IGF CultureWatch

On the eve of the election, I am pleased that my fellow Democrats have finally learned not to concede "moral values" language to the other side.

In past elections, we heard a lot about "values voters"-a code-term for right-wingers on issues like abortion and same-sex marriage. Senator Obama, among his many talents, has made the case that we should all be "values voters;" that foreign, economic, and environmental policy are moral issues; and that compassion, equality, and justice are values, too.

Still, my fellow liberals often have a hard time with the language of morals-whether because of an admirable humility, a lamentable wishy-washiness, or both.

That aversion results in a number of common but dumb claims about morality and ethics. (Like most philosophers, I use the terms interchangeably-there is no "standard" distinction.) Here's my take on these claims:

(1) "Morality is a private matter." To put it bluntly, this claim is nonsense of the highest order. Morality is about how we treat one another. It's about what we as a society embrace, what we merely tolerate, and what we absolutely forbid.

While morality respects certain private spheres-and while some moral decisions are best left to those most intimately affected by them-morality is generally quite the opposite of a "private" matter.

(2) "You shouldn't judge other people." This claim is not only false, it's self-defeating. (If you shouldn't judge other people, then why are you telling me what to do?)

The reason this claim sounds remotely plausible is because of a slight ambiguity in what it means to "judge other people." Should you go around wagging your finger in people's faces? Of course not. No one likes a know-it-all, and pompous moralizing is counterproductive.

But it doesn't follow that we shouldn't make any moral judgments about other people's behavior. Doing so is often the best way to figure out what traits to emulate and what mistakes to avoid.

(3) "I don't need anyone's moral approval." If this claim means that individuals don't need the moral approval of any other given individual, then fine: there will always be those whose moralizing is ill-informed, sloppy or insensitive-and thus best avoided. But to deny that we need the moral approval of anyone at all overlooks morality's crucial social role.

Morality, unlike law, does not have formal enforcement procedures: police and courts and the like. It relies instead on social pressure-encouraging glances and raised eyebrows, nudges and winks, inclusion and ostracism. (Interestingly, some right-wing bloggers have reacted to my recent work by worrying about "court-enforced moral approval"-as if that concept made any sense.)

Moral pressure can help us be our best selves. But in order for it to work, we need to take other people's moral opinions seriously most of the time. Just as unreasonable or unenforceable laws erode our confidence in law itself (think Prohibition), widespread dismissal of others' moral views erodes morality's social function.

(4) "Morality is just a matter of opinion." Whether boxers are preferable to briefs is "just" a matter of opinion. Whether coffee tastes better with cream and sugar is "just" a matter of opinion. To call our moral values "just" a matter of opinion, by contrast, is to ignore their social and personal significance.

The problem here is that people start with a legitimate distinction between facts and values-in other words, between descriptions of the world and normative judgments about it. Unfortunately, the fact/value distinction morphs into the much fuzzier fact/opinion distinction, which then morphs into the fact/ "mere" opinion distinction-suggesting that values are unimportant. Nothing could be further from the truth.

(5) "There's no point in arguing about morality." Moral problems are practical problems: they're problems about what to do. "Agreeing to disagree" is fine when the stakes are low or when the status quo is tolerable. But when something is badly wrong in the world, we should strive to repair it. That often requires making a persuasive moral case to our neighbors.

My own experience as "The Gay Moralist" suggests that moral arguments can make a difference-which is not to say they do so instantly or easily. Sometimes they require an extended back-and-forth. Sometimes, they help us get a foot in the door so that an emotional connection can be made. But the idea that they never work is not merely defeatist, it's downright false.

In short, we should all be moralists-liberals and conservatives, religious and secular, red-staters and blue-staters-because we all need to figure out how to live together.

I've been doing a lot of same-sex marriage debates lately, and thus interacting with opponents-not just my debate partner, but also audience members, some of whom will soon be voting on marriage amendments.

Recently one of them asked, "Where does your standard of marriage come from?"

From her tone, I could tell she meant it more as a challenge-a purely rhetorical question-than as a genuine query. Still, I wanted to give her a good answer.

But what is the answer? My own "standard" of marriage, if you can call it that, comes from my parents and grandparents, whose loving, lifelong commitments I strive to emulate. That doesn't mean mine would resemble theirs in every detail-certainly not the male/female part-but I can't help but learn from their example.

That wasn't the answer she was looking for, so she asked again. This time I tried challenging the question: talking about "THE" standard of marriage suggests that marriage is a static entity, rather than an institution that has evolved over time. Historically, marriage has been more commonly polygamous than monogamous; more commonly hierarchical than egalitarian. It changes.

