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If you read yesterday’s blog post, you might think I am too much of a pessimist, that I can’t celebrate victories without bringing everyone down.  I guess that is what I did; I have been long cognizant of the “middle class white” nature of the marriage equality fight, and I let the bigger picture take over.

Thankfully, I am friends with Rev. Jude Geiger, who said this on Facebook today (photo because I can’t copy text from FB on my phone, where I am writing this):

  
What I realized is this:

1. We need to and CAN celebrate – without guilt. This was a major victory, with elegant words from Justice Kennedy to prove it. 

2. These victories – yesterday’s ruling, the strike down of DOMA, the strike down of anti-sodomy laws – these victories make each successive one EASIER. Justice Kennedy’s words will be quoted over and over again in legal cases because they make the case and pave the way for more justice. 

Yeah – as I said yesterday, and as Jude said on facebook, there’s still a lot to do. But let me be clear: 

This was a VICTORY for love, justice, and the inherent worth and dignity of every person. 
Love wins. 

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Four years ago, when the New York State Legislature voted for marriage equality, I received the news with a mix of joy and sadness, relief and regret. I was so excited that justice, equality, and love won that day – but I missed my partner Tricia terribly; when she died in 1998, marriage was a pipe dream.

And now, it’s here. The Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS) has ruled, in a 5-4 decision, that marriage equality is the law of the land. As Kevin Russell at SCOTUSblog writes,

The majority bases its conclusion that same-sex marriage is a fundamental right on “four principles and traditions”: (1) right to person choice in marriage is “inherent in the concept of individual autonomy”; (2) “two-person union unlike any other in its importance to the committed individuals”; (3) marriage safeguards children and families; (4) marriage is a keystone to our social order.

It is a relief – more so now than in 2011 – less tears of sadness, more tears of relief. I am so thrilled that the hard work of so many people has paid off, that we have swayed not just hearts and minds but the law, and that we ALL can move from state to state and have the same legal rights, statewide and federally.

But this isn’t the end of the road for LGBTQ equality.

Just as the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was just one important step toward equality, the Obergefell decision is just one important step toward equality. There’s still so much to do; for example:

  • fair housing for LGBTQ people – because some people can be kicked out of their homes.
  • anti-discrimination laws in the workplace – because people can still be fired for being gay, even if they are legally married
  • acceptance and legal recognition of trans and non-binary gendered people – because the T isn’t there for its good looks
  • the court of public opinion – perhaps the hardest battle of all, especially when you consider that not only was the decision 5-4, but that each of the dissenters wrote their own dissenting opinion. There’s a lot of anger and distress here, and that’s just the court.

We know that significant laws and court cases have not stopped racism from thriving. We know that a landmark decision has not stopped the war against women and reproductive rights. So we must brace ourselves for continued homophobia and transphobia – along with the continued racism, bigotry, and misogyny we already work to fight. We must remember the stirring words of Joyce Poley’s song*:

One more step, we will take one more step,
‘til there is peace for us and everyone, we’ll take one more step.

One more word, we will say one more word,
‘til every word is heard by everyone, we’ll say one more word.

One more prayer, we will say one more prayer,
‘til every prayer is shared by everyone, we’ll say one more prayer.

One more song, we will sing one more song,
‘til every song is sung by everyone, we’ll sing one more song.

Let’s take those steps together. In faith, in love, in our call for justice, equality, and the inherent worth and dignity of EVERY SINGLE PERSON.

 

 

*Hymn 168 in Singing the Living Tradition

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A colleague of mine – a strong, brilliant, creative woman – recently took to Facebook to note the amazing experience of putting good energy out to get good energy back. In her post, she warned those inclined to mansplain the experience not to try to convince her she was wrong, because she believed in this energetic relationship to the universe.

mansplainingAlmost instantly, a man attempted to explain what was really going on, that it was just coincidence, and oh by the way, here’s a book to explain it in case my authority as a male-presenting, male-identified human wasn’t authority enough. My colleague called him out, noting that his response felt, to her, like mansplaining, and that over time these kinds of comments from men resemble micro-aggressions.

I noted a comment or two later that this reminded me of when an ex-boyfriend tried to mansplain “mansplaining” to me on a Facebook thread, which completely ended any connection we had.

I also went to private messages to tell my colleague that I was proud of her being willing to call out the behavior in a firm but gentle way, which often helps people see their places of privilege. She thanked me, and told me that a number of women had said the same thing to her privately, but I was the only one who spoke out about it in public as well.

I returned to the thread, to discover that another woman passive-aggressively called out…my colleague. I sure hope no one ever singles me out unfairly, she wrote to my colleague.

SIGH.

Women are supposed to defer. And if they’re not, they are still supposed to let men explain things to them. And when they react to that mansplaining, they are encouraged to be quiet and not do anything about it. And women are not supposed to pile on, but rather provide quiet, behind the scenes support.

At least that’s what we’re taught.

