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Letter
From Vermont
by John Calvi
Editor's
note: We received this missive from a friend from
Vermont who attended the state judiciary hearings on
legalizing same-sex marriage. John has been involved
with the historic debate currently raging in Vermont,
as well as having written and spoken extensively within
the Quaker community about his own marriage. John and
his husband, Marshall Brewer, celebrated their 10th
anniversary January 22.
Judiciary
Hearings
Vermont State House, Montpelier
Tuesday, January 25
Marshall
and I left Putney about 3:30 p.m. The snow had let up
some and the interstate had some pavement showing. The
state capital is 100 miles away. But due to the snowstorm
leaving nearly a foot of new snow, the trip took three
hours.
We
arrived just as several buses were unloading. As we
entered the state house, men stood on either side of
the door offering us stickers from the religious right
that read "Don't Mock Marriage"and "Pro
Traditional Marriage." When offered, I put my hand
out and said, "God forbid."
This
building is fairly small as state capitals go. One can
learn its layout and rooms in a few hours. I recalled
testifying here for an anti-AIDS discrimination policy
15 years ago, when no people with AIDS would dare come
forward.
The
wide hallways are crowded. We sign up to speak and are
told names will be selected at random. As I drop my
name into one of two huge boxes I lose hope of being
able to speak. About 120 people spoke of the 1,500 or
so who came that night. We see a few people we know,
and I notice some people recognizing us from photos
and the videos used in the Freedom to Marry Campaign.
The
house of representatives room where this hearing will
be holds about 500 people. We're told it filled up half
an hour ago and we can listen to the proceedings in
two overflow rooms. We find the coat room and search
for someone with the hot pick stickers that read "I
support Freedom to Marry."I see Stan Baker in the
hall with his partner Peter [one of the three couples
who brought the suit against Vermont] and we exchange
hugs. They seem weary from all the exposure and work
this has meant. I send off a prayer for them. And one
of thanksgiving for Marshall and I, that it is not our
case.
Room
10 is on the first floor with two large speakers sitting
on window sills from which we can hear the crowds in
the hearing room. There are about 70 chairs in the room
and we take two of the last few empties. Most of the
chairs are facing the large windows where we can see
snow falling. Our chairs are on the side wall and give
us a view of the crowd. I'm very aware that this exercise
in practical democracy puts opposing sides elbow to
elbow as neighbors in the same state. I can feel that
I want to sit with "my people."And as we take
seats, with gay people on either side of us, I am looking
over the crowd and listening to my feelings and watching
to see what I notice.
Vermont
government is known for its common sense in its general
deliberations. With just over a half-million people,
a citizen legislature that meets four months a year,
and elections for all state offices every two years,
we are set up to notice who is not civil, honest, or
helpful. The extremes that have ruined political process
in federal government in the last several years have
not been contagious here for the simple reason that
people tend to know one another. The President Pro-Tem
of the Vermont Senate refunded my $1.50 the other day
when the washing machines in his laundromat didn't work
right. He took out his wallet and gave me cash and apologized
the moment I complained. This is normal, good village
life in Vermont— respectful, familiar, practical.
There
are about 80 people crowded in the overflow room. At
first it seems that there are more antigay marriage
people here, and then it seems to change as the room
fills. The white stickers and the pink stickers look
at each other, sit by one another, but seem to talk
only with their fellow sticker-wearers.
I
am sitting there trying to feel my gut responses at
the same time that I am trying to remember that all
these people, even the ones against me, have come to
their thinking in life just as I have. I am trying to
avoid an enemy mentality. We want very different things,
each offensive to the other. And we are willing to work
and sacrifice to achieve our goals. We believe strongly
in our different perspectives.
I
am trying to see if I can see differences between us.
