The conclusion to my dKos Marriage Wars series.
This is Annie Goodridge at her Moms' wedding:
[From this Boston Globe slideshow.]
Annie's moms are Julie and Hillary Goodridge, the lead plaintiffs in the lawsuit that brought marriage equality to Massachusetts. Tomorrow will be their first anniversary.
This is what happened to them when Annie was born:
Hillary: When Annie was born, things were not going well. She inhaled some fluid; she was in respiratory distress. They whipped her into neonatal intensive care, and I went with her. After a while, I realized Julie had no way of knowing that Annie was okay. So I went to see her in post-op. I told the nurse at the door that I was Julie's partner, but she said only immediate family was allowed. So I went back to intensive care and told the nurse I was Annie Goodridge's mother. She said, "No, you're not. Her mother is downstairs in recovery. Who are you?" I burst into tears and I begged them to find the nurse who was in the delivery room. She identified me and I was able to go in and be with Annie. I decided later to try again with Julie. There was a different nurse that time. I told her I was Julie's sister and she said to go right in. Every gay and lesbian couple I know has a story like that.
Senator Jarrett Barrios told a similar story about his problems getting care for a sick son during the ConCon. Many queer people realize that potentially greater threats exist because our relationships lack legal recognition. The case of Karen Thompson and Sharon Kowalski reminds us just how vulnerable we remain in many places.
One year ago tonight, I joined thousands of people in front of Cambridge City Hall to celebrate the arrival of marriage equality in the Bay State. Here's some of what I wrote when I got home that night:
I managed to get fairly close to the steps, but I was off to the side, so I couldn't really see anything on the steps. Being tall, I could see over most people. The only thing I could see, though, were the tops of their heads (and I see enough of those). When couples would come up the stairs/sidewalk to enter the building, a cheer would rise from the crowd, even from those of us off at the margins who could only see bobbing hair, or less.
After midnight, however, the fun began. Every time a couple would leave the building, a roar would go up. People were throwing rice and rose petals and confetti, and blowing bubbles. There was a brass band. Several people brought signs ("Mazel Tov", "Congratulations", "Yay"....)
It was just, so, happy. So many smiles and tears. Such joy.
And such a mixed crowd. Straight and queer, multi-racial and multi-ethnic, the entire age spectrum. All there to celebrate.
The crowd gave me hope. It was evidence of what we could be, of beloved community.
It had been a rough winter. Following the SJC's Goodridge decision in November, 2003 the atmosphere changed. Concerned Women for America, Focus on the Family, the Traditional Values Coalition, the Family Research Council and assorted other hate groups brought their message of hate and violence to the Commonwealth. A national campaign to demonize Massachusetts and queers was gaining steam. Our Governor was doing anything he could to resist the enactment of our rights. We survived a brutal ConCon, with the least bad amendment possible having passed, but passing nonetheless. All of this took a toll: I remember just breaking down sobbing in the shower once after having spent 16 hours the previous day at the State House...it was exhausting, emotionally and physically. On May 17, we won!
The joy that night was heightened because of what we'd just endured. The elation was multiplied because we'd survived the blows and triumphed. I still cry sometimes when I remember that night. It's for different reasons than that shower sobbing, though.
The next day at City Hall was equally as happy, albeit with a much smaller crowd. Here's a picture I took of the Goodridge's rushing from City Hall with their "Notice of Intention to Marry" to the Court House in order to get a judicial waiver of the three-day waiting period:
Those scenes were repeated throughout the Commonwealth, albeit with less security and media. At Boston City Hall I chatted with a man who had gotten his Notice of Intention that morning, and had been greeted at City Hall (I wish I could remember the town) with streamers and cake. It was a glorious day. Even though it started overcast (at least in Boston) by the end of the day, the sun was shining over all of Massachusetts. Our mood was equally as bright.
There was celebration in the air all across the state. Sure, a few silly protestors showed up (the Phelpses of Topeka made it to Cambridge City Hall), but they looked ridiculous. Against a backdrop of love and happiness, they demonstrated the angry, hateful people they are.
I think that is why opinion polls are trending our way in Massachusetts. Since Annie's moms got married, 5075 other couples have tied the knot.
That scene, the joy and love (and fear), has been played out over and over again this year. It has taken place in every part of the state. I'm going to hijack part of Justice Greaney's concurrence in Goodridge: We are members of your community, your neighbors, your co-workers. We volunteer in schools, go to your houses of worship, and our children play with your children. We share a common humanity and participate together in the social contract that is the foundation of our Commonwealth.
The past year has made that more evident. Support for marriage equality is growing in the state. A recent poll (pdf) demonstrates this:
- Massachusetts residents support allowing gay couples to marry by a 62-35 margin.
- Thirty-six percent believe marriage equality has improved the quality of life in Massachusetts, while 13% believe it has made the state worse.
- Fifty-six percent of the Bay State's residents are proud of our first-in-the-nation status.
Massachusetts residents know the people getting married. The joy of May 17 has been repeated on smaller and less public scales over 5000 times in the past year. It's hard not to be happy around such happiness. It's hard not to think it's had a positive impact when your friends and co-workers are happier and their lives demonstrably more secure.
I think the example of Representative Patricia Jehlen illustrates my point. On the final day of the ConCon, after we had lost the final vote, marriage equality advocates and supportive legislators held a pep rally. I know it sounds odd, but we got together to muster our strength and prepare for the upcoming fights. It was a "rally the troops" sort of thing, but it was more. Patricia Jehlen was one of the last people to speak:
The end of her talk had her, me, and many others in tears. She said (paraphrasing) "I'm celebrating my 35th anniversary this year. People are saying that same-sex marriage doesn't affect my marriage. They're wrong. Seeing the ways that I've taken for granted what other people are trying so hard to get has made my marriage more special!"
I wish everyone here could have been with me at Cambridge City Hall. To be in a crowd that elated and happy (and not in a stupid, "let's break shit after we win the ALCS" way) is an amazing experience. I wish everyone here could experience the joy that has been spread throughout Massachusetts this year. It really is a better place to live.
A few weeks ago, brillig asked me to send along some thoughts about the upcoming anniversary. This diary is really an expansion of those thoughts. One thing that I told her, and that I see in operation in Massachusetts, is that we have one of the most powerful weapons available in this conflict: We have the power of love!
So, in closing, I'd like to wish Julie and Hillary Goodridge, David Wilson and Robert Compton, Michael Horgan and Edward Balmelli, Maureen Brodoff and Ellen Wade, Gary Chalmers and Richard Linnell, Heidi Norton and Gina Smith, Gloria Bailey, and Linda Davies and the thousands of other couples who have finally been allowed to wed: HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!!!!
To those couples, Mary Bonauto and GLAD, Arline Isacson and MGLPC, and MassEquality; to the couples who fought for this right in Hawaii, Vermont, and elsewhere; to the thousands of people who showed up to protest during the ConCon, to write letters and emails and call legislators; to those who contributed to the organizations carrying on this fight; to those who've worked their asses off trying to get people to vote against anti-gay measures; to those who've convinced a friend or family member that lettin' the queers get hitched might not be such a bad thing after all: THANK YOU
Now get back to work. We ain't done yet.
I'm going to close this piece the same way I closed the diary about the celebration at Cambridge City Hall:
I can't believe it's finally happened.
At the end of Angels in America, Prior has a private chat with the audience. I don't have my copy with me, but one line he says is, "We will be citizens." When the crowd broke into song (yet again) this evening, one of the songs that came out was The Star Spangled Banner. I belonged this time.
We're getting closer, and we will be citizens.