Charlotte's Web Thoughts

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For the past eighteen months, a favorite talking point of legacy political pundits is that Democrats have a young male voter problem.

It’s been incessant and so ubiquitous that you’d be led to believe—based on the commentary—that Democratic candidates had all but told young men they don’t want their votes.

Last November, one of the biggest stories coming out of the election was that Democrats are lackluster in their outreach to young men. There had been too much focus on young women (defending bodily autonomy and talking about the need for paid family leave is, apparently, “too much focus” on young women).

Legacy pundits (mostly straight, white men) had ideas on how to solve this crisis. They said the left needs a Joe Rogan type. They said Democrats should “moderate” on issues like trans equality. They opined that the Democratic Party had become too feminized.

Remember James Carville ranting about “preachy females” and claiming that women’s empowerment in messaging is somehow a dealbreaker?

As far as I can tell, none of the big Democratic winners from last night got these histrionic memos from the legacy pundit class.

Not Virginia Governor-elect Abigail Spanberger. Not New Jersey Gov-elect Mikie Shirrell. Not NYC Mayor-elect Zohran Mamdani. None of the baker’s dozen of Democrats who increased the party’s majority in the Virginia House of Delegates.

None of them.

There were no special ads cut begging for young men specifically to vote for them or radio spots stumbling through a weak Rogan impression or comprehensive plans published by these campaigns addressing young men.

Hell, not only did Zohran Mamdani reject their advice, but he released an ad dedicated to the proud history of trans advocacy in New York City. And not even during Pride Month! He just put it out there late in the campaign like a reckless lunatic.

So, how did these candidates do with young men? According to NBC exit polling:

Abigail Spanberger won 58 percent of male voters aged 18-29 and just edged out her Republican opponent among male voters aged 30-44. In fact, she damn near won the overall male vote, regardless of age — 49 percent. And she did this while flipping a swing state.

Mikie Shirrell won 57 percent of male voters aged 18-29 and 62 percent among male voters aged 30-44. Likewise, she barely lost the overall male vote — 49 percent.

Zohran Mamdani won 67 percent of male voters aged 18-29 and 67 percent among male voters aged 30-44. A full two-thirds of all young male voters. He won half of the male vote overall — exactly 50 percent.

Ghazala Hashmi—the first Muslim American elected to lieutenant governor of any state—also performed well among young male voters in Virginia: 55 percent among the 18-29 bracket and 49 percent of men aged 30-44. She didn’t lose by much among men overall — 46 percent.

Even Jay Jones—who many predicted would lose the race for Virginia Attorney General in the wake of his texting scandal—not only defeated his Republican opponent with a comfortable overall margin but did well among male voters: 50 percent of men 18-29, 49 percent of men 30-44, and 45 percent of men overall.

Did I mention that Virginia Democrats achieved their largest majority in the House of Delegates in modern history? They’re on track to win 64 seats, an increase of 13, in opposition to relentless anti-trans messaging from Virginia Republicans all year.

Democrats clearly won young men last night. There is no debate over this. The numbers are loud and unyielding.

They didn’t do it by pandering to young men. They didn’t do it by begging in broken fratboy speak. They didn’t do it by treating young men like special little boys who need their hands held. They didn’t do it by abandoning women and trans people.

They did it by talking to young men about affordability. They talked to young men like young voters who are worried about the cost-of-living, not like men who need some dipshit masculinized pitch.

That doesn’t mean they didn’t have fun or decline to chat with young men. Zohran Mamdani went on podcasts and chatted it up with conservative young men about the need to focus on working class families. Mikie Shirrell and Abigail Spanberger talked to young male influencers and content creators about addressing their generation’s lack of enthusiasm about owning a home someday or just paying for basic needs.

They didn’t condescend to young men; they made them part of the solution. They told them they’re essential and deserve better because they’re adults living in a society where no one should get left behind — not because they’re men.

All of these candidates who won last night didn’t shy away from talking about gender equality and LGBTQ rights. They didn’t buy the ridiculous theory that doing so would alienate young men.

And they were right. My god, were they right.

Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Carville.

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On Friday, the Supreme Court, in a private conference, will consider whether to take up a challenge to Obergefell v. Hodges, the 2015 ruling that legalized same-sex marriage in the United States.

The great Amy Howe of SCOTUSblog contextualizes for us:

As a general practice, the court does not grant review without considering a case at at least two consecutive conferences; this is the first conference in which Davis’ challenge will be considered. If the justices deny review, however, that announcement could come as soon as Monday, Nov. 10.

I would be lying if I said I’m not pessimistic about this. I believe the Court will grant review, and they will eventually overturn Obergefell. I don’t think the votes are there to stop it. I hope I’m wrong. If the Court does decline review in the coming weeks, I will be relieved and celebrating. But I don’t think I’m wrong.

It will be a tragic setback for LGBTQ rights—both here and globally—but fortunately, due to the leadership and foresight of Sen. Tammy Baldwin (D-WI) and President Biden, the damage of that eventual overturning will be significantly mitigated.

Back in 2022, Senator Baldwin cobbled together a bipartisan majority in the Senate—which included twelve of her Republican colleagues—to overcome the filibuster and pass the Respect for Marriage Act, which was then signed by President Biden.

Among other things, it provided federally-enforced reciprocity between the states on the validity of same-sex marriage licenses. Basically, if and when Obergefell is overturned, the Respect for Marriage Act guarantees that marriage licenses issued in states where it’s legal are still valid in states where issuing them would be illegal.

So, if I get married to another woman in Massachusetts, that marriage license would still be valid in, say, my home state of Texas, where it would be illegal to issue them when Obergefell is overturned.

Obviously, this is a very imperfect protection because many same-sex couples living in states where it would be illegal to get married can’t afford to travel to a state where it would be legal. Imagine, alone, the implications of that in a medical emergency. Or in having parental rights. Not great.

Regardless, it’s a crucial backstop that will protect millions of LGBTQ families in our country, and I’m deeply grateful to Senator Baldwin and President Biden for getting it across the finish line. It’s hard to believe there were twelve Republican senators who went along with it just three years ago.

We’re in this sad situation—on the precipice of witnessing one of the most important advances in LGBTQ rights dissolved—because of Kim Davis, a former county clerk in Kentucky who refused to issue same-sex marriage licenses in the wake of the Obergefell ruling.

A lawsuit was filed against her by same-sex couples who were denied, which she lost in district court and eventually at the Supreme Court, and after she continued refusing to issue licenses, she was jailed for contempt.

Following her release from jail after five days and a promise not to interfere with the work of her deputy clerks, Ms. Davis had alternate forms created which removed her name and she refused to add her signature to marriage licenses. Although the legality of these licenses were recognized by the state, some wondered if they could still be challenged in other contexts (out-of-state) for lack of a clerk’s signature.

There’s an entanglement of lawsuits here I won’t get into, but the most germane here is that a same-sex couple—David Ermold and David Moore—originally denied a license by Ms. Davis sued her to recoup their legal fees, which was eventually upheld in federal court and ordered to be paid by the State of Kentucky. But the state refused to pay them and said that burden should fall on Ms. Davis.

Mr. Ermold and Mr. Moore also sued Ms. Davis for $100k in emotional damages, and a jury found in their favor in 2023.

So, that’s why we’re here and wondering if Obergefell will be overturned. Because in order for that to happen, someone would have to convince the Supreme Court that an unconstitutional burden has been placed on them by the legalization of same-sex marriages.

But there’d be no constitutional burden if Ms. Davis had carried out her duties as a county clerk because same-sex marriages don’t place a burden on anyone outside of those marriages.

We’re in this incredibly frustrating situation because Ms. Davis can lay claim to being the only person in America whom can, in theory, assert that she’s been burdened by Obergefell because of the legal fees she’s been ordered to pay (along with the jail time, emotional burden, etc).

All of this even though Ms. Davis brought it upon herself by neglecting her oath as a county clerk in favor of her religious views despite swearing to uphold the laws in a country guided by a constitution that guarantees freedom from religion.

She used her public office to force others to abide by her religious views and she got heavily penalized for it, and thus, she has a (ridiculous) argument for legal standing because of damages she incurred.

Ms. Davis has a curious relationship with her faith. As a Christian myself, I recognize all of us who follow Christ are vastly imperfect, but Ms. Davis is particularly dubious when it comes to Christ’s teachings.

She’s been divorced three times. Her second failed marriage included an affair she had with the man who would become her third husband and the father of twins she birthed during that second failed marriage. She later divorced that third husband and remarried the second one. Four marriages, three divorces.

I’m not here to judge Ms. Davis for her track record on shattered nuptials and broken commitments before God. That’s not my place, and it never will be. I have always maintained that whatever consenting adults want to do is none of my business.

People should have sex with whom they want and marry whom they want and divorce whom they want, and at no point should my opinion on any of that be taken into consideration, let alone be the basis for any law. My religious views are for my personal life alone, and I should mind my own business.

Ms. Davis does not feel that way. She dismisses critics who point out her own imperfect journey, claiming her sins have been washed away by God’s salvation, liberating her to stand in punitive judgment of anyone she believes to be imperfect in the eyes of God.

I do not believe this is because Ms. Davis has an enduring faith in God. Quite the opposite. Her actions reflect a deep insecurity over her own faith and a relentless need to have her religious views validated by everyone around her in order to assuage that insecurity.

Kim Davis is the kind of Christian whom requires the irritation of her doubts to be calamine’d not by the perfect love and understanding of God but by the unyielding resignation of strangers’ personal lives to her religious purity, and while she does so, her own religious impurity should be met only with endless grace.

Grace for me but not for thee.

Ms. Davis is not someone with strong faith, but moreover, she is clearly not a happy person, and it is somehow the obligation of everyone else to sacrifice themselves for her spiritual validation and personal happiness.

I genuinely feel bad for her. I can’t imagine spending my life in the constant pursuit of ensuring every other adult is miserable so that my wobbly faith can be duck-taped together with the unnecessary pain of strangers.

I pray she finds peace somewhere because it’s abundantly clear she’s not seeking it from God.

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Hey folks, this evening, I joined my dear friend Allison Gill(MuellerSheWrote) for a lively discussion about Pope Leo XIV, the new head of the Catholic Church. We discussed his politics and ideology, the shadow of the sex abuse scandals of the Church, and why this new pontiff is a direct opponent of Trump’s worldview.Earlier today, I published this piece about the rightwing outrage directed at the new pope — basically, that these folks are never happy. Check it out.

Thank you Reda Rountree (she/her), Kim B., A. Hofferkamp, Joanne, MagnaAnimus, and many others for tuning into my live video with Allison Gill!

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You may have missed it in the chaos of our current news environment, but this week, the bodies of four American soldiers were pulled out of a peat bog—basically a swamp—in Lithuania about a week after they went missing there while on a training mission.

Last week, while a search was still underway for the missing soldiers, Trump was asked in the Oval Office by a reporter about the unfolding crisis and he responded that he didn’t know anything about it.

Yesterday, the bodies of the four soldiers arrived at Dover Air Force Base in Delaware and were received in a ceremony known as a “dignified transfer,” which is attended by senior government officials and often the sitting president.

Last night, it was reported by NBC News that instead of attending the dignified transfer to honor the deceased soldiers, Trump flew to Florida to watch a LIV Golf tournament and attend a reception being hosted at his resort.

I understand many of you aren’t familiar with dignified transfers and why what Trump has done here is so disgusting and unbecoming and insulting to the memories of these soldiers.

During my time in the 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment (The Old Guard), I was honored to take part in many dignified transfers at the height of our involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan.

So, I’ll explain:

The straight-line distance between Washington, D.C., and Dover, Delaware, is less than 85 miles. It takes a helicopter about 40 to 45 minutes to make the trip.

I was 19 years old, and it was my first time riding a helicopter.

I barely remember any of it. I was distracted.

I was more nervous than I've ever been in my life about what was to come next, and so, as this Black Hawk floated above the earth with my casket team, me the youngest and most junior, I could only think: What if I mess this up? What if I fail? How will I live with myself?

That's how it should be in a moment like this. You should be nervous. You should let that sharpen your focus. Because there is no room for error when handling the remains of a service member returning to the United States after they’ve died. You should strive for perfection.

The helicopter landed, and my anxiety spiked.

In retrospect, I recall noticing the silence of the rest of the casket team. These were young men, mostly early 20s, loud and boisterous and chests puffed. Now, they were quiet. It was unnerving.

When you're a new enlisted soldier in an infantry unit (the FNG) you're treated like you know nothing. Because you don't. Everyone around you is older and vastly more competent and confident. Yet, in this moment, despite having done this before, they were all nervous, too. It was unsettling.

We were brought into a holding area near the tarmac on Dover Air Force Base in Delaware, where the remains of service members who have died in a theater of operations arrive on a C-17 transport plane. We rehearsed our steps. And did it again. And then again. No room for error.

The plane arrived. The ramp was lowered. The transfer vehicle that would complete the next leg of the journey was parked. Our casket team was positioned. We were now each wearing ceremonial white cotton gloves we had held under the bathroom faucet. Damp gloves have a better grip.

We’re a casket team, but these are not caskets. They're transfer cases: rectangular aluminum boxes that bear a resemblance to a crate for production equipment. Yet, the dimensions are obvious. Any given civilian would take only a few moments to realize that's for carrying bodies.

It's called a "dignified transfer," not a "ceremony," because officials don't want loved ones to feel obligated to be there while in mourning. But it is as highly choreographed as any ceremony, probably more so. It is done as close to perfection as anything the military does.

I was positioned in formation with my casket team, and I could see the transfer cases precisely laid out, military dress-right-dress, in the cavernous space of the C-17, each draped with an American flag that had been fastened perfectly. I remember my stomach dropping.

There is simply no space for other thoughts. Your full brain capacity is focused on not screwing up. The casket team steps off in crisp, exact steps toward the plane, up the ramp (please, oh God, don't slip), aside the case, lift up ceremonially, face back and down the ramp.

During movement, everyone else is saluting: the plane personnel, the OIC (officer in charge), any senior NCOs (noncommissioned officers) and generals, and occasionally, the president. The family is sometimes there. No ceremonial music or talking. All silent, save for the steps of the casket team.

You don't see the family during this. You're too focused. There are other distractions. Maybe they forgot, but no one told me there'd be 40-60 pounds of ice in the transfer case to prevent decomposition over the 10-hour plane ride. You can sometimes feel it sloshing around a bit.

Some of the transfer cases feel slightly heavier, some slightly lighter. The weight is distributed among six bearers, so it's not a big difference. But then you carry a case that's significantly lighter, and you realize those are the only remains they were able to recover.

It probably takes all of 30-40 seconds to carry the transfer case from the plane to the mortuary vehicle, but it feels like the longest walk ever each time. The case is carefully placed in the back of the mortuary vehicle, and the casket team moves away in formation.

When it's over and you're on your way back to Washington, you're overcome with a mixture of intense relief that you didn't screw up and profound sobriety over what you've just done and witnessed. I wouldn't call it a good feeling. Maybe a numbed pain.

From the outside, the most egalitarian place in America is a military transfer case. They all look exactly the same: an aluminum box covered with the American flag. We didn't know their names, rank, race, ethnicity, gender, religion, sexual orientation — none of it. All the same.

Whatever cruel and unfathomable politics had brought all of us to that moment, from the killed service member in the box, to those of us carrying it, to the occasional elected official who attends to pay respects, there were no politics to be found during a dignified transfer.

The fallen service members I helped receive and carry during this part of the journey to their final resting place were not "losers" or "suckers" — as Trump has infamously called them.

They were selfless and heroic, and I had the honor of being among the first to hold them when they returned home.

There are service members and civilians around the world involved in caring for our war fatalities: the mortuary specialists, the casket teams, the family liaisons — so many people who work to ensure that this final act is done with the greatest amount of dignity and honor, seeking perfection.

I suppose the one thing we all took for granted is that dignity would always be affirmed by all our civilian leaders to those service members who gave everything. I never would have predicted any official, let alone a sitting president, would insult fallen service members.

This is not to say the four American soldiers who died in Lithuania were not honored by a sitting president.

On Thursday, when the bodies of the soldiers were being transported to the airport in Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania, thousands of people there lined the streets to pay their respects.

Among them was Lithuanian President Gitanas Nauseda, who, apparently, has more respect for our troops than our own commander-in-chief.

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Today is International Transgender Day of Visibility, often shortened to Trans Day of Visibility (or TDOV).

It was created by Rachel Crandall Crocker in Michigan in 2009, and it’s now celebrated in countries around the world.

Most estimates put trans and nonbinary people at between 0.5 and 1 percent of the total U.S. population, but some data suggests we may be as high as two percent.

Personally, I think it’s higher than that. I believe there are millions of closeted trans and nonbinary and gender-expansive and gender-questioning people in our country who don’t have the necessary encouragement and resources to live authentically.

I don’t need to elaborate on how our political climate has been saturated with an ongoing campaign of fear and terror against trans people.

That’s why visibility is so important: it saves lives, it gives voice to the voiceless, and it offers joy and hope and comfort where scarce.

I would not be alive today were it not for three primary blessings: 1) friends of all backgrounds who ensured I had love and safety and dignity, 2) the grace of a merciful and loving God who kept me buoyed through many difficult years of feeling incongruent with the world around me, and 3) every trans and nonbinary person whose visibility gave me strength and confidence to come out in my own time.

I exist today in my authenticity because of the visibility of trans and nonbinary people whose selflessness and courage paved roads that have permitted me to navigate the world with an expansive liberation in broader society they never got to experience.

I think of the closeted trans girl in Central Texas who once felt so alone and scared and ashamed of how I was born. For many years, I prayed every day that God would cleanse me of my desire to be who I really am, and it took a long time to recognize that being trans is a gift from God and part of my soul’s commission.

I thank God that I’m trans.

I can’t help but feel sympathy for the tens of millions of non-trans people in our country who are constantly burdened and tortured with struggling to meet the gendered expectations demanded of them by so much of society.

I think many non-trans people struggle with how our culture successfully and cruelly controls them, forcing them to be who they’re not, shaming them who they really are, all in service to a painful and unnecessary gendered framework that insists on an unforgiving rigidity solely meant to avoid discomfort based on irrational fear.

I think non-trans people who hate those of us who are trans are really motivated by a taught fear of themselves. It has to be terrifying to suppress oneself, only to witness people who have rejected that painful suppression.

Every transphobic argument can basically be boiled down to: "I actually don't know the science at all or have a good argument here, but trans people challenge my long held view of the world and it's very uncomfortable and everyone should be expected to move around my discomfort."

There’s obvious bigotry in that mindset, of course, but there’s also an extraordinary and unyielding and obvious pain, too.

Trans people are a constant reminder that there’s an entire world outside of what most non-trans people have been aggressively and irrationally conditioned to accept.

Today is about trans visibility and trans joy, to be sure, but I would also like to believe it can mean so much more. It can mean that non-trans people feel greater comfort and acceptance in embracing their own authenticity—however that may look—by the example trans and nonbinary people set.

I want every trans and nonbinary child in this country to be safe and loved and empowered, and I also want that for every non-trans child. I want every trans and nonbinary adult to be safe and loved and empowered, and I also want that for every non-trans adult.

I think that’s an essential North Star worthy of any compass.

That’s why I’m visible, and that’s what I wish for all of you, too.

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This evening, I sat down with my dear friend, the brilliant Shannon Watts, author of the Playing with Fire Substack (among many other hats), for a live discussion on why we both strongly believe the time has come for Sen. Chuck Schumer to step down as leader, why we’re supporting a boycott of contributions to Senate Democrats until they force him to do so, and what all Democrats can do to make this happen.

Shannon and I walked through the understandable concerns some of our fellow Democrats have felt over this effort and why, after all our discussion and introspection, we still believe Mr. Schumer needs to step down.

If you’re unsure of why so many of us want Mr. Schumer to step down, I’ve outlined my reasons in this essay.

And if you, too, are angry over our current situation with Democratic leadership and believe Mr. Schumer needs to step down, please sign our petition and join the 42,000 (and growing) Democrats (including a number of elected officals) who are calling on Mr. Schumer step aside for the good of our democracy.

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Last night, I spoke with Democratic strategist Julie Roginsky, author of Salty Politics, longtime political commentator, and founder of Lift Our Voices.

For ninety minutes, we had a frank discussion on trans rights, the state of the Democratic Party, and what it means to have effective messaging in this moment.

I enjoyed chatting Ms. Roginsky because we’re two proud Democrats who believe our party could be doing a hell of lot more in this moment and demanding that is an act of love and respect.

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Yesterday afternoon, the bodies of Gene Hackman, Betsy Arakawa, and their dog were found at their home in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The County Sheriff’s Office did not have reason to suspect foul play this early in the investigation, and there’s no official confirmation on the cause of their deaths. Many have suggested it may have been carbon monoxide poisoning.

The couple had been married since 1991.

Betsy Arakawa, 63, was a retired classical pianist and co-owned Pandora’s Box, a home furnishings store in Santa Fe which she launched with her friend Barbara Lenihan. She resolutely avoided the spotlight and cherished her privacy, never giving public interviews and preferring to live a quiet life with her husband.

Gene Hackman, 95, was a Marine Corps veteran who had wanted to act since he was ten years old and pursued that dream several years after he left the service.

At the Pasadena Playhouse, Mr. Hackman and his friend Dustin Hoffman were voted “The Least Likely to Succeed” and shortly thereafter moved to NYC to prove the doubters wrong and make their way into the industry. They befriended Robert Duvall, and the three struggling actors shared apartments for much of the ‘60s.

All three became some of the best actors of their generation and among the greatest of all-time.

Mr. Hackman won Oscars for Best Actor (The French Connection, 1971) and Best Supporting Actor (Unforgiven, 1993), along with additional nominations for Best Actor (Mississippi Burning, 1989) and Best Supporting Actor (Bonnie & Clyde, 1968; I Never Sang for My Father, 1971).

He also won three Golden Globes (five additional nominations, plus the 2003 Cecil B. DeMille Award), two BAFTAs (five additional nominations), and a Screen Actors Guild Award along with the rest of the cast of The Birdcage (1997).

That’s all swell, but itemizing accolades doesn’t come close to doing justice to the spell cast by Gene Hackman onscreen.

The magic of Mr. Hackman is that he somehow played the same person and a completely different person, simultaneously, in every movie, and it always felt exactly right.

If you saw his face in a movie when you were flipping channels, you stopped to watch.

Because it's Gene Hackman. I mean, Hoosiers (1986). C’mon, now.

Every big character Mr. Hackman has done is so individually compelling whilst simultaneously bearing hallmarks that can only be done by Gene Hackman and wouldn't be as good without them, and we completely bought it every time.

It never felt like he broke himself down for characters. He seemed to just put on a costume and act his ass off. And it always worked.

My favorite performance by Mr. Hackman is Captain Ramsey in Crimson Tide (1995), the commander of a nuclear submarine who is clearly emotionally unstable and paranoid.

I’ve watched that movie so many times, and even when he’s not onscreen, Mr. Hackman looms large in every frame, somehow stealing scenes he’s not even in.

The pettiness and resentment and narcissism of the character is so palpable that the thought still briefly crosses my mind during every rewatch: “Damn, he’s gonna get ‘em all killed.”

One of the more interesting “what ifs” in the history of film casting is how Mr. Hackman almost played Calvin Jarrett, the father in Ordinary People (1980), but withdrew due to a financial disagreement with the studio.

The late, great Donald Sutherland was cast instead and gave a superb performance—which was infamously snubbed for a Best Actor nomination that year—but just for a second, try to imagine Mr. Hackman in that particular role.

I want to see that movie, too.

Mr. Hackman fully stepped away from acting in 2004 and confirmed his retirement in subsequent years, only making a guest appearance in an episode of “Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives” in 2008 and lending his voice to two Marine Corps documentaries.

Ms. Arakawa and Mr. Hackman remodeled a home in Santa Fe and built a quiet and peaceful life there over the past 35 years, away from all the glitz and glamour and gossip of Hollywood and the film industry, for which neither had much patience.

Their idea of a good time was spending every Friday night watching stand-up comedy, Susie Izzard being one of their favorites.

Their family and friends are in my thoughts today.

What a year, y’all. What a year.

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On Friday, actress and model Hunter Schafer posted an eight-and-a-half minute video on TikTok in which she revealed that the replacement passport she had just received had the gender marker changed from female to male.

Ms. Schafer is a trans woman, widely beloved among Gen-Z for her acting—particularly her performance in “Euphoria”—and broadly considered one of the most beautiful women in the world. Over the years, she’s modeled for Prada, Vera Wang, Marc Jacobs, Alexander McQueen, and many other houses.

She came out as a teen girl and has renewed previously with the correct gender marker, with no issues. That means the State Department is either intentionally flagging all American passports with record of a gender marker change and/or they’re intentionally cross-referencing passports with birth certificates, some of which are issued by states that ban gender marker changes.

Not to mention: the ridiculous complexity for intersex Americans.

Florida, Kansas, Montana, Oklahoma, Tennessee, and Texas all prohibit gender marker amendments on birth certificates. Their number will very likely grow by the end of this year. Last week, the Arizona House approved a bill banning residents from amending their birth certificates to reflect their authentic gender identity.

I’m worried for all the obvious reasons: the government tracking, the likely surveillance of trans people, the grave risk of an incorrect, “outed” passport for any trans person who needs to travel internationally, the potential for confusion and obstruction over government documents for things like security clearances, etc.

That same day, the Bureau of Prisons announced that trans people incarcerated in federal prisons would be moved to facilities that align with their sex assigned at birth, as early as next week. There are nearly 2,300 trans people incarcerated in federal prisons at the moment.

Trans women transferred to men’s prisons will obviously be at substantially greater risk of violence.

The same day—yes, all on Friday—Iowa Republicans announced a bill that, if successful, would remove ‘gender identity’ as a protected class in the Iowa Civil Rights Act, thus eliminating anti-discrimination protections for all transgender Iowans.

It would make Iowa the first state to remove a protected class from civil rights law.

Meanwhile, at the White House—yes, same exact day—Trump was speaking to a large, bipartisan group of governors and went after Maine Gov. Janet Mills from behind his podium.

“Is Maine Here? The governor of Maine?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” she said from her seat in the audience.

“Are you not going to comply with that?” Trump demanded of her, referencing the executive order he signed on Feb. 5th that bans trans girls and young women from competing on girls’ and women’s sports teams.

“I’m complying with the state and federal laws,” she responded.

“We are the federal law,” snapped Trump. “You better do it… You better comply , you better comply, because otherwise you’re not getting any federal funding.”

“See you in court,” she retorted from her seat.

“Good,” said Trump. “I’ll see you in court. I look forward to that. That should be a real easy one, and enjoy your life after governor, because I don’t think you’ll be in elected politics.”

It was yet another moment Trump attempted to intimidate elected officials across the political spectrum over trans issues.

On Saturday, Trump spoke to the 2025 Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC), where he took a victory lap for ending “transgender insanity.”

“It’s all out now — critical race theory and transgender insanity. It’s all gone from our schools and from our military and I believe it’s gone, too… I believe that it’s all gone.”

Today, Bill Maher appeared on the “Pod Saves America” podcast and argued with co-host Jon Lovett about trans issues, urging him that Democrats would “lose every election” if they don’t give up more on trans equality.

Side note here: anti-trans punditry that claims to be offering the “reasonable middle” argument always seems to intensely focus on what they don’t want.

There is never a good faith framing of what they believe should be legal. There are reasons for that: either they don’t actually believe in minimum rights for trans people or they fear being targeted by extremists for offering support for even a modicum of trans equality.

The relentless pace of anti-trans actions and rhetoric have become overwhelming.

That’s how I’m doing.

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I had the great pleasure of chatting with my dear friend, the incomparable, brilliant, and wonderful Shannon Watts, about the, um, state of Democratic politics at the moment.

And I promise, despite all the things, y’all will feel a bit better after watching.

Also: subscribe to Shannon’s blog. She’s a gem.

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The state funeral for James Earl “Jimmy” Carter, Jr., the 39th President of the United States, was as well attended by dignitaries as one might expect — or hope.

Among the hundreds in attendance at the Washington National Cathedral were Presidents Biden, Obama, Bush, and Clinton; Vice Presidents Harris, Pence, Gore, and Quayle; Secretaries of State Clinton and Kerry; first and second spouses; Chief Justice Roberts and Associate Justices Sotomayor, Kagan, Kavanaugh, Barrett, and Jackson; current and former heads of government from Canada, Colombia, Japan, Portugal, and the United Kingdom; Prince Edward, Duke of Edinburgh; Antonio Guterres, Secretary General of the United Nations; and scores of senators and members of Congress and ambassadors and other luminaries.

I may be missing a notable name or two. Perhaps at least two. That is possible.

Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood sang “Imagine" — one of the late president’s favorite songs.

Steve Ford, the son of President Gerald Ford, whom Pres. Carter defeated in the 1976 election, delivered a beautiful eulogy in which he said to the Carter family: “God did a good thing when he made your dad.”

President Biden, in what is likely the final major public speech of his tenure, summed up President Carter in three words: “Character, character, character.”

It all felt right and good. It felt fitting. It felt rare and maybe fleeting. It felt like we may not see this kind of easy agreement across the political spectrum for a long time.

But with all due respect, it didn’t come close to matching the quiet and hardy adoration that could be observed in the previous 36 hours on the grounds of the U.S. Capitol and surrounding streets.

It is cold in D.C. this week, enough during the day to aggressively bundle up and enough at night to find any excuse to be indoors and immediately reject that one friend’s insane invite to go out for a drink, much less an evening stroll.

It is, for most of us, bitterly cold.

It is so cold—at least to this Texas gal—that nothing less than the threat to life and limb to a loved one would be enough to convince me to venture into the elements. It is so cold that “outside” is wholly inadequate and only the word “elements” carries a sufficiently adequate connotation.

Last night, at 9pm, the temperature was easily below 20 degrees with the wind chill. I understand some of you up north consider this balmy. You must understand that most of us think you’re crazy.

So, it was painfully cold and uninviting, and yet, even late into the night, there were thousands and thousands of people across all walks of life waiting in line outside for several hours just to enter the Capitol Rotunda for a few moments and walk around the flag-draped casket of one Jimmy Carter and pay their respects to a model human being.

There were those who were off for the federal holiday and those who came after a long day of work—suits and dresses and military uniforms—young and old, Democrats and Republicans and independents, the working class and the wealthy, entire families, all of them standing outside in the freezing cold for several hours.

That’s not an exaggeration. The wait was several hours. At best, one could reasonably hope to get through the line and the quick orbit within the Rotunda in just over three hours. Some folks waited longer, some as many as five hours depending on when they got in line.

When was the last time you waited five hours in line for anything? When was the last time you waited three hours in line? When was the last time you did this in the bone chilling cold? When was the last time you did this without any expectation of a tangible reward?

They all knew there was no material incentive to be had here. It wasn’t like everyone who made the journey got a cookie or gold star after leaving the Rotunda. There were no certificates of appreciation conferred upon completion. No dinner coupons. No drink tickets. No free t-shirts.

Need to use the restroom? Walk a few blocks to a nearby restaurant or bar and hope someone is kind enough to hold your spot in line.

It was so cold that even the usually familiar sight of phones capturing every angle of any given political event for social media was scarce. Gotta keep those hands warm.

People heard the updates. It’s gonna be three hours. Maybe four. Maybe five.

They stayed in line.

It wasn’t as though Pres. Carter could do anything for these thousands upon thousands of people who came to say goodbye beyond what he did for them in life, deeds already completed and offered without any assumption of reciprocity.

This man who hadn’t been president in more than four decades, who had a 31 percent approval rating the month he lost reelection, who was unfairly maligned for many years over his job performance, who was unjustly a punchline to much of the country afterward for so long after leaving office — it was this man they came to honor.

They stayed in line, freezing, probably hungry, probably needing to use the restroom at some point, many of them probably wishing they were at home with a hot beverage and blanket in hand.

They stayed in line.

This one-term president, who went back to his peanut farm after leaving office, who was detested by the bulk of D.C. political circles, who didn’t cash out and join a bevy of corporate boards, who didn’t feel it necessary to say what was popular or easy, who navigated his life thereafter as a private citizen with such grace and integrity that even his most ardent detractors had to tip their hats and acknowledge his decency.

I realize there are so many reasons to feel pessimistic about the future of our country at the moment, but if such decency is so honored as we’ve seen by everyday Americans on the ground in our Nation’s Capitol over these past few days, tell me that isn’t cause for hope.

Tell me that isn’t a glimmer of what we could still be.

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First of all, if you’re not online all the time and don’t understand the reference in the title, I’d like to congratulate you on your excellent mental health hygiene.

Nearly a decade ago, Twitter user Cavalorn put out a simple and clever joke that has become one of the all-time great memes, generally used in reference to people who vote against their own interests out of pettiness or bigotry or the belief that they’re special and exempt from consequences and then whine about those consequences when they find out they’re not so special after all.

Honestly, it might be the greatest micro-commentary on the Trump era, perfectly encapsulating the offense and incredulity of folks who support him when things don’t go their way.

Over the past several days, a vicious debate that had been brewing among Trump supporters regarding the visa program for highly skilled immigrant workers escalated when Vivek Ramaswamy—who is co-leading the adorably named Deparment of Government Efficiency (DOGE) with Elon Musk—inexplicably dropped a long rant on Twitter defending immigrant workers.

Mr. Ramaswamy was born in America to immigrant parents, and Mr. Musk is a first-generation immigrant.

As much as I can’t stand Vivek Ramaswamy because of his relentless pandering to the Trump base through the most cynical and opportunistic lens—practically speaking, he sounds like a desperate, watered down version of a Trump impersonation spat out by a beta version of ChatGPT—I don’t disagree with his larger points here.

He’s not wrong. There is a pervasive laziness and entitlement among many (white) American families who have been here for many generations that is thoroughly outshined and outpaced by immigrant families who arrive in this country ready to work hard to get what they want.

I don’t think that’s controversial to say. I think it’s previous obvious. I grew up in Central Texas around immigrant families from all over the world, and on balance, my peers from those families did work harder, were more ambitious, tended to get better grades, etc.

Now, are there generally critical nuances around ambition and belonging and mental health regarding children who are raised in immigrant communities that are important to note? Sure, but I’m definitely not the person to speak on that. Check out this primer from psychotherapist Imi Lo for a good place to start.

Anyway, Mr. Ramaswamy’s commentary is expressed in a way that’s cringey and distracting—the pop culture references are certainly ham-handed—but he’s not wrong on the overall points.

His thesis isn’t the problem. It’s his audience. Mr. Ramaswamy, who has gone all-in on a full MAGA true believer schtick—apparently forgot that Trump’s base have zero interest in hearing hard truths. None.

Sir, where do you think you are in the political landscape? Do you need a map and compass? This is the speech you give if you’re the main character in an Aaron Sorkin vehicle, not when you’re working for someone who was just elected on the most xenophobic and racist platform in modern history.

Let me ask you, Sir: don’t you think it’s a little strange that J.D. Vance, who made literally the same damn argument in the book that catapulted him to fame, the husband of an Indian American woman born to immigrant parents, hasn’t said anything about all this?

Why do you think that is? Do you think it’s possible that he understands your boss’s core supporters are pretty damn xenophobic and hypersensitive when presented with truths about the enduring mediocrity of many white Americans?

Listen, Mr. Ramaswamy: we aren’t gonna hear a peep about Hillbilly Elegy for the next four years. Mr. Vance would be thrilled if no one ever mentions it again.

There are reasons for that, Mr. Ramaswamy, and you know those reasons if you’re being completely honest with yourself.

Rarely have we seen a public figure so completely misread the room.

It would be like Hank Hill setting up a vendor booth for Strickland Propane at a PETA convention, which he would never do because Hank Hill is a Republican with common sense and sure as hell knows vegans aren’t his target demo for propane and propane accessories.

Hell, I’m a progressive trans woman, and I could have told Mr. Ramaswamy this attempted “come to Jesus” pitch to Trump supporters about American laziness and immigrant excellence was never gonna fly.

Predictably, the MAGA backlash has been swift and severe. Rightwing influencers across social media have been raking Mr. Ramaswamy and Mr. Musk across the coals for the past few days over the visa program and their support for immigrants in high skilled professions.

The notoriously unhinged Laura Loomer has been using her influence over the far-right to viciously blast Mr. Musk online.

More troublingly, the sheer racism against Indian Americans and immigrants that’s currently permeating rightwing spaces is disturbing, spurred by the obvious and entirely misplaced resentment of white Americans who are furious that people who don’t look like them and work harder are getting better jobs.

The open bigotry on display by the MAGA base has understandably unsettled many first- and second-generation immigrants who voted for Trump, like this gentleman who was apparently shocked to discover the backbone of the GOP is powered by racism.

Sir, you’re absolutely right about all this, but where the hell have you been?

We told y’all this would happen. Repeatedly. Incessantly. We could not have been more clear that this was inevitable.

I have no idea if Trump has specifically spoken out against the visa program for skilled immigrants—he probably has but I’m too lazy to look it up—but even if he hasn’t, his long record of racist and xenophobic pandering to his fans was always leading to this place.

Trump has made hundreds of statements over the years that were clearly racist, and the spiritual distance between those statements and this current mayhem is definitely shorter than the eighteen inches between the head and the heart.

It’s as though all these folks, including the gentleman above, intentionally voted for a proud arsonist and are now shocked to find kindling and matches being staged on their front doors.

Honestly, what did y’all think was gonna happen? Did you think the tech industry would get a pass? Did you think excellence would be enough to avoid the wrath of xenophobes?

Hell no.

Their whole thing is being xenophobic and racist, or did you miss when the leader of your party spent years accusing our first Black president, who was born in this country and raised by a white mother and white grandparents in a working class family, of being ineligible for the presidency because of the absurd, b**t, racist claim that he was born in Kenya?

We’re surprised that you’re surprised.

Maybe this will finally be enough for you to stay away from leopards because final piece of advice: their stomachs will never be full.

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It’s been six days since UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson was murdered outside the New York Hilton Midtown just before 7am.

The assassin, 26 year-old Luigi Mangione, was apprehended yesterday at a McDonald’s in Altoona, PA after an employee there recognized him from publicly released images and called the police.

He was carrying a 3D printed gun, a 3D printed silencer, several fake IDs, and a three-page manifesto in defense of the murder. Was he hoping to get caught? It sure seems like it.

As with so many other issues in our increasingly divided country, the incident has become far less about discussing the particulars in good faith and more about aggressively rationalizing our biases and shutting down anyone who challenges them.

America’s health care system is severely broken, held in place by insurance companies who routinely engage in unethical practices for which the primary goal is prioritizing corporate profits over sick people, enabled by enough lawmakers who directly benefit from preserving that status quo.

Meanwhile, the country is quite clearly veering into an era in which political violence is increasingly seen by many as not only acceptable but necessary.

In his manifesto, Mangione wrote: “I do apologize for any strife or traumas, but it had to be done. Frankly, these parasites had it coming.”

Bizarrely, in his Goodreads four-star review of “Industrial Society and Its Future” by Ted Kaczynski—better known to us plebs as “The Unabomber Manifesto”—he wrote that Kaczynski was “rightfully imprisoned” but also:

“When all other forms of communication fail, violence is necessary to survive. You may not like his methods, but to see things from his perspective, it’s not terrorism, it’s war and revolution… […] Peaceful protest is outright ignored, economic protest isn’t possible in the current system, so how long until we recognize that violence against those who lead us to such destruction is justified as self-defense.”

Yeah, that’s certainly one way to sum it up.

Here’s another way: Ted Kaczynski was a vile, self-absorbed piece-of-s**t who intentionally murdered and maimed innocent people from the comfort of his remote cabin and justified it with a narcissistic pseudo-intellectualism instead of, you know, having the guts to engage in the hard work of advocacy.

He was not a revolutionary. He was a terrorist and a coward whose actions only served to inspire a generation of more self-absorbed extremists, and I’m really glad he’s no longer walking the earth.

Of course, some will whine this is unfair framing because Mangione targeted a horrible enabler of this unfair system rather than innocent people, he’s merely agreeing with Kaczynski on the principle of violence as necessary, and our disgust should be with corporations who have willingly bankrupted and/or enabled the deaths of millions.

Of course we should be disgusted with these corporations. They’re cruel and predatory and inhumane. They knowingly exploit the suffering of innocent and sick people to maximize profit.

But just for the sake of argument, let’s briefly allow these other things to be true: Mangione was right to murder Thompson, health care executives deserve any violence coming to them, etc.

Okay, so, what now? Tell me what happens next. Because in the past week, I have read zero commentary that answers this with any degree of sufficient reason.

The hopeful wish—and I think even that’s generous—is that health care executives will somehow be intimidated into curbing their unethical practices out of fear being targeted next.

Are you kidding me? Health care executives aren’t going to let a little homicide get in the way of their profits. They’ll beef up security, hire the best PR professionals money can buy, increase lobbying to complicit lawmakers, and leverage this murder for sympathy.

And it will work. You know how I know that?

Because we just had an election in which an openly corrupt champion of corporate greed who still hasn’t released his supposed health care plan since he first ran for president eight years ago was picked over a policy expert who had a defined health care plan and was nominated by a political party that achieved the greatest health care reform in modern history.

How many millions of people openly cheering on Mangione stayed home or even voted for Trump?

How many of them had time to share memes online but not organize family and friends and neighbors to get out the vote because of purity politics or VP Harris just isn’t likable or Democrats aren’t good enough or both parties are the same (they are clearly not) or, hell, someone else will do that work, so why bother?

Mangione is one of them. Here’s this Ivy League educated young man from a privileged family and an impressive social network who could have tried to use those resources to change the system.

But he didn’t even try. He didn’t venture into health care advocacy or do any political organizing on this. He read a manifesto written by a violent clown and decided it better served either his ego or convenience to murder a health care executive on the street than undertake the difficult work of reform.

My issue is not with the millions of people in this country who have said over the past week that they’re not mourning the murder of Thompson because Thompson sure as hell didn’t mourn their loved ones who have been cruelly victimized by corporations like UnitedHealthcare.

They’re well within their right to feel that way. I come from a family background in which it was obvious growing up that insurance companies would sooner allow us to die or be financially ruined than grant us the care we need. I get it.

My problem isn’t with the millions people who are rightly pointing out all the ways in which UnitedHealthcare is evil and openly asking: where is the sympathy for the most vulnerable in this country when they perish because executives have decided their lives and livelihoods aren’t profitable?

That is absolutely necessary to ask and demand an answer to it.

My problem is with Mangione and people like him who don’t do the work that needs to be done and encourage political violence as a supposed last straw—not having really tried other approaches in good faith—which, in the end, will only further normalize a growing culture of political violence that overwhelmingly harms the innocent and most vulnerable.

Murdering people in the street is ultimately wrong not because it’s a question of whether or not the person murdered deserves it but because it further erodes the social guardrail, which is thinning at an alarming rate, that it’s immoral to inflict violence on others out of political and policy disagreements.

Political violence solves nothing. It never has.

All it does is offer a brief sense of smug satisfaction for some, fuel for the worst people to continue doing what they do, and more than enough room for dead innocents after that.

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I wouldn’t say I’m surprised that retired General Mark Milley, former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, is consistently being attacked online by clowns who claim he never served in combat.

It’s part of a long pattern of rightwing extremists shamelessly undermining the military service of veterans who disagree with them, reaching its apex in Donald Trump, who has made it fashionable among his supporters to denigrate the service of his critics and, well, veterans generally.

No, it’s not surprising, but I would say I’m certainly disgusted and more than that: perplexed by the shamelessness and ignorance of these hypocrites.

Five days ago, a disinformation account on Twitter that’s popular among the MAGA masses posted this image about Gen. Milley, which, as of this morning, had been viewed more than 5.5 million times on the site:

It’s perfectly primed to condone and enable outrage among Trumpers. In one fell swoop, it implies Gen. Milley is cowardly, hypocritical, elitist, attention-seeking, and undeserving, creating a permission structure to dismiss his service record as unearned and his expertise as false and unworthy.

But per usual, the lack of curiosity and introspection among Trump supporters offers yet another example of their inexplicable tendency to ignore evidence staring them right in the face — or simply pretend it’s not there.

Military dress uniforms are a walking resumé. If you spend no more than a minute glancing at one (and know what you’re looking at), you can typically sketch out a fairly accurate career bio of the service member.

Since the creator of this disinformation account clearly didn't serve and, well, I did, I’ll explain a few things about Gen. Milley's uniform they obviously don't understand.

See that blue thing above his ribbons?

That's the Combat Infantryman Badge. It's awarded to Army soldiers in the Infantry or Special Forces in the rank of colonel or below who have engaged in direct combat.

You don't earn that by being a senior officer in the rear. There are plenty of senior officers who deployed and never earned a CIB, including general officers.

If you look really close, his badge has a star at the top, which means it's his second CIB. You only get to earn one per war. He engaged in direct combat in both Panama (1989) and the Global War on Terrorism, and thus, he earned that rare star.

Interestingly, as a side note, there have been at least 325 recipients of the extremely rare third award of the CIB, all of whom engaged in direct combat in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. It is highly unlikely we’ll ever see another three-time CIB. For those interested, it looks like this:

Anyway, going back to Gen. Milley, if you look closely at his ribbon rack—and I'll grant you, that photo of him above is a bit grainy—you’ll notice he's earned, among his many decorations, three Legions of Merit and four Bronze Stars.

On his left shoulder are the Special Forces tab and the Ranger tab, meaning he's both a former Green Beret and Ranger-qualified.

There are some other cool things: both the Master Parachutist Badge and Special Operations Diver Badge, the latter of which is a very hard course.

