Quotes of the Day

It was Culture Wars: The Musical outside the District of Columbia's Superior Court on Wednesday. On one side of the plaza, a group protesting the first day of same-sex marriage licensing in D.C. belted out familiar melodies with political lyrics, bellowing "This is the final straw with God" to the tune of "Ants Go Marching." A few yards away, a group of supporters responded with an impromptu riff on "This Little Light of Mine," drowning their opponents as they sang, "Standing on the side of love, we're gonna see them shine."

But the sing-off was as confrontational as it got that day, as change arrived with little hoopla in the nation's capital. Counterprotesters searched for protesters to counter, and both were easily outnumbered by journalists, who enveloped the newly licensed as they exited the courthouse. "Oh, it's like a dream come true," said Angelisa Young, who was the first to be licensed, with Sinjoyla Townsend. "I'm truly happy. I'm ecstatic." Young said they arrived at 6 a.m., and they were two of hundreds who arrived before noon.

Many of the applicants, hurried on by the specter of California's Proposition 8, feared that their freedom to wed could be fleeting. Brian Guse and Theran Shelton, the 23rd couple in line, got to the courthouse at 7:30 a.m. "We looked at each other and said, 'We gotta act. We gotta act while it's still available to us,' because I imagine [the legislation] will be challenged," Guse said. "Our mothers said the same thing."

The D.C. council passed the Civil Marriage Equality Act in December, joining five states in legalizing same-sex marriage, and the measure survived several attempts by religious groups to stall or counter it before going into effect on March 3. In each instance, the D.C. Human Rights Act of 1977, which prohibits discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation, proved to be the act's protector.

Still, the opposition, led by Bishop Harry R. Jackson — who made an unsuccessful last-ditch attempt to get a stay from the Supreme Court until after locals could hold a referendum on gay marriage — shows little acceptance of defeat. And D.C. councilman Marion Barry, who spearheaded the Human Rights Act before gay voters helped him become mayor in 1978, has made grim predictions based on the sentiments of his constituents. "All hell is going to break loose," he told reporters after the council voted in May 2009 to recognize same-sex marriages performed outside the District. "We may have a civil war. The black community is just adamant against this."

Many of D.C.'s same-sex-marriage supporters see the same threat and hope to keep the issue off the ballot. "If all civil rights were put up for a vote, then we would all be in big trouble," said Morgan Murphy, a heterosexual who had postponed getting her marriage license for six years while waiting for that right to be extended to homosexuals. But as she readied to join the queue of applicants with her fiancé, Todd Williamson, she concentrated on the moment. "It's time for equality," she said, "and today is the day that we start in D.C."

The Power of the Paper
Recognition was the buzzword outside and in the drab hallways where couples, eager to get their applications completed, snaked toward the Marriage Office. Many used that word in a strictly legal sense, explaining that they wanted to be married for the sake of their children's inheritance rights, taxes or hospital visits.

"There are so many basic rights that everyone should be entitled to," said Jackie Michaud, who runs a business with her spouse-to-be. "This is not some huge movement. This is asking for basic protection. This is asking for a safety net that everyone else is entitled to."

Others said they desired a feeling of acknowledgment, and there was plenty to go around in the courthouse that day. Each licensed couple was applauded and cheered by those waiting in the molasses-like line — often while getting a congratulatory cupcake (courtesy of councilman David Catania, the openly gay sponsor of the initiative).

"Though in some ways it's a piece of paper, [it's really] the recognition of a family," said father-of-two Reggie Stanley, who got the second license with Rocky Galloway. "We're proud of the responsibility it means to one another and to our community."

John Paul and Darren Vance, a couple of 14 years and parents to a 4-year-old son, were anxious to experience the linguistic simplicity that comes with marriage, banishing the vague, oft-awkward partner from their vocabulary and replacing it with the indisputable, obvious husband.

"I didn't want [our son] to grow up thinking that our family was wrong or bad," said Vance, explaining that he hopes the nomenclature will help his son feel more accepted and make critics see how typical their family unit is. "I wish the opposition could spend one day at our house, where the dog pees on the carpet and we're worried about taxes."

Another couple felt that adopting heterosexual titles would only serve to exacerbate tensions between the gay community and critics of same-sex marriage. "We're not aping the hets," said Thomas Frank Toth, a decorated 86-year-old World War II veteran who recounted stories of being raided at underground gay clubs in the '60s. Toth said he's looking to gay writers to come up with a new vocabulary for homosexual marriage, because while the institution — and its foundation of love — might be shared, he believes this new, hard-won embrace of it will remain fundamentally different.

By the end of the day, 151 marriage licenses had been processed (of which almost all were for same-sex couples). "It's like a weight has been lifted off everyone," Michaud said. "You look at people's faces, and there's genuine happiness."

• Katy Steinmetz
• There was little hoopla and lots of happiness as same-sex couples headed to the D.C. Superior Court to wed -- before the new law allowing gay marriage is challenged