And the dust settles
Four anti-gay amendments in one night. We're still waiting for a recount on Prop 8, but it doesn't look good. After I posted my last blog, I was up another three or so hours, answering facebook messages, text messages, e-mails. People were ecstatic--and also depressed. It was hard to know what to feel.
On the one hand, I felt guilty for not feeling elated--fully, totally, purely. On the other hand, I felt guilty for feeling as happy as I did. It was surreal, actually.
What does it tell us, as a nation, that we can "vote for change" while at the same time voting against basic civil rights?
Yes, there will be some legal battles, the seeds of which have already begun. But some of us are tired of living in fear and worry that our children could be taken from us, that we have to rely on the whims of voters to determine whether or not our relationships "count."
I can't help but think of what would have happened if I lived in Arkansas and the adoption had not yet finalized. Would S. have been taken from me if I was openly queer, even if single? What if I simply chose to go back into the closet, not mention my sexual orientation to anyone--then would I have been allowed to keep her?
We don't know for a fact how many families are actually living now in fear of losing foster children they'd hoped to adopt in Arkansas, and I would venture to guess that we will never hear their stories. Social workers might look the other way; parents might crawl into their closets and stay there, claim to be "roommates only."
But what kind of family can be healthy if its members cannot live openly?
This morning I exchanged an e-mail with a friend in CA who had been texting me most of the night last night. I asked her how she was feeling, tried to encourage her to be hopeful even in the face of such ugly news. Yes, it's true--if Prop 8 doesn't fail in CA, of all places, then what hope is there? A federal amendment, I suggested--no, she said. Remember, even Obama thinks gay marriage should be up to the states.
But he's a good man, I argued, feeling less and less sure of myself. He could change his mind. And we have a new openly gay congressperson. Things could go our way.
And then, today, another message: it's not really up to him (or them) to change things, it's up to us. So we offer to help with the legal challenges in whatever way we can. And then--we start planting the "federal amendment" seed, start writing our letters, talking to our representatives. Most of all, we hope, pray, whatever we do, that our leaders will lead with integrity, and that our fellow voters will vote in the same way.
Be present, a friend urged a group of us a couple hours ago in another e-mail. Don't go away, either because you think everything will get fixed now or because you're too depressed to think about how to get out of this AR-AZ-FL mess.
Don't worry--none of us are going anywhere, right?
On the one hand, I felt guilty for not feeling elated--fully, totally, purely. On the other hand, I felt guilty for feeling as happy as I did. It was surreal, actually.
What does it tell us, as a nation, that we can "vote for change" while at the same time voting against basic civil rights?
Yes, there will be some legal battles, the seeds of which have already begun. But some of us are tired of living in fear and worry that our children could be taken from us, that we have to rely on the whims of voters to determine whether or not our relationships "count."
I can't help but think of what would have happened if I lived in Arkansas and the adoption had not yet finalized. Would S. have been taken from me if I was openly queer, even if single? What if I simply chose to go back into the closet, not mention my sexual orientation to anyone--then would I have been allowed to keep her?
We don't know for a fact how many families are actually living now in fear of losing foster children they'd hoped to adopt in Arkansas, and I would venture to guess that we will never hear their stories. Social workers might look the other way; parents might crawl into their closets and stay there, claim to be "roommates only."
But what kind of family can be healthy if its members cannot live openly?
This morning I exchanged an e-mail with a friend in CA who had been texting me most of the night last night. I asked her how she was feeling, tried to encourage her to be hopeful even in the face of such ugly news. Yes, it's true--if Prop 8 doesn't fail in CA, of all places, then what hope is there? A federal amendment, I suggested--no, she said. Remember, even Obama thinks gay marriage should be up to the states.
But he's a good man, I argued, feeling less and less sure of myself. He could change his mind. And we have a new openly gay congressperson. Things could go our way.
And then, today, another message: it's not really up to him (or them) to change things, it's up to us. So we offer to help with the legal challenges in whatever way we can. And then--we start planting the "federal amendment" seed, start writing our letters, talking to our representatives. Most of all, we hope, pray, whatever we do, that our leaders will lead with integrity, and that our fellow voters will vote in the same way.
Be present, a friend urged a group of us a couple hours ago in another e-mail. Don't go away, either because you think everything will get fixed now or because you're too depressed to think about how to get out of this AR-AZ-FL mess.
Don't worry--none of us are going anywhere, right?
Comments