Sealing the deal for gay marriage

Though he attends Mass every Sunday, State Rep. Paul Kujawski confesses he was a little nervous as he walked through the doors of his Roman Catholic parish this past weekend. Just days before, Kujawski had cast a vote against an anti-gay marriage constitutional amendment, a controversial about-face from his vote in favor of the amendment back in January. His change of heart put him in direct opposition to the Catholic hierarchy, which has long lobbied against marriage equality. There was no predicting how fellow parishioners in his conservative, blue-collar town of Webster would react to his presence. He needn't have worried. The majority of congregants, said Kujawski, welcomed him. "They grabbed my arm or they patted me on the back or they hugged me," he said. "And it was a good feeling."

Kujawski, a seven-term incumbent who once actively supported repealing the Goodridge decision, was one of nine legislators who tipped the balance against the amendment at the constitutional convention (ConCon) on June 14. The amendment, which was sponsored by the organization VoteOnMarriage.org, failed on a vote of 45-151, five votes short of the 50 it needed to be placed on the 2008 general election ballot. It was a resounding defeat for marriage equality opponents considering that the amendment had passed with 62 votes during the last legislative session at the Jan. 2 ConCon. Clearly, much had changed between January and June.

The victory resulted from MassEquality's radically re-engineered lobbying and grassroots strategies and the organization's cooperation with Gov. Deval Patrick, Senate President Therese Murray and House Speaker Sal DiMasi. The organization added two more lobbyists to its existing team, enlisted the family and friends of same-sex couples to contact their legislators while continuing to encourage married gay couples to do the same and deployed "grass tops," or individuals influential with a particular lawmaker because of their personal or political relationships. Meanwhile, they shared all of the information they gathered from their efforts with Patrick, Murray and DiMasi, who in turn used it to shape their own individual discussions with lawmakers.

State Rep. Brian Wallace, another of the legislators who changed his vote (Wallace was not present at the Jan. 2 ConCon, but had supported previous efforts to ban marriage equality) was on the receiving end of just about every one of MassEquality's organizing tactics. The South Boston Democrat said he heard from numerous marriage equality supporters in district, be it a cookout in Dorchester Heights or from the three same-sex couples who approached him on Thomas Park in Southie as he walked with his daughter. "One lady finally said to me, you know rep, you represent us too," Wallace recalled. "I said, 'Wow.'"

Additionally, MassEquality dispatched state Reps. John Rogers - a conservative Democrat who had a high profile change of heart on the amendment some time ago - and moderates like Marty Walsh, Mike Moran, Joe Driscoll and Southie Sen. Jack Hart to offer their support. Openly gay state Rep. Liz Malia for the first time leveraged her relationship with Wallace. "She's never asked me for anything since I've been [at the State House]," said Wallace. She said, 'Brian, I know it's a tough district and you're being pulled but this is an important one for me.'"

Said Wallace, "MassEquality really did their homework. Hats off to them as far as being polite, knowing the issue and having people call me that they knew made a difference in my life."

Kujawski characterized the lobbying that was done between January and June as "a lot more effective" than it has been in the past, because constituents "brought me into their homes [and] they brought me into their lives," he explained. "They made me a part of their understanding [of] how they lived every day and they opened up to tell their stories." And it wasn't just same-sex couples this time around, Kujawski noted. "It was the parents of their [gay] children, friends, the neighbors."

In Wallace's case, the official "grass tops" may have just been batting cleanup for openly gay former state representative Susan Tracy, who unwittingly planted the seeds of Wallace's conversion at the wedding last August of former House Speaker Tom Finneran's niece. Seated side by side with their respective partners at a table in the State Room, Wallace and Tracy, whose friendship goes back to their days working for Boston Mayor Ray Flynn in the early 1980s, struck up a conversation about their families. "We talked for a good hour and a half about our kids and about what we hoped for our kids and bringing them up," said Wallace, who noted that they also shared family photos. "It was just a great conversation." By the time he left the celebration Wallace was asking his wife, "How can I vote against that? Why?" Lest anyone get the impression that MassEquality's lobbying effort was that orchestrated, Tracy said the seating arrangement was unplanned and emphasized that she made a point to avoid a political discussion about marriage given the social setting.

Not everyone who changed their vote was swayed by the pro-equality juggernaut, however. In her first media interview since she surprised advocates on both sides of the issue, state Rep. Christine Canavan said she dodged early attempts by DiMasi, Murray and Patrick to discuss the marriage issue with her. Solomon also conceded that early on the Brockton Democrat was scratched from the list of targeted legislators due to her apparent unwillingness to be lobbied on the issue. Canavan said she did consult state Democratic Party Chair John Walsh, a marriage equality supporter and Canavan's longtime friend, and pro-equality state Rep. Tom Kennedy, who also represents Brockton. Otherwise, she sought counsel from her husband Paul, her eldest son, her 84-year-old father and a local Catholic priest, who to Canavan's surprise, told her to vote her conscience. She continued to play it close to the vest up until June 14, when she said she hinted to DiMasi that she was leaning toward voting against the amendment.

