While the LGBT community continues to battle discriminatory legislation in Indiana and states contemplating similar such laws, it gives me some measure of comfort to know that this month the U.S. Supreme Court will hear arguments in the long-raging debate over same gender marriage. For some, the court’s eventual decision will be solely intellectual, but for me, that verdict will be extremely personal, and it is my every hope that marriage equality will be the resulting law of the land in all 50 states. After almost 12 years together and raising two children, my partner Russ Noe and I were legally wed in California on June 7, 2014. That moment was a lifetime in the making and as the gold wedding band slid onto my finger, I was fully cognizant of all that it meant, both legally and emotionally… For as it happens, in my recent history, I’ve experienced inequity more fully than most.
One fall day in September 2001, I lost almost everything I held dear when I stumbled upon an email not intended for me. In it, I learned that my then-partner of six years, “Rob,” had broken the commitments we’d made and that, in fact, I’d been lied to from the start of our relationship. As that email glowed onscreen, I remember looking over to where our infant son lay sleeping, wondering what our collective future held. Rob and I had created a life together, had a commitment ceremony, bought a house, and adopted a child… I’d given up my career to be a stay-at-home dad, only to soon discover that while I was the primary caregiver, with a stronger emotional bond to our son than Rob, I had no legal parental rights whatsoever. Should Rob so choose, he could lawfully banish me from my child’s life.
I couldn’t imagine losing my son, nor how devastating that might be for him emotionally. He was my touchstone, and I vowed that somehow I would find a way for us to remain together.
I was urged by my attorney not to confront Rob about all I’d discovered and instead wait until my rights were settled, as I was then undergoing a process known as a second parent adoption. And so I returned home, plastered a smile on my face, and attempted to act as if everything were fine. I went about my daily life, taking care of our house and son, though I was tormented and wracked with fear inside. During this period, I even went with Rob to one of his therapy sessions, only to hear the therapist say that the only issues in our relationship were my doubts about Rob’s faithfulness, and that Rob was a moral and ethical human being. For one hour I sat, boiling inside, unable to stand up for myself and all that I’d discovered to be true.
Rob and I had stood in front of our family and friends, declaring our love and commitment toward one another. We called each other “husbands” and combined our finances, which were intended to be shared 50/50. We acted like a married couple and built our life like other married couples, but we didn’t have the same legal protections and benefits as our peers. This discrepancy became even more pronounced as time passed.
After two months of silence, unable to confront Rob, a court case in California placed all second parent adoptions–including mine–on hold, determining them to be incompatible with state law. To clarify this confusion, the California State Supreme Court would have to eventually rule on the legality of second parent adoptions, which could take months. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to remain silent indefinitely, I finally confronted Rob about all I’d discovered. In the process though, in order to ensure my rights were established, I pretended to give him hope that our relationship could be salvaged. I told him that we should take time apart and live separately, to see if we could mend the rift and find a way forward together as we had intended, as a family. In other words, in my attempt to hold onto my son, I became a liar, just like Rob.
We sold our house, and on the day it closed escrow, Rob went to the bank and took out the proceeds, leaving me what he alone determined to be “fair.” I had no choice but to live with that, and any other crumbs he offered, as I had no legal recourse. In the eyes of the court, we were no more than roommates, and I couldn’t afford to rock the boat until my parental rights were firmly established.
Eventually, a court date for my adoption was established. Even as Rob stood next to me in the court room, I waited, breathlessly, afraid he would halt the proceedings and take away this child whom I loved so dearly. At last, the judge signed the paperwork and the adoption was complete. After walking to my car, I sat in the front seat, holding my son and crying uncontrollably, grateful to no longer be afraid and for the ordeal to finally be over.
I had been in a similar emotional state before, in 1995, when my partner Shane Sawick died of complications from AIDS. In that situation, I endured months of anxiety, not to mention the physical and emotional toll of being a daily caregiver, but I did so all with the knowledge of how his story would play out. I knew that the end would come and I knew what it entailed. Still, when it did, it was agonizing.
At the time, I thought that never again would I experience anything as painful, but the prospect of losing my son and the months of uncertainty and turmoil that provoked proved far worse to my psyche.
