Apparently, the development of a seething rage over the passage of California’s Proposition 8 is not altogether uncommon. It seems to have brought out the dormant activist in lots of people. It’s one of those big issues — a rather unexpected one at that — that just seems to bother people more than the other assorted failures and disappointments inherent to our burgeoning theocracy. And people seem to be taking this one much more personally.
I am too.
It bothers me that this happened in my former home state, a place I expected more from, despite my differences with the place. It bothers me that the measure passed with overwhelming support from a group of people who have faced discrimination (even with respect to marital rights) before and who should have known better. And as I mentioned a week or so back, it bothers me to learn that colleagues and coworkers believe that my rights, my life, and my marriage aren’t worth as much as theirs are.
My marching days are over, I think. I’ve done it before and I don’t really have the stomach (or the feet) for it anymore, although my respect and appreciation go out to those who do. In a way, I believe the most effectively activist statement some people can make is to live their lives as openly, honestly, and unapologetically as possible, taking (pardon the expression) no shit from anybody. But this one seems to call for a little bit more than that. And I’m not entirely sure what.
I’m pissed off. I’m not very much inclined to worry about the feelings and delicate sensibilities of my detractors at the moment. This is just a little political exercise to them, but it’s my life.
