IGF CultureWatch

Conservative opposition to gay marriage is having unconservative effects, helping to push the boundaries of family law into new territory that challenges the primacy of marriage itself. By opposing gay marriage, conservatives are forcing gay families to seek refuge through untraditional means that could undermine marriage or destabilize family concepts in ways that gay marriage itself would not.

Here are four examples:

Second-parent adoptions. When married couples adopt, both become the legal parents of the child. Traditionally, however, only one member of an unmarried couple could adopt a child. Among other things, this rule has encouraged the couple to get married because it would provide the child with two parents.

Gay couples, who can't marry, must find other ways to protect their children. Starting in the early 1980s, the National Center for Lesbian Rights pioneered the concept of "second-parent" adoptions by which two unmarried people could both be a child's legal parents. Over time, the concept has been embraced by courts or by statute in about half the states.

Here's the kicker. Second-parent adoptions have also become available to unmarried heterosexual couples. Thus, a legal reform intended to compensate for the unavailability of same-sex marriage has been seized by those who can marry but choose not to. It reduces the incentive to marry and means more children will be raised out-of-wedlock.

Triple parenting. Another unconservative consequence of the ban on gay marriage is illustrated by a recent case in Pennsylvania. The case involved a lesbian couple who enlisted a male friend to act as a sperm donor, resulting in the births of two children to one of the women. When the lesbian couple split, the state courts decided that the women should share custody and that the sperm donor should be allowed monthly visits and be ordered to pay child support. Thus, the children would in effect have three parents shuttling them back and forth among three different homes.

Marriage exists in part to clarify legal responsibility for children. If gay couples could marry, as straight couples using sperm donors or surrogate mothers can, they would be more likely to seek exclusive parental rights at the outset (as married straight couples do) because they could adopt as a couple and because of the additional security marriage would give their relationship and their children. Sperm donors and surrogate mothers, for their part, would be more likely to surrender any parental rights since they would be reassured the child would live in a two-parent family fully protected in the law.

Triple-parenting arrangements don't lead to polygamy, as some conservatives claim. Lesbian mothers aren't usually keen on marrying sperm donors, after all. But these arrangements do undermine the traditional idea that, when it comes to children, two are parents and more is a crowd.

While gay marriage alone won't eliminate the many scenarios in which multiple adults vie for children, just as marriage hasn't eliminated them for straight couples, it would make them somewhat rarer. The absence of gay marriage is opening the door wider to the very trends conservatives believe are destabilizing to families.

Parental visitation. In Minnesota, the state supreme court recently upheld an order allowing a woman parent-like visitation with the two adopted children she raised with her lesbian partner of 22 years. Because the women weren't married, only one of them formally adopted the kids. When they split, the legal parent barred her ex from seeing them. If they'd been married, both parents would have been entitled to see the children.

The non-parent sued to get some access to the children based on a Minnesota statute allowing a person "reasonable" visitation if the person lived with the children at least two years. The court ordered that the non-parent be given the right to visit the children on a schedule exactly like what a divorced parent would get (weekends, alternate holidays, long summer vacations) - all without having to pay child support.

The Minnesota decision was correct under state law and was perfectly justified given that the lesbian couple could not marry and that both women raised the children. But it does set a precedent by which an unmarried heterosexual partner could likewise claim full parental visitation rights without accompanying support obligations. Another incentive to marry is eroded.

Adult-adult adoptions. Adoption means the two people - the parent and the child - are not strangers in the eyes of the law. It makes them kin.

Not all states set age restrictions on adoptions, so in theory an adult could adopt another adult as his "child." Barred from marriage, that is exactly what some gay couples have done. One partner adopts the other, giving the two adults some degree of the legal protection marriage would have given - like the rights to visit each other in the hospital, to inherit property without taxation, and so on. This is a perversion of traditional adoption law, to say the least, made attractive only because the partners can't marry.

Gay families are of course just one part of much larger developments changing family life in the U.S. Those living outside marriage - gay or straight - will understandably find creative ways to protect their loved ones. Left-leaning reformers would regard many or all of these innovations as good; in fact, they are championing them. Conservatives eye them suspiciously because they bring with them the potential to undermine marriage and traditional parental forms and presumptions. Gay marriage would relieve some of the pressure to concoct alternatives.

Think of it this way: Gay families are a rising river stretching across the country. Conservative opposition to gay marriage is a dam blocking the way. Impeded in its natural course, the river does not dry up; its flow is simply deflected into a hundred rivulets and low pastures.

Many conservatives may conclude in the end that the collateral damage being done to stability and tradition is worth it to keep gay couples from marrying. But before family policy is further inundated, they should at least weigh the unconservative consequences.

We were having Margaritas, and my friend Luke paused in the middle of a tirade against evangelicals.

"Oh, wait," he said. "Um, are you religious?"

I hate this question.

Because "Are you religious?" implies a yes-or-no answer: yes, you're religious; no, you're not.

I'm not comfortable in either category, so I'm never sure what to say. Do I give them the long answer? Or do I mutter "No," which is shorthand for "I'm not evangelical or born again," which means: "I'm not the kind of Christian you're worried about."

