Dear loving LGBT couples of Maine,
Tonight we sat glued to our twin laptops, separated only by a couple plates of reheated leftovers, compulsively refreshing the election results from your state. We shared a bottle of wine and surfed back and forth between the New York Times and the Bangor Daily News and the feeds of just about every live blogger known to us through Twitter so that we might stay on top of the news; so that we might, in a small way, be with you every step of the way, as so many Americans were with us this time last year.
Tonight was no different for us than election night one year ago. We agonized over the head-to-head race that was Prop 8 and now Question 1. We started our evening optimistic, and then anxiety set in. Anxiety gave way to fear and eventually sadness, our throats thick and eyes heavy as defeat became a certainty. Last year, we waited for days before the battle over Prop 8 was final; today we know that the ban on equality stands in your home state. You may score a recount; you may campaign to repeal. But one thing is certain, you’ve got a rocky road ahead.
When Prop 8 passed, we couldn’t go anywhere—not to our local coffee shop or sandwich stand, to the bank or to the market—without looking at every single face and wondering “Did you vote against our marriage?” You too will wake up tomorrow with this same vulnerable distrust for your neighbors; you too will wake up tomorrow knowing that the majority of your state deems you unworthy of first-class citizenship. It is a weight heavier than any shoulders are meant to bear.
But here’s the very fine silver lining: You will also wake up in the coming days to a support group you may not have known you had. Many of your neighbors, coworkers, family and friends will stand up to rally behind you. They will hold candles at vigils and wave signs in protest; they will say they never thought that Question 1 would pass; they will say they wish they had done more, and they will be ready to do so. Much of the country will stand shoulder-to-shoulder with you, as they have done for us in California, to say that discrimination will not stand and that you do not stand alone. Maine will wake up to a new state of disharmony, where it is crystal clear that not all citizens are equal under the law.
Just like we wish we could have done more to save California from a state of inequality, we wish we could have done more for you. But since Prop 8 passed exactly one year ago, we have vowed to do all that we can: to tell our story over and over again, to educate folks on why marriage equality matters. We hope that you will also share your stories and shout them from the rooftops if necessary. Tell your neighbors just how many rights and protections you are officially denied; remind them that your children and families would have been better off.
You are, without a doubt, entering a stage of grief, and one that we know all too well. Don’t be afraid to share it, to seek solace in your community, to take the opportunity to organize and prepare for the fight that is surely to come. Whatever you do, be graceful and remember that much of the opposition that rails against us draws their strength from fear and lack of knowledge. It’s your duty, now more than ever, to educate them. And luckily, now more than ever, they might be willing to listen.
Our hearts are broken for you, but we take a bit of comfort in the win in Kalamazoo, where LGBT people are only just today protected under the law against discrimination in the day-to-day. We take heart in the projections from Washington State, where domestic partnership is looking up. The world is changing, and now is the time for you to put your full weight behind the fight for equality.
We sincerely hope this doesn’t sound trite, but we are here for you. Our email inbox is always open, and we hope you’ll share your stories with us too.
Yours in solidarity,
Frankie & Chloé