It took me a long time to fully work through my anger and learn to trust again. Moving forward wasn’t easy, but I did it, with the support of my son and those I loved. That journey led me to Russ and the subsequent adoption of a second son.
Almost one year ago, as the sun shone brightly on a beautiful June day, Russ and I stepped out into our garden wedding ceremony, walking behind our sons, who served as best men. They each had written notes about the importance of family which they read to our assembled guests. Russ and I shared our vows, which we’d also written, publicly proclaiming our promises and commitment to the life we had crafted. At the end of the ceremony, as Russ slipped the gold wedding ring onto my finger, all the emotions and moments of my life seared through me, reminding me of the road I’ve traveled, the battles fought, and the promise of things to come.
Our rings are just simple bands, nothing fancy. But they are durable and signify the legality of our union. They are gold wedding rings, meant to last a lifetime.
This originally appeared on KerganEdwards-Stout.com. Kergan Edwards-Stout’s debut novel, Songs for the New Depression, was the recipient of a Next Generation Indie Book Award. His collection of short stories, Gifts Not Yet Given, was named on multiple “Best Books of the Year” lists. He is currently at work on a memoir, Never Turn Your Back on the Tide.
Living in Southern California, where we don’t get a lot of seasonal variation, one of our treasured fall rituals is our annual family trek to Julian, CA. Each year, Russ and I pile the boys into the car and head to the picturesque mining town just northeast of San Diego, where we indulge in all of the sights and senses of autumn, eating more than our share of apple pie. It is a journey I cherish, but this year, instead of being festive and restorative, the visit brought to mind the more recent horrors of Halloweens past, as the ghost of Prop 8 unexpectedly came rushing back in the most unwelcome of places.
We’d just arrived, stepping onto the charming main street, when I spotted it: a line of people standing, waiting. At first I thought it was a backed-up line of customers pouring forth from one of the town’s many restaurants, but as we got closer, I was able to spot a card table, with two small, simple signs affixed, “Stop Co-Ed Showers in Schools” and “No Opposite Sex in School Bathrooms.” It was then that I realized that the hordes of tourists were not waiting for pie, but for their chance to add signatures to the growing petition list hoping to topple California’s new transgender rights law.
As an LGBT advocate and gay dad, I was both sickened and saddened. Not only was I immediately and emotionally transported back to those divisive fall days leading up to the November 2008 election, when front yards across the state were littered with both fake gravestones and political signs, but the thought of fighting yet another brutal battle, and one we’re likely to lose, put an abrupt end to my autumnal revelry.
For myself and many other LGBT people, the stigma of being thought of as “sick” and “abnormal” has shadowed me, making me work diligently to be viewed as good, “normal,” and a person of value. I’ve been on the front-lines, time and again, battling for the rights that should, in America, be a given. During the Prop 8 campaign, it was incredibly demoralizing to work planning our anti-Prop 8 rallies, only to drive through a sea of yellow pro-8 signs as we headed back home. In conversations with voters, they would say, “Oh, we’re not voting against you; we’re voting to protect our children.” Um, protect them from whom, exactly? Me? I’ve spent years fighting for basic treatment under the law, and being dismissed as less than can take a personal toll on one’s psyche.
Happily, for gays and lesbians nationwide, we’re finally seeing the political results of such efforts, as in both courts of law and public opinion we’re steadily being given the same rights and responsibilities as most everyone else, moving the “LGB” in our movement one step closer to actual equality.
In our various campaigns, we’ve been joined time and again by our transgender allies, yet I wonder if the “LGB” members of community will this time stand up for the “T.” Too often, trans people and their concerns are largely relegated to the back of the bus. Within the LGBTQIA community, there are divisions, particularly as while we share the common goal of equality, for some the root is sexual identity and for others it is gender identity. For gays and lesbians, who perhaps have been told that the butch dyke “wants to be a man,” while the effeminate guy “really wants to be a girl,” joining forces with those who in fact may identify with a different gender can be confusing. Indeed, I’ve even heard some gays and lesbians refer to transgender people as “sick” and “abnormal”–using the very same arrows slung by others to demoralize and dehumanize gays. This lack of compassion, as well as a general lack of curiosity as to who trans people are, makes me wonder who among us will stand alongside them when this battle comes…
Actually–correct that: the battle is here. The anti-gay, anti-trans troops from NOM are on the ground, mobilized, and using many of the same strategies which proved effective for them on Prop 8.
