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I haven’t written in a minute because I’ve been exhausted — a happy exhaustion to be precise.
The past week has taken on an acceleration of volunteer campaign work: zoom rallies, emails to write and respond to, calls to be made, fundraising to be organized, traveling as a campaign surrogate, and all the rest of it.
Completely worth it, of course. Everything I do—everything we all do—over these final ten weeks will be worth the feeling of inexpressible joy the morning after the Election.
That point was driven home last night as I was waiting with friends in line to enter the United Arena in Chicago for Night Two of the Democratic National Convention.
The entrance line is quite a long one, and in the final stretch, just outside the Arena, there are protestors of all kinds. Some of them are rightwing extremists who are hoping to provoke a viral moment in service to their incessant, endless, incredibly sad grifting.
I was in line with five friends, each of them gay men in Democratic politics, each of them professionals on various issues with the common goal of ensuring no one gets left behind.
I was wearing a rather beautiful pantsuit and pearls and red lipstick, and I have to say I looked quite gorgeous. And, in hindsight, certainly conspicuous. I wanted my fashion to reflect how joyous I felt entering the Arena to hear, among others, Pres. Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama speak later in the evening.
As we were patiently waiting for the line to progress—and I mean patiently because it moved so slowly through security—a rightwing extremist came walking along the line and asking all of us if we believe in God.
I answered: “Yes, I do. I’m a Christian.”
And he stopped, clearly surprised, and said: “What do you mean?”
We started talking, and I honestly felt like this was a moment to engage with someone in good faith. No judgment or harshness. He seemed amenable to chatting respectfully, and so, for several minutes, he asked polite questions about my spiritual journey and I told my story of believing in Christ’s teachings.
There was no apparent animosity. He seemed genuinely interested.
Although I will say it was somewhat unnerving when another man walked up and started filming our conversation for a few moments, and perhaps realizing this wasn’t going to be a viral moment because we were chatting calmly and politely, he got bored and walked away in search of other content.
The man to whom I was speaking wanted to engage in a Scriptural discussion, and I was all too happy to respond in kind. But at some point, I did notice a wrinkle of frustration in his face.
It occurred to me that he may be trying to deploy some sorta Trojan Horse tactic through an initial kindness before upping the ante, but every time he got more specific about the Bible, I responded with clarity and knowledge.
In retrospect, I can now see that his desire for a biblical gotcha was falling flat, and he increasingly wasn’t happy about it.
But of course, at the time, the conversation was peaceful enough that I honestly felt we were having the sort of exchange that illuminates perspectives. And I cherish those moments, so much so that my naiveté can have a bad habit of getting in the way.
Without warning, his frustration became much more evident and he suddenly pivoted to a question completely unrelated to our conversation:
“But you’re a man, right?”
And my heart sank. Here we go. This was the true objective. Fool me twice, etc.
“No, Sir, I’m a woman.”
I then expressed my disappointment that he felt the need to exploit what could have been a truly kind and respectful conversation in order to—it was now clear—provoke for provocation’s sake.
I walked away and rejoined my friends, hearing him shout the same question, over and over: “But you’re a man, right?”
I thought that would be the end of it, but a moment later, another rightwing extremist came up and began taking pictures of me and asking for my name. He seemed quite angry, and he was not looking to engage with kindness or respect.
Within moments, his questions became more vicious and pronounced. I ignored him and began chatting with my friends. It seemed absolutely pointless to engage further, and I knew there’s nothing more these people hate than being ignored when their blatant attempts at provocation fall flat.
But he wouldn’t leave me alone, and soon, a few others joined him, shouting anti-trans nonsense just feet away from me.
It was at that point that my friends, without saying a word to each other, quickly surrounded me and stood between me and the extremists. They shielded me and made it clear to the extremists that they needed to back away. I continued to stare straight ahead and pretend it wasn’t happening.
Various refrains of “you will never be a woman” became louder, and as a group, we decided to move away, up the line, as their shouting increased in volume and venom.
We waded into the crowd in front of us, and the extremists, understanding they wouldn’t get the viral moment of their dreams, finally left us alone.
Later in the evening, I watched as former First Lady Michelle Obama delivered an address that will go down as an all-time great convention speech. She said, in part:
This is up to us, all of us, to be the solution that we seek. It’s up to all of us to be the antidote to the darkness and division. Look, I don’t care how you identify politically—whether you’re a Democrat, Republican, Independent, or none of the above. This is our time to stand up for what we know in our hearts is right. To stand up, not just for our basic freedoms but for decency and humanity; for basic respect, dignity, and empathy; for the values at the very foundation of this democracy.
Mind you, her point here was not to simply accept vitriol and hatred, only responding with kindness and love. In fact, I would encourage y’all to watch her whole speech, which was quite critical of Trump.
The point of her wisdom, so eloquently expressed, is that we can champion our values and also refuse to back down in defense of ourselves and the common good, being happy warriors against hatred, for a future in which no one gets left behind.
I love my friends who surrounded me and shielded me last night. I love the LGBTQ community. I love Democrats. I love America.
I’m grateful God made me a trans woman and for the lens of empathy and faith earned along with that.
We are gonna win in November and keep making this country better for all people, even the sad extremists who deeply struggle to find a peace in their own skin that I have in mine.
I hope those wayward souls will someday find such peace.
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