Thanks, But No Thanks

Same-sex marriage is wonderful progress, but I'd prefer civil union.

by Will Doig

June 16, 2008

I went to a gay wedding once. That's what the couple called it, and that's what it was: a wedding, replete with ivory-colored invitations that arrived in the mail on high-quality parchment. They read something along the lines of, "We invite you to join us in celebration of our union in marriage" at such and such a time at such and such a church. An organ played the wedding song. A minister presided over vows and rings. There were flowers, cake and matching tuxedos. It was beautiful, and it was ridiculous.

I sat in the pew and stared at the giant asterisk suspended above the couple's heads. The asterisk led to a footnote somewhere in my mind that read: *not really a wedding. Much as I tried, I couldn't bring myself to believe in the authenticity of this ceremony, so firmly associated with heterosexual marriage. These two men acting out the roles of a young straight couple, reciting the familiar lines: "to have and to hold, for richer or poorer . . . "

This was the late '90s, before gay marriage was legal anywhere, so maybe if I were to attend a similar same-sex wedding today, it would feel different. But I don't think so.

Last month, the California Supreme Court overturned that state's ban on gay marriage. Today, the ruling went into effect, and thousands more same-sex couples were allowed into the hallowed institution. And two weeks ago, the governor of New York announced that his state would recognize same-sex marriages performed elsewhere — not as big a leap, but still, it made same-sex marriage a reality in New York.

Both of these developments make me almost lightheaded with joy. Like a black frontrunner for president, it's the kind of progress that was unimaginable only ten years ago. Psychologically speaking, these two recent decisions are far more seismic than when Massachusetts legalized same-sex marriage in 2005. That event was exciting for its groundbreaking nature, but it still felt more like the renegade act of a few liberal pioneers, more statement than sea change. Today, the country's two most powerful states (combined population: fifty-six million) have declared themselves on board.

Now this much is clear: no matter what happens in the coming months (a referendum in California may overturn the decision), gay marriage is well on its way, and it's pretty much unstoppable. Years from now, when the country is populated by a generation that's never known a world without same-sex marriage, I'm sure it will feel as pedestrian as the old-fashioned kind, like it's been around forever.

But for now? Oof. What a strange time. The friend whose wedding I attended refers to his "husband," and I'm supposed to basically not react, as if it's all just part of the conversation. I can't say, "Wait, your husband? What? My mom has a husband. My Aunt Betty has a husband. How can you have a husband? We're gay. We don't have husbands. Boyfriends, partners, yes, but not husbands."

Except that now we do have husbands, and I'm having a little bit of trouble accepting that. You could argue I'm getting tangled up in semantics, but semantics have always been at the root of the same-sex marriage movement — getting access to that word, "marriage," because we didn't want it to be called something else, because there's no such thing as separate-but-equal. That's what we've always said. From the beginning, this struggle has been premised on two chief desires — equal legal protection, and equal social recognition — and we said we couldn't get the social recognition with civil unions, because civil unions feel like "marriage lite."

I feel differently. I don't think civil unions feel like marriage lite because I don't think they feel like marriage at all, and that's what I like about them. I never want to marry my boyfriend, but a might want to get civil unioned. I might want to recognize our bond with an institution that's not entrenched in ancient rules and traditions. And yes, part of it is about the language: a civil union. It sounds so pure and efficient and progressive and European and, I don't know, civil. Like a sensible foreign car, the 2008 Civil Union, from Acura.

It sounds pretty gay, actually, and I like that. It also has no religious connotations whatsoever. I was raised in an essentially atheist household, and have at least once heard my dad utter the phrase, "Fuck the Bible." When I was in grade school, many of my friends went to church on Sundays, and being ten, I wanted to do what my friends were doing. At my request, my mother twice took me to the Episcopalian mass at the church downtown. But after two consecutive Sundays of being dressed in a suit and forced to listen to a grownup lecture me, I told my mom I thought church was weird. "That's why we don't go," she replied.

And that's why I don't want to get married — because it feels weird, and I can't help that. Even if I bypassed the church and picked up my marriage certificate at City Hall, it would still feel like a religious indoctrination. Today, the two institutions are far too enmeshed to separate, and I can't make the biggest decision of a partnered person's life just because it's considered good for the cause.

What's more, even today, children are a tacit component of marriage. A childless marriage is regarded as less stable and vaguely scandalous, possibly involving key parties. Many lifelong gay couples never want to have children, and I'm pretty sure that's the camp I'm in. I'd rather not be a part of a club that assumes its male members are future father figures, because I don't see myself that way.

I'll admit, I'm embarrassed to find myself essentially agreeing with the social conservatives on this: marriage doesn't fit my relationship, because my relationship is composed of two dudes. If I weren't gay, I might be more open to religion. If I were straight, I might be in a relationship where children were likely. Our definition of monogamy might not have the flexibility that it does. Though such unconventional marriages aren't unheard of, they're still much more the exception than the rule. I'd prefer an institution where the rules are still unwritten, a post-millennial bond with flexibility its main trapping.

Let me give you a hypothetical. What if, from the get-go, the gay-rights movement's goal had been to get civil unions? What if we made this choice not because we thought we didn't deserve marriage, but because we didn't think it was the right fit? Would we be less fixated on having access to that word if we were the ones rejecting it, rather than feeling like it's being dangled just out of our reach?

At this point, the debate is a bit academic. It appears that civil unions will become the laserdiscs of legal relationships, a fleeting stopgap until we've completed the transition to what we've decided is better. Once same-sex marriage is everywhere, civil unions will disappear for good, and for gay couples who want to go legal, marriage will be the sole option. It's a hell of a step up from no recognition whatsoever, but a square peg for some of us, nonetheless. n°

© 2008 Will Doig & hooksexup.com