It’s not readily visible in that image, but on the bottom-right side of his torso is the 101st Airborne Division Combat Service Identification Badge, which means he’s completed a combat deployment with the 101st Airborne Division.

But all of that pales in comparison to what you can't see in this photo: on his right sleeve, a quarter inch above the sleeve braid, are 10 overseas service bars. I found a different photo in which these are visible, circled in red:

Each one of those bars represents six months of completed service while deployed in a theater of war.

Gen. Milley spent five years of his career serving in combat zones: Panama, Bosnia, Haiti, Iraq, and Afghanistan.

I imagine it must make a lot of these Trump supporters feel pretty damn insecure that a leader who has committed his entire adult life to service in uniform thinks their orange daddy is a coward who avoided military service, but that's not a good enough reason to lie about Gen. Milley’s service record.

This man is a patriot who has spent his lifetime honorably serving our country, and there’s no excuse for tolerating such slander.

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Yesterday, GOP Congresswoman Nancy Mace introduced a resolution to the House rules package that would require all people to use only restrooms corresponding with their sex assigned at birth, essentially intended as a ban on trans women from using women's restrooms in the U.S. Capitol.

This is being done as Sarah McBride of Delaware is set to become the first openly-trans Member of Congress.

It remains very unclear how this rule would be enforced, and when Rep. Mace was asked that exact question last night, she refused to offer anything in the way of a direct answer.

What I find most interesting about all this is that trans women have been using women's restrooms in the Capitol and the House and Senate office buildings and the White House and the Pentagon for many years now, including during all four years of the Trump Administration.

Under Donald Trump's leadership, trans women were permitted to use women's restrooms in federal buildings in D.C. and there was never any issue.

I have attended hundreds of political events in D.C. over the years and used the restroom at many of them, including in all the buildings listed above.

I have washed my hands countless times at the sink next to conservative and Republican women and even had pleasant and brief conversations with many of them.

There’s never been an issue. Because the whole point of going to the restroom is to do your business in a private stall and then wash your hands and maybe touch up your make-up and, on occasion, with friends, there might be conversations at the sink.

That’s it. I’m sorry there’s no mystery here. It’s pretty straightforward and banal.

In fact, the only time I need to worry about using a public restroom is when I travel outside of D.C., always double-checking to see if there are non-discrimination protections in airports during a layover.

If there aren’t, I need to locate a single-occupancy restroom and/or carefully plan what I eat and drink during that leg of the trip.

In the four years that Rep. Nancy Mace has been in Congress, she's known that trans women use women's restrooms in federal buildings in D.C. and it's never been an issue for her. Not once. In all this time.

Until the first trans woman was elected to Congress. Then it suddenly became an issue.

Doesn't it seem like this is an incredibly cynical and cruel attempt on the part of Congresswoman Mace to manufacture outrage and divide people over something that hasn't been a problem?

Congresswoman-elect Sarah McBride offered an astute and admirable response:

Every day Americans go to work with people who have life journeys different than their own and engage with them respectfully, I hope members of Congress can muster that same kindness.

This is a blatant attempt from far right-wing extremists to distract from the fact that they have no real solutions to what Americans are facing. We should be focused on bringing down the cost of housing, health care, and child care, not manufacturing culture wars.

Delawareans sent me here to make the American dream more affordable and accessible and that’s what I’m focused on.

I’m glad at least one elected official in this story has the character and discipline to keep focused on the needs of her constituents. She sees petty and cruel distractions for what they are: small and sad.

But I do feel bad for Congresswoman Mace, who is so desperate for attention that she resorts to policing how others pee and being obsessed with their genitals.

I shall genuinely pray for her growth.

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Another day in this election, another weird claim about trans people.

On Wednesday, J.D. Vance sat down for a long interview with Joe Rogan, doing his usual schtick of making a litany of absurd claims, among them that high school students are “becoming trans” to secure an advantage in the notoriously competitive Ivy League admission process, explaining it this way:

“If you are a middle-class or upper-middle-class white parent and the only thing that you care about is whether your child goes into Harvard or Yale, like, obviously, that pathway has become a lot harder for a lot of upper-middle-class kids.”

Sigh… okay, so, let’s all take a breath and put on our thinking caps.

For any trans person or someone who has a trans loved one, the first question that comes to mind is: how on earth would this be worth it?

Because even in the most progressive areas of the country, trans youth and their families still face intense cultural obstacles. Even where non-discrimination laws exist for trans people, anti-trans sentiment doesn’t simply disappear.

Any trans person can tell you that even in places where 99% of folks have no issues with trans people, all it takes is one transphobic person to cause trouble.

And they do! Let’s be clear about that: anti-trans harassment and discrimination happen everywhere in the United States. Simply residing in a progressive place doesn’t insulate trans people from bigotry.

Last month, Jo Yurcaba of NBC News reported on the CDC’s 2023 Youth Risk Behavior Survey, data gathered last year but published about three weeks ago.

In regards to trans high school students, the data is predictably horrifying. About a quarter of trans and questioning students surveyed had attempted suicide in the past year, 40 percent reported being bullied, and about 70 percent reported persistent sadness or hopelessness.

Bottom line: it really ain’t great to be a trans youth in the current climate.

So, even if a non-trans high school student were presenting as “trans” to obtain a mythological advantage (more on that in a sec), they would quickly find out that transphobia still very much exists.

I just can’t see how it would be worth it. It doesn’t make sense.

Okay, so, what if a non-trans student didn’t publicly come out as "trans” but lied on their college application about being trans in order to gain that mythological advantage?

That’s a hell of a roll of the dice, isn’t it?

A family would basically be betting that their college applicant could keep their false representation a secret, limited only to the admissions committee, risking all the consequences that would come with any future revelation that they lied on their application.

That doesn’t make sense, either.

But here’s the kicker to all this: trans youth are woefully underrepresented at Ivy League universities and clearly don’t have an admissions advantage when applying.

That CDC national survey also reported that about 3.3 percent of high school students identify as transgender.

Harvard’s entering freshmen class this year has 0.7 percent trans students, a fifth of the national average.

UPenn’s entering class is 1.0 percent.

Princeton’s entering class is 1.4 percent.

Dartmouth’s entering class is 1.6 percent.

Brown and Cornell have neither publicly-available, official statistics nor student surveys on trans students matriculating this year.

The entering classes of Yale and Columbia are tied for the highest rate of trans students among the Ivies: two percent, nearly half the national average of high school trans students.

Most of these college stats were gathered from student surveys conducted by campus newspapers. I was unable to find any evidence that these institutions factor in an aspiring matriculant’s gender identity when considering their application.

Maybe a top university outside the Ivies does?

Stanford has no publicly available data on this, so I called their admissions office, and after explaining my inquiry, a polite but understandably incredulous staffer told me:

“We don’t collect that information during the admissions process.”

They directly confirmed that trans applicants have no advantage.

Not wanting to waste anyone else’s time on this—or mine—I left it there. It’s abundantly clear that being transgender offers no clear advantage when applying to our nation’s top universities.

But I also have to ask: why shouldn’t being transgender make an aspiring applicant stand out a bit?

Being trans is a rare life experience which has constantly been at the center of American public life over the past several years and certainly shows no signs of going away in the national discourse.

If a college education is meant to include developing social skills for their future place in the workforce and learning from other students of widely different backgrounds, doesn’t it seem reasonable that all college students, regardless of gender identity, benefit from having trans classmates?

I feel the same way about conservative students. Having young people of varying political backgrounds and viewpoints in good faith conversation with each other is a necessary thing for civic engagement and professional development, and it should be encouraged.

It reminds me of a heartwarming conversation I read recently between two friends who met each other as law school students, one of them a trans progressive and the other a non-trans conservative.

The conservative had a written a memoir in which he described his trans friend in a manner that he realized might not accurately reflect their identity. He wrote the friend an email apologizing for the error.

The trans friend wrote him back with a kind reply, offering grace and understanding and good faith.

The two signed off their respective emails with love, reflective of a long friendship that was built on trust, despite their divergent political views.

The conservative in this story is J.D. Vance, and his trans friend—whom he would later betray by selling out to to horrific anti-trans views—is Sofia Nelson.

So, maybe this expectation of sociocultural exchange doesn’t guarantee good outcomes, especially when one of the parties throws away their value system for fame and power.

It’s almost as though J.D. Vance knows what he’s saying about trans people is flat-out wrong and hateful and counterproductive, and he’s decided that betraying people he claims to love—let alone an entire vulnerable community—is worth it.

And that does beg the conclusion: if this is how he’s used his Ivy League degree, it probably makes sense he imagines anyone else would lie to get one.

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I love baseball. It’s my favorite sport to watch. I’ve enjoyed the World Series every year for as long as I can remember.

Some of you aren’t into baseball. Some of you find it incredibly boring, which is completely understandable. America’s national pastime isn’t for everyone. There are long stretches during which, on its face, there’s no obvious excitement on the field.

If you love baseball, every moment is interesting because the intricacies are quite fun to watch. The dueling between pitcher and batter—the competing strategies—alone is fascinating.

Anyway, this year is particularly fascinating because of the storylines.

The Los Angeles Dodgers and the New York Yankees are facing off in the World Series for the 12th time in the history of their storied rivalry, which stretches back to when the Dodgers were still in Brooklyn.

Playing for the Dodgers are Shohei Ohtani, widely considered the best ballplayer since the days of Josh Gibson and Babe Ruth (some think he’s the greatest ever) and the phenomenal Mookie Betts and the electrifying Freddie Freeman.Playing for the Yankees are Aaron Judge, one of the greatest hitters in the game, and Giancarlo Stanton (also one of the greatest hitters in the game) and Juan Soto (also one of the greatest hitters in the game).

Two of the most iconic franchises in baseball representing the two biggest media markets in the country, with numerous likely-future-Hall-of-Famers on the field, a jaw-dropping 34 World Series titles between them (though the Dodgers have a mere seven of those), and it’s all very, very fun for baseball fans.

So, it’s not surprising that 16.28 million viewers saw last night’s Game 4 (the winner goes to best-of-7 for you non-baseball folks), the highest single game viewership for the World Series since 2019, contributing to the highest average World Series viewership for a series since 2017.

And, of course, I’m watching. It’s delicious. It’s a beautiful drip of serotonin in a year of political and existential morass when I could use the distraction from all that’s awful.

But then the commercials come, and during just about every break, it’s the same campaign ad: a disembodied, angry voice essentially tells 16 million viewers that trans people are the cause of their problems, that “Kamala is for they/them, President Trump is for you.”

It’s the same ad aired during NFL games and NCAA football games and other sporting events, and if you’re a trans person who loves sports like I do—and I really love sports—it profoundly sucks to be bombarded with this hateful rhetoric, day after day, for many weeks now.

Transphobia is so open and commonplace these days that it’s easy to become somewhat desensitized to it. There’s the campaign rhetoric. There are political articles. There are talking heads. There are bans. There are court cases. There’s street harassment. There’s online harassment. There are death threats.

There’s the overwhelming sense that millions of people in the United States truly wish that the trans community would simply disappear, by any means possible.

That much is obvious.

But what doesn’t get nearly enough attention these days—and I firmly believe this as strongly as anything—is that the vast majority of the country does not support transphobia.

I know that’s hard for some folks to accept. It’s a close election, and if the polls are to be believed (and I am quite skeptical of polls), nearly half of likely voters support a presidential ticket that is stridently anti-trans. Ergo, I am supposed to accept that half the country hates the existence of the trans community.

But I don’t accept that. I don’t think it’s true because I’ve had numerous conversations with conservatives—some of them Trump supporters—who don’t have anything against trans people specifically.

Some probably think I shouldn’t say that because if someone is supporting an anti-trans candidate, does it really matter if their support isn’t because of any transphobia on their part?

Totally fair question. I think it does matter. Although anecdotal, the conversations I’ve had with these folks signal, at minimum, a lot of hope for transphobia becoming less prevalent over time in the near future.

But that’s not why I’m talking about this ad. Because it’s honestly not an issue that I believe will be effective in this election despite the GOP’s firm belief that most Americans care about this more than other central topics.

Because I believe most Americans, regardless of political beliefs, will not be voting based on their personal feelings toward trans people. They just won’t. Republican leadership have woefully miscalculated the effectiveness of disgusting bigotry as an electoral motivator.

It’ll drive out a lot of the GOP’s base, sure, but it’s not the kinda thing that resonates with most Americans.

If anything, I believe that most Americans are repulsed and incredulous that considerable space is being given to this issue, in the final stretch of the election, that could far more effectively address the actual struggles of working class families.

It’s why I’m glad that Vice President Harris and Gov. Walz are laser-focused on the struggles facing all working class families. It’s why I’m glad their messaging is about uniting the country and saving democracy and lifting people up. The contrast is powerful and most importantly: it will win the election.

Regardless, the ads do work in quite a visceral way: for those who already hate trans people, it’s further enabling their bigotry. It’s further encouraging the blatant and searing dehumanization of trans people among a segment of the population who are already inclined to consider us sub-human.

The ads are building an obvious permission structure for virulently anti-trans people to treat us like we are unworthy of protection against violence and discrimination.

I’m a grown adult, and as much as it sucks to see this unapologetic hatred every day, I know I’m gonna be alright.

I’m in an area of the country with solid protections against discrimination. I have access to health care. I’m doing okay financially. I have a good support system. I’m very fortunate and privileged in all these ways.

But what about those trans people living in areas of the country without non-discrimination protections?

What about trans folks without health care? What about trans people who are unemployed and unhoused and encountering other forms of discrimination, like racism and xenophobia, that compound the violent bigotry they experience? What about trans youth and their families?

What about trans people who are especially vulnerable? Even if most of the country doesn’t want to see them hurt, is that enough to protect them from the significantly smaller portion of the country that does want harm to come to them?

It is not enough. It, alone, will never be enough. I know this. It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than that to achieve progress. It will take patience and grace and authenticity and confidence and assertiveness for many years. It will take a lot of teamwork for a long time coming. That’s just the truth.

But I can’t just stop watching baseball. I refuse to stop watching baseball.

I love my country. I love being an American. I have always believed our nation has the potential to achieve a greatness that is only limited by our imagination and most importantly: our sense of unity. I’m glad Vice President Harris embodies that.

I’m watching baseball tonight because it gives me joy, just as it does to the many millions of other Americans who are watching.

We are all watching a bunch of exceptional athletes work together and experience some of the best moments of life together and encourage each other—just like a family should—toward their common, sole purpose of getting home safely.

And I think that’s far too important to let the smallness and pettiness and ugliness of some very sad people get in the way of my joy.

They will say what hateful things they say and openly speak of what hateful things they desire and they will spin their wheels in such desperation for however long they’ll spin them.

But they don’t get to take baseball from me. Not a chance.

I’m at home here.

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Dear Mr. Bezos:

We’ve read the explanation you published this evening for your decision to kill The Washington Post’s presidential endorsement.

We don't believe you. At all.

We don't think this is about encouraging news neutrality or building trust or fighting disinformation or competing against indie media.

You know why?

Because you did it 11 days before the election, after your editorial board came to a conclusion and drafted an endorsement, after your senior brass gave a green light internally.

If this were somehow about principle, you could have nixed the endorsement before the general election began.

Hell, you could have done it the day Pres. Biden stepped aside as an understandable moment for a reset.

But you didn't.

You claim major newspaper endorsements largely don't matter in a presidential election.

And honestly, I'm inclined to somewhat agree. I think their influence is overrated.

Unless it's an outlet endorsing their perceived ideological opposite (ex: NYT or WaPo for Trump, WSJ or New York Post for Harris), it doesn't matter a whole lot.

Although it's quite curious you claim to believe WaPo's presidential endorsements are too impotent to matter in elections, yet too powerful over public attitudes to be allowed to continue.

That doesn't make sense.

But it's also missing the point.

People aren't angry at you because we think Vice President Harris will somehow lose based on WaPo not endorsing her.

We're furious because you, one of the richest people in the world, bought one of the leading newspapers in our country--a storied bulwark against censorship and corrupt governing--and abused that power to kill the autonomy of the staff of that newspaper.

You have subverted the free press right before a presidential election in which one of the candidates is aggressively totalitarian in outlook, and you now pretend to be surprised at the shock and outrage.

We do not trust you.

We now find it very difficult to trust your newspaper despite the many excellent journalists who work there.

And we believe you either ultimately care only about your own greed OR you are dangerously incompetent regarding the importance of a free press.

Maybe both.

In any case, I’m glad I cancelled my subscription, and there's no way in hell I'm paying for The Washington Post while you still own it.

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Yesterday, just before noon, The Washington Post, through CEO William Lewis, announced it would not endorse a candidate in the 2024 presidential election, the first time the nation’s third-largest daily newspaper by circulation hasn’t done so in nearly four decades.

The announcement was shocking for two immediate reasons.

The most grave—and, frankly, terrifying—reason is that the United States is obviously at threat of sliding into a horrific dictatorship from which it’s difficult to see how we’d ever recover.

Donald Trump and J.D. Vance have made it abundantly clear that they aspire to devolve our nation into the world’s most powerful authoritarian regime. One need look no further than the chilling plans outlined in Project 2025.

But there are many other warning signs, too. A small sampling:

There’s Trump openly praising Hitler’s generals, according to his former chief-of-staff John Kelly (himself a retired four-star Marine Corps general), just the latest marker of fascist narcissism in Trump’s very long and documented history of being obsessed with dictators.

There’s Trump repeatedly pledging to carry out the largest deportation of undocumented migrants in American history, a sweat-lipped plan made in blustering tones that somehow manages to exceed its inherent cruelty with an inexplicable failure to understand basic economics.

(Not only is it logistically impossible to deport our nation’s 11 million undocumented migrants, not only would it cost taxpayers an estimated quarter trillion to do so, but the American economy would completely collapse from the loss in labor force.)

There’s Trump’s flagrant disregard for the Constitution and the rule of law: an indictment that resulted in a guilty verdict on 34 felony counts (his sentencing for that is on Nov. 26th), three other pending indictments on 52 more felony counts, two impeachments, being found liable for defamation of a woman he raped, etc.

Oh, and, of course, there’s Trump’s frequent statements to serve past the constitutional limit of two terms as president (I’m sure he’s just kidding), and the extremist conservative majority of the Supreme Court ruling last year that Trump is essentially a king beyond accountability for official acts in office.

That’s all an abbreviated version of why Donald Trump is obviously unfit.

The second reason is The Washington Post’s abdication of journalistic integrity under the ownership of Jeff Bezos, a development that is especially chilling for a publication that has long prided itself on being the vanguard for American democracy and free speech.

The storied newspaper has won 76 Pulitzer Prizes over its history—second only to The New York Times—one of which was for the investigative reporting by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein that eventually led to the resignation of Richard Nixon. Another was for the reporting on the Jan. 6th attack on the U.S. Capitol.

The Washington Post has long been synonymous with the essential role of the free press in a healthy, functioning democracy in the same manner we associate Babe Ruth with baseball or July Fourth with fireworks or Dolly Parton with a clean soul.

And so, it was with great confusion and incredulity that I read Mr. Lewis’ painfully shameless attempt to justify the decision. He sure did try to put on a powdered wig and insist that the bowl of s**t he wanted to feed to the American public was actually chicken soup for the American soul.

Most curiously, in writing about The Washington Post’s history of largely declining to endorse presidential candidates prior to 1976, he stated that year’s endorsement for then-Gov. Jimmy Carter was made “for understandable reasons at the time…”

Did you catch that? He’s obliquely referencing Watergate, the scandal that brought down Nixon with reporting by the paper — Nixon, who, by any measurable standard, comes across like Lincoln when compared to Trump.

Mr. Lewis, for some odd reason, thought it persuasive to essentially say: “Look, we don’t regret endorsing Carter because Nixon was terrible, but also: Trump is not nearly terrible enough to justify continuing this dangerous practice of presidential endorsements.”

Furthermore, aside from the dollar store cheap imitation of logic, he failed to mention in his desperate, sorry excuse for rationalizing that The Washington Post, for the past several weeks, had been drafting an approved endorsement for Vice President Harris.

He failed to mention that the endorsement was still on track a week ago, and there was no indication that it would be halted for any reason, let alone on the rather cringe-inducing reasoning he put forward in his announcement.

He failed to mention that Trump met today with corporate leaders of aerospace company Blue Origin—also owned by Bezos—which is, at best, godawful timing or a pretty clear signal of Bezos’ reasoning in killing the endorsement. Maybe both.

Probably both.

If none of this makes sense, you’re far from alone. It completely failed to persuade the staff and alums of The Washington Post.

Conservative columnist and editor-at-large Robert Kagan immediately resigned in protest.

Sixteen other Washington Post columnists—Perry Bacon Jr., Matt Bai, Max Boot, E.J. Dionne Jr., Lee Hockstader, David Ignatius, Heather Long, Ruth Marcus, Dana Milbank, Alexandra Petri, Catherine Rampell, Eugene Robinson, Jennifer Rubin, Karen Tumulty, and Erik Wemple—published this statement on the paper’s website:

The Washington Post’s decision not to make an endorsement in the presidential campaign is a terrible mistake. It represents an abandonment of the fundamental editorial convictions of the newspaper that we love. This is a moment for the institution to be making clear its commitment to democratic values, the rule of law and international alliances, and the threat that Donald Trump poses to them — the precise points The Post made in endorsing Trump’s opponents in 2016 and 2020. There is no contradiction between The Post’s important role as an independent newspaper and its practice of making political endorsements, both as a matter of guidance to readers and as a statement of core beliefs. That has never been more true than in the current campaign. An independent newspaper might someday choose to back away from making presidential endorsements. But this isn’t the right moment, when one candidate is advocating positions that directly threaten freedom of the press and the values of the Constitution.

Mr. Woodward and Mr. Bernstein issued this statement:

We respect the traditional independence of the editorial page, but this decision 12 days out from the 2024 presidential election ignores the Washington Post’s own overwhelming reportorial evidence on the threat Donald Trump poses to democracy. Under Jeff Bezos’s ownership, the Washington Post’s news operation has used its abundant resources to rigorously investigate the danger and damage a second Trump presidency could cause to the future of American democracy and that makes this decision even more surprising and disappointing, especially this late in the electoral process.

Retired WaPo executive editor Martin Baron, who led the paper from 2012 thru 2021, including the tumultuous years of Trump’s presidency, responded with a scathing statement:

“This is cowardice, with democracy as its casualty. Donald Trump will see this as invitation to further intimidate owner Jeff Bezos (and others). Disturbing spinelessness at an institution famed for courage.”

The Washington Post Guild—the paper’s employee union—had this to say:

We are deeply concerned that The Washington Post—an American news institution in the nation’s capital—would make the decision to no longer endorse presidential candidates, especially a mere 11 days ahead of an immensely consequential election. The role of an Editorial Board is to do just this: to share opinion on the news impacting our society and culture and endorse candidates to help guide readers.

The message from our chief executive, Will Lewis—not from the Editorial Board itself—makes us concerned that management interfered with the work of our members in Editorial. According to our own reporters and Guild members, an endorsement for Harris was already drafted, and the decision to not publish was made by The Post’s owner, Jeff Bezos. We are already seeing cancellations from once loyal readers. This decision undercuts the work of our members at a time when we should be building our readers’ trust, not losing it.

Washington Post editorial cartoonist Ann Telnaes published this jarring work on the paper’s website, titling it “Democracy Dies in Darkness,” referencing WaPo’s official slogan that was introduced in 2017, just a month after Trump took office.

As of 7:30pm yesterday, Semafor’s Max Tani reported that at least 2,000 subscriptions to the paper had been canceled in the previous 24 hours, the overwhelming bulk of those likely being in the seven-and-a-half hours following the announcement from Mr. Lewis.

Numerous public figures—including Stephen King, Mark Hamill, Jon Cryer, and former Congresswoman Marie Newman—publicly announced they were cancelling their own subscriptions.

Last night, I made the same decision. I had heard rumblings early in the morning from friends in media that WaPo was about to announce a non-endorsement, credible enough that I mentioned it during a 10am meeting with colleagues and they were understandably shocked.

I spent most of yesterday morning and afternoon, in the midst of a very busy schedule, privately agonizing over what I would do as a subscriber.

Over the years, I’ve published a number of op-eds in The Washington Post, pieces of which I’m quite proud in a paper I’ve put on a pedestal since I was a kid, and I’ve worked with numerous editors and reporters at the outlet whom I admire for their professionalism and public service.

It is not lost on me that cancelling a newspaper subscription will not hurt Jeff Bezos but will hurt those employed at the paper.

And yet, as much as my heart breaks for the staff of The Washington Post, who haven’t done anything to deserve this, I am still left with the simple truth that if Bezos is willing to kill an endorsement 11 days out, whether out of fear or ambition, what else is he willing to do with the paper?

There are numerous journalists at the outlet doing critical work, but how we do know anymore when Jeff Bezos is putting his thumb on the scale, backed up by a complicit CEO who blatantly lies about the paper’s direction?

There have to be consequences for an action this brazen and irresponsible and dangerous for our democracy. Something’s gotta give.

I respect the decisions of other subscribers, but I simply cannot stomach giving another dime in reward to a publication with such great influence that can be used to do such great harm moving forward.

It is my hope that there will be a time, after Vice President Harris is elected, after Trump is held accountable, after the craven capitalists of media have learned there’s not much to be made in the long run from these corrupt and shameless tactics, that The Washington Post will be restored to its former glory.

In the meantime, I will pay for my news elsewhere.

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I’m writing this after traveling back from the future, specifically Nov. 12th.

It’s a long story, but I know a lady who knows a lady who has a friend with a DeLorean souped up with an off-market flux capacitor and the trip got made.

Anyway, we don’t have much time, so I’ll cut to the chase.

I got some good news and some bad news and some more good news.

Here’s the first good bit: Election Night went mostly okay, though not without a lot of stress.

By 1am on the East Coast, it was basically clear that Vice President Harris and Governor Walz were going to win the bulk of the swing states, all of them by pretty small margins.

Michigan, Wisconsin, and Nevada wound up in Harris-Walz column by fewer than 140,000 votes combined, about two-thirds of their total margin in 2020.

Arizona was called for Harris-Walz by the following evening with a razor thin 0.53 percent lead, just outside the threshold for an automatic recount. It’s generally accepted this will hold after absentee/mail-in ballots. Trump-Vance are challenging the results, of course.

Trump-Vance won Georgia by 0.61 percent, just outside the state’s recount request threshold. As in 2020, there are widespread reports of voting inaccessibility and voters standing in line for many hours, some of them turned away, some of them given inaccurate polling place information.

North Carolina was one of the biggest heartbreakers of the night. Harris-Walz wound up losing by just 8,000 votes, relatively small compared to Biden-Harris losing by 74,000 votes in 2020. This will probably hold, too.

But the biggest surprise for everyone from the past week in my timeline—and arguably the biggest heartbreak for Democrats—was Florida, where Harriz-Walz are currently on track to lose by a tantalizing 19,000 votes after the initial recount. Maybe the recount will flip it but most likely not.

Biden-Harris lost Florida by 371,686 votes in 2020. Even in losing, the 2024 margin is a remarkable achievement for Florida Democrats.

As it stands, Harris-Walz are currently at 268 electoral votes (including a surprisingly strong margin in NE-02) compared to Trump-Vance’s likely total of 251.

All that’s left now is Pennsylvania, far too close for comfort, where the margin is shockingly close: just 0.04 percent in favor of Harris-Walz, compared to 1.16 percent for Biden-Harris in 2020.

This, of course, triggered an automatic recount. PA Secretary of State Al Schmidt ordered it to begin today in accordance with state law. He’s a Republican who was appointed by Gov. Josh Shapiro last year, partly due to his refusal to cooperate with efforts by Trump to overturn the valid results of the 2020 election.

The political world is in a full state of rage and anxiety. Pundits are combing through the bizarre nature of Pennsylvania being this ridiculously close, far closer than anyone expected. Trump and Vance have vowed to fight it all the way to the Supreme Court, where, if accepted, they may prevail.

Many observers say the smart money is on Harris-Walz, that the lead of just a few thousand votes should hold, even with a recount, but at this margin, with the furor of Trump World screaming sabotage and this extremist Supreme Court, who the hell really knows?

So, that’s the bad news. The automatic recount could very well flip it to Trump-Vance, and even if it doesn’t, political violence, to some degree, is almost certainly guaranteed.

That’s why I’m here. I’ve traveled back in time with the second bit of good news: we now know this election is very winnable, and with two weeks until Election Day, there’s absolutely no reason why every adult who cares about this country shouldn’t be doing all they can to expand these margins.

Even if you take a few hours this weekend to call voters or knock on doors in these swing states—especially your family, friends, and neighbors—that could prove the difference in the states we lost in my timeline and cement our victories in the states we won.

Two more weeks. Just two more weeks to prevent the cruel anxiety and depression and despair we’ve all been feeling over the past seven days in my timeline, the gnawing regret in knowing that each of us could have probably done a little more and some of us could have done a lot more.

I traveled back in time to get y’all do a little more, so that you can rest easy on the morning of Nov. 6th, knowing you saved democracy from the brink.

Don’t know where or how to volunteer? I got you.

Go here: https://go.kamalaharris.com/

There are so many ways to get involved, and for some of them you don’t even have to leave the comfort of your own home. Take a few hours this week and help us out.

Alright, I promised to get this DeLorean back in one piece. It’s a pretty sweet ride but scary as hell.

Don’t let us down. Don’t let the future down.

Get involved. Your future self will thank you for doing so.

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Well, hot damn, today is my birthday. I'm now 38, which is old enough to know I'm still quite young and learning.

That's a blessing, but I don't need to give much thought to know what I want for my birthday.

I know exactly what I want, and it's straightforward.

Every year on my birthday, for the past decade, I've done a fundraiser for Running Start, an organization that trains young women in high school and college to run for elected office someday. It's a highly effective org and bipartisan.

This year, I've decided to focus exclusively on covering the travel and food costs for all 80 participants in the 5th Annual HBCU Women’s Leadership Summit, jointly organized by Running Start and Xceleader, being held next month here in Washington, D.C.

The Summit is bringing together young Black women leaders from 31 HBCUs (historically Black colleges and universities) for political training that will empower them to grow into our country's next generation of elected officials and other public service leaders.

Black women make up about seven percent of the U.S. population but only 5.4 percent of Congress and 3.2 percent of state executive offices. There is only one Black woman in the Senate (Sen. Laphonza Butler) and no Black woman has ever served as a governor.

So, Black women are drastically underrepresented in our country's political leadership, which is odd to me because 1) the contributions of Black women to our nation are outsized and essential and 2) I would not be where I am without the leadership and mentorship of Black women...

......from my 8th grade English teacher, Mrs. Mabry, who made me fall in love with writing, to the Black women officers under whom I served in the Army and invested in my leadership development, to Vice President Harris, who's consistently fought for my rights her entire career.

Early engagement and targeted training help overcome societal and cultural barriers, empowering Black women to run for office, excel in corporate environments, and lead with confidence.

Thus, it's only sensible to dedicate my annual birthday fundraiser for Running Start to this remarkable program that will train and empower the next generation of Black women leaders in the United States, especially in a year when we're about to elect a Black woman president.

So, for my birthday, my goal is to raise $24,000 today to cover all necessary travel and food costs for these participants, ensuring they have access to this program, regardless of cost.

Friends, I would be so honored and delighted and grateful if you would make a donation to this fundraiser, and, of course, I have further incentives:

Anyone donating at least $500 will get a one-on-one Zoom with me, and I'll treat an in-person lunch to anyone donating at least $1,000.

I have a damn good feeling we can hit this goal today, and you will forever have my gratitude.

So, please kindly donate here: https://runningstart.org/charlotte

Running Start is keeping track of all donations, and we'll be reaching out to all donors with thanks.

Please wish me a happy birthday by supporting this program!

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Are there things about AI that I find cool and interesting and hopeful?

Of course.

From medicine to education to national security, artificial intelligence has made once improbable strides seem possible, seemingly, to most of us, overnight.

It hasn’t been overnight. The technological advances we’re witnessing—and those on the horizon—are the culmination of decades of the labor of determined and brilliant people.

Yet it sure does feel like it landed here quickly, doesn’t it? And that makes it hard to keep up. We’re being inundated with stories about AI that seem to saturate the topic with a rate of complexity far outpacing our efforts to understand it.

As with every binary-coerced issue these days, the discourse around AI largely beckons us all into two camps: either you’re an AI optimist or an AI pessimist.

I am neither. I see a lot of promise, and I see a lot of challenges. So, I want to be clear that what I’m about to say isn’t a universal indictment of AI, nor should you let my commentary on this particular aspect of AI muddy the waters in every other aspect.

I am not a technologist or a scientist. I will be the first to admit that I have as much business discussing the finer details of tech policy and regulation as I do being behind the wheel at the Indy 500.

But I do know mass communications. More specifically (and tragically), I’m an expert on social media, and what I’ve been seeing, particularly over the past several weeks, has me very worried about how AI is accelerating disinformation online.

I have been especially concerned with a growing attitude among many progressives and Democrats that AI disinformation is a problem limited to conservatives, particularly Trump supporters.

There seems to be this perception among many that being progressive makes one immunized against being tricked by disinformation. We’re too smart for that. Too informed. Too moral.

But make no mistake: no matter your politics or beliefs or values, you will be tricked by AI. It’s gonna happen. It’s inevitable. I guarantee it.

I’ll give you an example. In recent weeks, I’ve seen this particular image circulating online in progressive and Democratic spaces:

Now, before all the yelling starts, I wanna be clear that this particular image is not what bothers me.

There are plenty of real photos online of insecure gun nuts bringing their firearms into spaces where it’s completely unnecessary. This isn’t about that. I am not saying this doesn’t happen. We know this happens.

The issue is how easily grown adults immediately perceived, without any second thoughts, that this image is real. And it’s not. It’s AI-generated.

It may not be obvious at first or second or third glance, but if you look closely, it ain’t that hard to confirm.

Some tells are more conspicuous than others.

This is not a foot:

This appears to be an arm that belongs to no one, unless the lady on the right is astonishingly flexible OR the lady on the left has an especially long and multi-angular forearm:

Less conspicuous is that cup on the counter. It bears a strong resemblance to the brand design of Chick-fil-A, but it’s not. You will not find this brand design in the real world on any fast food beverage because it doesn’t exist:

And for most folks, far less conspicuous are all the scribblings on the overhead menu and countertop computer screen that are meant to represent words but are, in fact, just creepy gibberish generated by AI.

Now, look, if you shared this image somewhere online, believing it’s real, I’m not here to shame you. This is not a lecture intended to make you feel foolish or clownish.

Because as I pointed out above, we’ve all seen real images similar to this one: complete dorkass losers carrying assault rifles to get a burger. It’s understandable why someone would see this image, immediately accept it, and then share it with the folks in their life.

What worries me is how easy it has become to generate a believable image that tricks people who think themselves to be so well-informed on disinformation that they refuse to admit they’ve been had when it’s pointed out, however gently and respectfully.

When this image started going viral, a friend of mine posted it on Facebook. I pointed out the above tells that it’s AI-generated, and one of his friends got very defensive. He said he’s a professional photographer, he knows real images versus fake ones, and I can’t argue with his expertise.

And he wasn’t alone. Every time I saw this image across social media, I would check out the comments, and the same defensive response could be observed: Democrats and progressives who were absolutely incensed they’d been tricked and could not accept, even with the obvious errors, that this is AI.

They knew, of course, that it was AI-generated after the inconsistencies were highlighted. They knew they had been tricked. But the shame of being tricked was so visceral—the realization that being on the left doesn’t mean they’re not vulnerable to disinformation—that they couldn’t admit it.

Because for them to admit they can be tricked by AI might mean they’re not savvier than some—not all but some—Trump supporters who have also been genuinely tricked by fake images and videos.

And also: it’s probably pretty scary to realize it’s this easy to be tricked.

Here’s why I’m saying all this: the best defense against AI-generated disinformation (and disinformation generally) is a good faith centering of personal humility. It’s an understanding that we’re all humans dealing with unprecedented technology and it’s easy to make mistakes.

There shouldn’t be any shame in acknowledging that our brains are wired in such a way that it’s not especially difficult for AI content to manipulate us. The shame should only come when our own pride prevents us from acknowledging our vulnerability to tech that is rewriting mass communications with every passing day.

You’re not a bad person or uncaring or “stupid” because you’re susceptible to AI disinformation. You’re just a human being in a changing world. And that’s okay.

It’s important to embrace this mindset because there are, unfortunately, no obvious fixes to what’s coming. Any clown can generate a believable AI image and share it online and simply call it “art” and it will more than likely be protected speech.

Today, it’s a fake image of gun nut caricatures that simply look like real images we’ve all seen of actual gun nuts in the real world. Tomorrow, it’s a fake image of something that hasn’t happened but looks real and plays to our biases and suddenly, without warning, disinformation becomes active harm.

Here’s my best advice: if you see an image going viral, before deciding to share it, take a few more moments to look closely for clues. Take the time to develop recognition of obvious and less-than-obvious tells that it’s AI-generated.

You don’t need a computer science degree or an expertise in photography to develop this skill. You just need adequate eyesight and humility and the willingness to engage in good faith.

If we’re all committed to that approach and offer each other more grace, it’ll be much harder for disinformation to spread.

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Hurricane Milton is currently poised to slam into the western side of Florida in a matter of hours. It will be one of the strongest hurricanes to ever make landfall in the United States, putting the lives of many millions at risk.

President Biden had led an extraordinary operation by the federal government to prepare, as best it can, for the destruction and aftermath of Milton, less than two weeks after Helene tore through several states, devastating those regions.

And yet, we all know what’s about to occur in Florida will be far beyond any suffering the vast majority of us could imagine — and that it will occur in the United States again in the future. And again. And again.

A few years ago, I watched "Five Days at Memorial" on Apple TV, a miniseries about the days at Memorial Medical Center in New Orleans following Katrina, based on the book by Sheri Fink.

I immediately regretted watching it. Sometimes, I wish I hadn't. I don't think "brutal" comes close to adequately describing it.

I will never watch it again. Once was more than enough. Honestly, I’m not sure how I managed to finish it.

It's probably the single most haunting show I've ever seen — so painful to watch that I decided, at the time, that it may be wrong of me to tell others to watch it.

Since then, I've often thought it might be the most persuasive and compelling argument for addressing climate change.

Forgive me for saying this, but maybe melting glaciers and increasingly hot summer days and wet bulb temperature and Al Gore’s genuinely brilliant PowerPoint may not be enough to reach those who are too stubborn and too incurious to recognize that climate change is caused by human beings.

But what happens when the social framework breaks down, for any number of reasons, and innocent people are forced to navigate the consequences?

What happens when people are forced to realize that even the most powerful country on earth cannot possibly stop a hurricane and they may someday find themselves, suddenly and unexpectedly, starving and dehydrating in flooded rubble, with no hope of being saved?

Right now, we have a president who's dedicating himself to helping the victims of these hurricanes, but that may not always be true in the future. And at some point, catastrophes become far too large to be met with even all the resources at our disposal.

So, that show is what I think about when climate change comes up, and it's what I've been thinking about during these hurricanes.

As we pray for those in Florida and throughout these hurricane-ravaged states in the coming days—as we donate our money and our blood and our time—it might be wise to also reflect on how profoundly ill-prepared we are to manage the coming disasters that are difficult, if not impossible, to imagine in their horrific scope.

And if you do choose to watch that show, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

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The vice presidential debate between Gov. Tim Walz and Sen. J.D. Vance is tonight, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, network host CBS News has announced that moderators Margaret Brennan and Norah O’Donnell will not be fact-checking the candidates.

Instead, the network says, it will be up to the candidates to fact-check each other, and the moderators will “facilitate those opportunities” during candidate rebuttals.

And thus, being a CBS News vice presidential debate moderator seems like a pretty sweet gig.

You just sit there, read some debate rules you don't really have to enforce, ask a few questions that were approved by network execs, do absolutely no fact-checking (journalism), and get a paycheck.

Sweet.

In other words, instead of focusing on an informative policy discussion and laying out the Vice President’s vision for the country, Gov. Walz will be expected to do both that AND being the only person holding accountable Mr. Vance’s constant lying on national television.

Mr. Vance, as you’ll recall, has made relentless disinformation his primary strategy as Trump’s running mate.

Most notably, he’s pushed the repeatedly debunked and deeply racist claim that Haitian migrants are stealing and eating household pets, refusing to back down even when confronted with the fact that there is zero evidence to support this anti-immigrant propaganda.

In fact, a quick short story on that:

Anna Kilgore, a resident of Springfield, Ohio, filed a police report in late August that her cat, Miss Sassy, had gone missing. She suspected her Haitian neighbors had taken the cat.

The Trump campaign used the police report as the strongest evidence for their unfounded, racist claim about Haitian migrants.

A spokesperson for J.D. Vance provided the police report to The Wall Street Journal.

Two weeks ago, WSJ spoke with Ms. Kilgore, who admitted her cat had returned a few days later, found safe in her basement. Ms. Kilgore, a Trump supporter, said she had apologized to her Haitian neighbors.

Lovely.

Let's be clear about something: the only reason that CBS News is declining to fact check the vice presidential debate is because they're terrified of Trump and his supporters retaliating for being held accountable on the candidate and his running mate’s relentless lying and disinformation.

For a prepared moderator, fact-checking a debate should be easy. It really should. It's not complicated. If the candidate says something demonstrably wrong, you correct the record. Either the moderator is unprepared or the network is cowardly.

CBS News has no excuses.

But after ABC News fact-checked Trump in real time during the Sept. 10th presidential debate, the Trump campaigned whined about him being treated, like, you know, an adult who’s running for president. The Nepo-Baby-in-Chief and his supporters cried over being held accountable, and in response, CBS News got cold feet.

I wanna be clear that I do have high respect for tonight’s moderators, Ms. Brennan and Ms. O’Donnell. I think they’re both good journalists who challenge nonsense far more than most of their colleagues in broadcast news.

This isn’t about them. This is about their network. In a moment of great peril for American democracy, CBS News decided the worst sin that could be committed isn’t failing to inform the public—you know, journalism—but offending Donald Trump and his acolytes by ensuring the public is informed.

I’ll be watching (and live-tweeting) tonight’s debate, of course, and I sincerely hope that Ms. Brennan and Ms. O’Donnell—the latter of whom will soon end her tenure as anchor of CBS Evening News—decline to remain passive in the face of deeply harmful propaganda.

The American people are owed that.

Otherwise, what’s the point in having journalists?

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While she was at Howard University, Vice President Kamala Harris worked at McDonalds to earn spending money, and now that she’s the Democratic nominee for president, the rightwing blogosphere is attempting to push the absurd conspiracy theory that she lied about it.

They apparently realize it’s not great that Donald Trump—infamously gifted enormous sums of money from his father coming out of college—is being juxtaposed with VP Harris making french fries and working the cash register, and they’re freaking out about it.

And they should be freaking out about it. While Trump was born with a silver foot in his mouth (thank you, Ann Richards), Vice President Harris has had to actually, you know, work in a job familiar to working class families who are struggling to make ends meet.

Here’s the heart of their claim: because VP Harris didn’t put McDonalds on resumés and job applications after college, this must mean she’s lying. They’re now demanding proof that the Vice President worked at the Golden Arches almost 40 years ago.

Okay, lemme explain why this is ridiculous.

During my junior and senior years in high school, I worked at Papa John’s Pizza, and in case you’re wondering, yes, it definitely sucked. I took orders, dealt with angry customers, made pizzas, folded boxes, and spent a lot of time simply cleansing the store of dough dust and marinara.

I earned $5.15 an hour the entire time I was there—about 18 months—and despite two excellent job reviews (perfect scores, thankyouverymuch), I was denied a pay raise on both occasions because our regional manager was a greedy little man who cared more about his margins than his employees.

But the thing is… despite this being less than 20 years ago, with a corporation that very much still exists, I have zero proof that I worked at Papa John’s. None. Zilch.

I have no name tags, no uniform shirts or hats, no pay stubs or copies of my W-2 or employee documents. I have no pictures of myself in a Papa John’s polo and khaki shorts. I have no way of contacting my former colleagues and boss because I’ve forgotten their last names. Because, you know, 20 years and all.

The location itself was shuttered by Papa John’s many years ago, probably somewhere around the end of the Bush Administration.

I never put my time there on any resumé or applications, including for the few odd jobs I worked between high school graduation and joining the Army.

All I have to prove that I worked this shitty minimum-wage job as a young lass are the promise of an affidavit from my grandmother, the permanent muscle memory earned from folding many thousands of pizza boxes, and a lingering resentment toward late stage capitalism.

In the eyes of the rightwing blogosphere, I never worked at Papa John’s, and to be fair, in the spirit of bipartisanship, I’d love to forget that I ever worked there, so, maybe, in my particular case, their bad faith could be obliquely read as a blessing.

This is a pretty common experience for minimum-wage laborers from working class families who have the opportunity to get a college degree and enter the salaried ranks, long separated from keeping corporations afloat for dollars an hour.

So, if I, twenty years down the road, can offer no tangible proof that I worked at a fast food joint, it’s not one bit surprising that the sitting Vice President hasn’t offered up a McDonalds cap wore almost 40 years ago.

It’s also not one bit surprising that so many in rightwing media don’t understand this common experience of those who came from working class families and hunched over an oil vat for hours at low pay to make ends meet.

These are the same people who claim raising the minimum wage and mandating universal health care and requiring paid family leave for working class families will somehow irreparably harm our economy.

