The Journey's The Thing, They Say

Ronald Hayden

"I need domestic partners insurance coverage," I said.

"Oh," he said. "We want to do that," he said. "We think we'll do it sometime next year, after our new products come out and we have more money."

"But I need it now," I said. "I need it in ten days."

A million phone calls ago, a million meetings ago, a million emails ago. The world was a different place then. Only a few companies had domestic partners coverage, and only one that anyone knew about: Lotus. They started a revolution.

But no one knew it then. Even the consulting firm whose report convinced Lotus to provide the coverage didn't think it meant anything. "We've heard very little discussion -- only in one or two places," they said at the time. "The trend is to reduce coverage for non-employees."

Nonetheless, I met with a manager in HR and gave him the consultants' report. I was told he would look into it and I would be "in the loop".

I soon discovered that I wasn't the first to bring up the subject. Oracle had a Lambda group -- a glb employee group -- so I joined and we made domestic partners a priority. We passed any information we came across to HR and waited for a response.

While we waited, Borland announced full domestic partners coverage. We passed along the notice.

In August, ASK/Ingres announced domestic partners benefits, to take effect in January. We passed along the notice and waited.

After a while my partner began suffering from an impacted molar that we couldn't afford to fix. One night I laid awake next to him while he was in pain. He couldn't sleep. For the entire night he tossed and turned, making the sounds of ongoing pain.

I laid there and seethed. There was nothing I could do, no way I could help. I was washed in anger, faced with the absolute and unmoving unfairness of it all. We were no different than any other married couple together for six years and trying to hold things together.

The next morning I sent email to HR.

I've got a problem, I said. My partner needs medical treatment and he can't get it.

When was the last time you had a medical procedure? I asked. How long could you have waited?

Why do we have to choose between medical treatment and bankruptcy? Why do people in this situation have to sit around waiting for something bad to happen, hoping it won't be serious enough to require a doctor? What am I supposed to tell him?

What am I supposed to do?

Perhaps it was a mistake to make such a personal appeal. I don't know. But the HR manager responded compassionately and one of the results was that the Lambda steering committee had a meeting with HR.

The first of a million meetings.

Imagine a lone straight man sitting at a table, surrounded by four gay people insisting on their rights. In our first meeting he was honest and straightforward, but often crossed his arms and afterwards we had to try to remember whether he had ever said any of those taboo words, those 'g' and 'l' words.

We certainly said them, throwing them in as often as possible. Gay lesbian bisexual, gay lesbian bisexual... The words won't go away, we made clear, so you might as well use them.

We talked about issues at those first meetings, but the issues didn't really matter. What mattered was having a manager in a room full of gay employees. What mattered was becoming real and human to someone not used to dealing with our community.

Now we were being heard. Now we were "in the loop". It was a start. In response to an HR request for input, we sent out a survey to all Lambda members asking how domestic partners should be handled. The response was overwhelmingly "treat us just like any married couple".

A few days later Silicon Graphics announced coverage for same sex domestic partners. A few days after that, Frame Technology announced coverage for all domestic partners. The dominoes were falling. We passed along the information.

After a few meetings with HR, it was clear that they were on our side. They understood our issues and wanted to make a change. But the choice wouldn't be up to them: they could only recommend. The management committee would have to decide.

So we needed to reach the management committee. They didn't know us, didn't know who we were or how many of us there were or why it should matter. We needed to reach them before they made their decision, or there wouldn't be a chance.

We used the best tool we had available: email. It provided a direct connection to anyone in the company.

We have loved ones, we said. We have families. We are here and we just want to be treated like anyone else.

We said it from all across the country. Employees from different states, departments, and divisions sent their messages to the management committee. Gay and straight employees alike.

This is who we are.

We usually didn't get responses, but we didn't expect them. That wasn't the point.

A million meetings passed, a million emails.

The questions came. Would people commit fraud by signing up sick friends? Should there be an extra charge for domestic partners? Should the benefits be for same sex couples only or for everyone?

As we answered these questions, HR commissioned a study from a consulting group to determine the likely financial impact. The study came in and we were asked to look it over and give our input.

Things were getting serious. Now there were real numbers. We looked at the study and knew immediately, with a sinking feeling: it was wrong. The numbers were all wrong.

The predictions didn't fit our research, our experience. The costs were way too high. We read through the study in detail, we quizzed the consulting group. It turned out they had based many of the numbers on a badly designed AIDS survey that took place five years ago, based in a place where almost none of our employees live, based on people twenty years older than our employee base. It had nothing to do with us.

We tore the study apart; we contacted people in the health care industry and provided statistics to prove our points. We got the cost prediction reduced by half.

Progress was being made, they were listening to us. But we were still waiting. The months were passing.

Sacramento recognized domestic partners. Then Cambridge. Then Interleaf, a competitor to Frame.

Then Stanford, just down the road from Oracle.

The world was changing.

We continued attending meetings and passing along information, wondering what the next step should be. People made personal contact with some of the management committee members and explained what the issue meant in personal terms.

And then one day, a few weeks ago, the word came down: domestic partners benefits for same sex couples were approved. They would go into effect June 1, 1993.

We were amazed, but we couldn't celebrate yet, because we still had work to do. The domestic partners statement needed to be hammered out.

How about requiring people to register as domestic partners if it's available to them? What about requiring that they treat their property as community property? Or making them responsible for each other's "necessaries of life"?

Day after day we negotiated with a company lawyer, trying to work out a fair statement acceptable to everyone. We debated the points until agreements were reached with upper management. Finally, finally, there is nothing left to do. We are done. We have arrived.

It took longer than it should have. There is anger that the journey was necessary in the first place; bitterness at the knowledge of those who were sick or died uninsured because our company did not have this coverage. But it is over.

Does it really matter, some ask, since so few people will actually use the benefits? Does it really make a difference?

It does, for people who don't have health insurance.

Three years ago high level management in our company debated whether we should even be allowed to carry a company banner in a parade or have an email id for use by gay employees; these things made some feel uncomfortable. Now, after we've worked so long to show who we are and explain what we're about, a senior manager stands on a stage and explains that, because marriage isn't available, domestic partners coverage is the right thing to do.

Something has happened. The fight has made a difference.