Same-sex marriage and freedom of association

One reason often given for opposing marriage equality is that government should not force caterers, florists, tour-bus operators, and the like to provide services in situations that would violate those service providers' religious or moral beliefs. While I believe in equal rights for same-sex couples, I agree that the service providers should not be forced to violate their beliefs. People do not forfeit their freedom of association by disagreeing with me. Also, competitive pressure provides an obvious remedy; if one bakery refuses to take my money, it thereby hands a competitive advantage to another bakery that will. Finally, I do not see the point of forcing people to take my money if they do not want to do so.  In short, since freedom is not a zero-sum game, we can accommodate both equal protection of the laws for same-sex couples and others' freedom of conscience.

On the other hand, I am still waiting to hear a cogent reason why freedom of association applies only to those who oppose same-sex marriage and not, say, to those who have an equally sincere opposition to remarriage after divorce in the absence of an annulment, or in other words why opponents of same-sex marriage deserve a special privilege.  Cherry-picking fidelity to principle is not fidelity to principle at all.

I like to raise that issue with those Catholics who oppose marriage equality on the ground of freedom of association, especially those who believe in their church's teachings against some forms of marriage that secular law allows. They either throw out a red herring or play the persecution card.

I know your inner life better than you do.

People often try to make their point by making assertions about a complete stranger's inner life. If they gneuinely believe that they have the power to discern such things and aren't simply bullshitting, why don't they put that power to any of the obvious good uses to which it could be put, instead of using it only for op-ed columns and Internet arguments?

Today's "More Honest than We Intended to Be" award goes to....

Concerning the sequester, that trim in the rate of growth of vast hacking back of government spending, Brian Beutler writes in Talking Points Memo:

The point of sequestration is supposedly to create just enough chaos that regular people — people with political clout, such as, say, business travelers — demand that Congress fix it. Or as the Democrats conceived it, to create the public pressure they need to knock Republicans off their absolutist position on taxes.

The mask slips, but Beutler hurriedly pushes it back into position in the next paragraph:

They allowed Republicans to inaccurately characterize the FAA furloughs as a political stunt. [emphasis added]

Why can't they disagree peacefully, like sophisticated Europeans?

A little of that Gallic sang froid about which we keep hearing might have helped here:

French MPs come to blows as gay marriage debate ends

Punches were reportedly thrown in the French parliament on Thursday night as MPs wrapped up the long debate on the government’s gay marriage bill.

* * *

Enraged by what they believed was an insulting sneer by one of Justice Minister Christiane Taubira’s advisers while one of their number was speaking, about 20 right-wing MPs rushed onto the floor of parliament shouting “Out! Out!”.

“Punches were thrown,” according to Socialist MP Bernard Roman, while other sources said that one hit a parliamentary official called in to keep order.

Sheeple are easily bound and slaughtered, or: Happy April 15, everyone.

Whenever income-tax rates come up in conversation, it's a safe bet that someone will respond, "I get money back." Yes, most of us already knew about tax refunds, but their existence doesn't address the point. The fact that people keep repeating the argument shows that many people either are that easily duped or want that badly to be duped.

Fiction: The Raw Materials of a Man

“Are you going to finish that?” asked Kenny, pointing to my uneaten French toast with his fork.

“No, you go ahead and finish it,” I responded, pushing the plate across the table.

Kenny wordlessly took the plate, placed it in front of himself, and set upon the French toast.  After finishing it off, which did not take very long, he shifted his bulk in his chair and looked at me for a bit.  Then he said, “You’ve been acting strangely lately.”

“How so?” I asked.

“You seem so … I don’t know … distant.  Like we hardly even know each other anymore.  Like we’ve grown apart.”

“What are you talking about?”  I asked.  “It’s not at all as though we don’t know each other.  I take you everywhere with me.  The things that I used to do by myself, we do together now.  Now finish that up so we can get out of here.”

As I thought about what he had said, however, I realized that he had a point.  We hardly seemed like the happy couple that we had been before.  When we first met, Kenny, only 20 and still in college, seemed less like a man than like the raw materials from which men are made.  I almost immediately fell in love with him for his potential, and I knew that I would be able to guide him to achieve that potential.  Lately, however, he seemed ever less reachable.