They are detached from the struggles of workers, led by an egregiously entitled and effete Nepo-Baby-in-Chief, and to compensate, they’ve decided to show their asses by attempting to erase the experiences of a progressive politician who understands, firsthand, what workers experience.

And they’ll do this while sitting in fast food drive-throughs and being served by the same folks whose livelihoods they spend every waking moment of their privileged lives trying to make harder.

Same as it ever was.

By the way: Papa John’s Pizza sucks. Get your pies elsewhere.

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Folks, we’ve been here before. We know how this will end. It’s no mystery what happens next.

I will never begrudge anyone who offers a good faith critique of elected officials, even ones I really love, because good faith criticism is essential to a healthy democracy.

There are plenty of valid reasons to critique Vice President Harris and Governor Walz because I recognize that the Democratic Party and the progressive movement are not monoliths and certainly not cults.

I would say it’s absolutely correct to claim that the Democratic Party’s biggest strength is that its a “big tent” — there are a wide range of opinions and priorities, and so often, these clash in disagreement. And that’s a good thing.

That disagreement makes us stronger. We can have hard conversations and come out the other side better for it. We are the party of iron sharpens iron.

But where I draw the line in this election is the completely absurd, selfish, absolutely ridiculous claim that “both parties are the same” and then making the profoundly selfish and narcissistic decision to sit this one out because Vice President Harris isn’t saying and doing everything you want.

Good faith criticism is fine, even healthy, and certainly encouraged when it’s actually productive. But threatening to not vote or signaling to others that it’s fine to not vote doesn’t make you a progressive; it makes you a childish clown who clearly doesn’t understand the stakes.

Pick your issue, any of them, and there’s a chasm of difference between Vice President Harris and Trump. And it’s not even close.

Angry about late stage capitalism? Trump will brag about making billionaires richer, laugh off the struggles of working class families, and sell the state to the highest bidder, all for his lining his own pockets.

Angry about Gaza? Anyone being even the least bit honest with themselves knows that the horror inflicted on Palestinian civilians through Netanyahu’s cruelty and incompetence will be several magnitudes worse under Trump. If you wanna give Bibi a blank check, root for a Trump victory.

Angry and worried about climate change? If you think progress on that has been soul-crushingly slow, wait until Trump strips away every existing environmental regulation and jokes about it in the Oval Office.

Angry about our two party system? Pissed about our duopoly? Hey, Trump’s got you covered there, too. If he wins, you’ll never have to be angry about two parties ever again. Under Project 2025, there’ll only be one party, and it really won’t be a party. It’ll be an insecure tyrant costuming as a party.

You won’t have to worry about voting because even if you technically get to vote, it won’t be counted. You won’t have to worry about protesting, either, because the growing, fascist Supreme Court majority will figure out a way to curtail that to a toothless action, if not outright banned.

The most anodyne thing that can be said about this election is that it’s the furthest thing from normal; the most honest thing that can be said about it is that our country—and the world—will never recover from a Trump victory.

If you thought the first Trump term was horrible, trust me when I say the suffering inflicted on innocent people by a second Trump term is only limited by your imagination.

Actually, that’s not wholly accurate. Describing it as a “second term” implies he’ll leave office when his actions and words have consistently suggested otherwise.

Saying or implying that you’ll sit this one out because Vice President Harris doesn’t meet your threshold of political purity and you’ll simply back a more progressive candidate in 2028 against then-President Trump is the height of selfish naiveté.

Expecting anything approaching a free and fair election in 2028 with Trump back in office would almost be comical in its absurdity if it weren’t so terrifying.

Nothing matters more than stopping Trump this November.

Every progressive cause, every progressive conviction, every progressive goal you have will fare many, many times worse under Trump.

Our definitive purpose right now should be electing Vice President Harris.

If you think this is “vote bullying” or whatever, I really and truly don’t give a s**t. I could not care less about the feelings of people who are so stridently self-absorbed that they would intentionally put the lives of countless millions of vulnerable people at direct risk because of their insufferable performativity.

Be critical about our elected officials and be loud about it. That’s encouraged.

But claiming there “isn’t really a choice here” is b**t, and that’s why every reasonable adult is furious at anyone who frames this election on any one issue when Trump and his far-right acolytes could not be more clear that every issue you care about will be unimaginably worse under his power.

There are no other options on the table.

Either you choose the brilliant, experienced, and progressive Vice President—who actually cares about what happens to all of us and is hellbent on doing something about it—or you get the aspiring fascist who will literally sacrifice anyone for his own ego and ensure you don’t ever get a choice again.

I would tell you to consider and choose wisely, but in this election, it shouldn’t take considerable wisdom to figure this one out.

Basic common sense will do just fine.

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Today, CNN’s Andrew Kaczynski and Em Steck dropped a major story detailing North Carolina GOP gubernatorial candidate Mark Robinson’s particularly troubling history of online posts in a messaging forum.

Made between 2008 and 2012, the posts include Mr. Robinson referring to himself as a “Black Nazi,” expressing support for the reinstatement of slavery, fondly reminiscing when he enjoyed “peeping” on women in public gym showers as a teenager, and admitting that he enjoys watching transgender porn.

The first three of these things are completely and undeniably wrong, but, of course, I have a terrible feeling we’re about to see a news cycle in which considerable shaming will be projected on Mr. Robinson from various corners for his private porn viewing habits.

And that would not only be missing the point but harming trans people in the process.

I don’t give a damn what any consenting adult is or isn’t into, does or doesn’t do, when it comes to their sexual interests. It’s absolutely none of my business, nor is it anyone else’s. It’s not my place to judge the consensual and private sexual practices of any other adult.

If a non-trans adult has a kink for trans people, I really don’t care, and moreover, I really don’t wanna know. I would prefer not knowing how they privately fetishize trans folks, and also: I see nothing wrong with them doing what they want in private, so long as they keep it to themselves and act in a consensual manner.

The problem here is that central to Mr. Robinson’s political brand is an aggressive and cruel dehumanization and shaming of trans people, in addition to the LGBTQ community generally.

Mr. Robinson has called for trans women to be arrested for using public women’s restrooms and went further than that, stating that if trans people need to use a public restroom, we should “find a corner outside somewhere.”

Like dogs, of course.

Mr. Robinson has promoted the completely absurd, misogynoir conspiracy theory that former first lady Michelle Obama is secretly a trans woman (he called her a “man”) and implied that she and former president Obama are secretly a gay male couple, slander which is often thrown at Black women public figures.

In the aftermath of the Pulse nightclub shooting, in which 49 people were brutally murdered and 53 wounded, Mr. Robinson posted on Facebook:

“…homosexuality is still an abominable sin and I WILL NOT join in ‘celebrating gay pride’ nor will I fly their sacrilegious flag on my page. Sorry if this offends anyone, but I’m not falling for the media/pop culture ‘okey-doke.’”

Mr. Robinson has stated that LGBTQ people are the downfall of civilization and referred to us as “devil worshippers,” which, I must say, as a Christian trans woman, is certainly news to me.

This is all in addition to his Holocaust denialism, frequent invocation of horrible antisemitic tropes, beliefs that women should neither have the right to vote nor breastfeed in public, statement that Muslim Americans are “invaders,” and consistently holding that abortion should be entirely outlawed, without any exceptions, despite having paid for an abortion himself.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There’s so much more this sad, cowardly, insecure person has said and done throughout his public life that makes him beyond disqualified, many times over, to run for any elected office.

So, am I surprised that Mr. Robinson viciously attacks trans people publicly while enjoying transgender porn privately? Not even a little. It is the opposite of shocking.

He is simply part of a long pattern of MAGA extremists who weirdly sexualize the bodies of trans people and are deeply unsettled by their own desires and bizarrely address that internal quagmire by projecting their conditioned self-loathing and resulting rage on those of us who are trans.

I don’t care about Mr. Robinson’s sex life, and I really don’t want to know anything about it. And I certainly have no interest in shaming him for his consensual sexual interests, mostly because that would require knowing about them and again: I don’t wanna know. Nor do I have the right to know.

If we were the last two people on earth, and it were his dying wish to confide in me his transgender kink, I would politely decline, wish him a smooth exit of his own, and mercifully alone, wait for Death’s sweet embrace, peacefully and blissfully unaware of his interior life.

I just wish he and other Trump acolytes wouldn’t feel the need to make their sex lives our business through this constant and cruel projection.

Perhaps that’s an extraordinary request for extremists like Mr. Robinson, and yet, here I am, naively hoping they’ll someday understand such a simple concept.

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A few months ago, in the midst of the national fervor over President Biden’s debate performance, I was in a pretty terrible mood listening to it all and decided to take a long walk through D.C.

I put on some sunscreen, popped in my earbuds with a good playlist, and took a stroll around town, about an hour later finding myself on a residential street.

As I was wandering down the sidewalk, I saw a cyclist approaching from the opposite direction pretty fast and carrying a 7/11 Big Gulp in one hand, his other paw on the handle bar.

Before I could process my curiosity over the balance and hand-eye coordination it takes to do that, he tossed the cup, underhand, in a high arc, right onto the grass divider between the street and the sidewalk.

He had passed by a public trash can not thirty yards away at the intersection. He simply decided to deposit his garbage there, on the grass, and let someone else clean it up for him.

Like I said, I was already in a bad mood, and this just pissed me right off. I was also stunned because who the hell does that? Without really thinking, I tried shouting something, but all that came out was a weak, anger-tinged “Hey!”

He heard me, and without turning his head around, tossed up his right middle finger, formerly holding up the Big Gulp, and sped away.

So, now, I felt both angry and ridiculous for saying something, and then I felt angry at myself for feeling ridiculous for saying something.

Did I mention I was in a terrible mood and the whole point of this walk in the D.C. summer heat was to reset and clear my head?

I took a few moments to calm down. I told myself that I was probably making way too much out of the actions of this dorkass, inconsiderate weirdo, and then, I walked over and picked up the ice-rattling Big Gulp and threw it in the trash.

I was still incredibly annoyed, but if I can be emotionally undone by some random, littering clown, isn’t that on me? That’s what I told myself, anyway.

A week-and-a-half later, my friend Gautam invited me to a matinee showing of “Funny Girl” at the Kennedy Center, a much needed reprieve from the never-ending hell that had become July. It was fantastic. We had a great time. I felt better than I had in weeks.

I walked for several blocks after the show and decided to call a ride home. While I was sitting in the outside section of a restaurant on that street and waiting, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a woman slowly making her way down the sidewalk.

She was wearing a floppy hat and carrying a trash bag and a litter picker (there are, apparently, many names for this device, but I’m going with that one). I watched as she meticulously made her way down the sidewalk, grabbing every bit of trivial debris she could find and tossing it in the bag.

She was clearly focused on her task of cleaning the street, and I didn’t wanna interrupt but my curiosity got the better of me.

“Excuse me, Ma’am, can I ask: are you with an organization?”

There were probably more elegant ways to inquire, but my sleep-deprived brain was doing the best it could.

She looked up at me, offered a kind (and perhaps bemused) smile, and said: “Nope, this is just something I like to do.”

Ah.

“Well, thank you for doing that,” I replied. “I hope you have a lovely day.”

“Of course! You have a lovely day, too.”

My ride pulled up a moment later. On the way home, as I sat in the backseat, I couldn’t help but regret letting myself get angry at Trash Cyclist a few weeks prior, allowing, even for a second, someone that uncaring to get to me. What a waste of my emotional energy.

Our country has always had people like Trash Cyclist, folks who have given up on moving through the world with empathy and consideration for those around them, people whose chronic nihilism has metastasized into the public square and everyone around them is forced to clean up their mess.

That’s the uncharitable take, of course.

Maybe the charitable take is that Trash Cyclist was having a bad day, too. Maybe tossing his garbage on the street and flipping off a complaint was uncharacteristic. Maybe his life sucks right now because the world hasn’t shown much consideration and empathy for him.

That’s possible. I don’t personally know the guy. Perhaps if I ever got to know him, I’d learn that he’s got a lot of pain inside from any number of unfair things life has thrown his way and has no idea how to deal with it and tossing a Big Gulp in the street like a complete dillweed is his response.

It ain’t likely, mind you, but I can’t deny that’s possible.

But the thing is: when I felt enraged that day, furious at our political environment and then taking out my anger on this dipstick-on-wheels for throwing his trash on the sidewalk, I made choices myself. I chose to get angry. I chose to remain annoyed.

Sure, I threw away the cup, which took all of ten seconds, but I could have made the choice to get a trash bag and clean up that whole sidewalk myself. It wouldn’t have taken long, maybe ten minutes total.

I could have done something kind and thoughtful in response to something maybe done out of hurt. It probably would have made me feel better.

But I didn’t make that choice.

No one asked that woman in the floppy hat to spend her afternoon cleaning up the sidewalks in her neighborhood as an unappreciated public service. She simply chose to do it because it needed to be done, and it made her feel better.

I think we’re living through a time in which it’s much easier for us to decide that the world sucks and society is exhausting and why even bother? It may not manifest in tossing our garbage in the streets, but maybe it does manifest when we let that distract us to anger rather than service to each other.

I think there’s often a great courage in consistently centering an imperative to serve others we don’t know, especially when it’s thankless. I admit it’s not a quality I’ve yet mastered.

I promise these two individuals are not shoehorned stand-ins for Vice President Harris and Trump. I don’t know the respective politics of the Lady in the Floppy Hat and the Trash Cyclist. They’re complete strangers, and I only saw them both in mere snapshots of their lives.

But I do think that conscious effort to serve others, to do something for the greater good as an antidote for existing mess, an often thankless approach, is magnificently embodied by Vice President Harris and Gov. Walz.

I think if they’re consistently doing that and I’m not, when I certainly have the time and space to do so, any grievances I have over our national community maybe don’t hold as much water as I’d like to think.

Maybe I need to carry a folded-up trash bag with me on those long walks and do something about it.

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All of us kids were sleeping in my mother’s room when the gunshot went off. The three of us who weren’t holding a gun woke up almost immediately. My mother, improbably, slept through it.

I sat up, obviously startled and a bit foggy, and saw my younger stepbrother, almost four at the time and barely over three feet tall, standing next to me and facing the bedroom window.

He was holding a small revolver, a faint trace of smoke billowing from it. I turned in the direction of the window, and there, in the early morning light, was a bullet hole in the center of the glass and a spider web of cracks extending in each direction.

Being the eldest, five at the time, I immediately woke up my mother, who took a few seconds to absorb the situation and then quickly grabbed the gun.

Everything after that is a blur, like a photograph misted with bleach. I vaguely remember the cops paying a visit. I vaguely remember my mother in a frantic state, but I don’t remember what was said.

Her second husband—my first stepfather—kept the handgun in the top drawer of their nightstand. It was not secured in any way. No trigger lock. Loaded, obviously. And my stepbrother and I knew it was there. We knew it was there because he didn’t keep it a secret.

I don’t know remember exactly what happened next. I don’t recall either of them being arrested or detained. I don’t think CPS was called. No one had been hurt, and so, I guess it was decided there would be no further consequences.

My mother and I only spoke about it once. I must have been nine or ten. She had escaped that abusive marriage a few years prior. We were sitting in the living room, just the two of us, watching television. I asked her if she remembered it.

She took a drag from her cigarette, never breaking eye contact with the television, offered a long exhalation into the air, and said: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And that was that.

Maybe six months later, my father moved back to Texas, and we’d visit him on the weekends. He’d decided I was at the age where I needed to start learning about gun safety. He bought me a .22 caliber rifle for Christmas, and the education began immediately.

He drilled four rules into my head: 1) always treat any firearm like it’s loaded (keep it on safe), 2) never point a firearm at anything you don’t intend to shoot; keep the muzzle pointed in a safe direction, 3) never put your finger on the trigger unless you intend to shoot, and 4) always store the firearm properly.

He took me to the gun range numerous times. He showed me how important it is to wear proper ear and eye protection. He taught me how to shoot and the proper terminology and gun range etiquette and how to clean a firearm.

“This is not a toy,” he told me. “This could kill someone. You could kill another person or yourself if you’re not careful. Don’t ever let me catch you treating this like it’s not a deadly weapon.”

He taught me that there are no accidents, only irresponsible gun owners. Firearms may malfunction, but if you’re following a handful of common sense rules, no one will be killed. There are no “accidental deaths” when gun owners are responsible.

He kept my firearm and all of his locked in a safe in his bedroom. He showed me the trigger locks he put on the firearms. He never told me the combination to the safe or where the keys were kept. He told me I didn’t need to know, and that was that.

He also did something else: he told me that any time, no matter what he was doing, if I wanted to see any of the firearms, hold them, check them out, whatever, all I had to do was come to him and ask.

My father and I struggled to connect. We didn’t have the same interests, he was not one to be vulnerable, and trying to talk to him about life was like pulling teeth. We were not close, to say the least.

But the five or six times I asked to see the firearms, he immediately stopped what he was doing, led me over to his bedroom, asked me to stand completely outside of eye line while he punched in the combination, and then, he would hand over the guns and let me check them out.

He never rushed me, never left me alone with them, and patiently answered every single question that came to my mind about guns or shooting. I don’t mind admitting that I would occasionally ask to see the firearms because it was consistently the closest we ever got to bonding.

When I was done, he’d store the firearms back in the safe, remind me of the rules of gun safety, and we’d go on with our day.

I never did tell him about the incident with the revolver when I was younger, and I never told him that his educating me on gun safety removed any and all anxiety I had about firearms from that incident. He absolved the fear I had about them. I’ve never been afraid of guns since.

But I am afraid of the wrong kind of people having access to guns. I’m afraid of irresponsible people owning firearms. I fear for children in homes in which guns are left out in the open, displayed behind glass panes or kept on a wall rack.

I fear for children whose parents keep a handgun in an unlocked glove compartment with no trigger lock or under a pillow or nestled in the top drawer of a nightstand.

It is impossible for children to steal firearms from responsible gun owners. If an adult who owns firearms does everything they’re supposed to do—keep them secured in a safe, use trigger locks, teach about the importance of gun safety, etc.—no child, regardless of age, would steal them.

I firmly believe that any adult whose child “steals” their firearm and kills another person should be held criminally liable to the fullest extent. At minimum, they should be charged with involuntarily manslaughter.

I think if any adult fails to properly secure their firearm and its theft leads to the murder of another person, they should be required, on top of criminal charges, to publicly apologize to the loved ones of that slain human being and pay for their funeral expenses.

I think firearm ownership in our country should be as strictly regulated as car ownership and driving privileges, and I feel this is common sense.

I believe in responsible gun ownership under a rational application of the Second Amendment, and I realize there are some progressives who aren’t exactly thrilled with that position.

I also believe that civilians shouldn’t be permitted to legally own AR-15s and their variants or any other weapon that has no reasonable justification being in civilian hands, and I realize there are some conservatives who aren’t thrilled with that opinion.

The gun reform debate has room for many valid viewpoints, and yet, somehow, it’s become the most absurd public policy discussion in our country, overwhelmingly due to the bad faith witnessed on the right in response to children being horrifically and needlessly slaughtered at their schools.

None of the NRA loons are able to reasonably explain how a 14 year-old had access to a firearm in an environment with supposedly adequate gun laws, so instead, they'll yell as loudly as they can that an amendment written in the time of muskets is more important than your kids' lives.

I sure as hell don’t buy it, and I don’t think any responsible adult does, either.

We owe the children of this country a lot more.

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It always amuses me when some folks who are into hyper-traditional marriages claim that progressives are out to destroy them or that we’re somehow offended by their existence.

Folks, I don't know how else to tell you this: we don't give a damn how you decide to proceed with married life. You're grown adults. As long as you both enthusiastically consent, we don't care what you do.

If you both want to build and decorate your home to early Eisenhower America specifications, with only the husband working while the wife stays home in heels, a polka dot dress, and an apron, and you both gleefully seek to live out your Lucy & Ricardo fantasy life, go for it!

If your ultimate dream is finding a spouse whose conservative views on marriage and family would make the ghost of Phyllis Schlafly pay a midnight visit to warn that maybe you’re going too far, enjoy! Go chase your happiness. If you both want that life, no one else’s opinion matters.

It ain't none of my business. I couldn't care less.

The problem comes when you need everyone around you--not just friends, not just family, but every person in the country--to personally validate, and seek emulating, your home life.

The problem is when your entire personality revolves around aggressively proselytizing your marriage and family structure to everyone else, and should anyone decline, they immediately become an enemy of America and Sweet Baby Jesus and all that is good.

J.D. Vance is really not that much of an outlier. There are millions of conservative men in this country who clearly can't stand the thought of marriages that look very different from theirs, let alone the concept of any grown woman living her best independent life.

Or the fact that these men are so deeply threatened by husbands who stay at home and take care of the kids and don’t anticipate any longterm consequences to their sense of masculinity should they pick up a broom and dustpan occasionally.

Then there’s the whole TradWife phenomenon, in which all these women who post TikToks claiming to solely desire having a godly submissive role in their marriage inexplicably need all other women to want exactly the same thing.

I don’t know about y’all, but I’ve never met a confident person whose worldview precariously hinges on the outlook of every stranger they meet.

The weirdness isn’t the part where two adults enthusiastically agree to a life together that happens to work best for them but isn’t my cup of tea; it’s when they become obsessed with weighing every other marriage against theirs that it gets very weird.

I don't think I've ever given two seconds to wondering about consenting adults in a hyper-traditional marriage. If that's what they want, great! Why would I care?

But when you turn your hyper-traditional marriage into a relentless PR campaign and political movement for which the obvious end goal is to exercise some degree of control over the marriages of others, we're gonna think that's pretty damn weird.

Because it is.

As the next Vice President of the United States so eloquently says it: Just mind your own damn business.

I hope this helps.

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A Navy SEAL, a doctor, and an astronaut walk into a bar. They’re all the same guy.

Last week, NASA announced that 40 year-old U.S. Navy Lieutenant Commander Jonathan “Jonny” Yong Kim will deploy to the International Space Station in March onboard the Roscosmos Soyuz MS-27 with cosmonauts Sergey Ryzhikov and Alexey Zubritsky for eight months.

It’s the latest extraordinary chapter in the life of Mr. Kim, who previously served as an enlisted Navy SEAL early in the Global War on Terrorism before completing undergrad, whilst earning an officer commission, and subsequently graduating from Harvard Medical School.

While finishing an internship in emergency medicine at Massachusetts General Hospital and Brigham and Women’s Hospital, Mr. Kim applied to the NASA Astronaut Corps after meeting physician-astronaut Dr. Scott Parazynski and was selected as part of Astronaut Group 22 in 2017.

Okay, so, obviously, this is an all-timer professional trajectory, so profoundly accomplished that it’s hard to imagine it inspiring any degree of career jealousy in the hearts of his peers because, honestly, any reasonable adult has to ask: what caliber of human being could even do all this?

If the LinkedIn summary of this man’s life was all you had to go on, maybe certain assumptions would be front-of-mind. Maybe you’d think he had an especially nurturing childhood. Maybe he had particular advantages, even with hard work, that made the above possible.

That’s where his story, at least for me, gets even more mind-boggling.

Mr. Kim was born to Korean American immigrants a few years after they arrived in the United States. They were a working class family. His father struggled with alcoholism and was abusive. His mother attempted to make the very best of a volatile home life. Neither had a college education.

Growing up, Mr. Kim took on the role of a protector for his mother and younger brother, constantly shielding them from the violent outbursts of his father. In high school, this came to a head when his father, armed with a handgun, threatened to kill his mother.

Rushing to his mother’s aid, Mr. Kim was pepper-sprayed and bashed in the skull with a dumbbell by his father.

The police were called to their home. After learning he was barricaded in the attic and likely still armed, authorities cordoned off the house. There was a standoff, shots were exchanged, and his father was killed.

Despite the overwhelming trauma of this early horrific experience, Mr. Kim kept focused on his childhood dream of serving as a Navy SEAL. He enlisted in 2002 after high school graduation, eventually completed training with BUD/S Class 247, and got assigned to SEAL Team Three.

He was primarily trained as a combat medic but soon completed the highly competitive SEAL Sniper Course and then deployed twice to Iraq, undertaking over a hundred combat missions and earning the Silver Star and Bronze Star (w/ valor) along the way for life-saving actions.

So, you got this guy who went through an especially rough childhood but overcame it to flesh out a sterling career any of us would admire. The odds were long, yet the success has been off-the-charts. So, as a person, it wouldn’t really be surprising to find out he’s a bit cocky, right?

I’ve watched several interviews with Mr. Kim and dozens of video snippets of his fellow Navy SEALs discussing the man’s character and professional competence. I highly recommend the five-hour podcast chat he did with retired SEAL officer Jocko Willink.

(By the way, Mr. Willink is an exceptional interviewer and does a fantastic job of guiding the conversation throughout.)

There’s also a standout, hilarious clip in which two of his fellow SEALs talk about a presentation Mr. Kim made during Sniper School that was so deeply impressive that all they could do was laugh when remembering it. Definitely watch it.

Here’s what’s abundantly clear: there may not exist a greater chasm between the professional achievements of one human being and the unyielding humility and selflessness they inhabit.

Mr. Kim’s fellow SEALs have nothing but high praise for him in a community that is not known for its penchant to publicly acclaim any of its living brothers given all who have made the ultimate sacrifice. So many clips I’ve watched were SEALs bringing up Mr. Kim unprompted and in glowing terms.

In watching his interview with Mr. Willink, I was quite taken with the numerous times Mr. Kim answered questions about his service in the framing of his SEAL brethren and other fellow service members, always reverting back to those lost and their sacrifices.

I don’t know how else to put it, but there’s such a pure humility in this man that comes across as steadfastly authentic, almost appearing to be embarrassed that his accomplishments would be discussed at all.

As I’ve done research on Mr. Kim, I’ve come across too many predictions to count that he may one day—and should be—president, which struck me as not only true but somehow—ironically—unlikely.

It’s not for his lack of ability. If Mr. Kim could understandably be described as a political novice given that his entire career has been spent outside of formal politics, it’s difficult to think of any political novice more likely to be equal to the task.

You get the sense that if he were thrown into the Oval Office tomorrow and without warning, Mr. Kim would find a way to make it work. Hell, you get the sense that if you told the man he needs to learn how to juggle flaming swords, he’d come back an hour later with a routine set to music.

No, it’s the relentless selflessness so clearly at the core of his being that might be the only factor of skepticism, particularly in a political system disinclined to reward selflessness as a prevailing characteristic.

In Mr. Kim’s own analysis, he’s not perfect. He’s made growth-ready mistakes throughout his storied career, listened to advice, made adjustments as necessary, and always focused on self-improvement and most importantly: the team, the team, and the team.

While speaking with Mr. Willink, he said this: “I'm not gifted. I'm not smarter than everybody else. I'm not stronger. I just have the ability to stick to a plan and not quit."

And that’s a great value statement, but in honor of Labor Day, here’s one that resonated even more with me:

“You should never think you're too good to do a job. And I think you should be like that in everything you do. 'Be a forever new guy' is what I try to emulate… never think that you are above taking out the trash.”

Well said, Sir.

Jonny Kim is the kind of American who makes me hopeful about the future of our country and the kind of leader who best expresses, by example, the greatness we should all aspire to.

I can’t wait to see what he does next.

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I’ve had a nagging feeling over the past several years that there’s an important aspect to evangelical church culture in the United States that’s been consistently overlooked, or simply unknown to most of the public.

I was a senior in high school when I became a Christian, and while I was certainly primarily motivated by Christ’s teachings, there was another factor that played an enormous role in keeping me going to church: the warmth of community.

My family had been fractured and fraught all throughout childhood, so when I was invited by a friend to her church service, I was taken aback by the easy embrace of belonging there. I say that in the general sense, of course. Being queer, for example, was not-so-welcome. More on that in a second.

I was in that church for nine months prior to my enlistment in the Army, but when I arrived at my duty station in Washington, D.C., I eventually found myself attending another church on a friend’s invitation, which was also evangelical.

This was in 2006, and back then, the public’s understanding of political motivation behind predominantly-white evangelical congregations was not nearly as savvy as it is now. Being invited to that church didn’t carry with it immediate alarm bells. If anything, it felt like a welcome invitation.

I had been trying for a year to find community in D.C. because I certainly wasn’t gonna find it on base. The soldiers of my age and rank were far more interested in partying all the time, which is perfectly alright, but it just wasn’t my thing. I had a hard time finding human connection. I was lonely.

Walking into that D.C. church on the first Sunday was a balm. There was so much joy and excitement. I could tell that folks wanted to be there, and it didn’t take long to figure out why. There was a very strong familial vibe to it all, and it didn’t feel forced at all. Quite the opposite.

I was immediately greeted at the door. Throughout the service and afterward, so many folks I didn’t know came up to introduce themselves. They were kind and lovely. I would later learn this was simply the culture. New congregants were readily embraced and made to feel at home.

Before I knew it, I was spending all my time with folks in their 20s and 30s who attended the church. Being just 19—and thus, one of the younger folks in the group—I never felt pressured or put upon. I was just one of the gang. They quickly became my friends, and at long last, I found community. I found family.

I still keep in touch with many of those friends, and I certainly don’t regret that period in my life. Most of these folks were good people who simply loved Jesus and enjoyed spending time around others who felt the same. We all had friends outside the church, but that particular bond was (mostly) rock solid.

The problem came over time in ways that were unexpected and often jarring. Some people I met through the church would occasionally bring up, say, LGBTQ rights in not-so-kind ways. Same for abortion and other hot button issues.

They would offer unsolicited political opinions to me that, quite frankly, even then, at my relatively young age, felt half-baked at best and asinine at worst.

Gender roles were an ongoing theme. The pastors would often allude to the purpose of faithful men and faithful women. Men were supposed to be the leaders: in church, in family, in society. Women were supposed to lift up men.

This was all quite curious to me because our congregation had no shortage of women who were leaders outside the church: doctors, lawyers, military officers, Hill staffers, and a few academics. One woman in our church would eventually be elected to Congress.

And yet, it felt like we all constantly got the message from the pulpit that women should essentially defer to men in all areas of life. It would be couched in softer tones, but the thrust of that ideology was undeniable.

I recall a married couple inviting me to dinner at their home on the Hill. The husband was a former White House staffer, and the wife was an attorney. They both worked, but he explained to me that he made all the decisions for the direction of their family because that was God’s intention.

I was obviously closeted at the time, and his wife not only seemed perfectly at ease with the conversation but made a point in insisting to me that when I get married someday, I should understand that my godly responsibility is leading my future wife in all ways.

This accomplished lawyer told me she doesn’t make any decisions without her husband’s approval. She encouraged me to understand my future role in that regard.

To be abundantly clear, it didn’t work the other way around. They told me that her job was to advise him in their marriage but that he got the final say on everything. His relationship with God gave him a divinely-conferred authority to which, as a woman, she did not have access.

They were otherwise nice people, but that was the first night I recall feeling deeply uneasy. These were grown adults, and I still believe that what they consensually do in their own marriage is none of my business. But it was their insistence to a 19 year-old on what I should be doing that felt a bit off.

I think “grooming” is perhaps too strong a word, but looking back, it did feel more than a little inappropriate. It felt borderline manipulative. It felt like the dining room table at which we sat was within shouting distance of cultish behavior.

I would soon learn that this was pretty normal in the congregation: married couples telling young congregants what is and isn’t godly in marriage. And what their position should be on LGBTQ rights. And how they should feel about abortion. And any number of other things the far-right obsesses over.

I kept hanging out with friends in the church my own age, but I soon stopped accepting dinner invites to the homes of married couples. Something about it felt oddly orchestrated, like a pipeline in which lonely young people were taken under their wing and turned into God’s soldiers.

I was definitely a Democrat back then, and I wasn’t alone. There were a number of Democrats in our congregation, but they weren’t vocal, that’s for sure. They certainly weren’t as politically vocal as the Republicans, including all the pastors.

I realize a lot of folks reading this will say “and yet, you still stayed there,” but I promise you it’s not that simple.

Imagine you’re a young person away from home, especially a young person like myself without a healthy family to fall back on, and these wonderful people take you in and make you feel like one of their own—safe and welcome and worthy of love—and offer the warmth of family.

Try to imagine you’re a young person who has never been so loved, and suddenly, here are all these older folks who would do anything for you: help you find an apartment, coach you through a job application, take you out to dinner or a ball game, offer a personal loan.

Suddenly, you have loving parental figures for the first time in your life. How do you let that go? How do you reject their advice? How do you not seek their approval?

And meanwhile, even aside from that, you love your similarly-aged friends in church. You love being around them. They cheer you on, they show up when you need them, they make a point of being supportive. They’re simultaneously fun and grounding.

Yet at some point, I had to accept that my values were not compatible with this church, and I eventually left, which, I gotta tell y’all, was really hard. But what about the young person who, for whatever reason, can’t leave — perhaps afraid to lose that sense of family, despite misgivings?

Evangelical churches are exceptionally skilled at building loyal communities, and central to that dynamic is offering emotional nourishment to young people who are starved for a (mostly) judgement-free environment in which they receive the care and attention they’ve never had.

It’s not just young people. I knew plenty of older, unmarried adults—some without children, some with children—who seemed quite cemented in the social structure of the church, and I often wondered if they had anywhere else to go outside of it.

I’m not talking about older adults who are simply obsessed with their church community. That’s different. I’m talking about older adults who don’t have anything in the way of a support system outside their church community because they don’t know how to create one.

I believe loneliness is a highly effective driver of the evangelical movement.

In his book The Great Good Place (1989), the sociologist Ray Oldenburg popularized the concept of “the third place,” or spaces that most nourish us outside of home and work. Your home is your first place, work is your second place, and third places are all the other spaces that allow for creative human engagement.

Your third place is your book club, your recreational softball team, your local bar, maybe the park around the corner where you see friends regularly — all spaces which don’t have any explicit obligation to hold you but to which you voluntarily and regularly go for nourishing human interaction.

More and more Americans are now constantly online as their sole third place. This can be fine in moderation, of course, but do I really need to point out all the ways in which this could go very wrong? And often does?

The Surgeon General released a report last year that found about half of surveyed adults experienced “miserable levels of loneliness” even before the pandemic and that young people aged 15-24 had “70 percent less interaction with their friends” than American youth 20 years ago.

I often wonder how many folks in this country truly understand what it means to feel utterly lonely, unmoored and socially malnourished. And if folks who feel that way come across a community that does nourish them socially, can we really be surprised they make concessions to stay? Maybe you would?

I want to be clear: I am not suggesting that loneliness is to blame for the extremism coming out of pre-dominantly white evangelical circles. That’s absurd. What I’m saying is that there are absolutely vulnerable people who are driven into nonsense environments because that’s what’s readily available.

One reason the Harris-Walz campaign excites me is that it feels like a demonstrable inflection point for the country’s sociological infrastructure, particularly faith in public life.

The campaign honestly feels welcoming in ways that, arguably, no previous presidential campaign has been able to accomplish: the excitement of Obama ‘08 combined with the “we’re all one big family” vibe of Biden ‘20.

More than anything, this moment in our history feels like a rare opportunity to build bridges with others, reconcile our differences, and heal old wounds that have been so cynically inflicted by bad faith actors in elected office and political media. It feels like a possible Era of Non-Weirdo Community.

This is why I can’t seem to stop talking online about Evangelicals for Harris, the group that has stood tall against Trump—despite admonishments from other evangelicals—because they, too, see in Vice President Harris and Govennor Walz kindred spirits who are more aligned with Christ’s teachings.

The group has exploded in popularity over the past month on Twitter (now boasting more than 24,000 followers — definitely follow them), released several ads, been featured on MSNBC, and even got a surprisingly positive segment on Christian Broadcast News (CBN), a channel not exactly known for its progressive bent.

A few weeks ago, they organized a zoom call for VP Harris that was attended by thousands of evangelical voters and featured as a speaker Jerushah Duford, the granddaughter of the late Rev. Billy Graham, alongside numerous other evangelical clergy and leaders.

Ever since the group launched, I’ve regularly wondered how many lonely people in evangelical circles might, for the first time, be seeing a non-judgmental offramp to faith spaces that can be nourishing and inclusive and reality-based.

I don’t know, y’all… this moment in our history really does feel quite different, and I have to believe it isn’t coming a moment too soon. Because where we’re going, we’re gonna need more bridges built. We’re gonna need welcoming spaces for people who don’t know where else to go.

There are a lot of stranded, lonely folks looking for a community they can call home but no apparent way to get there.

If we’re not reaching out to them and offering a bridge they can cross into the light, how can we ever blame them for sticking with the dimly-lit haunts they’ve only ever known?

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We practiced with caskets that were stored outside our barracks building. To simulate the weight of honored remains, we’d toss several full sandbags into the belly of the casket, and then, for hours and hours, we’d go through our exact movements.

Over and over and over and over.

Those were hot and humid D.C. summers, and it didn’t matter. Drink water. And then back at it. We’d march up crisply, pick up the casket, go through the entire funeral protocol—with an earned coordination that would rival any synchronized swimming team—and then do it again.

The first summer I was in the 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment (The Old Guard), the A/C stopped working in our barracks. Think of the most depressing college dorm you’ve ever seen and remove air conditioning. We’d wake up in sweat in the middle of the night and open the fridge and stick in our face for a little relief.

We’d run through flag-folding drills at night in those hot barracks. We’d stand in the hallway in our casket teams, and we’d fold and fold and fold until we could do it in our sleep. Whatever you’ve seen in movies doesn’t come close. It is an exacting choreography. No movement wasted or erred.

Does the flag look perfect in presentation? Are the red and white stripes hidden? Are the stars symmetric? Is the cloth tight in the final form? No? Why the hell not? You’d give this to a mourning relative? Do it again. We will be here all goddamn night until you get this right.

Your exhaustion doesn’t matter. Better get some sleep. No excuses. I arrived at the unit as a 19 year-old Army private, not even being close to knowing that I didn’t know what I didn’t know. You sure as hell better learn and quick. Figure it out. Get yourself right. Pray if you’re the praying type.

Because families are flying in from all across the country for what will be one of the absolute worst days of their lives, shattered, maybe beyond repair, and all we can meagerly offer them is choreographed dignity in place of irreparable loss. It will never be close to enough. Perfection is never enough.

We’d spend so much time on our uniforms. There were presses in the basement. You think your barracks room is hot? Go downstairs and be hugged by steam. Learn how to use the press. Get those creases sharp. Eradicate all wrinkles. Ignore the sweat dripping into your eyes.

We carried micrometers with us to ceremonial details to ensure our uniforms were right — down to the centimeter. We’d shine every metallic surface on our bodies. What are fingerprints? We don’t know. We’d coat the soles of our shoes with edge dressing to turn them from grey to black.

I can’t believe I’m saying this now, but learning rifle manual and element marching was taking a break from everything else. Tedious as all hell. We wore steel plates on our shoes to click as we marched. They’d bang into our ankles at times, and you’d try not to swear. That was our break.

It was constant stress, all day, every day, and yet, we had it easy. If you want hard, go volunteer for the Tomb Guards. Go ahead and throw yourself into the actual deep end and find out if you can swim. Just raise your hand when they ask for volunteers.

Go to the Tomb, and work 18-hour days for months and months. You will learn everything there is to know about Arlington. You will memorize pages and pages of information. You will recite it all from memory, or you will fail. You will barely get sleep. You will have no life. There is only the Tomb.

I knew, deep down, I wasn’t ready for that. I respected it too much to raise my hand. I didn’t volunteer. My roommate volunteered. It was a curious decision on his part given that he struggled more than any other private. He definitely wasn’t ready, but God bless him for stepping up.

It takes nine months to earn the Tomb Badge, which, at the time, in terms of rarity within the U.S. military, was second only to the Astronaut Badge. Only 500 military personnel have earned the Astronaut Badge. Only 864 have earned the Tomb Badge. Walk in space or walk in front of the Tomb. That’s rarity.

My roommate was back with us in three months. He didn’t make the cut. Sink or swim at the Tomb. There is one standard: it is perfection and that’s all there is to it. He came back to us and had the sharpest, most squared away uniform in our entire company until the day he got out.

But the truth is that the Tomb Guards had it easy, too. We all had it easy. Because the hardest job in Arlington National Cemetery doesn’t involve wearing a uniform. The hardest job is being a cemetery official who is given the impossible task of bringing comfort to families.

I arrived at the unit in April of 2006. In January of 2007, Pres. Bush announced a dramatic increase in troop deployments to Iraq, now known as the Surge.

For three consecutive months that year—April, May, and June—there were over 100 U.S. military fatalities in Iraq — the deadliest year for U.S. service members in the Global War on Terror.

They came back in transfer cases on a C-130 at Dover Air Force Base, and I honestly don’t know how many of them wound up buried in Arlington. But I know there were a lot. I know we were pretty busy. All day carrying caskets or leading the caisson horses or marching behind them.

That’s not including the many fatalities in Afghanistan. That’s not including the old veterans who had passed and long ago earned the right to be buried there or their family members who qualified for burials, too. Funerals, funerals, and more funerals. That sums up 2007 for The Old Guard.

Who leads on caring for the families on one of the worst days of their lives? Who plays the painful combination of clergy and therapist to the aggrieved? Who does whatever they can for the ceremonial units? Who enforces respect for that hallowed ground?

Cemetery officials.

Day after day, month after month, year after year, it’s the cemetery officials, the civilians, some of them veterans, who undertake the ludicrously impossible task of cobbling together comfort and dignity for families who have had their hearts ripped out and stomped on by tragedy.

I can’t imagine doing what they do. If I were forced to make a choice between the public service they carry out for grieving families OR putting on a uniform to join a marching element, I’m going back to the steam room. At least in that procession, there’s an available freedom to be numb.

On Monday, according to reporting by NPR’s Quil Lawrence and Tom Bowman, a cemetery official was allegedly assaulted and harassed by members of Donald Trump’s presidential campaign because the official was enforcing a common sense regulation restricting filming or taking photographs.

Cemetery officials had issued clear guidance that only Arlington personnel are permitted to take video or photos in Section 60, the final resting place for those service members who were killed in Iraq or Afghanistan. Trump campaign staffers thought it didn’t apply to them. They were wrong.

Moreover, Arlington National Cemetery released a public statement confirming a report had been filed over the incident and included this bit:

“Federal law prohibits political campaign or election-related activities within Army National Military Cemeteries, to include photographers, content creators or any other persons attending for purposes, or in direct support, of a partisan political candidate's campaign. Arlington National Cemetery reinforced and widely shared this law and its prohibitions with all participants.”

What were Trump’s campaign staffers attempting to do that was so flagrantly in violation of this law that a cemetery official, in the midst of all their other necessary responsibilities, felt it necessary to step in and put a stop to it?

This comes almost two weeks after Trump, during remarks at a campaign stop, called the Presidential Medal of Freedom “better” than the Medal of Honor, a moment so completely and weirdly disrespectful that the VFW National Commander issued a statement condemning him.

This comes almost four years, nearly to the day, after reporting by The Atlantic that Trump had called American war dead “losers” and “suckers,” which was corroborated by several other news organizations, a senior official in the Defense Department, and a senior Marine Corps officer.

This comes more than eight years after Trump attacked and insulted the parents of U.S. Army Captain Humayun Khan, who was killed in a roadside bomb in Iraq in 2004, drawing widespread condemnation from leaders in his own party.

This comes more than nine years after Trump slandered the military service of the late Sen. John McCain, who spent five-and-a-half years in captivity as a prisoner of war, being tortured, refusing to sell-out his fellow service members.

As you’ll probably recall, Trump stated: “He’s not a war hero. He was a war hero because he was captured. I like people who weren’t captured.”

I fully admit to being a partisan, but for me, none of this is about politics because none of the Republicans or conservatives I have ever known would so much as consider showing anything but respect and admiration for our service members, our veterans, and their families.

This is not about favor for any party or campaign because the moment you enter Arlington, politics are to be left at the gate. It’s not about you or me or anyone other than those buried in that ground and their loved ones who will never see them again because of their collective sacrifices.

But Donald Trump is unwilling or unable to understand that because he cannot conceive of offering the highest degree of selfless service to our nation. The concept of “all gave some, some gave all” is entirely incomprehensible to him. And therefore, he cannot extend proper respect to our military.

I cannot wait for the time to come when this self-absorbed coward will permanently exit public life into a tarnished and thoroughly mediocre legacy that will haunt him for the rest of his days.

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On Wednesday night, at the Democratic National Convention, America was introduced to 17 year-old Gus Walz, the son of Gwen Walz and Gov. Tim Walz, who instantly became a national treasure due to an unexpectedly emotional moment of pride and joy for his father.

When Gov. Walz told his family, seated in front of the stage, that they were “his whole world,” the young man was so overcome with emotion that he stood up, tears streaming out of his eyes, pointed toward the podium, and shouted: “I love you, dad! That’s my dad!”

There was a collective sense in the United Arena that what we were witnessing was immediately iconic, even in a week with no shortage of iconic moments. I was on the third floor of seating, watching Gus loudly praise his father through tears on the big screen and instantly found myself tearing up.

I looked around me, and I wasn’t alone. Parents and their teenagers, old and young, across the gamut of America’s profile, were tearing up, too. It’s as though someone had pushed a button in all of us simultaneously.

Beyond Vice President Harris’s all-time great acceptance speech last night, it would be hard to identify a moment more unifying than the sight of Gus sobbing with joy and pride for his father.

Many Democrats, myself included, have jokingly referred to Gov. Walz as “America’s Dad” in light of his playful and endearing nature (see the viral clips bantering with their daughter Hope), but it wasn’t until Weds. evening that it really hit home how loving and wonderful a father he must be.

