We interrupt this tour through Southern France (which actually happened weeks ago but whose posts are being spread out over the month) in order to bring you some current news.
This past Sunday is Mother's Day in France, two weeks after the holiday in the US. And I would make some joke about how France is behind the US in everything, but of course it's not really, and especially a propos to the subject of this post.
We decide to go to the Jardin des Plantes for the morning. Then I have to run Pippa back to the metro for a birthday party, then run back to the Jardin to re-meet up with my family. I tell you this only so you will understand why I cross in front of the Jardin three separate times in short order.
In front of the Jardin is the start of an anti-gay marriage march -- one last chance to protest before the first gay marriages begin (this past Tuesday, May 29). On trip #2, when I am walking back with Pippa, she spots a trove of rainbow flags. Assuming it's a counter-protest booth, we ask if we can have one. "Gladly!" Well, then I unfurl the flag and discover that they have actually spray-painted their anti-gay marriage symbol (heterosexual family holding hands) across the rainbow. However, it's a large enough flag that I can just leave it half-rolled, and I then proceed to march through the demonstration with my rainbow flag, giving it all a big thumbs down. Pippa appreciates that I'm not screaming out my opposition (as I did during trip #1) and believes I'm doing it to save her the embarrassment, but really it's only because there is no way I could possibly shout over the megaphones, speaker systems, and hundred thousand people that are marching.
On trip #3, I am alone, and it's a good thing, because a man comes up to me and -- seeing that I am ostentatiously carrying a rainbow flag (little does he know I got it from his own side!) in opposition of his march -- physically attacks me. Folks, I may be small, but I'm feisty. And, apparently, quite foul-mouthed about it. A string of loud English obscenities comes out of my mouth as I kick him, pry his fingers from my arm and flag, and shove him away. Somebody has to keep him from coming back at me, and let me tell you, it's a good thing for his own sake that they do, because I am building up to explosive levels of rage. I would say, "Unhand me, good sir!," except that he's no good sir. Plus, my swearing is not Shakespearean. It is entirely possible that I give him not only what he deserves, but also bit of what my previous pickpocketers deserve, and, frankly, almost 10-years worth of don't-curse-in-front-of-the-kids cathartic pent-up swearing.
For sheer ridiculousness, my two favorite signs/slogans in the protest are "After you, Mr. President!" as if the law actually forces everybody to get married to somebody of the same sex. And the other is "Last Mother's Day!" Yes, because once gay people can get legally married, there will no longer be mothers, or appreciation for them. I see.
On our way home for trip #4 with Gigi, we try to avoid the manifestation, but end up crossing it anyway. In two separate instances, I am stopped by older women who smile at us and echo my thumbs down of the march. Huzzah to these open-minded little old French ladies!
Tonight, on our way home from gymnastics, Notre Dame is absolutely swarming with police in riot gear. Pippa asks why, and one of them tells her there is a "risk of a demonstration." Gigi looks at the line-up of police vans, with more officers inside, and comments, "That looks like more than just a 'risk'." What she doesn't know is that about a week ago, a crazed anti-gay-marriage right-wing nutjob left a note on the altar of Notre Dame and then blew his brains out with a gun. To which I say (and I realize this makes me sound horribly callous and inhumane), "Good riddance." The cathedral was evacuated and locked up for the first time in something like thirty years.
The next day, a pro-gay marriage nutjob re-enacted the scene by pointing a fake gun in her mouth in the cathedral. She was shirtless, with "May Nazis rest in Hell" written across her bare chest. So, you can see why the police are a little over-zealous when it comes to Notre Dame this week.
Meanwhile, the state has been performing gay marriages for three whole days, and as far I know, I am still a mother, and my children still appreciate me (when I'm not embarrassing them. Which is often). We won't know for sure for another 51 weeks or so, yet I'm optimistic that I will get a batch of hand-made cards in 2014, too. But, I hope when I celebrate Mother's Day next year that I won't be attacked on the street.
This past Sunday is Mother's Day in France, two weeks after the holiday in the US. And I would make some joke about how France is behind the US in everything, but of course it's not really, and especially a propos to the subject of this post.
