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Pagans Say They Just Want Acceptance, Fair Treatment
Denise-Marie Santiago
Democrat and Chronicle Columnist
(August 20, 2004) — By their own admission, these two stay-at-home
moms never imagined themselves as crusaders, let alone witches.
Heidi Gleber and Shelly O'Brien were just trying to break down
prejudices against their religion when they started organizing next
weekend's first Finger Lakes Pagan Pride Day in Canandaigua.
They turned to the American Civil Liberties Union when they felt city
officials were giving them the runaround about using a public park
for the event. Call it principle, or just an attempt to make the
world a better place for their pagan children.
"It was kind of scary because it was, like, we're taking on something
big here," says O'Brien, 35, of Canandaigua, a married mother of
three. "We're taking on city hall, literally. But you can't back down
just because it's city hall."
We're sitting in Gleber's home in East Bloomfield, where she lives
with her husband of 22 years and their five children. A dozen or so
pagans meet here regularly for holidays, full moons, new moons and
the like.
Gleber, 40, has a Lutheran, Methodist and Jewish religious heritage.
Her husband is on the vestry of his Episcopal church.
But Gleber turned to paganism two years ago after getting a tattoo of
a star and a moon on her forehead, common symbols of the religion.
The tattoo, she says, reminded her of a childhood memory: She was
sitting alone one night in her parents' garden, mulling over boy
problems, when along came a goddess to offer aid.
The adult Gleber then started reading books on Wicca, a pre-Christian
nature religion that honors gods and goddesses. She met O'Brien, a
Wiccan since 1987, through a group on the Internet.
The two now teach classes on Wicca, a denomination of paganism, at
Gleber's home. The idea of having their own pagan pride day, which
has been celebrated locally for years, was just natural.
But there was resistance. Gleber wanted to donate nonperishable food
collected at the event to a local nonprofit that serves the needy.
The group said no thanks.
The pagans successfully offered the donations to the food cupboard at
St. Mary Church in Canandaigua. The Rev. Thomas Mull of the Roman
Catholic church says everyone from Scouts to postal workers, from
Methodists to Episcopalians, contributes to the charity.
"It would be inconsistent," Mull says, "to say we'll take it from
everybody but you."
The women say city officials were balking at their request to hold
the pagan event at Canandaigua's Baker Park. The two sides disagree
on why.
Gleber says the city first told her no because the event involved
religion; then it said no because the request involved park space
reserved for sports.
That's when the duo called in the ACLU. It contended that the city
was using discretionary powers that violated the pagans' right to
free speech.
"If she wants to promote that the world is flat, she can do that,"
says the ACLU's Scott Forsyth, referring to Gleber.
Scott Smith, an attorney for the city, says the issue was never about
religion but about timing: The group wanted to use an area limited
during the summer to sporting events. "If the pope had wanted to do
something at Baker Park in August, we would have given him the same
answer."
Ultimately, he says, the City Council allowed the Aug. 28 festival in
the park because the pagans had already scheduled events there.
O'Brien wants visitors to see that they're just regular people trying
to make the world a more understanding place. Now that's worth taking
on city hall.
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