I didn’t know in that moment that Gus has a non-verbal learning disability, which basically means that he experiences the regulation of his emotions and the space around him atypically compared to most of the general population. It’s not a disorder; he just has a different lens on the world from most folks.

Truth be told: in that moment, I honestly didn’t know Gus is a teenager. I didn’t know much about Gus at all. Who goes randomly searching for info on a candidate’s child?

To my eyes, right then, watching Gus on the big screen, he looked like a tall, college-aged young man who was very proud of his father and unafraid to show it.

A number of rightwing commentators did not feel the same. Ann Coulter, famous for her sterling empathy, tweeted “Talk about weird…” in response to a clip of Gus’s moment, which she has since deleted.

She later wrote that she took it down because someone told her Gus is “austistc” (she misspelled autistic) and, of course, ranted about Democrats calling others weird.

Radio host Jay Weber tweeted: “Sorry, but this is embarrassing for both father and son. If the Walzs represent today's American man, this country is screwed.” Following a swift backlash, Mr. Weber tweeted an apology this morning:

“This is a fuller apology for something stupid and hurtful I said yesterday. I said it without thinking or having the facts. No excuses. Having been a teacher, I’ve had a standard of never involving children, I broke that and I’m disappointed with myself. I apologize to the Walz family and anyone who was offended. I feel horrible, I am so sorry.”

This rang more than a bit hollow when it was revealed that Mr. Weber has, in fact, involved children in the past. In 2015, he tweeted an article about a man offering numerous cattle as a dowry for then-16-year-old Malia Obama, with the caption: “It’s not a bad deal.”

I’ll be completely honest in that I find this all especially weird because the red line for these very sad people somehow wasn’t to refrain from saying something like that in the first place.

The rightwing's mocking of Gus Walz is especially disgusting because he's a kid and neurodivergent, of course, but even if he were a neurotypical, grown man, why is a son crying with joy and pride for his father seen as anything other than a wonderful moment?

These people--particularly the men--are so cemented in their repressed feelings and ignored trauma and mocking of vulnerability that they honestly think a son openly adoring his father is somehow bad.

And while they're at it, they'll have the gall to tell you that Christ is their North Star.

Did Jesus not publicly weep with joy and pride in His Father? Did they not read that part of the Bible? Did Jesus not say that the meek shall inherit the earth and that humility is a righteous state and that children should honor their parents?

I swear, if these people never talked a big game about supposedly loving Christ, their actions would never indicate to me that they know anything about Him.

Regardless of all this, I don’t feel sorry for Gus Walz. He doesn’t need my sympathy.

A young man who has that much confidence and strength in his own skin, so much that he readily and tearfully cheers for his father on national television, doesn’t need any pity from the rest of us. If anything, we should be following his lead.

On Thursday morning, I attended the Women for Harris Brunch, where hundreds of ladies gathered to hear Mrs. Walz talk about the campaign and a vision for our country and our nation’s children.

When she mentioned Gus, the entire venue of women spontaneously broke out in a chant of his name for several moments as Mrs. Walz beamed with pride and misty eyes. It was a truly wonderful moment and a highlight of a week that will be long remembered for the joy on display throughout.

We weren’t chanting his name because we feel sorry for him. We were chanting his name because we wish some men in this country who seem weirdly obsessed with masculinity had as much strength and confidence as Gus. We wish they would care more about being good human beings than blustering, insecure caricatures.

We adore Gus because even at such a young age, he’s already figured out a basic lesson that still eludes millions of grown men in this country: cheering on your loved ones and tearing up with joy for them is what a strong man looks like.

Keep being you, Gus. The world needs it.

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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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The Medal of Honor is so revered that it's the only decoration specially emblazoned on headstones in Arlington National Cemetery.

The Medal of Honor is so revered that when an Active Duty recipient wears it in uniform, it is customary, though not technically required, for all officers, no matter their seniority, to initiate a salute.

If a buck sergeant is in uniform and wearing their Medal of Honor, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff will more than likely salute first.

The Medal of Honor is so revered that the children of recipients are guaranteed a nomination to Service Academies, such as West Point. They still must compete for final admission, but the incredibly difficult nomination process is entirely waived for their application.

The Medal of Honor is so revered that recipients and their dependents are entitled to special military ID cards for particular privileges at commissaries and priority on military air travel.

The Medal of Honor is so revered that every state offers some degree of special license plate for drivers who are recipients.

The Medal of Honor is so revered that recipients receive an automatic special pension from the VA that's tacked on to any other pensions, retired or medical, they may have. Adjusted for cost-of-living regularly, it's currently $1671.16 per month.

The Medal of Honor is so revered that all living recipients are entitled to an invitation to every presidential inauguration and inaugural ball.

The Medal of Honor is so revered that a fragile, cowardly, insecure, and deeply narcissistic piece-of-s**t like Donald Trump can't stand knowing he'll never receive a similar universal respect.

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According to a survey released by Pew Research Center in late 2021, a whopping 44 percent of childless males say it is unlikely or not at all likely that they will have children someday. Of those, about 50 percent simply (and selfishly) offer a simple reason: they just don’t want kids.

America stands in a grave moment: the institution of the family is increasingly threatened by the instability of social change, birth rates in the United States have been declining for decades and reached their lowest point last year, and of course, masculinity has been in a freefall for quite some time.

Rather than building a family and contributing to the God-gifted structure of a home with many children, more and more young males are declining to fulfill their natural roles and instead seek purpose through careers and other personal ambitions.

Some radicals will point out that the survey highlights how males and women are “equally likely to probably not have kids” in the future, but this brazen progressive framing masks a basic scientific truth: it’s much easier for males to have children.

As Gabrielle Blair writes in her excellent book “Ejaculate Responsibly,” it is only logical to point out that males encounter no significant health threats during the process of pregnancy and childbirth, have far greater control in managing their fertility status, and bear ultimate responsibility for all pregnancies.

After all, without emission of sperm, how can a pregnancy occur? Any given male’s sexual production should be magnitudes greater than any given women, for she has only one uterus with a limited ovulation window during her life, while the male can produce sperm repeatedly and very late into his lifetime.

And yet, radical lawmakers would have us believe that young males should “have a choice” over whether or not they become parents. Sounds to me like they’re enabling an ungodly narcissism that undermines their sole purpose.

I can already hear the radicals now: “But what about males who are impotent and thus incapable of impregnating women?”

Look, I suppose there should be some compassion for males who are born without a meaningful and real masculinity, but while that’s unfortunate, it doesn’t negate their lack of usefulness in God’s divine will that large families be grown.

It’s not only young males who are letting down God and country. Shockingly, according to data gathered by the U.S. Census Bureau, more than 18 percent of males ages 55 and older don’t have children.

What purpose in life could they possible have by that point?

Males should be carrying out the Lord’s imperative by having lots of children, and when they grow older and their children have kids, it’s only right that they drop everything and dedicate themselves to help raising those newborns.

I mean, c’mon, it should be obvious that the whole purpose of the post-andropause male is to help raise children.

As you may have expected, J.D. Vance and likeminded male radicals have said nothing about all this, pretending that our country isn’t being made vulnerable by a generation of young males who reject their calling to be at home with many babies.

I wonder why Mr. Vance is so viciously anti-child.

It sickens me. I weep for our country.

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It’s been a surprising three weeks in American politics, to say the very least. After President Biden announced his decision to step aside as the Democratic nominee on July 21st and endorsed Vice President Kamala Harris, she informally secured the nomination through party support in fewer than 32 hours.

Ever since then, Trump and J.D. Vance and the Republican Party have been perpetually on the back foot, seemingly unable or unwilling to take common sense steps to stabilize their campaign.

Meanwhile, the energy for Vice President Harris and Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz has been off-the-charts: hundreds of millions raised through grassroots fundraisers, packed rallies in swing states with tens of thousands of people—many of them driving hours to see the Democratic Party’s ticket in person—and a remarkable swing in polling.

And my goodness, the affinity groups. It all started with Black Women for Harris (organized by Win With Black Women), which was organized within hours of President Biden’s announcement. They organized more than 44,000 Black women and raised more than $1.5 million in under three hours, a jaw-dropping achievement.

The following night, Black Men for Harris picked up the baton, organizing 53,000 Black men on their own Zoom call and raising $1.5 million.

Quick reminder: this was all done within two days of Pres. Biden’s endorsement of VP Harris. Soon, other groups followed their lead: White Women for Harris, Latinas for Harris, AAPI Voters for Harris, White Dudes for Harris, and so many more, all featuring elected officials and celebrities.

They raised boatloads of money, signed-up hundreds of thousands of volunteers, and made it clear that the joy and enthusiasm for VP Harris is undeniably evident and contagious.

But arguably the most surprising support has come from Republicans and conservatives who have announced their support for the Harris-Walz campaign. A group called Haley Voters for Harris, led by former supporters of Nikki Haley, announced their endorsement of the Vice President.

This so angered Nikki Haley that she publicly ordered Haley Voters for Harris to “cease and desist.”

Their response: “Our rights to engage with voters and encourage them to vote for Vice President Harris – who in our view is the clear better choice for the country – will not be suppressed.”

Amazing.

A group named Republicans for Harris has made significant waves, topping 100k followers on Twitter. They’re organizing a Zoom chat at 9pm tonight and will feature Mark Hamill, who is not a Republican but was so moved by their efforts that he agreed to join.

Okay, so, that’s all fantastic. We love to see it. But are you sitting down? Because this may blow your mind.

There’s now a group called Evangelicals for Harris, who have broken away from the well documented base of support Trump has among evangelical voters, rejecting his candidacy as the opposite of Christ’s teachings.

Y’all know that there has been no group more supportive of Donald Trump than white evangelicals, who have overwhelmingly backed him over the past eight years, propelling his campaign in 2016 from joke to contender. He would not have been elected without them.

But this group? They’re tired of his nonsense. They’re exhausted with his meandering incompetence. And they’re being loud about it. Check out these tweets the group has put out recently:

This really riled up Laura Loomer, the infamous pro-Trump agitator, who publicly accused the group of “black supremacy” (???). The group responded with far more grace than she deserved:

Anyway, y’all, a lot of unprecedented and wonderfully strange things are happening in American politics at the moment, and Evangelicals for Harris might be the most underrated storyline in all of it.

Let’s make sure we have their backs. Go follow them on Twitter (click here), Facebook (click here), and Instagram (click here).

Tomorrow night, they’ve scheduled a Zoom rally at 7pm ET (register here), and among the number of pastors and advocates will be Jerushah Duford, an energetic evangelical leader and the granddaughter of the late Rev. Billy Graham.

Send the link and their social media to your family, friends, and other folks in your life who are evangelicals on the fence. It might just be the thing that gets them into this joyous movement for Vice President Harris.

Wonderfully strange times, indeed.

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Love of mythology is central to the American experience. We’d be much less happier—or perhaps, less entertained—without it.

Mythology permeates our country: George Washington axing the cherry tree, the sweet but apocryphal story of the first Thanksgiving, stacking back issues of The New Yorker near our desk with the false implication we’ve read any of them.

Here’s another one: the Pilgrims didn’t first land at Plymouth Rock. In fact, the Rock itself—yes, there is a literal rock—had nothing to do with the Pilgrims.

It marks a spot long claimed to be the landing area of the Mayflower, the Dutch cargo fluyt that carried the Pilgrims across the Atlantic, but the claim was originally and erroneously made by 94 year-old Thomas Flaunce more than 120 years after the landing. Flaunce, of course, was not an eyewitness to this.

And the Pilgrims never mentioned the Rock. They would be very confused by the importance placed on it today and may consider us all a bit weird (actually, it’s guaranteed they would consider us all weird).

No, in reality, the Pilgrims first anchored in the harbor of what is now known as Provincetown, a gorgeous seaside community of less than 4,000 residents at the southern tip of Massachusetts.

The other myth about the Pilgrims that was beaten into our heads from an early age is that they absconded from Europe in pursuit of true religious freedom, a core tenet of the American Experiment.

But in truth, the Pilgrims were religious conservatives who wanted to be completely separate from the spiritual influence of outsiders — perhaps “aspirational purists” might be a more apt description. They weren’t seeking true religious freedom for all.

The area where they first anchored already had residents: the Nauset people, closely related neighbors of the better-known Wampanoag, who were almost certainly the opposite of the Pilgrims in terms of social attitudes.

Although there isn’t substantial scholarship on the topic, it’s fairly likely that LGBTQ people were accepted on that land long before the Pilgrims arrived with their strict outlook on gender, sexuality, and family.

And so, it’s quite fitting that Provincetown is today considered one of the premier vacation destinations for LGBTQ families. The season reaches its celebratory apex every year with LGBTQ Family Week, organized by the organization Family Equality, this latest being its 30th year of celebration.

For three decades, LGBTQ families have traveled from throughout the nation—some crossing an ocean from other countries—to enjoy what can only be described as one of the safest places in America (and the world) for the LGBTQ community.

During a long, wonderful walk through town, I ran into a friend and caught up on life. She and her wife have been bringing their son ever since he was a baby. He’s now 15. He’s grown up surrounded by love and joy in Provincetown.

Last month, Nissan (North America) reached out and asked if I would join them as a guest for the festivities. They offered to cover travel and lodging, only requesting that I write about my experience if the spirit so moved me. I was not paid, nor would I have accepted payment.

My sole motivation was quite simple: while anti-LGBTQ laws are being passed in dozens of states and children are being attacked and books are being banned and fear campaigns are being waged against trans people by elected officials, I wanted to draw attention to companies who are walking the walk (or driving the drive, in this case).

If you’re pleasantly surprised that Nissan is so invested in LGBTQ equality, allow yourself to be further delighted. As a number of other large corporations, from Target to Tractor Supply, have quietly moved away from LGBTQ outreach in the midst of backlash from anti-LGBTQ extremists, Nissan has doubled down.

For years, they’ve achieved high marks in the Corporate Equality Index, an annual report released by the Human Rights Campaign to assess the commitment of a wide range of companies to LGBTQ equality.

And this year, they increased their sponsorship of LGBTQ Family Week, desiring to send a message that all families deserve and should expect kindness, respect, and dignity.

Of course, I immediately agreed to join.

There are two ways to get to Provincetown (“P-town") after landing: you can take a long drive from Boston or catch a much shorter ride on the Bay State Cruise Company ferry across Massachusetts Bay. I took the ferry, and it was lovely. It was about 90 minutes, but it felt like half an hour, I kid you not.

I spent the week with the lovely group from Nissan going whale-watching, singing karaoke (enthusiastically and badly and hilariously), laughing at a drag show based on the Devil Wears Prada, eating at several of the many charming restaurants in town, and generally enjoying the festive and welcome atmosphere.

And that was all great, to be sure. It was wonderful. But the parts of the trip that stick with me most were seeing hundreds of LGBTQ families gathered together in such safe and joyous celebrations.

There was Family Night at Motta Field, in which many a parent could be observed cleaning sticky fingers with wet wipes and cheering on their kiddos dancing in front of the stage and toddlers walking around with watermelon wedges bigger than their heads. Everyone just seemed happy and at peace.

Nissan’s Don Hayes delivered brief and moving remarks during the gathering, which included this heartfelt offering that got huge applause:

“You know, there was a time when I didn’t feel comfortable to be myself at work, concerned for my ability to advance…but I’m happy to report, that is no longer the case.”

Nissan also displayed their Ariya, an electric crossover, which I only mention here because it’s truly a gorgeous piece of machinery. (Again: they are not paying me to say this. I just think it’s pretty.)

And, of course, there was the Parade. Oh, the Parade. If you haven’t experienced the Provincetown Family Week Parade, you’re missing out. I’ve been to countless Pride parades in my life, and there’s something particularly special about this one.

LGBTQ families, as far as the eye can see, who weren’t so much marching as they were joyously promenading through downtown, proud parents and energetic kiddos, amused and cheering tourists on the sides, a collection of excited humanity slowly enveloping the streets. Love upon love upon love.At the Parade’s end, I caught up with Alexis Kantor, who recently took the helm as President & CEO of Family Equality. I had seen Ms. Kantor around all week, always spreading good cheer and having a kind word and smile for everyone she came across.

I asked her what Family Week means to her. She said:

“Being surrounded by queer joy and a sense of belonging and families just feeling safe, protected, loved, and celebrated is all we can ask for… I would remind people that we need joy with our justice, and at the end of the day, families come here because they don’t always feel safe. They do have worry in their hometowns, and here, they can find their community… everyone gets to show up authentically as they are… we’re here to celebrate it all.”

At the end of our conversation, she summed it up about as well as anyone could:

“How can you not want to create a world where every single child, every single adult, every single human, gets to feel that unconditional love of family?”

I couldn’t agree more, and as I headed back to Boston on the ferry, I found myself immediately longing to return to P-town and feel unreservedly safe and accepted, walking its streets and simply existing as myself, beautifully and unapologetically and in communion with no shortage of kind souls.

My everlasting gratitude to the folks at Nissan and Family Equality for offering a bit of heaven in a time when so many desperately need it.

I only wish everyone could have that, too. Affirmation shouldn’t be a mythical concept.

(To donate to Family Equality and help support their amazing work, go here.)

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A little over two weeks ago, a user on Twitter posted a joke claiming, with a knowing wink, that J.D. Vance, the junior senator from Ohio and Trump’s running mate, had been quite intimate with an alluring chesterfield. They have since locked their account, but here’s the original tweet:

To be clear: there is absolutely no proof whatsoever that Mr. Vance engaged in copulation with a couch. You can confidently state to the folks in your life that this never happened.

But the joke took on a life of its own. For two weeks, the internet has been awash in puns, memes, and coy references to Mr. Vance’s (falsely alleged) furnish-curious orientation.

It hit a fever pitch on Tuesday at a campaign rally in Philadelphia when Gov. Tim Walz, running mate of Vice President Harris, included this reference in his speech:

“I can't wait to debate the guy—that is, if he's willing to get off the couch and show up.”

As the crowd roared in response, Mr. Walz followed up with: “See what I did there?”

I was in that audience. It was a hell of a line. Many of you were probably watching on television and laughing with approval, and I gotta say: it landed even better in-person.

Of course, not everyone agrees, particularly more than a few journalists and pundits who decried it as unnecessary and tantamount to disinformation.

Yesterday, CNN’s Jake Tapper characterized it as a “gross smear” while Washington Post columnist Megan McArdle opined on Twitter: “But the more people argue this is all in good fun, the more I want to write in a name rather than voting for either of the nasty tickets.”

The Intelligencer’s Benjamin Hart weighed in, too: “It does not follow that Trump accusing Democrats of killing babies and Kamala Harris of being a communist monster means that Democrats are allowed to lower their standards. That’s not how standards work.”

Ah, yes, standards — the expected consistency of holding a moral line, regardless of whom crosses it.

Of course, it’s been difficult not to notice that Mr. Tapper, Ms. McArdle, Mr. Hart, and every other finger-wagging, scandalized pundit didn’t have anything to say when, just last week, Mr. Vance decided to use his global platform as the Republican vice presidential nominee to falsely and cruelly claim that Olympic woman boxer Imane Khelif is actually a man.

Mr. Vance posted on Twitter: “This is where Kamala Harris’s ideas about gender lead: to a grown man pummeling a woman in a boxing match. This is disgusting, and all of our leaders should condemn it.”

He was quote-tweeting far-right commentator Charlie Kirk, who had written: “The Olympics just allowed a biological man, Imane Khelif, to pummel Italian Olympian Angela Carini. Her life’s work was stolen by a man who beats up women for sport. Will someone have to die before people wake up?! This entire ideology is pure evil.”

I wrote last week about the vile disinformation spread about Ms. Khelif by the likes of Mr. Vance, Trump, J.K. Rowling, and many others who slandered her online, along with all the reasons why this horrid accusation is patently false.

(Also: to be abundantly clear, there are no trans women competing in the Olympics.)

But here’s the most important thing to note here: Ms. Khelif is from Algeria, where being transgender is not only considered borderline criminal but trans people are particularly vulnerable to lethal violence, to say nothing of discrimination generally.

Mr. Vance encouraged a global pile-on against Ms. Khelif, quite literally putting her life in danger, all for a cheap political hit directed at Vice President Harris.

Mr. Tapper said nothing on the matter. Nor did Ms. McArdle. Nor did Mr. Hart.

Nor, to the best of my knowledge, has any other reporter or pundit who pontificated on Democrats making light of Mr. Vance allegedly having a tryst with an ex-lover from Rent-A-Center.

In the case of Mr. Vance, there is no victim of disinformation. The greatest cause for trauma and injury can only be claimed by a hypothetical, seductive settee.

But with the dangerous slander directed at Ms. Khelif by Mr. Vance, there’s a woman who has struggled all her life in pursuit of her Olympics dream, only to watch as people like the Republican vice presidential nominee put her and her family through an extraordinary hell for the past two weeks.

I don’t expect journalists and pundits to comment on every single issue, particularly every little comment from every bit player in the world of politics. That’s completely unreasonable.

But Mr. Vance is not a bit player. He’s on the GOP’s presidential ticket. He’s asking voters to consider him for the position of the second most powerful person in the world, and every single reporter and pundit in this country would understandably leap at the opportunity to book an exclusive interview with him.

The silence of people like Mr. Tapper and Ms. McArdle and Mr. Hart—knowing full well that what he was claiming is false and dangerous—speaks to an increasingly destabilizing double standard in American media. For some, journalistic integrity seems to be highly contingent on the degree to which their access is threatened.

If they had criticized Mr. Vance and set the record straight regarding Ms. Khelif, most likely jeopardizing their access with Republican elected officials, it might mean one less big scoop, one less primetime interview, one less panel invite or speaking gig or book deal.

And thus, it is much easier to publicly opine on the moral imperatives of Mr. Walz, the vice presidential candidate for the political party that is not going to restrict access or otherwise punish journalists and pundits who ask a tough question or make a critical observation.

It’s easy to “take a stand” when you know there will be no consequences for doing so.

I don’t care what Mr. Vance does or does not do with his couch or end table or swinging crystal chandelier. It’s none of my business. Granted, I would like a heads up, so as to avoid sitting there, but otherwise, it really has nothing to do with the rest of us.

I do care quite a lot about the vulnerable people that Mr. Vance and his ilk continue to put in danger through dehumanizing and horrific rhetoric, gleefully attacking women generally and LGBTQ people, in particular, with scant accountability from much of political media.

I would like to believe that Mr. Tapper and Ms. McArdle and Mr. Hart also value consistency in this regard, but the last two weeks have demonstrated otherwise.

This evening, Ms. Khelif won the final of the women’s boxing welterweight division in Paris, finally realizing, against tall odds, her lifelong dream of being an Olympic Champion. Immediately following the victory, she was warmly embraced by her opponent, China’s Yang Liu, the 2023 IBA World Champion.

The two smiled and took selfies at the awards ceremony, a joyous moment after two weeks of other women boxers rallying around Ms. Khelif in support against the violent disinformation spread by Mr. Vance and others.

I hope Mr. Tapper, Ms. McArdle, and Mr. Hart were watching.

Pundits, take a seat. Just not there.

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It was 1999.

The previous year, Matthew Shepard, just 21, had been beaten, tortured, and left to die on a fence post in Laramie, Wyoming because he was openly-gay.

I had just turned 12 in Central Texas, and as a closeted trans girl—very much in the closet—I was terrified by what I saw in the news. I couldn’t talk about it to the adults in my life. I just knew it wasn’t safe to be me.

And so did millions of closeted LGBTQ youth around the country.

About a 14-hour drive from Laramie—in Mankato, Minnesota—a 35 year-old social studies teacher was starting his third year at the local high school.

His name was Tim Walz.

He had grown up in a tight, rural family and earned a degree in social studies education and went to grad school for educational leadership.

He had been serving in the Army National Guard as a senior sergeant for nearly two decades by that point. He was a coach for the football team.

He would help lead his team to a state championship that season, and it was only the second most impressive thing he would do that year.

A gay student was being bullied and wanted to start a chapter of the gay-straight student alliance (GSA). Mr. Walz didn’t hesitate to take on the role of faculty advisor.

Why?

“It really needed to be the football coach, who was the soldier and was straight and was married,” he said.

This was only three years after same-sex marriage had been banned, over a decade before openly-gay-lesbian-and-bisexual troops were permitted to serve, a decade and a half before the Supreme Court would enshrine marriage equality.

At the time, according to Gallup, most of the country thought being openly-LGBTQ was morally wrong, to say nothing of whether or not LGBTQ marriages should be legal.

He wasn’t running for any office (and wouldn’t for another seven years). He had nothing to personally gain in a socially conservative part of a country that was already opposed to LGBTQ equality.

But he did it, anyway. He didn’t want LGBTQ students to feel alone and afraid.

I have to admit to you all that I’m tearing up while I write this because I would have given anything to have an adult in my life tell me at that time: You are not alone, and I am in your corner.

When he became Governor of Minnesota two decades later, Mr. Walz had no time or patience for those attacking LGBTQ people in his state.

He signed bills banning conversion therapy, protecting access to gender-affirming care, and stood tall against bigotry.

Under his leadership, Minnesota has codified abortion rights, legalized cannabis, required paid family leave, mandated universal background checks for firearms, banned noncompete agreements for workers, and introduced universal free meals for hungry schoolchildren.

He has done all of this while offering a common sense approach to governing: meeting people where they are, having hard conversations, and fighting to ensure no one gets left behind.

It is no surprise to me that Vice President Harris chose Mr. Walz as her running mate this morning.

I want go back to 1999 and tell that 12 year-old closeted girl that someday she’ll get to vote for yet another ticket with two leaders who don’t back down when it comes to protecting all Americans from violence and discrimination, regardless of who they are or who they love.

I can’t wait to vote for Vice President Harris and Governor Walz.

Y'all, we got a winning ticket. And I'm talking the possibility of a landslide, if we put our hearts into this.

VP Harris and Gov. Walz are THAT ticket.

Let's make it abundantly clear where we stand.

Sign-up to volunteer here: https://web.kamalaharris.com/forms/take-action-for-kamala-harris/

And donate here: https://secure.actblue.com/donate/charlotteforharris

Let’s go win the future. We got this.

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You may or may not have a relative or friend or acquaintance in your life who has posted on social media in the past few days, quite sardonically, that there’s a lot of money to be made in betting on Algerian boxer Imane Khelif, who just made it to the semifinals of women’s boxing in the 66kg weight class at the Paris Olympics.

The past several days have seen a deluge of disinformation across the internet regarding Ms. Khelif, whose sex has been called into question because she was simply too good in her Olympics match against Italy’s Angela Carini, who gave up 46 seconds into their bout and then implied Ms. Khelif may not be a fair competitor.

Donald Trump, J.D. Vance, J.K. Rowling, rightwing Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni, and YouTube star Logan Paul, among others, have viciously spread vile propaganda that Ms. Khelif is actually a man, not only smearing her reputation with transphobic and misogynistic nonsense but also likely putting her in danger.

To be clear, there are three trans athletes in the Paris Olympics, none of whom are trans women. You can read more about them right here.

But hey, it’s been interesting to watch the response of sports betting markets!

That’s probably why your “very concerned” relative insisted on plunking down a wad of cash on Ms. Khelif winning the Gold Medal in her weight class, despite simultaneously dehumanizing her.

Let’s review how betting odds work.

1. The better the odds for an athlete winning, the lower they yield for bettors.

Ms. Khelif, for example, currently has -500 odds on Fanduel. This has jumped substantially in light of the anti-trans propaganda online this week.

That means a bettor has to wager $5 on her in order to make $1.

The question then becomes: would you put down $500 to make $100?

Some folks would, but it's pretty risky.

It's even riskier when you consider that the odds are very likely inflated due to the incomplete reporting on Ms. Khelif over the past several days.

That brings me to my second point.

2. Ms. Khelif has a 42-9 record.

She has lost previously to nine other women. Nine.

That includes a loss to Amy Broadhurst of Ireland in the World Boxing Championships, who is among the women loudly defending Ms. Khelif against these horrid accusations.

Nine times she's lost to other women in the ring. Think about that.

That brings me to my third point.

3. There has been no evidence presented that Ms. Khelif has XY chromosomes, but a woman having XY chromosomes does not mean she's a man.

Contrary to what I think most of us were taught in 6th grade biology, there are non-trans women with XY chromosomes and non-trans men with XX chromosomes. This is long-established science. You can read more about it here.

There is also no evidence that Ms. Khelif has differences in sexual development (DSD) or Swyer's Syndrome or any other condition that may present her chromosomal status as having substantially "male" sex characteristics.

That brings me to my fourth point.

4. Ms. Khelif was disqualified by the IBA last year in incredibly murky circumstances.

The International Boxing Association (IBA) refused to be transparent about their testing methodology, which, in itself, is bonkers.

Her disqualification just so happened to come three days after she beat Russian boxer Azalia Amineva in the semfinals of the IBA Women's World Championship.

The IBA has strong, documented ties to the Russian government.

Its president, Umar Kremlev, is a Russian citizen. He also serves on the Executive Committee of Russia's boxing federation.

After becoming its president in 2020, Mr. Kremlev moved the IBA's operations to Russia and made Gazprom, Russia's state-owned energy company, its sole sponsor.

Mr. Kremlev is an associate of Putin, which feels pretty redundant to state after all the above.

All of this, plus a number of other concerns over corruption, led to the International Olympic Committee, last year, stripping the IBA as an eligibility authority for the Paris Olympics.

In response, Mr. Kremlev called IOC President Thomas Bach a "chief sodomite."

Classy.

That brings me to my fifth point.

5. Ms. Khelif's country, Algeria, is notoriously anti-LGBTQ.

The rights of queer Algerians is abysmal. Are there non-LGBTQ Algerians who support equality? Of course, but the Algerian government does not.

It is illegal to be transgender in Algeria.

It is impossible for a trans woman to obtain an Algerian passport indicating her as female. Ms. Khelif would literally not be able to leave the country with a female passport if she were transgender, which she is not.

Of course, this is further moot given that 1) Ms. Khelif's father has provided her birth certificate establishing she was assigned female at birth and 2) trans women are barred from competing in boxing at the Olympics.

That brings me to my sixth point.

6. This isn't really about whether or not Ms. Khelif is a woman.

It's about women athletes only being valid when they meet arbitrary standards of femininity as defined through the male gaze.

Women athletes as varied as Serena Williams and Katie Ledecky—whom I think most of us would agree are gorgeous (not that it should matter, of course)—have been targeted in the past by vile rumors that they aren't really women.

Because they're too damn good and aspects of their bodies may not align with the absurd and arbitrary expectations of the male gaze.

Women can be successful in the male gaze if, and only if, they please the male gaze.

And even then, not really.

That brings me to my final point.

7. Male athletes don't deal with this nonsense.

When a man is stronger and faster, preternaturally gifted, has extraordinary biological deviations from the norm, he is celebrated and mythologized.

When a male boxer KOs their opponent in the first ten seconds of a bout, it is cause for adulation. When a woman does it, she is suspect.

Sounds a lot like misogyny to me.

Of course, Angela Carini, the Italian boxer whom Ms. Khelif defeated in that bout that launched this whole controversy, recognized this within a day of the match.

She said:

"All this controversy certainly made me sad, and I also felt sorry for my opponent, she had nothing to do with it and like me was only here to fight... It was not intentional, in fact I apologize to her and to everyone. I was angry, because my Games had already gone up in smoke. I have nothing against Khelif and on the contrary if I happened to meet her again I would give her a hug."

She hasn’t been the only one to back off. The Boston Globe released a rare statement apologizing for their sloppy reporting on the story, and Logan Paul released a statement backpedaling on his claims.

I'm gonna leave it there.

So, if your relative would like to risk $500 to win $100 on all this controversy and disinformation surrounding Ms. Khelif, they are welcome to do so.

But it seems like a wobbly bet.

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Folks keep reaching out to me to ask whether or not their kids should read the "Harry Potter" series given J.K. Rowling's completely hateful views on trans people, most recently her enabling of the disgusting and horrific disinformation that targeted a non-trans woman in the Olympics.

I am not a spokeswoman for the trans community, and I would never present my opinion as representative of all trans people.

Because no community is a monolith.

I would encourage folks to read perspectives from other trans folks on this topic to get the necessary nuance to come to an informed decision.

I have previously written about J.K. Rowling’s virulent transphobia for USA Today (here) and The Washington Post (here).

Here's my overall take:

I have no issues with kids (and adults) reading and enjoying "Harry Potter" and becoming immersed in that world.

If you wanna read the books, have a great time.

What I would like to see, however, are parents sit down with their kids and encourage them to treat others with respect.

I'd like to see parents teach their children that trans people--including trans and gender-expansive kids--are worthy of respect and dignity and kindness.

I'd like to see parents teach their kids that the world is a complicated place, and it's necessary to take the whole of a person and prioritize respect and dignity and kindness for others above all else.

I'd like to see parents teach their kids to be empathetic and curious and seek to learn more about those who are different from them.

I'd like to see parents teach their kids that unpacking and discussing gender identity is essential for everyone, including non-trans people, because gender identity, even for non-trans people, is not a binary thing.

That's really all I want.

I think it’s notable that the three main stars of the film adaptations—Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint—have all resolutely stated that they unequivocally support the trans community. I’m grateful to them for their proactive allyship and leading by example.

I also think it’s rather amusing and wholesome that Tom Felton—who portrayed evil, pivotal antagonist Draco Malfoy—made it abundantly clear where he stood on this debate: in support of trans folks.

I’m quite grateful to the legions of “Harry Potter” fans who have been insistently outspoken against transphobia and made it plain that anti-trans bigotry will not be tolerated in their midst.

I think it's possible to both enjoy the world of "Harry Potter" and recognize that its creator is really not a nice person, despite the lovely world she's created.

I think it's quite reasonable and urgently necessary to guide children through that complexity.

That's my view. I hope this is helpful.

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Okay, time out. Listen up.

Contrary to the vile disinformation being spread online, there are no trans women competing in boxing at the Olympics.

In fact, there are no trans women competing at all in the Olympics. None. Zilch.

The maelstrom of hatred you’re seeing from many bigots on social media over the past two days pertains to the participation of Algerian boxer Imane Khelif in the women’s competition. Ms. Khelif is NOT a trans woman.

She faced off against Italy’s Angela Carini in the second round of the 66kg weight class, defeating her after Ms. Carini’s corner threw in the towel 46 seconds into their bout.

What followed was outrage from anti-trans corners all over the internet and a lot of confused people who understandably couldn’t make heads or tails of all this without proper context.

The propaganda was mostly pushed by American rightwing clowns, including vice presidential candidate J.D. Vance and YouTube influencer Logan Paul, with assists from international public figures like J.K. Rowling and Chris Evert.

But again: Ms. Khelif is not a trans woman.

The International Olympic Committee released a strong statement rejecting the fearmongering and questioning of Ms. Khelif’s sex, contextualizing how the propaganda was enabled, and confirming that she complies with the strict standards of qualification for the competition, which does not permit trans women.

Perhaps the most glaring thing about the misogynistic and transphobic nonsense surrounding Imane Khelif is that Algeria is notoriously anti-LGBTQ in law, and she would never get a passport approved if she were trans.

There is no trans equality in Algerian law. At all.

Are there LGBTQ people in Algeria? Yeah, of course, and there are a lot of non-LGBTQ Algerians who stand on the side of equality, but the Algerian government does not.

So, it would appear that Ms. Khelif is, I guess, guilty of not looking the “right way” as a woman in the eyes of so many dorkass losers who can’t stand imagining women as anything other than what they envision in their high femme fever dreams.

But are there trans athletes competing in Paris? Yes, and in fact, I’m quite proud to highlight them.

There are two non-binary athletes competing who were assigned female at birth: track and field star Nikki Hiltz (U.S.) and soccer star Quinn (Canada).

There is one trans man competing (that means he was assigned female at birth): Hergie Bacyadan (Philippines), who became the first trans man to ever compete at the Olympics. He was soundly defeated by unanimous decision in the first round of women’s boxing by China’s Li Quan.

I take pride in all of these athletes who are breaking barriers, and it’s completely disgusting to watch insecure and hateful men on this site spread lies and half-truths about trans athletes.

My congratulations to Ms. Quan and Ms. Khelif on their resounding victories, to Mr. Bacyadan for his historic accomplishment in qualifying for the Games, to Hiltz and Quinn for their representation on the highest stage, and to every athlete living up to the highest standards of competition and character.

We’re not gonna let bigots ruin these Games for us. They don’t get to have that power.

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A few days ago, I saw a tweet go viral from a progressive commentator that mocked the dental care of Trump supporters. I’m not gonna name who it was because I’m not trying to shame anyone here. That’s not the point.

But I’ll tell y’all a quick story.

Most of my childhood was spent at or below the poverty line. We were perpetually and painfully broke. There were a number of months spent in a shelter when I was younger. We’d move from trailer park to trailer park in Central Texas; I attended four or five different elementary schools.

My mother, outside of her minimum-wage jobs, did a number of things to keep us afloat during those years. Selling blood plasma and pawning our television was a regular source of income.

One morning, I woke up to find the few toys I had displayed on a rickety yard sale table on the street where we lived at the time because otherwise, we weren’t gonna eat that week.

There were months when simply having three meals a day was a challenge. During the Summer of 1996, bereft of the free breakfast and lunch program provided by the local public school, we subsisted on boxes of old MREs (Meals-Ready-to-Eat)—military rations—that were procured from the local Army base.

Those were rough times, and when I look back on that stretch of childhood, perhaps the most unnerving thing was the lack of access to good hygiene. A big part of that is due to my mother just not being a great parent, to say the least. I’ll spare y’all the details, but she was not someone who understood how to care for children.

Things that kids learn around this time—how to wash themselves, brush their teeth, sanitize the home with basic cleaning—were not things my mother prioritized.

This is not say that most impoverished families are like this. Most poor families have parents who take excellent care of their children, even amidst intense financial struggles. My family was not one of them.

How did we live like this? We just did. The growing doubts I had about our living situation were pushed down by fear of what might happen if I asked too many questions. Would I be taken away if I mentioned these things to an adult outside our home? What would happen to my mother?

So, I just developed a sense of forced, numbed obliviousness to it all.

The other part, of course, is how expensive it is to be poor. Dental care was not something available to our family. The first time I got my teeth cleaned was at 15 after I moved-in with my father. I remember the utter shame I felt sitting in the hygienist’s chair as she carefully worked to undo many years of neglect. She said nothing, but it was hard not to think about the judgment running through her mind.

My mother got upper dentures when she was 36 or 37. I still don’t know how she afforded them, but the oral pain she was experiencing was too much. I vaguely recall a personal loan may been involved. She went to a local dentist, who may or may not have been horrified by what they saw. They extracted the relevant teeth, which were beyond saving, and got her fitted.

Dentures at 37. Think about that.

I know we’re facing the hatred and bigotry of people whose cruelty seemingly knows no bounds. Because they have no ideas and threadbare logic, fueled only by their anger and resentment toward those who are different, they focus on childish insults, mocking appearances and disabilities and general suffering.

I realize there’s a strong temptation among many of us to give them a taste of their own medicine, make them feel small and ugly and disgusting, weaponize shame to achieve clarity.

Respectfully, not only do I think that doesn’t make sense on its face, but it tends to alienate and push away people who want a better country and want to support Vice President Harris and want to reject the hatred that drives Trumpism.

There are a lot of people in this country with great values who don't have access to affordable dental care or good hygiene practices generally, and they so often go unnoticed because their existing struggles are seen as inconvenient to those who would rather not be burdened by acknowledging that suffering.

I worry that mocking the dental care and weight and general appearance of Trump voters for a cheap laugh on social media turns off people who want to be part of the solution but feel shamed and shunned by the cruelty they see on display from some on the left.

I worry that doing things like fat-shaming and intentionally misgendering hateful conservatives only serve to undermine the progress we’re all working together to achieve.

Because that’s the past. That’s moving backwards. That’s telling undecided folks that we’re really no better than the average, awful MAGA bigot.

I see Vice President Harris offering the vision of a country in which people aren’t left behind, regardless of their socioeconomic status. I see her looking at folks in all their pain and struggle and asking them to trust her on the way forward.

How can she effectively do that if some of her supporters are shaming people who have never had access to good dental care?

This election is about the past versus the future. Trump is offering more of the same reactionary, blistering, divisive, cruel politics that thrive on making people feel unworthy, and Vice President Harris is pointing us toward a horizon that offers hope and says your worth isn’t based on how you look.

I know which way I wanna go. I hope everyone starts walking that way, too.

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[This blog will always be free to read, but it’s also how I pay my bills. If you have suggestions or feedback on how I can earn your paid subscription, shoot me an email: cmclymer@gmail.com. And if this is too big of a commitment, I’m always thankful for a simple cup of coffee.]

Last night, I was honored and delighted to join a phenomenal group of brilliant leaders and hundreds of thousands of women across the country in support of the Vice President on the first Women for Harris National Organizing Call.

You can watch the organizing call in its entirety right here, and I strongly recommend doing so.

Speakers included Women for Harris Director Rhonda Foxx, Sen. Laphonza Butler, Chelsea Clinton, Min Jin Lee, Yvette Nicole Brown, Shannon Watts, Ai-Jen Poo, Glynda Carr, and so many more.

I honestly did not expect to cry so much, but when Ms. Lee began telling her story and teared up, I completely lost it. By the time Ms. Clinton reminded us all of the history of women seeking the White House, I was a mess.

It was a bad night for mascara and a great night for democracy.

Below are my remarks:

Good evening!

My name is Charlotte Clymer, my pronouns are she/her, I’m a writer and activist, and I am so excited to be part of this historic gathering of women across the country.

Now, look, I’m not gonna repeat to y’all what the brilliant and eloquent women who spoke before me stated, nor do I have the eloquence and brilliance of the women who will speak over the remainder of this evening.

I’m just gonna tell y’all a quick story about why I proudly support Vice President Harris.

I am a proud American, a proud Texan, a proud military veteran, a proud trans woman, and a proud Democrat.

And I have found that there a lot of folks, including Donald Trump and J.D. Vance, who want to place me in a specific box.

They say I’m too queer to be a proud military veteran.

They say a trans woman like me can’t be a Christian and a strong person of faith as I am.

They say women like me don’t belong in America.

Well, here’s what I have to say to that: thank goodness our leader, Vice President Harris, has common sense and believes no American, no human being, belongs in a box.

A little over four years ago, a number of rightwing extremists took a picture of me from a public event and attempted to harass me online. They wanted me to be ashamed of how I look as a trans woman.

Now, just like the women I admire—women like my grandmother, women like Congresswoman Jasmine Crockett from my home state of Texas, women like Vice President Harris—am I going to give these sad and insecure people that kinda power over me?

No.

I don’t have time for that. I love how I look. I know I’m beautiful.

So, I wrote a thread explaining that, and I offered an open hope that these sad and insecure people will someday have the kind of peace and comfort in their own skin as I have in mine.

One of the first public figures to respond to that thread was then-Senator Kamala Harris.

She gave me support. She gave me encouragement. She made me feel seen. And in that moment, she sent a clear message that supporting her means supporting the basic concept that all of us are worthy to be who we are authentically.

I want to be clear: there were no incentives for her here. I hadn’t endorsed her. I hadn’t talked with her campaign. It wasn’t like she was gonna fundraise off this moment.

She did it because Vice President Harris is the kind of leader who fights for every American.

She fights for the military veteran who comes back from war with horrific wounds. She fights for the woman turned away from life-saving abortion access. She fights for the public school teacher who’s overworked and underpaid. She fights for every child, every senior, every single American. She fights for all of us.

Donald Trump and J.D. Vance are gonna throw everything they got at her—every cruel remark, every disgusting sexist and racist trope, every bit of vile—and they’re gonna find out the hard way that it just isn’t enough.

And why is that? Because we have a clear strategy here. All we have to do is follow the example of Vice President Harris. She is a leader who builds bridges, who invites tough conversations, who always embraces discomfort as a gift for growth.

If we follow her example, if we make every phone call, if we knock on every door, if we invite tough conversations with our friends and family and neighbors who are on the fence in this election, I guarantee you, on everything I hold dear, that Kamala Harris will be the 48th President of the United States.

Thank god this is our leader. Let’s follow her example. Let’s go win this thing.

To find out how to volunteer and elect our first woman president and save democracy from Trump and Vance and Project 2025, text WOMEN to 30330.

And donate to the historic and exciting campaign of Vice President Harris right here: https://secure.actblue.com/donate/charlotteforharris

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I’m 37, which means I’m in a period of my life in which many of my friends—if not most of them—either have kids or plan to have kids.

And I love it. I love to see the joy my friends are experiencing. I love baby showers. I love the chance to peruse through a registry and pick the perfect gift. I love it when my friends tell me about the latest thing their kids have done: things that make them proud, things that make them laugh, things that give them hope.

I am absolutely the friend who genuinely enjoys watching whatever videos and pics you captured of your kiddo doing something cute or hilarious, and you’re just dying to share it with someone.

I love occasionally babysitting my friends’ kids. I love spoiling them. I think it’s really wonderful when I get to play Aunt Charlotte.

I love all this because I think kids are awesome: their curiosity about the world, their general goofiness, their perspectives, their insatiable desire to learn, it’s all delightful.

Every child is our collective future. It’s why I gladly desire our taxes go to public schools in order for them to improve and thrive. It’s why I want guaranteed paid family leave for every family. It’s why I want accessible childcare and accessible housing options and universal health care.

It’s why I don’t want to live in a country that would ever punish a child for not being able to afford a school lunch or afterschool activities or basic school supplies.

Every investment in America’s children is an investment in our nation’s future, and by extension, it means I benefit directly from ensuring children have all they need to be happy, healthy, and productive citizens someday.

