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. . . the purpose of being here, wherever we are, is to increase the durability and the occasions of love among and between peoples. Love, as the concentration of tender caring and tender excitement, or love as the reasons for joy. I believe that love is the single, true prosperity of any moment and that whatever and whoever impedes, diminishes, ridicules, opposes the development of loving spirit is “wrong”/hateful.
I am not sure when it happened. I am not sure why it happened. All I know is that today we find ourselves grappling with the untenable truth that love is in danger.
I first recognized this reality recently when I met Justin and his longtime partner Jack. Justin and Jack epitomized the power of the heart’s good intentions. Their love was storied through thoughtful conversations and laughter, sullen hands clasped and whispers, a sincere and genuine concern for one another, and an invincible bond that would make super glue look lax.
Justin held Jack’s endearing eyes in his own, held them with the strength and blind fascinations of seriousness and faith. He held them tightly with the frank qualities of delight, those existential yearnings that twin the dawn of gravity and pretend the draw of magnetism. Jack said that he loved the way Justin first “saw” him. He said that he had never been gazed upon with such beauty and depth, such steadiness and care, that no one had ever humanized him so fully with only a stare. Not only did he feel human in Justin’s ocular embrace; he felt loved.
For their love, the two young men dedicated the promise of a life together, a life that made sense to them, to be led on their terms between the ironies of false abominations and above the lucidity of empty accusations and the revulsions of ignorance and judgment. Their nuptials, however, would be made in secret. They would have to settle for an unspoken ceremony because in Michigan and 37 other states in our country two men cannot marry—at least not legally. If marriage is meant to perform an open act of love, then in 38 states, two men, two people of the same sex, cannot legally stage their love in public. And this is appalling!
Some might think that marriage between one woman and one man is the issue. However, the mere suggestion privileges a definition of marriage that confines love to sets of forced dualities, of conventional commitments that license the heterosexual “norm” over all other possible love configurations. Too often this confining of marriage to one woman and one man restricts the freedom for which love strives.
Others have argued that love in marriage doesn’t exist, only a complex play of interests that wears the disguise of love, the patriarchal masks of tradition and convenience, of woman given to man to leverage personal gain in an otherwise treacherous sea of inopportunity and misogynistic thirsts. Here, love becomes a possession, somewhat of a toy, disposed in random fits, handled with carelessness, like the disheveled certainty of those who feel they own love in ways that permit them to exploit it without exploring its hidden, more illustrious and transformational depths.
Still others have blamed faith, which abides with Love, suggesting that the dogma of entrenched beliefs tied to the morsel of “god” to which their bigotries cling demands that love as expressed through marriage be “pure” and “protected,” unsullied and preserved for some righteous elect for whom, in the name of “love,” they get to bear witness and define.
In all honesty, I don’t know who to blame for this current crusade against love in our country nor am I interested in blaming anyone. However, I do want to make a case in defense of love—the kind of love that Justin and Jack share. In so doing, I hope that we might recall the inspiration to save love and, in the process, save ourselves.
In the coming weeks the U.S. Supreme Court will decide on the constitutionality of two related matters: California’s Proposition 8 (2008), which banned same-sex marriage (the proposal was later overturned by the State’s Supreme Court not long after its adoption), and Congress’s use of the Defense of Marriage Act (1996) to withhold federal benefits from same-sex couples who are legally married in the states where they reside. The impeding decisions have been viewed by some gay-rights advocates as a historic opportunity to establish same-sex marriage (or what I have called non-discriminatory marriage) nationwide. Whether this is true or not, the U.S. Supreme Court’s ruling will require us to look deeply into the core of our national soul and define its location with respect to love.
Regardless of what it decides, the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision promises to be groundbreaking because, in many ways, marriage as a legal/civil issue, in the face of love’s danger, has become a moral and personal one. Hence, at issue here are great philosophical concerns with which we must grapple. These concerns go beyond debates about who has the right to propose to whom. At the heart of the issues is a single, crucial question: Who has the right to love?
In both instances referred to above, the U.S. Supreme court will be deciding an issue far bigger than that of marriage rights. As the modern marriage has become merely a ceremonial expression of the heart’s tastes, the decisions will spell out the conditions of our rights as citizens, as human entities, to practice love and have that practice affirmed openly and civically by contracts of the State. The decision will also speak to an issue of governance: Does the State have the right to govern the heart? Here, my hope is that the Court decides to pull away from fear and intolerance, which have led the steady push to legislate the terms of love and the conditions upon which that love might be declared.
Still, in this current cultural struggle, fear seems to be triumphing over freedom. With the passage of the heavy-handed and limited Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA), marriage was explicitly defined in federal law as a union of one man and one woman. Enacted in 1996, DOMA prohibits the federal government from recognizing same-sex unions and allows each state to reject same-sex marriages performed in other states. While over a dozen jurisdictions have legalized same-sex marriage through court rulings, legal actions, and the vote, seven states have prohibited it by statue and 30 other states prohibit it in their constitutions.
Indeed, this outlawing of same-sex marriage across the U.S. is an act of fear (if not terror)—a fear that suggests that our children and we need fences surrounding our hearts not to protect the heart, but insidiously to protect us against the outer limits of love. This fear suggests that we cannot and should not have the freedom to choose who to love, and if we do, that freedom must be limited by gender and number thus making it not a freedom at all, but a farce. Of course, the messinesses of moral dalliance and corruptible beliefs inform such fear, but it is fear, and fear alone, that is the impetus driving our war against love.
In this light, love is revealed threatened by our fear of it. And also in this light, the Court’s decisions concerning love will reverberate through the bend of history, which seems always strained between two impulses: the impulse to affirm our freedoms or hold fast to our fears. As I have suggested, fear has legislated against love that through our laws we might inoculate the heart and the hearts of our children against certain types of love that we deem inappropriate or, worst, “different.”
History has also taught us that, in defense of freedom, our best laws privilege rights over restrictions. These rights, as opposed to restrictions, have made our democracy possible and durable. If you are arrested in this country, you have the right to remain silent and given due process in a court of your peers. You also have the freedom of speech against tyrannical forms of censorship and, yes, the right to bear arms. Given all our rights, given all our “freedoms,” doesn’t it seem ironic that absent from the list is perhaps the most basic of human liberties: the right to love?
Some heterosexual couples who enjoy fruitful marriages might argue that we (as in one man and one woman) do have the right to love. For them, this illusion plays out as true because they ever feel free to stage the scenes of their acknowledged bonds openly. But this play of freedoms is merely a hopeful fiction. Until all people have the right to love whomever they choose, then we all shall be restricted from the right to love freely.
It is this restriction that Justin and Jack has dealt with daily, for daily they must fit their love in a box, restrict it to the shadows away from our most indecent fears so that people afraid of their kind of love won’t be offended. Perhaps Jack put it best: “It’s easy to love Justin, but it’s not easy to show that I love him when everyone’s looking.”
Yet, if we ever truly looked at them should we ever choose to stare at their secret expressions of love, we might understand how tragically insecure we are. Why else would we fence love behind the gates of heteronormativity? But even bound, love is resilient, and it persists. This is true for Justin and Jack. Love found them and many others like them in earnest even while we were writing laws and silent treaties to deny same-sex couples the right to marry.
I last saw Justin in a room at a workshop. He said to me that he dreamed to one day marry Jack, to share their kind of love with the world. And looking into his eyes as they leapt across the room to greet Jack, I became convinced that no one has the right to deny Justin this dream, to deny him love. While his dream remains deferred, his love remains alive. You could feel it as Justin’s and Jack’s eyes kiss with an intensity that only true lovers know.