Sad day for marriage equality. But now I'm moving on to the next skirmish.

So the people of Maine have voted. And 53% get to take away the civil liberties of a minority.

Deja vu, all over again. In October 2008, my husband and I got married. We had made huge (for us) contributions to the No on 8 campaign. I worked my heart out as a volunteer on that one -- can't even guess how many phone calls I made. Then, it was just a year ago today that we went to the polls in California. Election day was spent staffing a "get-out-the-vote" hub. Woke up the next morning to find that Prop 8 passed, also with a slim majority.

I remember the hurt. I remember the tears. I remember the anger.

And today, I feel it all over again.

Last year, the election results awakened me, motivated me to become much more involved in my community at an unprecedented level. The results from Maine simply reinvigorate that commitment.

I still do not understand how equality can be put to a popular vote. The majority MUST not define the rights of a minority. That's the real outrage. Time after time, my rights and full equality under the law are being put to a popular vote.

Now the fault-finding and finger-pointing will begin. Sure, I'm filled with anger at the National Organization for Marriage and the Catholic church. And at a President who could have said something and didn't. But hold on a minute.

Based on the numbers, voters at the polls in Maine voted against their gay family and friends. How? Why? Is it really possible that all of those people voted to strip rights away from LGBT friends? Could they really have voted against people they love? I can't believe that.

I believe that, when people know us, it's far more difficult to vote against us. Which is why my own community -- despite the temptation of blaming others -- really needs to examine itself. Harvey Milk told us years ago: "Come out, come out, wherever you are." We’re a community; we need to act more like a community. Until we really start caring about what happens to each and every one of us, nothing will change for any of us.

We need to continue to reach out so that real people get to know the real us. Now is not the time to fight hate with hate. Hearts and minds are changed through honest, heartfelt discussion. I believe this. I must believe this.

It's time to reveal ourselves as the love-filled people we are. Let them know us. One-by-one. Face-to-face.

Yes, hurt, tearful, and angered. And the fight will go on.

Marriage Equality: One Year Later

One year ago this weekend, I was married to my partner of 23 years. I'm celebrating this first anniversary, feeling joy, anger, disappointment, and hope.

Joy, because I am married to a wonderful man with so much love to share.

Anger, because of last year's Prop 8 election result, and the California Supreme Court's subsequent upholding of the stripping away of a right from a group, because a slim majority of the public wanted it so.

Disappointment, because while I am still legally married (the Court didn't nullify my marriage), I feel a bit like a freed slave. I have my rights, but my brothers and sisters in my community don't have theirs.

And hope. Hope, because today is Coming Out Day and tomorrow, thousands will march in Washington and elsewhere, for equality ... demanding equal protection in all matters governed by civil law in all 50 states.

If you want to see what a gay wedding looks like (well, my gay wedding anyway), click on the video links below.


Part 1 is the ceremony.


Part 2 is the reception.

Moving and ordinary at the same time. I've been married one year as of Sunday, October 11. And the world hasn't wobbled off of its axis. The sanctity, validity, and meaning of hetero-marriages in California weren't threatened by my marriage.

Glad to celebrate. Sad that others don't have the same right.

Equal protection, as guaranteed under the 14th Amendment. We will accept no less and will work until it is achieved. We should not have to beg or bargain for the right to work our jobs and go to school free of harassment and discrimination, the right to safety in our daily lives, the right to equitable healthcare, the right to marry, and the right to serve in the military openly.

Community Centers Change Lives

Bet you didn't know it, but today is LGBT Center Awareness Day. Vital services are offered by lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender community centers. I'm proud to serve as a volunteer board member for the Center in San Francisco.

LGBT community centers are the front doors to the LGBT community, and in the United States serve over 40,000 people weekly. They become the backbone of the LGBT community, reaching across metropolitan, suburban, and rural areas. Click here to find one near you.

While progress has been made, it is still challenging to "come out" in today's society. Often, people feel isolated, and don't find welcoming entree into being who they are.

