It is a curious feeling when a man who devoted a significant chunk of his career to your oppression dies. On the one hand, he is a human being, with a family and friends, deserving of respect and dignity. On the other, so am I, and in his dissent for Lawrence v. Texas, the case that struck down an antiquated sodomy law in the Lone Star State, he compared my relationship with my boyfriend to bestiality. This wasn't in a bygone era, either; this was in 2003. In the year of "Crazy In Love," Antonin Scalia told me I was the moral equivalent of a dog-fucker. In a Supreme Court decision. Ouch.

I don't want to celebrate, but when we encourage patience in the matter of equal rights by saying "the bigots will die off," this is what we're talking about. I am left with what I can only call mixed feelings.

As a Catholic, I understand Scalia's background and his biases, and as a writer, I admire his love of language. He was, without a doubt, a razor-sharp legal thinker, the creator of some truly blistering arguments. That's why it was always so disheartening to watch such a grand intellect wasted so often on such hatred, to watch a Supreme Court Justice devote such consideration and energy to injustice. He didn't just cast votes against equality, against me, time and again; he did so gleefully, with florid language, with zingers. He seemed to revel in it.

I mean, check out this snippet of his argument in Lawrence v. Texas:

"Suppose all the States had laws against flagpole sitting at one time, you know, there was a time when it was a popular thing and probably annoyed a lot of communities, and then almost all of them repealed those laws. [...] Does that make flagpole sitting a fundamental right?"

Good one! Except this was an argument about my right to have sex with my choice of partner inside my own home. Or this, from his dissent in Obergefell v. Hodges:

"[T]o defend traditional marriage is not to condemn, demean, or humiliate those who would prefer other arrangements, any more than to defend the Constitution of the United States is to condemn, demean, or humiliate other constitutions."

Hey, I'm not condemning you, he's saying, I'm just saying that putting your relationship on an equal footing with mine dooms our society to failure.

I would have liked someone like Antonin Scalia in my corner, but neither one of us was ever going to change.

Scalia's son Paul was a year ahead of me in college at Holy Cross, and every bit the doctrinaire conservative Catholic his father was. He founded a conservative newspaper and wrote fiery articles in it, bemoaning the Women's Forum and the creeping pro-choice sentiment he found on campus. The gay issue hadn't made its way to our school when we were there, but it seems to be a big part of his life now: Paul Scalia is now a priest who works with Courage, a group of Catholics who "struggle with same-sex attraction" and seek to "resist the depravity" of homosexuality by "dedicating themselves to the goals of chastity, spiritual growth, fellowship, support and good example." What a waste of two good minds.

The Scalia family's animus toward homosexuality stems pretty obviously from their strict Catholicism. Antonin Scalia was, at least where human sexuality and reproductive rights were concerned, a theocrat. As politicians have drummed up money and votes freaking us all out about Sharia Law, Justice Scalia sought to practice his own version, right here at home. (The term "Scaria Law" was right there this whole time; why didn't we use it?) He was, above all, a dangerous guy, and a reminder of why elections are important. If you care about your right to live your life the way you choose, register and vote. There are very smart, misguided people who would like to take that right away from you.

Well, now Antonin Scalia is dead, and Twitter is a cesspool. A quick reminder, folks: you don't just get the moral high ground as a prize for being on the correct side of history. You have to earn that shit, action by action, every single day. Be nice.

Let's treat him with the respect he couldn't find for us. Let's honor him in a way that would really piss him off: let's say a prayer for him.

Dave Holmes Editor-at-Large Dave Holmes is Esquire's L.A.-based editor-at-large.

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