Tonight I find myself sitting here on what has been a fairly normal Monday, crying. It is unnerving and unexpected, but not entirely surprising.
For almost a week now, I have remained largely numb as a result of the 2008 election cycle. This country did something extraordinary, inspiring and oh-so needed in electing Barack Obama to become the 44th President of the United States . In a country where he would have once been considered property, where his parents’ relationship would once have been illegal, where he and Vice President-Elect Joe Biden would once have not been able to sit next to each other on a bus or take a drink from the same water fountain—where still today people believe he should die because of his name and the color of his skin—he is now the leader. He has shattered what was (arguably) the last ceiling left for African-Americans to break. Now, almost all doubts among the black youth of America as to their worth has vanished. Now, they can see a bit of themselves in the President of the United States of America, and they know that the American ideal that “Anything is possible,” is actually a reality.
The video and images that have surfaced since Tuesday night absolutely amaze me. In Newark, my friends and I ventured from the apartment building where we watched the results to a predominantly black bar right next door. Several of us have gotten to know the general manager there, and we had to go see her. We had to share our joy with the city of Newark.
Being in that bar gave me an incredible feeling. People were crying; people were hugging; people were celebrating. It was as if our hometown sports team had just won the national championship, only it was all of us that had won. Our country won. Since that night, I’ve discovered that the celebrations in Newark were tame compared to the rest of the world . The celebrations flowed on streets in cities all over the country and all over the world. They celebrated in Kenya, in Australia, in Spain and England. They celebrated in Israel and France. It was as if, with three simple words, this country’s reputation and dignity was reinstated worldwide. Those words were President-Elect Barack Obama.
Obviously, inexplicably mixed with my elation over the presidential landslide , is my complete confusion and devastation from the passage anti-gay marriage amendments in California (Proposition 8), Florida (Proposition 2) and Arizona (Proposition 102). Add Arkansas’s new ban on adoption by non-married couples, and I’m left with even more uncertainty regarding my own standing as an American.
Until last week, I don’t think I’ve ever felt marginalized for being gay. Even having spent 22 years in two of the reddest states in the country, I have never really felt discriminated against, and never felt as though I am any less of a person. Looking back, I think I owe the majority of that credit to my family for being the people they are. I have been incredibly fortunate in that my parents, siblings and extended family are all genuine and loving people. They made my coming out experience exactly what it should be—a complete relief, awkward, joyous and most importantly, painless. After being brought up in that environment, I unconsciously (or perhaps, consciously?) surrounded myself with incredibly fair-minded, loving friends who also accept and love me for exactly the person I am. They don’t simply tolerate me; they love me. To them, I am who I am.
Having said that, however, I have always been keenly aware that not everyone is as blessed as I am. Homophobia and bigotry do exist, as evidenced by anti-LGBT hate crimes, discriminatory hiring processes, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” the Defense of Marriage Act, and countless other overlooked aspects of our society. After the 2006 election, thirty states had written discrimination into their constitutions by banning gay marriage, but I still don’t think the magnitude of those decisions resonated with me, not until last week.
On Wednesday, I didn’t go to class. Part was a result of being slightly hungover from the previous night’s celebrations, but the larger part of that decision hinged on the fact that the verdict on Proposition 8 was still out, and I honestly didn’t know how emotionally stable I would be when it was finalized, regardless of the outcome. So I stayed home and refreshed several news sites and kept CNN on almost all day, waiting for a break in the story. Eventually, though it was not officially declared until Thursday, it became painstakingly clear that we had lost. I don’t really remember the moment in which I accepted that fact, but I know that what surprised me the most was all the emotions I didn’t feel. I was angry and insulted and deeply, deeply saddened, but somehow it all still felt very stinted and surreal. I haven’t been able to articulate anything I’ve been feeling. Though there are the obvious reasons why I think this proposition is incredibly, incredibly wrong (not to mention, unconstitutional ), I’ve known since Tuesday that there is a feeling even deeper in my heart that makes this hurt on a level that I have never felt pain before.
That brings me to tonight. I crawled in bed, prepared to get to sleep at a decent hour, and began flipping channels when Keith Olbermann caught my attention. Normally, I don’t really watch Olbermann because I simply don’t have time, but I’ve always loved his Special Comments. Tonight took the cake. Luckily, I caught it just when he was starting, and I began crying almost instantly. Eloquently, passionately, fervently and bravely, Olbermann said everything I didn’t even know I felt.
I have now watched that clip four times; it only first aired about two and a half hours ago. I cried on all four occasions and have no apologies. Thank you, Keith, for speaking for those without voices. Thank you for so accurately exclaiming that, “The other guy counts too!”
I count. I fucking count. And I have you—the supporters of these hate-filled amendments—to thank for reminding me and millions of other gay Americans of that fact. Thank you for giving us a platform to rally around. Thank you for motivating us. This is exactly what we, as a country, needed. There is hope within all the rotten.
On the very day that America won perhaps its greatest victory in achieving true equality, we were also handed one of our biggest blows to true equality since the 1950s. Though Obama’s election is something to be truly celebrated for the milestone it is, our nation is still very, very far from realizing equality, and it was precisely in this moment that we need to be reminded of such.
When talking about the relation of my legal education to the new emergence of the gay rights’ movement, one of my very good college friends (and possibly one of the greatest straight allies in my life) had this to say to me: “Don’t let [this] consume you so much that you lose sight of what you’re doing… The thing that will keep us sane is knowing that there will always be something to fight for… there’s always going to be idiots out there that make us use our intelligence to fight for what is right.”
