Putting Our Money Where Their Mouths Should Be

UPDATE: While the number of states with marriage equality has changed since I first posted this, and other LGBT issues are claiming headlines, the need for greater inclusivity remains (unfortunately). ::sigh::

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With multiple victories for marriage equality in the last week -- including Iowa, Vermont, and Washington, DC -- many LGBT organizations sent out a flurry of emails and press releases about all the progress our movement had made.

Some, like NGLTF, used wonderfully inclusive language, hailing the various events that granted "the freedom to marry to same-sex couples."

Others, like HRC, continued their spotty and inconsistent (and frankly, inaccurate) language expressing excitement for all the "loving, committed lesbian and gay couples" who can now marry. Particularly disappointing is GLAAD, an organization that's supposed to be a watchdog around language for the LGBT community.

What's frustrating is that it isn't difficult to do it right. "Same-sex couple" is both more inclusive and more accurate, because two women in a couple are not always lesbians or in a "lesbian relationship." Ditto for men and "gay." Heck, for that matter, not all different-sex couples are heterosexual. (Depending on the gender identities of the people involved, "same-sex" and "different-sex" may be no more than approximations -- but these terms get closest to the crux of the struggle and are the best we have right now.)

Countless letters and phone calls and personal interactions and educational sessions and explicit non-donations and behind-the-scenes pressure over many, many years have done little to change the institutional culture wherein such exclusive language is acceptable. For whatever reason, too many supposedly LGBT organizations just don't get it -- it's not about throwing the occasional B and T into the mix. It's about standing up for us as integral parts of the queer community, all the time and every time.

This week, my bisexual wife and my bisexual self had had enough. Again.

She suggested and I created "checks" that you can fill out, print, and mail in (see below). It includes a note underneath: "This might have been a real check if you had been more inclusive." They are brought to you by the "bank" of BiPOL, a bisexual political action group.

Bisexual check (single) [PDF, 157k]
A single check, with plenty of room to write a note, if desired

Bisexual check (multiple) [PDF, 179k]
Three bi checks on one page, for efficient printing if you don't need the blank space

Transgender check (single) [PDF, 157k]
As above, but focusing on transgender exclusion

Transgender check (multiple) [PDF, 258k]
As above, but focusing on transgender exclusion

Our goal is to drive home the point that excluding bisexuals and/or transgender people is not only unacceptable, it costs the organization donations.

I should mention that there are many, many LGBT nonprofits out there doing fantastic work on behalf of all of us, and they DESPERATELY need -- and richly deserve -- our support. (In fact, only about 5% of LGBT people give to LGBT causes. We need to do far better.) That's why it's all the more important to let groups like HRC know that we're being strategic with our bi/trans/ally dollars and not rewarding them when they can't even remember to talk about us (much less address our most serious issues).

So download the files, link to them, share them with friends, invest in a few stamps, and demand that the organizations supposedly representing YOUR community do better. In this economy, perhaps we'll have enough leverage to institute lasting change.

No Unalloyed Joy

For many queer people and our allies, November 4th was not a day of celebration. For brief moments, sure, when the presidential race was called for Obama and as he gave his victory speech. In the latter, there was an entire 20-minute period when I was able to focus almost exclusively on that galvanizing moment in our country's history and witness a new page turning in American politics.

The glow faded back into anxiety within 30 seconds. The results of Prop 8 - by far harder to predict - were yet to come.

When the first vote tallies did come in, the news was bleak. The gap would narrow slightly before exhaustion drove us home (we'd been up since 5:00 that morning working on No on 8 visibility), but I felt isolated from the crowds of revellers we passed cheering in the streets.

As the passage of Prop 8 became official, I couldn't access much excitement about Obama's election. Relief I had big-time - McCain would've been disastrous - but sadness and grief were my constant companions. Having married my sweetie for yet a third time just weeks earlier, I took Prop 8 very, very personally. Not only had its passage snatched away my rights, but I also felt robbed of the joy that was rightfully mine on the occasion of Obama's historic election.

That's a big part of why Rick Warren's presence at the inauguration is so painful - once again, I can't simply celebrate Obama's victory. But this time, the joy thief is Obama himself.

I never expected our new President to be perfect, nor did I have any illusions about him being more progressive than he is. I just thought...for a few brief months...that this time, LGBT people wouldn't have to live with our dignity and hope and humanity in a lockbox for safekeeping.

You've wounded us deeply, Mr. Obama. I'm not sure you even understand how much. You've taken our sacred trust and shoved it down the back of our throats. You've sucker-punched us in our souls.

I was ready to heed your calls for sacrifice, and step up my public service even more, and give you enormous leeway because the mess left by your predecessor is unfathomably deep and wide.

Instead, I now feel I've pretty much done my part sacrificing on behalf of my country. I live openly as a bisexual woman with my openly bisexual wife - our very lives are a public service to this country, even before you get to all our other do-gooder work. And clearly, anti-LGBT bias is the one form of discrimination that's still acceptable (no proud anti-Semite or racist would ever have gotten the call Warren did), so we have our work cut out for us as it is.