Once Kenny finished and cleared the dishes, we got onto the road to the bookstore.  “So what is this again?” Kenny asked while we were on the road.

“It’s a book signing.”

“Yes, I remember that, but what book?”

“The Crossroads of the Spirit by Raven Silverberg.  We talked about that; remember?”

“Oh, yeah, that new-age crap that you’re into now.”

“Yes, that ‘new-age crap’ that I’m into now.  Instead of sneeringly dismissing it, you really ought to keep an open mind; you might learn something.”

Kenny just sighed.

“You might want to show me a little gratitude,” I said, “for trying to open you up to new experiences.  I know that if you had an open mind, you’d find them enriching.”

“Oh, and just how do you know that?”

“Don’t ask such ridiculous questions.  I just do.  Now would you mind not ruining this for me?”

“Oh, all right, I promise not to ruin it for you.”

At the bookstore, I told the author my name so that she could autograph the book.  After autographing it, she turned to Kenny and asked, “And you are?”

“Ken Parks,” said Kenny, extending his hand.

“Well, Ken,” said Raven, “I get the sense that you have a very old soul.  Are you a seeker after knowledge like your friend Ron?”

“Well, I guess I’m a seeker after knowledge, but not like Ron.”

“I see.  What do you believe about the world beyond the physical?”

“I’m very open-minded about it; I’ll believe whatever you can prove to me with evidence and logic.”

“That’s, um, a very interesting perspective, young man.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, a few other people require my attention.”

On the way home, I asked, “What did you mean by that?”

“What did I mean by what?”

“That you’re a seeker after knowledge, but not like me.  And that comment about whatever she can prove with evidence and logic was just plain rude, especially after you’d promised not to ruin it for me.”

“What I meant was just what it sounds like,” Kenny answered in a testy tone.  “We’re different people, and sometimes I get tired of having you tell me what my interests should be and what I should think.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to expose you to new things.”

“Expose me to all the new things you like.  I don’t have to agree with all of it.”

“I expose you to new things like that because they’re what you need to enrich your life.”

“And you just know, better than I do, what I need to enrich my life, right?  Stop trying to control what I think.”

“I don’t get you.  This morning, you complained that we were growing apart, and now you complain that I’m trying to control what you think.  I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”

“That’s just it.  It’s like I’m not me; I’m just something to turn into another you.”

We spent the rest of the ride home in silence.

That evening, Kenny seemed distant from me.  I finally said, “You used to be more open to new things.”

“When was that?” he asked, barely looking up from the magazine that he had been reading.

“When we first started going out.”

“Back then, I was trying to get to know you.  It didn’t mean that I wanted to be a clone of you or believe everything you believe.”

“And here I thought you were doing it to grow as a person.”

Kenny threw the magazine onto the coffee table.  “So I’m supposed to grow as what person?  You?  Believe whatever trendy bullshit comes down the pike if you want.  Shove a crystal up your ass and chant your mantra.  But don’t assume that just because you’ve gotten into it, I have to be, too.”  He got up and started heading to the bathroom.

“At times like this,” I said, “I think that the Kenny I first loved has gone away.”

After a long pause, he came back into the living room.  “At times like this,” he said, “I don’t think the person you first loved ever existed at all.”  He went into the bathroom.

“I suppose you’re right,” I muttered, and then hoped that he hadn’t heard me saying so.

Free speech and hate speech, or: The obligatory Michelle Shocked post

Michelle Shocked has the right to be Princess Clara on the subject of same-sex marriage and then to backpedal furiously when called on it. Concert-goers have the right not to support her, as do performance venues in the absence of a contractual obligation to do so.
People have responded to Shocked in ways like this:

Freedom of speech and artistic expression are critically important, but this isn't free speech. This is hate speech.

In fairness, the petition calls for voluntary measures rather than government censorship. Yet in making the distinction between free speech and hate speech as though they were mutually exclusive categories, which, at least in the US, they are not, the author of the petition plays a dangerous game. For one thing, our opponents have become adept at playing the hate-speech card whenever anyone dares to examine their beliefs critically.