#preventing me from getting anything done | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

therealbeachfox · 9 months ago

Text

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

#gay marriage #gay rights #gay history #gay

26K notes · View notes

qsmpbutwithsignlanguage · 8 months ago

Text

@inblueee2, here's your explanation. I apologize that this took longer than expected, I had extenuating circumstances that prevented me from researching this further yesterday, and this was also a greater undertaking than I expected. However, I appreciate that you asked, because your reply got me to look a bit deeper into this situation and get a better understanding of the legality behind this all.

(btw super sorry if I messed anything up here, law is not my specialty and while I researched this to hell and back please take it with a grain of salt)

Please Note: This is based on law in the United States of America. I have neither the fluency, the connections, the money, nor the trust in Google's translation to give a cohesive summary of Mexico's laws regarding this. If you would like that, I'll direct you to mokkacat's post that delves into that a bit more; they are Mexican, and are able to give a better analysis of that then I can.

I’ll summarize it up here, but if you want a more in depth explanation then I’ll direct you below the cut.

The Beneficial Ownership Information act requires business owners, alongside anyone who owns more than 25% of a company, to give the information of the owner to the United States government. However, this information is kept in a private and secure database. It is not public, and Quackity was within his rights to keep his identity concealed regardless of if he is a private business owner. Léa's leak of information could fall under doxing, an illegal act in California, Mexico, and France. Because this is an international situation, it’s not as clear cut as I’d like. California defines doxing by the intent of the doxer (i.e. did Léa want to cause Quackity fear for his safety/physical harm/harassment towards him and his family), however Mexico and France appear to not. If Léa intended to dox Quackity, then her actions were undoubtedly illegal. If not, then it's a bit messier. Quackity will most likely not sue Léa.

Anyway: a cut, for the in depth explanation with sources and everything. Because this is long.

Pre-emptive apologies and forewarnings: I am neither a law student nor a lawyer or legal advisor. If I misunderstand anything or misconstrue the facts and evidence then I apologize, but this is what I have gathered. I have researched this to the best of my abilities in the time allotment that I gave myself, and no falsehood written here is purposeful, however I would not be surprised if there are mistakes made. The general concept remains the same throughout.

This is the law of the United States of America, and in some places, specifically the law of the state of California. These laws may not apply to the same extent, or at all, if the following are true: if Quackity Studios is registered in Mexico, if Quackity's current primary residence is in Mexico, if Quackity is only a citizen of Mexico and not the United States of America, or if Quackity does not have any sort of green card or worker's visa. I don't know the stipulations of him living in the United States, nor will I vigorously search, as it feels intrusive. I am not familiar in any way, shape, or form with the laws of Mexico. As I don't know where in Mexico it would be registered, I cannot find administrative district/state specific laws. Again, it would feel like a breach of privacy to search for this, so I am leaving it be. Refer to mokkacat’s post for information there, if you would like.

I'm going to start from the ground up here. Any website owned and operated by the government of the United States of America has the top-level domain of .gov at the end of the URL, where you would otherwise find .com, .edu, or .gov. This can only be used by an official government organization in the United States of America (for example, the National Park Service, the U.S. Department of the Treasury, those types of things). The French equivalent to this looks to be .gouv.fr. The important thing here is that this information is, without a single doubt, verifiably accurate to the current state of the legal system and laws in the United States of America. You cannot fake it. You can fact check this by going to almost any .gov website and clicking at the top, where it says, "An official website of the United States government Here's how you know"

This is relevant information.

Now, the United States of America has a government website called Financial Crimes Enforcement Network. This website deals with, as the name suggests, financial crimes, alongside general financial information. It is a subset of the United States Treasury, and is undeniably a reliable source for information about current United States laws. One of the important, recent regulations put into place by the FinCEN involves Beneficial Ownership Information (BOI). Among other things, the BOI requires the owners (alongside anyone with 25+% ownership) of most companies registered in the United States of America to submit information regarding the identity of its primary owner. There is some nuance here, depending on how the company operates, and what exactly its actions entail (for example, accounting firms and government agencies can be exempt from this). Given the nature of Quackity Studios, however, this is most likely the law that applies.

