We had a few hours to kill in Salt Lake City on Monday, after skiing and before the airport. Fiddling with the radio in the tiniest rental car ever invented, a rock station cut out from its playlist for an excerpt from a Martin Luther King, Jr. speech. We parked and stopped, and just listened. Listened to words so acutely necessary as the Civil Rights movement was in full throttle. Listened to words of love and hope and strength. Listened to words that defined our humanity as Americans.
It was nearly impossible for me to comprehend that today, more than 50 years later, we still need those words to lift and protect our marginalized brothers, sisters and gender-fluid souls. In that cold Utah parking garage, in the tiniest rental car ever invented, with the most patient boyfriend holding my hand, the tears came. I sniffled and sobbed and wondered why, why, why it is taking so long to get to the Dream. At this point it is not ignorance that fuels racism, that rolls back protections for our most vulnerable populations, that disappears the work of so many on climate change. It is simply hate. And that is hard to grock.
Today, a few hours after the 45th president — not MY president — stole the oath of office, I went to see the CBS Diversity Showcase, where my great friend and soul sister Nikki had been a contributing writer. The cast was a group of talented, diverse young actors who made us roar, hard. It was necessary medicine of laughter and hope and the idea that we will pull through. We will not get what we want by knocking politely at the front door, but we will come in through the attic window, slip in through the back, creep up from the basement. And yes, we will probably end up kicking down the front door.
When you take away human rights, you awaken a giant of a million heads. This is how revolutions are born.
We are coming for you. I hope you like pink hats. I’ve got lots more material.