One of the big fallouts of the recent elections was the passing of a California proposition outlawing equal rights for gay couples. Today marked at least the third major public demonstration decrying the outrage of over Prop 8.
If you've never taken part in a political action or demonstration, you might be surprised at the beauty of such an event. Though I don't watch much news and don't get bogged down in mass media descriptions of "reality", preferring to deal and interpret my own first hand experience, I understand that oft times media portrays demonstrations as dangerous unruly events. In fact, I remember several years ago mentioning to a woman that I was going to attend a peace rally, and she remarked, "Isn't that dangerous? I've seen on the news how dangerous it is?" I laughed and replied that no, in my experience such events were largely peaceful, community building events. How could peace mongers really be dangerous? war mongers, yes... but peace mongers? I've always felt safe, at least from the crowd. The crowd is a community that crosses lines of race, age, gender, and orientation. Sure there are sometimes a few participants that lean towards violence. Naturally, I wouldn't lean towards marching with such groups or individuals, which are usually few and far between. The only thing that has ever intimidated me at such demonstrations is the law enforcement agents who sometimes line the street with guns. News likes to sensationalize and I guess people prefer watching drama rather than the constants of peace and joy.
The stigma of protests amuses me because our country was founded on Civil Disobediance when our forefathers staged the Boston Tea Party and started the "American Revolution." I'm sure if the British had our modern day rhetoric, we'd have been deemed terrorists. Likely the Native American Tribes would have put a similar label on us. At any rate it amuses me when our country which espouses free speech and personal freedom tends to look down when such things are put into practice. Dissenting opinion and forum is the mark of democracy. Unification, and squelching free speech begets dictatorships and fascism. The sensationalization of the dangers of the protests amuses me because my experiences at such events has never felt dangerous.
My experience in political demonstrations goes back to quite a number of San Francisco events, mainly the peace rallies and pro-bicycle rallies of the last seven years. My own semantics and view is that I do not march in any "anti-anything" marches, but rather "pro-something" marches. To me being anti anything only begets judgement, violence, and hate. This very morning a friend, another gay man, said he wasn't interested in doing a protest at City Hall today as he felt like we'd be preaching to the already converted here in San Francisco. He'd rather do some protests at some of the Churches that have chosen to spend money in judgment, rather than live unconditional love. I have little interest, myself, in doing a protest at a Church. I'm a live and let live kind of guy. I honor a Church's political right to exercise it's free speech.
When I march I prefer to be a living example of what I march for. Usually, I dance along the streets, singing, chanting, and doing some energywork. I remember one of my first experiences at a public demonstration was in an "anti-violence" march in Brooklyn ten years ago that protested murderous hate crimes that had taken place there. The magic of the Radical Faerie contingent that I marched with greatly impressed me. Our "troupe" drummed, chanted, danced, and paraded huge puppets. Our energy was directed to being our joyful selves and sharing our performance along the streets. That struck me as much more powerful political action than being angry and screaming.
Today, in San Francisco, tears welled up in my eyes as I appreciated our amazing country and it's gifts in the world. Not that we are better than others; rather each country has it's own gifts and beauty to share with the world. And, yet, I fully appreciate the individual freedom we have here. I've seen a bit of the world, and the overall freedom to be ourselves here, is something I don't see in other countries. The flip side is that our community and family structure have deteriorated while we learn how to create family and community more unconditionally, rather than based on blood relations and strict social custom.
I wandered into our city's center in front of City Hall. My eyes roamed the crowd. Children, families, grandparents, gays, bisexuals, lesbians, transgendered people all greeted my eyes. A "Victory Garden" adorned the ground in front of City Hall. Some group brought in soil and created a collage of beautiful garden beds over the pavement. Spirals of corn and sunflowers, along with circles of kale, created a visual delight that smelled of the good earth. The produce from the garden goes to the local Food Bank.
I drifted away from the ranting on the podium towards an adult tricycle which blasted out dance tunes from a portable sound system. A straight guy had brought it. He danced with his girl friend. A small group of bystanders clicked up their heels and danced to the grooves. I joined in. I always love dancing in the outdoors. A slightly overweight, bearded guy in his early fifties grooved under a sunhat and glasses. His energy combined with his myth busting look... he was no disco twink boy... drew smiles from the immediate crowd. A rolly polly black guy twirled a baton with the music. Being a living example of love spoke louder than words about "family values".
