By Paula Martinac
2004 Ordinary people
Many commentators have noted how fitting it was that Massachusetts began issuing marriage licenses to gay couples on the same day the country celebrated the 50th anniversary of "Brown v. the Board of Education", the Supreme Court decision that struck down "separate but equal" education. What I saw as fitting about the convergence of these two events was not the similarity of the black and gay rights movements, but the spotlight that May 17 shone on the incredibly slow path of social change in this country.
May 17 in my household was no watershed. My partner and I read the morning newspaper with breakfast, then went to work. Later, she walked the dog, I paid bills, we made dinner together, and she walked the dog again. In the evening, as I picked up a few items at the supermarket, I pondered the ordinariness of my day, compared to the history-making excitement experienced by the hundreds of same-sex couples who lined up for marriage licenses in Massachusetts. It was hard to fathom the day as "Pearl Harbor," which is how antigay minister Lou Sheldon characterized it.
On the surface, at least, my life and the lives of most other gay people in the United States weren't much different on May 17 than they were the day before. We're the gay Americans you didn't read about in the papers, the ones who didn't travel to Cambridge or Provincetown to tie the knot amid a flurry of media frenzy. In the case of my own family, we didn't rush to Massachusetts because, since we live in a state with a DOMA law, we couldn't afford the luxury of a trip that for us would result in a purely symbolic ceremony.
Similarly, when the historic "Brown" decision came down, the lives of African Americans weren't changed overnight. Sadly, not that much has changed since 1954 for many African Americans, at least in terms of public education. Despite President Bush's upbeat assertion that the ruling "changed America for the better, and forever," in both the North and South today a lot of schools have a kind of de-facto segregation in place. Racism is very much alive and shaping people's economic and social realities.
And at the same time Bush was heading to Topeka, Kan., for a ceremony to honor "Brown", gay couples were filing their applications for marriage licenses, and the White House was releasing a statement reiterating the president's support for "defining and protecting marriage as a union of a man and a woman as husband and wife." That's a nicer way of saying that our president is selectively supportive of Americans' civil rights and, in fact, thinks writing discrimination against gay people into the U.S. Constitution is just fine.
It was appropriate, then, that accompanying the media stories and editorials about how marriage rights for gays constitute a "milestone of equality" (as gay journalist Andrew Sullivan put it) were nervous warnings about what is to come – or, more likely, not to come. "Gay Spouses Face Maze to Get New Benefits" read the Forbes.com headline; "Marriage License Is Just a Start; Gay Couples Face Other Legal Tests" cautioned the "Washington Post." For gay couples in Massachusetts, whose unions aren't recognized by the federal government, marriage may no longer be separate, but it will be vastly unequal for years to come.
Given the deep-seated nature of prejudice, it's no wonder that social change happens at a snail's pace. The fact is, gay people have a long haul ahead. Events like the marrying of a thousand gay couples in Massachusetts make a little crack in the wall of heterosexual privilege. But in order to widen that crack – even if it doesn't happen anytime soon – those of us who stayed home and had ordinary days have as big and difficult a job ahead as those who said "I do."
First of all, we "must" be out. One of the best things about the marriages in Massachusetts was all the media coverage that put same-sex couples and their children on front pages and television screens everywhere. Although some straight Americans were shocked by photos of two men or women joyfully kissing, others were probably surprised to find that we didn't look like dog-humpers or any of the other bizarre things professional homophobes have alleged us to be.
Second, we must talk to potential allies – straight friends, neighbors, and colleagues – about how antigay discrimination affects our families. That doesn't require pulling out a soapbox, but it does mean opening up and dismissing the idea that our struggle for equal rights only interests us. The time for talking has never been better – while the wedding cakes are still fresh.
