Sometimes, there are reminders. Indications that, yes, the arch of justice bends... and sometimes breaks. Here we are, poised maybe before the queer equivalent of the Dred Scott decision at the Supreme Court (if anybody was listening to Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg at the University of Chicago law school a few weeks back, you know the court’s rulings on DOMA/Prop 8 are not going to be Brown) and hate—individual, societal, institutional—can still rear its gnarly head and wreck a life or two or three.
Consider:
*Earlier this month, a Texas judge enforced a so-called "morality clause" in the divorce decree between Carolyn Compton and her ex-husband, effectively destroying her current same-sex relationship. How’s that?
Last week, the Florida Republican Party’s 
Last week, on the 40th anniversary of her arrest, the FBI suddenly put Assata Shakur, aka Joanne Chesimard, on the Ten Most Wanted Terrorists List. She is the first woman to reach such criminal heights. The reward for her capture has been doubled to $2 million.
You may have seen this tweet, or a variation, in the last few days:
When I was in 20s, my queer friends and I had a phone tree. One of the most fun excuses to call was when a gay character would pop on TV. These were like rare birds or comets. There was a certain delight in seeing them, even when they were terribly written or acted, or when their ultimate effect was negative. For us, who rarely saw ourselves reflected in the flickering light of media ordinariness, seeing another member of our species in almost any circumstance was an affirmation that we existed, that we were, in fact, everywhere, however covertly.
Who would have thought that Donald Trump could be right about anything?