the ladybug and the lion

Abolish it.

An article ran in the New York Times today about a topic I've thought about a fair amount: the privatization of marriage.  The author argues that any couple should be able to obtain the legal rights associated with marriage, but that marriage itself should be left to churches and other religious institutions.  Nothing would be stopping anyone from having a wedding ceremony, but the only portion recognized by the government would be a civil partnership granting them the same legal rights as marriage.

In effect, this really isn't any different from the situation today in that people would have the exact same legal rights.  It's just that people have associations with the word "marriage", such as that it should occur between a man and a woman, and the hope is that by relegating marriage to churches will remove controversies such as gay marriage from the government.  This would open up the rights allied with marriage to any two people (or more?) that wanted to enter into a legal partnership; these people wouldn't have to be romantically involved, or even living together, but would simply be in a mutual agreement that they wanted to share these rights.

Some people might argue that civil partnerships already exist, so there's really no need to privatize marriage: anybody who isn't allowed to get married can get a civil union.  There's a few problems with that, one being the whole separate but equal issue, but the other that there are only a few states (California is one of them) where people in civil unions have all the same rights as people that are married.  But even in the case of California, people in a domestic partnership don't have the federal rights associated with marriage.  And while that might not sound like a huge deal, there are over a thousand federal marriage rights: not just icing on the cake.

So why have any form of partnerships at all?  For a while I was of the opinion that the government really shouldn't have anything to do with who I'm involved with.  But there's a good reason for having a legal method of verifying a committed relationship: mainly for protection, especially for the non-bread winner.  Just think about it, if the person you're dependent on for food and housing suddenly decides to kick you out there's nothing much to protect you unless you have a legal document binding you to that person.  Then you have a much tighter case to get that person to at least support you while you get yourself on your feet.   

But the other rights associated with marriage are also important and should be available to any two people that want to make that commitment.  A civil partnership could even go so far as to have a checklist, so that partners could decide on specifically what rights they want to give each other.  That way, two old maids who simply want to live out their old age together can give each other medical related rights, but wouldn't necessarily receive each others social security checks.  It would be up to them.  And in a country that prides itself on freedom, you'd think that ability to choose would be of utmost importance.

Something to be Thankful For.

I've always been a staunch supporter of stem cell research, but often at a loss as to how to completely defend it.  Sure, the potential benefits are huge: it could greatly improve the quality of life for some people, and save the lives of others.  But I also strongly believe that the end rarely justifies the means, and while I'd love to say that an embryo is not "life", it's hard to deny the somewhat arbitrary nature of drawing a line to distinguish life from non-life.  And consequently I've always sympathized with the other side: the ones that label any such abuse of embryos as murder. 

I have the same reservations about abortion.  Again, I'm a staunch supporter for a variety of reasons, but that doesn't mean I'm not apprehensive about the idea of ending the life of a fetus.  I wish there was another way. Unfortunately, I don't see one coming for abortion, but stem cell research is lucky in that respect. The recent advances in genetic engineering that allow scientists to generate stem cells from skin cells has the potential to render stem cell research free of controversy.

And it's in times like this, when argument and controversy have led to a positive outcome that I'm really thankful for democracy.  Sure, one might argue that we don't even have a true democracy: that most people supported stem cell research anyway, and if the religious right had less political clout we might already have cures for god knows how many diseases.  But whether or not we live in a true democracy, we still live in a country that allows us to express our opinions.  Maybe researchers would have found alternative sources for stem cells even if there hadn't been so much government interference into this controversial research, but I doubt it would have happened so quickly.  And I, for one, like that idea that now there's at least a possibility for the same medical advancement without the destruction of embryos, and for that am thankful.

Deliberating Death.

Norbert's passing was the first death of someone that was close to my heart and I was startled by how much it affected me.  I don't know what I was expecting.  When other people have died -- committed suicide, or died of almost silly accidents such as overdrinking -- it was always a stark reminder of everyone's mortality, including my own.  It would bring an air of depression over life for a few days, and I was left wondering how someone whose name I knew could so suddenly be gone. But they were usually people I'd met once, if that: people I never expected to see again even if they had lived. 

But Norbert was different, he was family: not that I'm naive enough to think that my family will be around forever, but they also aren't supposed to leave without me being able to say goodbye.  No matter who I'm parting from, unless I'm explicitly told otherwise, I expect to be able to see them again.  And, if they're going to die, there's supposed to be some sort of warning, or at least enough of one so that I have time to prepare for the fact that this person is simply no longer going to exist.  Thankfully, we did have some warning with Norbert.  But the estimation was off and I never expected everything to happen so quickly.  He was supposed to have longer, perhaps even enough time for me to go visit him next spring or summer.  Or, if not that, there was supposed to be at least enough time for him to receive the card I sent him. 

Maybe that's selfish.  It's surely not someone's responsibility to have to listen to their family's laments and exclamations of pity while dealing with their own impending death.  I wouldn't want to have people crying at my bedside for months, and I certainly would not wish it on anyone else.  But the result is a level sadness that I only recently discovered.  Not that I would have been any less grief-stricken had I been able to properly say goodbye, nor known what to say to Norbert had I seen him.  But I would have liked to tell him that I will always remember him, because I will.  And who wouldn't want to hear that?

We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love. 
~Madame de Stael

More Than Just A Mouthful.

Another, obituary of my uncle ran in The Times.

And another in The Telegraph.

And one more in The Independent.

"An Aristocratic German Mouthful."

My great uncle, Norbert Lynton, recently died of cancer and his obituary appeared yesterday in the Guardian.  I would love to be able to write about a memory or anecdote involving him, but since we lived a continent apart I've only seen him a handful of times during my lifetime and many of those times were when I was very young.  The time I did spend with him, however, usually involved food and wine, which as the Guardian points out was one of the luxuries he never denied himself.  He also gave me one of the most unique birthday presents I have ever received: a piece of artwork from his private collection, which currently hangs above my bed. 

Despite the fact that we rarely saw each other, he always greeted me with warm kisses and a hug and I consequently knew him, and will remember him, as one of the friendliest members of my family. 

Rest in peace.