The fight has just begun, and make no mistake about it--we will soldier on .
That is something worth crying over.
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Thank you for so eloquently, passionately, and precisely conveying this time of triumph and sadness. This is by far the most moving thing I have read in regards to this.
Thank you for sharing :)
Yes, you do count.
There is no equality unless all people have the same rights.
Unfortunately, though you and I recognize gay equality and gay rights as essential human and civil rights issues, some others who DO proclaim their belief in civil rights do not count gay rights among them.
I have had this argument with many friends and relatives within my "community of color." Now, I'm going to set aside for now immigrant Africans' views on the subject, because as immigrants from other countries, we have our own cultural indoctrinations to deal with. I don't expect a Congolese or Somalian to be able to jump on the "gay rights=human rights" wagon as soon as they earn their citizenship.(Though I'm happy to engage with them in discussion in hopes they can come to the conclusion that the tyrannies they escaped must not be repeated here in the U.S., either).
But imagine my dismay (and the dismay of GLBT Black community members) at the words of some (non-immigrant, NON-gay) Black Americans I know who have stated emphatically, "Stop trying to make this about civil rights, because it isn't. The gay movement is trying to piggyback on the [Black] civil rights movement to get its agenda passed, and it's INSULTING to us to see the two equated. Black is an unchangeable aspect of my identity, and one that does not deserve to be treated diffrently. Gay lifestyles are a CHOICE that don't have to be made and that can be hidden if the person looks White, anyway. You don't have to tell your employer you're gay. And you don't need to compare your choice to my skintone."
So I say...
Allright, let's not make it about civil rights.
How's "human rights" for you?
Let's take your inaccurate views of homosexuality as a choice and run with them--just for the sake of argument. Let's view them as we do religion or political opinion: How about the right of everyone to be able to think, believe, practice, and dream the way they want to, as long as they don't hurt others in the process?
The irony is that, as humans, we are (suspected to be) the only earthly species that CAN think, believe, practice and dream to such a great extent. Isn't this, then, an integral facet of humanity?
And isn't the right to these things, then, a human right?
Our history is littered with the denials of basic human rights - and people fighting to achieve them. Most notably for me is the woman's suffrage movement, and the ratification of the 19th Amendment to include women in the right to vote - an amendment I thank God for every election day. For it's only been 88 years now that women have been able to vote - and there are people alive today who remember when they could not. Women fought for and won their right to vote in the War of Roses - members of Congress and supporters of suffrage wore yellow roses to show their support, and the opposition wore red roses to show theirs. I would like to take a note from those brave women's hands.
A group of friends any myself have purchased yellow rose ring, which we will wear on our "wedding" fingers in protest of the passing of Proposition 8. It is my way of saying that until EVERYONE can get married - I will not. The religious right won this battle by fooling people into thinking that allowing people to marry would somehow ruin the sanctity of marriage (as if divorce doesn't - don't get me started) - but the sanctity of marriage only continues if we, the people, continue to acknowledge it. I have married friends who have taken black electrical tape, and are taping over their wedding bands to acknowledge the black hole this proposition had turned marriage into. Please join us!
It doesn't matter if you live in California, if you are old enough to vote, or even if you voted Yes and have since changed your mind. This is not about being gay - this is about allowing people to love one another. We have just seen what great things a grass roots movement can do - it can get a inspirational and hope-filled black man elected President - don't let that be our ending point.
As President-elect Obama said in his acceptance speech, "This victory alone is not the change we seek. It is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were." Let us continue this fight. Together.
"The young women of today - free to study, to speak, to write, to choose their occupation - should remember that every inch of this freedom was bought for them at a great price... the debt that each generation owes to the past, it must pay to the future." ~Abigail Scott Dunaway
Thank you for writing this, thinking this, understanding how you feel and telling in this post. I have been an activist for 40 years and this last week, I seem to have lost my footing. All these years, insisting that all people must have equal rights, I have never felt so pushed down, discarded, sorta slapped.
While I am not shocked about the vote, I am shocked about how terrible it feels, how cold and sharp, how out of date and outrageous. It has changed how I feel about my family, my politics, damn near everything. I wonder if the the fall was just too steep from Tuesday's elation to Wednesday's judgment. The only thing I can offer is that you are not alone in the depth you feel. I feel it too.
I love all the queers running around yelling,"Damn NIGGERS!!" The pukes blubbering about "equality" and human rightts are always ready to trash anyone who gets in their way and doesnt perform in the "appropriate" manner! So fuck you!
Way to echo my feelings precisely.
I gave up Tuesday night. I was drinking because I was so stressed about the Prop 8 results. I remember being ever so briefly happy that Obama had won, but I was distracted during his acceptance speech. I was trying not to look at the results as they came rolling in because we couldn't be sure. But once LA reported, once I saw that LA county had passed it, I knew it was over. I laid down on my living room floor and cried and cried. My wife had gone to bed hours before, already sure of our defeat and not wanting to deal with it after spending the entire day as a No on 8 team leader working the polls. I held onto hope, but I was disappointed. I didn't go to school Wednesday, either. I didn't do anything but lie in my bed and alternate between sleeping and crying the entire day. I felt like my world was over. I felt heartbroken. I felt like I couldn't function anymore.
We heard there was going to be a rally that night. We decided to go because, hey, it had to be better than lying in my bed...
It was amazing.
I marched over 6 miles that night and many more miles the nights after that. If it weren't for that rally I don't know how long I would have just laid around heartbroken, but marching that night made me able to function again. It gave me life again.
This fight is not over, and it never will be until we win.