Shortly, I heard the beat of a drum cadence and saw movement along Polk Street that indicated a march was starting. I drifted away from the dance towards the beating drums, the magic of their beat beckoning me to join in. I walked quickly along the sidewalk passing the multitudes in the street and caught up with the drum corp as the march entered Market Street... the heart and thoroughfare of the city. As we stepped into Market Street, tears welled in my eyes, appreciating the community, the freedom, and how far our country has evolved from the idea of civil liberty for all, to the embodiment of it. Not that we are entirely there, but we've come a long way. I cried for all the places I've been over the years that haven't been so supportive of who I am as a modern day fag. I cried for all the people who face unspeakable judgments and terrorist actions for being or trying to BE who they are. The march took over the opposing lane of traffic so that we were marching a living example of GLBT Pride, which struck me as being perhaps more powerful than the annual corporate pride event... because this one was grassroots, spontaneous, and based on the hearts of many individuals sacrificing their time and efforts.... and based upon people standing up and doing something for what they believe in.
I reflected as I marched on how the real political action is our day to day lives. Where we spend our money. How we commune with our neighbors. In the broader scope, our country's political action is how it lives in the world. Are we democratic in the world? Are we peaceful in the world? Our actions speak larger than our lip service. I remembered years ago reading a Wendell Berry account of Harlan and Anna Hubbard, who lived a simple life for years, according to their beliefs. They eeked out a life on land along the Ohio River, with a garden and small heard of goats. They lived without electricity. Across the river a nuclear power plant was due to be built. Wendell wondered a bit about why Harlan and Anna weren't attending the protests. Then he realized they were living their protest. They weren't supporting the nuclear power plant one iota with their off-grid lifestyle. There was no need for them to travel miles by car to wield signs with slogans. Myself, I think there can be a place for both kinds of action, though I feel the real heart is in our day to day lives.
And today as I marched I realized the real political action was taking place across the San Francisco Bay, where a household of Radical Faeries.... queers... have taken in a dying member of our tribe. A youthful, mid-aged man, who is succumbing to cancer, his hip disintegrated by cancerous cells. A circle of friends has gathered from all over to support this household in their task, and to show their love for this man. I visited yesterday to lend my Reiki hands to the hospice. I walked into the dying man's room to find him surrounded by a half dozen friends, acquaintances, caregivers, love-givers. Some held their hands up channeling loving energy while others used feathers and shamanic traditions to help the man in his journey to the other world. Over the course of the afternoon, twenty to thirty people came through. There were about eight people from Portland and Seattle, devoting days to supporting both the man and his caregivers. Other than the man's niece, these were all friends and acquaintances, rather than blood relatives.
One of the main caregivers practically defies description based on American norms. A woman, with green hair, large facial piercings, a tattooed mustache and beard facilitates the hospice care. She's done this work for years. She negotiates with the hospitals and the medical speak. Somehow she cuts through the crap and deals with the medical bureaucracy. The funding is grassroots based on donations.
Only a week ago, the local community held a memorial service for John Burnside, one of our most influential gay elders in the Radical Faerie subculture. Together with his partner of forty some years, Harry Hay, he inspired a lot of growth and evolution in creating heart based, "subject-subject", queer, grassroots culture that celebrates the uniqueness of each individual, rather than status quo and clone culture. For nine years a circle of care givers supported John and Harry in their elder years, providing medical liason, elder housing, company, and community. They also held fundraisers. One of the things that struck me most from John's service was the story of his macular degeneration that quickly reduced his eyesight to a peripheral kaleidoscope. When asked how he felt about the condition, John replied, "Oh what a grand adventure it is! to see the world in a new way."
The legacy of Harry and John includes that we have found the power to come together and form circles of care for our sick and dying that stems from outside corporate insurance, and beyond blood lines. With our migratory habits and breakdown of traditional community structure, the impact of our potential create family and community wherever we are, is a grand political statement.
That we have come so far that a proposition such as Prop 8 was nearly divided in yays and nays, truly speaks how far we have come in the years since the Stone Wall Riots. That a green haired woman with facial piercings and tattoos can walk the streets and society in relative safety speaks much about personal freedom and non-judgment. Progress has also not been linear. While Prop 8 narrowly passed, personal freedoms took a marked downturn the past decade with some of the anti terrorist legislation which undermined "due process". The country is growing a evolving, learning by both trial and error... unless of course you can label something terrorist... than you can leave out the trial. We're learning, we're changing, hopefully evolving!
At any rate, it strikes me how much we owe our ancestors for what we have achieved.
You can see a video of today's march by one of my friends at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWASpisjCp8
And here is a commentary on Prop 8:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVUecPhQPqY
Here views of the National/International Protest from Nov 15 all over the world:
http://andrewsullivan.theatlantic.com/
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