I don't even know, honestly, about calling myself Christian. I go to church, but I think a lot of my brothers and sisters in the pews would likely be suspicious of my suspicions about dogma.

On the one hand, I went to seminary for a short time and take Christianity very seriously. On the other, I wrestle with the fundamental tenets that make Christianity what it is and not something else: the resurrection of the body; the idea that one Middle Eastern man saves every one from sin and he himself is God; the virginity of Mary; a personal God who keeps his ear open to each of our problems.

Back in the early days of Christianity, all of these things were up for grabs. I would have been comfortable being Christian then (well, philosophically comfortable. That whole martyrdom thing is another story).

Yet there is another side of Christianity. The idea that God is love. The conviction that one should practice radical compassion. The very challenging notion that we should treat others the way we would like to be treated. The sentiment that individuality should never rise above working for and with the group.

This is very difficult stuff. But this is what connects me to the belief system that is Christianity. Because Buddhism, though a completely different religion on a dogmatic level, has some similar underlying beliefs, I tell people I am Christian-Buddhist, so I don't scare them away.

I first started doing this about a dozen years ago, when I was visiting New Orleans. I still wore a cross then, so often that I would forget that it rested against my collarbone. I was being hosted by a friend, but when she took me to the lesbian bar in town, I noticed that her friends were shooting me odd looks.

"What is it?" I asked my friend finally.

She shifted feet. "They think you're here to convert them," she said. "That you're not really a lesbian."

I put the cross in my pocket.

In the minds of this pack of lesbians, Christianity equaled gay hate. In the mind of my friend Luke, who is straight, Christianity equals a shutting down of conversation.

I hate the evangelicals for that.

This, of course, is very un-Christian of me. But the Religious Right has taken something beautiful and tough and twisted it into something ugly and easy.

The most vocal segment of the Christian church at the moment has two heads: the Pope, who takes every chance he gets to try to kick out of the Catholic Church anyone who disagrees with him so as to ensure it's "purity"; and evangelical Christianity, led by people like the late Jerry Falwell, who looked on the Civil Rights movement with disdain, called Bishop Desmond Tutu a fraud, and said that 9/11 was caused by "the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians."

As Luke pointed out, instead of approaching ideas that are new to them with compassion and curiosity, these figureheads of the Right instead try to kick these ideas-and people-out of the way by declaring that God doesn't like it.

As if God's likes and dislikes were as easy to discern as flavors of ice cream.

All of this means that my closet Christianity helps no one (well, except maybe my dating life). What the world needs is more diversity in Christianity, not less. Christians need to know that being Christian isn't an automatic Get Out of Jail Free card when it comes to intolerance; gays, lesbians and others on the left need to know that "Christian" doesn't equal "enemy."

So Luke asked me if I were religious.

"Yeah," I said. "I am." And I gave him the long answer.

When will the gay community's indulgence of Jim McGreevey end?

The disgraced former governor of New Jersey, in case anyone needs a reminder, was forced to announce his resignation in the summer of 2004 for, among other alleged offenses, putting his lover on the state payroll in a six-figure job for which he had few qualifications.

But that's not the story McGreevey would have you believe. Not if you listened to his resignation speech, read any of his interviews or his memoir, "The Confession," released to little acclaim last year. No, according to McGreevey, the reason he quit was because his "truth" is that he is "a gay American."

McGreevey, who readily admits that he is attention-starved and has been since he was a little boy, is now making headlines for his decision to become an Episcopalian priest. Bully for him.

There are millions of gay people in this country. Most of us are not as politically powerful and connected as Jim McGreevey once was. We work hard, pay our taxes, put up with discrimination, and, I'd like to think, if we ever get caught doing something wrong, do not rashly blame our fate on an inability to deal with sexual orientation. But Jim McGreevey was too much of a coward to admit that what he did was just plain wrong and that he was entirely to blame for his misfortune.

The world is unfair to gay people and the higher rates of suicide, depression and personally destructive behavior amongst gays, especially gay men, has a great deal to do with external homophobia. But let there be no mistake: McGreevey was forced to resign because he was a corrupt politician who shared more in common with the men in his administration now serving time in jail than he would care to believe.

Rather than own up to his abuse of office, McGreevey conflated his political corruption with his own struggles as a gay man. In so doing, he lent credence to the ignorant meme peddled by conservatives that gays are emotionally unstable and shifty people who cannot be trusted as individuals, never mind as public servants.

Conservatives once said gays should not be schoolteachers because they would molest students; they now say that soldiers should not be allowed to serve openly because they'll make sexual advances toward their fellow service members. McGreevey did the bigots' work for them by claiming it was his homosexuality that caused his resignation.

In his memoir, McGreevey says that even though it was wrong to carry on an affair with an employee, his lover Golan Cipel was more than qualified for the six-figure "consigliere" role that he played. In his desperate attempt to show that his sexual repression somehow caused his political corruption, McGreevey effortlessly unburdens himself of blame.

The logic of McGreevey's explanation dumps responsibility on the cruel, heterosexual world that repressed him, transformed him into a compulsive liar, fed his need for widespread public approval and - you guessed it - forced him to hire an unqualified foreign national with no FBI security clearance onto his personal staff and then sleep with him while his wife delivered their premature baby in an emergency C-section. Give me a break.