The important thing here is that while the information of the company's owner must be provided to the government, this information is kept private from the public.

"Beneficial ownership information reported to FinCEN will be stored in a secure, non-public database using rigorous information security methods and controls typically used in the Federal government to protect non-classified yet sensitive information systems at the highest security level." - Beneficial Ownership Information Reporting Frequently Asked Questions

"Section 6403 further requires FinCEN to maintain this information in a confidential, secure, and non-public database, and it authorizes FinCEN to disclose the information to certain government agencies for certain purposes specified in the CTA, and to financial institutions to assist in meeting their customer due diligence obligations. In both cases, these disclosures are subject to appropriate protocols to protect confidentiality." - Beneficial Ownership Information Reporting Requirements

Within the United States of America, Quackity has a legal right to conceal his full name and specific identity from the public, regardless of whether or not he is the owner of a company or corporation registered in the nation. There are specific circumstances in which this confidentiality can be broken. Those are noted in the quote above (due diligence obligations and disclosure to certain government agencies). However, to my knowledge, Léa’s leak of Quackity’s personal information would not qualify as one of these moments of allowed breach, nor would that confidentiality have been broken in the correct manner.

It is established that Quackity was within his rights in the United States of America to conceal his identity from the public, but the more important question here is: why would Léa leaking his personal information be illegal? Here, I believe it gets a bit more messy.

It depends on how you view this situation. In this situation, I am using California's laws. Laws about doxing vary from state to state, and likely differ from nation to nation. If you want Mexico-specific laws, then I recommend, again, going to mokkacat's post. They have more information here than me. However, because Quackity lives at least a fair portion of his time every year in the state of California, this will focus on the laws there.

The law itself is straightforward: California Penal Code 653.2, "Every person who, with intent to place another person in reasonable fear for his or her safety, or the safety of the other person’s immediate family, by means of an electronic communication device, and without consent of the other person, and for the purpose of imminently causing that other person unwanted physical contact, injury, or harassment, by a third party, electronically distributes, publishes, e-mails, hyperlinks, or makes available for downloading, personal identifying information, including, but not limited to, a digital image of another person, or an electronic message of a harassing nature about another person, which would be likely to incite or produce that unlawful action, is guilty of a misdemeanor punishable by up to one year in a county jail, by a fine of not more than one thousand dollars ($1,000), or by both that fine and imprisonment."

Vista Criminal Law, a website ran by registered Criminal Defense Attorney, Peter M. Liss, lists examples of doxing (violations of California Penal Code 653.2) as the following:

full name

address

phone number

social security number

email address

workplace details

financial records

family information

other personal information

The important question here is whether or not Léa posted that information with the intent of placing Quackity in reasonable fear for his safety or the safety of his family and imminently causing Quackity unwanted physical contact, injury, or harassment. Hence why I am iffy about this. If Léa intended for that information to lead to the harassment of Quackity or his family; what she did was illegal. If Léa did not intend for the information to lead to the harassment of Quackity or his family, and what she did was a pure mistake on her part, then what she may have not been illegal in the state of California. This conclusion this would be different if you follow the laws of other nations, i.e. France or Mexico, because they have different laws surrounding doxing, but I’m focusing on California.

Léa caused Quackity reasonable fear for his safety, the safety of his family; unwanted physical contact, injury, or harassment. The most important thing here is intent.

To my knowledge, though I am hesitant on this, as I am not fluent or anywhere close to that in French, France forbids the act of doxing as well. Under LOI n° 2021-1109 du 24 août 2021 confortant le respect des principes de la République (1) Article 36, doxing is forbidden. "« Art. 223-1-1.-Le fait de révéler, de diffuser ou de transmettre, par quelque moyen que ce soit, des informations relatives à la vie privée, familiale ou professionnelle d'une personne permettant de l'identifier ou de la localiser aux fins de l'exposer ou d'exposer les membres de sa famille à un risque direct d'atteinte à la personne ou aux biens que l'auteur ne pouvait ignorer est puni de trois ans d'emprisonnement et de 45 000 euros d'amende."

