Forcing the Spring: Inside the Fight for Marriage Equality by Jo Becker Page B

front was needed, not infighting and second guessing. But what could they do? Chad had already shifted gears to try to deal with this unpleasant new reality when Kristina slowed him down. These groups already hate us, she reminded him. What do we have to lose by going to war to try to shut their motion down?
    She was right, Chad thought. Together, they crafted a tough response.
    “You have unrelentingly and unequivocally acted to undermine this case, even before it was filed,” Chad charged in a letter to the three groups he released to the press. “In light of this, it is inconceivable that you would zealously and effectively litigate this case if you were successful in intervening.”
    But it was anyone’s guess what Walker might do. Judges often like to hear from a number of parties. Why not back San Francisco’s bid, Herrera asked Chad, as a way to look reasonable? Stewart, his deputy, had the expertise. She already had a list of experts in the fields of sociology, sexuality, and history whose testimony could help convince the court that gays and lesbians suffered real harm from being deprived of the ability to marry. Plus, she was a lesbian who enjoyed a good working relationship with the established gay rights legal community; having her join a team that at the moment consisted of two straight men might ease the groups’ concerns.
    “I can help give you cover,” Herrera recalled saying. “You can say that weoppose all interveners, but if you are going to let someone in, let San Francisco in.”
    The strategy worked. On August 19, Judge Walker granted the city’s motion to join the case but denied everyone else’s. Stewart immediately began funneling the team the names of expert witnesses whom she had cited in her California Supreme Court case, as well as experts used in the other state court cases challenging marriage bans. The Gibson Dunn team seemed appreciative of the help. But Stewart found the unflagging confidence of some of her new cohorts off-putting.
    During the California Supreme Court proceedings, she had devoted every spare moment to the case. It was as though she carried in her briefcase the pain of the entire gay community. She was so worried about letting people down that it wasn’t until after she had won that she even considered what it might mean for her personally.
    A reporter from the
San Jose Mercury News
had called for comment, asking whether she would now marry her longtime partner, Carole Scagnetti. She had burst into tears. “I realized I had been holding it all at bay because I didn’t want to dare to hope for the unattainable.”
    Watching that victory be snatched back by the voters had sapped some of her belief in the system. On election night, she and Carole had spoken to their daughter, Tasha, who was attending college at Mount Holyoke. As an African American, Tasha had been thrilled by Obama’s historic election. They had taken Tasha in when she was in eighth grade, becoming her legal guardians the following year, and they were proud of the poised young woman she had become. They tried to share in her celebratory mood, but it was difficult. Black voters had flocked to the polls in record numbers to elect the first black president, but a majority had also supported Proposition 8. Both women cried before drifting off to sleep that night.
    In a contemplative moment shortly after the case was filed, Stewart pulled aside one of the Gibson Dunn lawyers assigned to it, Chris Dusseault.
    “What if we lose?” she recalled asking.
    “That’s why they hire us, to take the tough cases,” he replied.
    Stewart held her tongue, because Dusseault seemed nice enough, and as a straight white guy, she figured he had never faced any real prejudice.
    “But I thought, ‘This isn’t some big antitrust case, asshole. These are real people.’”

    Cooper had begged Judge Walker to throw out Olson’s lawsuit, arguing that the Supreme Court had already had the final say on same-sex marriage