Metacentricities

I’ve been thinking a lot about Proposition 8 - both before the election, and after it. In truth I have mixed feelings about the whole gay marriage thing (for example, how it happened that lesbians went from thinking it was an institution of patriarchy to something we wanted,) but that’s a different post for a different time.

I’m saddened, of course, that a lot of people in California voted to add a discriminatory amendment to the consitution. What has been troubling me lately is the response among some in the LGBT community to demonize those who voted for Prop 8 (for example, on one local e-mail list I’m on, they are being called “H8ters”, and often painted with the same brush.)

I think until we are willing to look at why people chose to vote for Proposition 8 squarely, we won’t be in a position to take right action. It’s far to simplistic to suggest that it’s simply because they hate us. And I think it’s also too simplistic to suggest that they all just listened to their pastors and were brainwashed. I’m sure that there are some people who fit in those categories, but I refuse to think that explains it all - that it explains that the majority (slim, but still) of voters in California felt strongly enough about this to vote for an amendment to the state constituion, to put their check/arrow/finger next to the line that said “Eliminates Right of Same-Sex Couples to Marry.”

Why is it that people fight against civil rights? What is it that causes them to cast ballots, or act in ways that promote discrimination? Fear is most often the motivation for treating other human beings badly. You ask: what are they afraid of? I suspect they are afraid of the same things we are: they feel their life threatened by change, and they want to have an explanation for it. They want to have a way to understand what they can do to make things better. They happen to understand it in ways that are far different than we do - but I refuse to think that most of them actively wish us harm. (Perhaps I’m naiive, but I’m stubborn.)

And, for our part, we feel scared too. We feel scared that our rights will be taken away permanently, and that our lives will be threatened. But we can’t act out of fear - we need to act out of compassion and a desire for dialogue. And, of course, we do need to act clearly and strongly to challenge proposition 8 both in court, and with another ballot measure next cycle.

I wasn’t going to blog about the election. Mostly because I don’t really have anything especially articulate to say about what happened on Tuesday that hasn’t already been said, not only about Obama’s win, but about the passage of Proposition 8 in California. I talked with my parents election night, and they said they could have never imagined a Black man as President in their lifetimes. Even I found it hard to imagine, even with Hollywood’s suggestions. And, of course, the passage of Proposition 8 is a sad counterpoint to the amazingness of Obama’s election.

But what I’m writing about is that I need something from President Barack Obama. And I need it right now.

I moved from a state that guarantees reasonably priced health insurance regardless of pre-existing conditions to a state that makes it impossible to get reasonably-priced insurance with pre-existing conditions. In California, as someone who is self-employed, It seems I can’t join a group to get reasonable coverage without getting a job. I thought that HIPPA would save me, because I’ve had coverage. But it will cost me almost 2/3 of what I pay each month in rent to get HIPPA coverage, which, at the moment, feels pretty unaffordable. And the state plan (called the California Major Risk Program) will cost only a little less (and covers a lot less, and only provides up to $75,000 in coverage.)  And as someone who has liked being self-employed, it makes me think maybe I should get a job. Or I may end up going without insurance for a while (that is, until Obama fixes things,) which feels very scary.

I have always been an advocate single payer health care, but between having a stable academic job, then living in Massachusetts, it never occurred to me that this particular situation would happen to me. It always felt a lot easier to call this system corrupt and evil, when I wasn’t caught in it. Caught in it, it feels like there is something wrong with me. The rejection letters I get from insurers make me feel like it’s my fault that they won’t insure me.

Of course, it’s not my fault. It’s the fault of insurance companies only interested in profit, and politicians without the courage to do something about it. I know fixing this is high on President-elect Obama’s list of things to do. If only for selfish reasons, I hope he gets to it sooner rather than later.

I have been thinking a lot about where I live, and the kind of place it is, and how it is so completely different than anywhere else I’ve ever lived before.

