IN QUEST OF A CIVIL UNION
Civil Unions. Complete equality--at least under Vermont state law--for lesbian and gay relationships. We know that the Vermont provisions don't have any meaning at home in California--yet. Doesn't matter. We have to go . . . to be part of history in the making . . . to reaffirm our vows and celebrate our 15th anniversary together . . . to thank this faraway state for recognizing us as human.
So we cash in some frequent flyer miles. We rent a two-bedroom chalet situated on a 140-acre nature preserve ($600 for the week!). And set out for a memorable week in Vermont.
Arriving
This is the greenest and most sparsely populated state I've ever seen. Gorgeous. We're staying just outside Montpelier, the state capital (pop. 8,000). Rolling hills, green, green, green . . . punctuated by tiny hamlets . . . no billboards, no shopping malls . . . just lush forests and meadows . . . picture-perfect farm houses.
And welcoming. In the usual "let's-be-nice-to-the-tourists" way . . . but also the newer "here-come-the-civil-unions" way. . . . The civil union law is just two weeks old.
Our first morning
It's a tad unnerving, sitting in this diner, to realize that our "lifestyle" has been the topic of discussion here for months . . . and that everyone has an opinion.
In this tiny, green, and fiercely independent corner of the country, the walls have been blown off the gay closet. Two gals together, with short hair and comfortable shoes, draw appraising looks quite unlike anything we've experienced before. The general, straight population is usually so oblivious to our existence.
Don't get me wrong: discrimination is real. We still live in a world where camouflage skills are an important part of the program. But it's also a world that usually doesn't admit we exist, let alone SEE us. And we've grown adept at using that ignorance--that blind assumption that it's a hetero world--as part of our cover. And generally, it's easy. No PDA's (public displays of affection), no chanting, no visible symbols--and presto, whamo!--we're mostly invisible.
Normal is exchanging looks of recognition with other lesbian/gay/bisexp;ual/transgender people . . . . Normal is ducking hostile recognition from homo-haters. Here, the locals know who we are and why we're here. Straight tourists might be clueless, but the locals got gaydar (gay-radar). In a hostile world, gaydar is a survival tactic, a matter of awareness, not some special dating skill.
Not that the state is being overrun by the lavender menace. Civil unions just went into effect. Statewide, some 200 couples have taken out licenses. Oddly enough, most of the early birds seem to be from out of state. We're one of the first couples from way-out-west California.
The only other customers in the old office with us are two "sistahs" from Boston. We take pictures of each other filling out the forms, making history. We happily fork over $20 for the license and another $7 to have a final copy mailed to us. How incredibly normal. How incredibly special. We revel in the existence of a law that recognizes us as fully human. Charlotte, the Town Clerk, was just the right mix of cheerful assistance and serious business.
We cry anyway as she hands us the official license that we are to give to the Justice of the Peace. He or she will sign it, turn it back into the Town Clerk, and then it's processed and we're legal. Well, at least in Vermont we're legal.
Getting Ready
We have a license. We have a list of potential JPs. We start dialing, not sure how we will be received. We've got a winner with the first call. Justice of the Peace Barney Bloom is an attorney, and loves to do civil unions. And no, his enthusiasm doesn't diminish when we talk about our plans for a wiccan (pagan) ceremony. He thinks it sounds delightful. We agree on Wednesday morning.
As with a marriage license, the details of the ceremony are up to the couple. It can be as simple as the JP saying the magic words or as complicated as your pocket book will allow. We have a "soul mate" ceremony that we're adapting for our special day.
First, a Little Magic
We're ready. We have incense and candles and special chalices. We have the ceremony all written out, complete with a special poem for Barney, our fearless JP to read. The moment--and Barney--finally arrives. His wife has decided this is too interesting to pass up; we are delighted to include her in our circle.
We've picked a perfect little clearing within a circle of trees. We call on the energies of the Goddess and God to bless and guide us . . . and say our vows.
"By this ritual I am bound to you as your mate and friend of the soul. See our flames shine brightly, burning hotter and stronger together than they can separately.
"As we continue in the way of the Goddess, I vow by Earth and Air, by Fire and Water, by Moon and Sun, to be your teacher and student. I am your shoulder for crying upon, and I am the lamp that lights the path of your feet. I am the one whose eyes eagerly seek you out in a crowded world.
"I am your shield and your sword, your book and your circle--part of your center of being, as you are mine. All my wisdom and all my secrets I share with you for as long as this life endures.
"And when our lives are finished in this time, we will find each other time and time again, for all eternity. So let it be."
"By the Power Vested in Me"
We've done this ceremony before, but never with an official of state government presiding. It's always touching, but this time we're both choked up, and it's hard to get the words out. Then comes the moment when Barney Bloom, our new friend, intones the magic words. "By the power vested in me by the State of Vermont, I now establish this Civil Union."
We all cry. We didn't expect it, actually. We didn't think those simple words would resonate with power within. After all, it's just symbolic; it doesn't "mean" anything, right? The journey to this moment is a long one. Many have suffered and even died along the way. To share in the victory of this moment, this recognition, is awesome.
Civil Union is not marriage. But it's as much equality as a single state can legislate. It's far more than the piecemeal solution of California's domestic partnership, where we worked like crazy to get a registry and now work like crazy to add the benefits and responsibilities that should come with commitment.
Recommitment to Each Other and the "Cause"
We spend the rest of our vacation on "honeymoon." Vermont is a marvelous place to renew ourselves and our vows. As we travel around, we don't see many "Take Back Vermont" signs but hear rumors of the backlash everywhere. We vow to send money to support the legislators who voted and now face the bigotry-that-knows-no-shame in the November elections. We want to make sure that these allies have enough resources to fight the lies and hysteria and cruelty to come.
We've known and fought that bigotry all our lives. Now, however, we've had a taste of real equality. The hetero world of Vermont has--willingly or not-- opened its eyes and recognized that we exist. Lightning didn't strike. The earth didn't recoil in horror. Instead, many Vermonters told us how they had been reminded themselves of the strength of love. Not only did they "see" us; they saw value in the love we share.
Our journey isn't over. But the road ahead is clearer; the view is better. The old battle cry from the early days of our movement echoes in my mind, "An army of lovers cannot fail."
--Laurie McBride works for Assemblyman Antonio Villaraigosa, former Speaker of the California State Assembly. She is passionately involved in the movement for full legal recognition of gay and lesbian relationships. She headed California's lgbt lobby from 1990 to 1998, working on non-discrimination, hate crime, domestic partnership law in California. Laurie and her partner of 15 years, Donna Yutzy, live in Sacramento.
This article was written for California Triangle, a new political journal for the lesbian/gay/bisexual, transgender community in Sacramento. Call 1-888-649-NEWS for more info about the magazine.
Winter 2000
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