I pointed these facts out, adding that our standard for marriage-or any other social institution-ought to be human well-being. Since same-sex marriage promotes security for gay and lesbian persons and, consequently, social stability, it meets that standard.

She wasn't satisfied. "But if we don't have a single fixed standard," she continued, "then anything goes."

There's something rhetorically satisfying when an opponent's fallacies can be identified with neat names: in this case, "false dilemma." Either marriage remains solely heterosexual, she was saying, or else society embraces a sexual free-for-all-as former Pennsylvania Senator Rick Santorum put it, "man on man, man on dog, or whatever the case may be."

No, no, no. The fact that boundaries change and evolve does not entail that we should have no boundaries at all, or that where they're drawn is entirely arbitrary. Again, the standard is societal well-being, and everyone agrees that "man on dog" marriage fails to meet that standard. Let's not change the subject.

Her challenge reminded me of those who cite the dictionary and then object that same-sex marriage is "impossible by definition," since marriage by definition requires a husband and wife. Dictionaries reflect usage, and as usage evolves, so do dictionaries. (Ever try to read Beowulf in the original Old English?)

More important, the dictionary objection founders on the simple fact that if something were truly "impossible by definition," there would be no reason to worry about it, since it can't ever happen. No one bothers amending constitutions to prohibit square circles or married bachelors.

But my rhetorical satisfaction in explaining "false dilemma" and the evolution of language was tempered by the reality I was confronting. My questioner wasn't simply grandstanding. She was expressing a genuine-and widely shared-fear: if we embrace same-sex marriage, than life as we know it will change dramatically for the worse. Standards will deteriorate. Our children will inherit a confused and morally impoverished world.

Such fear is what's driving many of the voters who support amendments in California, Florida, and Arizona to prohibit same-sex marriage, and we ignore or belittle it at our peril.

And so I explained again-gently but firmly-how same-sex marriage is good for gay people and good for society. When there's someone whose job it is to take care of you a vice-versa, everyone benefits-not just you, but those around you as well. That's true whether you're gay or straight.

I also explained how giving marriage to gay people doesn't mean taking it away from straight people, any more than giving the vote to women meant taking it away from men. No one is suggesting that we make same-sex marriage mandatory. Our opponents' talk of "redefining" marriage-rather than, say, "expanding" it-tends to obscure this fact.

Not all fears bend to rational persuasion, but some do. In any case, I don't generally answer questions in these forums for the sole benefit of the questioner. Typically, I answer them for benefit of everyone in the room, including the genuine fence-sitters who are unsure about what position to take on marriage equality for gays and lesbians.

To them, we need to make the case that same-sex marriage won't cause the sky to fall.

If the election were held tomorrow, it's quite likely that gays would lose marriage in California.

That's California, our most populous state, home of San Francisco and Nancy Pelosi and the liberal Hollywood elite. What progressive California giveth, progressive California may taketh away.

It surprises (and frankly, depresses) me how few gay people know or care what's happening. Here's the quick version: in May, the California Supreme Court declared the state's ban on same-sex marriage unconstitutional. Prior to the decision, California had domestic partnership legislation granting nearly all of the statewide legal incidents of marriage. But the Court held that denying marriage to gay and lesbian couples deprived them of a fundamental right and constituted wrongful discrimination.

Gays began legally marrying in June, making California the second state (after Massachusetts) to support marriage equality.

Meanwhile, opponents collected enough signatures for a November ballot initiative to amend the constitution so that "Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California." (The amendment would leave domestic partnerships intact, but it would make it impossible for California to recognize same-sex marriages from Massachusetts or elsewhere.)

For several months we seemed poised to win. That changed in the last few weeks, with recent polls showing us losing 47-42 percent.

Why the shift? One reason is that we're being out-fundraised and outspent, and the opposition's advertising is effective. Recent figures posted by the Los Angeles Times show our opponents raising $26.1 million to our $21.8. A substantial chunk of the opposition's money has come from out of state, 40 percent of it from Mormons.

You read that last line correctly: 40 percent of the financial support for one-man-one-woman marriage in California is coming from members of a church that little over a century ago was pro-polygamy (and still has many polygamist offshoots). Forty percent of the support is coming from a religious denomination that makes up less than 2 percent of the U.S. population.

What's even more shocking are some of the individual reports about donors. The Sacramento Bee tells the story of Pam and Rick Patterson, who live with their five children in a modest three-bedroom home in Folsom. They withdrew $50,000 from their savings and donated it to Yes on 8. Pam says that it wasn't an easy decision, "But it was a clear decision, one that had so much potential to benefit our children and their children."