But I don’t want kids. There was a time when I did. At some point, I realized that I don’t see having children in my future, not because it’s not an option but solely due to my lack of desire to have children.

Maybe that’ll change someday. Maybe I’ll wake up one morning in the future and suddenly have the desire to be a parent. I’m not saying it won’t happen.

But I doubt it.

I don’t really feel the need to outline the reasons why I don’t want children. I think it’s more than enough to simply understand that about myself because that decision is up to me and only me. And no one else gets a say in that decision, and thus, no one else is entitled to an explanation for why I don’t want kids.

It is good enough that I simply don’t want kids. It is inherently sufficient that I don’t want to be a parent, for any reason.

In an interview with Tucker Carlson, Republican vice presidential candidate J.D. Vance stated his belief that our Democratic presidential nominee, Vice President Kamala Harris, is one of the “childless cat ladies” who “want to make the rest of the country miserable, too.”

He continued: “If you look at Kamala Harris, Pete Buttigieg, AOC, the entire future of the Democrats is run by people without children.”

Of course, this isn’t true on its face.

Vice President Harris is definitely a parent, and Vance’s comments so angered Kerstin Emhoff, the former wife of Second Gentleman Doug Emhoff, that she released a statement which included this: “For over 10 years, since Cole and Ella were teenagers, Kamala has been a co-parent with Doug and I. She is loving, nurturing, fiercely protective, and always present. I love our blended family and am grateful for it.”

Likewise, Secretary Buttigieg and Chasten Buttigieg are the parents of two beautiful children. When the Secretary recently appeared on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, the beloved host asked him about Speaker Mike Johnson’s atrocious record on LGBTQ rights. The Secretary’s answer was absolutely perfect:

“Look, I’ll work with anybody who can help us get good transportation available to the American people, but—I don’t know, maybe we’ll just have him over. Our little house isn’t that far from the Capitol, and if you could see what it’s like when I come home from work and Chasten’s bringing the kids home from daycare or vice-versa and one of us is getting the mac ‘n’ cheese ready and one of us is microwaving those little freezer meatballs—that are a great cheat code if you got toddlers and you gotta feed them quickly—and they won’t take their shoes off and one of them needs a diaper change… everything about that is chaos, but nothing about that is dark. The love of God is in that household.”

(By the way, just as an aside, there are a wealth of great choices for the running mate of Vice President Harris, but can y’all see why I so badly want this man on the ticket?)

Anyway, I have no idea if Rep. Ocasio-Cortez wants kids someday, and it’s absolutely none of my business. Because that choice is hers, and hers alone. It’s very strange to me that anyone else would believe that is their business.

I love this country, and I’m proud to be an American — and I believe part of that means I have a responsibility to do my part in ensuring that every child in this country has whatever they need to grow up into well-rounded citizens. I take that seriously.

But I will damned if someone is gonna tell me or anyone else that we don’t matter because we don’t have children. I will not tolerate someone telling step-parents and adoptive parents and foster parents and anyone personally caring for children that they don’t and don’t matter.

Moreover, it's exceedingly weird and creepy and cruel when someone insists that a woman must bear children in order to meaningfully engage in public life.

Mr. Vance claims to be a follower of Christ, and that’s between him and God, but I gotta tell y’all: as a Christian myself, one who actually reads my Bible, his horrible and reductive views—on women, on childcare, on the worthiness of families that don’t look like his—are entirely abhorrent and bereft of Christ’s love.

I’m giving thanks that Vice President Kamala Harris and her family are showing the country that not all families need to look alike to be loved and respected and that not all women have to be alike to be truly free.

That’s the country I want every child to grow up in — where their worth is inherent and honored.

To me, that’s a country worthy of the children we all love.

If you agree, please consider donating to the Vice President’s campaign.

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President Biden just announced in a letter that he will step aside as the Democratic nominee for reelection.

He said in part: “It has been the greatest honor of my life to serve as your president. And while it has been my intention to seek reelection, I believe it is in the best interest of my party and the country for me to stand down and for me to focus solely on fulfilling my duties as President for the remainder of my term.”

I am heartbroken in this moment. This has been the most progressive and productive president of my lifetime, and the loyalty and respect he has earned comes from a lifetime of public service and an administration with extraordinary accomplishments, particularly in a deeply divided era for our country.

As I said several days ago in the essay I published on this crisis, I trust the President. I trust his wisdom to know that this is the best path forward. If Joe Biden knows this is how we proceed, I trust him.

Here’s the critical excerpt from that essay that I need everyone to understand:

But here’s one thing I know for certain: this current political media landscape of ours, with all its slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, will not end with President Biden stepping aside.

There is an obvious double standard at play right now. It is painfully apparent that Donald Trump and the Republican Party are largely being given a pass by much of political media.

That is not to say that all—or perhaps, most—political reporters and outlets are working through a prism of obvious bias in favor of Trump, but there is certainly a pervasive absolution of journalistic duty that will continue to exist, no matter which names are on the Democratic ticket.

Vice President Harris, Gov. Newsom, Gov. Whitmer, Gov. Pritzker, Gov. Shapiro, Gov. Beshear, Sec. Buttigieg, it truly does not matter who forms the ticket that gets printed on ballots — all of them will be unfairly weighed by much of political media against a narcissistic sociopath leading a major party that has become a cult.

It could be anything. The propaganda we can expect is only limited by imagination.

As soon as the Republican Party settles on a narrative and pushes it, much of political media will pick up that ball and run with it, “just asking questions” and musing out loud and doing all they can to preserve access with the GOP and satisfy certain billionaire owners who are throwing their weight on the scales.

I don’t point this out to demoralize anyone. Quite the opposite. I point this out to prevent a predictable demoralization that will surely come for anyone, regardless of their take on this matter, who believes the cementing of their preferred ticket will ease the path forward.

We have to be prepared for pervasive discomfort, every single one of us. The next 15 weeks or so will come with unexpected obstacles and a deeply unfair double standard in much of political media and the frustrating prioritization of entertainment over substance, intrigue over clarity, ratings over republic, drama over democracy.

Whatever happens next, even if it may not be what we personally think is best, it is critical that we roll up our sleeves and stand shoulder-to-shoulder in the work against those who gleefully seek to undermine and destroy our democratic institutions.

I strongly believe President Biden is our best choice and that he and VP Harris will win, but if the President does eventually decide to step aside, I will trust his well-earned wisdom and I’m gonna get right back to work and fight like hell to save our country.

The math here is remarkably simple. If we stand together and put in the work, we will win. If we allow anger and angst to divide us, we will lose and democracy will lose and the consequences of that will reverberate far beyond our country.

All of us have a choice, and I trust that there are more than enough us, regardless of how we personally feel the ticket should look, to come together and choose a future that sends Trump and Project 2025 right into the trash bin of history where they belong.

The choice is between democracy and dictatorship.

No matter what happens next, let’s all make that choice.

I meant every word of that, and I certainly mean every word of it now.

We can win this, and we will win this. I have no doubt about that.

I promise you that anything other than a unified purpose in this moment will not be helpful. Whatever we may feel, however heartbroken or angry or frustrated, the fate of our nation relies on us standing shoulder to shoulder to defeat a fascist vision. That must be our purpose.

President Biden has endorsed Vice President Harris, and he’s absolutely right to do so.

Vice President Harris will be the Democratic nominee, she will defeat Trump and his fascist vision, and she will be a great president. I have every faith in her. I am not worried about whether or not she can win. I know she can win.

Time to unite behind her with that common purpose and go win this election.

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Look, I don’t know for certain what happens next. I don’t think any pundit or reporter knows for certain what happens next. I don’t think any big donors know for certain what happens next. I don’t think any senior Democratic leaders know for certain what happens next, except for one.

Only President Biden knows what happens next because only he can decide what happens next. There was a primary. He was the victor of that primary. The decision rests with him alone on whether or not he’ll be the Democratic nominee.

It’s certainly no secret that I fully support Pres. Biden and Vice President Harris, and I still fully believe they should be reelected. I believe they can win. I believe they will win, should Pres. Biden decide to remain on the ticket.

I also recognize that a lot of smart and reasonable people, who care about our country and our democracy as much as me or the next person, do not believe President Biden is our best candidate to defeat Trump and his fascist Project 2025 vision for America.

I’ve had many insightful and respectful conservations with folks who do not see this race as I do, and I’ve had many insightful and respectful conversations with folks who see it very much as I do.

There’s a lot of room for respectful disagreement here. We need to recognize that.

There are also a host of other factors that need to be recognized, regardless of the names on the ticket: ballot access deadlines, campaign staff and fundraising questions, general organizing, etc.

These all need to be kept in mind, and we all need to acknowledge there are many factors motivating folks in various ways to have the perspectives they do and uncertainty is one thing we should all recognize that we have in common.

But here’s one thing I know for certain: this current political media landscape of ours, with all its slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, will not end with President Biden stepping aside.

There is an obvious double standard at play right now. It is painfully apparent that Donald Trump and the Republican Party are largely being given a pass by much of political media.

It could be anything. The propaganda we can expect is only limited by imagination.

The choice is between democracy and dictatorship.

No matter what happens next, let’s all make that choice.

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It’s been nearly 90 hours since the first assassination attempt on a president or former president in more than four decades, and we still don’t have any released information from medical professionals who have examined Donald Trump.

No press conferences, no interviews, no statements, no photos. Nothing beyond his wearing a comically oversized bandage in public.

This is weird, right?

He was definitely wounded. That much is clear. We all saw it. No doubt about that.

But why no medical information from those who examined him?

Remember: this is Donald Trump, who is nothing if not a pathological showman, utterly obsessed with visuals and narrative, his entire personality revolving around an unyielding craving for spectacle and drama and centering himself.

This is the same guy who entered the floor of the Republican National Convention to the tune of Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the U.S.A” wearing a medical dressing with a surface area approximately equivalent to Rhode Island.

And yet, he’s declining to pull all the other levers of public performance that would come from medical expertise.

Why hasn’t there been a press conference of physicians in white lab coats lined up to offer statements on the wound he suffered and his bravery?

Why hasn’t there been a network interview with the medical team who always travels with him giving a breathless recounting of the minutes after he was whisked away by Secret Service and presumably examined during the ride to Butler Memorial Hospital?

I’m sure we’ll get the oral history of what happened this past weekend from his inner cycle at some point, but will it include anyone with, you know, medical qualifications?

If this were anyone else, it wouldn’t stand out to me. If, say, Ted Cruz or Nikki Haley or Mike Pence survived an assassination attempt, I don’t think it’d be all that strange if we didn’t get much information from doctors. It’d be unusual, sure, but not enough to dwell on.

(Sorry, I meant if Mr. Pence were to survive a second assassination attempt.)

But with Donald Trump, this odd silence from anyone with medical credentials goes against everything we know about his public persona.

Remember when he contracted COVID in late September, 2020? That entire situation could have been handled with a few press statements and ongoing communications from the White House.

But that’s not what happened.

Although Trump required all medical professionals who treated him to sign an NDA (unnecessary given HIPAA) and we’re still told he was never in any grave danger, there was a press conference held in front of Walter Reed on Oct. 3rd in which an entire team of medical professionals took turns offering their expertise but basically said he was fine and had exhibited minor symptoms.

Weirdly, when a reporter asked if Trump had been administered steroids—a perfectly valid question—the presser was abruptly ended.

Later that day, photos were released of Trump “working” at Walter Reed in a conference room, signing what were later revealed to be blank pages. In other words, they were staged photographs.

The following day, we got another presser with a team of white-coat-clad medical professionals in front of Walter Reed. This time, they said he was “doing really well” and their ongoing examination yielded nothing of “any major clinical concern.” When asked about other findings—again, perfectly valid questions that should have been easy to answer—transparency disappeared. Doctors refused to answer basic inquiries.

Several hours later, Trump took a completely unnecessary and much-criticized drive out in front of Walter Reed to wave to supporters, so angering Secret Service officials that one anonymous agent told a reporter: “He’s not even pretending to care now.”

Former Secret Service Agent Joseph Petro then wrote a scathing op-ed blasting Trump for endangering agents with the publicity stunt: “Given the President’s covid-19 infection, this was a gratuitous and dangerous political exercise that needlessly exposed his Secret Service agents — as well as their families — to the potentially deadly novel coronavirus.”

And he’s right. It was a ridiculous bid for further attention from the most narcissistic person to ever sit in the Oval Office.

Everything Trump’s ever done has been geared toward consolidating and manipulating and exploiting press coverage, no matter the consequences. If there’s anything Trump has ever truly cared about, it’s the relentless preening of his public image.

Nothing else really matters.

So, here we have this horrific tragedy, perfectly primed for Trump to grandstand to his heart’s content (and he certainly does) but oddly enough, not when it comes to amplifying the medical professionals who treated him, the very aspect of all this with the greatest potential to cement his longing for a heroic narrative.

Folks, I say again: is this not all very weird?

Here’s another question: if President Biden had been in the same exact scenario, does anyone believe political press would let it slide that we haven’t heard from medical professionals?

That’s what I thought.

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Last week, at his NATO Summit press conference, President Biden, in the midst of consistently demonstrating a widely-praised command of foreign policy issues, went on a small diatribe about gun violence, which included this memorable phrase:

"Control guns, not girls”

It was immediately resonant, drawing acclaim from many quarters. It’s the kind of simple yet powerful slogan that can propel a campaign into history. I was so taken with it that I launched a t-shirt campaign the following day; we’ve already sold more than 300. (Purchase yours here: https://www.bonfire.com/controlgunsnotgirls/)

Full video of the President’s remarks are below (the gun reform portion starts at 2:20):

The President has a history of making prescient remarks; anyone remember the USA Today op-ed he wrote on the threat of COVID in early 2020, just six weeks before the shutdown?

Two days after this presser, a 20 year-old gunman used an AR-15-style rifle purchased by his father to fire eight rounds at Donald Trump during a campaign rally in Butler, Pennsylvania. One round went through the upper part of Trump’s right ear, while other shots critically wounded two audience members behind him and killed a third: 50 year-old Corey Comperatore, who was shielding his two daughters from the gunfire.

I want to quickly point out that I can’t imagine being the family of Mr. Comperatore and hearing elected officials like Sen. Marco Rubio claim that God saved Donald Trump, the implication being that those wounded and killed in senseless acts of gun violence were forgotten by God.

That's not faith. That’s warping and exploiting the love of God for cultish ends.

This horrific tragedy should never have happened. No civilian should be able to purchase an AR-15-style rifle, a weapon of war, but moreover, if we treated firearms with respect in this country, there would be comprehensive safety, licensing, and registration regulations similar to those we have for cars.

In the aftermath, every major Democratic leader in the country immediately condemned this act of cowardice. The President—in addition to delivering an immediate on-camera statement—called Trump to offer support, assembled federal resources to investigate the tragedy, and gave a moving national address from the Oval Office demanding a wholesale rejection of political violence.

Meanwhile, a number of Republican elected officials and pundits chose to politicize the tragedy while the victims were still being helped. Senator J.D. Vance of Ohio—Trump’s likely running mate—immediately blamed the assassination attempt on President Biden. Congressman Mike Collins (GA-10) histrionically claimed that Pres. Biden “sent the orders” for Trump to be assassinated.

I find this fascinating given that the only incendiary rhetoric literally calling for political violence has been from the Republican Party, particularly in the past few months.

Like Kevin D. Roberts, president of The Heritage Foundation, the conservative think tank behind the unabashedly fascist Project 2025, who said, two weeks ago, that the country “is in the process of the second American Revolution, which will remain bloodless if the left allows it to be.”

“Bloodless.”

That same week, North Carolina Lt. Gov. Mark Robinson, the Republican candidate for governor who’s been endorsed by Trump, told a church congregation that “some folks need killing” and that “Some liberal somewhere is gonna say that sounds awful. Too bad. Get mad at me if you want to. Some folks need killing. It’s time for someday to say it. It’s not a matter of vengeance. It’s not a matter of being mean or spiteful. It’s a matter of necessity.”

Or how about last year when numerous Republican Members of Congress started wearing AR-15 pins on their suits while at the Capitol, handed out by Rep. Andrew Clyde of Georgia, who owns a stake in the company that sells them.

The AR-15 and its variants are responsible for most of the mass shootings that have become some of the most tragic markers on the American psyche in recent memory: Sandy Hook, Uvalde, Route 91 Harvest Festival, among others, and, of course, this past weekend’s assassination attempt on Trump and the murder of Mr. Comperatore.

There is only one major political party using and condoning and enabling violent rhetoric. Just one. It’s the Republican Party.

Don't let any political journalist or outlet opine about politicization while they fail to hold accountable the GOP’s horrific rhetoric. Don't let them shame you into ignoring this appalling double standard.

Control guns, not girls.

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Fifteen years ago, on the banks of the Tidal Basin, with the Washington Monument in the background, I took an Oath of Reenlistment in the United States Army. I raised my right hand and said the following:

I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.

I was 22 years old, and I had just completed my initial term of enlistment. It had been a tough three years, full of challenges and growth and settling into the essential truth that being an engaged citizen, let alone a soldier, was never meant to be easy.

The previous evening, I sat in my friend’s car while he made the case that maybe this wasn’t the best decision. He pointed out that I was making a commitment that would mean postponing other dreams in deference to a way of life that had been quite difficult at times. He wondered aloud if I shouldn’t go in a different direction.

That’s what it means to be a good friend: offering tough nuance that needs to be heard and considered. I’m still grateful for his candor. At the time, I didn’t have the right words to explain my decision beyond that it just felt like the right thing to do.

There are substantial reasons to be cynical in this moment of our nation’s history. We are on the precipice of an uncertain chapter, and when I look around, I see a great deal of pain and skepticism and fear from reasonable adults.

I acknowledge all of that, and I would never pretend it isn’t warranted. We live in a country built on a past that has often been horrific, exclusionary, and antithetical to our stated values.

But respectfully, I love America so much. I love this country. In fact, I don’t think I have ever loved this country more than I do now. Perhaps my affection has achieved greater clarity in recent years because I have been forced to reconcile all that we stand to lose after all that has been gained.

I believe the United States is a great country not because of the flag or an oath or the endless pageantry. Our greatness isn’t found in monuments and statues. It’s not found in anthems and pledges. These are all rewards for the hard part: the active citizenry that refuses to yield to our lesser selves.

I love America because our greatness it is easily found in the 18 year-olds who stormed Normandy, wading into almost certain death, knowing deep down they may never live to see another day on American soil, all to free the world from fascist tyranny.

Our greatness is found in the women who marched down Pennsylvania Avenue more than a hundred years ago, spat upon, beaten with nightsticks, hospitalized, only to get up the next day and keep marching, all to achieve rights they knew they may never see in their lifetimes.

Our greatness is found in the enslaved and their descendants, who overcame the most egregious atrocities, marched against the popular opinions of white supremacy, were murdered and scorned for a courage that should have been unnecessary, and demanded equality from a nation that so often has chosen the easier wrong over the harder right.

Our greatness is found in those who risked everything just for the right to love who they love and live in their authenticity, and where would I, as a proud trans woman, be right now without their sacrifices?

Our greatness is found in the innumerable undocumented people, our fellow citizens in spirit, who endured a lethal trek that took so many others, against the vicious racism of lazy hypocrites, just for the opportunity for a better life for their children, and have made our country better in return.

Countless people have literally died and risked death just to live in this country.

Think about that.

Our greatness is found in the citizen who speaks truth to power, often alone, only to be greeted with hearts and ears that turn away at the slightest discomfort and bit of cognitive dissonance and yet, still that citizen says what needs to be said.

Our greatness is found in public school teachers who are overworked and underpaid and under-resourced and still come to their schools, every day, to ensure every child gets a chance at opportunity.

Our greatness is found in the women and men of the labor rights movement, who have relentlessly pushed our nation to recognize the essential contributions of working class families and demand greater equity for them.

Our greatness is found in social workers and community organizers and engaged clergy and medical professionals and public servants of all stripes who have never given up on those around them, even at great personal cost.

Our greatness is found in any given American who openly criticizes America and dares to ask if we can be better.

I grew up in trailer parks in Central Texas. Neither of my parents attended college. I lived on food stamps and the free lunch program and the kindness of strangers, and I am here right now because of numerous people who held the essential belief that America means no one gets left behind.

These are the reasons I love America. These are the reasons I stop what I’m doing when the National Anthem plays and stand silently in respect, and these are the reasons I recognize the patriotism of someone who does not.

I love this country because it’s given so much to me, but moreover, I love this country because of all I’ve received from so many who came before, knowing I would the enjoy the liberation they would never experience.

This is an incredibly tough moment for our nation, and I would never dare to tell another American how to feel about that. It’s not my place. People should have the space to feel what they feel right now, and all of us should respect that.

But given all this, speaking only for myself, how could I not love America? How could I not love this country?

I have pride in America because over the course of my life, it is has often been one of the few things that kept me going. Imperfect and struggling though it may be, I have to believe in America because I have already thrown my whole self into the idea of it.

And I do believe in us. I still believe we can be something grand and hopeful and proud and inclusive, if only we’ll keep it up long enough to finally make the choices required to that end.

I hope all of you will enjoy time with your family and friends today, and more than that, I hope you’ll take time to remind your kids of the country we could have someday.

Happy Fourth to you and yours.

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It was June of 2019, and I had no intention of supporting former vice president Joe Biden in the primary for the Democratic nomination. It wasn’t personal. Honestly, I wasn’t even considering him enough for it to be personal.

Despite the former vice president having a plurality of support among Democratic primary voters in almost every national poll that year, neither I nor any of my friends and colleagues took much notice of his candidacy beyond basic acknowledgment.

The conventional wisdom in my circles—and honestly, I think most of the political circles in D.C.—was that the man endearingly called “Uncle Joe” would likely play the role of king/queenmaker, perhaps the most coveted endorsement of anyone not named Obama.

But president? No way in hell. Not a snowball’s chance. He was too old. He was too adrift from the youth and pop culture. Too boring. Too much like the past.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like him. I knew, for instance, that it was Joe Biden who pushed the country forward on same-sex marriage before even Pres. Obama was ready to publicly take the plunge. That was to his credit and always would be. But liking ain’t enough.

That month, I traveled to Columbia, South Carolina for the presidential primary forum being hosted by Planned Parenthood. It’s bonkers to even think about now, but there were 20 (!!!) Democratic candidates who would audition before the audience that day.

Waiting in the green room, I got to meet most of the candidates as they cycled through following their interviews. I wanted to ask all of them about trans rights directly, gauging whether their support on paper would be backed up by something more tangible and resonant.

Most of the candidates were just fine. I would chat with them briefly, ask a question or two, take a pic, and it was on to the next.

One senator, who shall remain nameless, wasn’t so great. I got in line to shake their hand, and when it was my turn, I asked them a trans rights policy question, and they hastily passed me off to a red-faced staffer, who quietly apologized for the rude interaction and insisted I give her my email for a follow-up. (And she did, by the way.)

Later in the day, the former vice president came through and received an enthusiastic reception. There were so many folks waiting to talk to him that I figured I wouldn’t get the chance, but his personal aide saw me and asked if I wanted to meet him. Of course I do!

She caught him just as he was beginning to leave. “Mr. Vice President, do you have a moment?”

He turned around and walked back toward me with an unexpectedly charming intention. It was as though he had been in a hurry but now wanted to communicate with his body language that he had all the time in the world for a little chat. It was such an interesting switch.

I introduced myself, thanked him for his support of same-sex marriage in those early days in 2012, and asked my question about trans rights. While I was doing this, Mr. Biden had casually taken my hand and held it in his own between our chests like it was the most natural thing in the world. He stared intently with kind eyes. I might as well have been the only person in the room.

When I got to the trans rights question, his demeanor suddenly changed. He got very serious, his eyes sharpened, and, still holding my hand in his own, he took his other hand and pointed a finger at my chest and said: “I am in this fight with you. Trans rights are human rights.”

He then talked with me for several minutes about trans equality, offered up a surprisingly informed policy nuance (even for him), and told me unreservedly he had our backs. He then gave me a hug. And left.

I want to point out here that I am absolutely certain that Mr. Biden perceived me as any given voter. I seriously doubt he knew about my work or my platform or anything else like that at the time. To him, I was just a voter asking a question. He still gave me a full conversation on something important to me in the middle of his busy schedule, when he assuredly had other places to go.

Ten months later, when my first choice, Sen. Elizabeth Warren, dropped out of the race, there was no question in my mind that I’d be immediately supporting Mr. Biden. None at all. That conversation changed everything. He wasn’t my first choice. Or my second or third choice before that little chat. But of all the candidates with whom I spoke, it was Mr. Biden, by a country mile, who impressed me the most.

Yet, it’s not enough to like someone. It’s not. There are politicians whom I like quite a lot that I wouldn’t trust with the presidency. I would much rather trust a highly competent and capable politician whom I don’t like than one I like but in whom I can’t quite vouch for their competency and capability.

It’s not enough for me to simply like Mr. Biden. Given the grave and immediate threat to our democracy and the overwhelming sense of survival I have voting in this election, it’s just not enough to like him.

But I do implicitly trust Mr. Biden. I believe him to be highly competent, incredibly sharp, and in possession of an emotional intelligence that far exceeds any given capable politician. And I’ve met (and personally known) many capable, successful political leaders in my life.

I’ve watched as he has centered trans rights as an imperative in his administration. I have been consistently been touched with the way in which he has refused to back down in support of the trans community. I have watched as he’s rejected calls—many public and I assume many private—to wholly abandon the trans community.

He refuses.

I believe Mr. Biden is our best choice to win in the fall. I understand there are many who disagree with me, and that’s fine. Reasonable adults can disagree. I respect the understandable concern many have expressed.

But respectfully, Joe Biden has earned my trust, many times over, and I know, deep down, there’s no one I’d rather have fighting for me in this moment. I believe in Joe Biden, especially given how unfailingly he’s believed in me.

I don’t give a damn what political media says, particularly since their alleged craving for competency seems to largely fail in holding Donald Trump accountable on his pervasive litany of illegal and immoral failings.

Mr. Biden has made it clear he’s in this to win it, and until I hear him say otherwise, I’ll have his back. Because he’s had mine.

As a proud veteran and proud American, I support President Biden and Vice President Harris to win this. I firmly believe they will win it. After everything I've seen this week--not to mention everything before this week--I'm quite confident that if we put in the work that we did in 2020, we're gonna be just fine.

So, let’s go win this thing. Let’s do what needs to be done. Let’s put in the work and lean on each other and stand shoulder-to-shoulder in this fight.

I believe in us.

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This morning, the extremist conservative majority on the Supreme Court ruled that a former president has absolute immunity for their “core constitutional powers” but not unofficial acts.

What is official versus unofficial is murky, and SCOTUS declined to strictly define that line. At the same time, they sent Trump’s case back to a trial judge to determine if what, if any, of his actions in that case were unofficial.

Yes, three days before July Fourth, the Supreme Court has deemed that a president essentially has the powers of a king.

In her dissent, Justice Sonia Sotomayor wrote the following:

The President of the United States is the most powerful person in the country, and possibly the world. When he uses his official powers in any way, under the majority’s reasoning, he now will be insulated from criminal prosecution. Orders the Navy’s Seal Team 6 to assassinate a political rival? Immune. Organizes a military coup to hold onto power? Immune. Takes a bribe in exchange for a pardon? Immune. Immune, immune, immune.

She ended her long and chilling response with this:

Never in the history of our Republic has a President had reason to believe that he would be immune from criminal prosecution if he used the trappings of his office to violate the criminal law. Moving forward, however, all former Presidents will be cloaked in such immunity. If the occupant of that office misuses official power for personal gain, the criminal law that the rest of us must abide will not provide a backstop.

With fear for our democracy, I dissent.

Folks, this is pretty bad, and it’s never been more clear that the only way forward out of this mess with an extremist majority is to finally expand the Supreme Court, which should have been done long before now.

I know what many of you are thinking: Charlotte, how earth is that feasible? We can’t even hold accountable the blatant corruption of Alito and Thomas.

You’re right on that latter point. As I wrote a few months ago, removing a Supreme Court justice is damn near impossible.

But fortunately, expanding the Supreme Court is a much easier process. Let’s review:

The Constitution does not specify the number of seats on the Supreme Court. This power was left to Congress, which set the Supreme Court's size at one chief justice and five associates in the Judiciary Act of 1789. It was legally changed seven times.

It underwent five full legal implementations:

1789-1807: six seats

1807-1837: seven seats

1837-1866: ten seats

1866-1867: nine seats

1867-1869: eight seats

1869-present: nine seats

And twice, legislation changed its size but was never implemented for various reasons, notably the Judiciary Act of 1801 (or Midnight Judges Act), which would have reduced its size to five upon the next vacancy but was repealed by the Judiciary Act of 1802.

Another attempt that was never (fully) implemented was the Judicial Circuits Act of 1866, which would have provided the next three justices not be replaced when they retire; however, only two seats were eliminated before the Circuit Judges Act altered the size to nine seats.

With the Federal Judgeship Act of 1990, Congress authorized 11 new circuit judgeships and 61 new district judgeships. The sky did not fall. It was overwhelmingly passed in a bipartisan vote and signed into law by a Republican president.

Quite frankly, expanding the Supreme Court to 13 members to reflect our current thirteen federal appellate courts is just plain ole common sense backed up firmly by precedent.

Contrary to the perception of many, FDR's oft-cited "court-packing" plan was never ruled unconstitutional, nor was it ever considered by the courts because the legislation never passed Congress. In fact, it didn't even get a clear up-and-down floor vote on the merits.

The primary reason behind the defeat of FDR's legislation to expand the size of the court was the general incompetence within the administration, including by FDR himself in a rare fumble by one of our greatest presidents. A ton of unforced errors tanked public support. Folks forget that FDR's vice president publicly opposed it.

So, while there may be a good discussion on the political challenges against expanding the court, citing the Constitution or "that's the way it's always been" are not good reasons. The legal reasoning is crystal clear.

In the past, President Biden has refused push for this, and it’s easy to see why. If the Supreme Court were expanded under a Democratic trifecta (House, Senate, signed by the president), there’s no reason to think it wouldn’t be further expanded under a subsequent GOP trifecta.

That’s a fair concern, and it’s understandable why Pres. Biden has declined to endorse the kick-off what could, and probably would, become a judicial power arms race, which could theoretically be destabilizing for American democracy.

That’s all well and good, but we’re now at the point where we have no choice. This extremist majority has made it abundantly clear they have no respect for accountability and the essential “checks and balances” function of our democracy.

We are now in extremely dangerous territory, even worse than before, and it’s long past time for the gloves to come off.

President Biden needs to campaign on expanding the Supreme Court. It’s very simple: win back the House, hold the Senate at a 50-50 split (with a tiebreaker vote by Vice President Harris), and pass legislation with a filibuster carveout.

That needs to be the message. We can expand the Supreme Court, codify Roe, and prove to the American people that Democrats are willing to fight for the preservation of democracy by using the full instrumentation of the Constitution.

There is nothing unconstitutional, immoral, unethical, or unprecedented (several times over) by expanding the Supreme Court.

It’s time, Mr. President.

It’s the best way forward, and it’s the only way forward.

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Four years ago, at the height of the 2020 election, I stayed at a hotel during a short work trip, and late one night, when I took a brief visit to the lobby to take advantage of their snack bar, I unexpectedly wound up in conversation with a friendly married couple at reception who had the same idea.

I forget where they were from or how the conversation got started, but we quickly took a liking to each other.

We stood there at the front desk, the only souls in the lobby save a dedicated staff member, for at least half an hour talking about everything from where we grew up to our favorite sports teams to recent movies we’d seen.

At some point, perhaps inevitably, they asked what I do, and I told them I’m a writer, primarily on politics, and they were intrigued. We had successfully avoided politics up to this point in the conversation, and truthfully, even in telling them I’m a writer, I initially declined to mention on what until they pressed.

You see, I am not in the habit of engaging perfect strangers on political conversations as a trans woman, particularly if there’s a chance there might be some friction.

I feel as though a lot of folks, particularly more conservative folks, take one look at me and fill in all the blanks, and it’s exasperating. It happens all the time. I am quickly reduced, on sight, to a living caricature of ideology, every nuance of who I am scrubbed away to a clean canvas for easy projection.

So, opening the door to a conversation on politics with people I’ve just met, with whom I’m having a pleasant discussion otherwise, was not my ideal direction, but they wanted to know more and asked whom I was supporting.

I told them I would be voting for then-candidate-and-former-VP Biden, but I didn’t offer more than that. They weren’t offended, and without me asking, they said they’d be voting for Trump.

I nodded respectfully, hoping we could get back to lighter topics because I certainly didn’t think this was the time or place for bids of persuasion. I did not sense either of us were going to change our minds, and this felt like an apt moment for picking one’s battles.

But they wanted to talk about it more, and I was quickly drawn into a conversation in which every bit of me was focused on being friendly and unthreatening because any sense of frustration I expressed could be read as The Angry Trans Woman, and I didn’t want them walking away with that bias confirmed.

I mostly nodded politely and said nothing as they told me, unprompted, why they were voting for Trump: taxes and abortion and immigration and I noticed they carefully avoided any reference to LGBTQ folks.

This went for a few minutes, and all was perfectly calm. I didn’t want to interrupt and put them on edge, so I listened respectfully, looking for a savvy pivot point to redirect us back to common ground.

But then, they asked me why I’m voting for Biden, and I could tell they were genuinely curious. It seemed they wanted, at least to me, in that moment, to offer the same consideration I had shown them during their case for Trump.

I really didn’t want to be talking about this because I knew it would cause discomfort that, quite frankly, I didn’t see being particularly useful. There is useful discomfort, and this moment didn’t seem useful. I wasn’t going to change their minds, and I didn’t believe ranting at them would do a damn bit of good.

Yet, there wasn’t an answer I could give that wouldn’t be uncomfortable for them and I’m not particularly adept at lying, so I was left with a sudden resignation to just be honest at a point of common ground.

I calmly told them that I had served in the Army for six years, and it truly broke my heart to watch Trump ban trans people from serving in the military. I told them that there was zero evidence to support his reasoning for doing so. I quickly walked through the arguments for the ban and pointed out why they’re undeniably false.

I then told them, against my better judgment, that what was especially enraging and hurtful was that this came from a man who had received five draft deferments and had a history of making statements demeaning and degrading veterans and service members.

I told them that I could never vote for someone who didn’t serve a single day in uniform and had the arrogance and cruelty to insult and harm those who did, including the thousands of trans people serving honorably in our military.

When I finished, there was silence for several moments. They didn’t look unhappy, but they certainly weren’t thrilled. They had listened respectfully, without interrupting, and I had said my piece. And now, we stood there, looking at each other, not sure of what to do next.

He spoke first, and as he did so, she nodded soberly in agreement.

“I’m sorry for that. I don’t agree with everything he’s done. I do respect your service, and I don’t want you to think I don’t. He shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry he did. You seem like a nice person, and we’re thankful for your service.”

And she quickly added: “Thank you.”

I told them I appreciated their kind words, and I was honestly hoping the conversation would end there.

But then she said: “I have to tell you the truth. Biden just scares me. I feel like we’re losing our country.”

Now, that could mean any number of things, all of which would be based on vile propaganda and none of which would lead to productive discussion, so I decided to take a different approach.

“I feel like we’re losing our country, too.”

And they both look surprised.

“You do?” she asked.

“I really do. I think we’re losing thoughtful disagreement and we’re losing our institutions. Whatever we all happen to believe, we still need to be able to disagree respectfully and support each other. And the way we support each other is coming together when it matters. I think Trump is asking the country to despise each other while Biden seems hellbent on asking us to support each other.”

They didn’t quite know what to say to that. On the one hand, they probably didn’t believe Biden was The Great Uniter, but they couldn’t deny that Trump’s rhetoric was inflammatory and divisive by default.

I mean, they had just conceded that he was wrong for the trans military ban. They probably had a reel playing in their brains of his many, many, many awful comments at campaign rallies.

Then he said: “I do think Trump cares about all Americans, even if he doesn’t agree with them.”

“Do you really believe that?” I asked quietly.

He looked like he wanted to answer and then hesitated and then hesitated again, and then he did a sort of half-shrug and said: “It’s complicated. I don’t know how to say it. Maybe he says a lot of wrong things, but I want to believe he cares about all of us.”

“I’ll be honest, friend, I’m not sure about that,” I replied. “Someone who cares about us doesn’t ban us from serving in the military for no good reason.”

It was this point they both looked uncomfortable. I had probably pressed a bit too hard there, at least for these folks.

“He’s definitely not perfect,” she said. “He makes mistakes. We all do.”

“Yes, we do,” I said. “All of us make mistakes. But I have to be honest with you folks: I don’t think he says and does these things by accident. It’s on purpose. For me, that’s the problem. He’s intentionally cruel.”

Welp, I figured, that’s a wrap on this convo. No walking that comment back. Time for bed.

And then something odd and unexpected happened. They both looked even more uncomfortable now, but she spoke up quietly.

“Can I give you a hug?”

I could tell she wanted absolution on some level, to feel better about her choice to support Trump. The hug was probably less about comforting me and more about comforting herself. But, I figured, there was definitely a part of her that wanted to comfort me, too. She wanted to make me feel better on some level.

So, I gave her a hug. And then he wanted a hug, so I gave him a hug. The tension in the air quickly dissolved, and they looked substantially more at peace. Did they deserve to feel at peace? No, not really. I thought discomfort could be a beneficial state for them in the long run, but I also knew it had to be focused on the right aspect.

I suspected when they got home, I was going to be one of two versions in their retelling: the trans woman who gave them a hug or the trans woman who refused to hug them. The latter would become an anecdote upon which they would justify their bigotry, but the former would be impossible to dismiss or dislodge or mischaracterize.

I knew that hug would pay many dividends down the road. They wouldn’t forget it.

They had heard some things they weren’t accustomed to hearing and felt some discomfort they weren’t accustomed to feeling, and it all came from the kind of person they were told to fear on a daily basis by rightwing media, the same person who had been kind to them and gave them a hug after some harsh truths.

I have no delusions that they voted for Biden. I’m sure they went home and voted for Trump. They’ll probably vote for him again this time, too.

That wasn’t the point of the hug. I didn’t believe it would convert either of them to a more reasonable outlook on broad politics. The point of the hug was to plant a seed that would remind them, again and again, why what they’re told about trans people may not be true.

I didn’t say anything I didn’t believe or condone views I found awful. I was forthright in my disagreement. And then I tried to turn that tension into a balm and hoped the balm would become a bulwark of empathy.

That’s the kind of thing President Biden has been doing his entire career, and it’s why he was elected that November. Because he’s willing to offer empathy and kindness where it’s scarce. I was trying to follow his example, and I do strongly believe that it worked, even though I have absolutely no proof that it did.

There’s a word for belief in something which has no replicable evidence of existing:

Faith.

President Biden has an unyielding faith in the goodness of others, however deep it’s buried, however seemingly non-existent. He has faith in redemption and personal growth and belonging and community.

At a moment in our history where evidence-based science is taking a beating from unsavory and irresponsible people, I would argue that faith is taking a beating, too.

That’s the ultimate difference between President Biden and Trump: the former has faith in our country to unite and heal and progress, and the latter only has faith in his own personal mythology and preservation.

At the end of the day, that’s why I’m supporting President Biden. It’s why I know he’ll shine in tonight’s presidential debate. It’s why I know he’ll be reelected in November.

He offers the country something Trump would never dare to even consider: the freedom to be broken and imperfect, the liberation in recognizing it, and the right to work toward redemption and all that comes with healing.

I didn’t keep in touch with the couple. We didn’t exchange numbers or emails. They invited me to breakfast the next morning, and I told them I would try to make it. And I did show up. And they weren’t there. Maybe wires got crossed.

Wherever they are, I hope they’ll somehow read this and understand that it’s never too late to have faith in each other. Everything else is noise.

Just have faith in each other.

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This past Wednesday, two climate protestors were arrested after they sprayed orange paint on Stonehenge, the famous prehistoric structure in southern England that’s long been a UNESCO World Heritage Site and thought to be at least 4,500 years old (and probably a lot older than that).

Last night, climate protestors with a separate group ran onto the green of the 18th hole in the closing stretch of the PGA Tour’s Traveler’s Championship, setting off smoke devices and generally causing a ruckus before being quickly being apprehended by law enforcement.

These are the two latest high profile incidents in which some climate protestors engage in various degrees of performative vandalism or event obstruction in a supposed bid to draw greater attention to the most existential problem of our time: the imminent and catastrophic consequences of climate change.

Other notable protests, which you may have seen, have included: throwing tomato soup on priceless works of art, gluing hands (yes, literally gluing their hands) to either artworks or the installations holding such pieces, interrupting other various major sports events, sabotaging live stage productions, and basically most things that generally bring people temporary joy away from the dreary march of their day-to-day lives.

And therein lies the problem with all this.

Because the big rocks at Stonehenge will be just fine (the paint was easily cleaned) and there have been no artworks damaged (they’re typically protected by glass) and the interruptions at sports events and dramatic plays and other live entertainment may be a nuisance but aren’t really that big a deal.

There’s not really anything in the way of enduring damage and destruction from these protests, and the groups behind them are quick to point out that they intentionally carry out these direct actions with the knowledge that there will be little-to-no harm inflicted.

I believe them on that score, and I certainly support the cause. Climate change is, by far, the biggest problem facing humanity, and nothing else comes remotely close to its impact.

This will be the hottest year on record for global temperatures. In Saudi Arabia, it’s estimated that more than 1,300 people have already died from heat-related injuriesduring the Hajj pilgrimage, where temperatures have consistently topped 120°F. In the United States, a third of the country were under heat warnings this weekend, which is not-at-all normal.

Of course, if you really wanna be depressed today, I highly recommend this write-up from The Guardian, in which they surveyed 380 climate scientists on how they felt about what’s to come. The answers are… well… let’s just say I’d wait until you’re in a good mood to read it.

But the climate protestors who engage in these counterproductive shenanigans have consistently failed to grasp a very basic concept: it is not enough in mass communications to merely be right about something. It is not enough to be logical. It is not enough to be the smartest kid in the class.

You can be thoroughly correct—morally, ethically, spiritually, whatever—but unless you’re willing to meet people where they are and engage in tough but necessary conversations and exercise patience with those who may not see the world exactly as you do, simply being correct and having a nickel is worth exactly five cents.

I have tried my best to be charitable with these particular protestors. For a while, I thought they were simply making a very big bet: that the public would initially be annoyed with their antics but then become aware of the horrific crisis facing our planet and then be radicalized toward action.

I never quite saw it that way and believed it to be a ludicrously naïve position, but I also initially sympathized because they seemed to be earnestly trying to galvanize folks in the fight against global warming.

That was several years ago, and I don’t feel that way anymore. I now feel annoyed and angry whenever this nonsense happens, and it’s not because of supposed property damage or the irritating spectacle of a golf tournament being delayed.

It’s because I know that not only are these protests failing to bring people into what should be a collective struggle against climate change, but they’re compounding the exact opposite effect: people are increasingly associating climate activism with the exasperating narcissism on display during these acts of vandalism and obstruction.

In fact, polling has consistently reflected this. A survey of the British public by the University of Bristol last August found that almost 70 percent disapproved of Just Stop Oil, the climate group behind many of these ill-conceived projects, including the Stonehenge fiasco. In a YouGov poll from January 2023, more than 60 percent of respondents believed that defacing art or monuments should be a criminal offense.

In Germany, a survey taken in November 2022 found that more than 80 percent of respondents felt that climate protests had gone too far.

Then, of course, there’s the United States: a survey done by Pew Research Center last October found abysmal enthusiasm for climate advocacy; 49 percent said climate activism doesn’t affect the public’s opinion and 21 percent believed it has the opposite effect.

Folks, really, what are we doing here? Is this really about the climate or our own self-important activism?

I’m not supposed to say that. I’m supposed to be overly-empathetic here and pretend that these efforts come from a good place, but honestly, I have my doubts. It feels as though, lately, acts like these, especially in light of a clear failure to move the needle, are prioritizing performance over efficacy, more about posturing for social media than actually reaching people.

I can hear the yelling now: “Fine, Charlotte, what the hell should we do? Since you seem to know everything, how do we save the planet?”

Well, for starters, not by doing any of the above. Put down the spray paint. Stop gluing your hands to stuff in museums like a complete weirdo. Soup belongs in bowls, not on artwork. Maybe don’t try to sabotage events that bring a lot of people joy like you’re a child hopped up on too much sugar and needing attention because your sibling is opening birthday presents and you’re not the center of everyone’s focus.

Because that’s legitimately how it feels to the rest of the world, even though of us who are soul-crushingly informed on how climate change is poised to destroy all we love and hold dear. It feels like these particular protestors are more about promoting their own activist personal branding than building an effective campaign to raise awareness and compel action.

The people in the climate movement whom I most admire are those doing the thankless work of going into spaces with uninformed or uninvolved people—meeting them where they are, not judging them—and respectfully making the case for why they’re desperately needed to stop what’s coming. And it works.

But that’s hard. That takes a lot of work. It’s certainly a hell of a lot harder than doing a flashy stunt for the ‘Gram that impresses a few people but repulses a few million.

If a protest doesn’t ultimately yield greater support for its corresponding cause, it is not successful, and we are doing ourselves no favors when our protests for righteous causes center ego over outreach, clicks and views over results, and self over service.

Caring about the people on this planet should inherently mean making the effort to reach them, and these acts feel like a lazy shortcut.

And for all the paint that’s been used, it’s an approach that’s ironically the opposite of artful.