On the other side there's a young fellow by the door
who I think is a closet case. But later he is wearing
a pink sticker. There is an old guy who walks in with
a sign who I peg as a right-wing preacher; but when
he turns his sign around it reads, "Freedom to
Marry."Seems my fear of sitting with the enemy
blinds me person by person. As I sit back from the group,
consider my blind spots, and take in both groups, I
do see some general differences. The gay marriage supporters
look more modern— less makeup, newer hairstyles,
more difference in their choices of appearance. The
antigay marriage supporters seem very much like my mother's
generation, even the young people. Their appearance
seems more Kmart, but from 20 years ago, less difference,
more sameness among themselves.
There
is no difference between groups as far as age. There
are no children, but plenty of young, old, and middle-age
people here for each side. And oddly I recognize all
of them. The Baptist preacher from the center of the
state who will later testify that God created marriage
and we must listen to HIM or we'll perish, looks a lot
like one of my uncles and sounds like him too. That
uncle wouldn't come to my wedding but sent a nice gift.
The father and son who seemed to listen to all the proceedings
worried that the whole state could go to hell in a hand
basket within months— they looked like my cousins
with their matching sideburns. And the older women on
the other side looked like my aunts and great aunts
who by and by came to love Marshall and know that our
marriage was one of the better ones in the family. I
had to reach to see this, reach past the "enemy˛
thinking— but I could do that. I could see me talking
with them without taking offense.
It
was much more comfortable to look on the gay tribe and
its supporters— my friends and family who I hadn't
met. We come in all sizes, shapes, ages, and styles.
We are excited to be here. There are old dykes in big
winter boots who stoked their wood stoves before driving
to the big city. There are gay college students traveling
in a pack each with a different hairstyle, from shaved
to dreads. There are the straight sturdy old-time progressives
who seem to be either Unitarian or Quaker and join the
fray with fond memories of other struggles in the women's
movement, black civil rights, prison reform, etc. They
are here, as the gypsies say, "to give a push to
a new wagon."
Promptly
at 7 p.m. there is a sound check which nearly deafens
us all. Someone in the main room seems to be hitting
the microphone with a shovel. And then it was fine.
The chairman of the Judiciary Committee, Representative
Thomas Little, gives a good welcome and introduction.
He reminds us of the intention and the importance of
this hearing. "We've received a decision from the
Vermont Supreme Court to eliminate discrimination regarding
same-sex couples and the benefits and protections of
marriage. We've heard from legal experts from both sides
for two weeks now. Tonight our committee wants to hear
what Vermonters are thinking."He reminds us that
civil discourse is to help them come to their conclusion
which is to recommend to the legislature what to do.
He asks us to behave so that we can be respectful and
hear differences and hear as many people as possible.
There are now about 1,500 people in the main room, the
two overflow rooms, and both long wide hallways and
winding staircases listening to these instructions.
Each person called to testify will have two minutes.
Crowd response is discouraged so as not to cut into
time or turn this into a shouting match. Surprisingly
this peaceable injunction is exactly what happens.
The
first hour of testimony is concentrated listening as
each person tells the committee how it should respond
to the Supreme Court decision. Room 10 is quiet with
some nods of approval on this point or that. Each speaker
has a style and perspective they share.
The
first large crowd response is laughter when a lesbian
in her 60s says that she shows "no sign of recovering
from her lesbianism."This began the second hour
of hearings. Gay humor was the only humor in the building
that night. A gay man says there's entirely too much
focus on what people do in bed. "I'll tell you
what my partner and I do in bed. We sleep."The
other side says nothing with humor.
There
are general themes that come from each side. The antigay
marriage side tends to quote Bible passages, say God
created the institution of marriage, and insist that
to change things now would destroy our civilization.
This was their most common tone‹giving shelter to sinners
will bring down God's wrath literally and immediately.