I live in Fruitvale. It is a neighborhood in Oakland that is incredibly diverse, although by far the largest population here is Latino. The census data from my zip code says that about 1/2 of the households are Latino, and the rest are divided up between Whites (next largest group), Blacks, and Asians.

My immediate neighborhood is interesting. It is not quiet. There are barking dogs (I could write a whole treatise on cultural differences in relationships with dogs,) souped up cars that roar loudly down the street, the occasional really loud party where rap or salsa is played, and the general noise of the city. One hears gunshots on occasion, and a housemate’s bicycle was stolen (locked, in front of our house) by the neighbor who, apparently, has been stealing from his neighbors for 25 years. But, we have a neighborhood watch, and it actually feels very safe - I live on a dead-end street, and many of the houses are owned by people related to each other (not to the stealing neighbor, however.)

Oakland continues to spark in me very interesting ruminations about race and class in this country because of the juxtapositions and intersections. Ruth now lives about 6 minutes away from me, one zip code up. She lives in a quiet, sedate neigbhoorhood called Glenview. Instead of aging American cars and pickup trucks, European and high-end Japanese cars predominate. There are only wooden fences, instead of chain-link. All of the yards and houses are impeccably maintained, and houses cost twice (or more) what they cost in my neighborhood. But both neighborhoods share the Farmer Joe’s supermarket, and we are both closest to the same Peet’s coffee place. It’s a very odd juxtaposition. And, the choice has been primarily mine. Unlike many, who are limited by income, credit-worthiness or both, I could as easily live where Ruth is living than live here. But I chose to live here. Some of the choice, of course, had to do with this house (it’s a wonderful space) and my fabulous housemates. But there was something that drew me to this neighborhood as well.

Somehow, my life in college towns didn’t prepare me for this. I went to a wonderful festival this morning, Dia de los Muertos, in what I guess could be called the center of Fruitvale. It was a lot of fun, and the coolest part of it, for me was that the festival wasn’t for me. People like me (people who do not have Mexican ancestry) were basically an afterthought. Everything was in Spanish, and I almost felt like I had been transported to Mexico. I was probably part of the 10% of the people there who were not Latino.

I keep watching, and learning, and hoping to find my place here.

I hate unpacking. Of course, I hate packing too, and I think packing is worse. But unpacking is a pain, too.

I’m finally settled in my new place, have all of the stuff out of the garage where it’s been stored for a few weeks, and am now faced with a mound of boxes. It’s at this stage that I want to become someone who has almost no stuff. I think fondly back in the days (college) when I could fit everything I owned into the trunk of my parent’s car. What’s funny is that I own a lot less stuff than I did in early 2005, before I ditched most of it, and went to seminary. But stuff has a way of accumulating, and by now, I have a lot more stuff.

I’m enjoying Fruitvale, the neighborhood of the home I now live in. Fruitvale isn’t quite “the hood”, but it sure isn’t Piedmont or Glenview. I’m learning a lot about neighborhoods in Oakland, and what their reputations are, what their makeup is, and how they feel. Fruitvale is very multi-ethnic - part of it is heavily African-American, then it starts to blend into a part that is heavily Latino. It’s vibrant and active. There are some great taco trucks and little produce/grocery stores, and a little restaurant down the street that makes good Licuados (basically sweetened fruit smoothies.)

Living in Oakland is about as far from living in Western Mass as you can imagine in so many ways. It’s noisy and crowded. It’s incredibly diverse. People of color are a majority of the population in most places in Oakland (with some exceptions - Rockridge/Elmwood, and the Oakland hills for instance - all upscale areas.) Oakland is an incredibly interesting study in race and class, and how those manifest itself in how and where people live.

The cool thing, though, is that it is just as progressive, and even queerer. That’s been fun.

So far, I’m really enjoying being here. I’m not really missing New England yet, although I am missing my friends there. And I found my sources for cider, an important fall thing. Weird too, being able to get local(ish - from Oregon) fresh apple cider and local strawberries at the same time! It’s going to take me a while to get used to that.