IGF CultureWatch

In a unanimous ruling last week, the Iowa supreme court held, "Perhaps the ultimate disadvantage expressed in the testimony of the plaintiffs," challenging the state statute limiting marriage to one man and one woman, "is the inability to obtain for themselves and for their children the personal and public affirmation that accompanies marriage." While gay rights advocates are right to celebrate this landmark decision - a major victory given Iowa's place in the socially conservative American heartland - the court's sweeping claim here should give them pause.

Ever since same-sex marriage emerged on the national agenda, the most convincing point in its favor has been the argument that barring gays from marrying someone of the same gender violates the bedrock American constitutional principle of equality before the law. Equal Protection is not limited to the federal Constitution; this legal reasoning was paramount in bringing about pro-gay marriage decisions in Massachusetts, California, and Iowa, where supreme courts all ruled that statutes barring same-sex marriage violated state constitutional equal protection clauses. All of these courts recognized the discrimination inherent in preventing gay people from enjoying the same rights and privileges that the government bestows to heterosexuals.

Yet the Iowa court ruling, at least rhetorically, suggests another rationale for why gay marriage should be legalized: because without it, gay people are unable "to obtain for themselves and for their children the personal and public affirmation that accompanies marriage." In other words, without official government recognition of their romantic unions, gays cannot gain social acceptance. While it is an admirable aspiration on the part of the Iowa justices to correct this malady, it elides a distinction between what the law can and cannot accomplish.

In its decision, the court readily acknowledged the various legal abasements to which gays in Iowa are subjected, from the "inability to make many life and death decisions affecting their partner" to the "inability to share in their partners' state-provided health insurance, public-employee pension benefits, and many private-employer-provided benefits and protections." In addition to the bestowal of these benefits, the altering of public attitudes in a more "progressive" direction may be another positive side effect, but a court decision will not be the panacea for entrenched homophobia.

To think otherwise risks complacency. The vast amount of effort that has already been poured into passing hate-crimes and antidiscrimination statutes is evidence of the proclivity to assume that laws are enough to change popularly held attitudes. A person harboring so much ingrained homophobic animus that he would physically attack a gay person is unlikely to be persuaded from doing so because of a law imposing stiffer penalties on such assault. While an employment nondiscrimination ordinance banning sexual-orientation bias as cause for termination will no doubt protect some gays from being fired, it is not as if the existence of such a regulation will make homophobic employers more enlightened in their attitudes. Likewise, newly legal gay marriage in Iowa won't help the closeted teenager in Des Moines whose parents will throw him out of the house if he tells them he's gay. Alleviating these dire situations is far harder than passing a law or winning a strategic legal victory.

None of this should be construed as an argument against the Iowa court's decision, which I applaud. But, at the same time, I worry that by investing so much energy in winning court decisions and not working to win marriage equality through popularly elected legislatures, the gay rights movement is shunting aside the harder - but no less important - work of convincing the American people that there is nothing unhealthy, morally wrong, or threatening about homosexuality.

Social conservatives worry that court decisions like the ones in Massachusetts, California, and Iowa will lead to greater cultural acceptance of homosexuality, and in the end, they have a right to be anxious. As the Civil Rights Act of 1965 played a role in altering the way Americans think about race, the Iowa supreme court's decision will change the way Iowans view their fellow gay citizens, at least over time. But legal decisions written by a handful of lawyers form only a part of the struggle for the hearts and minds of the public. It wasn't lawyers and legislators who won the struggle for black equality, but rather the moral suasion, physical sacrifice, and humility of the everyday participants in the African-American civil rights movement that convinced Americans of the immorality and intolerability of the racial status quo.

Disputing the notion that marriage should remain heterosexuals-only because that's the way it's always been, the Iowa justices wrote that such reasoning can "allow discrimination to become acceptable as tradition and helps to explain how discrimination can exist for such a long time." The Iowa supreme court put a chink in the armor of the deeply ensconced antigay animus that bedevils so much of this country. Reveling in this victory, however, gays should not expect court decisions to be a substitute for the widespread social acceptance that we have sought for so long but have yet to achieve.

