by George Takei
August 8, 1991, to November 23, 2000, R.I.P.
Pink is the New Black
2013 was a watershed year for LGBT civil rights. The battles were fought town by town, state by state, and at the federal level — but much of the most important public discourse occurred rather broadly…on the Internet. As the popularity of sites like YouTube and Facebook grew, being “out” meant more than making an announcement and introducing family, friends and co-workers to your partner. It meant living out your “gaily life” online, for “friends of friends” or even complete strangers to witness. For the first time, as LGBT issues were debated across newsfeeds and comment streams, netizens could see, gauge and engage with others on important social questions, such as what role, if any, religious beliefs should play in shaping the law, whether traditional marriage was still exclusionary if LGBT couples could separately form “civil unions” with similar legal rights, and whether in a democracy the voting public should be able to decide questions of civil rights by way of referendum.
The Internet, and social media in particular, ensured that nearly everyone knew and was “friends” with at least one gay or lesbian person — at least on Facebook. And here was the shocker: Straight people could experience for the first time that the lives of gays and lesbians pretty much resembled everyone else’s. That is to say, aside from the occasional “festive” photos at Pride parades, the “great gay agenda” appeared to comprise the same rather mundane matters that people, straight and gay alike, insist on posting about: “Ate an apple for breakfast,” “I lost my car keys,” “My children drive me crazy,” “Legs Day at the gym.”
I cannot overstate the importance that the lifting of the rainbow veil has had on public perception, particularly among younger people for whom sexual orientation gets a “so what” shrug, akin to ethnic origin or religion — a difference where distinction is solely a function of how big a deal others make of it. This was the quiet revolution brewing across millions of computers and mobile devices, spreading almost unnoticed across social media to all aspects of our society, even while the keepers of “traditional” marriage and the proponents of marriage equality prepared to do epic battle in our courts.
Toward the end of March 2013, all eyes turned to the U.S. Supreme Court as it heard two landmark cases, both of which, it so happens, had a deep impact on Brad and me as a couple. I also laced up my boxing gloves and entered the public arena on this issue, ready to engage my increasingly broad base of fans on Facebook and Twitter to raise public awareness over what was at stake.
After all, as I discussed in Oh Myyy (There Goes the Internet), this was a core reason I had begun my online exploits in the first place. I had set out in 2011, initially just on Twitter, with a clear intent to use “funnies” as a kind of sweet honey to attract fans, so that when I actually had something more serious to say, such as on matters of LGBT equality and other issues dear to my heart, I’d have a captive audience. I’ve never tried to hide my own agenda here. Like a pesky relative at the holidays, your “Uncle George” will be tireless in trying to get you to laugh, but you may have to listen to a few of his opinions over a glass of sherry.
Before I get into what transpired, and how truly groundbreaking and amazing some of the developments in our long battle for equality were, let me give you some background on this pair of lawsuits.
The first case was a challenge to DOMA — the Defense of Marriage Act — a law passed in 1996 that forbade the U.S. government from recognizing the legality of any marriage not between a man and a woman. It also gave states, which would otherwise be required to give “full faith and credit” to marriages performed in other states, the right to refuse to recognize same-sex marriages. DOMA had been passed with veto-proof majorities during a climate of backlash against perceived LGBT gains in certain more progressive states, where brave courts and legislators had begun to argue that same-sex couples deserved equal treatment under the law, including legal recognition of their marriages. DOMA set in stone, for the next 17 years, the kind of invidious discrimination that, I am certain, will be looked back upon with distaste and disbelief by future generations.
