For many years I have made an honest effort to not become a single-issue voter. When I think of single-issue voters I think of the anti-choice crowd, or the pro-choice crowd for that matter, each of which crucifies candidates regardless of how closely all parties agree. If there isn't 100 percent alignment on the abortion issue, all bets are off. Period.
It’s always seemed wasteful to me, and shockingly inflexible, but the idea of voting against politicians simply because of their stance on gay issues is starting to appeal to me. I love Obama, I thank God for Obama, and have done so each and every day since he was sworn in. But his decision to have Rick Warren say a public prayer at the inauguration is unforgiveable, and I for one I’m psyching myself up to not forgive it. Why the hell should I? After all the talk about hope and change and progress, why would Obama select the chief cheerleader in the California crusade against recognizing marriages between two men or two women to deliver the nation’s message to God on inauguration day? And why, really, was it okay for him to say he’s against gay marriage during the campaign? If that was just a political move, did he really need to follow through with it in a way that absolutely degrades gay people? I’ve heard enough about the big tent, personally. When it comes to the fact that I’m of a lower class of citizenship than my brothers and sisters – literally and figuratively – in the eyes of our government, the talk of reconciliation and reaching across the aisle – what aisle? – resonates with me about as much as the weekly mailers announcing that whole fryers are 79 cents a pound at Safeway while supplies last.
And I have heard enough out of Earl Blumenauer. I have always been happy to vote for him to be my voice in the U.S. House of Representatives. I agree with his positions on most of the issues, including public transportation, the death penalty and our law that allows doctors to help their terminally ill patients end their lives on their own terms. But I’m baffled by his recent PR blitz regarding his rethinking his vote in favor of the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA), passed in 1996 and signed by Bill Clinton. First of all, Blumenauer came out with his confession that it was the worst vote of his career on the Huffington Post, where he explained that the logic behind his vote was to block the efforts of Newt Gingrich and company so that he could work to advance other issues important to gay citizens. How very bold and brave of him. I love the Huffington Post but it’s really nothing more than an applause machine for liberals. The congressman wasn't nearly as forthcoming on his own Web site. If his news of his admission is posted there at all, it's very well hidden. Still, we were pretty stoked about it in Oregon, of course. High fives for Earl all around, you might say.
I’m not joining the chorus just yet. I’m not here to complain about his actual vote. What puzzles me is how someone could mistake the intentions behind DOMA, vote for it and then, more than a decade later, suddenly see the light. If a heart and head can be unclear enough to be changed about legislation that clearly says some unions are more constitutionally defensible than others, I’m starting to seriously doubt that they belong to a person I want to represent me. Think about different religions, or different races, or different native languages, and substitute those terms for “gay” in the DOMA wording and see how it sits. Is there any way that it could be mistaken for anything other than a calculated tool for dividing people and pitting people and groups against each other? How could someone not know that from the start? How could someone not anticipate the impact?
Earl Blumenauer will be reelected next year with or without my vote. He’s the pope of left-wing Portland. As for me, I’ve never joined a political party, or a church for that matter, and while I’ve never voted for a Republican in my life, I’m sorely tempted to try it out and see how it feels. In the abstract, the thought of it is a weird blend of shame and elated nastiness. In the abstract it reminds me of the first time I kissed another boy. On that hot and oppressive summer evening we hid in the back bedroom of the house where I grew up, which was permeated with the scent of freshly cut grass as my father carefully maneuvered around the tomato beds with the lawn mower. I’ll never forget the thrill of knowing I was about to do something terribly wrong, and loving it.
It’s always seemed wasteful to me, and shockingly inflexible, but the idea of voting against politicians simply because of their stance on gay issues is starting to appeal to me. I love Obama, I thank God for Obama, and have done so each and every day since he was sworn in. But his decision to have Rick Warren say a public prayer at the inauguration is unforgiveable, and I for one I’m psyching myself up to not forgive it. Why the hell should I? After all the talk about hope and change and progress, why would Obama select the chief cheerleader in the California crusade against recognizing marriages between two men or two women to deliver the nation’s message to God on inauguration day? And why, really, was it okay for him to say he’s against gay marriage during the campaign? If that was just a political move, did he really need to follow through with it in a way that absolutely degrades gay people? I’ve heard enough about the big tent, personally. When it comes to the fact that I’m of a lower class of citizenship than my brothers and sisters – literally and figuratively – in the eyes of our government, the talk of reconciliation and reaching across the aisle – what aisle? – resonates with me about as much as the weekly mailers announcing that whole fryers are 79 cents a pound at Safeway while supplies last.
And I have heard enough out of Earl Blumenauer. I have always been happy to vote for him to be my voice in the U.S. House of Representatives. I agree with his positions on most of the issues, including public transportation, the death penalty and our law that allows doctors to help their terminally ill patients end their lives on their own terms. But I’m baffled by his recent PR blitz regarding his rethinking his vote in favor of the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA), passed in 1996 and signed by Bill Clinton. First of all, Blumenauer came out with his confession that it was the worst vote of his career on the Huffington Post, where he explained that the logic behind his vote was to block the efforts of Newt Gingrich and company so that he could work to advance other issues important to gay citizens. How very bold and brave of him. I love the Huffington Post but it’s really nothing more than an applause machine for liberals. The congressman wasn't nearly as forthcoming on his own Web site. If his news of his admission is posted there at all, it's very well hidden. Still, we were pretty stoked about it in Oregon, of course. High fives for Earl all around, you might say.
I’m not joining the chorus just yet. I’m not here to complain about his actual vote. What puzzles me is how someone could mistake the intentions behind DOMA, vote for it and then, more than a decade later, suddenly see the light. If a heart and head can be unclear enough to be changed about legislation that clearly says some unions are more constitutionally defensible than others, I’m starting to seriously doubt that they belong to a person I want to represent me. Think about different religions, or different races, or different native languages, and substitute those terms for “gay” in the DOMA wording and see how it sits. Is there any way that it could be mistaken for anything other than a calculated tool for dividing people and pitting people and groups against each other? How could someone not know that from the start? How could someone not anticipate the impact?
Earl Blumenauer will be reelected next year with or without my vote. He’s the pope of left-wing Portland. As for me, I’ve never joined a political party, or a church for that matter, and while I’ve never voted for a Republican in my life, I’m sorely tempted to try it out and see how it feels. In the abstract, the thought of it is a weird blend of shame and elated nastiness. In the abstract it reminds me of the first time I kissed another boy. On that hot and oppressive summer evening we hid in the back bedroom of the house where I grew up, which was permeated with the scent of freshly cut grass as my father carefully maneuvered around the tomato beds with the lawn mower. I’ll never forget the thrill of knowing I was about to do something terribly wrong, and loving it.