Or consider David Nielson, a retired insurance executive from Auburn. He and his wife Susan donated $35,000. They plan to forgo vacations for the next several years and make other sacrifices to cover their donation, "because some causes are worth fighting for."

If I didn't know better, I would think that California had just made same-sex marriage mandatory.

And this is what's both baffling and frustrating. We gays have a direct and palpable stake in the outcome of this referendum. Yet few of us (myself included) are willing to make the kinds of sacrifices made by the Nielsons and the Pattersons-people whose marriage was, is, and will remain heterosexual regardless of what happens. They are free to choose so-called "traditional marriage" if it suits them. So what are they so afraid of?

I think the gay-rights movement's failure to grapple with this question is another important reason why we may lose. We frame our arguments in terms of rights and liberty, forgetting that some people want the liberty to live without exposure to certain ways of life. They want a world where no one sees marriage for gays as an option-not their government, not their neighbors, and definitely not their children.

They want that world badly, badly enough to sacrifice for it.

In a democratic society, they are free to want that simpler world, and to spend money to get it, and to vote in favor of it. We are free to fight back. But that fight must include thoughtful responses to their concerns. It is not enough to assert our rights, especially when the documents embodying those rights can be amended by popular vote.

We need to make a positive moral case to our opponents. We need to show them that our lives are good, that our relationships are healthy, that our happiness is compatible with theirs. We need to show them that marriage is good for gays, and that what's good for gays is good for society.

We need to tell them the story of Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon, the first same-sex couple to marry in California, a couple who were together for 56 years until Del Martin's death in August at the age of 87. We need to tell them: these are the kind of people you are trying to take marriage away from.

I wouldn't put my money on winning over the Pattersons and the Nielsons. But there are undecided voters who share their concerns-concerns about the world their children will inherit. We need to make the case to them. We need to raise money to communicate that case. And we need to do it fast.

In the last few weeks I've become seriously convinced that Saturday Night Live could help sway this presidential election. For one thing, it has crystallized Sarah Palin's foreign-policy experience in a simple phrase:

"I can see Russia from my house."

She didn't quite say that, of course, but it's close enough-not to mention funny, and memorable. [Watch the skit here.]

Thus I was counting on SNL to neatly sum up the vice-presidential debate between Palin and Joe Biden. They didn't disappoint.

Sure, there were the expected shots at Palin: her non-answers, her lack of experience, her winks. But SNL is an equal-opportunity parodist, and one of my favorite moments poked fun at Biden.

Queen Latifah/Ifill: "Do you support, as they do in Alaska, granting same-sex benefits to couples?"

Sudeikis/Biden: "I do. In an Obama-Biden administration same-sex couples would be guaranteed the same property rights, rights to insurance, and rights of ownership as heterosexual couples. There will be no distinction. I repeat: NO DISTINCTION."

Latifah/Ifill: "So to clarify, do you support gay marriage, Senator Biden?"

Sudeikis/Biden: (deadpan) "Absolutely not."

Then, in case anyone missed the contrast, he follows up:

Sudeikis/Biden: "But I do think they should be allowed to visit one another in the hospital and in a lot of ways, that's just as good, if not better."

Again, this is not quite what the actual Biden said-but it's close enough, not to mention funny, and memorable.

We've seen this before in the Democrats: on the one hand, trying to support full legal equality for same-sex couples, and other the other hand, trying to avoid the m-word at all costs. The result is an incoherent mess-one that gets messier when they try to explain the incoherence.

Consider, for instance, the actual Biden's explanation of his and Obama's opposition to full marriage equality. They don't support same-sex marriage, Biden said, because that's a decision "to be left to faiths and people who practice their faiths [to determine] what you call it."

No, it isn't. Because the question was not about religious marriage, it was about civil marriage-which in a free society is a matter for government, not religion.

I don't mean to pick on the Democrats here. The only reason that the Republicans avoid getting into the same logical pretzel is that they don't even try to make the argument for full equality under the law.

And while it's true that both Obama and McCain oppose same-sex marriage at the federal level, Obama remains far ahead on gay issues: in supporting federal civil unions, in opposing "Don't Ask/Don't Tell," in opposing key portions of the "Defense of Marriage Act," and in the kinds of federal judges and Supreme Court justices he is likely to appoint. Obama also opposes anti-gay state marriage amendments that McCain supports.

The question is how long we can politely pretend that his stance of "full legal equality but not marriage" makes sense, because it doesn't. It didn't when John Kerry used it in the last election, it didn't when Hillary Clinton, John Edwards, and Bill Richardson used it during the primaries, and it doesn't now.

