iVedded B l i o o
by ¿leg Laly
“It’s amazing to me to have my personal life
be so political,” says Elizabeth Lavenue. We are
sitting in her comfortable living room with her
wife, Myra, and their 5-month-old daughter,
Aria. The baby, dressed in a Mia Hamm-
inspired soccer shirt, smiles and chews on a toy,
then drifts off to sleep.
The Lavenues were married March 3 at
Keller Auditorium along with hundreds of oth
ers, and are now one of the 3,000-plus queer
couples married in Multnomah County await
ing word on the union’s legal status.
But emotionally and spiritually, Elizabeth
and Myra have been married for several years.
The 30-something couple, whose love for
each other is apparent in their every gesture,
had a commitment ceremony Oct. 5, 2001.
Elizabeth took Myra’s last name. Friends and
family helped celebrate. Elizabeth says the cere
mony “was a way to feel more secure in our
relationship before having a baby.”
Last spring, when news of the impending
same-sex marriage licenses broke, Myra rushed
home, dropped to her knee and asked Elizabeth
to marry her. Again.
Myra says she felt validated March 3. “And
really moved by straight allies.”
As the struggle for marriage equality heated
up with Ballot Measure 36, Myra says she and
Elizabeth became “instant activists.” They use
the word “wife” frequently in reference to one
another, both as an affirmation of their rela
tionship and to educate others that wife can
mean lesbian partner, too.
Full marriage is of heightened importance
to a family like the Lavenues. They are anxious
to secure whatever protections they can for
their young daughter. Myra was not allowed to
sign the birth certificate the day Elizabeth gave
birth to Aria. She has since adopted Aria, and
both women are listed as the child’s parents.
But they worry that same-sex adoption rights
could come under fire from the conservative
right in Oregon.
Elizabeth says marriage has “added a deeper
level of commitment, seriousness and stability”
to their relationship.
“It’s not a guarantee that you won’t have a
hiccup in the relationship," Myra chimes in.
“But it gives you a foundation.”
The Lavenues try to remain optimistic in
the face of the conservative backlash against
queers. Elizabeth calls it “a great lesson in
patience.” She credits community leaders for
helping her keep the faith.
“It’s so inspiring to have leaders like Roey
[Thorpe, executive director of Basic Rights
Oregon] who have the smarts and can talk
about the big picture,” says Elizabeth.
Myra says the path to full marriage equality
is “just a matter of educating people. “1 have
hope about that.”
»
★
Jim Morris and Richard Colombo also had a
commitment ceremony a few years prior to get
ting married March 3 in Multnomah County.
The two men, now in their early 50s, traveled
to Vermont to get a civil union license in
2002. They
brought along
some best
friends from
Portland, and
their union was
solemnized in a
small town
where the jus
tice of the peace
was also a mas
sage therapist.
A farmer at the
local courthouse
waved to the
couple as they left the building and said,
“Good luck to you!”
Like the Lavenues, Morris and Colombo
have felt married for years.
“As a gay person, you learn to create your
own values and traditions because you have to
in order to survive,” says Colombo.
Morris says their wedding day in March was
“surprisingly emotional.” Both men glow as
they talk about the day.
But Colombo adds that he knew “in all that
joy, there was going to be a hellacious backlash.”
Now that the backlash is in full swing, the
husbands have somewhat different levels of
optimism about what is next on the political
front. Morris says he is “confident there will be
marriage equality in Oregon.”
“I’m not as optimistic,” says Colombo.
“We’ve taken a major setback.”
Colombo says he would be OK with civil
unions, with the caveat that all couples,
regardless of sexual orientation, had the same
status.
“The thing that will never cease to anger
us is that we pay our taxes...w e’re great citi
zens and great neighbors... and yet we don’t
get the rights and responsibilities of marriage,”
he says.
Morris has encountered a uniquely frustrat
ing situation of being a second-class citizen
within the very business he owns. The insur
ance carrier he has for his small consulting
firm will not put Colombo on his plan. Yet
one of his straight employees could have a
quickie wedding in Vegas and get his or her
spouse on the health plan with no hitches.
Colombo says marriage is just the latest
front in the
battle for
queer liber
ation. “As
soon as our
marriages
are finally
validated, it
will be hard
to look at
us as sec
ond-class
citizens.”
Looking
at the two
bright-eyed, attractive men as they sip coffee
at a cafe— each with his salt-and-pepper hair
and comfortable weekend clothes— it is hard
to imagine anyone could miss the couple’s
boundless humanity. Morris says the Novem
ber election has changed his approach to
activism. He now looks for any opportunity to
talk to any individual or group about his life
and the rights he is denied.
Colombo— who, like Morris, came out
later in life— says that “being a gay person can
bring you enlightenment.”
“I am so glad I am who 1 am,” he says. He
gestures to his heart and says that the move
ment for equal rights “all starts here.”
Morris, beaming, nods his head in assent.
The Year in Local
Victories: Sam Adaniu
Plano i'or the Future
by Patricia L .
LiacA odha
With the challenging election finally fin
ished, one of the first actions of Portland City
Commissioner-elect Sam Adams was to con
tact rival Nick Fish.
“I thanked him for being such a good and
tough campaign opponent,” Adams writes in his
online letter to supporters. “He assured me he
would continue to stay active in Portland’s civic
life. I look forward to working together with
Nick to make Portland an even greater city.”
Just Out took the opportunity to talk with
Adams about his plans and hopes for service to
the city. Amid all of the depressing results for
Oregon’s sexual minorities, his election was a
small victory.
Adams is both the first openly gay city com
missioner and the first to be elected from
North Portland's Kenton neighborhood since
1972. The area strongly supported him in the
election. He’s also the first city commissioner
to have received food stamps, lived in public
housing and experienced, as the result of a
medical emergency, a bankruptcy (all of which,
by the way, he repaid).
Adams was horn in Butte, Mont., because
there were no hospitals in the rural community
of Whitehall, where his father taught special
education at the high school level. The family
moved to Richland, Wash., in 1965 and to
Oregon a year later. He attended schcxil in
Newport and Eugene, graduating from South
Eugene High School in 1982.
By then, his parents were divorced, and
Adams had experienced the maze of low-pay
ing jobs, subsidized student housing, student
loans and fcxxl stamps when his mother had to
find work in Portland. “I know firsthand how
families can stniggle and how the combination
of hard work and the right kind of government
can get families through the rough patches.”
These experiences drive the new city com
missioner to prioritize jobs and education by
“getting Portlanders, the unemployed and
Continued on Page 23
the Hetero States of Am erica .” — Former Minnesota Gov. Jesse Ventura speaking against the proposed Massachusetts constitutional
amendment to ban same-sex marriage, in an appearance at the Massachusetts Statehouse} March 22. d *>