It's
difficult for me to hear this on two levels. First the
Christian-speak "I am a follower of our lord and
savior Jesus Christ whose name is holy and shall be
raised..."always sounds to me like something learned
under hypnotism. In my impatience and intolerance, I
want to ask the person to speak in English phrases from
their heart about their own spiritual experience, not
words they've heard over and over. I have had conversations
with very conservative Christians where we reached and
shared common language and it felt good to build that
bridge. But tonight's words sound like a form of group-speak
that only club members know. The use of God's wrath
in the role of bogeyman, the claim of Jesus to their
side, and the fear and worry of the consequences of
social change are, to a person, the themes they pursue
all night.
They
say the Supreme Court is wrong and it should be put
to popular vote. They say it will bring down the family
and soon we'll have to marry parents to children on
request.
They
talk about us. And they don't know it's insulting. They
think it is the only truth. They call us unnatural,
sinners, and say they don't hate us, just what we do.
And I begin to think that I feel the same way about
some Christians.
The
gay marriage supporters share their personal stories
of the injustice that can be corrected with the right
change in laws. They say this is my life and this is
what the laws do to me that they don't do to straight
married couples: Several foster kids are raised in my
home but I can't marry. My partner and I were together
30 years but I wasn't allowed into her hospital room
after surgery. My 18-year marriage is recognized by
my church, my job, my family, but not the state who
says I'm still single.
They
also say do the right thing, not what's popular, citing
the women's vote and civil rights. They take a large
view of what it means to make social change; while it's
always difficult at first, it takes courage from leaders
who know in their hearts what is fair and what isn't.
There
is a minister with a document supporting gay marriage
signed by over 80 Vermont clergy. There is a Baptist
minister with a busload of flock who says that the state
will be overrun by health-care needs when Vermont becomes
the only state to marry homosexuals and the hordes move
in. One fellow puts a set of pipes on the table to show
legislatures how male to female connect and other combinations
don't.
In
the third hour I begin to lose my strength and patience.
My desire to try and hear what each person's message
is turns into cranky longing for home and bed. Instead
of saying to myself that this is a child of God who
deserves a chance to be heard, I am thinking to myself—
eat me, you pompous fake religious Nazi. Fortunately
this is when I notice that Room 10 has thinned out a
bit and maybe there is room for us to see the hearing
from the main room.
We
find room in the balcony. It's a grand space with many
many weary and determined people. And although we can
only see the back of the heads of those testifying,
we can gather a sense of how each is being received.
The committee is bearing up well, better than me.
The
committee's job is a hard one. The Supreme Court has
been very clear in its order. There are only three choices:
Legislate gay marriage; legislate domestic partnerships
for gay couples giving them all benefits and protections
of marriage; amend the Vermont constitution to read
that marriage is only between one man and one woman.
Each choice has problems. Justice obviously demands
gay marriage, but a noisy religious minority with out-of-state
financial backing is terrified and loud.
We
stay nearly to the end and then head off to find a motel
in the snowstorm. The e-mail the next day from the wonderful
Vermont lesbian lawyers who are trying the case says
the committee members said they didn't know there were
so many long-term gay couples in Vermont. Progress,
maybe.
Tuesday,
February 1
House
Chamber, Vermont State House, Montpelier, VT
Montpelier
is 100 miles north of our home in Putney. About midway
here, the mountains lose their cozy little size and
become true peaks and high ridges with pine and snow
and rock faces. The sun is out and the road is clear
in the south, but the snow closes in and is blowing
as I park on State Street. One of the wonderful lesbian
lawyers who tried this case before the Vermont Supreme
Court runs by me as I'm putting quarters into the parking
meter. Ever efficient, she hands me two bright pink
Freedom to Marry stickers and says, "I'm glad you're
here. The house chamber is filling up."She never
breaks her stride and keeps running up the hill to the
state house. I trundle after her with a purse heavy
with drinking water, notebooks, and the letters Marshall
and I are giving to the Judiciary committee.