It doesn't make logical sense, although I can see why some think it makes political sense.

Personally, I'm a political incrementalist. I believe in fighting for a half a loaf today and then regrouping to fight for the rest tomorrow, if the full loaf is genuinely not yet possible. That doesn't mean I don't find legal inequality demeaning: it just means that securing certain rights is more important to me than being an "all or nothing" purist.

So I'm willing to support the "half a loaf" politicians. I'm just not willing to pretend that they're offering the full loaf, or to rest content when I get it. I'm not willing to settle for "separate but equal"-another oxymoron in this debate.

History teaches us what "separate but equal" does. It demeans one group by suggesting that they must be kept apart from others. But it also embodies a bigger problem: "separate but equal" never turns out really to be "equal."

That was true during segregation, and it's true now for civil unions-a newfangled status that, in practice, simply doesn't grant full legal equality. We've learned this in case after case, as civil-union couples face legal issues with entities that don't even understand their legal status, much less recognize it.

That's why we need to keep fighting for full equality. Because in the end, there's nothing funny about unequal treatment under the law.

Clay Aiken is gay. This is not news.

Lindsay Lohan might be gay, too. (Her answer during a radio interview was noncommittal enough to leave room for "clarifications" later.) Big yawn.

You know what would be news? It would be news to learn that a well-known pop star called People magazine to say "I'm gay!" and People responded with a "So what?" I long for the day when a star's coming out is not worthy of magazine space, much less a cover story.

We have not yet reached that day.

Clay Aiken's coming out was about as surprising as Elton John's, only less courageous. (Remember that John came out twenty years ago, at the height of the AIDS crisis, when gay sex was still illegal in many parts of this country.) For years certain bloggers have referred to Aiken as "Gayken," a practice as otiose as it is childish. An online poll revealed that 96 percent of respondents were not surprised by his announcement.

The other 4 percent, presumably, also insist that Liberace was merely "artistic."

I certainly don't mean to criticize Aiken for his honesty, and I can't blame him for wanting to capitalize on it with a cover story. I have no idea what People paid him for the scoop, if anything, but I suspect he got more than I did when I came out in an op-ed in my college paper. (I think they gave me a coupon for a free pizza.)

Incidentally, that was in 1989, a year after Elton John came out as gay. It was harder then, no doubt because so few public figures had done it.

Aiken's coming out adds to that growing list of public figures, and for that we should be thankful. There are interesting dimensions to his story, including his identifying as a born-again Christian and his generally wholesome image. (My late grandmother, like many grandmothers, adored him on American Idol.)

Some might hope that his revelation will reach a demographic not otherwise friendly to gay issues, reminding them that we truly are everywhere. I'm skeptical. Aiken just had a child out of wedlock, via artificial insemination, with a much older female friend. His fellow born-again Christians will likely see him less as a role-model than as a cautionary tale.

So if progressives shrug and traditionalists scold, what can Aiken's coming out teach us? Two things, I think.

First, that if you're going to use the "My sexual orientation is private and none of your business" line, as Aiken did repeatedly, then don't be surprised if few care when you announce your gayness on the cover of People.

Aiken is hardly alone in exploiting the ambiguity of the claim that sexual orientation is "private." Private in the sense of being deeply personal and deserving of non-interference? Absolutely. Private in the sense of being secret? Only if you insist on making it so.

That was Aiken's right, of course. But it was also our right to notice his doing it. It was not our right to nag him about it-he was young, and still figuring it all out-but it was our right to refuse to go along with treating gayness as somehow unspeakable. Aiken's story underscores how the convention of the closet is crumbling. This is progress.

The second thing his coming out teaches us is that while simple honesty is good, it is no longer enough. It may be enough (for now) to get you on the cover of People, but it's not enough, I'll wager, to get readers rushing to the newsstands.

I'm surprised, frankly, that it's still enough to get you on the cover of People-even if you are the most famous American Idol runner-up ever (my grandmother went to her grave insisting that Ruben had robbed him of the rightful title) and you have a cute baby in an unconventional family arrangement. I don't expect People to be The Economist, but I do expect something fresher and more stimulating than "Yes, I'm Gay."

And so let me close with a plea to our LGBT organizations. For the love of Jehovah, don't invite Aiken to headline fundraising dinners or pride events unless and until he actually does something more to advance gay rights. "Yes, I'm Gay" may be enough to impress People. It should no longer be enough to impress us.

And that, too, is progress.