But how can we change the behavior if we don’t name the behavior? Neither the person who mansplained nor the person who subtly told my colleague to be quiet are inherently bad or unaware people. They are justice-seeking, open-minded folks who stand on the side of love. Yet in a matter of hours, both displayed behavior that is meant (even unconsciously) to silence, scold, or shame.

As Unitarian Universalists, we regularly put our faith into action – preaching, writing letters, marching, protesting, confronting, and sometimes committing acts of civil disobedience.

Outside our walls.

But time and time again, we let injustice remain inside our walls, for the good of covenant, to keep peace in our beloved community.

So when female-bodied ministers are judged by their clothes and not their message… when LGB but not T is welcome… when words from people of color are regularly omitted or misappropriated or silenced … when those who call out our own class inequality and fair pay issues are told they don’t understand the system… when a colleague is mansplained to and then shamed into silence… we are failing our community, our covenant, and our faith.

affirm light of truthI am proud of my colleague. Her words surprised the man, who – to his credit – not only realized what he had done but apologized. And they are still friends. His being called out on this expression of male privilege helped him see that privilege, and I suspect he won’t do it again; or if he does, he might realize what he’s typed and hit Delete instead of Send.

We need to do more of this. We are bound by covenant to speak truth to each other, to seek justice amongst each other. None of us is perfect, and none of us is guiltless. But if we are willing to be prophetic witnesses to each other, we will be better prophetic witnesses to our communities and our world.

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I have never been comfortable with the word “bisexual.” As a young queer woman in Durham, North Carolina, in the 80s and 90s, our community was very clear that we would use the acronym LGBT, but we would struggle with the T (a subject for another day), and we would not believe the B. I grew to understood the B as meaning “not really gay” or “can’t make up their minds” or “horndog.” So in fact, “bisexual” was a wishy-washy term, attractive to couples looking for threesomes, useful as a category to put questioning folks in.

After my partner Tricia died in 1998, I found comfort not from my gay and lesbian friends, but from my straight male friends. They seemed to hear the pain in my heart – especially one friend, Mark. Mark’s comfort was inviting, and my relationship with him did turn romantic for a while. And that was fine. My mistake was telling my lesbian friends, who branded me a traitor to the sisterhood, who called me a “hasbian,” and then proceeded to ostracize me from the community I had loved and served in for years.

Over the next 15 years, I stopped dating women altogether and focused on men. I decided that my “lesbian days were over” but I didn’t quite step into the term “straight” (despite two boyfriends’ attempts). I also didn’t see myself as bisexual, because at that point, I was not sexually attracted to women, and I knew all the problems the B word brought with it.

That was fine for me personally – I didn’t really need labels. However, I knew that many would not understand my personal history, and I worried that they would think my years as an out, proud, activist lesbian were “just a phase” or that I was embarrassed by those relationships and activities – something that couldn’t be further from the truth. But I also carried the old, tired definitions of bisexual with me – and I honestly did not feel attracted to women at that point. How could I be bisexual if I don’t feel attracted to more than one gender? I wasn’t trying to play the field. I knew the truths of my romantic history and sexual orientations. But I couldn’t explain it well. Throughout seminary, I used the word “queer” and said simply “I exist in the queer cloud” as a way to show my general solidarity but not identify as anything I didn’t think I was.

So fast forward to this week.

Bisexual Visibility Week.

I started reading articles, blog posts, and Facebook statuses from and about bisexuals. Someone shared the video of actress Anna Paquin trying to explain to Larry King that her sexual orientation is not defined by the person she is in a relationship with. Someone else talked about the misconceptions about being confused and still sorting their identity out. And then I read this quote from Robin Ochs in an article called Bisexuality 101:

“Bisexuals are people who acknowledge in themselves the potential to be attracted – romantically and/or sexually – to people of more than one sex and/or gender, not necessarily at the same time, not necessarily in the same way, and not necessarily to the same degree.”

Not necessarily at the same time.

Oh.

Oh!

Oh. I AM bisexual… and it is my definitions that are too narrow.

As open and knowledgeable as I am about gender identity and sexual orientation, I was remarkably closed-minded about bisexuality. Mine, particularly. While I was open and affirming about others’ bisexuality, I used the old, outdated, incredibly short-sighted definitions for myself, thus cutting me off from embracing the fullness of who I am.

And I was doing a serious disservice to the people I want to minister to. A recent study shows that bisexual youth face particularly specific challenges. Others may not know what to do or say to be a good bisexual ally, whether they themselves are gay or straight. And others may just need to see the richer, more colorful texture of sexual orientation, even as we speak more fully about the richer, more colorful texture of gender identity. I need to be out, not just as queer, but out as who I am, in order to best serve others.

So…big breath…. here goes:

bisexuality-flag-heartI am bisexual.

I wish to be visible… to my friends, to my congregation, to my community, to my denomination…. and most of all, to my self.

I am bisexual.

I am a sexually healthy, emotionally healthy, spiritually healthy human being that has loved and been attracted to people across the gender spectrum, to different degrees, at different times, in different ways.

I am bisexual.

I am called to ministry, to be everything I am and want to be, including who and how I choose to love.

I am bisexual.

