Queer Youth Say: Love Isn’t Under Siege
words by Eva Bruckner
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*Please note that this story barely scratches the surface of the complexities surrounding the conversation about same-sex marriage. It also should in no way be taken as representative of all queer people/the LGTBQ+ community at large, for it truly only speaks to a few people’s thoughts.
The right to marry is something that LGBTQ+ rights activists have been advocating for decades. When it was legalized nationwide in 2015, the queer community celebrated a long-overdue victory. For decades — centuries even — queer folks had been protesting the discriminatory marriage laws in many states that did not allow for a legal wedding of two people of the same sex; they shouted from rooftops and across protest signs and T-shirts that love is love. The 2015 decision meant that queer couples could exist in the eyes of the law. But queer youth today are coming into the conversation with a different perspective, from a different time.
I was 14 when the Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage nationwide in the landmark case Obergefell v. Hodges. I was only seven when this happened in California, where I was born and raised. When I was 14, I was not yet “out” as queer — not fully to myself, and certainly not to anyone else. I knew that this decision was momentous, but also knew that equal love should never have been up for debate in the first place. It hadn’t quite resonated with me that this could have some direct effect on my life. For queer people across the country who were of marrying age — especially those in states who had not legalized gay marriage ahead of the nationwide ruling — this decision meant they could finally marry the one they love.
For centuries, marriage has been a cultural phenomenon. In America, there is an enormous emphasis on the importance of settling into a happy marriage and starting your nuclear family; it was all a part of the American Dream, more or less. Be it for religious, societal or economic reasons, marriage is viewed by many as a sacred thing. For decades, TV and film have mocked the unwed, and so, supposedly undesirable, basing entire storylines on finding “Mr. Right,” and creating sad tropes of the stunted bachelor. When it came to queer people, however, there was no option. Marriage was off the table for American queer folks, until it was legalized in Massachusetts in 2003, for the first time in the states. Over the next few years, legalization would spread to a few more states, but it would still be actively banned in most of America until 2015. Now, in the year 2020, it seems this right — which many had waited for all their lives — may be back up in the air.
“How do all the queer kids that are becoming queer adults feel about the fragility of this right many of us have taken as a given? It’s becoming clearer that the stance of many lies in areas of ambiguity, outside the realm of black and white.”
Clarence Thomas and Samuel Alito, two of the nine United States Supreme Court Justices, have stated that they may not be in support of Obergefell v. Hodges, citing the obstruction of religious liberty that may arise if the precedent is upheld. In 2015, the decision was made by just one vote (5-4). In September of this year, Justice Ginsburg’s passing opened a spot on the Supreme Court. It was up to President Trump to fill the seat and, in what was no surprise to anti-Trumpers nationwide, the president nominated a judge whose political and religious stances keep in line with conservative ideals: Amy Coney-Barrett. Identified by her conservative Catholic faith, Coney-Barrett is not expected to be a friend to social progress — at least not in the eyes of many leftists and groups of the like. And, with her addition to SCOTUS, the court is now made up of a 6-3 conservative-leaning group of nine. This shift is one that will make uncertain the future of many rights once granted, or protected, by Supreme Court precedents. A prime example can be taken from the landmark case Roe v. Wade, which currently protects, to some extent, a person’s right to have an abortion. Folks across the nation dread the potential for this decision to be overturned; should the court have the opportunity, they just might have the numbers thanks to Amy Coney-Barrett’s confirmation. In a similar vein, many queer people and same-sex marriage advocates fear that if a case is brought to the court, the decision made in 2015 may not be so safe.
How do all the queer kids that are becoming queer adults feel about the fragility of this right many of us have taken as a given? It’s becoming clearer that the stance of many lies in areas of ambiguity, outside the realm of black and white. True, you’d be hard-pressed to find a queer person who’s against marriage equality for people of all sexual orientations, gender identities, and beyond. But, many also note the somewhat-antiquated sanctity that is placed on marriage; they don’t need to be married in the eyes of the state to love whomever they please. In an effort to understand how some of my queer peers (what a sweet rhyme) were feeling about Thomas and Alito’s statements (and the following social media stir), I reached out to find some folks willing and eager to discuss everything they were thinking and feeling with me.