Just in time for spring wedding season, gay marriage activists are celebrating a triumphant few weeks. Last Tuesday, the Vermont legislature effectively legalized same-sex unions in that state. Days earlier, the Iowa Supreme Court had ruled that a statute barring gay marriage was unconstitutional. And here in the nation's capital, the D.C. Council voted unanimously to recognize same-sex marriages performed elsewhere.

But amid all the history being made, one gay rights organization did something really historic: It announced that it would shut its doors at the end of the year, because its mission was complete.

Formed in 1999 to lobby for the right of gay couples to adopt children in Connecticut, Love Makes a Family was the lead organization advocating for same-sex marriage in that state. It successfully lobbied lawmakers to pass a civil unions bill in 2005, but fell short of achieving its ultimate goal until last October, when the state supreme court ruled that the Connecticut constitution endows same-sex couples with the right to marry.

"Mission accomplished" is one of the most difficult things to say when your organization depends on working toward a cause, but Love Makes a Family did it. And other gay groups may soon need to follow suit. If the gay community truly wants to achieve equality, it will have to overcome a victim mindset that is slowly becoming obsolete.

After the thrill of the October ruling in Connecticut, Love Makes a Family executive director Anne Stanback said that she and her staff took stock of where the organization stood: They conducted surveys, focus groups and interviews with supporters and donors. No one really knew where to go from there. "There was no clear consensus about what our mission should be," she says. So she and her colleagues decided to shift course, writing in an open letter released April 1: "We have accomplished our mission, and now we want to conclude our work on a high note." The organization's political action committee will continue to raise funds and support candidates, but as of Dec. 31, Love Makes a Family's lobbying and educational divisions will become inoperative.

Contrast the decision of Love Makes a Family with that of MassEquality, a Massachusetts organization that won equal marriage rights through a state supreme court decision in 2003. It fought off successive attempts to repeal that ruling, a battle that ended conclusively in 2007 when legislators blocked an effort to put a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage on the ballot. Massachusetts' gay citizens are now equal under state law in every way, which would seem to undermine the organization's eponymous raison d'etre. Yet MassEquality continues to operate and raises money that could be directed to gay rights organizations fighting more pressing battles in other parts of the country. Today, its agenda has less to do with supporting gay rights than it does with lobbying the state government to pour more money into pre-existing, already generously funded programs such as anti-bullying measures, senior services and others.

Once the goals of an organization with a specific mission are achieved, as Love Makes a Family's were last October, it should relish its victory, cease operations and move on. This is the sign of communal maturity. The continued operation of a gay rights organization in the state that was the first to institute marriage equality and that has the most progressive gay rights laws in the country reflects a sense of eternal victimhood.

Of course, gay rights are not just about the right to adopt children or the right to marry. There remain the ongoing campaigns to end the military's discriminatory "don't ask, don't tell" policy and to pass the Employment Non-Discrimination Act, which would make it illegal to fire someone on the grounds of sexual orientation. But given the overwhelming support for these moves among younger Americans, these victories are not far off, and gay rights organizations should start facing the prospect that in the near future, their missions will be superfluous.

This is a realization that comes easier to younger gays like me (I'm 25) than to older ones. For people who grew up in a time when being open about one's homosexuality could result in being fired or thrown into prison, it's harder to move out of a mindset that sees the plight of gay people as one of perpetual struggle. This attitude is all the more pronounced in those who hold leadership positions in the gay rights movement, as their life's work depends upon the notion that we are always and everywhere oppressed.

It's in the culture of any institution to justify its existence. This is especially so with civil rights groups, which thrive on a sense of persecution, real or perceived. Take the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation, for instance. GLAAD was established in the mid-1980s, when, as its Web site correctly states, "representations of lesbians and gay men tended to fall into one of two categories: defamatory or non-existent." The situation today, however, is dramatically improved, as gays have essentially won the fight over popular culture. Countless television shows and movies feature positive portrayals of gay characters, and it's a career faux pas for people in the entertainment industry to say anything that could be remotely construed as hostile to gays (see what happened to superagent Michael Ovitz when he alleged that a "gay mafia" ran Hollywood).