I've
come three hours early to be sure to get a good seat,
and I manage to claim almost the last decent seat in
the room. This is a grand room, a huge curving half
circle, that holds about 500 people. You enter the main
door beneath the curving balcony to behold the dark
mahogany speakers platform. Following the curved shape
of the wall are five rows of dark 19th-century desks;
a long line of large, dark wood, red velvet, Victorian
chairs line another wall; 10 Corinthian columns hold
up the balcony. From here I can see the committee, face
the witnesses directly, and watch everyone in the balcony
and the wooden benches below them, and the house chamber
floor seats. Good thing it's comfortable with a good
view— I'll be here for seven hours.
My
seat turns out to be at a crossroads where the media
cameras, the print news people, and the security people
view the room. Legislators not on this committee also
come by to take the pulse of the public proceedings.
Stan
Baker, one of the plaintiffs in this case, stops by
to say hello. He mentions how odd it is that the Supreme
Court decision is now known by its shorthand: The Baker
Decision. And how it's an odd disembodied part of fame,
making him wonder who was Roe and who was Wade. I ask
him what he thinks might happen legally. He says that
it's just so wonderful that we are having this discussion
at state levels that it marks great progress no matter
the outcome. He's hopeful that the judiciary knows the
right thing to do which is to legislate gay marriage.
But he wonders if the other legislators will have the
courage. He says he's a bit tired, not from all the
public work this has meant, but because his partner
Peter is away and he didn't sleep well.
A
state representative stops by. He was one of the first
to write a public letter declaring his support for gay
marriage. I congratulate him on his principled stand.
He says, "You have to listen to the inner voice,
not the outside pressure."
By
5:30 people are holding on to their seats as others
begin to sit on the edge of platforms and railings and
fill the standing room. The pink stickers and the white
stickers sort out the pro and con here. As the room
grows more crowded, the energy intensifies and the sound
swells and anticipation rises. One of the men in charge
of security looks over the crowd very carefully. There
is talk that people from Operation Rescue are here.
He tells me no issue has brought this many people to
the state house before. The building is soon closed
off with the maximum: 2,000 people inside and another
1,000 outside.
I
stack my coat, my pack, and notebook in my chair and
wade through the masses across the floor and out the
main door to sign up to testify. The 6-foot wide door
is crowded and the hallway is packed. The lines to sign
up to speak extend out of view down the hallways in
two directions. I find a hole at the sign-up table and
write down my name and town on a slip and put it into
the box marked "Support."Random drawings will
tell if I can give testimony between 7 and 11 p.m.
I
spend most of my pre-hearing time watching the crowd
from my velvet chair. I see friends from the PWA coalition,
and gay men I met when I first came to Vermont 25 years
ago. I see a few Quakers and several lesbian couples
with their babies. There are college kids from their
queer groups here and ministers of all flavors.
The
hearing begins right on time. At 7 p.m. the joint Judiciary
committee enters from a side hall and goes right past
me to their long table at the center of the room. Unlike
last week's hearing, there is a standing ovation for
them begun and held steady by the pro-gay marriage people.
The press reports all week have been saying that they
have been moved by the personal stories of injustice
that gays and lesbians shared. The committee chairs
inform us at the beginning that this work of democracy
calls for respectful and civil public speaking and listening.
Disagreement is welcome so long as it's respectful.
Last
week the witnesses were potluck. This week we alternate
pro and con which in some ways is more fair but removes
all the suspense. Witnesses are called. They form a
line of a half dozen or so people by the main door.
The microphone is at one end of the long conference
table surrounded by the committee. Each witness sits
down and has two minutes to make their case. Most read
from shaking papers they hold.
The
testimony is much as it was at last week's hearing.
The conservative Christian people mostly have some fear
and anger that the Vermont Supreme Court's decision
that gay couples are entitled to all the benefits and
protections of marriage will ruin all our lives. It's
stated as fact that God invented marriage (ignoring
the fact that Christians didn't get in on marriage until
the 4th century) and his wrath will come upon us for
messing with his natural order. A rally called by the
Archbishop of Vermont on the State House steps just
before the hearing, has given the antigay marriage people
the confidence to know the Supreme Court doesn't know
law, that marriage is only a right if you choose the
opposite sex, and there is no prejudice in wanting to
keep things the way they are. Backlash votes in the
fall are also mentioned. A couple of ministers in particular
sound like furious, siege-mentality, military people.