I admit it: I was fascinated by the announcement that Sarah Palin's 17-year-old daughter is pregnant.

It's no surprise that teenagers have sex-even evangelical Christian teenagers, and especially very good looking ones, in Alaska, where there's not much to do but hunting and fishing and…well, you know.

And it's certainly no surprise that sex makes babies.

But when a conservative politician who advocates abstinence education has a very public failure of abstinence in her own family, revealed just a few days after she's announced as the Republican vice-presidential nominee, it's bound to get people talking.

If nothing else, the social and political contours are interesting. Right-wingers admire Palin's principles, but some wish she would put aside her political ambitions to tend to her family. Left-wingers reject this idea as anti-feminist, but they also reject Palin's politics.

Let me make two things very clear.

First, Bristol Palin is not running for office; Sarah Palin is. Bristol Palin, like all expectant mothers, should be wished well-especially since she finds herself pregnant during the frenzy and scrutiny of her mother's vice-presidential campaign. She deserves our compassion, as does her new fiancé.

Second, Sarah Palin is no hypocrite-as some uncharitable commentators have suggested-for embracing her yet-unwed pregnant daughter.

There's no inconsistency in believing both that we should teach abstinence until marriage and that we should support those children who become pregnant anyway. There's no hypocrisy in striving for an ideal that you and your loved ones occasionally fall short of. You don't stop endorsing speed limits just because you (or your kids) sometimes lose track of the speedometer.

The fact is, Sarah Palin's rejection of comprehensive sex education deserves criticism on its own merits. Her family's behavior has nothing to do with it, aside from adding anecdotes to the statistics suggesting that "abstinence only" doesn't achieve what its proponents hope and claim.

For example, abstinence advocates are fond of citing studies by Yale's Hannah Brückner and Columbia's Peter Bearman, who show that adolescents who take abstinence pledges generally delay sex about eighteen months longer than those who don't. What the advocates don't mention is the researchers' finding that only 12 percent of these adolescents keep their pledges, and that when they do have sex, they are far less likely to use protection.

In other words, the failure rate of condoms pales by comparison to the failure rate of abstinence pledges-88 percent, if you believe Brückner and Bearman.

But it's not Sarah Palin's rejection of comprehensive sex education that's bugging me here. What's bugging me is the right-wing reaction, which for the most part boils down to "Nobody's perfect, life happens, but you love and support your children and grandchildren."

That, of course, is the proper reaction.

But it stands in sharp contrast to their usual reaction to gay kids, their rhetoric about "Love in Action" and "Love Win[ning] Out" notwithstanding.

For example, contrast the right-wing reaction to Palin's grandchild with their reaction to Dick Cheney's grandchild Samuel-son of his lesbian daughter Mary. At the time, Janice Crouse of Concerned Women for America announced that Mary's pregnancy "repudiates traditional values and sets an appalling example for young people at a time when father absence is the most pressing social problem facing the nation." She was hardly alone in such denunciations.

Now here's the same Crouse on Palin: "We are confident that she and her family will handle this unexpected situation with grace and love. We appreciate the fact that the Palins…are providing loving support to the teenager and her boyfriend."

There are differences in the two cases to be sure. Bristol plans to marry the father, and thus will provide the baby with a "traditional" family (in one sense); Mary won't. Bristol's pregnancy was probably accidental, whereas Mary's was certainly deliberate.

On the other hand, Mary's child arrives in the home of a mature and stable couple; Bristol's in the home of a young and hastily formed one.

But the sharpest difference in the cases is the contrast in right-wingers' compassion. It's the difference in empathy, a trait that's at the core of the Golden Rule.

They tell heterosexuals: abstinence until marriage-and if you fail, we forgive you. For gays, it's abstinence forever-and if you fail, we denounce you.

For heterosexuals, "Nobody's perfect, life happens, but you love and support your children and grandchildren."

For gays, not so much.

"Why do you need other people's approval?"

The question came from an old (straight but gay-supportive) friend, as we sat over breakfast discussing progress in the gay-rights movement. He meant it sincerely.

"After all," he continued, "if you like rap music, and I hate rap music, you don't need my approval to pursue your tastes. Indeed, even if I think listening to rap music is a mind-numbing waste of time, so what? Live and let live."

That's true. But when it comes to gay rights, "live and let live" may no longer be enough.

The difference between what he describes and what I seek is sometimes described as that between tolerance and acceptance. Roughly, "tolerance" involves leaving people alone to live as they choose, even when you don't approve, whereas acceptance involves somehow affirming their choices.

