Open to a Quiver

KANAB - After unanimously endorsing a conservative think tank's resolution supporting the "natural family," Kanab's City Council is coming under fire - naturally.

Gay-rights advocates and even some residents are scolding city leaders for embracing a nonbinding proposal that:

l Labels marriage between a man and a woman as "ordained of God."
l Sees homes as "open to a full quiver of children."
l Envisions young women "growing into wives, homemakers and mothers and . . . young men growing into husbands, home builders and fathers."

Valerie Larabee, executive director of the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender Community Center of Utah in Salt Lake City, finds such language archaic and offensive.

"It doesn't address what the landscape of the American family looks like today," she said Tuesday. She said the concept of family "has evolved in a lot of different ways, and it is sad when government discriminates against the rights of families."

Kanab waitress Marina Johnson, a single mother of three, agrees, arguing that the resolution stigmatizes those who fall outside its limiting language.

"It should not matter if a couple is gay or single or what their religious affiliation is or whether they believe in God," she said. "It is not right that [someone's partner] be denied medical benefits just because they are not married in the traditional way."

Instead, she says, "people should be allowed to do the right thing and take care of the people they love."

But Kanab Councilman Anthony Chatterley backs the measure "wholeheartedly."

"I support the values, hopes and goals stated in the resolution," he said. Kanab "is a strong, family-oriented community. It always has been, and we would like to see this continue."

Carol Sullivan voted for the resolution - pitched by the conservative Sutherland Institute - last week when it was introduced by Mayor Kim Lawson. But the council's sole woman did so with some reservations.

"I saw no reason to vote against it because it is nonbinding," she said, noting that no one spoke out against it. "But I did wonder why it should be a government issue."

Sullivan also sees some of the resolution's language as "chauvinistic."

"It kind of made me feel like the odd one out . . . the square peg in a round hole. But that's how it is when you're the only woman on an all-male council."

"Chauvinistic?" No, that language is downright ridiculous. And, though it's impossible to really judge Ms. Sullivan for her vote, which she registered according to her own perception and needs, she does say three things that are of use to examine: A) that she wondered why the government should be involved; B) that she was the only woman on the council, implying a certain pressure or relegation of her perception anyway; and C) that she, in the end, voted for the bill because it was "nonbinding." Just because a ridiculous law doesn't make something criminalized doesn't mean it has no negative effect on community members.

It's actually really bizarre- it's practically language pulled from Samuel Richardson's Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded, published in 1740. As the subtitle might suggest, Pamela is something of a behavioral propaganda piece instructing teenaged girls of the lower class to preserve their virtue by withholding their sexual wares until a proposal- not just a proposal, but one with an adequate financial gain- from a suitor. It also carries the disturbing subplot instruction that you should fall in love with this suitor only after the proposal has been made, and certainly after he has molested you several times, attempted rape several times, bound you, kidnapped you, and kept you hidden from society in the attic of his country home. It is, in retrospect, a kind of premonitory tale of Stockholm's Syndrome.

Pamela was also wonderfully mocked, as all social engineering crapfests must be, by Henry Fielding, writer of the masterpiece Tom Jones, in his genious novella Shamela.

And, as Henry Fielding exposes all that is culturally corrupt about Shamela, wouldn't it be nice if, say, Hurricane, Utah adopted a mocking definition of the family unit?

Not likely to happen. Once, while staying in Hurricane with a group of 12 travelling Tibetan monks, I went to the local dairy-queen knock off in neighboring La Verkin for some snacks. Hurricane is a truly beautiful small town on the entrance to the stunning red-rock formations in Zion National Park- one of the most striking and underknown national parks in the country.

I ordered my strawberry shake and some deep fried mushrooms [which were fantastic]. While the 15 year old girl who took my order bossed around the 11 year old kid in the back preparing the frier, I read some of the fliers posted on the wall, to get a feel for local events, etc. One or two for the local high school's upcoming band fundraiser, one church social announcement, and about 10 for a local candidate for Washington county Sheriff. The Noble Candidate's entire platform relied on 2 points: he vowed to refuse jurisdiction to any county case to any federal agent, including FBI, CIA, NSA, Homeland Security, and most importantly, the ATF; and he vowed to make the county a "UN-Free Zone," whatever exactly that means.

No worries. Just waiting for my 'shrooms. The girl brings out my strawberry shake. The second she turned her back on the kitchen, the kid in back pulls out a Gameboy from his pocket. Blip, bloop- diddlywow!

The girl hears it and whips around: "What'd I tell you! Back to work, you rat!"

As she turns around so fast, a glint of light off metal catches my eye. She closes her fingers around the handle of an overly large handgun- a pistol stuck into the back of her jeans.

"I hate when I have to bring you to work!"

"Well, can I go home then?"

"NO!"

She turns to me. She hasn't smiled once. "Uhm. Can I get these things in a box or something?" I say, "You know. To go. Got... some monks I need to check on."

She glowers at me. Her hand is still behind her- I imagine her fingers too-sensually rubbing the grip, the handle. The kid just keeps playing Gameboy.

"Yah." She returns, shoves my mushrooms in a paper back with a plastic tub of ranch. "Take it easy."

"Thanks," I say. I shuffle out the door. On the way, thinking about this scene, I sneak into the box and grab one of those mushrooms. Damn. Damn that was a good fried mushroom.

True story.


So yeah. I doubt that Hurricane will be very excited about satirizing the city-level politics of neighbor-city Kanab any time soon. Guess that duty will be left up to us.