Rather than rest on its laurels, however, GLAAD raises millions of dollars from media companies and wealthy donors to subsidize a bloated national staff. Its work seems to consist of little more than issuing hypersensitive press releases complaining about purportedly anti-gay content in television commercials and throwing extravagant parties to honor straight celebrities for talking about their gay friends. Far from demonstrating the increasing political power of the gay community and the acceptance it has won, GLAAD is the epitome of neediness and vulnerability.

Gay civil rights groups have a tendency to minimize victories and exaggerate threats. When President Obama chose the Rev. Rick Warren to deliver the invocation at his inauguration, those groups complained loudly. Although Warren had campaigned in favor of Proposition 8, the California measure banning same-sex marriage, the decision to include him in a purely ceremonial position signaled no change in administration policy on gay rights. Nevertheless, his mere reading of a two-minute prayer drove gay organizations apoplectic. After all, bogeymen like Warren help with fundraising appeals.

Of course, the passage of Proposition 8 last fall highlights the fact that the struggle today remains real and that love only makes a family within clearly defined state borders. There is still important work to be done nationwide, and none of this is to downplay the daily efforts put forth by gay organizations in socially conservative parts of the country. But if the ultimate goal of the movement is to achieve equality for homosexuals, then those leading it should appropriately acknowledge progress along the way. That means accepting victory when it's achieved, rather than trumping up opposition at every opportunity.

When I asked Stanback how Connecticut's gay community reacted to Love Makes a Family's announcement, she said that the response had been overwhelmingly positive but was also characterized by sadness. "There was a sense of community," she says. "It was exciting to be a part of a movement."

It's understandable that a civil rights organization's decision to shut down would induce nostalgia for struggles gone by. But the underlying reason for the move represents a step forward. Arriving days before Iowa and Vermont legalized gay marriage, it points to the day, hard as it may be to imagine now, when civil rights groups will no longer be necessary.

"God hates the queen Mary's College, the fag-infested U.K., England, and all having to do with spreading sodomite lies via The Laramie Project, this tacky bit of cheap fag propaganda masquerading as legitimate theater." Thus spake the Reverend Fred Phelps of Topeka, Kan., a man far more famous than he deserves to be. Founder of the Westboro Baptist Church, the bigot preacher's condemnations of homosexuality are so outrageous - and have become the subject of such abundant coverage by the media - that the man has become a punch line.

At least once a day, transmissions from the Westboro Baptist Church pour forth from the fax machine near my desk at The New Republic - all of them declaring God's hate for some municipality or institution due to its not taking the same zero-tolerance position on "faggotry" as the Reverend Fred. As I presume the case is elsewhere in Washington (Phelps claims to fax every U.S. congressman and senator, the White House, and many major media organizations on a daily basis), these missives are deposited directly into the trash or, as in my office, taped to a door for the general bemusement of one's coworkers.

Marginal and mad as Phelps and his followers may be, however, many see the Westboro Baptist Church as a growing and actual threat to democratic society, rather than a bizarre coven of traveling performance artists. Those who have given Phelps such undue attention have tended to be either opportunistic journalists looking for a good story or gay groups trying to scare the bejesus out of donors; in other words, they've had understandable, if not exactly justifiable, reasons for obsessing over this silly man. But now an authority no less prestigious than the government of the United Kingdom joins those who are making a mountain out of a molehill.

Earlier this year Phelps, along with his shrew of a daughter Shirley, announced plans to protest a production of The Laramie Project at Queen Mary's College in Basingstoke, a town about 50 miles outside of London. The play, which has become a required performance in the drama department of practically every right-thinking liberal high school and university in the United States, tells the story of Matthew Shepard from the perspective of dozens of people involved in his life and untimely death. Phelps, his daughter, and whatever followers they could muster were planning to stand outside the production space with their well-worn neon poster-board signs, which depict stick figures in all manner of compromising, sodomitic positions, while shouting "God hates fags!"

