Meanwhile, Georgia is Still Fighting Gay Marriage

In other, less heartening news, I woke up to this in my Facebook feed today (yeah, I know, only old people use Facebook anymore, shut up): the Georgia senate has approved a law which “protects religious freedom”.

God dammit.

Here’s a salient central point from the actual bill (which I looked up and read).

Government shall not take any adverse action against a person or faith-based organization … on the basis that such person or faith-based organization believes, speaks, or acts in accordance with a sincerely held religious belief regarding lawful marriage between two people, including the belief that marriage should only be between a man and a woman or that sexual relations are properly reserved to such a union.

Emphasis mine. The bill in its entirety can be read here.

I’m not a lawyer by any stretch, but I’ve re-read the passage several times and I don’t see where they say that those actions are limited to refusing to perform a marriage, as the header in the bill claims. In other words, you can do or say or believe whatever the fargo you want, as long as you’re doing so because of your religious beliefs about gay marriage.


Refuse to bake a cake for a gay couple? The Georgia legislature stands with you. Shout and proclaim that gays can’t get into heaven or god hates gays or simply that you don’t feel like serving gays? The Georgia legislature stands with you. Send a homosexual couple a bag full of excrement on the day of their wedding? The Georgia legislature stands with you.

I’m also going to go ahead and point out the idiotic double-talk present in the bill. Up in that section above, see where it says “lawful marriage”? Much as the religious right hates it, chokes on it, can’t stand the thought of it, GAY MARRIAGE IS LEGAL IN THIS COUNTRY. This law, and any law like it, is about prejudice and the denial of human rights, pure and simple.

Its proponents are predictably smarmy and blind to the double-edged sword they’re creating. Georgia’s lieutenant governor, Casey Cagle said, “We are simply ensuring that no Georgian suffers at the hand of our government for their view on marriage.” (Torres, Atlanta Journal-Constitution.) No Georgian, of course, except for those who are denied services or basic human decency because our leaders want to pander and wring their hands and stroke the egos of the religious zealots who want the world to bend their way.

I guess southern hospitality is reserved for those who think, believe, and worship the same way you do. Discriminating against a black person will land you in jail. Discriminating against Muslims apparently might get you elected present. But discriminating against homosexuals? Just say it’s a religious thing, and let the hate flow!

On a personal note, I can’t wait for a Muslim or Jew or atheist business owner to start denying service to homophobic Christians under the protection of this law. Because the moment that happens (and it would be LEGAL under this law), the “persecuted” will be shouting about discrimination and religious freedom all over again, except this time, they’ll be doing it to repeal the law they just got done passing.

The bill hasn’t passed yet, but according to the AJC, it’s just about a sure thing that it will.

As an atheist who thinks most religion is focused on a lot of the wrong things; as a teacher who has to turn around and explain things like this to young minds; hell, as a decent human being, I’m appalled at this. I’m ashamed that the people who have worked so hard to get this legislation passed represent the rest of us to the rest of the country and the rest of the world.

In forty years, we’ll be looking back on foolishness like this the way we look back at the shameful history of Jim Crow laws and segregation. Our kids, thank goodness, will think we were insane for having laws like this on the books.

In the meantime, those of us who don’t have our heads up our asses have to live with this crap, and we have to try to explain it to the rest of the world as they laugh their butts off at how bass-ackwards we are.

The Weekly Re-Motivator: Mental Contractions

I love a good metaphor ’round these parts, and the SoCS prompt this week plays right into it.

I’ve likened writing to a lot of things in the past. Hiking through a dense, all-engulfing jungle. Dragging yourself through a brutal desert. Rebuilding a car from its component parts.

But my favorites are the visceral ones, the ones with lots of fluids involved. The messy ones. The human ones. Hacking a malformed creature to bits and building a new monstrosity from the leftover gore. Slicing off redundant flesh, vestigial limbs. Draining the narrative of its thick, murky, purple-prosed blood and refilling it with clear, slippery, quick-flowing prose.

Or giving birth.

See, some writers are like insects or even trees or flowers; dropping eggs every so often or scattering spores and seeds around willy-nilly, giving birth to one narrative after another, writing regularly every day, staying productive even as their everyday lives swirl around them in a tornado of accomplishment and fulfillment.

But some of us are mammals. We can’t procreate all the time; we have to incubate, to grow the thing in utero until it’s fully-formed and ready to spring forth into the world. The work is done internally, gestating in the mind, sprouting limbs in secret, growing lungs safe from the light of day. Over months — sometimes even years — the thing takes shape. It kicks and squirms and twists, banging at the writer’s insides like a blind rhinoceros. It becomes all the writer can think about. It becomes as much a part of the writer as her own heart and brain.

And then — when the time is right (I actually wrote “write” when I meant to write “right”, which tells you how sunk I am in the metaphor) — contractions.

The body begins to reject the mostly-formed critter forcefully, urgently. In the space of a couple of hours, every system that worked to protect the young one and keep it safe reverses gears. The incubation is over: now the thing must come out or one of them may die. And come out it does. Amid screams of torturous pain, the expulsion of blood and a host of other unmentionable fluids, and an unending flurry of pushes which seem unproductive, the thing slowly slithers its way into the light.

There are writers like that. We incubate the ideas in the mind, insulating them from the light of day until they burst forth, uncontrollably and with great vigor, scattering the inkblood and amniotic word fluid across the previously perfect blank page.

And we expel this little miracle onto the table/page, where it flops around, taking its first breaths and spreading its wings (or whatever) for the first time.

And it’s … well, it’s imperfect. But it’s a thing we’ve created, and so in a way, it is perfect. And we’ll spend the coming months if not years nurturing it, feeding it, teaching it to walk and talk and influence the minds of the weak.

I’ve lost track of whether I’m talking about a story or a baby.

What are you? An incubator or a spreader-of-spores, a populator?

(And usually I include a picture, but I just can’t bring myself to post a picture of a mother in childbirth. Having witnessed it firsthand — kind of [my kids were born by Caesarean] — well. I just won’t do that to you.)

This weekly remotivational post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Every weekend, I use Linda G. Hill’s prompt to refocus my efforts and evaluate my process, sometimes with productive results.