But even "acceptance" seems too weak here. Acceptance sounds close to acquiescence, which is scarcely distinguishable from tolerance. Gay people don't want merely to be tolerated or accepted, we want to be embraced and encouraged-like everyone else in society.

The shift from tolerance to acceptance is apparent in the movement's goals. When I came out in the late 1980's, we were still fighting to make gay sex legal. As late as 2003, homosexual sodomy was criminal in over a dozen states. That's when the U.S. Supreme Court finally declared sodomy laws unconstitutional in Lawrence v. Texas, overturning Bowers v. Hardwick. Suddenly, tolerance was legally mandated.

Then things changed-rapidly. Just a few months later, the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts declared the state's ban on same-sex marriage unconstitutional. Gays and lesbian Americans began legally marrying the following year, and marriage became the predominant gay-rights issue in this country. Now California's doing it (despite the threat of an amendment overturning that decision), and a handful of other states have civil unions or domestic partnerships.

Legally speaking, when it comes to marriage, "tolerance" may be enough. A marriage is legal whether people approve of it or not. Socially speaking, however, marriage requires more.

That's because marriage is more than just a relationship between two individuals, recognized by the state. It's also a relationship between those individuals and a larger community. We symbolize this fact by the witnesses at the wedding, who literally and figuratively stand behind the marrying couple. Marriage thrives when there's a network of support in place to reinforce it.

Beyond that, marriage is a life-defining relationship that changes those within it. This is why the claim "I accept you but I don't accept your homosexuality" rings so hollow. When my relationship is life-defining, rejecting it means rejecting me. "Tolerating" it is better, but not by much: nobody wants their life-defining relationship to be treated as one would treat a nuisance, much less "a mind-numbing waste of time."

And so the rap-music analogy falters in at least two ways. First, listening to music doesn't require the participation of others (beyond those who produced it), but marriage does. At least, it does in order to work best. Marriage is challenging, and it needs community support. Second, no one wants their life-defining relationships to be merely "tolerated." Ideally, they should be celebrated and encouraged.

Obviously, not everyone will approve of everyone else's marriage. You politely applaud at a wedding even if you think the groom is a jerk. But the ideal is still one where others' participation is crucial. I've even been to wedding ceremonies-straight and gay-where the minister turns during the vows and asks, "Do you pledge to support Whosie and Whatsit in their marriage?" and the audience responds "We do!"

That's one reason why same-sex marriage is so contentious. We are not simply asking people to "tolerate" something we do "in the privacy of our bedrooms." We are asking them to support and encourage something we do publicly. We are asking them, in effect, to participate.

We should not be ashamed of asking for that. We're social creatures, and it's natural for us to seek others' support. It's especially natural for us to seek it from our friends and family. But insofar as we desire such support from people not ready to provide it, we need to make the case for it.

A recent Newsweek article ("Young, Gay and Murdered") about Lawrence King-the cross-dressing gay 14-year-old fatally shot by a classmate last February-has prompted many accusations of "blaming the victim." In it author Ramin Setoodeh asks:

How do you protect legitimate, personal expression while preventing inappropriate, sometimes harmful, behavior? Larry King was, admittedly, a problematical test case: he was a troubled child who flaunted his sexuality and wielded it like a weapon-it was often his first line of defense. But his story sheds light on the difficulty of defining the limits of tolerance.

And later:

For [many teachers and parents] the issue isn't whether King was gay or straight-his father still isn't convinced his son was gay-but whether he was allowed to push the boundaries so far that he put himself and others in danger. They're not blaming King for his own death-as if anything could justify his murder-but their attitude toward his assailant is not unsympathetic.

Let's start with the obvious. The murder of Larry King was wrong.

It's tempting, and maybe prudent, to end there. Because anything else said, particularly anything critical of King's behavior, will look like a "but": "The murder of Larry King was wrong, but…"

No-the murder of Larry King was wrong, period.

There is, however, more to be said, not with a "but," but with an "and." So here goes.

By most accounts, Larry King was something of an obnoxious presence at school, engaging in behavior that at least bordered on, and probably crossed the line of, harassment. Assuming these accounts correct, Larry King should be blamed. Not for his own murder, obviously, but for some of the behavior that preceded it. He wasn't perfect.

Yet there are many complicating factors. First, it is unseemly to speak ill of the dead, especially dead children, most especially dead murdered children.

Second, both King and his killer Brandon McInerney came from rather troubled backgrounds, and both were merely kids-factors that mitigate responsibility generally.

Third, some of King's obnoxiousness was an understandable defense mechanism against others' cruelty. (For example: tired of being taunted in the locker room, he got revenge by ogling the boys as they changed clothes.)