"The first person actually who knew what I was going to do was Sarah Peake," said Canavan, referring to the openly lesbian state representative who sits beside her in the House chamber. And Peake didn't find out until Canavan clutched her forearm during the vote and said, "Watch this," as she pushed the red button. It was the button Canavan said she expected to push back in the 2004 ConCons, until she was barraged with phone calls from constituents demanding that they be allowed to vote on the issue. "Every time I pressed the button I wasn't too happy about it," said Canavan. But believing that time had mellowed opposition to marriage equality in her district and fearful of a divisive and ugly ballot campaign, Canavan took the priest's advice and voted her conscience. And though she has visions of a well-funded opponent in next year's election, Canavan began the interview with Bay Windows by stating, "Actually, inside my own heart and soul, it's been very peaceful."

The support of the state's three most powerful political leaders, opened up valuable lines of communication for MassEquality, which had dramatically expanded its field operations while zeroing in on about two dozen legislators they believed would be open to changing their votes (See "MassEquality Beefs Up Lobby Strategy," March 21). As the organization collected information about the concerns of wavering legislators from constituents who were meeting with them in districts across the state, it was passed on to DiMasi, Murray and Patrick, who were also holding discussions with targeted lawmakers. The hiring of Doug Rubin as Patrick's chief of staff in April was another boon to pro-equality advocates. At the time he was tapped by Patrick, Rubin, a chief adviser for Patrick's gubernatorial campaign, had been consulting with MassEquality on its field strategy. After the governor's tumultuous first months in office, Rubin understood that this was a fight that Patrick needed to win, said MassEquality Campaign Director Marc Solomon. He also had a genuine commitment to the cause of marriage equality and a familiarity with MassEquality's field operation. All of which is to say that Rubin made synchronizing the efforts in the field and at the State House a much easier task.

"I was obviously working with the governor on this, working with the staff on the Senate President's side and the Speaker's side," Rubin said of his efforts. "It was actually a great example of all of us working together."

"What mattered in the end was what I call the troika - the three most powerful elected leaders in the state uniting together to work for us and to push this over the edge," said Arline Isaacson, cochair of the Massachusetts Gay and Lesbian Political Caucus, who lobbied against the amendment. "I cannot tell you what a difference those three made."

There were also two additional lobbyists making the rounds in the State House halls, in addition to Isaacson and Norma Shapiro of the ACLU of Massachusetts. The Gill Action Fund, an LGBT political organization helmed by former state legislator and Melrose Mayor Patrick Guerriero, funded the work of former state senators Bob Bernstein and Henri Rauschenbach. Bernstein, a Worcester Democrat, worked on Central Mass. legislators; Rauschenbach, a Brewster Republican, took on GOP lawmakers, according to Solomon.

Guerriero said the lobbyists were hired after Gill did a comprehensive assessment, which included meetings with the governor and other legislators, to determine where they could best add to the work that was already being done to defeat the amendment. "One of the pieces we thought we could help complement was added lobbying support to an already all-star team," said Guerriero.

Guerriero said the "seasoned political veterans" were chosen for their bipartisan experience and because of their existing relationships with legislators. They each brought another important quality to the table as well: "Quite frankly," said Guerriero, "they were also individuals who also had a journey around these issues as well. There's something special about being able to walk through these issues [with lawmakers] in a way that's real."

With the added reinforcement, Solomon said his confidence that the amendment could be defeated began to grow around mid-May. "I didn't know we could do it, but I thought we could do it," he said. But it was "nip and tuck" right up until the last minute he added, and DiMasi corralled at least three legislators who fell off the reservation on the morning of the vote, though he declined to name them.

The final headcount, said Shapiro, "was a very closely guarded secret."

"I think the senate president and the speaker and the governor were really the only three who really knew the vote count," she said. It was a rarity in Shapiro's lengthy lobbying career that she conceded made for some sleepless nights in the run-up to the vote. "Usually I have a headcount, I know what's going to happen and I feel more in control, I guess, of the list," she said. "And there was no list this time, so sleeplessness [from] worrying about who had the list and whether they were accurate and whether they would be able to count noses well enough and all of those kinds of things."

Canavan proves that even the Beacon Hill power brokers weren't exact in their headcount. And just as Kujawski suffered nervous pangs when he walked into his church on Sunday, DiMasi confessed that he "was still a little nervous about the vote" before he walked into the chamber on June 14. There was no predicting how people would vote, he said. "In the end," said DiMasi, "I had great faith in the ability of my members to differentiate between the right vote ... and the vote of expedience."