I was travelling by bus to Cork as the first tallies were being
announced, fed to me drip by drip via Twitter or excited texts from my friends.
I relayed every scrap of information and speculation to my partner, who was sitting beside me. Combined
with the turnout figures from the night before, it was becoming clearer each
minute that the Yes side was on course for a stunning victory.
Months before, we had decided to spend this day with
friends, to celebrate or commiserate together. So we set up base in front of a
friend’s TV, watching the crowds in Dublin cheer as each result was officially
announced, sighing with relief once RTE made the official call, switching over
to TV3 to witness the bizarre scene of Vincent Browne live from The George and
wondering if it would have been more awkward had the referendum been defeated.
We hugged and cheered, and went to get beer.
Later, I watched the scenes in Dublin as the evening wore on –
thousands of LGBT people and their allies, young and old, celebrating this
great historic moment. I saw the joy in their faces and heard it in their voices. And I wondered why I didn’t
feel like they did.
I wasn’t happy - I was exhausted.
I wasn’t excited- I was angry.
A referendum is supposed to be the ultimate expression of
democratic values, and we are supposed to value democracy as one of the highest
political ideals. Wasn’t it wonderful, said the commentators, that the Irish
public had had their say, and that they had given their endorsement in the
strongest possible terms to same-sex marriage?
Wasn’t it wonderful to have my civil rights decided by a
majority? To have my identity and the value of my most important relationship
be the object of public debate? To have people give their blessing to the
status of that relationship? To do so in a way that demanded balance in the
media, because it is important to also hear from those who believe that people
like me are not worth treating as equal citizens?
It wasn’t just the content of the debate that angered me,
though that would have been enough on its own. Seeing the remnants of Old
Conservative Ireland marshal their forces for yet another assault on human
dignity was tolerable to the extent that every LGBT person learns to live with
the kind of lies and slurs and generally toxic atmosphere that such people like
to create. But never had I known it on such a scale, with posters up on every
lamppost telling me that I already had as much as I deserved, and that I shouldn’t
be allowed to raise children, and that asking to be treated with equal dignity
and respect amounted to bullying those who thought otherwise.
That was bad enough, but what was worse was the fact that
the vast majority of people, including those who voted Yes, seemed to be
perfectly accepting of the premise that this was an issue that ought to be
decided in this way – with public debates, and posters, and organized
campaigns, and nobody allowed to use the word “homophobic” for fear of seeming
negative and turning off potential Yes voters.
There didn’t have to be a referendum – the legal advice
suggesting otherwise was controversial at best, and I have argued elsewhere
that it would have been constitutionally required following the passing of the children’s rights referendum. But the fact that the government chose to hold one
wasn’t just a reflection of a different interpretation of the law – it was a
reflection of the belief of many that not only was a referendum necessary, but
that it was the most legitimate way of securing marriage equality. After all,
how can you get more legitimate than a Yes vote supported by the largest
turnout since the foundation of the state? (And yet, I suspect we will never be
asked to vote on whether straight people should be allowed to marry)
At the heart of all of this, lies the assumption that
the right to be treated with equal dignity and respect should be in the
gift of the majority. That this right may be extended to those of us who plead our
case in terms the majority find agreeable, and that if we are successful we
must be grateful to those who have offered to treat us as equals.
I am not interested in defending my worth as a human being,
but I was forced to do it, as were thousands of others. I do not feel indebted
to people who only did what they ought to have done, in voting to treat me with
equal dignity and respect, but I am expected to be grateful to them.
I am not interested in these kinds of games, but I had no
choice but to play them. I am entitled to be treated with dignity. I am
entitled to be treated with respect. I am entitled to be treated as any other
human being. And I am entitled to be angry when I am not.
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