
The first time this happened, I wasn’t living there. But I was waiting on pins and needles, dialing into conference calls, surfing the web. I was a journalist and even though we only published biweekly, there was urgency to finding out as soon as it happened, even if it was on the other side of the country. When the news finally broke, we crouched around computers to read all about it, we huddled in the common spaces, stopped working to speculate about what this would mean for the rest of the country, how soon the weddings would begin. We laughed with a sort of nervous pride. In the weeks and months we would come to learn so much more about archaic laws and states borders and the scope of DOMA and civil disobedience by progressive governors and Constitutional amendments… but back then we had barely begun to dream about the possibilities.
Then there was California. I was working for the LGBT nonprofit organization in San Francisco. For some reason the building was unusually warm that day, which I remember because we left half the overhead lights off that day. When we heard the ruling would be out, I started refreshing the court’s website. A pdf appeared from the California Supreme Court. It was over 100 pages long. I frantically began skimming through it, trying to make sense of legal language I was, at the time, unfamiliar with. Someone turned on CNN. I read aloud to my coworkers passages I thought sounded important, or good. CNN said “no” as I reached the part where the court said “yes.” Someone brought in a cake. We took a break and celebrated. Afterward, I heard about the dancing in the streets at the Castro, but I just went home. Drained. Spent. I had things to do the next morning.
This time, it was a slow build. I remember last year, sitting in the cafeteria of the Law School watching the live stream as the first Republican “swing” voted no. Then the second. Then a democrat. Then twitter was declaring it a loss. Fast forward to the last few weeks. The calls to my senator, the emails. The calls to other senate leaders. At my internship I was asked to look into the legal impact proposed religious exception language would have. I have some small sense that somehow my analysis reached the ears of people who needed to know, to decide, to negotiate and politic.
This week, the live streaming video in an open tab on my browser. Listening to that chamber music all day as I researched other projects at work. The day the debated the definition of “sippy cup.” Sweet corn became the state vegetable. Waiting. Watching the twitter stream for updates. Refreshing blogs. Day after day of “maybe today” and “maybe tonight.”
Tonight we had a rooftop party in Brooklyn, we interns from the ACLU. It was foggy and misty, but we could see the City, the river, the dim outline of Lady Liberty, the building where we worked. We laughed and talked of other things, or pop stars and law school woes. I checked my phone for updates. Sunset. Checked my phone. “Guys, they’re voting now!” Cheers. Pizza arrived. Checked my phone. “They’re voting on the amendment – and it sounds like they have a 32nd vote.” “They passed the amendment” Cheers. High-fives. Someone urged emotional caution, not counting chickens or something. “I wish I had my computer, it sounds like someone just bitchslapped Diaz back to the Bronx.” “Wow, sounds like we just picked up another Republican vote.” Checked my phone – there were the numbers. 33-29. The exclamation points. I flipped on my phone and held it out to my co-intern at the LGBT Project. “Chris, look.” He was talking to someone. “Chris, look. They did it.” Someone I didn’t know, a student from our host’s school, tapped me on the shoulder – did you just say they passed it?. Now I had their attention. “33-29. Everyone find yourself a same-sex partner, because New York just made it legal for us to get married!”
Cheers. People congratulating each other. High-fives. The lights of the city looked blurry through the mist and fog, from our rooftop in Brooklyn.
I hear they’re dancing at Christopher Street. But I’m in Brooklyn. I just go home. I have things to do tomorrow morning. But Sunday I will be marching. And even though I’m not engaged, have no special someone with whom I have waited and waited for this day, I will still be especially proud as I walk the streets of Manhattan.
Filed under: NYC, queer rights by Jere Keys
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