 

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Some people start their ministerial internships writing learning agreements, figuring out the copier and the coffee maker, and meeting absolutely everyone.

Others start their ministerial internships writing generic wedding ceremonies in case the courts allow same-sex couples to marry and speaking to the press at a rally on the courthouse steps.

marriage equality rally 7-22That mine began with an act of social witness seems appropriate. I mean, I know much of my ministry is about the power of art to heal and inspire. Yet I also know that my ministry demands I respond to my neighbor’s needs, to stand on the side of love, to speak as a person of faith for what is right and true. And so today, I got to do that. I got to speak to the media, I got to be present as a minister and show support for people who simply want to be treated with dignity. If all had gone well, there would have been marriage licenses issued by the Monroe County clerk and I might have been able to conduct weddings. But there is a stay pending an appeal, so all we could do was call on the Attorney General to drop the appeal and show our support. The long moral arc of the universe DOES bend toward justice; it just takes longer sometimes than we want. But it is bending here in Florida… and I am glad the congregation let me begin my internship a few weeks early so I could be present.

I can’t think of a better way to start my ministry in Key West.

 

Update: Click here for the story from CBS-Miami.

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For the record, I am estatic that New York State is now allowing any committed couple to legally wed – gay or straight. It’s been a hard fight and a sweet victory… and yes, there are still many battles for LGBT rights left to fight (repeal of DOMA, federal marriage equality, etc.) but..it is a sweet sweet victory.

I’ve spent a lot of time in the last couple of days viewing pictures of newly married couples, some who have waited decades for the day to come. I’ve read their stories, heard their cheers. I have cheered with them. And I’ve cried.

And not all the tears were tears of joy.

This seems to be giving me an opportunity to talk a little about my own history… to explore a rich piece of who I am, and begin to find language to explain where I have been and where I am now without people freaking out. I am, as it happens, one of those people – like Holly Near and Anne Heche – who have loved both men and women, and after many years being actively and happily labeled a lesbian, now consider myself bisexual. No, I didn’t “get cured.” No, it wasn’t “a phase.” As a teen, I was attracted to men and women… and in my early 20s, after some meandering, found that I was most comfortable identifying myself as a lesbian. I had a couple of great (and a handful of terrible) relationships. I embraced my phsyical and emotional attraction to women. I fought for equality. I marched in parades, protested with the Lesbian Avengers, even appeared on local news, and was on the front page of several state-wide newspapers, me kissing my girlfriend in front of a parade banner.

In other words, I was out, I was proud, and I was active.

In the mid-90s, I had met the person I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. Tricia was vibrant and brilliant – she lived life large. She was passionate, funny, earnest. And she loved me fiercely. In 1997, we decided to make steps toward as legally permanent a relationship as we could have in North Carolina. We were beneficiaries on as many policies as would allow us. We had medical power of attorney for each other. We were on our way to buying a house together and working with a gay attorney to ensure we were as protected as we could be, even as we began to talk about plans for a ceremony.

Parallel to this, I was completing my bachelor’s degree at Meredith College…. and Tricia was slipping back into a narcotics addiction I thought she had beaten in the late 80s. Using debilitating migraines as her excuse, and not telling her several doctors about the previous addiction – or in fact, even about each other – she amassed a stockpile of narcotics and used them to “help” her headaches.

I should have known, the day she got a new doctor to give her methodone as as way to manage the pain. But I didn’t. I didn’t know about addiction, about prescription drug abuse. I hadn’t had any experience with it. So I trusted her doctors… trusted her… and on April 7, 1998, Tricia had a heart attack, likely induced by the narcotics, and died that afternoon.

Now I tell you this because for a long time after she died, I was convinced I would never love again. And then, as I crawled out of the cave of blinding grief, it was men who offered the kind of comfort I seemed most to need. Women seemed harsh, or overbearing. Men were more measured, giving me space, and time, and a rather appealing kind of support.

Several years later, in considering relationships again, I found I was turning toward men – something I hadn’t done since my early 20s. It wasn’t that I suddenly found women revolting – it was just that, well, something had changed. I went from looking for women, to “if it really is about loving the person, not the gender, I have to be open to it being male or female”, to simply knowing I wanted a relationship with a man.

Since Tricia’s death, I have had a small handful of relationships with men – all were what I needed at the time, although I think I spent a few years learning the things always-straight women learned about men  in their early 20s. I also spent a few years learning how different relationships with women and with men can be. This is NOT a judgment on either one – both are great, both are terrible, both are what they are.  I am blessed right now to be in a great relationship with a man who is kind, open, funny, brilliant, and charming. I am unsure where the relationship is heading – but it is steady and positive, and I feel loved and supported. I still have moments when I miss Tricia, but they are fleeting, and I – like many young widows and widowers – have moved on to a new phase.

But I have cried the last few days because I wish she was here to see these pictures…to have the chance to marry me, legally, in my home state… I wish she was here to see that the work we did in the 90s was NOT in vain… I wish we could have been part of that celebration.

But it’s not reality.

It’s just bittersweet.