The Supreme Court's rulings force LGBTQ people of color, like me, to reside a bifurcated reality in terms of full civil rights protections.
Impact litigation is a suit filed to bring change to the nation when legislatures prove unwilling or unable to act, presenting a chance to change the conversation where ballot measures and bills have hit a wall. It's disruptive, cutting through the noise and the politics and allowing the facts to surface.
The modern LDS Church has repeatedly stated that marriage is between "a man and a woman." This position is curious considering Mormons' infamous history of plural marriage and the struggles they faced because of it.
Not having the option to marry the person I love in my home state -- the place where I grew up, where I learned to walk and speak, live and love, the place where I learned what growing up in a loving, committed family felt like -- is proof that the fight for equality still must continue.
Despite the fact that full LGBT equality has not yet been achieved, the trend towards achievement of that goal is definitely clear.
Maybe despite their screams to the press that they would win, they knew what was coming, what was inevitable. What followed that amazing day when my husband and I woke up without equality and went to bed with 1,100 more rights, was truly dumbfounding.
On the steps of the Supreme Court, we began to sing the national anthem. I'm amazed by how incredible it feels to sing this. It's a powerful thing to hear a host of men's voices blending together, marginalized citizens showing pride in and passion for a country slow to embrace them fully.
"Frank and Nikki sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G." Almost everyone knows the rest of this song: "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes th...
At 18, I stuffed my natural attraction to women down into my soul and chose to date men, all because a shrink had said that anyone who was homosexual couldn't possibly be normal, because who would "choose" such a difficult life?
The past five years have been long. They have been painful. But now, with the Supreme Court's decision to restore the right to marry here, California is the state we hoped it would be when we first arrived. It is a state full of possibility.
Look at it this way: When Prop 8 passed the first time, there were no parades, no scowling crowds of Mormons stripping off their strange underwear and waving banners of joy in the streets, celebrating this new and nasty constraint on love.
From Washington D.C., to California and now New York, this week has been full of exciting and long-awaited news for the LGBT community. It only felt right to have a celebration -- and that's what happened on Sunday, June 30.
I participated in a conference call with the American Foundation for Equal Rights moments after their Supreme Court victory. Speaking on the call are AFER Executive Director Adam Umhoefer; lead co-counsel David Boies; plaintiffs Kris Perry, Sandy Stier, Paul Katami and Jeff Zarrillo; and others.
Last year, my partner Sumitra and I moved to Iowa to get married. After 26 years, we will finally tie the knot this fall in Des Moines. And it occurred to me the night of the Supreme Court rulings that my marriage would mean so much more now.
Edie Windsor, the newly-turned 84-year-old who today won a huge LGBT rights victory in her suit against the U.S. government, was the star -- a heroic figure in the eyes of the crowd, albeit one for whom the mic had to be lowered when she stepped up to speak.
Supporters of democracy and the idea of lawmaking by the people -- wherever they stand on the issue of same-sex marriage -- should be troubled by the Supreme Court's decision Wednesday on California's Proposition 8.