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Yesterday, Republican Congressman Josh Brecheen of Oklahoma stood on the floor of the U.S. House in support of his amendment to the National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA), which you probably know best as the legislation that funds our Defense Department.

Mr. Brecheen’s amendment, which passed the GOP-majority House in a voice vote, would ban any funding in the final version from being used on drag events, in what is clearly a painfully obvious attempt at pandering to anti-LGBTQ hatred.

That, alone, I find hilarious given the very long history of drag performance in the U.S. military, notably among the young men of the Greatest Generation — for that, check out this fantastic write-up from none other than the National War War II Museum (!!!).

Anyway, Mr. Brecheen, in his floor speech, stated this:

"Young men who make up the bulk of our fighting forces are inspired by G.I. Joe. They're not inspired by a Barbie girl in a Barbie world."

The anti-drag nonsense is easy enough for me to laugh off given how patently absurd it is, but this is not. It’s profoundly disrespectful to women service members and veterans, and I find it more than a little hypocritical coming from this particular guy.

Mr. Brecheen was 22 years old on 9/11 and a healthy, able-bodied young man.

He could have enlisted that day or in the many years afterward, but he did not. He declined to serve his country in uniform during a time of war.

But more than 300,000 women have enlisted since 9/11.

More than 9,000 women have been honored for their actions in direct combat.

166 women service members have been killed in combat since 9/11 and more than 1,000 have been wounded.

Women like Lt. Emily Perez (1983 - 2006), the first female graduate of West Point to die in Iraq when she was killed in a makeshift bomb that exploded near her Humvee during a combat mission.

Women like Senator Tammy Duckworth of Illinois, who lost most of both her legs when the Black Hawk she was co-piloting was hit by a rocket-propelled grenade from Iraqi insurgents.

Women like Cpl. Jessica Ellis (1983-2008), a combat medic who volunteered a second time for a dangerous mission clearing a route and was killed in a roadside bomb. She was 24.

What was Josh Brecheen doing during that whole time?

He worked as a political staffer and owned a motivational speaking business called Brecheen Keynotes and Seminars, and then, he ran for office.

I kid you not.

And now Mr. Brecheen stands there, insulting the memory of women who have died in combat while he was a coward who stayed home and, ironically, sold motivation.

Perhaps it’s an appropriate moment for the Congressman to reflect on why he so oddly claims to identify as a patriot when he lacked the courage to serve where the women of this country have so faithfully stood in the breach.

Sit down, Sir.

And by the way, I’d trust Margot Robbie and Greta Gerwig with my life long before I’d ever consider the resignation of settling for your third-rate informercial ass.

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I spent this weekend in El Paso at the 2024 Texas Democratic Convention, and it was a breath of fresh air just to be around Texas Democrats. The excitement, the passion, the values, the pride, and the unyielding commitment were on full display. It felt so good to be home.

When I was invited to speak at this year’s convention, there was no doubt in my mind what I wanted to say. I wanted to offer a love letter to what it means to be a Texan, and specifically, the Texas Democrats who have guided my path in life and continue to do so.

The original speech I wrote was a bit long, and after a kind and very reasonable request from convention staff, I trimmed a few minutes off it, but I want to include here the text that I had to cut, so the remarks that are italicized indicate they were in the original speech but not what folks saw at the convention.

I implore folks to support Texas Democrats this year. I’ve rarely seen such energy as I saw this weekend. Folks are putting in the work, and it shows. I am optimistic about November.

Please consider donating to Texas Democrats right here, Annie’s List (supporting women candidates) right here, and Find Out PAC, a project started by the legendary Gina Ortiz Jones to beat extremist Republicans on the Texas Supreme Court, right here.

I’m including the video of the speech below for those who’d like to watch it, and below that will be the full text of my remarks:

FULL REMARKS (italicized text in original speech but not during delivery):

My name is Charlotte Clymer, my pronouns are she/her, and I am proud to be from the Great State of Texas.

I currently live in our nation’s capital, and often, when I meet someone for the first time and they ask where I’m from and I tell them, they’ll have a look of sympathy on their face and say something like: “Oh, I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.” And they mean it.

And when that happens, I respond that I’m actually very proud to be from Texas. I love Texas.

And the sympathetic look on their face will vanish and, in its place, will be confusion and incredulity.

They’ll say to me: “But Charlotte, you’re a Democrat. You’re pro-choice. You support abortion access. You’re a trans woman. How can you be proud to be from Texas?”

And I realize, in that moment, they truly don’t get it. So, I gotta tell them.

I tell them that I am from the home of Barbara Jordan, and that during the Watergate scandal, when Americans felt so alarmed and uncertain about our country’s leadership, the conscience of our nation was a Black queer woman from Texas.

I tell them that I’m from the home of Gov. Ann Richards and that long before these extremist male politicians were so threatened by women controlling their own destiny, Gov. Richards was making it look easy, backwards and in high heels.

I tell them that I am from the home of Wendy Davis and Molly Cook and Julian Castro and Joaquin Castro and Gina Ortiz Jones and Molly Ivins. I’m from the home of Celia Israel and Beto O’Rourke and Gene Wu and Monique Alcala and Becca DeFelice.

I tell that them that if they listen to Willie Nelson and Beyoncé and Selena, they are listening to Texas music.

I tell them that when they watch Simone Biles dominate the Paris Olympics this summer, they are watching a Texas woman do that.

I tell them that I’m from the home of Sheila Jackson Lee and Sylvia Garcia and Lizzie Fletcher and Greg Casar. I’m from the home of Veronica Escobar and Al Green and Marc Veasey and Vicente Gonzalez and Lloyd Doggett.

I tell them that I am from the home of Jasmine Crockett.

I tell them that I am from the home of Sarah Weddington and Cecile Richards and Ilyse Hogue and Kate Cox and millions of Texas women who refuse to be told what they can and cannot do with their own health care.

These women terrify the leadership of the Republican Party for a very simple reason: because they know what every Texan knows, regardless of party or ideology or religion or race: they know that there is nothing as powerful as a Texas woman with a plan.

I’m from the home of Colin Allred, the son of a single mother and public school teacher, who will be the next senator from the great State of Texas. And it’s not because he has embodied a high standard of excellence his entire life (although he has). I’s not because he’s a beloved and respected Member of Congress (although he is). It’s because Texans know, deep down, that Colin Allred is not the kind of man who’s gonna fly off to Cancun in the middle of a natural disaster.

I’m from the home of Dr. Kristin Hook. She’s a former public school teacher and scientist and labor organizer. And when she saw that Chip Roy might be reelected by default, despite his obstruction, despite his irresponsibility, despite his lack of care and attention to the needs of working-class families, she thought to herself: “I can do better than this.” She is now the Democratic nominee for the 21st congressional district of Texas. And folks, she’s gonna win.

I’m from the home of Lauren Ashley Simmons, a brilliant union organizer and mom who showed up to her local school board meeting in the face of a cowardly and cynical effort by Greg Abbott to take over her children’s school district. She looked at the absolute nonsense occurring in front of her and thought: “You know what, I can do better than this.” She came to that meeting as a concerned parent and left as a leader ready to change things. She is now the Democratic nominee for Texas House District 146. And folks, she’s gonna win.

I tell folks that I am from the home of nearly 400,000 Texas public school teachers and professional support staff who are overworked and underpaid and under-resourced and yet still come to schools every day ready to fight for the future of every young person. Did you what I said? Every young person, regardless of their religion or their race or their economic background or whether or not they are transgender.

I tell folks that no matter what I accomplish in this lifetime, every bit of success I have ever achieved would not be possible without my Texas public school education and the teachers who never gave up on me.

And I have a message for transgender and nonbinary youth in Texas: you are loved, you are important, you deserve happiness and authenticity, and we will never stop fighting for you.

And I tell them that I come from the home of Carolyn Wilson. That’s my grandmother. I know what it means to be a Texan because of my grandmother. She taught me that being a Texan means community. It means helping your neighbor. It means lending a hand to the most vulnerable. Being a Texan means no one gets left behind.

My grandmother is an atheist, but when I became a Christian at 19, she didn’t hesitate to show up to my baptism and tell me that she’s proud of me. When I enlisted in the Army, my grandmother wrote me at basic training every week with encouragement, challenging me to reach a higher standard. When I came out as a trans woman, my grandmother told me how proud she is to have me as her granddaughter.

The leadership of the Republican Party lives in fear of people like my grandmother because she is closer to the love and grace and empathy of God than they care to understand.

They live in fear of meeting a reasonable adult who disagrees with them and defies being put in a box. I’m a progressive, pro-choice trans woman, and I am a Christian military veteran from Texas. They can’t stand me because I make it impossible for them to place me in a box. I make it harder for them to divide people and pit Americans against each other.

And I’m a Democrat because the Democratic Party has no time for that. Texas Democrats have no time for that. There are working class families to support, homeless veterans to house, minimum wage workers to be helped, gun reform to be achieved, health care to be expanded, children to be fed and educated, civil rights to advance, democracy to be defended, and a country, a proud country, to believe in.

Folks, I wanna be very clear about this: we’re gonna win in November. President Biden and Vice President Harris will be reelected, Colin Allred will be in the Senate, and we will take back the House.

And Texas Democrats are going to lead the way.God bless America. God bless Texas.

Thank you.

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It’s Pride Month, and I’m trying to remember that.

Yesterday afternoon, I was walking through downtown D.C. on a few errands when the sky burst open, and I took shelter under a nearby awning with a number of folks, waiting for the rain to pass along.

I don’t know how true this is scientifically, but my gut feeling has always been that rain tends to calm us down. I have no actual evidence to back that up that claim, but I think there are fewer disputes, less interpersonal drama, and whatnot.

And so, it came as quite a shock when a man joined us under the awning, noticed my presence, and then began harassing me with vile, transphobic remarks — at first, with a slightly raised voice and then full-on yelling. Screaming. Spit coming out of his mouth as he berated me from less than 10 feet away.

I’m not gonna mention here what all he yelled, but it was pretty bad. It was disgusting and hurtful and cruel. It went on for several minutes.

I decided to completely ignore him. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a response. The people around us said nothing as the tirade went on and on. Maybe they didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, either. I suppose that’s a kind and diplomatic read on bystanders, right?

I thought about taking out my phone and recording him, but would that escalate things? Would I be risking assault? I decided not to film, and to be honest, I regret that.

It became too much, and so, I walked away, in the rain, hoping he’d stop. But he didn’t. He followed me for several moments, still shouting, both of us walking past more people, who, I guess, were also choosing to stay out of it.

Maybe he got bored. Maybe he got tired of hearing his own voice. The shouting eventually stopped, and I just kept walking, as calmly as I could. I went home, and for the rest of the day, even as I tried my best to contextualize things, I was shaken and I was embarrassed to feel shaken.

This is not the first time something like this has happened. Like most women, I’ve been street-harassed on a fairly regular basis, although it’s typically no more than a few seconds. Sometimes, it’s worse than that. Like a few months back, as I was walking to my office, when a guy pulled up in his car and said some not-so-nice things and followed me for two blocks. That was scary.

I can only speak for myself, but I do think a broad challenge for trans people is that if we talked about every time we encounter public hostility and discrimination, it’s all we’d ever talk about. So, we have to pick our battles.

Even as I write this, I worry that it’ll somehow be read as self-absorbed. Maybe that’s irrational, but in my experience, a lot of non-trans folks tend to get uncomfortable when a trans person talks about the harassment they encounter.

And yet, with a platform like mine, don’t I have an obligation to raise awareness about this? If I’m not, is that a failure of leadership on my part?

Ultimately, it feels like constantly being between a rock and a hard place. I want to be an interesting writer who happens to be a trans woman, not a trans woman who happens to be an interesting writer. And that’s really tough.

So, if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to focus on the good for a moment. You see, when I have days like yesterday, I try to remember all the kindness and generosity I’ve experienced from non-trans people who go out of their way to make trans folks feel welcome.

Like a few years ago, when a TSA agent saw I got erroneously flagged by the full body scanner at airport security—a very common occurrence for trans people, believe it or not—and she rushed over to tell her colleague that she would handle the search.

Even as it was an incredibly busy day for her, with a lot of travelers, and I’m certain she was stressed, she still made time to make the process as quick and professional and dignified for me as possible. She asked about my day, kept saying “Ma’am" and complimented my earrings and took no more than a few moments to clear me.

I’ve had pretty bad experiences with TSA. I was once sexually assaulted by an agent and knew, deep down, nothing would be done about it, so I didn’t report it. On another occasion, an agent made completely inappropriate remarks to me that his supervisor overheard and removed him from duty.

I got the overwhelming feeling that this TSA agent knew about the long history of how trans folks are treated at airport security, and she made the immediate decision to be a proactive ally in that moment. I think about that all the time and wonder if I’m being as good an ally to others as she was to me that day.

I think about the time the nicest woman at an Ann Taylor shop in D.C. spent an hour advising me on great professional outfits that would look fantastic on my body shape, always encouraging and empowering in her feedback. She went above and beyond, way more than a typical employee, and she made me feel right at home. I think that was intentional on her part, too.

I think about Kenny Blakeney, the Head Coach of Howard Men’s Basketball, who gave me a ride home one night after an event and opened the car door for me, which was completely unnecessary and very sweet. He wasn’t showy about it, either. It was just something he clearly felt a gentleman does for a lady. We then talked sports the entire drive home.

Maybe the funniest interaction happened just last week. I was at Shelley’s Back Room, a cigar bar in downtown D.C., which has become a favorite haunt of journalists, politicos, writers of all backgrounds. Despite the mostly-male patrons, all the bathrooms are single-occupancy (so, gender-neutral).

While hanging out with some friends, I went to use the restroom, which was occupied. A moment later, a gentleman opened the door, looked up, saw me, had a sudden look of embarrassment on his face, and I watched him quickly walk back into the tiny restroom to put down the toilet seat. He muttered “sorry about that, Ma’am” before walking back to his table.

It was such a randomly sweet and kind gesture, and how hilarious is that, to boot?

I think about all the emails I get from non-trans people I don’t know, offering support and encouragement. I think about non-trans strangers who come up to me in public to let me know they enjoyed something I wrote and that I always have an ally in them.

I could go on and on. The truth is that for every instance like yesterday, there are several dozen positive instances of non-trans people making sure I know that they support the trans community.

So, yeah, yesterday was pretty hard, and I think it’s okay for me to say that. I’m sure there will be more like it in the future.

But I also know that trans folks have allies everywhere we go, that there is so much good in people, far too much good to ignore, and if I can focus on that, I’ll be alright.

I’m trying to do exactly that. I’m trying to focus on the good. I’m trying to follow the example myself that I’ve seen in so many non-trans people who lead with their hearts.

I’m trying to remember that most folks understand what it’s like to be out in the rain and need some shelter, and they’d gladly offer me space beside them.

That feels like a worthy reminder.

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Many years ago, I belonged to a more conservative church; it could accurately be described as evangelical, and I could be accurately described as the token progressive among the parishioners there. How I came to join that church is a story for another day.

When we weren’t talking politics, life was great, but when we were, it could be exasperating.

On the morning of the 2008 presidential election—you’ll remember Pres. Obama’s historic victory that evening—our church sent out a rare email to the entire congregation which basically encouraged them, without explicitly saying so, to vote for Sen. John McCain.

The email explained that abortion should be the most important issue for voters and that our church is against abortion and congregants should support the anti-choice candidate, which, of course, was Mr. McCain.

For a number of reasons, I was not pleased with the email. It felt wildly inappropriate for any church, particularly one benefitting from a tax-exempt status, to write such a blatantly partisan email.

So… I took my time writing a response and then hit “reply all” to the hundreds of folks on the list.

I explained that I know politics can be stressful and abortion is a particularly fraught issue but we live in a country founded on freedom from religion and that neither I nor anyone else—and certainly not the government—has any business telling women what to do with their bodies.

Well, the responses came quickly from fellow parishioners who were not exactly pleased with my position and let me know they were displeased in no uncertain terms.

Call it my youthful arrogance at 23, but I wasn’t backing down on this, and I politely responded to all the spirited critiques. About an hour into the email chain, one of the pastors stepped-in and asked everyone to halt the conversation. This had clearly not gone as planned, and it was time for the church to save face.

But something pretty great happened after that: over the following week, I got emails and texts from many friends in the church who had been uncomfortable with the initial email telling us how to vote and wanted to say something but had felt alone.

We all started talking to each other more. It turns out I wasn’t as much a token progressive as I’d thought. In fact, there were numerous folks in the church who supported abortion access.

I am pro-autonomy. I am pro-independence. I am pro-choice. My religious views have no place in the affairs of other people. What someone does with their body is none of my damn business — that goes for any reason but especially when their life is in grave danger. That’s my primary problem with anti-choice extremists.

But my secondary disconnect with the so-called "pro-life" message, aside from the obvious autonomy issue, is that very rarely have I seen so-called “pro-life” folks argue as passionately for universal healthcare or refugee assistance or reforming our nation’s gun laws or abolishing the death penalty or eradicating poverty or funding mental health or eliminating homelessness, etc.

And by passionately, I mean posting on social media with similar outrage, protesting on the steps of the Supreme Court, burning up the pulpit in church, marching in the streets — basically, everything so-called “pro-life” people do on this one particular issue that’s strangely absent on every other issue.

I feel that, for so-called “pro-life” people, what truly separates abortion from all other matters of life and death is an implicit, religious need to shame and control women's sexuality.

There is an undeniable theme of alleging “irresponsibility” and “selfishness” and "promiscuity" on the part of women that is framed, packaged and touted by the anti-choice movement.

It isn't just inaccurate and insulting and degrading; it is absolutely deadly to women.

It is an attack on women and their families and their medical providers, folks who have to make hard choices and should never be shamed for doing so.

Show me in your Bible where it talks about poverty when you say government shouldn't create social safety nets for the most vulnerable but, weirdly, should subsidize enormous tax breaks for the ultra-wealthy.

Show me in your Bible where it talks about the Good Samaritan when you make a decision to walk past the homeless or say that your tax dollars shouldn't go to pay for someone else's healthcare or demand that undocumented migrants should go back to their own country.

Show me in your Bible where it talks about turning the other cheek while you claim that "civilian collateral damage" is necessary to the security of a free state, whether it be drone warfare or unfettered access to firearms?

Show me in your Bible where it talks about avoiding judgement while you claim to fully understand and dictate the very personal decisions of women and families.

You say your heart is full of Christ's love, but why does that only manifest itself on this particular issue and not others?

I would press on why, but we all know the answer. Women are an easy target to project society’s self-righteousness. Women always have been an easy target for society’s performative outrage.

Eating women alive is a time-honored tradition in our country. What a woman does with her body is not a big step up from what clothes she can wear, the inflection and tone of her voice, the sexual violence inflicted on her (and blamed on her), the choice of her profession, her marital status, whether or not she has kids, how and why and when and where she has sex, etc.

The anti-choice movement absolutely believes that women’s lives are so dispensable that they’re a small price to pay for relentless control, and that is not a teaching from Christ.

I’m a Christian from Texas, and I don’t have a uterus. Supposedly, I should be incredibly easy to convince that abortion access is somehow wrong and should be a top priority of lawmakers, and yet, I remain completely unmoved.

Because I know abortion is an easy issue for extremists to harp on. It requires nothing of them beyond expressing condemnation of others. Judging others is a lot easier than helping others, which also happens to be Christ’s predominant message.

So, please, lose me with the so-called faith arguments against abortion, and find some time to actually read your Bible.

You may be shocked by what you find.

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Samuel Alito and Clarence Thomas are deeply unethical. Their conflicts-of-interest are brazen and shameless, they are openly corrupt, and their general and open hostility toward those they believe are their political opponents is especially jarring given how they’re not supposed to engage in such behavior as sitting justices.

Mr. Alito and Mr. Thomas do not belong on any federal bench, of course, let alone in seats on the Supreme Court. I feel every reasonable adult considering the evidence in good faith agrees.

That’s all well and good to acknowledge, and also: the harsh and sad truth that many folks need to hear is that Samuel Alito and Clarence Thomas aren’t going anywhere, unless by their own volition or the unyielding authority of mortality’s sweet embrace.

More to the point: Mr. Alito and Mr. Thomas will not be removed from the Supreme Court. That is never going to happen. Ever. So long as they wish to be in those seats and their bodies don’t fail them, both will remain sitting Associate Justices of the Supreme Court.

I feel the need to point this out because I see a lot of well-meaning folks getting angry with Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer and Senate Judiciary Chairman Dick Durbin and President Biden and whomever the hell else, as though of any these people have a magic wand that can spirit Mr. Alito and Mr. Thomas out of power.

So, let’s review: by authority of the Constitution, federal judges can only be removed from the bench—that includes Supreme Court justices—by a two-thirds conviction of the U.S. Senate following impeachment by the U.S. House.

So, for example, if Mr. Alito were to be impeached by the House, as damning as that may be, and even if a whopping 66 senators vote to convict after trial proceedings, he still would not be removed because it takes 67 senators (two-thirds of the body) to reach a conviction.

This is not without precedent regarding accountability of federal judges, 15 of whom have been impeached in our country’s history, eight of them convicted in the Senate, on charges ranging from abuse of power to soliciting bribes to intoxication while presiding.

That exclusive club includes Justice Samuel Chase, the only member of the Supreme Court to be impeached, in a highly partisan war between the Federalists and Democratic-Republicans (the two major parties at the time). He was acquitted on all charges by the Senate.

But folks, need I point out the obvious? We don’t live in a rational time. We don’t live in a good faith political environment. Mr. Alito would have to commit crimes so visceral—and the evidence brought against him would have to be so overwhelming—that numerous Republican senators would have no choice but to vote for a conviction.

This is the same bunch that let Trump get away with blatant corruption in two separate impeachment trials. Please, raise your hand if you think the Senate would convict Mr. Alito short of him murdering someone and bragging about it on national television.

I know it’s frustrating. I know it can feel demoralizing. But I worry far more about the exacerbation of folks’ exhaustion if they’re led to believe Mr. Alito might be removed from the bench, only to realize, down the road, he will never be. It’s not gonna happen. Ever.

And before y’all mention it, yes, I read Congressman Raskin’s elegantly penned op-ed in The Washington Post yesterday, in which he argues that Mr. Alito and Mr. Thomas can be forced to recuse themselves from the Jan. 6th case.

(Quick note for those not-in-the-know: “recusal” means a federal judge acknowledges a conflict-of-interest they may hold in a pending case and removes themselves from the process in the interest of fairness. This does not mean they are wholly removed from the bench. Two very different things.)

Mr. Raskin has a brilliant mind, and I am regularly in awe of it. But there’s one key problem with his argument: outside of Congress (see above), the only folks with an enforcement mechanism on recusal are Mr. Alito’s and Mr. Thomas’ fellow justices.

He’s absolutely right on the steps outlined: the Justice Department could petition the other seven justices to enforce recusal, and those justices have the legal authority to do so.

I would even encourage the Justice Department to do exactly that, in order to further draw attention to all the ways in which the Supreme Court is failing the American people. I’m all for that as a tactic.

But I want to be very clear: the conservatives on the Supreme Court will never support recusal enforcement. They cannot be shamed into it. Mr. Raskin is a truly wonderful man and a great patriot and a brilliant public servant, but he, too, knows—deep down—that will never happen.

I believe Mr. Raskin’s op-ed does have utility in an important way: bringing more attention to the blatant corruption of Mr. Alito and Mr. Thomas, and that is an effort worth making. But I don’t want folks to believe recusal will ever happen. It will not.

Okay, so, that’s the bad news: Samuel Alito and Clarence Thomas will never be removed from the bench, and they will never be recused from cases before the Supreme Court that have high stakes for our democracy.

Here’s the good news for those with the guts to see it: we can focus all our energy on reelecting President Biden and holding the Senate and ensuring another four years of reshaping the federal judiciary, which may even include one or two conservative vacancies on the Supreme Court.

Next year, Mr. Thomas will be 76, and Mr. Alito will be 75. We could very well see them both make the decision to step aside in the next four years due to extraordinary health problems. They could choose to spend their remaining time in retirement.

I’m not trying to be pollyannaish here, I promise. I will certainly concede it’s not likely this will happen. Probably not. But it could happen. By the 2028 election, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that the Supreme Court could slowly shift to a 5-4 majority of reasonable jurists.

And it’s a hell of a lot likelier we’ll see that happen before Mr. Alito and Mr. Thomas recuse themselves from a case, let alone be removed from the bench.

We have a choice in this moment. We can focus on this election, put our hearts and minds into reelecting President Biden and holding the Senate and taking back the House and playing the long game. Or we can get distracted with things that will never happen and put our hard-earned energy into ventures that don’t deserve it.

Let’s criticize the corruption of the Supreme Court and use it as potent messaging on the importance of this election, but let’s also be realistic and understand that we’re in a marathon for democracy, not a sprint.

If we can do that, it’ll be worth it.

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[This blog will always be free to read, but it’s also how I pay my bills. If you have suggestions or feedback on how I can earn your paid subscription, shoot me an email: cmclymer@gmail.com. And yes, I am available for Pride Month speaking engagements. And if all this is too big a commitment, I’m always thankful for a simple cup of coffee.]

Every American of a certain age and older knows this story well: in Peanuts, the all-time great comic strip by Charles M. Schulz, there’s a long-running gag in which Lucy van Pelt holds a football in place and invites friend and neighbor Charlie Brown to kick it.

And every single time, for five decades, Charlie Brown would earnestly run at the pigskin, sizing it up for a good, clean kick, and at the last possible moment, right before he makes contact—YOINK—Lucy would rip it away and Charlie Brown would swing his leg through a ghost and fall flat on his ass. There were somersaults. Shoes were lost. The sky would spin.

SPLAT.

As Charlie Brown lay there on the grass, forced yet again into a reexamination of his unyielding faith in the goodness of others, Lucy would stand over him, holding said ball, and offer a biting and witty observation.

It was hilarious. It was glorious. It was frustrating in the best way possible.

It became an annual tradition for the strip, appropriately marking a cultural beginning to autumn (or fall, if you will). Would this finally be the year that Lucy offers a respite of mercy and Charlie Brown kicks the damn ball?

It never came to pass. Charlie Brown never did make contact. Schulz, one of the few public figures in the past 50 years whose easy wholesomeness gave Mister Rogers a run for his money, was consistently cruel on this particular matter.

Say what you will about the eternal naïveté of Charlie Brown, but you can’t fault his intention. His sole motivation was kicking the ball, and his sole fault was earnestly trusting Lucy.

Last week, former South Carolina governor and U.N. ambassador Nikki Haley announced during an interview that she would be supporting Donald Trump in the election, despite her many statements to the press condemning Trump’s leadership and character.

Like last June, when she said that Trump had been “incredibly reckless with national security” after the Justice Department announced its initial 37 charges against him in the ongoing classified documents case.

Yes, you read that right: Haley is now endorsing a man she deemed “incredibly reckless” with national security. As of this writing, no political reporters have asked her about this incongruence.

YOINK. SPLAT.

Then there was the interview on CNBC the following month in which she said this about Trump: “We can’t have, as Republicans, him as the nominee. He can’t win a general election. That’s the problem. We’ve got to go and have someone who can actually win.”

She has not been asked about this by political reporters since her endorsement of Trump.

YOINK. SPLAT.

Or how about when Haley appeared on “Face the Nation” back in September and asserted to host Margaret Brennan that Americans would not “vote for a convicted criminal” when asked if she’d vote for Trump if he were the nominee and convicted in any of his four pending indictments.

As Trump’s hush money trial enters final arguments today—and it looks more than likely he’ll be convicted—as of this writing, no political reporters have asked her about this statement, one which was offered on one of the most well-known news programs in the country.

YOINK. SPLAT.

What about in January, when Haley was asked about Trump’s various legal battles with E. Jean Carroll, whom he raped and defamed and was found liable for said defamation by two separate predominantly-male juries? Haley claimed she hadn’t looked at the details of the then-pending trial, but that if Trump were found guilty, “he should pay the price.”

She has not been asked about this statement by any political reporters since her endorsement of Trump.

YOINK. SPLAT.

(By the way, imagine taking it in good faith that Haley hasn’t “looked into the details” of a nationally publicized trial in which the leader of her party is accused of defamation toward the woman he raped.)

In February, Trump, during a rally, mocked the absence of Haley’s husband on the campaign trail, who was then serving an overseas deployment with the South Carolina National Guard.

Haley responded to Trump, in part: “Michael is deployed serving our country, something you know nothing about. Someone who continually disrespects the sacrifices of military families has no business being commander in chief.”

Then, in an interview with The Wall Street Journal, Haley said that Trump being the Republican presidential nominee is “like suicide for our country.”

She has not been asked about either of these statements by any political reporters since her endorsement of Trump.

YOINK. YOINK. SPLAT. SPLAT.

Just three months ago, Haley followed that up with an NBC News interview in which she called Trump “unhinged” and “diminished.”

Have any political reporters asked her about this since her endorsement? They have not.

YOINK. SPLAT.

Remember Haley’s tenure as Trump’s U.N. Ambassador? She was often referred to as a “voice of moderation” within the administration, though political reporters were never quite able to explain exactly how she was moderate.

Her time as U.N. Ambassador was notable for: supporting the move of U.S. Embassy in Israel from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, backing up Trump’s withholding foreign aid from innocent Palestinian civilians, supporting Trump’s withdrawal of the U.S. from the Iran nuclear deal, defending Trump’s withdrawal of the U.S. from the Paris climate agreement, withdrawing the U.S from the United Nations Human Rights Council herself, and flagrantly violating the Hatch Act just months into her tenure, for which she was firmly chastised by the Office of Special Counsel.

Do any of these sound like moderate positions? They don’t meet the low threshold of having a moderating influence, much less being moderate.

You guessed it: she has rarely been asked about any of these conflicting details by political reporters in the past several years and certainly not since her endorsement of Trump.

YOINK and SPLAT.

Folks, this is the nutshell version. There are examples of this stretching back into her early career: as a state representative in South Carolina and then governor, she constantly staked a position and then reneged on it in a cynical manner when the political winds starting blowing in an inconvenient direction.

It’s nothing new for Haley. This is who she’s always been — always hedging her bets, always speaking out both sides of her mouth, always pretending to have red lines and then later pretending those red lines never existed, acting almost shocked if a reporter even asks about them.

Political reporters have given Haley pass after pass after pass all these years. She lies and misleads and obfuscates and flip-flops, and still, they do it.

It’s why I predicted all throughout Nikki Haley’s supposed campaign for president that she would eventually endorse Trump, despite what political press told us, despite their inexplicable and immediate embrace of her messaging, ignoring her entire history of lying and cynical tactics.

Why? Because she’s nice to them at cocktail parties, and they need access from a Republican with her influence. Lucy and Charlie Brown. Every time. Without fail.

Fairly soon, Nikki Haley will be on Sunday news shows and she'll be lightly challenged on her endorsement for Trump and she'll demur and give weak-ass, equivocating responses as she always has and the hosts may push back a little and they may even bring up her past statements, though I doubt it, and she'll demur again and they'll thank her for coming on.

YOINK. SPLAT.

The last football “kicking” strip was published October 24th, 1999, a few months before Schulz’ death from a heart attack in his sleep while undergoing cancer treatment.

Lucy is sitting there and inviting Charlie Brown to kick it, as always, when Rerun, her brother, comes out and tells Lucy that their mother is demanding she come eat lunch. Lucy mutters “good grief” and invites Rerun to take her place holding the ball. Charlie Brown is more optimistic than ever that this is his moment. Finally.

But we never see what happens immediately after that. In the following panels, Rerun returns home and Lucy asks him for details, and Rerun replies: “You’ll never know…”

Maybe we never will.

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For several years, as a young soldier, I took part in a special tradition for Memorial Day Weekend.

At the time, I was in the 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment (The Old Guard), based in Washington, D.C. When our unit wasn’t doing tactical training, we were carrying out military funerals. Whenever you see photos or video of soldiers carrying flag-draped caskets in Arlington National Cemetery, that was my unit.

Every Thursday before Memorial Day Weekend, our company, which was the only one living on Ft. McNair in southwest D.C., would get up at 5:30am, get dressed in our duty uniform, and load up on buses with our empty rucksacks.

Upon arriving at Arlington, we’d stand in line waiting to fill our rucksacks with hundreds of standard miniature American flags, all rolled up in a bundle and bound together with rubber bands.

And then, for the rest of the day, until sundown, we’d walk along the sea of white headstones, laid out neatly as far as the eye can see, dress right dress, placing an American flag approximately a foot’s length in front of each one.

This tradition is called “Flags In,” and it’s, by far, my favorite memory during those years in uniform.

We had help. It wasn’t just The Old Guard. There were other units in the area who would pitch in. There were some civilian volunteers, too. Between all of us, working throughout the day, we’d get the job done, and by sunset, we’d be able to look upon the vast expanse of the Cemetery, seemingly infinite rows of American flags stretching into the horizon.

It was important to keep a good pace, of course. There are about 400,000 graves in Arlington for veterans and eligible family members, so you couldn’t take your time, but I’d try my best to read each name, at least, while placing a flag. It was my small way of honoring them.

There was one year I remember placing a flag and looking up at the headstone to read “Medgar W. Evers, Mississippi” and standing there for several moments in shock. I still get chills thinking about it. Who was I as some random, unproven 19 year-old private to have the honor of placing a flag on this hero’s grave?

But that’s Arlington. Buried alongside each other are privates and generals, senators and the formerly enslaved, retired soldiers who earned the right long before their final breaths many decades after their service and teenagers who earned the right before they were ever permitted to legally drink, all bound together in the same soil, under the same headstones, forever in formation and at peace.

There are some 639 acres of land covering the ANC divided into 70 sections. Every Memorial Day, I try to make it out to Section 60, where friends and people I admire are buried. That’s the section dedicated to those who died in the Global War on Terrorism.

There you’ll find my friend Joseph Hernandez, who was killed by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan in 2009. He became the first enlisted soldier to be buried in Arlington with full military honors under a then-recently-introduced regulation that accorded it to all service members killed-in-action. Prior to that, only officers were eligible for full honors.

Joe was the guy in my unit who always had a kind word for everyone. When I was a brand new private, he would check-in with me to see how things were going, always encouraging, always motivating, always with a smile and a joke to share. Before I knew anyone else in D.C., Joe was there to make me feel welcome.

I wish every American could visit Arlington at least once. I wish they could walk around on Memorial Day and pay their respects and see the friends and family who have made the trip just to sit around and share stories with each other.

Every year, especially in Section 60, I can always expect to see a group of friends who have brought chairs and sit around in front of their buddy’s grave, trading tales and remembering better times. I can expect to see widows and widowers bring flowers, holding their grown kids’ hands and reminding them why the ground they’re standing on is so special.

And I can expect to see more flags in one place than I’ll ever see anywhere else in my life, always placed a foot in front of each grave, always symbolizing so many things that I worry are increasingly becoming lost.

Maybe that worry is good. Maybe it’s necessary. If there isn’t concern over a lack of remembrance and respect, does complacency replace it? I think so. I think we need that constant reminder.

The Tuesday after Memorial Day, we’d get up again at 5:30am and load up on buses and make the trip back out to Arlington with our empty rucksacks for “Flags Out,” and we’d spend the entire day walking back along each grave and gently taking out each flag and bounding them together with rubber bands and by sunset, the whole Cemetery would be removed of flags.

We might whisper to each grave that we’d be back soon to remember them again.

And we’d mean it.

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This past weekend, I was invited to deliver the keynote speech at the Bonneville County Democratic Party’s annual Truman Dinner in Idaho Falls, Idaho. It was my first time visiting the Gem State, and I was captivated by both the gorgeous scenery and the warmth of Idahoans.

When I was invited to the Truman Dinner a few months ago by Chairwoman Miranda Marquit, I accepted immediately. And I’ll tell you why.

Idaho is a deeply conservative state. It has not gone for a Democratic presidential candidate since 1964; that year, Lyndon B. Johnson, despite trouncing Barry Goldwater—winning 44 states (and D.C.), 486 electoral votes, 61 percent of the popular vote—won Idaho by less than two percent.

Idaho has not elected a Democrat to the U.S. Senate since 1974, a Democratic governor since 1990, and with the exception of a single term served by Mr. Walt Minnick in the 111th Congress (2009-2011), it has not otherwise elected a Democrat to the U.S. House since 1994.

Idaho is among those states that actually increased their support for Trump from 2016 to 2020, despite his loss to President Biden.

Abortion was formally banned in the state two months after the Supreme Court’s Dobbs ruling (except in cases of rape, incest, and the life of the mother during the first trimester), and LGBTQ rights in the state are abysmal, although public polling of Idahoans illustrates a more complicated picture (about 70 percent of Idahoans support LGBTQ non-discrimination laws).

So, yes, it is accurate to say that Idaho is deeply conservative.

But I spent the entire weekend with Idaho Democrats, and I found myself in awe of their dedication, kindness, and unyielding pride in Democratic values. They did not feel sorry for themselves. They did not make excuses. They had no time for pity.

I was in the company of so many wonderful people who get up every day and fight the good fight for their families, their neighbors, and their state. I wish that so many Democrats living in solidly progressive areas of this country had a tenth of the courage and commitment demonstrated by the Democrats I met in Idaho.

I am so tired of some Democrats living in solid blue parts of the country looking down their noses at folks putting in the work in conservative swaths of our nation, questioning their sanity in living where they do, as though uprooting one’s family from the only home they’ve ever known is a feasible option for most people.

The unflappable worth ethic of these Idaho Democrats reminded me of how proud I am to be a progressive from Texas and how much I bristle when someone who lives in a solidly blue state condescends to Democrats living in conservative areas.

Anyway, the full remarks of my speech are below, and if you would be so kind, I highly encourage donating to the Bonneville County Democratic Party. Please help them build the future of Democratic politics in the state.

FULL REMARKS

Good evening!

My name is Charlotte Clymer, and I am proud to be a member of the Democratic Party.

It’s an honor to join y’all tonight.

When your chair Miranda Marquit extended an invitation to me a few months ago, I immediately agreed. You see, I’ve never been to Idaho, and every person I’ve ever met from Idaho has said to me: “Oh, don’t come here. You’d hate it. Nothing to see at all. No gorgeous scenery. No nature. It’s so boring. And tell your friends not to come here, either!”

Idaho is a wonderfully kept secret. So, I knew I had to come for that reason, alone.

But I also accepted the Chairwoman’s invitation because I know what it’s like to be a proud Democrat in an area of the country where Democrats aren’t so plentiful.

Because let’s face it: I know that there are a lot of folks in this county, maybe even some folks in this room, who look at me and only see a trans woman, a progressive trans woman, who has flown in from Washington, D.C.What could I possibly know about what it’s like to live in a conservative area? What could I possibly know about having a lot of conservative friends and neighbors and constantly being in spaces with people who are not gonna see the world as I do?

This is what I call box thinking. It’s become one of the biggest problems for our country: this relentless need to place everyone we know in a box and call it a day.

There are a lot of folks who live their lives believing there are only two boxes and you need to belong to only one of those two boxes and it had better be their box.

And if you chose to place me in a box before getting to know me, you’d miss out on a lot.

You’d never find out that I served in the U.S. Army for six years and I am very proud of my service. You’d never find out that my Christian faith is one of the most important things to me and that I go to church every Sunday. You’d never find out that I’m very proud to be from the South, that I come from two lines of family raised in the South. You’d never find out that I played high school football, that I grew up around firearms, that I was raised on country music, and I am proud of all these aspects of who I am.

I know what it’s like to be from a part of the country that people living in more progressive areas look at and say: “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” as though I’ve just told them my dog died.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. If I told them my dog had died, they would probably have asked about South Dakota Governor Kristi Noem’s whereabouts.

But it’s true. We live in a nation of people who insist that there are only two boxes.

And I’m not just talking about people on the right. I’m talking about people on the far-left, too. So much of the far-left can’t stand me because I defy their box theory. They believe that I, as a trans woman, am not supposed to be proud of our military, that I am not supposed to go to church, that I am not supposed to disagree with them.

That’s the thing they still don’t realize. The brutal truth is that the far-right and far-left have one thing in common: they both live in fear of talking with a reasonable adult who disagrees with them.

Well, folks, here’s my message to them: this country is a whole lot damn bigger than two boxes.

I have not come this far in life to allow myself to be defined by strangers who are scared of reasonable disagreement. Who I am is between me and God, and no one else gets a say in that.

And this goes for geography, too.

I’m from the great state of Texas, and if all you knew about Texas were our state’s political leadership and their incessant irresponsibility and selfishness and cruelty—if that’s all you knew about Texas—you probably wouldn’t want to visit.

But you see, I’m very proud to be from Texas, probably for the same reasons that all of you here are proud to be from Idaho. And you should be. Because this is home. This is where you first learned about community. It’s where you first understood what it means to live alongside others and take care of your neighbors and work hard to ensure that no one gets left behind.

It hasn’t surprised me one bit to find out that folks in Idaho are kind, hardworking, empathetic, and resilient. And I think that goes double for Idaho Democrats.

It takes guts to walk up to door after door and knock on it, knowing that the person behind that door is more than likely going to be resistant to your message, knowing that you’re going to have to do the thankless work of communicating a vision of solidarity and progress with your neighbor, who may have been fed a lot of disinformation and hateful propaganda.

I hope you’ll hear what I’m saying: it takes courage to be an outspoken Democrat in a place where few exist, but more than that, in states like Idaho and Texas, it takes courage to swallow your pride and meet people where they are and get them to see how the Democratic Party has their best interests at mind.

It takes courage to do the hard and necessary work of constantly extending a hand to folks who don’t agree with you on most things.

But it is necessary. It is absolutely necessary. You are doing the work that needs to be done, and thank god for that.

I think it’s quite appropriate that we’re gathered this evening at a dinner named for a president who understood, better than most presidential candidates of the 20th century, what it means to be the underdog.

Harry Truman was not supposed to win the 1948 presidential election. The winner that year was supposed to be New York Governor Thomas E. Dewey, who was very popular with his base and very charismatic. Of the 500 newspapers in the country at that time, nearly 80 percent endorsed Dewey. One famous pundit said two months before Election Day that the race was basically over.

Most of that campaign can be summed up this way: the press thought Dewey was going to win, the pollsters and pundits thought Dewey was going to win, and Dewey thought Dewey was going to win. In fact, even President Truman’s closest aides and his wife Bess privately thought Dewey was likely to win. So, it was clear that Dewey was going to win. It seems the only person who thought Truman could win was Truman.

You see, President Truman was an incredibly capable commander-in-chief. He had successfully led the United States out of World War II and began the process of rebuilding Europe. He had common sense and stood up for working class families. He was a great chief executive.

But he wasn’t flashy. Many folks didn’t find him very exciting. Around this time that year, in mid-May, his approval rating was 36 percent. He was challenged by people in his own party. He was doubted by the press. There were some folks who openly wondered if it wouldn’t be a bad idea for Mr. Truman to drop out of the race and give another Democrat a shot.

There were third party candidates like vicious racist Strom Thurmond, who threatened to take votes from President Truman and weaken him against Dewey.

And meanwhile, Thomas Dewey was saying nothing much at all. He wasn’t articulating any new or interesting policy ideas. He wasn’t laying out a vision for all Americans. He was pandering to his base and playing it safe otherwise.

So, an incumbent who’s a great leader but isn’t considered very exciting, a challenger who isn’t saying anything new but is considered by many to be charismatic, a bunch of third party clowns mucking up the process, and a political press that seems to be asleep at the wheel.

Does any of this sound familiar?

President Truman went on aggressive whistle stop tours of the country, giving speeches at train stations all over, hammering the GOP and Dewey, refusing to back down, refusing to give up, and absolutely certain he was gonna win.

I want to read you a quote from a speech President Truman delivered by radio in St. Paul, Minnesota about three weeks before the election:

“Republicans approve of the American farmer, but they are willing to help him go broke. They stand four-square for the American home--but not for housing. They are strong for labor--but they are stronger for restricting labor's rights. They favor minimum wage--the smaller the minimum wage the better. They endorse educational opportunity for all--but they won't spend money for teachers or for schools. They think modern medical care and hospitals are fine--for people who can afford them. ...They think the American standard of living is a fine thing--so long as it doesn't spread to all the people. And they admire the Government of the United States so much that they would like to buy it.”

You could take that quote and put it in a speech by President Biden now, and you wouldn’t miss a beat.

Mr. Truman didn’t play it safe. He didn’t hesitate to fight for his values. He didn’t try to pander to zealots and clowns. He was a warrior for democracy and working families.

Three weeks after that speech, President Truman won. The pundits were apoplectic. All night, radio announcers told the public that Truman’s lead in the national vote was temporary. There’s no way he could win. Political reporters said he couldn’t win, so how could this happen?

The day after the election, President Truman held up the front page of the Chicago Tribune that had been printed and distributed erroneously, with that iconic headline in big bold letters:

DEWEY DEFEATS TRUMAN

And he didn’t just win. He got two million more votes than Dewey and trounced him in the Electoral College.

I want to be very clear about something tonight. If you walk away with anything from this event, I want you to walk away with this: Joe Biden is going to be reelected President of the United States. We are gonna win in November. And it’s not just because our party has ideas that actually help working class families. It’s not just because President Biden’s policies have saved our economy. It’s not just because Republicans don’t have any new ideas or new solutions.

No, here’s why President Biden is going to win: because he trusts the American people to understand what’s at stake.

We don’t want to live in a country where any elected official believes he’s above the law and should be treated like a king.

We don’t want to live in a country where the state gets to decide what women do with their bodies.

We don’t want to live in a country where politicians get to tell parents what health care they’re allowed to provide their children.