Mr. Obama, the LGBT community was poised to stand by you as one of your staunchest allies. I understand all your reasons for inviting Mr. Warren (reaching across divides, you're everyone's President, etc.), but you could have expressed those same ideals with a far less divisive, hate-filled man. How does anyone win by you standing up and saying, "Even virulent homophobes have a place of respect in this country"?

Let me be clear: this isn't okay. A batterer may feel genuine love for his wife, but it's unhealthy for her to stick around after the first smack. The only way she'll return (assuming her self-respect was intact enough not to believe the abuse was acceptable) is if he does some serious soul-searching, gets help, demonstrates genuine remorse - and never, ever, ever treats her that way again.

Consider yourself being held accountable, Mr. Obama.

Words Matter

“Words matter. Names matter.”

These sentences set the stage for a powerful and eloquent statement by Deputy City Attorney Therese Stewart as she argued before the California Supreme Court for the right of all people to marry the person they choose.

I couldn’t agree more. Words shape our thoughts and give form to reality. They are the vehicles through which we engage in the profound and magical act of communication.

Words do matter. Which is why, as a bisexual woman, I find the current celebrations on behalf of “gay and lesbian couples” profoundly painful. Each time I hear that phrase, I feel physically stabbed.

My partner and I are both bi. As a same-sex couple, we’re subject to the same injustice and legal complexity and potential violence as any lesbian or gay couple. Our excitement in 2004 was just as palpable as we stood in line for our marriage license at San Francisco City Hall, and our relationship was just as diminished by the state’s subsequent annulments. We are just as threatened by Prop 8, the ballot measure this November that would define marriage as between one man and one woman.

The language of California law had left us out of the right to marry until the victory on May 15th. But the language of LGBTQI organizations and the media has robbed us of this moment’s joy. I can’t get my heart to stop hurting.

What’s shocking is that this non-inclusive language isn’t entirely random. Because some focus group data found that “gay and lesbian” was more palatable to undecided moderates than “same-sex,” there has been a strategic decision by key lesbian and gay leaders to use it through November. The goal is to win the fight against the ballot measure and secure marriage equality once and for all in California.

We could argue about whether the ends justify the means. We could argue about why the language is being used so broadly rather than just with the straight voters we’re trying to persuade. What’s not open for discussion is why no bisexual leaders were in on the conversation. No one asked us whether we were willing to make this sacrifice. We didn’t even get the courtesy of an acknowledgment that this strategy would take a toll on us. No one prepared us to have our hearts broken over and over for months.

Words matter. Not just some of them, and not just some of the time. Just as marriage is not the same as domestic partnership, bringing the entire queer community along is not the same as throwing some of us under the bus.

Names matter. I have chosen to name myself “bisexual” as a political stand for all people whose attractions span beyond one gender. Even as I acknowledge the word’s limitations, I also understand its rich history and its role in determining our real allies.

During last year’s fight over the non-inclusive ENDA, the queer community came together in extraordinary fashion and true solidarity with transgender and gender-nonconforming people. Organizations and individuals across the spectrum expressed justifiable outrage that some of us were being left by the side of the road, with only vague promises of getting picked up at an undetermined later date.

During this season of celebration, where is the outrage on bisexuals’ behalf? My gay and lesbian colleagues didn’t even notice that fundraising emails from nonprofits fighting the ballot measure kept talking about “gay and lesbian” couples. Why didn’t they get angry for me? If people I consider good friends and allies don’t even have my back, who will?

At the time of the ENDA fight, I suspected that if bisexuals were the ones left to wait at the side of the road, we would never have received the same outpouring of support. Sadly, I couldn’t even imagine it. Even more sadly, it turns out I was right.

Rigoberta Menchu Tum once said that any erasing of differences is an act of violence. And because words matter, I’ll name this pervasive “G&L scandal” for what it is—violence.

Shocked to hear that word applied here? Think I’m overreaching? Climb inside my heart these days. You’ll feel just how deeply words matter.


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POSTSCRIPT:
Last night (July 3rd) was the first in a series of town hall meetings for the Equality for All campaign (the coalition fighting Prop 8 in California). My partner Emily and I, along with bisexual activist Lani Ka'ahumanu, put together a handout, press packets, and a silent protest we called "unVEILing injustice" -- Emily, I, and several other bisexuals and allies walked into the standing-room-only crowd at the San Francisco LGBT Center wearing white veils to symbolize how bisexuals have been rendered invisible in the marriage equality movement. We even brought a cake, which read, "Having our cake and eating it, too -- Bisexuals exist!"

I'm delighted to report that the very first words from Kate Kendell (Executive Director of NCLR) -- before anything at all about Prop 8 or the campaign -- was an extended and heartfelt apology to bisexuals for leaving us out, and a sincere promise to use inclusive language in all communications going forward (as well as an invitation to contact them if they slip again).

The proof will be in the pudding, of course, but I couldn't have been happier with the outcome at this stage. I'm confident that marriage equality efforts in California will begin to include all of us.

Special thanks to Kate not only for working so hard to win legal protections for LGBT people, but for stepping up to the difficult task of saying publicly, "I'm so sorry. We'll do better."

To donate to the campaign to defeat Prop 8, go to www.equalityforall.com.