The First Amendment Still Stands

Do whatever you can, wherever you can, while you still can

On May 25, 2020, we were living on the 9th floor of a downtown Indianapolis, Indiana apartment, surrounded by chic restaurants, kitschy bars, and lovely city parks. It was a beautiful place to reside, but it was the middle of the pandemic, so everything was shuttered.

May 25, 2020, was also the day George Floyd took his final breath, pinned to a Minneapolis street with Derek Chauvin’s knee in his neck.

We watched the news, transfixed, as racial tensions escalated and people demanded justice for police brutality, for the murder of a man who begged to breathe. Black Lives Matter protests and marches were scheduled in downtown Indianapolis, and Julie and I planned to attend, to participate, to use our voices and our presence to demand justice. To stand elbow to elbow in solidarity with our Black friends and community members.

The protests began peacefully, with organizers calling for non-violence. Protesters showed up to march, to support the Black community, to call for police reform. During the day, we never felt threatened—just committed to make a difference in whatever way we could to a cause that was much bigger, deeper, and older than all of us combined: A call for equality.

Multiple protest marches were held over that late May weekend, and when we weren’t actively participating, we stood on our 9th floor balcony, watching and witnessing. University Park—directly across the street from our apartment at The Whit—was a staging center for many peaceful gatherings.

Then came the Saturday afternoon when people were assembling in University Park—families, babies in strollers, dogs on leashes—and a heavily armed police presence gathered as well. The air felt different that day as we stood on our patio and watched.

The atmosphere was charged, threatening.

But the threat did not come from the protesters; it came from the police force decked out in full riot gear.

That Saturday’s march began with protestors holding their arms in the air and chanting, “Hands up. Don’t shoot.”

We were shocked as a line of police officers marched toward them, shouting at them to disperse. The protest was peaceful, calm, and organized. It was legal and constitutionally protected.

And then the officers opened fire into the march with rubber bullets and tear gas and flash-bangs. We watched it happen in real-time—unprovoked and uninvited and overly-aggressive.

And, of course, the news reports immediately blamed the protestors. But we saw what happened with our own eyes. We witnessed the truth. The protests were peaceful until the police decided to escalate the situation. It was shocking and abhorrent and unlawful.

And the lies were immediate and widespread.

By that evening, tensions had risen to riot levels. A curfew was established in Marion County, and we hunkered down as we listened to gunshots, shouts, and windows breaking.

I vividly remember posting on social media in real time, and an old high school friend called to check on us. Joe sat on the phone with me all night, making sure we were safe and okay, as I sat in the corner of my patio and watched the melee unfold. Julie stayed inside with the dogs, calming their nerves as bricks flying through downstairs windows threatened to undo their already overly-sensitive nervous systems.

It was a long, harrowing night.

By morning, there was widespread damage to the city, and two young men were dead.

I’ve been thinking a lot about these protests lately because I fully expect worse this time around. It’s already beginning in LA. As human beings—friends, neighbors, workers, mothers, fathers—are being brutally pulled from their homes and their work places and illegally detained and disappeared, we, as humans with hearts and souls, are going to break. When we witness this authoritarian regime determine who can stay and who must go based on the color of their skin or the place of their birth, when we watch families being torn apart at the seams, there is going to be anger and pushback and protest.

The current President said he would remove rapists and criminals and gang members from our country, but there is no vetting or process in place. He is simply emboldening ICE cosplayers with guns and a bloated sense of power and encouraging them to remove anyone who is brown-skinned or vocal or in opposition to his authority, his rule.

You think you’re safe because you’re white?

You’re not.

No one is safe.

This isn’t about protection, it’s about power. And the billionaires cannot get enough of it.

As members of the queer community, we have felt the threat from day one. We felt it when friends and neighbors stopped making eye contact during the election cycle. We felt it when family members cast a vote for a rapist racist who is hell-bent on vilifying and erasing the transgender community. (Here’s a little fun fact for you: Transgender women don’t want to assault your kids. They just want to use the restroom in peace.) We felt it when people voted for an insurrectionist felon because the price of eggs was just too high. We felt it when people made it clear that their retirement accounts mattered more than human lives. (BTW, how are those retirement accounts faring now?)

I’ve long held the belief that the No Kings protest on June 14 is going to be a turning point for this country. A madman celebrating himself with millions of taxpayer dollars while American citizens across the country protest his authoritarian regime is the perfect firestorm in which to declare martial law. This administration is itching to do it. They’re baiting us, testing us, taunting us.

They want full control.

They will do whatever they can to take it.

And it will be illegal, brutal, and unprecedented.

This is the time we need to show up—in person, or through our words, or via our smartphones. We need to bear witness, to take pictures, to write it down, to videotape everything that happens. The lies will come fast and furiously. But there is still time to stand up, to protest, to say, “Not in my America.”

Our democracy depends on it.

It’s the only way this country will survive.