Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Orlando - A New Perspective on the Anniversary of Obergefell

By Jeremiah Ho

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For the LGBTQ community, this weekend and the coming week will mark the one-year anniversary of Obergefell v. Hodges, the pro-gay marriage equality decision by the Supreme Court.  What’s interesting about this moment one year later is not the focus on same-sex marriage controversy.  Such “controversy” is hopefully becoming more and more of a non-starter in terms of legality, but not, on the other hand, in terms of its evolving meaning. 

In a year’s time, we have seen county clerks protesting against issuing marriage licenses; we have seen judges refuse to obey the SCOTUS ruling.  But those dissident voices toward same-sex marriages are gradually quelling.  The rights movement for LGBTQ individuals then shifted toward antidiscrimination and more notably restroom accommodations for transgender people.       

The Orlando gay nightclub shooting—as interpreted by many—takes the moment past discrimination and into the realm of hate.  Because of this shift, it is also a moment to add nuance to the existing sense of what dignity means for the LGBTQ community.  Among other purposes, Justice Kennedy’s opinion in Obergefell and Windsor used dignity for drawing a sense of similarity to opposite-sex relationships. In that way, as I’ve written before in other HRAH posts, using dignity to draw similarities between LGBTQ and non-LGBTQ relationships had a side effect of subordinating LGBTQ identities and diversity in order to achieve the legal argument that denying same-sex couples the right to marry was an act of inequality.     

But post-Obergefell and post-Orlando, the examination of LGBTQ lives can take on dignity in a different way that should affect the next time dignity is used in legal argumentation within a forum to push forward for antidiscrimination.  This carries insight for furthering the notion that gay rights equals human rights.

Recently, whenever a terrorist incident has occurred, the ultimate response beyond the vigils and the symbolic tributes has been to return to normal and persevere with our daily lives as quickly as possible:  to ignite courage and fly on an airplane, to walk past fear and ride to our jobs on the subway, to rally at extraordinary feats of human athleticism at national sporting events.  But what does “return to normal” mean to the community that was attacked two weekends ago, a community that has historically and intrinsically called itself “queer”?  A lot can be said about living normally:  LGBTQ people too take the subway.  They fly on airplanes as well.  They can be known to tailgate.  “Normal” means something deeper here.  “Normal” is gay, queer, straight, and everything in between.  “Normal,” in effect here, means dignity. 

Indeed, this act of terrorism targeted people, in part, because of who they were.  In the middle of Pride month, this gunman held up and silenced his victims in an act of terror—perhaps intending to bully us all—LGBTQ or not—collectively into a closet, where we hold ourselves hostage so no one sees us, where we trade who we are for the false sense of safety, where we can’t dance openly on a Saturday night.

But since the tragedy, the opposite of fear has been the massive response for recognizing gay people and what it means to have this shooting take place at a gay nightclub—a historically safe place for LGBTQ people to be “normal,” to be who they are.  Going forth, this moment should reveal that while people were targeted for their differences, the result was that their humanity and dignity—what we all intrinsically share—was ultimately placed on assault.  Somehow, this side of dignity must be retained in our legal minds and infuse the cases that rely on dignity to further articulate the rights of LGBTQ people.          

For the LGBTQ community, this weekend and the coming week will mark the one-year anniversary of Obergefell v. Hodges, the pro-gay marriage equality decision by the Supreme Court.  What’s interesting about this moment one year later is not the focus on same-sex marriage controversy.  Such “controversy” is hopefully becoming more and more of a non-starter in terms of legality, but not, on the other hand, in terms of its evolving meaning. 

In a year’s time, we have seen county clerks protesting against issuing marriage licenses; we have seen judges refuse to obey the SCOTUS ruling.  But those dissident voices toward same-sex marriages are gradually quelling.  The rights movement for LGBTQ individuals then shifted toward antidiscrimination and more notably restroom accommodations for transgender people.       

The Orlando gay nightclub shooting—as interpreted by many—takes the moment past discrimination and into the realm of hate.  Because of this shift, it is also a moment to add nuance to the existing sense of what dignity means for the LGBTQ community.  Among other purposes, Justice Kennedy’s opinion in Obergefell and Windsor used dignity for drawing a sense of similarity to opposite-sex relationships. In that way, as I’ve written before in other HRAH posts, using dignity to draw similarities between LGBTQ and non-LGBTQ relationships had a side effect of subordinating LGBTQ identities and diversity in order to achieve the legal argument that denying same-sex couples the right to marry was an act of inequality.     