This petition is being sold to the California public as a way to protect children, with the accessible and sensible title of “Privacy for All Students.” Who, after all, can articulately argue against the right to privacy? Respect for individual freedom and privacy seems inherently American, making the signing of a petition which says just that seem fairly reasonable. Come to think of it, isn’t individual privacy an essential element of the LGBT equal rights movement???
“Stop Co-Ed Showers in Schools.” Gosh, sounds like we need to stop some wild parties, huh? Check–petition signed!
“No Opposite Sex in School Bathrooms.” Again, that seems like a sensible request–so why not sign the petition???
Unfortunately, the thousands of people who do sign these petitions will not explore the law in any further depth than just reading the poster taglines. And when these petitioners gather the necessary 500,000 signatures, those same effective messages will be used to engage voters on the proposition’s behalf. (While they have very few days remaining in which to gather the necessary signatures, if the enthusiasm I witnessed in Julian is any indication of momentum elsewhere, they’ll have no problem meeting their quota.)
Given all the similarities to Prop 8 messaging, it’s no surprise that the National Organization for Marriage is behind this petition drive, or that Prop 8’s chief strategist, Frank Schubert, works on this campaign as well. As NOM has cleared demonstrated in each of their campaigns, being truthful in their quest is less important to them than winning.
The law as written was created to ensure that transgender students feel safe at school, and that the way in which they view themselves is in sync with how they live their lives, enabling them to dress and go about their day as they identify (including going to the bathroom or playing sports.) You’d never know that, though, from the petition drive. Here, the majority of California’s “innocent children” are under attack from a vile, twisted bunch hoping to ogle the opposite sex in the bathroom. Just as in Prop 8, the LGBT community is being equated with pedophiles. That tired old “abnormal” and “sick” paint brush is being used collectively on the trans community, as if simply being different makes one unworthy of equal treatment under the law.
Of course, the petition drive doesn’t mention that there are already laws in place to prevent bad behavior, violence, or voyeurism. Instead, it creates the impression of a lawless land, a World War T where the only way to defeat the “trans zombies” is to build barriers, lest their “infections” spread to the general populace.
I’m curious to see what the LGBT organizations have up their sleeve in order to combat this eventual proposition; I hope it involves actual transgender people. Real people with real stories make for compelling testimony, but my hunch is that, just as in the anti-Prop 8 commercials, we’ll instead be treated to our straight allies waxing obliquely about equality and respect, with trans people themselves deemed “too icky” and “risky” for public consumption. But it is exactly the personal which helps open hearts and transform minds.
We’re friendly with one family at our church who has a transgender child who self-identified as a girl and has dressed as such since she was very young. (I interviewed her mother here.) In every move, gesture, as well as in appearance, she is indeed a girl. If it were not for her activism and willingness to speak to the media, no one would ever think differently.
But imagine if this girl, wearing her pretty pink dress, were to enter a boys’ bathroom? Or be forced to play on the boys’ team, in disregard to her preferred gender? Wouldn’t, at the very least, questions be asked? How could her privacy as a transgender person–let alone safety–be ensured? This bill simply allows her to participate in sports as a girl, use facilities as a girl, and–in essence–live her life as she so chooses.
Critics point to the old California law as being “fair,” which provided trans students with the ability to use private facilities, but such attempts only furthers stigmatization and “outs” the trans person as such. (For a list of common misconceptions around this new legislation, visit American Progress.)
While it may be easy for NOM to make transgender people seem the boogeyman in this fight, there is something much scarier at work. In this petition drive, there is dishonesty and misrepresentation of transgender people at the expense of their esteem and perhaps even their personal safety. During the Prop 8 battle, some pointed to an increase in anti-gay violence as attributable to the bruising fight, which makes me wonder and fear for the safety involved in this battle as well.
Though this petition drive is occurring now, we’ll see the results of their labor next fall on the November 2014 ballot. And once again, next Halloween will be an unsettling mix of both fake ghosts, hung from trees, and the very real ghosts of Prop 8, played out like a bad scary movie to which we already know the ending: ignorant masses will be riled up by fear and bias in order to pass a ballot measure at the expense of a largely-defenseless minority.