And fourth, any criticism of King will strike some people as homophobic or transphobic, as some of it certainly has been.

All of that said, one can criticize bad behavior without in any way suggesting that it warrants murder, much less premeditated murder. Such may be the case of Larry King.

The important thing now is not blame; it's learning from what happened. Doing so requires a candid look at what went on and why, with an eye to reducing the likelihood of similar tragedies.

In assessing the case, Setoodeh focuses on whether Larry was allowed to push too far. He's certainly correct that if teachers had reined in some of King's misbehavior, he might well be alive today.

Isn't that blaming the victim? Not in itself (though other aspects of Setoodeh's treatment are admittedly troubling). To say that King's misbehavior was causally connected to his killing is not to say that King was in any way morally responsible for his killing. (Technically speaking, even King's showing up for school was causally connected to his killing: had he not been there, he would not have been killed as he was.) A causal factor is not the same as a justifying factor.

But King's misbehavior wasn't the only causal factor, and we must be careful not to ignore others. Among these was teachers' discomfort in discussing GLBT issues, leading them to feel a false dilemma between "We need to let him express himself" and "We need to prevent disruptive behavior." Freedom of expression never justifies sexual taunting, gay or otherwise, just as sexual taunting never justifies murder.

Moreover, there was teachers' failure to rein in other students' harassment of King-a causal factor Setoodeh scarcely considers.

There were other factors as well, including troubled family backgrounds for both youths, and McInerney's access to a gun. Had any of these been absent, King might be alive today.

Most of all, let's not forget McInerney's apparent belief that it's better to be known as a killer than suspected as a homo. Why did McInerney kill King? Perhaps the simplest answer is that he was embarrassed by King's sometimes unpleasantly expressed crush on him. His "solution" was to shoot King in the head, twice, as the latter was sitting quietly in an eighth-grade classroom.

And that was wrong, period.

First published at 365gay.com on July 21, 2008

Here's the latest for the "politicians trying to have it both ways" file: John McCain on gay adoption.

Asked about the subject by the New York Times, McCain made clear that he opposes it. Here's the relevant portion of the interview in full:

Q: "President Bush believes that gay couples should not be permitted to adopt children. Do you agree with that?"

McCain: "I think that we've proven that both parents are important in the success of a family so, no I don't believe in gay adoption."

Q: "Even if the alternative is the kid staying in an orphanage, or not having parents?"

McCain: "I encourage adoption and I encourage the opportunities for people to adopt children; I encourage the process being less complicated so they can adopt as quickly as possible. And Cindy and I are proud of being adoptive parents."

Q: "But your concern would be that the couple should be a traditional couple?"

McCain: "Yes."

A few days later, after considerable criticism, McCain's director of communications issued the following "clarification."

"McCain expressed his personal preference for children to be raised by a mother and a father wherever possible. However, as an adoptive father himself, McCain believes children deserve loving and caring home environments, and he recognizes that there are many abandoned children who have yet to find homes. McCain believes that in those situations that caring parental figures are better for the child than the alternative."

Let's start by making something clear: nobody gives a flying wallenda what McCain's (or any other candidate's) "personal preferences" are. My personal preference is that children be raised by parents who dress them in tasteful Ralph Lauren sweater sets, but I'm not about to translate that into public policy.

Second, the follow-up question in the initial interview could not have been clearer - "Even if the alternative is the kid staying in an orphanage?" - and, at best, McCain punted on that question. Given the thousands of children in need of good homes - often due to heterosexual irresponsibility - and the number of gay couples selflessly stepping up to the plate to provide for them, McCain's response was nothing short of shameful.

McCain's "clarification" just added insult to injury. Through an aide, he went out on a major limb and said - are you ready? - that having "caring parental figures" is better for children than abandonment. Now there's some bold leadership for you. (Notice that the campaign couldn't even bring itself to mention gay parents- just "caring parental figures.")

Everyone knows what's really going on here. McCain is trying to impress the religious right by being against gay stuff. But in the year 2008, insulting gay parents isn't cool in the eyes of moderate voters. So he flip-flopped - but in a vague enough way that he can pretend he didn't.

Let's suppose one believes, as McCain apparently does, that all else being equal it is better for children to be raised by both a mother and a father. I think this is a defensible position, although the best available research on gay parents suggests that their children turn out just as well as those of straight parents. But let's grant the premise for the sake of argument.

What follows with respect to gay adoption? In practice, virtually nothing. That's because even if - all else being equal, which it seldom is - straight couples make better parents, gay couples clearly make very good parents, and adoption is one arena where we cannot afford to make the best the enemy of the good.

