—and against me. But I expected it to fail, and I expected my life to go on as it had, with barely a ripple of notice given to the issue.

Then I heard the morning news on the clock radio by my bed: A2 had passed. Tears sprang to my eyes.

I hadn’t given the amendment much attention, hadn’t been at all involved in the campaign against it, wasn’t at all prepared for this moment. The truth is, in my contented, complacent, comfortable life, I didn’t give much thought to LGB issues at all. I was generally pretty closeted—totally so at work, although out to my family and close friends. I had a wide circle of lesbian (and a few gay male) friends, occasionally went to LGB events. I was content with this. I knew A2 was on the ballot and had vaguely noticed the campaign ads—especially from A2 supporters. I’d wanted to scream at the radio as I heard the lies being told about me and my life, but I didn’t actively do anything about it.

And then, on Tuesday, November 3, 1992, people in my state voted to actively prohibit all guarantees of legal protection for me and my community. I was stunned, hurt, angry, dumfounded, tearful. And frightened: would this grant permission to people (who might have held back out of social propriety) to see us as legitimate targets—of discrimination, harassment, or worse? I was also confused and outraged: How could they? Do they really hate us that much? How can they misunderstand us so badly?

After the tears stopped that morning, I resolved that I had to do something about this. I couldn’t just retreat farther into my closet (which some folks assure me was a glass closet anyhow). For my own sanity, as well as my wish to single-handedly change the world, I had to act. I have to admit that I didn’t suddenly wrest control over all I was feeling. The hurt and anger and fear remained in silent ways. I started to wonder, “who?” Who voted against my rights? Was it that neighbor I see walking up to his mailbox—did he vote against me? Was it my colleague in the next office? I had never talked to her about this, did she …? Was it the guy in the car next to me at the stoplight? My doctor? The announcer on the radio?

Still, even with this private backtalk, I realized that I was in a great position to do something active. I taught at a state college and I had tenure, a good reputation as a teacher, and the broad support of my colleagues (although I wasn’t certain it would extend to this domain). So I began a two-pronged personal campaign: I got active politically, and I turned the emotional intensity of my response to A2 toward educational ends. Eventually, I created a course in LGB psychology, which I taught to a full classroom several times a year, every year until I retired. I wrote a textbook to use in the class, because there was none available. And I began professional writing and research in this topic area, which remained my area of focus until I retired.

In this process, I also met my partner. She had actually worked (hard!) on the “No on 2” campaign, so she had been very directly in the line of fire from the “Yes on 2” folks. Also, she’s a therapist, and when A2 passed, she had seen its impact on LGB people and their allies among her clients. So she did a major research project to figure out what this had done to folks. From her, I learned that my response to A2 was not unique. Many people felt what I felt: stunned, angry, hurt, fearful, alienated, lost. And many turned those feelings into activism of some sort. Painful though it was, in the long run, the LGBT community and our allies used A2 as a springboard to amazing progress. In fact, the ultimate US Supreme Court ruling overturning A2 has served as a model for many pro-LGBT victories in the years that followed.

All of this comes to mind as I think of the folks in North Carolina. Today will be hard—hard, last-minute work to get LGBT-positive folks to vote, mustering volunteers to go door to door, to give folks rides, to make last-minute phone calls. And then the long wait … and finally the results, heard in campaign headquarters, seen in banners on evening TV, or heard on the morning news.

LGBT rights are expected to lose in North Carolina today. That means that tomorrow, lots of folks will be feeling what I felt that cold morning in November 1992.

In my days of learning everything I could about LGB psychology, I came across this notion that has stuck with me. It’s called the “affirmative assumption,” and it says this: if we look at LGBT people (or insert any other devalued group) from the perspective of what’s great about us (the affirmative view) instead of what’s damaged (the deficit view), we get a very different picture of who we are. LGBT people have faced so much awful stuff over the years—individually and as a community—and yet most of us turn out to be fine, healthy, normal, typical human beings. This suggests that we can be remarkably resilient, can have really excellent coping skills. The fact that A2 led not to the demise of Colorado’s LGBT community but to its growth and empowerment is a case in point.

Today, I want to send the LGBT/ally community in North Carolina a dose of faith in their own resilience, a hit of the affirmative assumption. A win would feel much better tomorrow morning. But, as we learned in Colorado, a “loss” can lead to great outcomes in the long run. Even though this doesn’t make it not hurt in the moment. Oooof.

--------------------------------------------------- 

* There’s also a bill moving through the legislative process in Colorado that would endorse civil unions for same-sex couples. That bill has to get through the legislature by Wednesday, or it will die for this year … again. I’ll comment on that another time. Today, folks in NC are on my mind, probably because their situation seems so similar to ours in 1992—a citizen-initiated constitutional amendment limiting LGBT rights that has been put up for a popular vote.