Kergan Edwards-Stout can be found via his website, Facebook, and Twitter. His new book, Gifts Not Yet Given, can be found at Indie Bound (Independent Book Stores), Barnes and Noble, Amazon, or at your favorite book sellers.
Photo credit: Privacy for All Students
I recently had the pleasure of chatting with Brian Rzepczynski, MSW, a psychotherapist and life coach specializing in helping LGBT individuals and couples develop and maintain successful and fulfilling intimate relationships. He’s got a great podcast called “The Gay Love Coach,” where he and I talked all things LGBT parenting. Check out my interview with Brian on his new podcast!
On March 5, 1995, the day I turned 30, I admitted my then-partner Shane Sawick into the hospital. He would not come out alive, dying just two weeks later, on March 22. While AIDS was the war he battled, he was ultimately done in by a skirmish with PML (Progressive Multifocal Leukoencephalopathy), a rare but usually fatal disease, which quickly took away Shane’s ability to speak, move, or even blink at will, though his brain continued to think, and process, and feel. It was devastating to watch a loved one undergo such a debilitating experience, and yet that act, of being both lover and caregiver, thoroughly transformed me as a human being. Indeed, I would not be the husband, father, writer, or person that I am were it not for that period of crisis during which my partner and friends died. As we head towards World AIDS Day, I find it perplexing that few seem willing to embrace, or even mention, the epidemic which so greatly impacted and altered the LGBT community. What is it about that era that frightens us so?
The easy answer might be that disease and death make people uncomfortable, which, to some degree, is understandable. Prior to Shane’s death, my best friend of eight years and I were inseparable (I’ll call him Pete.) At the time, I couldn’t have imagined a better friend. Pete made me laugh, kept me company, and ushered me through my West Hollywood “coming out.” Once Shane got sick, however, Pete disappeared. He never called, or came to visit us in the hospital, despite knowing that I was there 24/7. Whenever queried by friends as to his absence, Pete would say, “Oh, you know–me and hospitals. I just don’t like the idea of sickness.”
It wasn’t until the day of Shane’s memorial that I next saw Pete. He came up, noting “Great service!,” before the next words came out of his mouth: “Wanna hit Happy Hour later?” Needless to say, I chose to end that friendship, as well as others in which people could not grasp the emotional magnitude of what had happened to me, and others like me. The depth of my experiences caused a change within, which required a new support system willing and able to tackle the “hard stuff,” no matter how unpleasant.
For some, the era of losing friends and loved ones has been difficult to revisit, due to the emotional toll taken. Many have gone to great lengths to separate themselves from the pain, moving from the most-hit urban centers to smaller, more rural towns. Others have gone into emotional hiding, losing themselves in drug or drink, or in simply shutting down, so as not to feel the ache of such loss. And some have, by necessity, focused on rebuilding their broken circle of friends.
New causes, such as marriage equality, have replaced AIDS as our community’s priority, and it is hard to argue that rallying for wedding cake isn’t more fun that protesting for HIV drugs. Still, we should not have to choose between the two.
These days, activism for many means little more than clicking “like” on a Facebook post. While thousands stepped into the streets in the aftermath of Prop 8, we’ve not seen anything on that scale for HIV/AIDS in years. At what point did we become complacent? Is having a drug that makes the disease “manageable” really all we want? What happened to a cure–or a vaccine?
Today, people still die from AIDS. While drug advancements have substantially decreased that number, it has also created the false-belief that contracting the disease is essentially meaningless. To some, taking one pill a day is an easy trade-off to having to wear condoms.
Most disturbing, however, is the sheer number to whom AIDS just doesn’t matter, having relegated it to a page in history. When I mention having lost a partner or friends, I’m most often met with a blank stare or a cursory nod, with no real emotional acknowledgement of what that time meant, and continues to mean.
During the AIDS crisis, the LGBT community rose to the occasion, stepping in to take care of our own when the government, pharmaceutical companies, and other organizations couldn’t–or wouldn’t. LGBT people exhibited incredible bravery, tackling huge monoliths with acts of daring creativity and passion. Were it not for our take-no-prisoners approach, we would not have the HIV drugs we do today.