We don’t want to live in a country where the richest people still get unfair tax breaks while working families struggle to provide for their children.

We don’t want to live in a country where those in power turn their backs on the labor movement and working class families.

We don’t want to live in a country in which life-saving and comprehensive health care is only accessible to those earning six figures or more.

That’s it. That’s all that matters. And the leadership of the Republican Party lives every day in fear that more and more working families are gonna realize that.

The polls don’t matter. Listen, y’all, I’ve been following politics all my life and working in politics for most of my career, and I can tell you beyond the shadow of a doubt that polls don’t worry me.

What did the pollsters say in 2018? That Democrats were right to be anxious. What happened? Democrats took back control of Congress in an enormously embarrassing defeat for Trump.

What did the pollsters say in 2020? That Democrats were headed for a catastrophic defeat at the polls. What happened? President Biden was elected, and Democrats took back control of Congress.

What did the pollsters say in 2022? Do y’all remember? They said a “red wave” was coming and Democrats were about to be wiped out in Congress. What happened? President Biden had the best midterms performance of any first term Democratic president in six decades. The red wave turned out to be a red trickle.

Folks, I say again: there is no doubt in my mind that we are going to win in November.

President Biden and Vice President Harris will be reelected, we will take back the House, and you know what? I’m feeling cautiously optimistic that we’ll hold the Senate, too.

And when this all happens, the pundits and pollsters will make excuses like they always do. And the Republican Party will make excuses like they always do. And the press will make excuses like they always do.

Let it be known right now: the Democratic Party ain’t got time for excuses.

There are working families to support, homeless veterans to house, minimum wage workers to be helped, children to be fed and educated, and a country, a proud country, to believe in.

That starts right here in places like Bonneville County. It starts in places like my home state of Texas. It starts in the places in this country most in need of building bridges by folks like yourselves who are doing that thankless work because it needs to be done.

I am grateful for you, and I want you to know there are Democrats all across this country who are grateful for you.

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your hospitality. Have a wonderful evening.

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When I was 14, I moved in with my father, who lived a few hours away from my mother in Central Texas. Things had been pretty unsafe with my mother for quite a while, to put it mildly, and my father stepped up and gave me a home. And to this day, I’m grateful for that.

But at the time, neither of us were comfortable around each other. Without ever actually addressing it, my father was clearly concerned that I might be gay. And I knew that he was concerned that I might be gay. And he knew that I knew that he was concerned that I might be gay. And for years, we did an awkward dance-of-sorts around each other on this point of unspoken tension.

Now, it’s hard to pinpoint how exactly this suspicion of his came about. Maybe it was because I listened to Mariah Carey all the time. Maybe it was because I had a minor obsession with romantic comedies written by Nora Ephron. Maybe it was the moment I was ecstatic that I had been accepted a year early into my high school’s show choir. Maybe it had something to do with me using my birthday money to purchase fancy air fresheners from Bath & Body Works.

I guess we’ll never know.

My father and I spent my early high school years privately worrying over the same ballpark problem but from very different angles. He was worried, without ever saying so out loud, that he had a gay son – his firstborn, no less. Technically speaking, he was worried over a problem that didn’t exist.

You see, I was only attracted to girls. It’s still the case that I’m only attracted to women. But from an early age, I also wanted to be a woman, which was, as you might imagine, 25 years ago, very confusing for a teenager growing up in Central Texas.

I didn’t have the vocabulary to describe what was going on inside me. I didn’t know about terms like “sexual orientation” and “gender identity” and the fact that one has nothing to do with the other. That knowledge and personal clarity would come much later in life. The concept of something like “trans visibility” was not only generally scarce in the country but completely nonexistent in our little corner of America.

The tension between my father and me increased with every month over those years. It was something neither of us were equipped to address, and it hovered over all our interactions, always threatening to explode in our faces if we weren’t careful to avoid it.

Meanwhile, life went on. I was still a teenager, very hormonal and very confused by sex. One day, during the summer, I was home alone and browsing through my father’s DVD collection in the living room, and I noticed there was a cabinet in there that I had never opened, and I quickly realized it was secured with some kinda internal plastic locking mechanism.

It was not a very good plastic locking mechanism. I am not someone blessed with mechanical intelligence, and it took me less than a minute to figure it out. And when I did, I opened the doors of that cabinet to an exceptionally large collection of printed adult materials.

Now, was it wrong of me to break into his private cabinet? Of course. Like anyone else, my father should have had a reasonable expectation of privacy. But also: let’s all acknowledge that hiding his personal treasure trove in the family living room and securing it with a lock that looks like something one might find at the bottom of a cereal box is probably not among the wisest decisions he’s ever made.

[Side note: I feel confident in stating that there probably exists scientific evidence to suggest that every 30 seconds spent browsing a parent’s collection of adult materials will probably cost about a year of therapy down the road.]

At first, I thought I had hit the jackpot. I was astonished by my own luck, as any hormonal teenager might be.

But I quickly found out that nothing in the stash was particularly engaging to me. It was not personally appealing. It was all pretty straightforward erotica for heterosexual males, the details of which I’ll leave to your imagination, but you won’t need any, trust me.

I felt surprised by my own disappointment. Every movie and television show with this exact scenario—horny teenager finds naughty magazine—had portrayed this to be a rare blessing during adolescence.

Yet here I was sitting on many years’ worth of goods, a goldmine of paraphernalia, and yet, it was all underwhelming. It was disappointing. If I wasn’t really into this stuff, did I have any hope of feeling like a man someday? And if not, did I have any hope of earning my father’s approval someday? My brain would fixate on these ridiculous and reductive and painful questions for much, much longer than I care to admit.

But it was only a week later, while I was reading in my room, that my father ordered me into the backyard in a tone that clearly meant I was in trouble. I was a pretty well-behaved kid, so, I kinda knew deep down what this was about. I didn’t really have to guess. My father was strict, and he was very quick to anger. And I knew that in terms of trouble, this was many leaps beyond anything I had ever done wrong. I knew instinctively that I was about to be grounded-for-life.

While walking to the backyard, it did cross my mind how completely unfair it was to be in trouble for discovering a private stash of adult materials that I wasn’t even into. Whatever the punishment was about to be, I wasn’t really getting anything worth my time in exchange for it. I was about to be grounded for something that had only given me an enduring struggle of existential angst. This wasn’t teenage rebellion; this was just very bad planning.

But as my father began talking to me, I noticed something very strange. Yes, he was using quite a bit of profanity, and he was technically chewing my ass over all this. But there was an obvious smirk on his face. He was clearly struggling to suppress a smile. His demeanor was like someone trying their best to be upset and very much falling short.

It was about thirty seconds into this feigned ass chewing, this obvious performance, when I realized he wasn’t upset at all.

He was happy. He was amused. He was relieved. He didn’t have a gay son after all. His problem was gone. It was clear that I was just a weird kid with odd interests. I’d probably grow out of that weirdness. He could live with that.

I was not punished. I just got the ass chewing, and he left it at that.

I should have been happy, too. I had avoided punishment for my worst infraction ever. But it was the first moment in a collection of moments throughout high school in which I realized that I was never going to be able to please my father.

By the time I was 19, there was really no ambiguity. There was no need to speculate on our future. Other families might evolve and grow, but ours would not. Deep down, I knew that.

It took me a long time to recognize that episode as a blessing. It was a gift. If my father had not been so direct in his worldview, I know I would have spent many years, long past childhood, long into adulthood, doing so much to win the coveted approval I would never have received – being someone I’m not just to please him, at the cost of not being who I actually am.

In a very strange way, that interaction in the backyard that summer night saved me so much precious time and gave me so much freedom from the anxiety of attempting to bridge the gulf between us.

I came out seven years ago as a proud trans woman. I live my life with an authenticity that millions upon millions here in our country and around the world cannot. I consider myself fortunate.

I haven’t spoken to my father since I came out. I believe he’s a good person. I’m thankful to him for taking care of me in those remaining years of my childhood. I know that he’s a human being with complexities like anyone else.

And I also know that I have absolutely no responsibility to fix those complications for him or to be someone I’m not in order to please him. I decided that I didn’t want to spend the next few decades constantly defending who I am in his presence, and I consider that one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

Thank goodness we both have the freedom to take different paths. I just hope he’s using better locks these days.

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Yesterday, protestors blocked roadways in California, Illinois, New York, and Oregon, snarling traffic for hours and impeding travelers attempting to catch their outgoing flights at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport.

Their stated cause is a righteous one: demanding an immediate ceasefire to the horrific violence that has killed tens of thousands of innocent civilians in Gaza. I certainly agree with that cause.

But their method for raising awareness on that important issue could not be more incompetent, dangerous, and counterproductive.

It is unequivocally wrong—flat-out immoral—to block traffic on a highway or roadway as a form of protest.

And it's not because of the annoying inconvenience to people making their commutes, nor is it because this is one of the more incompetent and wholly counterproductive methods of building awareness for a righteous cause.

For me, neither of those reasons are the issue here.

The reason is that blocking traffic on a highway or roadway, in protest or not, is a major threat to public safety.

What if an ambulance needs to get by?

What if a frantic parent has an injured child in their backseat and is rushing to the emergency room?

What if someone misses a flight to a lifesaving surgery that's been scheduled halfway across the country?

What if a patient with a cancer diagnosis misses a critical, urgent appointment that took weeks to get on the calendar and there are no open slots for weeks more?

What if there's someone with a disability that can't simply get out of their car and make it to their destination on foot?

And those are just issues of immediate public safety. As any grown adult understands well, it’s the slow-burning obstacles that so often go unseen in their harm.

What about the applicant on the way to an interview who desperately needs this job because we live in a backwards-ass country that attaches lifesaving health care to one's employment status?

What about the single parent who had to beg their employer to get the morning off work to take their sick kid to the doctor and now may not only miss the appointment but get admonished by their employer, maybe even fired?

What about a health care professional who regretfully has to reschedule critical appointments for their patients because they’re stuck in unnecessary traffic?

These protestors aren’t thinking of the people most affected by their dangerous stunts on roadways. Because it’s not those in power who will suffer. It’s not those making decisions over Gaza who will be most impacted. Those folks will be fine. If anything, it helps them.

The people who will be hurt most by needlessly and irresponsibly blocking traffic are those who are struggling to navigate a world that reduces them to an afterthought.

These protestors have apparently failed to grasp the simple concept that when the vast majority of Americans, particularly parents, watch their highways and roadways blocked, the first thing that comes to mind is: What if my child were harmed and needed to get to the hospital?

There’s nothing wrong with protest being uncomfortable and inconvenient; in fact, I think discomfort and inconvenience for those in power are often essential for effective protest.

But it is completely wrong to knowingly put innocent people in harm’s way. That’s not legitimate protest. That’s just being a cruel, performative a*e.

This is the kind of irresponsible nonsense that affords those in power more leverage to ignore righteous causes. All they have to do is point and say: See? These leftist extremists don’t care about you or your family.

It is incredibly privileged to intentionally harm innocent people, to decide that their medical emergencies are unimportant, to place their suffering on hold, for what is essentially peak activist narcissism.

Here’s hoping these protestors realize that simple concept sooner rather than later.

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Happy Tuesdays, folks! It’s that time again, though I admit I’m a day late. Regardless, the week is still young. Let’s make it easier to get into the groove of things.

Here are five things that are positive/interesting/fun that’ll make you smile, make you laugh, and make you think.

1. The Improbably Hilarious Beavis & Butthead Sketch on SNL

This past weekend, Ryan Gosling hosted Saturday Night Live, and although this season of the show hasn’t been stellar, this particular week was damn good. One of the highlights was—I kid you not—a sketch that featured Ryan Gosling and Mikey Day playing Beavis and Butt-Head lookalikes, respectively, while presumably being audience members during a town hall about the dangers of A.I. between Kenan Thompson and Heidi Gardner.

For those under 30, “Beavis and Butt-Head” was an adult cartoon that originally ran on MTV from 1993-1997 (it has since been rebooted). They’re basically dipshits who do dipshit things, yet somehow, they’re weirdly lovable in their dipshittery? It’s hard to explain. You just gotta watch it.

Written by Day and Streeter Seidel, the sketch is ridiculously funny. It’s the kind of brilliant idea that seemingly only comes from passing a joint back-and-forth for an hour.

Thompson, playing the “A.I. expert,” continues to prove that his line delivery is peerless. Gardner, who is always brilliant, playing the moderator here, managed to pull off the longest successful character break on SNL in recent memory. She can’t hold it together because Day and Gosling look goofy as hell and mildly incredulous they’re being confused for the cartoon characters.

Like… none of this should work, but it works flawlessly. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard through an entire SNL sketch. And the final shot is perfection.

2. Conan O’Brien Appears As a Guest on “Hot Ones”

If you haven’t watched the YouTube show “Hot Ones,” you’re really missing out. I mean that. Here’s the basic premise: host Sean Evans invites a celebrity guest for a half-hour conversation as he and the guest eat ten buffalo wings with increasingly spicier hot sauce on them, starting with a mild hot sauce (typically around 2,000 Scoville units, that’s the the index for measuring the spice of chili peppers and adjacent food items) and ending at an unbearably spicy hot sauce (typically around 2,000,000+ Scoville units).For those doing the math at home, that final sauce is about 1,000x hotter than the first sauce. So, as the guest is asked questions with each subsequent wing, it becomes increasingly more difficult to offer a coherent answer. That’s one half of the fun in watching.The other half of the fun is that Sean Evans, in my estimation, is one of the best interviewers working today. His questions are so thoughtful and so interesting and always geared toward fascinating conversation, brimming with curiosity. Thus, these very good questions are accompanied with the interviewee struggling to answer through spice-bitten lips.

He’s done more than 300 of these interviews, and this one with Conan O’Brien, released this past week, is instantly among the very best episodes. O’Brien, who always gives damn good interviews (his Actor’s Studio episode is one of my favorites of that series), oscillates between serious and hilarious with breathtaking dexterity, making the viewer laugh and think simultaneously.

Do yourself a favor, and take 30 minutes to watch this.

3. “Girls State” Documentary on Apple TV

In 2020, one of the more widely acclaimed documentaries of the year was “Boys State,” an Apple TV project directed and produced by Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine, which followed high school students attending the Boys State conference for Texas, an annual conference in which teenage boys simulate a state government in each state (except for Hawaii, where only Girls State is organized).

This month, Moss and McBaine released “Girls State,” which follows young women as they organized a simulated state government in Missouri in 2022, concluding just a week before the Dobbs decision was handed down by the Supreme Court.

As you might imagine, abortion features heavily as a topic of discussion, along with the sheer disparity between how Girls State is organized versus Boys State within Missouri. For example, the funding for Boys State is several times that of Girls State, there’s a dress code for participants in Girls State but none for Boys State, and most insulting: the sitting Governor of Missouri swears-in the officers for Boys State but not Girls State.

The only thing that kept me from being in a righteous rage throughout the film were the phenomenal and brilliant young women across the political spectrum, who work together and advocate for a state government in which disagreement is honored and even used as an advantage in governing.I plan to write a longer review soon, but in the meantime, you should absolutely watch this documentary. It’s fantastic.

4. This AP Story on the Father of a Trans Daughter Will Give You Hope

From the Associated Press’ Heather Hollingsworth: check out this fantastic write-up on the father of a trans daughter who admits that he was once “a full-on bigot,” but when his daughter came out and faced horrific discrimination, he says: “When it was my child, it just flipped a switch.”

Look, I certainly get frustrated with the theme of folks who only seem to discover their own empathy when it’s someone they love being attacked, but regardless, we need stories like this. And I’m appreciative toward this father for being vulnerable enough to admit he was wrong and work toward a better world for his daughter and all transgender youth.

So, here’s my ask: read this article and share it with everyone you know. And then ask to talk about it.

5. Yet Another Record Broken by Women’s College Basketball

I’m sure some of y’all are tired of hearing about women’s college basketball, and that’s just too damn bad. Because I love every bit of good news coming out of this world.

Last weekend, the NCAA Division I Championship final between South Carolina and Iowa attracted an average of 18.9 million viewers, including a peak of 24.1 million viewers in the last 15 minutes of the game.

It’s the first time in history that the women’s final beat the men’s final in TV ratings, the latter of which scored a respectable 14.82 million viewers but still far behind the juggernaut of women’s basketball.

Times are changin’, y’all. Thank goodness.

Oh, and as always, if you liked this’s week edition and wanna show your appreciation, buy me a cup of coffee below.

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[This blog will always be free to read, but it’s also how I pay my bills. If you have suggestions or feedback on how I can earn your paid subscription, shoot me an email: cmclymer@gmail.com. And yes, I am available for speaking engagements. And if all this is too big a commitment, I’m always thankful for a simple cup of coffee.]

South Carolina women’s basketball coach Dawn Staley has no time for chasing ghosts, let alone nonsense of any variety.

In a few hours, her team, undefeated this season, will face off against Iowa in the national championship, the final game in a tournament that has positioned women’s college basketball as the biggest story in American sports.

For folks who aren’t into sportsball, lemme offer some quick context:

South Carolina has lost a total of four games over the past three seasons. Their regular season record over that time is 107-3. They are undeniably a juggernaut, a dynasty-in-waiting. This is the fourth consecutive year they’ve made the Final Four.

The last time they lost was in last year’s Final Four… to Iowa.

Iowa has never won a national title. This is only the second time they’ve made it to the championship game. Last year, they lost the final to LSU and star Angel Reese.

But they boast Caitlin Clark, whose thrilling play on the court has shattered records for TV ratings, ticket prices, and, of course, NCAA stats. This regular season—her final season—Clark became the all-time leading scorer in the history of college basketball, for both women and men.

So, one of the greatest college basketball players of all-time is leading a team that’s considered the underdog against an undefeated team that has stomped through opponents over the past several years. Except for last year’s loss against Iowa, of course.

All of this amounts to a national championship game (today at 3pm ET on ABC/ESPN/ESPN+) that could be the biggest college basketball game in history, regardless of gender.

The quarterfinal game between LSU and Iowa, this past Monday, attracted more than 12.3 million viewers, more than last year’s World Series, more than last year’s NBA Finals, more than almost every regular season college football game in 2023.

Simply put: women’s college basketball is currently not only the talk of the sports world but central to the national conversation.

Today is a crowning achievement for women’s sports. It is now widely considered illogical to claim women’s sports aren’t exciting. Tens of millions of people who weren’t watching before this are certainly watching now. And debating the game. And appreciating the game. And openly being fans of the game.

But yesterday, when Dawn Staley should have been asked about what this all means for the progress of women’s sports as an essential component of American life, a reporter from an anti-LGBTQ outlet asked her how she feels about trans women in sports.

It was a trolling question. It was a derailing question. It was intentionally a distracting question that took attention off the historic nature of this moment for women’s sports.

It was also a question about ghosts for people who are really into chasing ghosts.

There are no trans women playing NCAA Division I college basketball. There are no trans women coaching NCAA Division I college basketball. There are no trans women being recruited to any NCAA Division I college basketball programs.

The question was asked on a premise that is not only entirely hypothetical but also has no basis in reality for the foreseeable future.

Coach Staley could have pointed this out. She could have said: “Why would I worry about a problem that doesn’t exist?”

No one would have thought lesser of her for that answer. We would have all been annoyed she was asked that question in the first place and probably praised her response.

But Coach Staley didn’t say that. She answered directly and made it abundantly clear where she stands on this issue.

"Damn, you got deep on me, didn't you? I'm on the opinion of, if you're a woman, you should play. If you consider yourself a woman and you want to play sports or vice versa, you should be able to play. That's my opinion. You want me to go deeper?”

When pressed, she followed up with:

"Yes, yes. So now the barnstormer people are going to flood my timeline and be a distraction to me on one of the biggest days of our game, and I'm OK with that. I really am."

And the haters did flood social media. For the past day, rightwing trolls and pundits have been apoplectic that a coach of Dawn Staley’s stature is unapologetically in support of trans women athletes.

You see, the ghost chasers were hoping Coach Staley, given that she’s leading a program in socially conservative South Carolina, would offer a juicy soundbite, her resume doing most of the work to diminish trans girls and women.

The ghost chasers aren’t wrong about that resume.

Dawn Staley is the only person to win both Naismith College Player of the Year and Naismith Coach of the Year.

She's the only person to have won an Olympic gold medal as both a player and a head coach.

As a player, she was a 6x All-Star, 3x Olympic Gold Medalist, and selected for both the 10th and 15th WNBA Anniversary Teams.

As a coach, she has two national titles, six Final Fours, eight SEC championships, and four of those aforementioned Naismith trophies. And that Olympic Gold.

Dawn Staley is women's basketball. She is synonymous with the sport and widely beloved by those within it.

The resume that the ghost chasers were counting on to bolster their anti-trans views came crashing down on them with Coach Staley’s thoughtful response.

And of course, their original plan backfiring spectacularly, many anti-trans extremists are now claiming Coach Dawn Staley is being pressured to say something politically correct.

Imagine thinking so very little of Dawn Staley that you seriously believe she would tolerate being forced to say something antithetical to her beliefs.

Anyway, I hate talking about all this. It’s profoundly grating. We should be celebrating this extraordinary moment for women’s sports and taking the time to imagine an extraordinary future with more moments like this one.

The ghost chasers will be there tomorrow, still waving their arms around and telling ghost stories to anyone who will listen, hyping up apparitions that are nowhere closer to reality than in their own minds.

I’m following Coach Staley’s lead. I have no time for ghost stories. There’s a big game to watch and a title to be won and glory to be had.

There’s history to be witnessed. Enjoy the game, y’all.

Charlotte's Web Thoughts is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

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[This blog will always be free to read, but it’s also how I pay my bills. If you have suggestions or feedback on how I can earn your paid subscription, shoot me an email: cmclymer@gmail.com. And yes, I am available for speaking engagements. And if all this is too big a commitment, I’m always thankful for a simple cup of coffee.]

Happy Thursday, folks!

This week’s edition is several days late. Here are five positive/interesting/fun things that’ll hopefully make you smile, make you laugh, and make you think. And in case you missed it, check out the previous iteration.

1. Beyoncé Finally Releases Her Long-Awaited Country Album

It had been rumored for years, and on Friday, we finally got it: Beyoncé dropped Cowboy Carter, her eighth studio album, a widely-anticipated country music record that’s already garnering universal acclaim. I reviewed it this weekend, and I can confidently say it’s a masterpiece. Y’all should check it out.

But I want to pay special emphasis to a particular moment. Beyoncé covered the classic Lennon-McCartney song “Blackbird” and featured four Black women country music artists in the vocals, including Tiera Kennedy, who posted her reaction to hearing her voice on the record. And it’s absolutely lovely.2. This Random Dolly Parton Video Makes Me Smile

Okay, admittedly, not-so-random. Dolly Parton was featured heavily on Beyoncé’s new album, including in an intro to a cover of “Jolene" and that sent me down a Dolly Parton rabbit hole and I came across a video (below) in which Parton’s casual genius is captured during an appearance on The Tonight Show w/ Johnny Carson.

Notice how she’s perfectly strumming with those long, acrylic nails? She’s making it look easy, and that is not one bit easy. At all. The woman has always been ridiculously talented and somehow under-appreciated.

3. Iowa-LSU Rematch Scores Huge Ratings

Women’s college basketball has been the biggest show in American sports over the past few weeks, and Tuesday’s game between Iowa and LSU in an Elite Eight rematch of last year’s championship game proved no different. More than 12.3 million viewers tuned-in to watch LSU’s Angel Reese and Flau’jae Johnson take on Iowa’s Caitlyn Clark.

For all you non-sportsball fans, that’s a huge number, not just for women’s college basketball but any sports event. More people watched this game than last year’s World Series, last year’s NBA Finals, and every regular season college football game, save Ohio State vs. Michigan.

Men’s college basketball is somehow an afterthought, which is remarkable given that N.C. State’s men’s team is in the middle of an incredible cinderella run.

I say that to emphasize this: both these tournaments have been great fun to watch, but it is abundantly clear that the country is simply more interested in the women’s tournament.

Could I let this moment pass without some tongue-in-cheek commentary? Y’all know me too well. I could not. Enjoy this bit of satire.

4. Dev Patel Talks About Surprising Trans Representation in “Monkey Man”

One of the most hotly anticipated films of the year is about to drop this weekend, but first, some quick background for y’all:

For years, beloved actor Dev Patel has been slowly building a remarkable filmography: Slumdog Millionaire (2009), Lion (2016), and The Green Knight (2021) are just a handful of examples.

But he’s always wanted to do an action film. The problem is that no studio would cast him in an action vehicle. So, he thought: you know what? I’ll make the damn thing myself. He co-wrote the screenplay and directed it, and buzz really started to build after Jordan Peele saw a rough cut and quickly moved to acquire the film under his company Monkeypaw Productions (to be clear, the name is a coincidence).

Then the trailer dropped two months ago, and the world immediately understood what Mr. Peele saw. It looks absolutely breathtaking and is poised to be one of the most original and exciting flicks in recent memory.

So, the anticipation is already off-the-charts for “Monkey Man” — but things got kicked up a notch this week when Dev Patel addressed the surprising inclusion of the Hijra community in the film. These are third gender (or nonbinary) individuals in South Asia, throughout which is a large network of transgender communities, the largest of whom are the Hijra.

Mr. Patel was asked about this on the red carpet, and his answer is beautiful.

5. Kids with Xylophones Deliver Smash Cover of Ozzy’s “Crazy Train”

Okay, this video is from 11 years ago, but when I saw it, I was so absolutely charmed that I had to include it in this week’s edition. In 2012, the Louisville Leopard Percussionists—most of whom have definitely graduated college by now—performed a stellar cover of Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” and it’ll make you smile.

Have a lovely weekend, y’all! And if you have something you think belongs in Five Things You Should Know, email it to me (cmclymer@gmail.com). If I include it in a future edition, you’ll get a shout-out and a lifetime paid subscription to the blog.

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[This blog will always be free to read, but it’s also how I pay my bills. If you have suggestions or feedback on how I can earn your paid subscription, shoot me an email: cmclymer@gmail.com. And yes, I am available for speaking engagements. And if all this is too big a commitment, I’m always thankful for a simple cup of coffee.]

Hi, Christian and trans woman here! Happy Easter to everyone who observes!

Today, Donald Trump's campaign put out a statement blasting President Biden for formally proclaiming tomorrow, March 31st, as Trans Day of Visibility, calling it "blasphemous" since tomorrow is Easter.

A few things:

Trans Day of Visibility has been celebrated every year on March 31st since 2009.

Easter has always been observed on the first Sunday after the ecclesiastical full moon that occurs on or soonest after March 21st, which means that it's observed between March 22nd and April 25th in any given year.

By happenstance (that is: math), Trans Day of Visibility and Easter fall on the same day every 11 years, the first time being in 2013.

There is absolutely zero credible scriptural basis for claiming a holiday like Trans Day of Visibility falling on the same day as Easter is “blasphemous.”

Moreover, there's no credible scriptural argument for claiming being transgender is ungodly, though it's unsurprising that social conservatives who don't read their Bible don't know that.

Nor is it unsurprising that President Biden, a devout Catholic, does know that and sees a godly imperative in standing beside the trans community against bigotry.

Moreover—and most importantly—in a country that supposedly respects freedom from religious dogma, as a constitutional right in the First Amendment, it wouldn't matter if there were a biblical argument against being transgender.

The Bible does have a lot to say, however, about sexual assault and rape being grievous sins against God and Her teachings.

Mr. Trump currently owes $83.3 million to E. Jean Carroll for rape and defamation by a predominantly-male jury and then defaming her again and being found guilty of that defamation by another predominantly-male jury.

Mr. Trump is a rapist. He raped a woman. He has never sought forgiveness or otherwise atoned for raping a woman. He continues to struggle with the legal fallout of having raped a woman and then defaming her.

He is also a shameless thief, a prolific liar, an unapologetic and undisciplined hypocrite, and violates biblical principles seemingly as a sport.

I can say with complete certainty that Trump is as about as much a Christian as I am a bass fisherman, and folks, trust me: you don’t wanna rely on my fishing skills for dinner tonight.

And if white evangelicals and other supposedly faithful social conservatives actually practiced Christ's teachings, they would denounce Trump and call for accountability.

But they will not because they are cowards and hypocrites and they do not give a damn about Christ's teachings.

Cowards like Trump and his supporters exploit Christ as a buffer against valid criticism and weaponize Christ's teachings in bad faith against anyone who makes them the slightest bit uncomfortable.

Trans people are made perfectly in God’s image. As a trans woman, I am made perfectly in Her image. And as a daughter of Christ, I am very much loved and valued in the authenticity that She gifted me.

Happy Easter, everyone! And Happy Trans Day of Visibility!

Christ is Risen!

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[This blog will always be free to read, but it’s also how I pay my bills. If you have suggestions or feedback on how I can earn your paid subscription, shoot me an email: cmclymer@gmail.com. And yes, I am available for speaking engagements. And if all this is too big a commitment, I’m always thankful for a simple cup of coffee.]

It's official: Beyoncé's eighth studio album "Cowboy Carter" dropped at midnight. It's the second album in her planned trilogy after 2022's "Renaissance.”

Like many, I have been waiting for this album for so damn long, back when it was just a widespread musing and then a rumor and then an announcement. In some way, shape, or form, this has been a hope in the making for many years for her fans, myself included.

I grew up on country music. And I grew up on Beyoncé. The fact that she's making a country album with Texas as such a huge theme for this album delights my little Texan heart to no end.

It also serves as a reminder of the enormous contributions of Black artists to country music, something Beyoncé emphasizes with her spotlight on numerous Black country artists throughout the album.

Simply put, there wouldn’t be country music without Black artists, something I encourage everyone to explore in Ken Burn’s “Country Music” documentary series from 2019. Also: check out Black Opry, a social media account that features news and tour updates on current Black artists in country music.

As a side note, this album also serves as a gorgeous era for Beyoncé following the racist reception she received by some in the country music world after her performance with The Chicks at the 2016 Country Music Awards. She herself appeared to allude to this in an Instagram post several days ago in advance of this album’s release.

At midnight, I wrote up a first listen review, track by track. 27 tracks, 79:03 run time.

Quick note on the track listing: the “ii” in the song titles are a play on this being the second album in her planned trilogy.

Enjoy!

1. "Ameriican Requiem"

She opens up with the second longest track on the album. Beautiful texture. Gorgeous instrumentation. This is definitely a powerful opening salvo. It builds up to the last third with a response to people who claim she's not country:

Look it there, look it in my hand

The grandbaby of a moonshine man

Gadsden, Alabama

Got folks in Galveston, rooted in Louisiana

They used to say I spoke "too country"

And the rejection came, said I wasn't "country 'nough"

Said I wouldn't saddle up, but

If that ain't country, tell me, what is?

Plant my bare feet on solid ground for years

They don't, don't know how hard I had to fight for this

When I sing my song

Absolutely solid opening track. Gauntlet thrown down. I'm so excited for the rest of this.

2. "Blackbiird"

This is a gorgeous cover of the Lennon-McCartney classic. It has the bones of the original (acoustic guitar) with added harmonizing/vocalizing and soft strings.

It features Brittney Spencer, Tanner Adell, Tiera Kennedy, and Reyna Roberts -- all four of whom are notable Black women country music artists.

This is a fantastic cover. Music done right.

3. "16 Carriages"

It's like someone mashed up good country and good R&B into a sum far more than its parts. She's taking stock of her life up to this point and threading that journey with her musical roots in both genres. So well done.

4. "Protector"

This is a lovely ballad for her daughter Rumi, who's now six. It opens up with audio of Rumi's voice and quickly moves into soft, warm acoustic guitar. It's a comforting listen. Soothing.

5. "My Rose"

This is a 53-second interlude. Beautiful harmonizing over hushed guitar. I assume this is for Rumi, too:

So many roses but none to be picked without thorns

So be fond of your flaws, dear

6. "Smoke Hour Willie Nelson" (featuring Willie Nelson)

This is a 51-second interlude. I'll admit that I'm a bit bummed it's not a full length song, but it's pretty great, nonetheless.

It starts outs with the listener turning the dial through several channels featuring snippets of prominent and pioneering Black voices in early country and rock: Son House ("Grinnin' In Your Face"), Sister Rosetta Tharpe ("Down by the Riverside"), Chuck Berry ("Maybellene"), and Roy Hamilton ("Don't Let Go").

There's also an early Black yodeler in there whose name I couldn't find. Apologies. If y'all find the name, reply to me with it.

Beyoncé is paying homage but also saying: I'm not new, we've been here.

The dial turns to the final station: Willie Nelson lends his voice as the jockey of an old timey country station program ("The Smoke Hour" on K-NTRY Radio Texas) and introduces the next track, presumably after lighting up some good stuff.

It's a cute and funny feature. But damn, I wish we could have gotten a full song from these two.

7. "Texas Hold 'Em"

This is Beyoncé's smash country hit that was released last month, becoming her ninth solo #1 hit on Billboard Hot 100. It also made her the first Black woman with a #1 country song in Billboard history. Just pure fun and perfect for line dancing.

8. "Bodyguard"

Ooooh, I like this one a lot. Damn. It feels a bit Wilco-y, which absolutely works. Piano-pulsing love song with a relaxing beat. I'm gonna be listening to this frequently.

9. "Dolly P"

This is a 23-second interlude from Dolly Parton: "Hey, Ms. Honey B, it's Dolly P. You know that hussy with the good hair you sing about? It reminded me of someone I knew back when, except she has flamin' locks of auburn hair, bless her heart. Just her hair's a different color, but it's her, just the same."

And then we go into "Jolene"...

10. "Jolene"

I would be shocked if this doesn't chart. Beyoncé keeps the driving spirit of Dolly's original with some gorgeous vocalizing and thumping beat. It wounds down with chorale backup. Simmering. Love it.

11. "Daughter"

I'm looking forward to write-ups on this one. It has heavy religious tones and Beyoncé giving a certain someone the business (ahem), reflecting on her father's influence in not backing down. Also: a gorgeous bridge singing the Italian aria "Caro Mio Ben."

12. "Spaghettii"

This opens with Linda Martell, the first commercially successful Black woman in country music and first to play at the Grand Ole Opry, saying the following: "Genres are a funny little concept, aren't they? Yes, they are! In theory, they have a simple definition that's easy to understand, but in practice, well, some may feel confined."

And then it dives into an unapologetic rap track featuring Shaboozey, as if to say: oh, you thought I wouldn't allow myself to break lines of genre on this album? Think again.

13. "Alliigator Tears"

And we're right back to country w/o missing a damn beat. This is a locomotive love track, pleasing and unyielding. It sounds just a touch like Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain" in the best way. I really like this one. If there's justice, it'll chart easily.

14. "Smoke Hour II" (featuring Willie Nelson)

This is a 30-second interlude from Willie Nelson, playing his country jock character and saying the following: "You're turned into K-NRTY Texas, home of The Real Deal. If there's one thing you can take away from my set today, let it be this: sometimes, you don't know what you like and someone you trust turns you on to some real good stuff. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I'm here. Up next on The Smoke Hour is "Just for Fun" by Beyoncé. You're welcome."

15. "Just for Fun" (featuring Willie Jones)

Willie Jones is an artist who performs across genres, notably country, R&B, and hip-hop. Beyoncé here is once again featuring a notable Black country artist. The song is a gorgeous country ballad with Jones' vocals featured in the second verse. There's a touch of gospel and a lot of warmth. I really like this one.

16. "II Most Wanted"

This is a country pop duet with Miley Cyrus, and it's gonna be a chart-topper. I absolutely cannot wait for the inevitable internet-breaking live performance of this. It's balm for the ear drums.

17. "Levii's Jeans"

I cannot WAIT to be sippin' on a beer during a beach trip, watching the sun rise or set and listening to this track. It's an early, easy summer hit. Good vibes with a perfect complement in Post Malone's vocals.

18. "Flamenco"

A nugget of glitter and flamenco guitar, not even two minutes in length, it's a welcome treat. This far in the album, and she still hasn't missed.

19. "The Linda Martell Show" (featuring Linda Martell)

Ms. Martell is back in a 30-second interlude, telling an appreciative audience: "Okay (laughs), thank you so very much. Ladies and gentlemen, this particular tune stretches across a range of genres, and that's what makes it a unique listening experience. Yes, indeed. It's called 'Ya Ya.'"

20. "Ya Ya"

Oh my. Oooooh my. Ms. Martell wasn't kidding. This definitely has no regard for genre boundaries. It opens with a slowed down sample from Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'" and accelerates into a genre-bending dance hit, finding time along the way to nod to The Beach Boys. Fun as hell. Good s**t.

21. "Oh Louisiana"

We're back to Chuck Berry, featuring a high-pitched 52-sec. interlude of "Oh Louisiana" after a vocalizing intro from Queen Bey, with some pretty guitar work layered on it. I just know this is gonna get stuck in my head. It's already happening.

22. "Desert Eagle"

Sexy as hell. 72-second interlude of Beyoncé seducing with some Texas spice and funky bass.

23. "Riiverdance"

A shout back to Renaissance with country flavor. Think of it as a bridge between the two albums. It's a solid track and sure to be a fave on the dance floor this summer. I wanna get high and listen to this.

24. "II Hands II Heaven"

This picks up what "Riiverdance" just put down and runs with it. Gorgeous lyrics. You'll be singing this in your car when it comes on, guaranteed.

25. "Tyrant"

Dolly Parton intros this: "Cowboy Carter, time to strike a match, and light up this juke joint."

Beyoncé does. Country sex lyrics over a hip-hop beat and backing strings. Flamin' hot. I'm sweating. Whew. Goddamn, we are so blessed. What a moment.

26. "Sweet Honey Buckiin'"

Many babies will be made to this song. Beyoncé intros with a snippet cover of Patsy Cline's "I Fall to Pieces" and then Shaboozey tags in with his great bars. It's sexy and fun.

27. "Amen"

The closing track leaves you with a hum in your heart and may hint at the tone of Beyoncé's next album in the trilogy. It's beautiful. I'm eager to read how others analyze this verse:

This house was built with blood and bone

And it crumbled, yes, it crumbled

The statues they made were beautiful

But they were lies of stone, they were lies of stone

Trumpets blare with silent sound I need to make you proud

Tell me, can you hear me now?

She then closes with the verse that opened "Ameriican Requiem" and we're suddenly left thinking that 27 tracks weren't enough.

My humble opinion: "Cowboy Carter" is one of Beyoncé's best albums and a seminal moment in her career, but moreover, it's easy to see this being a landmark moment in the landscape of American music. It's a celebration and a homecoming and a sermon and a seminar and sexy on top of all that.

10/10.

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[This blog will always be free to read, but it’s also how I pay my bills. If you have suggestions or feedback on how I can earn your paid subscription, shoot me an email: cmclymer@gmail.com. And yes, I am available for speaking engagements. And if all this is too big a commitment, I’m always thankful for a simple cup of coffee.]

Earlier this week, I was flipping through the channels looking for the Caitlin Clark game, and I was pleasantly surprised to come across—on national television—a collegiate men’s basketball match-up, which I think is really cool and progressive.

I think it’s wonderful to see more boys and young men playing basketball. This is a universal sport. Basketball should be for everyone, even boy’s and men’s teams.

And before you say anything, yes, I already know that the most expensive tickets this month are for women’s games and that the top women’s games are predictably getting better ratings than the top men’s games and that women’s college basketball is the focal point of the nation’s attention.

Look, I get it. Women’s basketball is just more exciting. We all know that. It’s obvious to everyone. I’m not arguing otherwise or trying to put a “diversity, equity, and inclusion” damper on anyone’s fun.

And sure, I will concede there are probably things that could be done to make men’s college basketball more exciting. I mean, nothing immediately comes to mind, but I’m sure if we all put our heads together, we can collectively figure out how to make people like men’s basketball.

Actually, you know what? Men’s college basketball should lower the hoops. That’s a great idea. If the hoops are lowered for the male games, their version of the sport will be a bit more fun for fans. More dunking. More posterizing. More glam. (At least in theory. I’m actually not sure if males can dunk. I only saw the one game on television for a minute or so and changed the channel.)

And I don’t suggest that to be insulting to male athletes. Quite the opposite. I think they care just as much about the sport as women.

Well… okay, maybe that’s a little misleading. It’s not that males don’t care as much about basketball but that women athletes simply show more desire for greatness. For boys, this is more of a fun hobby kinda thing. For women, it’s a profession. For women, it’s a calling.

And this doesn’t mean anything else needs to change. It completely makes sense that if women are attracting higher broadcast ratings and ticket prices from fans, then colleges and universities are right to pour more funding into women’s teams. It’s a wise business decision.

It’s only sensible that women’s college teams have access to incredible training facilities and dedicated support staff and the highest paid coaches in the game, and it doesn’t add up to pay for resources that the male teams don’t really need given that their level of competition doesn’t require as much dedication.

Women’s teams are the making the money, and it’s smart to invest in them. Simple as that.

I mean, it’s great to have male teams, but let’s be honest: is male college basketball ever gonna be as fun to watch as what the women are doing? Is male college basketball ever gonna be as lucrative?

Gosh, for that to happen, more women in the sports world would have to make an effort to watch male basketball games and write about them and dedicate more time on sports networks to analysis and debate over them and be intentional in the longterm process of building a pipeline of greatness by encouraging little boys to pick up a basketball early on and invest in boy’s teams and speak up against any women who are skeptical that boys can play, too.

That might be asking a lot.

Regardless, I think we can all agree that both these tournaments have been fun to watch.

Both March Madness and Men’s March Madness have been great.

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[This blog will always be free to read, but it’s also how I pay my bills. If you have suggestions or feedback on how I can earn your paid subscription, shoot me an email: cmclymer@gmail.com. And yes, I am available for speaking engagements. And if all this is too big a commitment, I’m always thankful for a simple cup of coffee.]

Happy Monday, folks!

It’s that time again. I’m sorry for missing last week; I was under the weather. Here are five positive/interesting/fun things that’ll hopefully make you smile, make you laugh, and make you think. And in case you missed it, check out the previous iteration.

1. The Mega Viral Ad for Down Syndrome Awareness

This past Thursday (3/21) was World Down Syndrome Day, first celebrated in 2007 and observed by the United Nations since 2012. In advance of it, the folks at the National Down Syndrome Society released an absolutely fantastic ad about those proudly living with it. Starring actress and model Madison Tevlin, it humorously points out how ridiculous it is to have low standards for folks with Down Syndrome. The ad has been making enormous waves online, garnering praise and widespread discussion. And if this doesn’t make you smile, I don’t know what will.

2. Historic World Championship Free Skate By Teenager Ilia Malinin

If you don’t yet know Ilia Malinin, you will soon. The 19 year-old American figure skating superstar captured the world title this past weekend with what’s being called by many the greatest free skate performance of all-time. His name was already in the history books: two years ago, he became the first person to land a Quadruple Axel, almost 45 years after the first Triple Axel was landed in competition. All that is wildly impressive, sure, but what undeniably sets apart the performance aspect of his routine on Saturday was setting it to the theme of “Succession” — unexpected and totally right. I reached out to my pal Kaitlyn Weaver, three-time Canadian national champion and three-time world medalist, for her expert take: “Ilia is performing elements that have never been done before! He’s giving the sport the BADASS reputation it deserves.” (By the way, you should absolutely follow her on Instagram; she’s fantastic.)

3. “Stranger Planet” by Nathan W. Pyle

How do I even explain this comic? Imagine a completely wholesome world in which alien beings use overly complex language (yet adorably specific) to describe the minutiae of the day-to-day life of human beings. Part of the fun is deciphering what’s being referenced in our real world (“Existence??” = LIFE cereal, for example). It’s always witty, interesting, warm, and hilarious. Pyle’s artistic and comedic approach is strikingly optimistic against a moment in our cultural landscape that leans heavily on cynicism and ironic detachment.

4. University of Idaho Pep Band Fills in for Yale University

College basketball phenom Caitlin Clark is probably the biggest story in sports at the moment, so it’s understandable that other narratives coming out of March Madness may get overlooked (“March Madness” is the nickname for the NCAA Division I basketball national championship tournament, for you non-sportsball folks). That’s why I wanna draw some attention to this heartwarming nugget. Yale University’s men’s team—the Ivy League Champs—played their first round in Spokane this past week, but the university’s pep band couldn’t make the trip due to a travel conflict. So, naturally, the University of Idaho’s pep band stepped up and said: “You know what? We got y’all covered.” With only one practice beforehand (to learn Yale’s music, cues, etc.), the band dressed up in Yale garb and came out swinging. This is the same game in which Yale (#13 seed) delivered a huge upset against Auburn (#4 seed). How damn cool is that?

5. I’m Speaking at the Texas Democratic Convention in June

As many of you know, I’m from Texas, and the folks down there on the ground are fighting tooth-and-nail for a better future for all people. From Rep. Colin Allred to Rep. Jasmine Crockett to Lauren Ashley Simmons, there are Democrats up and down the ballot who deserve our support because of how powerfully and relentlessly they’re advocating for our collective future. So, when the Texas Democratic Party reached out and asked if I’d like to speak at their convention in El Paso this year, it was a very easy decision, to say the least. On a more personal note, this was something of a childhood dream for me, the kind of thing that, while growing up, I imagined would be pretty cool to do someday but never thought I’d actually do it. And yet, here I am. I wanna thank all of you for supporting my writing and advocacy. You made this possible. For those of you living in Texas, come to the convention!

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Good morning, folks!

It’s that time again. Here are five positive things that’ll hopefully make you smile, make you laugh, and make you think. And in case you missed it, check out last week’s edition.