Defenders of so-called “traditional” marriage often balk when I make the comparison between their beliefs and those of the folks who defended the anti-miscegenation laws that, last century, prevented non-whites from marrying whites. But the similarities are too striking to dismiss. At their heart, anti-miscegenation laws were based on emotional appeals to the “natural” order, much like what we hear today in arguments against same-sex marriage. When the U.S. Supreme Court overturned such laws nationwide in 1967 (yes, less than 50 years ago), in the famous case of Loving v. Virginia, the lower court judge in Virginia had this to say about why, in his view, such laws were needed:
“ALMIGHTY GOD CREATED THE RACES WHITE, BLACK, YELLOW, MALAY, AND RED, AND PLACED THEM ON SEPARATE CONTINENTS, AND BUT FOR THE INTERFERENCE WITH HIS ARRANGEMENT THERE WOULD BE NO CAUSE FOR SUCH MARRIAGES. THE FACT THAT HE SEPARATED THE RACES SHOWS THAT HE DID NOT INTEND THE RACES TO MIX.”
In overturning these laws, the U.S. Supreme Court held that there was a fundamental right to marry implicit within the Constitution, which protected the individual and individual rights in the face of government intrusion. The state of Virginia argued that the law merely reflected the existing and real prejudices of the citizenry, and was merely trying to help interracial couples avoid that prejudice. How magnanimous of them. In other words, Virginia argued public disapproval would harm the couple more than denying their right to get married in the first place. The Supreme Court rightfully ruled that this logic would in effect enshrine such prejudice forever into the law, and that mere animus or social disapproval was not a sufficient basis for the passing of such laws, especially when the individual personal stakes (here, the right to marry the person you love) are so high.
DOMA did basically the same thing the Virginia law had done decades before. Based on lawmakers’ disapproval and personal distaste for homosexuality, DOMA legalized marriage discrimination based on a couple’s sexual orientation. It imparted the cold, unmistakable sting of officially-sanctioned prejudice and delivered the devastating and unmistakable message to same-sex couples and their families that they did not exist in the eyes of the law.
But DOMA also had real financial consequences. Many people are unaware that federal law grants 1,138 rights and privileges to married couples, including tax breaks, inheritance tax waivers, medical leave, and hospital visitation rights. By denying those same rights to same-sex married couples, DOMA created two classes of married citizens — those entitled to all those rights and privileges, and those who were not. That alone to me and many others seems downright un-American.
Enter Edie Windsor, an 85-year old woman who had been legally married to her spouse Thea Spyer in the state of New York. Edie and Thea had been together 44 years, and when Thea passed away, she left her half of the estate to Edie. Now, normally, there is a federal tax exemption for surviving spouses. The government isn’t so callous as to levy a “death” tax upon a widow right after the person with whom she shared her whole life has passed. That would be cruel, indeed. But the rule didn’t apply to a lesbian widow who had lost her spouse. In Edie’s case, because under Section 3 of DOMA the federal government didn’t recognize her marriage, she was slapped with a tax on the transfer — to the tune of over $363,000 — to add to her grief. In short, the IRS forced Edie to pay this tax because her marriage, while legal in New York, was not legal as far as Uncle Sam was concerned. As Edie put it, it was as if the U.S. government had treated her and Thea like they were strangers.
Now, Americans are not a tax-loving people; our very independence arose because, as colonies of the British crown, we were being taxed with absolutely no say-so in the matter. It was taxation without representation. In this case, for one little old lady, this was taxation with discrimination, and she was having none of it. She filed suit to overturn Section 3 of DOMA. A more perfect plaintiff to challen
ge the injustices and inequities of DOMA could hardly have been imagined.
Brad and I had the good fortune of meeting Edie
shortly after the U.S. Supreme Court ruling.
The second case was a challenge to California’s Proposition 8, which sought to amend the California Constitution to define marriage as only between a man and a woman. The history of same-sex marriage in California requires a bit of explanation and, frankly, some untangling. In 2005, both chambers of the Democrat-controlled legislature passed a bill that, for the first time, equalized the status of same-sex couples who sought to be legally married. That bill was, to our dismay, vetoed by Governor Schwarzenegger despite previous assurances that he would treat gays and lesbians equally. But in 2006, the mayor of San Francisco, Gavin Newsom, bravely challenged state law by instructing clerks to begin issuing marriage licenses without regard to the gender or orientation of the parties. Thousands of LGBT couples lined up to be married as City Hall erupted in spontaneous celebrations, putting a very human face to the second-class marital status the couples had so long endured. The San Francisco Clerk’s office was open round the clock to meet the crush of demand for marriage licenses. The licenses, however, had not yet been amended to fit the new reality, as they still specified “bride” and “groom,” leading to some amusing debates by the giddy couples as to who should be listed in each spot.