The crisis temporarily brought together both genders, as women stepped into vacant leadership roles and helped those stricken by acting as caregivers. Today, that gender divide has returned, with little reciprocity from gay men for the causes dear to lesbians, such as breast or cervical cancer. In many ways, we’ve gone back to being strangers, with a debt left unpaid.
Other communities, devastated by tragedy, have managed to turn such markers into rallying cries, and the LGBT community must find a way to do the same with AIDS. Just as the Jewish people dealt with the Holocaust, and the African American community responded to slavery and the civil rights struggle, so too must our community find a way to embrace that era, fully honoring both those we lost and what we gained.
For we did gain much. We learned that, far from being the weak and passive individuals many of us had been stereotyped, we actually had strength, passion, and guts, and we fully demonstrated that to the world. We took on “the powers that be” and created real, tangible change. We literally bloodied ourselves for the cause, and yet today, speaking of AIDS feels almost taboo.
Does that have anything to do with the disease being sexually transmitted? Having worked so hard to combat the myth that being gay is to be “sick,” did the emergence of a sexually transmitted disease take us back to a place of shame? Does that shame still linger?
To be clear, I am not remotely nostalgic for the days of the AIDS crisis. I lost too many, and it hurt too much. But at the same time, I’m thankful that I was able to play a part in helping to educate others about HIV, through my work at AIDS Project Los Angeles. I’m grateful to my dear friends who allowed me to be with them during their final days. I’m profoundly changed, for the better, for having ushered my partner Shane to his death. And I’m forever in awe of the efforts our community took to respond to the crisis in unimaginably creative and lasting, impactful ways.
I just wished others cared as well.
Kergan Edwards-Stout’s debut novel, Songs for the New Depression, was loosely inspired by his partner, Shane Sawick, and his experiences during the AIDS crisis. It won the 2012 Next Generation Indie Book Award in the LGBTQ category, and was shortlisted for the Independent Literary Awards in the same category.
PLEASE DE-FRIEND ME.
If you plan to vote for Mitt Romney, you are putting a nail into my civil rights coffin, and I’d rather not have friends who think I deserve anything less than equal treatment under the law. Romney supports DOMA (which directly and negatively impacts me, restricting my partner Russ, our kids, and my federal protections and tax benefits under the law), and has noted his support for an anti-marriage equality amendment as well. While you may see your vote for him as one about the economy (and we can debate who’d be better for that until the cows come home), what you INTEND by your vote really doesn’t matter. Your vote means that you are supporting someone who not only thinks I’m not equal to you, but who works vigorously to ensure my “less-than” legal status. Your vote for him means that you are totally fine with me being treated with disrespect.
Now, you may see this as an indication that I am being too “single minded”, and I’ll admit that when you’re denied even the simplest of human considerations, it makes it difficult to look beyond that. But this is about much more than my treatment under the law. Who I am and what I believe passionately in are also things which Romney discounts. I believe in full and fair treatment of ALL people, but Romney believes that women should not receive equal pay for equal work. I believe we need to take care of our earth, even if it means tightening our belts, but Romney favors further deregulation over environmental concerns. I think it is our duty to support things like art and culture (I view them as essential), but Romney disparages the role these play in enriching our lives; he sees them as extraneous and will cut public funding. I believe, just as education is a right, healthcare is as well, but Romney wants to abolish the Affordable Care Act. I care about those less fortunate and the elderly, and think it is our collective responsibility to ensure their well-being, but in Romney’s eyes, these people are victims and moochers. In short, who I am isn’t just who I love, it is the things I feel passionately about. And Romney stands against almost all of them.
BOTTOM LINE: I don’t care who you are–whether you are my relation by blood or a longtime acquaintance, I don’t want “friends” who don’t think I’m as good as they are. I want friends who value me, who see my worth as a human being, and who fully support my equal protections under the law. So, if you’re voting for Romney, whether you follow me on twitter or facebook, please de-friend me. You won’t hurt my feelings. I won’t cause a big stink. In fact, you’ll be creating space in my life for others to come in who do feel that my being here on the planet matters.
I’M NOT INTERESTED IN DEBATING THIS. PLEASE RESPECT MY WISHES.