"Both these individuals have engaged in unacceptable behavior by inciting hatred against a number of communities," an official with the U.K. Border Agency said in an attempt to justify the decision to bar the Phelpses from entering the country. "The government has made it clear it opposes extremism in all its forms." Never mind the speciousness of this claim (the U.K. government has not been nearly as discriminating in its treatment of foreign radical Muslim preachers, many of whom have ties to terrorist organizations and have called on their British coreligionists to wage jihad against the British state). Are governments justified in banning or otherwise hindering the speech of individuals who "incite hatred" of minority groups, and if so, should gays be cheering this particular decision?

On its face, barring the likes of Fred Phelps and those who engage in such rhetorical brutality seems like a simple, catchall solution to an obnoxious problem. There's no question that Phelps is a hatemonger whose most flamboyant words might be construed as a call to violence. And given Europe's history with fascism and popular susceptibility to demagogues, one can understand how the British government would be particularly sensitive about a seeming crossbreed of Adolf Hitler and Elmer Gantry setting foot on English soil so as to shout bigoted insults about a once-oppressed minority group.

Ultimately, however, punishing Phelps for what he says is not just wrongheaded but self-defeating. One of the most fundamental aspects of a free society is freedom of speech. And that freedom extends to everyone, even the most pernicious. It means freedom for nasty, evil men like Phelps.

The decision to bar Phelps is counterproductive as it bestows far too much credit on the man's persuasive capacities. In explaining the rule under which his entry was barred - a nebulous law that prohibits the incitement of religious and/or racial "hatred" - the British government stated, "The exclusions policy is targeted at all those who seek to stir up tension and provoke others to violence, regardless of their origins and beliefs." Like most regulations aimed at suppressing hate speech, the British law is useless, and the Phelps imbroglio demonstrates its ultimate futility.

It's naive to think that everyday heterosexual British citizens with ambivalent views about homosexuality would, by dint of hearing the words of Fred Phelps, not only transform into raging homophobes but acquire a hatred of gays so intense that it would compel them to commit violence against the first homosexual to cross their paths. Moreover, treating Phelps as a genuine security threat along the lines of a terrorist gives him the attention he so desperately seeks. Perhaps if Phelps's congregation were not made up largely of his immediate family, he would be worth worrying about. But Phelps makes a living by seeking publicity, and by turning him into a martyr for free speech, the British government has unwittingly connected him with a cause he only besmirches.

Banning the speech of those with whom we disagree, even those who lie about us and condemn us to hell, betrays a fundamental principle of the gay rights movement: the notion that individuals should be free to live as they like provided their actions do not impinge on the freedom of others. Freedom is an expansive concept, including not just the right to love a consenting adult of the same gender but the right to speak and write what one believes. Phelps's words may be hateful, and many gay people undoubtedly take offense at what he has to say, but in a free society, nobody has the right to not be offended.

Indeed, the gay rights movement would not be where it is today were it not for freedom of speech. It wasn't so long ago that gay people could not meet at a bar without fear that the police would raid the premises, assault the patrons, and cart them off to jail in paddy wagons while carefully tipped-off news photographers documented the scene for the next day's front page. Early gay publications were confiscated in the mail and their publishers were prosecuted for distributing "obscene material." Gay rights pioneers cited the freedoms elucidated in America's founding documents to defend their right to peacefully assemble, protest, and express their views, often facing fierce resistance from the government and society at large.

But ultimately, gay people prevailed. Allowed to speak freely and honestly, they have effectively made their case, and today the majority of Americans support some form of legal recognition for gay couples, the repeal of "don't ask, don't tell," and the right of gays to adopt children. And while many Americans - perhaps most - still view homosexuality as immoral, they are increasingly repelled by the rhetoric of the Fred Phelpses of this world. The culture is now overwhelmingly supportive of gay equality, and it's those who would hold us back who are on the rhetorical defensive. The case for gay rights has proven itself resilient over the past half century and has gained strength with time. It does not require the shuttering of opposing views - no matter how malicious, misleading, or unfair - to win the day, which it eventually will.

The Reverend Phelps may think we're going to hell. Let him say it until he's blue in the face.