But post-Obergefell and post-Orlando, the examination of LGBTQ lives can take on dignity in a different way that should affect the next time dignity is used in legal argumentation within a forum to push forward for antidiscrimination.  This carries insight for furthering the notion that gay rights equals human rights.

Recently, whenever a terrorist incident has occurred, the ultimate response beyond the vigils and the symbolic tributes has been to return to normal and persevere with our daily lives as quickly as possible:  to ignite courage and fly on an airplane, to walk past fear and ride to our jobs on the subway, to rally at extraordinary feats of human athleticism at national sporting events.  But what does “return to normal” mean to the community that was attacked two weekends ago, a community that has historically and intrinsically called itself “queer”?  A lot can be said about living normally:  LGBTQ people too take the subway.  They fly on airplanes as well.  They can be known to tailgate.  “Normal” means something deeper here.  “Normal” is gay, queer, straight, and everything in between.  “Normal,” in effect here, means dignity. 

Indeed, this act of terrorism targeted people, in part, because of who they were.  In the middle of Pride month, this gunman held up and silenced his victims in an act of terror—perhaps intending to bully us all—LGBTQ or not—collectively into a closet, where we hold ourselves hostage so no one sees us, where we trade who we are for the false sense of safety, where we can’t dance openly on a Saturday night.

But since the tragedy, the opposite of fear has been the massive response for recognizing gay people and what it means to have this shooting take place at a gay nightclub—a historically safe place for LGBTQ people to be “normal,” to be who they are.  Going forth, this moment should reveal that while people were targeted for their differences, the result was that their humanity and dignity—what we all intrinsically share—was ultimately placed on assault.  Somehow, this side of dignity must be retained in our legal minds and infuse the cases that rely on dignity to further articulate the rights of LGBTQ people.          

For the LGBTQ community, this weekend and the coming week will mark the one-year anniversary of Obergefell v. Hodges, the pro-gay marriage equality decision by the Supreme Court.  What’s interesting about this moment one year later is not the focus on same-sex marriage controversy.  Such “controversy” is hopefully becoming more and more of a non-starter in terms of legality, but not, on the other hand, in terms of its evolving meaning. 

In a year’s time, we have seen county clerks protesting against issuing marriage licenses; we have seen judges refuse to obey the SCOTUS ruling.  But those dissident voices toward same-sex marriages are gradually quelling.  The rights movement for LGBTQ individuals then shifted toward antidiscrimination and more notably restroom accommodations for transgender people.       

The Orlando gay nightclub shooting—as interpreted by many—takes the moment past discrimination and into the realm of hate.  Because of this shift, it is also a moment to add nuance to the existing sense of what dignity means for the LGBTQ community.  Among other purposes, Justice Kennedy’s opinion in Obergefell and Windsor used dignity for drawing a sense of similarity to opposite-sex relationships. In that way, as I’ve written before in other HRAH posts, using dignity to draw similarities between LGBTQ and non-LGBTQ relationships had a side effect of subordinating LGBTQ identities and diversity in order to achieve the legal argument that denying same-sex couples the right to marry was an act of inequality.     

But post-Obergefell and post-Orlando, the examination of LGBTQ lives can take on dignity in a different way that should affect the next time dignity is used in legal argumentation within a forum to push forward for antidiscrimination.  This carries insight for furthering the notion that gay rights equals human rights.

Recently, whenever a terrorist incident has occurred, the ultimate response beyond the vigils and the symbolic tributes has been to return to normal and persevere with our daily lives as quickly as possible:  to ignite courage and fly on an airplane, to walk past fear and ride to our jobs on the subway, to rally at extraordinary feats of human athleticism at national sporting events.  But what does “return to normal” mean to the community that was attacked two weekends ago, a community that has historically and intrinsically called itself “queer”?  A lot can be said about living normally:  LGBTQ people too take the subway.  They fly on airplanes as well.  They can be known to tailgate.  “Normal” means something deeper here.  “Normal” is gay, queer, straight, and everything in between.  “Normal,” in effect here, means dignity. 