The LGBT community would be nothing were it not for the many and varied grassroots efforts which have sprung up throughout our history, spurring us forward in the name of equality. While our national organizations may serve a purpose in terms of presence and lobbying, in my view, most of the monumental changes have occurred as the result of groups outside the mainstream. Whether it be Lt. Dan Choi and GetEqual helping to bring about an end to DADT, or ACT-UP in demanding resources and awareness during the AIDS epidemic, or the small but laser-like focus of the American Foundation for Equal Rights in working to bring marriage equality to California, these smaller groups have often been able to affect change where our national organizations can’t–or won’t.
I came of age during the days of Queer Nation and ACT-UP, and every rally, march, or benefit I’ve attended or organized has helped instill in me the belief that power, indeed, lies with the people. Last year’s Occupy movement further reinforced that conviction: on a local level, a band of committed individuals can move mountains.
In February, I wrote about a planned “2012 Worldwide LGBT Civil Rights March”, slated for April 21. The idea for the march had sprung from a facebook group called Let’s Reach 1 Million People Campaign, and the group’s founder and lead organizer, Joseph C. Knudson, asked if I would write an article about their efforts. I agreed, but as I began to look more closely at the event, I realized that I couldn’t deliver the promotional piece they’d desired. The article, What if They Threw a Worldwide LGBT Equality March, and No One Came?, noted my concerns around the planning associated with the effort, and questioned if the event was truly designed for success.
The article prompted a firestorm of protest in the comment sections on both Huffington Post and Bilerico Project, primarily from those organizing the event, and included accusations of inaccuracies, questions about my motives, personal attacks, and even resulted in a rant about me on Knudson’s blog. And yet, despite each of their energetic volleys, the questions I raised were never fully answered by the event organizers.
Instead, I and others with questions were simply urged to read the group’s disclosure document, as if the answers to each of our varied questions could be found in that single document. While some have speculated that this event was simply a promotional effort, designed to draw attention to a book Knudson had written, it was assured time and again that the Worldwide LGBT Equality March had no connection to his personal endeavors. But where, you might ask, is the group’s disclosure document located? Not on their website, as one would expect. Instead, a link redirects you to Knudson’s own site, where the document is posted beneath links to his book trailer, author page, and book press release. A minor point, perhaps, but hardly the kind of thing which eases concerns about either his motivation or the separation between the two endeavors.
Perhaps you’ve already heard about the “2012 Worldwide LGBT Civil Rights March”, slated for Saturday April 21, and are eagerly making plans to attend. Odds are, though, that you haven’t. I consider myself to be fairly well-informed on all things LGBT, but I hadn’t heard of this particular march either, until I received an email from the head organizer, offering to engage me in its planning. As flattering as his offer was, I also found it a bit perplexing, for while I may think of myself quite highly at times, chances are that most of you reading this have no clue as to who I am. Which begs the question, “Why reach out to me, a little-known author, when the sea has much bigger fish?”
I politely declined, due to time conflicts, but have continued to follow the group on facebook. Indeed, the idea for this event sprung from their Let’s Reach 1 Million People Campaign, which has (of this writing) 16,624 members. The stated objective of the group is that it has been “created for the achievement of basic human rights, inclusive of full legal civil rights allowing freedom from unwarranted infringement by governments and private organizations while allowing and ensuring one’s ability to participate in the civil and political life of the state without discrimination or repression.”
While there is much to admire in their broader goal, as I began to dig more deeply to find answers to my questions, I discovered only more questions. For example, the event is being billed as a “Civil Rights March,” but that turns out to be a bit of a misnomer. Likely, when you hear the word “march,” visions of a long parade come to mind, filling the street for miles. And while there may be some of that, there is no “one” march. Instead, there are currently 25 host cities, and each can plan whatever type of event they desire. While some may indeed choose to observe the moment by marching with flags and banners, others may celebrate with a picnic. In Great Britain, as the date falls on the Queen’s birthday, the group has mandated a news blackout (out of respect or some such) and are not publicizing their activities. Now, I ain’t that bright, but I’m uncertain how effective an event can be if you don’t alert people as to where it is and what it entails. (Perhaps they’re demanding equality while sipping tea and eating crumpets?) (more…)