An Ally’s Story
June 30th, 2009 by Laura HaddenI didn’t wake up the morning of May 26th with the intention of getting arrested, but in many ways, it was a long way coming.
Ever since I understood what being gay meant, I’ve been an advocate for LGBT rights. But as a woman who will be
marrying her male partner in the fall, the question of my role of being an effective ally in the LGBT movement has become a daily consideration.
I was equal parts outraged and crestfallen when the majority of voters on November 4th decided “only marriage between a man and a woman should be valid or recognized in California.” In my heart, I have always known that my love isn’t any more valid nor my relationships any more deserving of recognition than those of my queer friends. And yet I find myself living in a world that seems to pit heterosexual love against homosexual love at every possible moment.
After the election, I decided more than ever that I didn’t want to live with those rules anymore. I discussed the prospect of civil disobedience with a friend of mine who was helping organize a contingency plan in case the Supreme Court decided to uphold Proposition 8 the morning of the 26th.
In fact, I labored over the decision, but I went to sleep the night of the 25th with what I felt was a decent compromise position – I’d attend the ruling and the rally with my camera and audio recorder in tow so that – if nothing else – I could at least serve as a witness to history.
Shortly after 9AM, The Supreme Court announced its position to uphold Proposition 8. The crowd erupted into a highly organized yet adrenaline-fueled march to a nearby intersection and I, eagerly and equally outraged, followed.
You see, although political down to the bone – rebellion doesn’t really come naturally to me. Even with the protesters blocking the entire intersection, I still had to consciously reason that it was in fact acceptable to technically defy the glowing red hand traffic signals in walking through the crosswalk.
Shortly after, I ran into my friend who I had contemplated civil disobedience with days earlier. He was standing defiantly in the intersection, hands interlocked with other protesters, tears streaming down his face. In all of the discussions and worse case scenario planning, he was struggling to come to terms with the brutal reality of the verdict. I gave him a quick hug and shuffled off, feeling horrible that I couldn’t offer him more comfort in that moment.
My heart pounded as I watched the police descending from the sidewalk. As I stood there, I reflected on the experiences of so many of my friends in high school. Surviving frequent verbal, and occasionally physical, attacks based on their sexual orientation – presumed or otherwise. I remembered feeling so powerless in those moments, wishing I could at least have been with them in those moments to stand up for them – and in some ways, for myself.
I’m older now, and apparently braver. After nearly an hour of milling along the sidelines, I joined my friend and planted myself alongside him on the hot concrete.
The police took their time as they worked their way down the line of protesters one by one, slowly escorting each one in plastic handcuffs to the awaiting gender-segregated paddy wagons. Hands tied, address recorded, jewelry removed, I was seated in the back of the metal cage.
Shortly after, I was joined by two women roughly my age – friends – one straight and married, another marrying her female partner in the fall. They were so delighted to have been placed in the back of the car together, so that if nothing else, they could share the experience together.
I was one of 211 people arrested that day. And although my actions didn’t change the legality of same-sex marriage in this state, it changed the way I saw myself and my role as an ally within this movement.
More than anything, I learned that sometimes sitting down next to a friend can be a radical act.