A few quick preliminaries:
It’ll become evident that I had planned to share this post yesterday. Yesterday, however, was the day after Seattle Pride and I was still winding down from that incredible high.
Also, there is still a post for paid subscribers in the works for later this week. I am not forgetting about you!
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On June 26, 2013, the United States Supreme Court ruling for Windsor v. United States was read, invalidating section three of the Defense of Marriage Act. DOMA was panic legislation created by a Republican Congress and ingloriously signed into law by Bill Clinton in 1996, barring federal recognition of same-sex marriage. I describe DOMA as panic legislation because no state had implemented any form of marriage by 1996. Republicans were spurred by a 1993 Hawai‘i State Supreme Court case that required the state to consider the legal ramifications of banning marriage equality—a ruling rendered moot, by the way, when the people of Hawai‘i amended the State Constitution to block marriage equality. Can you feel the aloha?
Section 3 of DOMA included the text: “…the word 'marriage' means only a legal union between one man and one woman as husband and wife…”. With its 2013 invalidation, federal recognition of same-sex marriage was immediately possible. At that point in history, the states of California, Connecticut, Delaware, Iowa, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Minnesota, New Hampshire, New York, Rhode Island, Vermont, and Washington (together with the District of Columbia) had already enacted marriage equality laws.
The remainder of Americans had to wait for June 26, 2015, for the Supreme Court ruling in Obergefell v. Hodges, which extended marriage equality throughout the US, but on June 26, 2013, Hiro and I still resided in Canada.
Windsor v. United States opened the door for federal recognition, and that morning I sat before my computer, reading NPR’s website to learn more about the details. Were Hiro and I to wed, I could start filing income taxes jointly, which continues to be a gratifying change. But most importantly, and to my elation, I read that I could now support Hiro in a spousal green card application, allowing us to both return to the US as proper residents.
I jumped up from the desk in my office, in what was once a formal dining room in the house in Burnaby we rented, and I ran the length of the hall to the back corner’s bedroom where Hiro’s office sat. Let’s get married. Now.
We had been engaged since September of 2006 when we arrived in Canada, believing that permanent residence there was just around the corner. I had planned to file under the terms of a specialist occupation application, given my background in project management. I just needed to save the considerable amount of money to apply, and we both planned to use the time our Canadian visa status granted to sock that money away.
Earlier in 2013, however, the Harper administration eliminated nearly all of the occupations for the specialist application, leaving only those connected to oil sands work. I have done many things in my career but wreaking environmental havoc was not one.
For the three months between the Harper decision and Windsor v. United States, my mental health deteriorated. My freelance work volume fluctuated wildly, leaving us without a steady, reliable income.
Canada had considered us common-law spouses whenever it was time to renew my student visa (and Hiro’s work permit visa) there, but Hiro would have had no such treatment had we considered reverting to his student visa days back in Washington State—he had attended different colleges from 1998 until 2006, when we decided to move follow the advice of friends and move north.
What was triggering my depression and, os officially diagnosed, morbid anxiety symptoms? No permanent job. No permanent home. And, as I saw it, no official relationship status despite the fact that Hiro and I marked twenty years of coupledom later in 2013. My cocktail of prescription meds—topiramate, an anti-seizure medication that my psychologist thought would help, and ziprasidone, an anti-schizophrenia and anti-bipolar medication—were supposed to help me cope with all of this uncertainty. I should reiterate that I was never diagnosed with seizures, schizophrenia, or bipolar disorder. My psychologist was aware that none of the anti-depressants I had previously taken had ever worked, and he was certain that his choices would prove more effective than the Effexor, Wellbutrin, and the myriad other options that had been tried and had failed in the past.
But the topiramate (nicknamed Dopamax for its mentally numbing effect) and the ziprasidone came with side-effects that instead turned me into a zombie. Complete with blank stares, a lip-licking tic, and a loss of all laughter. The photo below highlights the best I could muster for a smile.
But when Hiro agreed to marriage and the green card process, the life I had been wanting began to come into focus. By noon on June 26, I had figured out where to file a marriage application and where to find a commissioner—there are no justices of the peace in Canada; commissioners of marriage served that sectarian role.
The Brian who had been good at standing up and stepping forward reasserted himself that day.
It’s your turn. Please leave a comment and tell me about the unexpected day that ended up changing your life.
The day that changed my life was when I was a miserable, 14 year-old trans boy laying in my room on a hot June day. I got the news that the Supreme Court had effectively legalized gay marriage at the federal level and I thought "maybe things will get better." I remember it very clearly.
Beautiful story. So glad you could finally marry and create a permanent home in the US.