Indeed, this act of terrorism targeted people, in part, because of who they were.  In the middle of Pride month, this gunman held up and silenced his victims in an act of terror—perhaps intending to bully us all—LGBTQ or not—collectively into a closet, where we hold ourselves hostage so no one sees us, where we trade who we are for the false sense of safety, where we can’t dance openly on a Saturday night.

But since the tragedy, the opposite of fear has been the massive response for recognizing gay people and what it means to have this shooting take place at a gay nightclub—a historically safe place for LGBTQ people to be “normal,” to be who they are.  Going forth, this moment should reveal that while people were targeted for their differences, the result was that their humanity and dignity—what we all intrinsically share—was ultimately placed on assault.  Somehow, this side of dignity must be retained in our legal minds and infuse the cases that rely on dignity to further articulate the rights of LGBTQ people.          

For the LGBTQ community, this weekend and the coming week will mark the one-year anniversary of Obergefell v. Hodges, the pro-gay marriage equality decision by the Supreme Court. What’s interesting about this moment one year later is not the focus on same-sex marriage controversy. Such “controversy” is hopefully becoming more and more of a non-starter in terms of legality, but not, on the other hand, in terms of its evolving meaning.

In a year’s time, we have seen county clerks protesting against issuing marriage licenses; we have seen judges refuse to obey the SCOTUS ruling. But those dissident voices toward same-sex marriages are gradually quelling. The rights movement for LGBTQ individuals then shifted toward antidiscrimination and more notably restroom accommodations for transgender people.

The Orlando gay nightclub shooting—as interpreted by many—takes the moment past discrimination and into the realm of hate. Because of this shift, it is also a moment to add nuance to the existing sense of what dignity means for the LGBTQ community. Among other purposes, Justice Kennedy’s opinion in Obergefell and Windsor used dignity for drawing a sense of similarity to opposite-sex relationships. In that way, as I’ve written before in other HRAH posts, using dignity to draw similarities between LGBTQ and non-LGBTQ relationships had a side effect of subordinating LGBTQ identities and diversity in order to achieve the legal argument that denying same-sex couples the right to marry was an act of inequality.

But post-Obergefell and post-Orlando, the examination of LGBTQ lives can take on dignity in a different way that should affect the next time dignity is used in legal argumentation within a forum to push forward for antidiscrimination. This carries insight for furthering the notion that gay rights equals human rights.

Recently, whenever a terrorist incident has occurred, the ultimate response beyond the vigils and the symbolic tributes has been to return to normal and persevere with our daily lives as quickly as possible: to ignite courage and fly on an airplane, to walk past fear and ride to our jobs on the subway, to rally at extraordinary feats of human athleticism at national sporting events. But what does “return to normal” mean to the community that was attacked two weekends ago, a community that has historically and intrinsically called itself “queer”? A lot can be said about living normally: LGBTQ people too take the subway. They fly on airplanes as well. They can be known to tailgate. “Normal” means something deeper here. “Normal” is gay, queer, straight, and everything in between. “Normal,” in effect here, means dignity.

Indeed, this act of terrorism targeted people, in part, because of who they were. In the middle of Pride month, this gunman held up and silenced his victims in an act of terror—perhaps intending to bully us all—LGBTQ or not—collectively into a closet, where we hold ourselves hostage so no one sees us, where we trade who we are for the false sense of safety, where we can’t dance openly on a Saturday night.

But since the tragedy, the opposite of fear has been the massive response for recognizing gay people and what it means to have this shooting take place at a gay nightclub—a historically safe place for LGBTQ people to be “normal,” to be who they are. Going forth, this moment should reveal that while people were targeted for their differences, the result was that their humanity and dignity—what we all intrinsically share—was ultimately placed on assault. Somehow, this side of dignity must be retained in our legal minds and infuse the cases that rely on dignity to further articulate the rights of LGBTQ people.

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https://lawprofessors.typepad.com/human_rights/2016/06/orlando-a-new-perspective-on-the-obergefell-anniversary.html

Equality, Gender Violence, Jeremiah Ho | Permalink

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