We decide to go to the Jardin des Plantes for the morning. Then I have to run Pippa back to the metro for a birthday party, then run back to the Jardin to re-meet up with my family. I tell you this only so you will understand why I cross in front of the Jardin three separate times in short order.
In front of the Jardin is the start of an anti-gay marriage march -- one last chance to protest before the first gay marriages begin (this past Tuesday, May 29). On trip #2, when I am walking back with Pippa, she spots a trove of rainbow flags. Assuming it's a counter-protest booth, we ask if we can have one. "Gladly!" Well, then I unfurl the flag and discover that they have actually spray-painted their anti-gay marriage symbol (heterosexual family holding hands) across the rainbow. However, it's a large enough flag that I can just leave it half-rolled, and I then proceed to march through the demonstration with my rainbow flag, giving it all a big thumbs down. Pippa appreciates that I'm not screaming out my opposition (as I did during trip #1) and believes I'm doing it to save her the embarrassment, but really it's only because there is no way I could possibly shout over the megaphones, speaker systems, and hundred thousand people that are marching.
On trip #3, I am alone, and it's a good thing, because a man comes up to me and -- seeing that I am ostentatiously carrying a rainbow flag (little does he know I got it from his own side!) in opposition of his march -- physically attacks me. Folks, I may be small, but I'm feisty. And, apparently, quite foul-mouthed about it. A string of loud English obscenities comes out of my mouth as I kick him, pry his fingers from my arm and flag, and shove him away. Somebody has to keep him from coming back at me, and let me tell you, it's a good thing for his own sake that they do, because I am building up to explosive levels of rage. I would say, "Unhand me, good sir!," except that he's no good sir. Plus, my swearing is not Shakespearean. It is entirely possible that I give him not only what he deserves, but also bit of what my previous pickpocketers deserve, and, frankly, almost 10-years worth of don't-curse-in-front-of-the-kids cathartic pent-up swearing.
For sheer ridiculousness, my two favorite signs/slogans in the protest are "After you, Mr. President!" as if the law actually forces everybody to get married to somebody of the same sex. And the other is "Last Mother's Day!" Yes, because once gay people can get legally married, there will no longer be mothers, or appreciation for them. I see.
On our way home for trip #4 with Gigi, we try to avoid the manifestation, but end up crossing it anyway. In two separate instances, I am stopped by older women who smile at us and echo my thumbs down of the march. Huzzah to these open-minded little old French ladies!
Tonight, on our way home from gymnastics, Notre Dame is absolutely swarming with police in riot gear. Pippa asks why, and one of them tells her there is a "risk of a demonstration." Gigi looks at the line-up of police vans, with more officers inside, and comments, "That looks like more than just a 'risk'." What she doesn't know is that about a week ago, a crazed anti-gay-marriage right-wing nutjob left a note on the altar of Notre Dame and then blew his brains out with a gun. To which I say (and I realize this makes me sound horribly callous and inhumane), "Good riddance." The cathedral was evacuated and locked up for the first time in something like thirty years.
The next day, a pro-gay marriage nutjob re-enacted the scene by pointing a fake gun in her mouth in the cathedral. She was shirtless, with "May Nazis rest in Hell" written across her bare chest. So, you can see why the police are a little over-zealous when it comes to Notre Dame this week.
Meanwhile, the state has been performing gay marriages for three whole days, and as far I know, I am still a mother, and my children still appreciate me (when I'm not embarrassing them. Which is often). We won't know for sure for another 51 weeks or so, yet I'm optimistic that I will get a batch of hand-made cards in 2014, too. But, I hope when I celebrate Mother's Day next year that I won't be attacked on the street.
2 comments:
I'm very proud that you guys are standing up for what's right - for gays and equality. I'm just glad that you weren't hurt, Kazz :) But I wish I could have witnessed that.
Here's a thought provoking commentary on France's struggle which the author argues is against more than just gay marriage.
http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/2d964a70-c7a3-11e2-9c52-00144feab7de.html#axzz2V5tpMYVq
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