Ora Callaway, who is 17 and bisexual, remembers being just 12 years old in 2015 and thinking “Oh my god, a future like this where I can truly be myself is possible,” but makes sure to note that legal recognition of their identity and existence is the “bare minimum.” When I ask them about their reaction to Thomas and Alito’s comments, Ora expresses that “it is despicable that the Supreme Court members — who are supposed to be non-partisan and sworn to the people’s best interests — are imposing pure hatred on a community that just wants to be allowed to marry who they love.” They follow with something that makes me realize how silly it is that we’re forced to have this conversation: “Honestly, [this] shouldn’t be a big ask.”
Ora wraps up their thoughts with an important note, something that was really eye-opening for me to hear. “I think it’s important to note,” they warn, “that the general term ‘marriage equality,’ when referencing the LGBTQ+ community, can be a bit ignorant since true marriage equality has not been achieved because many other groups, especially disabled people, [who] face major discrimination in marital laws.” Ora is not wrong. Many disabled folks risk losing health benefits and more if they do choose to wed. Marriage equality for who then? Queer people should not be in the business of exclusion. And like Ora, more folks that I spoke to contributed interesting and complex nuances to the same-sex marriage conversation as well.
Eliot Stanton, who is 22 and queer, living between Portland, Maine, and Boston, Massachusetts, has a lot to say on the topic. They recall their 2015 excitement, but qualifys it: “As a high schooler who wasn't super in touch with queer organizing beyond the mainstream, it seemed like the biggest obstacle for queer folks in America.”
Eliot goes on to share some research they’ve done and explains some of what they feel about the whole situation now: “I spent a while learning about how gay marriage is a neoliberal push for inclusion within the state that benefits the most privileged queer people — white, wealthy, cis. I realized that so many other causes are more pressing for queer survival — universal healthcare, PIC [Prison Industrial Complex] abolition, decriminalizing sex work, and drug use. Though I’m trans, I’m definitely one of the privileged queer folks who doesn’t have to deal with those other issues — who can choose to focus on marriage if they want to. I guess I took gay marriage for granted after 2015, and the recent statements from Supreme Court justices do scare me a bit. It’s scary to see myself potentially lose the privileges I’d have from marriage — which is very important in terms of state-recognized partnerships, even though it shouldn’t be necessary.”
Eliot’s sentiments aren’t scant, either. It seems many of the folks who responded to my line of questioning brought up their innate privileges in one way or another. Katie McIntosh, a 19-year-old raised in the Bay Area of California and currently living in New York City, states that her whiteness acts as a “shield against a lot of hate crime and violence, as well as being pretty straight passing,” allowing her to benefit from the financial resources many queer folks do not have in order to seek help for medical or mental health needs. Katie also highlights the privilege of living in places that are not only relatively accepting of queer folks, but that have protected LGBTQ+ rights (some of the rights, at least) legally for years longer than the nation as a whole has. Alex Gruenenfelder, who has also spent his 18 years in Los Angeles, California, underscores Katie’s point, sharing that he does not “worry about [his] ability to marry the person [he] loves, but [he] knows there are millions in this country who could be impacted.”
“Many disabled folks risk losing health benefits and more if they do choose to wed. Marriage equality for who then? Queer people should not be in the business of exclusion.”
Most of the folks I spoke to seemed to think along a similar line. The prospect of losing a right that should never be up for debate in the first place is unsettling, to say the least, and may have some very real impacts for many people. Whether we as queer folks like it or not, being recognized by the state makes a difference. And, so long as marriage will dictate things like taxes, insurance, care, and more, being recognized by the state (as partners, that is) does impact the lives of so many LGBTQ+ people. But, a common thread that has also weaved its way through the minds of many was one of recognising privilege.
It also seems that, while all the aforementioned legal concepts reign true, queer folks are not willing to let the state define love for us. We will continue to fight to keep this right, but we will also work for the members of our community who have still not been granted some of the rights and privileges that many of us do not need to think about daily. Whether it be legislative or social, queer and trans folks are facing terror and inequality in more ways than can fit on this page. And, because the state will continue to fail its queer and trans people left and right, especially its queer and trans people of color, it is our job to support our own community. We will not let the state define our love or our lives.