May Day!

Yesterday was May 1, a celebratory day for a variety of reasons in many countries around the world. So, it should come as no particular surprise that yesterday was a certifiably remarkable day here as well. I’m not talking here about the international labor movement, Maypoles, or rituals of pagan origin (well, maybe that last one, sort of). I’m actually talking about an amazing day of celebrations signaling the stunning progress of LGBTQ rights.

First, as many of you know, yesterday was the day when civil unions became legal in Colorado. The event featured parties of all sorts around the state, with some—like Boulder’s—beginning Monday evening, well before the magical midnight moment and extending on into the bleary-eyed hours of May 1. Although my partner and I didn’t get “unionized” (or, as someone said, “civilized”), we went anyway to witness this momentous beginning, as did scores of other folks who weren’t entering into unions. Out Boulder, who coordinated the party, managed to turn a gaggle of people gathered into a functionally bland room into a joyful community festival—lots of cake decorated with rainbow flags, lots of munchies, lots of excited chatter, lots of roses, lots of dancing to tunes set up by a local DJ. And lots of people. Couples, of course, and also whole families, groups of friends, whole “wedding” parties who came to celebrate this moment in the lives of folks they love. All in this big, beige room in the county clerk’s office building.

I didn’t get to actually see anyone go through the interview and sign the document registering their relationship as “real” before the law. But a friend who did said it gave her goose bumps. I believe it. When same-sex marriage became legal in Massachusetts, where we were living at the time, I blogged from the courthouse in Northampton and had the same experience. The officials performing these administrative formalities were anything but perfunctory as they welcomed each couple. In fact, they were so happy, so gentle and respectful toward the couples who came in that it brought tears to my eyes. That moment is hard to describe, the moment when you get to be present as relationships that have been largely invisible and totally discounted, sometimes for decades, are finally acknowledged as authentic in the eyes of the state.

After welcoming May 1 at this midnight gala, I then spent a piece of the afternoon at a middle school assembly—which, perhaps surprisingly (it was middle school, after all), continued the same theme. Here’s the story: A few years ago, the librarian at Manhattan Middle School decided she needed to be more active as an ally to LGBT folks—especially LGBTQ kids. So she devised some strategies to get LGBT-themed books to kids without their needing to check them out (and thereby reveal what might be seen as forbidden curiosity). Gradually, she also began to do other things—speaking gigs, working with Boulder Valley Safe Schools Coalition, and founding an allies club. That club, which started as a small group of kids, now has over 100 members.

For the past two years, the club has organized a diversity assembly focusing on LGBT issues. This year, the theme was taken from Gandhi: “Be the change.” The assembly included brief, one-sentence testimonials from several club members (“I’m an ally because …”), music from two local LGBTQ-affiliated choruses, and a rap performance by the allies club based on a video about Gandhi. The event wrapped up with lots of incredible food and chat time with the performers, some of the kids, some school personnel, and audience members, who included the superintendent of the Boulder Valley School District, several school board members and staff, and assorted community activists.

Afterward, driving home, I was thinking about the day and the pace of change it represented. I grew up before Stonewall—which is to say, before the contemporary LGBTQ-rights movement was even launched. I hid out for decades out of fear, some of it realistic and some goblin-generated. Then things began to change—slowly, it seemed, frustratingly slowly. Yet now, here I am, living in a world where same-sex couples are granted the legal rights and responsibilities of marriage and where middle school kids (that’s middle school kids!) take visible, active, and vociferous stands on behalf of LGBTQ rights. And they do it with the active support of allies who include librarians, teachers, and school superintendents. All within my adult lifetime. Not, it turns out, so slow at all. And I get to witness all of this, all on one lovely day in May.

Out Boulder’s ED said it so well in her comments at the civil unions celebration: There’s still a long way to go, a lot of work to be done. Much more than just full marriage rights. There’s work to be done on trans* issues, work on divisions within our own community, work on the lingering (and recently increasing) incidence of HIV/AIDS, work on poverty and poor health care, on bullying, on immigration rights and parenting rights, on lingering discrimination in employment and housing, on the high rates of smoking and alcohol abuse in our communities. There’s plenty left to do. But this May Day, it was time to dance with a DJ, rap with Gandhi, and eat cake with rainbow icing.

As I write this, I find myself regretting that I don’t have any pictures of these great events to share with you. So to make up for it, let me share some photos of yesterday’s other big event: our May Day snowstorm! 

Here's the view outside my bedroom window this morning

        

         

followed by scenes in my yard and bunny prints outside the coffee shop window .

      

         

                              

Snow in April—even tons of snow—was a bit unusual, but still tolerable. But May? Boulder got a foot of snow on Wednesday, obliterating the former 6-inch record for the date.

