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| March 5, 2004 Gays fight for rights, open minds No flowers, no smiles, no glasses of champagne. The mood Thursday outside the Cook County Marriage License Bureau couldn't have been more different from the vibe five months ago in the very same place. On Oct.1, the first day of the county's domestic partnership registry, cheerful couples lined up early to apply. Cook County Clerk David Orr moved through the crowd that morning congratulating people. On Thursday, a couple hundred gay rights activists turned out to rally in favor of same-sex marriages and faced off against a gaggle of Christian conservatives. The bristly crowds, hemmed in by police officers on both sides, yelled and shook their fists, eyes narrowed in steely defiance. "We won't let you shove your filth down our throats." "Nazis! Hatemongers!" "God sees your wickedness." "You will lose!" Gay rights advocates packed the sidewalk in front of the Cook County Building, holding high signs that read: "Marriage is a human right, not a heterosexual privilege" and "Equal Orr Discrimination." Across Clark Street on Daley Plaza, anti-gay groups waved their own banners: "Jesus loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life: Hell" and "Thou Shalt Judge." But in the midst of such ugly intolerance and loud aggression, a few quiet moments spoke volumes. A tall woman in a sensible taupe pantsuit hoisted up a little boy onto her hip, wrapped one arm around the toddler and the other around her middle-aged partner. A slender young man's shoulders shook as he blinked back tears and clenched his boyfriend's hand tightly. As more municipal and county officials across the country flout the letter of the law and adhere to its spirit, the same-sex marriage detractors and disinterested will be confronted with family images and human reactions that, like these, appear awfully similar to their own lives. The whirlwind of civil disobedience nationwide in the last six weeks, beginning with Mayor Gavin Newsom's bold move in San Francisco, might ring a familiar bell too. I think that's what gay rights activists had in mind Thursday as they rallied outside the Cook County Building. On cue, the crowd marched into the marriage license bureau office. In a civil and orderly fashion, three couples approached the counter and asked for license applications. In response, they were handed a letter from Orr, sympathizing with their positions and seeking their support in an organized effort to make gay marriage a "legal reality." "I don't want a letter, I want an application," said the first in line, Glenn Amarosa. "Shouldn't this couple be treated as any other couple that comes to this counter?" called out Andy Thayer, a protest leader and co-founder of the Chicago Anti-Bashing Network. The reference to lunch counter sit-ins of the 1960s wasn't lost on anyone, and that was the goal. Besides putting a human face on the issue by showing families and loving couples, gay rights groups are co-opting the language of the civil rights movement to remind people of past mistakes. The "separate but equal" rationalization is painfully familiar. Later, Thayer drove home the point as he criticized Orr's decision not to issue licenses: "Will you choose the side of equality or the side of the George Wallaces of the 21st Century?" he asked, referring to the infamous Alabama governor who in 1963 refused to integrate the state university. These familiarities will resonate with the American public and hopefully open up a few minds, reminding them that to question gay marriage is to question the validity of homosexuality and the foundation of marriage itself. We should all hope it succeeds because, like other peaceful movements throughout history, this struggle relies on a core belief in the humanity of the oppressors. E-mail Alison Neumer at [email protected] |