It is difficult to define how laws work between nationalities and nations; this is something that actual lawyers and legal teams can find themselves struggling with. It is also difficult when these laws are defined by intent. The most important point here is that people argue that Léa's leak of information was illegal because Quackity had a right to retain the privacy of his personal information; and it falls under doxing, an illegal act, in both California and France.

However, the bottom line is intent is the most important thing here, and I genuinely have no clue whether French, American, or Mexican laws would apply when it comes to the dox. If Mexican or French laws apply, then it appears that Léa’s actions were illegal. If Californian laws apply, then intent would have to be defined, and that is difficult. If it was intentional, Léa committed a crime. If it was a pure mistake, then it can be summarized by saying it's complicated.

So there you go. I’m sure that there was at least one mistake in this, so I recommend taking it all with a grain of salt, but that’s my best summary of why people are arguing that Léa’s actions were illegal. I'm not sure how to end this; I've done way too much research on this topic for my own good, but I can't be mad at understanding more than I did when I started looking into this. I really hope this made sense, if you read all the way to the end, lmao. This is, like, 2,000 words.

I don't know how to phrase this any better, but I seriously think that Léa needs to get a lawyer or legal advisor and step away from Twitter for a moment. I get that she feels a moral obligation to provide fans and former fans with a constant flow of all the information that she has available (which is an important thing, and she has been the main source of inside information since this all happened), and I know that she likely cannot pay for a lawyer herself on account of the fact that this whole issue arose because she (alongside others) were not getting paid.

However, regardless of whether or not leaking Quackity's personal information was a purely human mistake rendered lesser on account of the labor laws broken by him and his studio (in her own tweets, as her own argument), it should not have happened. Bottom line is that she rushed to provide the internet with information about the situation, and she made her argument, her voice, and her credibility lesser as a result of that.

Not only did she do what could be argued as a crime in more than one nation (though I am a bit iffy here; I am not a law graduate or student of any sort), but she directly harmed Quackity, and possibly his family, who had no part in this situation.

Her need to get information out as quickly as she can as the inside force led to this massive mistake, and no matter how you want to frame it (because it is still a mistake), it really should not have happened. It harmed both Léa and Quackity (though I would stand to argue one more than the other), and it could have been avoided if there was someone else working behind the scenes, or if Léa had simply checked the screenshot over a few times before posting it.

I'm not certain how to end this post, but I've thought this for a long time. This is a legal situation in which she is one of the primary witnesses. With such a large part of this playing out on Twitter, in a borderline trial of public appeal (not sure how much better I can phrase this, because such a massive part is involving the opinion of fans) she needs to understand how important and influential her words are, and how catastrophic it can be to both her cause and Quackity's if she messes up.

#I think that part of the whole 'you get to keep your identity anon' is to prevent harassment #like freedom of speech is such a huge thing in the United States #being able to do things that could be considered controversial or create things anonymously as a very public figure is rather important #you can post things under a pen name so long as you provide the US government with the right information for taxing #so that they know you aren't laundering money or anything #quackity is kind of like that just on a larger more corporate scale #I want to make it clear that I genuinely don't think Léa did this kind of thing on purpose #I think it was a mistake and while her response aired on the defensive side I get it; this is the kind of situation where you have to-#defend yourself a fair bit #it's not perfect and I still think that this really *really* shouldn't have happened #but I don't think that it was done from a place of malice #hence why *I do not know if it was truly illegal*#it depends on which laws apply and what the intent of the situation was #but that's like the eighth time I've said that #anyhow thanks for the wait and I really hope I didn't fuck up my explanation royally #there's so many run-on sentences in this #kill me now

255 notes · View notes