Indeed, parenting in general is such an arena. Otherwise no one would be fit to have children.

In general, children do better with more-educated parents than with less educated ones, but we don't conclude that all prospective parents must have college degrees. In general, children do better with comfortable financial resources than with meager ones, but we don't insist that prospective parents must have higher-than-average incomes. In general, children do better with grandparents around, but we don't tell orphans that they themselves should never become parents. And so on.

Here's another thing that research and common sense tell us: in general, children who are planned do better than children who are "accidental." And unlike straight couples, gay couples never say "Oops, we're pregnant." So perhaps we shouldn't be surprised that children of gay parents do as well as they do.

I'm not suggesting that children of gay parents don't face unique challenges. But the main one happens to be other people's ignorance. When such ignorance comes from an adoptive father, it's surprising. When it comes from a potential president, it's downright unacceptable.

Barack Obama believes that marriage should be between a man and a woman. Yet he opposes the California ballot initiative that would write that view into the state constitution, calling it "divisive and discriminatory." What gives?

Obama's not alone in this apparent contradiction: Arnold Schwarzenegger, the state's Republican governor, holds a similar juxtaposition of beliefs: that marriage should be between a man and a woman, and that the state's supreme court did the right thing by declaring California's ban on same-sex marriage unconstitutional. (Thanks to the court's decision, California began marrying same-sex couples on June 16-an activity the ballot initiative aims to stop.)

Meanwhile, presumptive Republican presidential nominee John McCain disapproves of the court's decision and supports the initiative to overturn it. Yet McCain, Schwarzenegger and Obama all agree that decisions about marriage should be left to the states.

Confused yet?

For simplicity's sake, let's focus on Obama, and let's start with the last issue first: marriage should be left to the states. There's no contradiction in holding that states (as opposed to the federal government) should set marriage policy, while also holding an opinion about which policy they ought to favor.

But that still leaves the question: according to Obama, which policy should they favor? Heterosexual-only marriage, or marriage equality?

The answer depends upon what Obama means by "I personally believe that marriage is between a man and a woman." Does he mean it as a matter of personal preference, as when I say, "I personally believe that martinis should be made with gin (but by all means, have a vodka martini if you want one)"? Or does he mean it as a matter of public policy?

At first glance, Obama seems to be skating the line between the two. His endorsement of robust federal civil unions-but not marriage-for same-sex couples suggests a public-policy stance against full marriage equality. (By "full marriage equality," I mean extending marriage to gays, not creating a "separate but equal" institution under a different name.) By contrast, his remarks on California suggest a mere personal preference that he doesn't feel compelled to write into law.

There's a third option as well. Perhaps Obama's belief that "marriage is between a man and a woman" is stronger than personal preference (as in my gin martini example) but still not something he wants to codify legally. Perhaps he holds a religious or moral objection to same-sex marriage-not merely in the sense of "I don't want this for myself" but in the sense of "No one ought morally to choose this." Would he then be inconsistent for supporting the California decision?

Not necessarily. In a pluralistic free society, not every moral conviction can be-or should be-enshrined in law.

That's not just because doing so would be unwieldy and impractical. And it's not just because some laws have unintended and undesirable consequences. As important as those reasons are, they miss the key point.

That point is that securing our freedom sometimes requires giving others the freedom to behave in ways of which we disapprove. As former New York Governor Mario Cuomo once put it, discussing the relationship between his Catholic faith and his policy positions:

"The Catholic public official lives the political truth … that to assure our freedom we must allow others the same freedom, even if occasionally it produces conduct by them which we would hold to be sinful…. We know that the price of seeking to force our beliefs on others is that they might some day force theirs on us."

I'm not suggesting that Obama thinks same-sex marriage is sinful-I frankly doubt that he does. I am suggesting that there's a way to believe, consistently, that marriage should be heterosexual and that it would be a mistake to stand in the way of those who hold otherwise.

Obama might also-quite reasonably-worry that the amendment would do more than stop same-sex marriage. It could also strip away domestic partnership benefits, including health care, as amendments in other states have done. That might help explain his "divisive and discriminatory" charge.

Of course, to say that these reasons would render Obama's positions consistent is not to say that they're motivating him. More likely, his positions are motivated by political reality. He can't afford to alienate gay-supportive Democrats by opposing same-sex marriage, and he can't afford to alienate mainstream voters by endorsing it. So he does both, and neither.

Obama isn't unique in trying to have it both ways. It's not about logic-it's about politics.