Glitter in the air

I support same-sex marriage. Marriage equality. Gay marriage. Equality under the law. Whatever synonym you'd like to use, I will continue to nod approvingly. I consider myself an ally, and do my best to be a feminist and an anti-racist, to boot. Those who have spent any significant time within high-fiving distance of me should know these things about me already. Using a phrase that has been gaining widespread popularity in recent months, I like to believe that I'm standing "on the right side of history."

That phrase -- "the right side of history" -- is a fascinating one, rhetorically speaking. It's been amazingly effective for the recent push for gay rights, as it overtly places the struggle for marriage equality (or any other LGBT anti-discrimination cause) alongside the Civil Rights Movement, women's suffrage, abolition. You could even throw World War II in there, if you wanted to. We tend to remold historical events retrospectively into a hero/villain dichotomy, and looking back on any these movements or conflicts, we all know immediately who the good guys were. When a liberal activist appeals to you on the grounds of being "on the right side of history," she's essentially asking if you'd rather be allied with MLK or the KKK, with the Union or the Confederacy, with Churchill or Hitler. It forces you to consider your values and opinions from a broad, historical vantage point, and I suspect that -- at the local, inauspicious level of self-interrogating introspection and barroom debates -- this one tiny phrase has helped marriage equality gain quite a bit of ground. For a short slogan, it packs a semantic wallop.

When we position the fight for marriage equality alongside causes like Civil Rights in the '60s, we also tend to vicariously encourage young people, like myself, to imagine ourselves as creaky septuagenarians regaling our grandchildren with the tale. Just as we ask our parents or grandparents today what it was like growing up in a segregated America or being in college during Vietnam peace protests, we can imagine our bright-eyed offspring someday asking us, "Which side did you support?" Even further, in terms of those bygone events, we know that it's better to have not only supported "the right side" in the abstract, but to have actually done something to contribute to the cause. We revere and remember the women who silently picketed outside the White House for suffrage, and the men and women of color who sat for hours at restaurants while employees refused to serve them. Even comparably simple actions, like boycotting your usual bus in Montgomery in 1956, made individual Americans part of the movement -- not merely passive supporters.

As a tidal wave of red equal-sign profile pictures suffused Facebook this week, I began to think about participatory activism in this newest civil rights campaign. There were a number of different ways that people could (and did) react to those equal-signs, all of which seem to be separately valid to some degree:

1. It's pure and simple silliness, on the level of KONY 2012. "Facebook activism" is a contradiction in terms -- it does nothing to meaningfully affect any cause. Most people probably changed their photos out of a peer-pressure instinct of not wanting to appear as though they don't support marriage equality. Real activism hasn't changed significantly since the '60s and '70s: the people who get things done are still the people picketing on the streets, calling their congresspeople, attending town hall meetings, running for public office, giving and attending speeches and rallies. Changing an online avatar in no way falls under the umbrella of "activism."
2. It may not be "activism" in a real sense of the word, but it's still meaningful. The people who changed their profile pictures collectively sent a message to their other LGBT friends and allies that their sentiments and support are behind them. At a time when human rights are on the line, the silly red equal-sign serves as a symbol of community and cohesion, reassuring those materially invested in the cause that they're not alone.
3. In a day and age where television news programs are broadcasting tweets as if they're authoritative sources, Facebook memes absolutely count as a new kind of activism. After the red equal-sign fad hit Facebook, news outlets from HuffPo to WashPo to TIME to ABC began reporting on the trend as a legitimate story, citing it as palpable evidence of widespread support for marriage equality, particularly among the under-30 crowd. This reception indicates that "Facebook activism" isn't appreciably different from real-life protests, seeing as the goal and end result of both forms of activism is the expression of general public feeling.

It's interesting to think about this issue from the "future grandchild inquisition" perspective. Perhaps, in 50 years, when asked to reflect back on this moment in time, millennials will muster all the gravitas afforded to them by their age and will somberly confirm, "Yes, child. Not only did I support marriage equality, I did my part to help the cause. I changed my Facebook profile picture to a red equal-sign when the case was being debated in the Supreme Court." and those who failed to change their profile pictures will be forced to hang their heads in silent shame. Conversely, if that scenario seems just a little too absurd to be true, then what kind of meaning do these online gestures have? Is a momentary significance enough to justify their existence? What's the difference these days between mentally placing yourself on "the right side of history" and visibly or physically putting yourself there?

Perhaps most importantly, how likely is it that our hypothetical grandchildren will listen to our stories, look at us quizzically, and respond, "What's a face book?"