A court challenge from conservative political groups to San Francisco’s same-sex marriages led to a preliminary halt to further licenses being issued until the constitutionality of California’s marriage law (which still defined marriage as solely between a man and a woman) could be reviewed by the courts. For two years, the matter wound its way through the state court system until, in 2008, in a landmark ruling, the California Supreme Court sided with proponents of same-sex marriage, holding that the California Constitution’s guarantees of equal treatment under the law required the issuance of marriage licenses without regard to sexual orientation or the gender make-up of the couples.
It was a glorious time. Brad and I, along with 18,000 other couples, were married in 2008 under the laws of California, as interpreted by our state Supreme Court. But our opponents, having lost their legal battle at the highest state court level, weren’t going to relinquish the keys to their club that easily. They switched tactics and now turned to the court of public opinion with Proposition 8, which sought to amend the California Constitution to define marriage as only between a man and a woman. It was particularly distressing to see that religious organizations from outside California, particularly the Mormon Church based in Utah, were pumping millions of dollars into Proposition 8 so that marriages such as mine and Brad’s would never be legitimate under the law. There is something potently ironic that the Mormon Church, which for decades permitted and even encouraged polygamy, would have anything to say on the matter of “traditional” marriage.
It is also hard to describe how it feels to know that your rights, your marriage and your love are about to be voted upon by others, as if the majority has some right to tell you what your heart is allowed to feel or your mind is allowed to think. Normally, we think of our rights as inalienable, such as the right to religion and freedom of speech, the right to a jury trial or the right to an attorney. These are rights we all share, because we are governed by the same laws and should be equal in its eyes. These aren’t some transient rights that might disappear if put to a vote. Imagine waking up to hear that your rights to worship, or assemble, or live your life with the person you choose was going to be put to a vote, and if half the people didn’t vote your way, “Hasta la vista, rights.” These basic rights aren’t supposed to be vulnerable. They are part of our guaranteed freedoms.
I have some perspective on this. When I was a small child growing up in Los Angeles, my family was forced from our home by soldiers with bayonetted rifles, simply because we happened to look like the people who had bombed Pearl Harbor. Our rights to a fair trial and to due process were stripped away by President Roosevelt with a single proclamation, and national security as a justification. We weren’t charged with anything, let alone convicted of any crimes, but 120,000 of us, most of us American citizens, were forced to live behind barbed wire and armed guards in ten U.S. concentration camps, for no other reason than that we were of Japanese descent.
As my father once explained to me, our “rights” are only as strong as the democracy that protects them. Because we are a people’s democracy here in America, as great as the people of this country can be, but also as fallible, we must stay ever vigilant in the face of any “tyranny” of the majority, no matter the stated objective. The Presidential Election of 2008 was therefore a bittersweet moment for many of us in California, who saw such hope in a country where the first black president could be elected just 140 some years after slavery itself was abolished, yet where the rights of millions of LGBT people could be voted away by a nervous, fearful majority.
And so it was now our turn to take our case back to the courts, to argue that amending a state’s constitution to enshrine an inequality was anathema to equal protection itself. It would take five more long years, where my own marriage was literally in legal limbo, before the case would find its way to the U.S. Supreme Court, paired with the DOMA case, which everyone knew would have historic and sweeping effect no matter how the Court ruled.
