I'd like to be able to give you a neutral legal analysis of Obergefell v. Hodges, the Supreme Court case that, just last week, declared all couples have the right to marry. But I can't be neutral. This case affects me far too personally, in some ways I can't even yet explain. Then again, as much as our legal system tries to reduce the human experience to recitations of logic and fact, ultimately, our laws are a reflection of so much more: our passions, our weaknesses, our worth.
So instead of a legal analysis by an attorney, I want to try to describe what it's like as a person to finally have the highest court of the law, the U.S. Supreme Court, declare that your relationship – one of the most fundamental aspects of your personhood – is, in the eyes of the law, the equal of all others.
I have to admit, up until the last couple of years, I never thought this would happen during my lifetime. My pessimism was hardly unfounded. I came of age in the 1980s in Orange County, a notoriously conservative enclave of California. The only gays and lesbians I was even aware of were much-ridiculed stereotypes. I did know, however, that sex acts associated with homosexuals were illegal in many states.
I wanted nothing to do with these outcasts. Aside from a growing dread that I was attracted to the same sex, I was mainstream in just about every way possible: how I dressed, my tastes, values, behaviors, even career goals. I wanted to go to law school and become a prosecutor. Success in this life, I was convinced, required me to embrace mainstream values with an unyielding grasp. And gays were not valued, that much was clear.
This fact was reiterated to me years later when I was working as a prosecutor in my adopted state. I'd only been in Alaska for a couple of years when my new friends and neighbors overwhelmingly passed Ballot Measure 2, amending our state constitution to define "marriage" as a union exclusively between a man and a woman. And then there was Anchorage's "Summer of Hate" where protesters in red shirts waving signs with hurtful slogans tried to stop the Assembly from granting basic legal protections to the LGBT community. I got the not-so-subtle hint: even in a state that puts a premium on personal freedoms, homosexuals were not welcome.
I came to regard this part of myself as you would a gangrenous limb or diseased organ, something so foul anyone who spotted it would recoil. It would subsume my identity, I thought, and everything I had accomplished.
It wasn't until my early 30s that I finally had to acknowledge that loathing a part of yourself is so toxic it poisons every aspect of your life. I was lonely, defensive, angry, and drank unhealthy amounts of alcohol to try to drown my aberrant urges. By the time I forced myself to finally confront this internalized homophobia, my life was unraveling.
As personal as this story is, it's also typical of the LGBT community. It's the lesson we absorbed from our laws and culture, and that lesson – along with the tremendous amount of energy it takes to hide an essential part of yourself – kept a lot of us from realizing our full potential.
But I now have hope such stories will become tales of the past, and for future generations, revealing one's sexuality will require no more than the blush of announcing a first crush. Someday, young people will shake their heads in disbelief as I describe my fractured identity, much like how I did when my grandma described how her father laughed when she told him she wanted to go to law school.
The day the court announced its decision in Obergefell v. Hodges, a majority of this country celebrated. National symbols and institutions of power declared their support. By Thursday evening, the White House, Niagara Falls, Cinderella's Castle at Disneyland, and One World Trade Center – just to name a few – were bathed in all of the colors of the rainbow flag.
And the highest court in the country said: "The nature of marriage is that, through its enduring bond, two persons together can find other freedoms, such as expression, intimacy, and spirituality. This is true for all persons, whatever their sexual orientation. There is dignity in the bond between two men or two women who seek to marry and in their autonomy to make such profound choices."
We have a long way to go in Alaska before we achieve true equality for the LGBT community. There are no laws that protect us from discrimination. And our state institutions of power – the judiciary, Legislature, and the executive branch – to my knowledge, have no openly gay officials.
But a society that is beginning to recognize the dignity of our relationships and rejoice in the notion of our equality will hopefully embolden us to change that. The highest function of our laws and our institutions is to create an environment where no one has to live in fear, and all of us are inspired to realize our best selves.
Marcelle McDannel has been working in criminal law for almost two decades, both as a prosecutor and as a criminal defense attorney. She currently practices criminal defense statewide. Contact her at marcelle@alaskadispatch.com.
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