It makes me wonder if our little state with one of the
lowest levels of violence in the country will see violence
increase for this righteous cause.
The
testimony of gay marriage supporters is also similar
to last week's. The stories are personal and involve
themselves or family members. More than one lesbian
says she wasn't allowed in to the recovery room after
her partner had surgery, even though the legal paperwork
was done beforehand. More than one old married straight
couple said they welcome gay marriage and couldn't imagine
what the opposition was thinking when it said it would
hurt all straight marriages. More than one person used
this opportunity to come out‹an act of bravery and exposure
I cannot imagine as the public radio and television
media show the whole state your new self.
The
velvet chair to my right was taken by one representative
and then another. Both would like the state to get out
of the marriage business altogether and let the churches
do that. They want to issue the license and not marry
anyone but register the relationship gay and straight
for all the benefits. As one minister drones on about
how morality went out of American life in the '50s when
families were still good, the representative beside
me under her breath says, "Oh, give me a break."
She knows she could well lose her job with this vote
but is determined to stay honest and clear with what
is right. She came here to improve health care a year
ago, but she's ready to let it go, to do what is right
for justice. When another minister gets all lathered
up about Sodom and God's destruction, another representative
beside me says, "Unbelievable! Listen to that voice."
He's amazed to hear the insults and reasoning from the
conservatives and truly sick of having the Bible quoted
out of context and in the hypnotized voice so often
used.
All
in all the fare stays the same. For four hours gay supporters
talked about social justice and their lives. The conservatives
talked about religion and how awful this all was. I
suspect the conservative testimony simply demonstrates
the prejudice the Supreme Court referred to in its decision.
Whether the committee will have the courage needed to
make the leap to gay marriage is now an important question.
Two bills have already come forward. One to put gay
marriage on the books and one to amend the constitution
to say marriage is only between men and women.
There
was one obscene witness whose words injured me. Nearly
at the end of the evening, after public radio and television
had gone to bed, a young minister spoke of seeing AIDS
in Africa devastating whole villages. He went on to
say that this was God's wrath on sinners and the unsaved
who didn't accept Jesus as lord. He then said that Vermont
would be covered with AIDS for its sin of treating homosexuals
equally. I couldn't believe the meanness he had assigned
to God. I looked across the room to my friends with
AIDS who looked as though they'd been kicked in the
stomach. The representative next to me said, "Disgusting."
I nearly stood up and yelled, "THIS TESTIMONY IS
OBSCENE!"But I was so angry that I don't think
I would have stopped there. And there were two rather
large state policemen to my left.
My
only hope was that such hate speech will convince the
committee to vote for marriage and help fight such lunacy
as we'd just heard. Even though there was more testimony
and a final witness, a straight woman, who spoke lovingly
of justice and fairness for all, this hate speech stuck
with me for the next several hours close to dawn. Is
this what German Jews heard that made them begin to
pack? Isn't it that combination of God and hatred that
precedes massacres throughout history? I still hear
it, and it calls me to work and to know that the low
base from which humans hurt themselves has not improved.
And that Marshall and I live in a place where such a
voice is surrounded with the contrast of many good and
peaceful people.
I
head out disappointed that my memorized testimony was
not called for. A few nights ago a stranger called me
from mid-state to thank me for my letter to the editor,
carried by all the big papers in Vermont. She was not
out to family and she wept a bit to read my letter and
hear someone she could finally be honest with. Our conversation
filled me with the kind of light that drags me to my
laptop where I let loose all my care for this young
woman and all the wounding we humans do to one another
by having so little reverence in our daily lives.
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