It was in this climate of uncertainty, excitement and change that we found ourselves near the end of March of 2013, when the cases were heard, at last, by the nine justices. Many placed great hope upon the key swing vote of the court, Justice Anthony Kennedy, who had broken twice before from his conservative base to vote with his liberal colleagues on the question of LGBT rights, in one instance invalidating Colorado’s Amendment 2 (which kept any municipality in the state from passing LGBT non-discrimination ordinances) and in another striking down Texas’s anti-gay sodomy statute as unconstitutional, overturning two decades of laws that had permitted the criminalization of the act of love between two people of the same sex.
As the day approached, certainly none of the justices could escape the conclusion that the pair of decisions would be historic — and that therefore perhaps history ultimately would be the judge of their decision. We all hoped Justice Kennedy, in particular, understood where history was headed. Poll after poll showed that, while the American public overall was fairly evenly split on the question of same-sex marriage, young people (meaning folks under 40, who seem quite young to me) favored it by large majorities, while older Americans opposed it. This was an unmistakable trend, indeed probably irreversible, and, therefore, it really was only a matter of time before the laws would change organically if the Court did not invalidate them now.
Now, the Supreme Court is supposed to be above the sway of public opinion and the ever-changing tides in the culture wars. But the justices often listen to the counsel of their clerks, or are at least cognizant of the personal views of court staff or even their own family members. Many of the people around them, therefore, were part of a generation where same-sex marriage bans feel like the last vestiges of an era of intolerance and ignorance. And so while the justices themselves may not be active on social media, where these opinions were voiced daily, no doubt many who influenced them personally were.
I saw an opportunity to use the occasion of the marriage equality case hearings, as well as the phenomenon of social media, to help drive home the inevitability of same-sex marriage. I had learned that the Human Rights Campaign was running a program leading up to the hearings, in which Facebook users were asked to change their profile pictures to a pink and red version of the HRC “equal sign” logo. While the idea was a good one, there hadn’t been a large enough online response to create sufficient momentum for the campaign. A few hundred or even a few thousand profile changes would make little impression. I knew that, when it came to such an emotional issue and historic moment, three things would have to happen.
First, there would have to be a strong personal connection betw
een Facebook users and the campaign organizers to have any impact. Having an organization, no matter how worthy or well-intentioned, as the sole rallying point would never work. It’s easier to let down a faceless organization than a friend or person you see regularly. Second, we would need to find a way to enlist the help of not just LGBTs, but our straight allies as well. We would have to get the word out to them, and they would need a compelling and personal reason to change their profiles in support. And third, for this to work it would truly have to “tip” and become a phenomenon. Like the doomed French students at the barricades, unless the people rose up in support, the cause would be lost.
So when I made the decision to change my own profile picture to the “pinkified” HRC logo, I decided I would use up some social capital and make a direct plea to fans to do the same. Now, I knew that my LGBT fanbase were ready to make the switch in a heartbeat. But how to get millions of straight fans to do likewise?
I read somewhere that the number one reason people have a change of heart for the better on LGBT issues is actually knowing and interacting with a gay or lesbian person. This is the power of “coming out” — not only does it provide a positive example to those still fearful that they will be alone after taking that step, it dispels commonly held stereotypes among ordinary citizens about the way LGBT people really are, especially in our own ordinary lives. It is even more powerful when a family member or friend comes out, because others must confront, perhaps for the first time, where they even stand on the question of LGBT equality. After all, denying someone a basic right takes on a whole different cast when it is YOUR CHILD who would be excluded. Will things change? Will there be rejection or acceptance? And how will they talk to others about their gay friend or family member?
And so I thought: Here I am, an openly gay man, who has for some reason become part of the daily life of millions of fans mostly by posting a bunch of silly cat and sci-fi memes. But whatever the reason, I was an LGBT person with whom many straight people felt a unique personal connection. And I was one of the few who was fortunate enough in California to get married to my long-time partner Brad before Proposition 8 threw our status into doubt. And so I asked my fans, both gay and straight, to change their profiles in support. And when I did so, I reminded them of this: The next time same-sex marriage comes up, remember that you do know a gay married couple, George and Brad Takei. Do we not deserve love? Doesn’t our love deserve to be recognized?