Even in progressive, uber-liberal San Francisco, newcomers to the community -- whether arriving from Kansas or the City's Sunset district -- have to make their way through a confusing maze.
The San Francisco LGBT Community Center empowers those individuals to build community. Yes, San Francisco is rich with organizations and agencies serving specific needs of the LGBT community. The Center works to enable collaboration. Rather than duplicating existing services, The Center works alongside each of them, fostering connections and insuring that people in need find them.

The Center is not only a meeting place and shared headquarters space for dozens of groups (though that's important, too). It also provides activities benefiting the entire lifespan of LGBT people, from our KidSpace program (childcare for program participants) to elder services. I'm personally proud of The Center's youth support, HIV support, computer access, and economic development/business assistance efforts.

Click on any of the links to learn more, or to support the Center, click here.

And tell someone you know that today is LGBT Center Awareness Day!

Lest We Forget

I try to keep my blog posts "on target," being at least somewhat related to philanthropy.

But I can't help but take note that 11-year old Jaheem Herrera, one of the boys who recently committed suicide after enduring months of anti-gay slurs and physical abuse at school, was buried on Tuesday.

Children solemnly filed into the church to say their last goodbyes. Jaheem's mother broke down in sobs as her only son was wheeled past her in a coffin. So sad.

So, we've lost another young life because of anti-gay bullying in schools. Jaheem Herrera. His name joins the list: Eric Mohat, Lee Simpson, and Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover. And who knows how many others?

My fear? Despite the growing media coverage, the issue won't be addressed. Before long, no more media coverage will be warranted. The numbers will grow to the point that this is no longer news. They'll just be a statistic. So sad.

I so totally relate to this story. I don't believe I've ever shared this with anyone, so you heard it here first. The only time I ever contemplated suicide, I was about 12, in the seventh grade, about a year older than Jaheem. For a couple months, a group of boys were taunting and harrassing me. "Gay" hadn't been invented yet; in the mid-60s, I was "homo." Not even really understanding its meaning -- neither me nor, in all probability, the attackers -- it was cause to threaten, punch, beat up, kick, trip, steal from, spit on, and publicly humilate.

I was writhing in agony. At night, in bed, I'd wrestle with what to do. I remember wishing that one of the attacks would result in my being hospitalized or even die. In my mind, I rehearsed how they'd find me, bloodied and unconscious or dead. "Then, they'll be sorry," I thought. Ending it all seemed a viable option, too, and more than once, I ran through in my mind's eye how I could do it. I know it sounds unreal and crazy now, but it was very real then. Thankfully, for whatever reasons, I never acted on the impulse. And I've never had suicidal thoughts since. But I do truly understand it.

Point is: Bullying is not some pre-adolescent phase or harmless hijinks. It hurts. It can kill.

Not to make too fine a link between the two, but the US House passed the Matthew Shepard Act yesterday. This hate crimes law is long overdue. Eventual passage by the Senate is expected handily -- though perhaps some months away -- and President Obama has assured us that it will be signed when it eventually reaches his desk.

Can all of this be related to philanthropy after all? Sure. Philanthropy is a Greek word whose origins literally mean “love for mankind.” Organizations arise to work on causes like this one, to promote the common good.

So, in the sadness of all this, I can point to the work of at least one organization working on the cause: The Trevor Project. This organization operates the only nationwide, around the clock crisis and suicide prevention helpline for LGBTQ youth. I invite you to learn about and support their work: www.thetrevorproject.org or call them at 866-488-7386.

Happy Valentine's Day: Support equal rights

It would be impossible to guess how many charitable events there will be today. I suppose it's next to impossible to hold a charity event on a Saturday that happens to be Valentine's Day, and NOT theme it around love and caring.

I'm going to one myself at San Francisco's majestic City Hall, a monument to Beaux-Arts. Beautiful ornamentation will abound. And I'm sure the building itself will look nice, too.

The site also happens to be where more than 4,000 same-sex couples were married in 2004. The event I'm attending will evoke that historic moment. Sponsored by Equality California (EQCA), the Equality Awards event isn’t just about glamour and glitz -- though my husband and I will be decked out in our formal dinner jackets. The event is about celebrating community achievement, recognizing selfless leaders, and renewing our engagement in the fight for equality.

To everyone, my hope for you is not that you spend your life with someone you can live with. Rather, I hope you spend it with the one you can't live without.