 |
|||
 |
|||
 |
|||
|
|||||||||||||
| about us |
The Scarlet Letter
By BRAD SEARS "Hester Prynne... for so long a period not merely estranged, but outlawed, from society, had habituated herself to such latitude of speculation as was altogether foreign to the clergyman. She had wandered, without rule or guidance, in a moral wilderness... The scarlet letter was her passport into regions where other women dared not tread. Shame, Despair, Solitude! These had been her teachers - stern and wild ones - and they had made her strong, but taught her much amiss." - Nathaniel Hawthorne, "The Scarlet Letter" THE TWO BIG stories concerning gay rights are two parts of the same story: cause and effect. Last week, the California Supreme Court voided the marriages of almost 4,000 same-sex couples. On the same afternoon, in a moving statement, Governor McGreevey resigned, focusing his comments on the turmoil of coming to terms with his identity as a "gay American" and the guilt of having committed adultery. In the wake of the governor's statement, many are wondering how he could have deceived his wife, his supporters, and the public by concealing his gay identity and his adulterous affair. For me, listening to a leader from the Atlantic coast's tortured sexual confession evoked "The Scarlet Letter," Nathaniel's Hawthorne's deeply embroidered classic involving the love and torments of Hester Prynne and minister Arthur Dimmesdale. Hawthorne's story, set in the colonial era, and McGreevey's speech serve as bookends to a remarkably static American history. Then as now, society's moral ideals crumple individuals' diverging humanity. Parts of the governor's statement evoked the anguished thoughts of Hawthorne's tragic Dimmesdale. The governor described how, since he was a young child, he had tried to reconcile his inner thoughts with society's expectations of the right and the good. "I don't believe that God tortures any person simply for its own sake," the governor pleaded. "One has to look deeply into the mirror of one's soul and decide one's unique truth in the world." This is a man who has experienced a great deal of pain. And as Hawthorne passionately suggests, the blame for that suffering lies not just with God and the self, but at the feet of a rigid society. Colonial churches used to have a large eye, similar to the one on today's dollar bill, painted on the pulpit. It was supposed to be the eye of God, but it was given effect by the congregation's more comprehensive gaze. The governor is 47, perhaps one of the most important facts that he marshaled in his defense. He was born and came to adolescence before the Stonewall Riots and the beginnings of a national gay rights movement; before anyone dared to articulate, "Gay is Good." Like many gay men of his generation, McGreevey hid his true identity and married because the alternatives society provided were too few and too bleak. If he had come out as a youth, he would have faced discrimination in employment and ostracization from his family and friends. It is improbable that he would have had the succession of jobs that led to his governorship. The likelihood of his having thoughts of suicide or being the victim of physical violence would have greatly increased. If he had a partner, their sexuality would not have been constitutionally protected until last year, and they would have not been allowed to marry in any state until this year. They might not have been allowed to have children, who are so clearly such an important part of McGreevey's life. Last week, while the California Supreme Court reserved its ruling on same-sex marriage, its opinion sent the message that the relationships of gay men and lesbians are not worthy of society's recognition or support. This message will be heard by lesbian and gay youth and adults. It will tell them, just like every act of anti-gay violence, taunting, and discrimination, that there are consequences for being who they are; that they should stay in the closet. It is clear that we have more to learn about McGreevey's decision to give his lover a job. That decision should be evaluated without reference to his sexual orientation. However, his decision to remain in the closet until now and to act upon his sexual orientation cannot be judged without first turning an eye towards the society in which he lives. With options of either being forced out of society, like Hester, or hiding, like Dimmesdale, is it fair to evaluate McGreevey's actions by society's moral rules? Or, instead, should we respect his courage for coming out to a nation where many will still judge him for admitting who he truly is? Does he deserve society's judgment or does he deserve its sympathy? Perhaps even, does he deserve its apology? Brad Sears, a professor, is executive director of The Williams Project on Sexual Orientation Law and Public Policy, UCLA School of Law. Send comments about this column to oped@northjersey.com or williamsinstitute@law.ucla.edu.
| ||||||