I figure it was Nature’s way of celebrating May Day and all the glorious joy it held.

Volunteer travel log: Northampton, part II

Several days ago, I started a sort of travel log about my various volunteer gigs during the 6 years I wandered around the country. The idea, way back then, was to talk about how I found what I wanted to do with the luxury of time granted by retirement. This led to talking about the huge pile of possibilities that presented themselves when I just listened.

When we last visited that story, I was in Massachusetts … and Rachel Maddow entered the story. So, we paused a bit to appreciate that time with her. And now, I figure everyone is over the Rachel rush and it’s time to pick up the tale where I left off. Because the truth is, the world didn't actually stop when Rachel appeared. So, back to Northampton, MA, one of my very favorite places in the world—I could have stayed there forever—and the other ways I filled my days there. Like always, as I looked around, there were plenty of good things to do. 

For starters, there’s always food. Getting right down to basics. I’d had such a good experience in the community kitchen in New Hampshire, I decided to give meals on wheels a try. I liked it so well right out of the gate that I signed up for two shifts a week. This meant I got to get to know folks better, which  was, of course, the fun part of this work. And I met some people with interesting tales, some living under sad circumstances, some really funny, some dour, some locked to the television, some eager to engage in conversation. This also helped me learn my way around Northampton, which I found to be great fun. I love exploring new places, often spend time just wandering around roads, wondering, “Hmmm … can I get there from here? Where does this road go? Now I’m lost … how do I find a highway?” Path finding: a fringe benefit of dropping off hot meals on cold, snowy days.

This was the year when marriage equality (a.k.a., same-sex marriage) was on the table in MA, so things were hopping. Out of the blue, I’d been asked by the local newspaper to do a blog. Apparently, the guy in charge of blogs had read something I wrote somewhere, and he cold-called me. Needless to say (see invisibility, above), I accepted happily.

I was traveling to Boston to lobby about marriage equality anyhow. Unlike many working folks, I had the time to spend the day hanging out at the Statehouse. And with this blog "assignment," I got to send back posts from the field, keeping folks back in Northampton posted on the hour-by-hour status of negotiations and then the vote.

What an uplifting experience to be in the midst of all that excited energy! Imagine the sound of hundreds of LGBTQ people and their supporters singing patriotic songs ("This is my country...")—as well as protest songs, songs of resistance ("Like a tree standing by the water, we shall not be moved")— outside the chambers as the legislature voted on our rights.

We did everything we could to make our collective voice heard. We also laughed a bunch, cried a bunch ... and mostly were a bunch. It was very cool. As a field correspondent, I considered buying a flak jacket and helmet so I would look like a real field reporter on TV. But I decided against it. For one thing, I was never on TV. For another, I already had those swell overalls left over from the NH recycling gig; they’d do in a pinch.

Somewhere—probably from Rachel or one of her interview guests—I also heard about the local branch of the American Friends Service Committee, a Quaker peace and social justice action organization. This particular branch of the AFSC was very active, and I worked with them on a whole flock of actions. Many of these had to do with opposing the move toward war in the Middle East.
I got to wear a mock-up of the pentagon and parade back and forth across the main intersection of town, while other folks fed me money. I took several overnight bus trips to DC to participate in anti-war marches. Those trips included absolutely frigid days of standing on frozen ground in the mall, warming our toes in the Smithsonian … and lovely spring days nodding off on the grass beneath the Washington monument during the (shall we say extended?) political speeches. I also tabled against a soft drink company on Main Street (this company is siphoning water from lakes that are the sole source of water for folks in India, bottling it for sale here). I painted a lot of posters, did a bunch of leafleting, and several other things I now forget.

These were very inspiring folks. I only did this work part time, then I’d go home to my laziness. The dyed-in-the-peace-sign AFSC-ers, on the other hand, never slept. I’m sure about this. Their one hired staff person, a wonderful woman, belonged to a peace and social justice affinity group. They called themselves “The Turtles” because they moved slowly but relentlessly toward their goal. Their name always made me think of “turtle fur,” a buttery soft form of fleece that came out about that time. That’s how they seemed to me: slow, steady, tenacious, and soft as fleece.

Our time in Northampton ended too soon. I loved it there, and through my assorted volunteer gigs, I was as connected as I had ever been to a local community. But the next home town beckoned, and we were on the road again. Now we were headed west – eventually getting as far as you can go without getting on a very big boat. 

Our next stop on the way was Middle America, the Midwest, a section of the country I had only driven through, usually very quickly. We were headed for Michigan. Only a 13-hour drive from Northampton, MA, but a world away.