McGreevey's dissembling about "my truth" aids him in his mission to show that it was his homosexuality, or his psychologically diagnosed "severe adjustment disorder," that led him to behave inappropriately. Many straight politicians get in trouble for doing things similar to what McGreevey did, yet they do not make the absurd contention that their sexuality is an excuse for bad behavior. Never, in McGreevey's analysis, is anything plainly his fault and his fault alone.

Why can't McGreevey just recede into the past? As recent events indicate, McGreevey's desire for fame borders on the shameless. In addition to Oprah's couch, profiles in the Advocate and GQ and a highly publicized book tour, McGreevey auditioned for a role opposite Joan Rivers on a now-scuttled television show in which all three of the catty comedian's co-hosts would be gay men.

McGreevey's latest exploit is a desperate cry for attention, a shallow attempt to relive his 15 minutes of fame.

I think it's long past time we told him to just go away.

A favorite professor of mine once spoke of the small comforts a teacher must snatch amid the stream of indifferent students, taking his satisfaction from the occasional student "stealing a spoon." Likewise, our efforts toward gay equality are wasted unless they take root in non-gay allies. Today I celebrate an ally from one of the most homophobic industries in America, the National Basketball Association. If hope lives there, it is a sturdy creature. The man who stole the spoon? Former power forward Charles Barkley, short at just under 6 feet 5 inches.

The Round Mound of Rebound is now a successful television commentator for the sport in which he is a Hall of Famer, a onetime Most Valuable Player, and an Olympic gold medalist. The 44-year-old's most recent achievement, though, was beating 67-year-old referee Dick Bavetta in a footrace on All-Star Saturday amid speculation that his training consisted of working the Vegas buffet lines. His weight has been the subject of jokes ever since he was discovered by an Auburn University scout who described "a fat guy ... who can play like the wind."

Barkley has authored a couple of books with sportswriter Michael Wilbon, talks seriously about running for governor of Alabama, and is outspoken on social and political issues. He has a certain rough-hewn eloquence, as when he phoned a politician whom he was considering supporting and said, "You aren't going to be talking no bullshit against gay people."

Sir Charles supports the civil marriage rights of same-sex couples, and is tired of politicians stoking fears of gay people to divide the public and win votes. When former player John Amaechi came out as gay, Barkley said, "I played with gay guys. I got gay friends. Only God can judge other people. I don't care if a person is gay or not. Any jock who thinks he's never played with a gay guy is sadly mistaken. Any team you've been on at some point in your life you have played with a gay guy." Tell it, brother.

In an interview last year with sportscaster Chris Meyers, he said about same-sex couples, "I think if they want to get married, God bless them. Gay marriage is probably one percent of the population, so it's not like it's going to be an epidemic." That sounds a bit patronizing, but it is significant when a star of Barkley's stature, far more famous than Amaechi, is so cool about a subject that evinces hostility from so many of his peers.

Barkley's confrontational style got him into trouble during his NBA career, as when, after being taunted with racial epithets, he spat at a heckler, accidentally hitting a little girl; or when he broke a man's nose during a post-game fight; or when he threw a man through a plate-glass window for hitting him with a glass of ice. Regretting the spitting incident (after which he became friends with the girl and her family), he said it "taught me that I was getting way too intense during the game. It let me know I wanted to win way too bad. I had to calm down ... Instead of playing the game the right way and respecting the game, I only thought about winning."

Barkley famously said in an old Nike spot: "I am not a role model. I'm not paid to be a role model. I am paid to wreak havoc on the basketball court. Parents should be role models. Just because I dunk a basketball doesn't mean I should raise your kids." That conservative message was accompanied by compelling footage of Barkley's athletic prowess. There was something paradoxical about it: if he wasn't a role model, why was his adorable masculine self giving us advice?

Somehow, his charm always comes through. In a foreword for a book by Sports Illustrated columnist Rick Reilly in 2000, Barkley wrote, "Of all the people in sports I'd like to throw through a plate glass window, Reilly's not one of them. It's a shame though, skinny white boy looks real aerodynamic."

Asked by The New Republic about people who criticize Barack Obama "for not being black enough," Barkley sounded like a more profane Bill Cosby: "Well, that's because black people are fucked up. One of the reasons that black people are not going to be successful is because of other black people. We tell black kids that if they make good grades, they are acting white. If they speak well, we tell them that they are acting white. We have a lot of demons in our own closet - in our own family - that we have to address."

In a TravelGolf.com interview last year, he said, "I was a Republican until they lost their minds." He said, "What do the Republicans run on? Against gay marriage and for a war that makes no sense. A war that was based on faulty intelligence. That's all they ever talk about. That and immigration. Another discriminatory argument for political gain." Not that he was thrilled with Democrats, who he said "have wasted the last two years going after this guy and two years from another election, we don't have a frontrunner or a plan." As he told the Associated Press earlier this year, "The Republicans are full of it. The Democrats are a little less full of it."

There you have some good, plain American wisdom. Sir Charles, here's a big wet smooch.