The morning of June 26, 2013, I sat cross-legged on the floor, anxiously toying with the engagement ring on my left hand and refreshing the various news sites open on my laptop. I thought, with outrage, that if the “Defense of Marriage Act” (DOMA) was upheld, my wedding ceremony would be nothing more than a futile and insulting mimicry of the “right” to love and marry.

Proponents of gay marriage sought to help LGBTQ people gain rights within the political, social, and legal systems in place within the United States. This was an assimilationist strategy employed across “rights” movements throughout history, and it trickles into every facet of our daily lives as well: parents use the desire for their children to fit in, for example, to justify enforcing binary gender roles.[1] Assimilation is thus viewed as a necessary condition for happiness.[2] Judith Butler has (rather famously) described gender as “what is put on, invariably, under constraint, daily and incessantly, with anxiety and pleasure.”[3] Who hasn’t experienced both the anxieties and pleasures of gender performance? Similarly, when the Supreme Court rejected DOMA, I began saying, with pleasure, “now I can have a real wedding.”

Michael Warner has critiqued the current tendency of LGBTQ organizations to attempt to “win acceptance by the dominant culture, rather than to change the self-understanding of that culture.”[4] My desire for a gay wedding, a real gay wedding, relied on an inherently paradoxical assimilationist understanding of what makes for a pleasurable life. In this way, we might think of the “law” as both the literal and symbolic proxy for cultural “norms,” proscriptions, and phantasmatic circulations of power. As Lisa Duggan writes, “the history of civil rights struggles in the United States shows us that formal legal equality does not provide more resources, greater political power or better lives. Too often, legal equality is an empty shell that hides expanded substantive inequalities.”[5] If we take anything away from the continuance of often-obscene race and gender stratifications in the United States, it is that acquiescing to heteronormative culture in the form of legal same-sex marriages necessarily involves sacrificing radical queer potential. This sacrifice is ultimately inimical to the interests of everyone on the “outside” of heteronormative power. And, as Cathy J. Cohen has asserted, this is in fact “most of us.”[6]

With the approach of my now federally recognized wedding date—October 12, 2014—the anxiety I felt on June 26^th returned with full force: white dress shopping, music selections, invitations—who walks down the aisle first? The decisions my partner and I were making were highly gendered, raced, and classed. To make matters worse, many of our choices were attempts to “de-gay” ourselves and the wedding. It became increasingly clear that the pleasures afforded by an assimilationist approach to our lives were constantly subject to failure. With this said, I understand why parents choose to encourage, and at times demand, the gender role conformity of their children. I also understand why the legally afforded “rights” won by the gay rights movement are important—and for many, absolutely necessary—to building and sustaining happy lives. Yet, as Audre Lorde has famously argued, “the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change.”[7]

There is a cost to social, cultural, and legal “recognitions”: acclimatization within –  and to –  a heteronormative framework ultimately leaves an imperfect and unequal structure intact.

My partner and I postponed our wedding. As proponents of liberationist agendas argue, it is only with the complete destabilization of marriage—and the legal restrictions surrounding it—that we will begin to achieve meaningful equality.

-Sarah O’Connor

One unarmed black man strangled, a second unarmed black man shot. These recent horrible events have forced most Americans to become momentarily aware of the powerful relationship between the law, law enforcement and identity. Community leaders and national newspapers are calling for reduced enforcement of low-level crimes – a reversal of the “broken-windows” police policy that linked petty crime as a pre-cursor for the development of larger social ills. The relaxing of enforcement follows other recent moves to shift the borders of inclusion and exclusion. President Clinton stopped enforcing the ban on gays in the military and President Obama stopped enforcing the ban on gays marrying and the use of marijuana. These inactions demonstrate that in the United States, the enforcement of the law is inconsistent. Selective enforcement of the law has historically preceded cultural change as different groups negotiated the power relationships intertwined with law and culture.

This discussion highlights ways in which the law has been, and can be used as a rich resource for the historical study of continuity and change in American culture.

Response: Will Edmonstone

Race and the Social Security Act of 1935

In examining the relationship between law and the politics of identity, it is important to remember that while some laws are unjust "on their face," such as the recently overturned Defense of Marriage Act, others are unjust only as they are applied. In other words, while an examination of law and identity often leads to a discussion about explicit or deliberate exclusion, we should be careful not to overlook the ways in which exclusion in U.S. legislative history can often take on more subtle forms. These indirect forms of exclusion often covertly perpetuate structural inequalities. Take for example, the 1935 Social Security Act, which excluded nearly half of U.S. workers from coverage.[1] Among the excluded groups were agricultural and domestic workers, which included large segments of the African American workforce.[2] Understanding exactly how race functioned in the construction of the Act is a complex task, but doing so highlights the ways in which law-making can both reflect and build upon already existing prejudice without expressing deliberate racist intent in an explicit sense.

In his survey of the historiography of this exclusion, Larry DeWitt, a public historian with the Social Security Administration, has argued that scholars have been too quick to explain the exclusion of farm and domestic workers as a function of racism. Dewitt challenges the argument that Southern law-makers "deliberately" excluded African Americans from the Act out of fear that Social Security coverage would bolster their independence as workers. DeWitt posits that such claims are "conceptually flawed and unsupported by the existing empirical evidence."[3] He argues instead, "It is more in keeping with the evidence of the record to conclude that the members of Congress (of both parties and all regions) supported these exclusions because they saw an opportunity to lessen the political risks to themselves by not imposing new taxes on their constituents."[4] While DeWitt's argument convincingly complicates notions of "intentional" racial exclusion, his argument does not adequately address the more complex ways in which racial ideology functioned during the construction of Social Security. As Mary Poole has argued, "The Act's framers...did not design policy to deliberately discriminate against African Americans, but they structured the Social Security Act in such a way that it would inevitably discriminate against some Americans."[5] She goes on, "Once the line was drawn and the atmosphere of scarcity established, a scramble ensued...With no protections built into the Act, and no group of policymakers willing to lay down and die for them, the existing marginality of the country's 12 million African Americans guaranteed that they would fare worst in the scramble."[6] Thus, while the Social Security Act did not contain a racial animus "on its face," the law nevertheless reinforced racial inequality as it was applied. The subtlety of this distinction may make it appear unimportant, but it offers some insight into the legality of indirectly state-sponsored racism.