1. Tom Junod’s 1998 Esquire Profile of Fred Rogers

I’m going way back for this one because it’s so damn good. In 1968, Rev. Fred Rogers, better known as Mister Rogers, launched his iconic program Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, which ran for 33 seasons and captured the hearts of several generations along the way. Five years before his death, he was covered by journalist Tom Junod for Esquire in what is widely considered one of the best celebrity profiles ever written. Every now and again, I go back and read it and marvel at Mister Roger’s approach to life and the gorgeous and moving way in which Junod captures it on the page. It’s the kind of piece that dares you to have a bit more faith in humanity, my favorite genre. It was also the basis for the 2019 feature film A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, starring Tom Hanks.

2. David Mack’s Interview With a Disgruntled Oompa Loompa

A few weeks ago, a disastrous “Willy Wonka chocolate factory experience” in Glasgow, Scotland went viral for being, hands down, one of the funniest and most intriguing public failures in recent memory. It was so bad that the whole thing was shut down within hours of opening after pissed off parents called the police and demanded refunds. This may sound pretty negative, but trust me: it’s definitely the laugh you need. David Mack of Vulture landed an exclusive interview with Kirsty Paterson, a very poorly paid actor who played an Oompa Loompa and went viral for an iconic photo of her agonizing role in the production.

3. WaPo Columnist Monica Hesse Takes On Sen. Kyrsten Sinema’s Brand

So, I have a cardinal rule that I follow pretty zealously: I don’t mock or criticize anyone’s personal appearance, even people I may find particularly unsavory, because how someone looks is, I believe, immaterial to their character. If someone sucks as a human being, aren’t there valid reasons to criticize them without resorting to personal appearance? That said, I also don’t like hypocrisy, and Sen. Kyrsten Sinema, the retiring senior senator from Arizona, has a fairly solid claim to the Biggest Hypocrite on Capitol Hill. Part of that hypocrisy is the way in which she intentionally uses clothing to code as an open and enlightened elected official while holding political positions that are anything but open and enlightened. It’s quite a frustrating dynamic, and fortunately, Washington Post columnist Monica Hesse has delivered a humorous nugget of an essay getting to the heart of the matter.

4. Saturday Night Live + ScarJo Brilliantly Parody Sen. Katie Britt

This past week, Pres. Biden delivered his State of the Union address to considerable praise from journalists and voters alike. The GOP response was delivered by Sen. Katie Britt of Alabama, and it kinda did the exact opposite. Not only was it widely panned across the political spectrum—Republican politicos called it a “disaster”—but it was revealed the next day by reporter Jonathan M. Katz that Sen. Britt had blatantly lied about a key anecdote involving the horrific trauma experienced by a migrant woman. Pretty nasty business. Fortunately, Saturday Night Live tapped Scarlett Johansson for a hilarious cold open parody of Sen. Britt’s response. It may not be close to the consequences the Senator deserves for her exploitative and cruel nonsense, but it’ll make you laugh.

5. Ryan Gosling Steals the Show at Last Night’s Oscars

This year’s edition of the Academy Awards was pretty damn good. From host Jimmy Kimmel nailing Trump with a particularly biting zinger to Billie Eilish delivering an exquisite live performance of “What Was I Made For?” to John Cena appearing in nothing but Birkenstocks and a placard onstage, there was fun for everyone. But it was Ryan Gosling’s phenomenal performance of “I’m Just Ken” that broke the internet, proving that, once again, there is seemingly nothing Ryan Gosling can’t do that won’t make you root for him.

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Today, millions of California voters will go to the polls and decide who will be the successor to Senator Laphonza Butler, who was appointed by Gov. Gavin Newsom this past October to fill the vacancy left by the late Sen. Dianne Feinstein, the longest tenured woman in the history of the U.S. Senate.

Sen. Butler, who became, upon her appointment, the first Black LBGTQ person to serve in the Senate, was previously President of EMILY’s List and a widely-respected labor organizer, among other well-earned garlands. But after being sworn in, Butler announced she would not seek election to a full term.

Over the past year, four contenders have emerged to succeed her: Rep. Adam Schiff, Rep. Barbara Lee, Rep. Katie Porter, and Steve Garvey, former MLB player for the Los Angeles Dodgers and San Diego Padres (and the only Republican with a realistic shot).

California has a nonpartisan blanket primary, in which all candidates of all party affiliations appear on the same ballot, and the top two vote-getters advance to the general election in a head-to-head match-up. Thus, it is possible we could see two Democrats battling it out in the general election.

I didn’t know much about Congressman Schiff before last year. I knew he was the lead impeachment manager during the first impeachment trial of then-President Donald Trump, for which he earned widespread praise. I knew he was the Chair of the House Intelligence Committee for four years before being kicked off by then-Speaker Kevin McCarthy in a shameless act of political retribution.

I knew he was strong in his convictions. I knew he wouldn’t back down from a fight, especially when faced with the childish obstruction of House Republicans. I knew he was well-liked by his colleagues and Hill staffers. I knew he was a pretty good writer, based on his long history of thoughtful public remarks.

Of course, the sad thing about working in politics and living in D.C. is that there are numerous Members of Congress who have some combination of the above attributes and will still inevitably disappoint you. It’s not so much that I’ve become jaded over the years—far from it—as I’ve become cautious when assessing elected officials.

So, last summer, when a good friend invited me to a campaign fundraiser for Congressman Schiff’s senatorial bid, I agreed to go but didn’t expect much. In fact, when a work obligation popped up later for that same night, I didn’t give a second thought to texting my friend that I couldn’t go. She called me and said that the Congressman would be having a second fundraiser in town the following week and urged me to go. She even bought my ticket.”You have to meet him,” she said. “He’s a great man and a great leader. You just have to meet him.”

I agreed and showed up to the event near the end of the Congressman’s stump speech—which was rather good—and listened to him answer any and all questions from attendees. No holds barred. He was impressive in his answers, and I remember thinking that he certainly seemed more tuned-in than most of his colleagues.

A bit later, after the formal Q&A ended, I walked up to the Congressman with a question about the Equality Act, something I always ask federal elected officials in order to gauge how much they know. You’d be surprised—or perhaps, you wouldn’t—by how little some Members of Congress understand about the holy grail of LGBTQ rights legislation.

In short, the Equality Act would ban all forms of discrimination against LGBTQ people throughout the United States. Currently, there is no protection against anti-LGBTQ discrimination in nearly 30 states when it comes to housing, credit, jury service, education, health care, etc.

The problem, of course, is that the legislation has been effectively blocked by congressional Republicans—namely, Sen. Mitch McConnell—for many years.

Congressman Schiff calmly walked me through his thoughts, which initially started with the basics of the Equality Act and its necessity for a free and fair country for all citizens.

Most of the time, these exchanges are rather short. An elected official might spend 30 seconds with me talking about the legislation and then do that typical D.C. move of signaling through body language and a subtle tone shift that they wanna move on to the next voter.

But Mr. Schiff didn’t do that. After laying out the basics, he began to delve into the particulars of the bill and the endorsements it had received from faith leaders and business owners and the specific challenges in engaging with congressional Republicans.

I could tell there were others standing around me, hoping to talk to the Congressman about their own thing. They were waiting politely, but he was in no hurry to move on. He was not rushed, and he kept solid eye contact with me as he started offering details about the struggle for LGBTQ rights that, quite frankly, he had no business knowing.

I forget the exact story on trans rights he brought up, but it was a news item that was published the previous day. I’m not kidding when I tell y’all that maybe 50 people in the country actually cared enough to know details about this particular news item, and nearly all of them were LGBTQ advocates. At the time, had I been asked, I would have been absolutely certain that no Member of Congress was up-to-speed on it.

And so, I was gobsmacked/astonished/delighted when the Congressman went into detail about the trans rights news item and asked me questions in an effort to fill in any knowledge gaps he might have.

He wasn’t showy at all. He wasn’t performing. I felt like I was having a productive and genuine conversation with an elected official who wanted to find a solution and wasn’t afraid to admit when he didn’t know something (which, by that point, was amusing given how much he clearly did know).

Within a matter of minutes, I quickly found out that Adam Schiff is one of the most well-prepared folks serving in Congress and certainly one of the more empathetic.

It didn’t end there. Not even close. He had his staff follow-up with me, and a few months later, his office was instrumental in organizing a congressional briefing, in partnership with GLAAD, on LGBTQ rights for interested Members of Congress and Hill staff.

The briefing itself was a success, but it stuck with me for a different reason. The Congressman was only expected to show up at the beginning, offer some brief remarks, and move on to the next thing. This is very common on the Hill given the packed schedules of Members.

Except he didn’t do that. After he gave his remarks, he sat in the front row and attentively listened to GLAAD’s presenters for the entire briefing. He never checked his phone. He didn’t glance at his watch. He didn’t make an excuse midway through and quietly duck out, which would have been perfectly understandable.

What sticks with me about this moment is that Congressman Schiff already knew almost all the information being presented in that briefing. I know that because of the knowledge mastery he had demonstrated at the fundraiser earlier in the year.

And yet, he still sat through the entire briefing. He asked questions when it was appropriate. He engaged meaningfully. He made everyone at that briefing feel like we had a champion in our corner, and he did so without a hint of self-congratulation.

Look, I don’t live in California, and I don’t get a vote in this race. I care about this campaign because the U.S. Senate is so often a dumpster fire, and any given individual senator has the power to singlehandedly bring the policy process to a screeching halt, like Tommy Tuberville blocking military promotions in an effort to prevent access to reproductive health care for women service members.

There has never been a greater need for strong leaders of character in the U.S Senate, but moreover, there’s never been a greater need for the senator who makes a point of being deeply informed and committed to a good faith process that centers knowledge and common sense.

I’m quite jealous of you Californians. Today, you get to cast a vote for Adam Schiff to be your next senator, and I can’t tell you how thankful I am that your vote will ensure the entire country benefits from his leadership in the Senate.

We all need him there, and he appears to be right on time.

For more information on how to vote today, visit this website to look up your voter registration and polling location.

And if you’d like to financially contribute to Mr. Schiff’s senatorial bid (and I highly encourage you to do so), click here.

Allow me to offer you the thanks of a grateful nation in advance.

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Folks, I’m starting a new feature on my blog. Every Monday morning, I’ll be sending you five items that I hope will start your week off right, give you a smile, make you laugh, make you think, and just make you feel good.

Because the current state of our world—and particularly our country’s politics—is, well, pretty fraught, I figure we can all use a breather from stressful news items and pay a bit of attention to some of the good happening around us.

It’s called Five Things You Should Know, and I hope it makes your Monday mornings a little brighter and more bearable moving forward.

1. Caitlin Clark Becomes All-Time NCAA Scorer

When Caitlin Clark was in 2nd grade, she wanted to play competitive basketball, but her father couldn’t find a girls league. So, she joined a boys team at her grade level and wound up winning the state tournament that year. Some parents on other teams protested that girls shouldn’t be permitted to play on boys’ teams.

Yesterday, Ms. Clark became the NCAA’s all-time leading scorer, for both women and men, when she overtook Pete “Pistol Pete” Maravich, breaking the legend’s iconic record that had stood for more than half a century.

This is the crowning individual achievement for Ms. Clark, who is widely considered to be one of the greatest college basketball players of all-time. Along the way, she’s won every award at the collegiate level and shattered attendance records in arenas across the country.

2. The Voice of the NYC Subway System is a Trans Woman

Since 2009, if you’ve taken the subway in New York City, chances are pretty high that you’ve heard an authoritative yet comforting voice guide passengers around town and offer friendly advice. For millions of New Yorkers, that voice has become something of an institution in their daily lives.

It belongs to Bernie Wagenblast, who initially built a long career as a radio journalist before being hired for her voice by the Metropolitan Transportation Authority more than 15 years ago. She also now records announcements for New Jersey Transit and the Kennedy and Newark airports.

Ms. Wagenblast came out publicly as a trans woman in 2022. Her journey is extraordinary and makes me smile.

I deeply admire her.

3. Medical School Will Be Tuition Free After $1 Billion Donation

Last week, Ruth Gottesman, a former professor at the Albert Einstein College of Medicine, announced to that institution’s student body that tuition will be now be free, thanks to her donation of $1 billion, thought to be one of the largest individual financial contributions to a college or university in history.

Dr. Gottesman credited her husband, David “Sandy” Gottesman, a Wall Street investment banker and former board member at Berkshire Hathaway, for the enormous amount of the donation. He passed away in 2022. They had been married for 72 years.

The video of the audience reaction to Dr. Gottesman’s announcement is a must-see.

4. CVS and Walgreens Will Begin Selling Abortion Pills This Month

On Friday, the two largest pharmacy chains in the country announced they would begin selling mifepristone, the abortion pill, in its stores this month. It will initially be offered at Walgreens pharmacies in New York, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Illinois, and California and at CVS pharmacies in Massachusetts and Rhode Island.

Both chains plan to expand access to the pill in a slow rollout beyond those states over time where abortion is still legal. It will not be accessible by mail.

There’s currently a pending case regarding mifepristone on the Supreme Court docket that’s shaping up to have far-ranging consequences for reproductive freedom, FDA regulations, and much more. A date for oral arguments in that case has not yet been set.

5. I’m Speaking at the 2024 SXSW Conference & Festival This Weekend

Every March, a few hundred thousand folks gather in Austin, Texas for the better part of two weeks to take part in the latest and most trendy topics in politics, tech, education, music, film, and television.

It’s an enormous and exciting gathering, and I’m lucky to be taking part in it this year, alongside Prof. Robin Maril, Willamette University School of Law; Andy Marra, Exec. Director of the Transgender Legal Defense & Education Fund; and Ricardo Martinez, CEO of Equality Texas, the state’s largest LGBTQ rights organization.

The four of us will be discussing LGBTQ rights in the context of the 2024 election in a panel entitled “Defending Democracy: LGBTQ Activism and Power in 2024.”

Unfortunately, it will not be live-streamed, but I encourage folks attending SXSW to come to our session and learn more about our goals in the fight for equality this year.

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Yesterday was a bit of high political drama as President Biden and Donald Trump simultaneously paid visits to the southern border in Texas, 266 miles away from each other, Biden in Brownsville and Trump in Eagle Pass. Their leadership approaches couldn’t have been any different, of course.

Trump and the GOP are once again seizing on immigration as their tip-of-the-spear campaign message, claiming that our nation is under threat from undocumented migrants (it is not), and President Biden is doing his damnedest to fight disinformation on the issue while projecting strength in the face of the GOP’s bumpersticker philosophy jousting.

In Brownsville, the President talked up the bipartisan border deal that got pretty obviously scuttled by Senate Republicans in deference to Trump, whose racist immigration rants have become his signature song. He also encouraged Trump to join him in calling on Congress to act.

Some on the left are angry at President Biden for this perceived olive branch, and respectfully, that makes no sense to me. It’s a smart political move. He knows Trump isn’t going to engage in good faith on this issue, and he knows there are moderates who will be won over that someone in this debate is attempting to meet the other halfway.

We’ve arrived at a predictable cycle in the immigration debate: the Republican Party spreads lies and half-truths about undocumented migrants, political media pretends to kinda sorta push back against the disinformation (but not really), and most Democrats weakly fumble in attempting to mollify concerned moderates who don’t understand that this is a contrived issue.

Anyone old enough to remember the 2018 midterms—approximately 20 years ago, it feels like—will recall the conservative media panic over “migrant caravans” that were about to invade the United States. The day after the midterms, that issue quickly faded away and the next clown cause took its place to stoke outrage.

See, the Republican Party doesn’t really have any good ideas on how to “protect the border” for the simple reason that the border is too big to protect.

The U.S-Mexico border is nearly 2,000 miles long. Barring some unforeseen advancement in extraordinary technology, it is impossible to “protect” the border. Even assuming a wall that long could be built—for several reasons, notably cost, it cannot be built—the entire stretch of border would still need to be actively monitored.

You can scale these walls and cut through them. Seriously. Someone’s gotta be there to prevent that from happening, right?

Let’s be generous for a second and pretend there’d only be need for a skeleton crew (say, five personnel) for every two miles along this hypothetical wall. That works out to about 5,000 personnel being actively deployed at any given moment, but these folks need sleep. So, at about a standard 40 hours a week, we’re actually looking at 20,000 personnel, at least, being actively deployed to monitor the border.

So, presumably, after we’ve built this giant wall, which, in itself, is quite expensive, there will be the far more complicated task of comprehensively guarding the wall and repairing it over time. Forever.

No one should understand this better than Trump. Remember his famous campaign pledge? He would get the wall built, and Mexico would pay for it.

Trump came into office in 2017 with a federal trifecta: the presidency, the House, and the Senate were all under GOP control. In fact, the Republican majorities in Congress were more than enough to get done whatever the hell needed to be done in order to build the wall.

Everything was in place to act on his main campaign pledge. Four years later, the Trump administration had built just 52 miles of new primary border barriers, although he often takes credit for “500 miles” because about 90% of that were repairs to existing primary and secondary border barriers.

Basically, this man talked so much s**t about the border and the non-existent “migrant crime wave” and how only he could take care of it, and yet, after voters gave him every lever of power he needed to do just that, only an additional 2.7 percent of the U.S.-Mexico border had new barriers by the end of his term.

(Oh, and Mexico didn’t pay a dime, of course.)

I mean, really, think about that. Trump could have singlehandedly ensured the wall got built in those first two years of his presidency, but he didn’t. Far from it.

Why?

I think it’s pretty obvious:

Donald Trump and the Republican Party know that it’s an impossible task to comprehensively “protect the border” and stop the immigration of undocumented migrants. It ain’t gonna happen. There’s just too much border for it to be feasible.
Trump and the GOP partly don’t want to solve this issue because it’s an incredibly potent vehicle for racist propaganda and electoral strategy. Part of the allure of this topic is that it’s very easy to message on in bad faith, replete with blatant disinformation, because it can’t actually be “solved” and thus, it’s the gift that keeps on giving.
And they partly don’t want to “solve” it, which would mean mass deportations and asylum refusals, among other things, because they know that the American economy would collapse without undocumented migrants. In fact, the Congressional Budget Office (CBO) has estimated the influx of new immigrants, documented and undocumented, will strengthen the U.S. economy by $7 trillion more over the next decade than without this labor force otherwise.
Fear is a primary motivator for the Republican base, and the foolish moral panic over the non-existent “migrant crime wave” makes for excellent propaganda, which draws considerably more fundraising and electoral sting in much of the country.

I don’t think all conservatives or all Republicans are included in the above. There are reasonable adults on the right who simply want common sense measures in place to prevent the rare demonstrably dangerous immigrant from entering the country. That is entirely reasonable, and I agree with it.

We should have sensible border security policies in place, but folks, I gotta tell you: when I think of national security or the economy, undocumented migrants aren’t among the first ten concerns that come to mind for either.

I grew up in Texas, as did generations of my family before me. I grew up around undocumented migrants. I had classmates and friends and neighbors who were undocumented.

And I’ll tell you something that I think is especially weird about many Republicans in Texas: they’ll say “illegal immigration” is a problem, except when it comes to the undocumented migrants they personally know. Oh, that guy? He’s good people. Leave him and his family alone. They’re not bothering nobody.

They are aware of this paradox, and they don’t seem to care that it’s hypocritical. I grew up around a lot of these kind of conservative folks, and I don’t find this complicated stance of theirs especially heartwarming. I think it’s ridiculous and frustrating.

There is no “border security crisis” to our south. If anything, there is a humanitarian crisis that should be all-too-easy to address with the kind of supposed “Christian values” that are consistently shoved down our throat by Republican politicians.

Somehow, “pro-life” means forcing 11 year-old rape victims to give birth but not welcoming desperate and hungry migrants with open arms, recognizing that our Savior, too, was a migrant on this earth.

Selective Christianity is a hell of a thing. These folks seem to (inaccurately) deploy the Bible as a weapon for their own misguided judgment but never seem to read what Christ said constantly about our collective duty to the poor and the otherwise vulnerable.

Christ never said: “For you shall welcome migrants with love, provided they properly navigate the needlessly and insufferably byzantine process of U.S. customs and immigration, often via repeated attempts, often without success and offered a dubious and illogical explanation as to why.”

No, Christ was very clear about being kind and generous to the most vulnerable among us, regardless of nationality.

Sure, this is all very easy for me to say because I’m not running for president. My job is to fight disinformation and highlight the hypocrisy of bigots and offer you, my readers, a reasonable top line analysis of all this.

President Biden is fighting a far different battle. He knows how quickly clumsy messaging can escalate into calamity and sabotage what might be the last ever fair presidential election we’ll have in the event that Trump should prevail.

The mass communications in all this are a minefield, and I think there are a lot of well-meaning progressives who are losing sight of the big picture: we have to make it through November and this discourse is extremely delicate and taking an aggressively progressive approach on this issue, especially without Congress, is very foolish.

The President, the wise man that he is, looks for every opportunity to win over moderates. Yesterday’s statement directed at Donald Trump was not an olive branch; it was an incredibly smart way of getting a lot of moderate voters to ask: wait, what is Trump’s plan on this issue and why didn’t he get it done the first time around? Where is his legislative proposal? Where are his ideas?

And also, it gets some moderates to recognize that the President is at least trying to work with his opponents while Trump just keeps insulting his.

All of this is frustrating, no doubt about that. It’s enraging and exasperating and heartbreaking. We should be welcoming undocumented migrants as a boon to our society and economy. We should be prioritizing human rights, especially in the echoes of a hundred thousand church sermons every week on Christ’s love.

We are a better country because of our undocumented siblings.

We’re also stuck in a discourse that is held hostage by zero-sum pronouncements rooted entirely in racist views and completely detached from the data.

In taking the basic adult responsibility of acknowledging that our current politics are chaotic and often unpredictable, it should be much easier for those of us who are reasonable adults, regardless of where we fall on the political spectrum, to have more grace with each other on this issue.

We should be educating each other and contextualizing what the next eight months mean for the future of our democracy.

Let’s just get to November. Let’s beat Trump. Let’s beat this goddamn guy first and then turn our attention to fixing the mess he created.

Because if we don’t do that, what happens next on this issue will be far worse than any of us can imagine, and undocumented migrants deserve a hell of a lot better than performative arguing that ultimately leads nowhere.

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I’m afraid the rumor is true: Taylor Alison Swift, the 34 year-old singer-songwriter who was recently named TIME’s Person of the Year and won her fourth Album of the Year gramophone yesterday, is, in fact, a highly successful psyop chiefly created by the Central Intelligence Agency.

It turns out that President Biden has deftly and secretly marshaled the full resources of the federal government and the global intelligence community toward the specific aim of weaponizing Ms. Swift into an unstoppable political force that will ensure his reelection against the quadrice-indicted Donald Trump.

Ms. Swift’s global popularity has actually very little to do with her preternatural gift for storytelling, exceptional discipline for her craft, uncommonly precise awareness of how her audience connects with her art, extraordinary sense for marketing and personal brand, hall-of-fame business savvy, sheer potency of the projects with her colleagues, career longevity combined with a remarkable consistency for artistic excellence, and an authentic and unapologetic joy expressed through what she creates.

None of those factors, you see, account for her current level of unprecedented, stratospheric global fame, which is solely the result of a joint effort by the CIA, the Director of National Intelligence, the U.S. Department of Defense, the United Kingdom’s MI6, Germany’s Bundesnachrichtendienst, and the Disney legal team.

These agencies have been working in close connection with each other since the release of Ms. Swift’s self-titled debut album in 2006, carefully shaping her career trajectory and global influence as their most imperative, top secret national security project, codenamed Operation Reputation.

This all may defy conventional thinking, the idea that literally tens of thousands of intelligence professionals and political operatives have seamlessly worked together in cross-country collaboration over the past two decades in service to the vision of a highly-collaborative crossover country star, rigging album sales and award shows, uncannily deciphering what two separate generations of young people would find appealing in their musical tastes, engineering a complex history of interpersonal drama that connects most A-list music luminaries of this century in a manner that satiates the masses’ appetite for celebrity gossip whilst leaving Ms. Swift unblemished in public perception, all doing so without so much as a single person leaking the details of said master plan.

I mean, sure, with all this apparent power President Biden has at his disposal, it would have been much easier for him to manipulate our media environment into focusing on, for example, the fact that the U.S. unemployment rate is basically the lowest it’s been in five decades.

Or that 15 million jobs have been added under President Biden’s tenure, more than any president in American history by a country mile, in just three years.

Or that he became the first sitting president to join a picket line when he stood in solidarity with the United Auto Workers last year. (The UAW won that fight and endorsed the President last month.)

Or that he signed into law the first significant gun reform legislation in three decades and the first bill guaranteeing federal protection of marriage equality and the massive Bipartisan Infrastructure Law for which many House Republicans now take credit when talking to their constituents despite voting against it and the American Rescue Act that led our country out of the worst consequences of the pandemic and the PACT Act that ensures health benefits for veterans suffering from service-connected toxic exposures, etc.

Or that he successfully appointed the first Black woman to the Supreme Court, along with more than 170 federal judges, most of whom are women and people of color, dramatically moving the federal judiciary closer to how America really looks.

Or that he pardoned all prior federal offenses for simple marijuana possession and initiated the process to reevaluate how marijuana is scheduled under federal law, finally applying much-needed common sense to the catastrophically inept “War on Drugs.”

Or that he’s signed Executive Orders to protect life-saving abortion access and made it clear he will not back down in fighting for reproductive health care, one of the most critical civil rights issues of our time.

Or that he had the best midterms performance of any first-term Democratic president since Kennedy.

Or… well… you get the picture.

President Biden could be using this unimaginably potent global media and intelligence apparatus he apparently has at his disposal to place, front-and-center, the many, many, many accomplishments of his Administration in the past three years.

But instead, he has clearly chosen to invest the bulk of his time and power toward ensuring that Taylor Swift remains the most popular non-head-of-state in the world, all while keeping such a project airtight secret.

Yes, I’m sure that’s what’s really going on.

The same man who is daily criticized for his age has somehow ingeniously and nimbly forged into the popular imagination a pop star who is practically deified by young people and will serve as the long-planned saving grace of democracy and global stability.

Sure.

Or hey, hear me out: maybe it’s reasonable to believe that a young woman can achieve as much as Taylor Swift has done while prioritizing a proactive empathy for others that smoothly aligns with the President’s vision for our country.

That actually makes a lot more sense.

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Yesterday, I watched host Kristin Welker get absolutely steamrolled by Rep. Elise Stefanik on “Meet the Press” in what was certainly one of the most embarrassing interviews I’ve ever seen on a Sunday talk show.

In a long segment replete with unrelenting pro-Trump propaganda, Stefanik refused to commit to certifying the 2024 election results, implied President Biden is attempting to get Trump removed the ballot (there is zero evidence of this), claimed the federal government is being “weaponized” against conservatives (again, no evidence of this), and referred to the terrorists involved in the Jan. 6th attack on the U.S. Capitol as “hostages,” among other asinine and deeply irresponsible statements.

Stefanik, the Chair of the Republican House Conference, appeared to be auditioning to be Donald Trump’s running mate, since the former president, at this point, seems to be a lock for the GOP’s presidential nomination.

It was a particularly shameless and self-serving performance, even for Stefanik, who has become a punchline in D.C. circles over the past six years for the way she has transparently sold her soul for power.

Welker, meanwhile, sat there and weakly pushed back against the tirade, almost seeming apologetic at times when attempting to correct the Congresswoman. At several points, Welker appeared to attempt interjecting during long-winding vomits of disinformation by Stefanik, only to stay silent and let it continue.

It was all the more frustrating given that Welker, just over a week ago, on New Year’s Eve, offered a closing statement of commitment for what the show hoped to accomplish in the new year, which included this:

“…to build upon the great tradition of this show, which is about accountability and earning your trust. Meet the Press has always been a place for diverse voices and challenging conversations. It is essential to our democracy and who we are as a country.”

Again, that was the previous week. Just seven days prior.

When Welker was first announced as the replacement for Chuck Todd, I was quite optimistic. I felt Todd had long been an abysmal steward of “Meet the Press” and completely unsuited for what this moment in history requires of a proactive and honest political media. I felt Welker would be a substantial improvement.

Welker had demonstrated a talent for obliquely cutting through b**t in a manner that might make the interviewee feel less attacked. This was on display during her first show at the helm, when she scored a few points for integrity while interviewing Donald Trump, in itself a widely-criticized booking decision.

The decision to book Trump, of course, immediately proved to be a net negative, but I had hope that she was playing the long game: mollifying some on the right by signaling that she would be a fair interviewer even to the most nasty interviewee.

At various moments since then, I have found her approach somewhat effective, perhaps getting into a more confident mode of challenging obvious nonsense with clarity and common sense.

Yesterday’s interview has blown that notion apart. “Meet the Press” now seems to mostly exist for the benefit of politicians and journalists who are seeking to build their personal brands. It’s a great place for a rightwing extremist to achieve legitimacy in the eyes of viewers who don’t know any better.

Because the Sunday shows—Meet the Press (NBC), Face the Nation (CBS), State of the Union (CNN), and Fox News Sunday—so often shape the week’s agenda on the Hill and its surrounding discourse, a lot of folks in politics will continue to watch them to stay ahead of the conversation, myself included.

But if you don’t work in politics, there’s little benefit to be found here. These shows are really no longer about serving the public so much as they’re mostly geared toward being a live-action LinkedIn for those participating.

That’s a tragedy. We really could use someone like Tim Russert right now.

Because there’s no way in hell he would have let Stefanik force-feed him that b**t.

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Friends, as I write this, the country is savoring every second of these last 72 hours of the traditional holiday break.

The next twelve months are widely expected to be history-shaping and globally pivotal on an unprecedented level. How tired have y’all become of hearing that? The same thing, more or less, has been said about each of the past four years, and yet: it’s been no less true each time.

(Some might argue that could be said for the past seven years, and I wouldn’t be inclined to disagree.)

When I was much younger, the new year didn’t really get kicked up until a few weeks into January; current events had the decency to wait until we had a cup of coffee and caught a few NFL playoff games. Recent history has blown that typically reasonable expectation into oblivion.

There’s no longer a guarantee of entering the shallow end, down some friendly steps, and working our way to the deep end. Now, each year, we’re all marched straight to the high dive and can only hope for a relatively peaceful splash into the depths below.

Just as an example:

Four years ago, on New Year’s Eve, in the early hours of the morning, Reuters first reported on a mysterious, viral pneumonia outbreak in Wuhan, a major city in central China. Outside of a relatively small group of infectious disease experts and national security practitioners, few were paying attention, partly because we had other worries.

Because on the evening of January 2nd, news came that Trump had ordered the successful assassination of Qasem Soleimani, who was then the commander of the Quds Force in Iran and considered the most powerful person in the country outside of Ayatollah Khamenei.

For a few days there, you’d be forgiven for believing that 2020 would be defined by a regional conflict—perhaps even a world war—instigated by the United States and Iran, and… well… that fear was very misplaced. We were about to fight a very different war against an enemy invisible to the naked eye, and meanwhile, in the midst of that: grappling with the horrific consequences of white supremacy after the murder of George Floyd.

I would like to believe that the big surprise of 2024 will be that it’s relatively smooth, and yet, that would be quite foolish, no? It’s gonna be a rough year, folks. We’re gonna learn a lot about ourselves and our collective future. I have guarded optimism that we’ll get through it, but it sure as hell ain’t gonna be painless.

Okay, that’s the chaos bit. Let’s get to the gratitude. Two and a half years ago, I left a nice communications job to start this blog and make a full-court push to achieve my dream of being a writer for a living. So many of you were there at the very start, immediately becoming paid subscribers and allowing me to take care of my bills by writing whatever I want.

I am immensely grateful to all of you for the support. I can’t begin to adequately explain how life-changing it’s been to be a writer on my own terms, without worrying about how I’m gonna make my rent. And that is solely because of y’all.

This year, Charlotte’s Web Thoughts was named a finalist for Outstanding Blog at the GLAAD Media Awards and a finalist for Best Blog at the Shorty Awards. It’s been cited or referenced in various national outlets and motivated some substantial radio and television hits across the calendar.

It was a big factor at the end of this summer when I became the first openly-transgender person elected to the Council on Foreign Relations as a term member in its 102-year history. Having the freedom to write about foreign policy (among my many other topics) with a large platform, bypassing traditional outlets, was essential for that.

Seriously, I’m grateful to y’all. Here are ten standout pieces from the dozens I wrote this year that make me particularly proud:

“Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis Announces a Ban on Pink Floyd” (January 27th)

As DeSantis kept escalating his attacks against LGBTQ people, including an unwise and ill-fated war with Disney, I kept wondering to myself: why aren’t journalists doing more to call this out for what it is? I sat down and wrote this satirical piece about a fictional press conference in which DeSantis announces a ban on Pink Floyd because of their rainbow logo. My hand to god, I initially thought it was way too blunt, not subtle enough. I was very wrong. The piece went viral as many folks, including a number of journalists, readily believed it. Snopes even wrote an article on it.

“It's Time to Ban Cis People From Owning Guns” (March 30th)

In March, a transgender man murdered three children and three adults in a mass shooting at a private elementary school in Nashville. Police arrived on the scene and killed the piece-of-st before he could murder other innocents. In the wake of the tragedy, social conservatives attempted to exploit it as a vehicle for their transphobic propaganda. So, I wrote this viral piece pointing out that cis people are many times more likely to be mass shooters, and therefore, wouldn’t it make sense to ban cis people from owning firearms? I also appeared on MSNBC to chat about it** with Joy Ann-Reid and Georgetown’s Rev. Jim Wallis (full segment is in that link).

Interestingly, the day after that appearance, far-right media were furious with me, not for my tongue-in-cheek argument to ban cis people from owning guns but because I referred to God with “she/her” pronouns during the segment. For real.

That then led to this hilarious exchange with far-right reporter Tyler O’Neil, who reached out on LinkedIn, incredulous and apparently oblivious.

And after that went viral, Fox News reached out asking me to publicly clarify that O’Neil no longer works for them.

“Kid Rock Doesn't Know How to Shoot Straight” (April 4th)

In the spring, social media influencer Dylan Mulvaney, who is a trans woman, was invited by Budweiser to collaborate on a cute Instagram project in which her likeness was printed on a few of their beer cans. Pretty uneventful… until the far-right launched a boycott over it. Kid Rock, a rich kid from Michigan who cosplays as trailer trash, then posted a video in which he (very poorly) shot at Bud Light beer cans in protest. So, wanting to be helpful, I wrote this viral essay of advice for him on how to shoot accurately and pointed out his long history of being a redneck poser.

“Why I Declined $10,000 to Debate Michael Knowles” (April 10th)

This one is technically cheating. It’s not an essay. It’s two screenshots of two emails.

Earlier this year, far-right extremist Michael Knowles called for the “eradication” of trans ideology, which, in effect, was calling for the eradication of trans people. Openly genocidal language. Knowles, through a conservative campus group, reached out to offer me $10,000 to debate him at the University of Pittsburgh about the validity of trans people.

And look, $10,000 is a lot of money to me. It would have paid off my car and provided several months of rent. But rejecting the offer was an easy decision. Within an hour, I had written back a long email response and then decided to post it, which went viral.

I then took part in a segment on the incident for CNN put together quite fairly and professionally by journalist Elle Reeves.

“What Target Needs to Understand” (May 15th)

Unfortunately, the conservative boycott against Anheuser-Busch (the parent company of Budweiser) over Dylan Mulvaney gathered steam and scared other corporations into folding against anti-LGBTQ extremism. In May, Target announced they would be removing some items from their celebrated Pride Month collection after receiving violent threats. I wrote this essay explaining to corporate marketing executives that giving into these extremists would only exacerbate their revenue losses for a simple reason: anti-LGBTQ a**s aren’t looking for tangible results. The whole point is to be angry. They crave outrage. The essay went viral—particularly on LinkedIn—and was adapted as an op-ed for Newsweek.

“To the Man on the Northeast Regional” (May 30th)

In late May, I had a really bad interaction with a transphobic Christian man on an Amtrak ride, and instead of getting angry over it, I decided to approach the man and talk about God after recognizing that he was clearly not in a great place. When I got home, I wrote an open letter to the man—whose name I don’t know—to reclaim what would otherwise have been a not-so-great memory. This essay resonated with a lot of folks, and out of all the things I’ve written this year, it’s proven to be one of the most popular pieces I’ve produced. Seven months later, I still get emails from strangers who have read it.

“When Lance Armstrong Speaks, Why Does Anyone Listen?” (June 26th)

This summer, Lance Armstrong, the most infamous cheater in the history of sports, decided to team up with chronic liar and hypocrite Caitlyn Jenner in an interview that took dead aim at trans kid in sports. In a way, writing this kinda felt shooting fish in a barrel. Contextualizing Armstrong’s jaw-dropping history of cheating and Jenner’s shameless flip-flopping on this issue was quite easy. But much more difficult was getting across the urgency of what’s happening in American media on trans rights: the vacuum created by lazy and uncaring journalists has permitted charlatans like Armstrong and Jenner to fill that void with vile disinformation.

“Please Read About Hitler Before Quoting Him” (July 10th)

Months before one of the co-founders of extremist group Moms for Liberty was implicated in a sex scandal, I wrote this essay contextualizing the organization’s many ties to white supremacist organizations and their boneheaded use of quotes by Hitler, Stalin, and Mao in anti-LGBTQ propaganda. I was surprised by just how many folks didn’t know about the group’s history, which is probably why this went viral.

“What ‘Small Town’ Actually Means” (July 26th)

Country music star Jason Aldean is one of these redneck cosplayers who tries to exploit conservative outrage to sell his music. He released a song about small towns that basically winked at white supremacists. This is all the more hilarious when you learn that Aldean not only didn’t come from a small town but has never lived in one. It gets funnier: Aldean is a prep school kid who was raised in a big city and used Canadian stock footage for his music video about American small towns. Pretty embarrassing.

“When Both Silence and Statement Become Complicity” (Oct. 23rd)

After the terrorist attack against innocent civilians in Israel on Oct. 7th, I was honestly lost. I wanted to be helpful to my Jewish and Muslim friends who were suffering and speak up against all forms of hatred, but what could I say that wouldn’t give the impression I was taking sides? It felt impossible. And then one night, while taking a shower, it hit me: just be completely honest about all of it. I stayed up all night writing. The resulting essay is one of the best things I’ve ever written, and I’m quite proud of it. It was a timely reminder for myself on the responsibility I have with a large platform, and it made me less fearful to say hard truths.

I have spent much of this year wondering about my next chapter. In February, I got an offer to lead a small nonprofit as its executive director, but I knew I would probably have to stop writing in order to take it. I wasn’t ready for that. At the time, it was a hard choice, but in the many months since, it’s a decision that’s aged well.

I don’t know what I’ll do next. Sometimes, I think it would be pretty amazing to be a columnist at The New York Times or The Washington Post. I’ve thought a few times about running for office, but I’ve never been fully confident I’m the best person for the job. Maybe leading an organization is my future calling.

What I do know is that I am enormously fortunate to do what I do for a living, and for the time being, I am very happy writing this blog. I’m grateful. And I intend to enjoy this season in my life as much as possible, doing what I love, and using it to help others.

Again, I can’t thank you all enough for subscribing to my little blog and allowing me to do this work with your financial support. Sometimes, I have to pinch myself to confirm its real.

I wish you all a Happy New Year, and may the next twelve months be far more peaceful than what we’re probably expecting.

And yes, I would love for you to buy me coffee. <3

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This morning, Pope Francis formally approved new guidance that allows priests to offer blessings to same-sex couples, an enormous step forward in welcoming LGBTQ families into the Catholic Church.

There will be no shortage of critical takes on this, both from conservatives who feel it’s a betrayal of Scripture (it is not) and progressives who believe it doesn’t go far enough, the latter of which would be similar to finding suitable water in the middle of a desert and whining that it doesn’t come with ice.

To be clear, this in no way changes the Catholic Church’s steadfast position that marriage is a sacrament between a man and a woman. In fact, the Pope took great pains to emphasize that such blessings cannot be offered liturgically or otherwise take place within the typical ceremonial parameters for a marriage or a civil union.

Without going into much detail, here’s the long and short of it: Francis is essentially permitting priests to be more encouraging to LGBTQ couples in their joint walk with God, albeit without specifically endorsing that path.

You’ve heard of same-sex weddings in which anti-LGBTQ relatives show up to offer their support to the happy couple, despite their own stated misgivings over same-sex marriages?

This is basically the Vatican’s policy version of that. Well… maybe it’s more like the relative attending the reception with a gift and warm words after skipping the nuptials on principle.

(Yes, that does happen, believe it or not.)

And sure, if we leave it at that oversimplification, without any context, I can see how some would be unimpressed and even offended.

But I want to encourage folks to observe this monumental sign of progress within the long arc of the Vatican’s notorious history of hostility toward the queer community.

Pope Francis, rather than follow his predecessors’ strategy of broadly shaming and demonizing LGBTQ people, has spent his tenure trying a different approach, one that, yes, doesn’t depart from the Vatican’s anti-LGBTQ scriptural interpretations on big questions (marriage, sex, etc.) but does encourages love and understanding toward queer people.

In 2013, mere months into his papacy, Francis famously remarked to reporters: “If a person is gay and seeks God and has goodwill, who am I to judge?”

Again, this was not an endorsement of homosexuality or bisexuality but a simple gesture of kindness and good faith toward gay people. It was an act of spiritual leadership urging compassion in place of condemnation, the essence of Christ’s teachings.

The Pope has also expressed support for the legal affirmation (but not religious affirmation) of same-sex civil unions (though, again, not a scriptural endorsement of same-sex marriage), stating that LGBTQ people are entitled to families, however formed.

He has also spoken out against the criminalization of same-sex activity or relationships, made clear that homosexuality is not an illness, urged Catholic families (really, all families) to love and include their LGBTQ relatives, and expressed unprecedented empathy for LGBTQ-led families.

Do I love his overall history on trans folks like me? Not quite. In the past, he has made some unnecessarily inflammatory remarks on trans people, stating that gender-affirming health care is a sin, once comparing it to nuclear arms. That was eight years ago.Since then, Pope Francis, while not yielding from his basic view that trans people are misaligned with God’s will (I firmly disagree, of course), has taken a far more loving view toward the community, including much publicized conversations with trans people in which he again encouraged love and empathy.

Most notably, His Holiness offered substantial public support for Sister Mónica Astorga Cremona, an Argentinian Carmelite nun who started a safe home for trans women and has dedicated her life to ministering to trans folks in desperate circumstances.

In a letter to her, Francis stated: “God, who didn’t attend seminary and didn’t study theology, will reward you generously. I pray for you and your daughters.”

That was the first time in history that the Pope, spiritual leader to more than 1.2 billion Catholics worldwide, including the current President of the United States, has affirmed the gender identity of a trans person.

I’m a proud trans woman, and my Christian faith is very important to me. The most daunting aspect of my relationship with God—and, admittedly, the most difficult to master, an ongoing journey, to be sure—has been offering grace for others who may not fully affirm me but are taking steps toward me in good faith.

It is the same grace I wish for myself when I make mistakes or cause harm or require further learning and humility. It is never tidy or simple. Swallowing past pain to encourage the growth of fellow travelers can be exhausting, and yet, if there are other, effective routes available, they are wholly unknown to me.

Pope Francis has been an extraordinary blessing for LGBTQ people; even in my theological disagreements with him, I can see the forest through the trees and recognize that we are unlikely to see again in our lifetime a Bishop of Rome so dedicated to loving the queer community and reserving judgment to God.

Some will dismiss these efforts as publicity-minded. That is entirely foolish to me.

It would have been all-too-convenient for Pope Francis to eschew calls for LGBTQ affirmation during his papacy, hiding behind stale and cruel interpretations of God’s word.

In the past several years, as anti-LGBTQ extremism has grown substantially, the Holy Father, from a mass communications standpoint, could have stayed quiet or even leveraged endorsement of homophobia to mollify his conservative critics.

But he has rejected that approach, choosing to proactively love LGBTQ people and recognize our entitlement to God’s unconditional love and the earthly commission of clergy to express that love in their outreach.

In the papal declaration today, Pope Francis said, in part, the following:

“The request for a blessing, thus, expresses and nurtures openness to the transcendence, mercy, and closeness to God in a thousand concrete circumstances of life, which is no small thing in the world in which we live. It is a seed of the Holy Spirit that must be nurtured, not hindered.”

May we all give thanks for the Pope and our fellow children of God who choose to safeguard seeds of the Holy Spirit in grounds they may not fully recognize, leaving their growth unimpeded to Her warmth and light.

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Yesterday, obscure singer-songwriter Taylor Swift got her big break and was honored as TIME Magazine’s Person of the Year.

This is the second time she’s been recognized with the title, along with being part of the “Silence Breakers” cohort honored by the magazine in 2017, making her the first woman to achieve this twice.

She’s also, technically, the first Person of the Year to be honored specifically for impact and influence deriving from her artistic achievements.

Predictably, her selection has been controversial, and I find it delightful. It’s a goddamn treat. Few things are more instantly pleasing to me than a certain type of man being irrationally disgruntled at the thought of a woman being at the top of the heap.

I am 100% here for Taylor Swift being named TIME’s Person of the Year because of how much it clearly pisses off insecure men who find it unthinkable that a public figure adored this much by young women could be so undeniably powerful.

But moreover, any grown adult taking TIME’s Person of the Year seriously enough to get angry over it is hilarious to me.

Setting aside its enduring prestige for a moment, if we’re looking just at the objective nature of all this, Person of the Year is far more arbitrary than, say, an Oscar, and only a few notches less arbitrary than an MTV Video Music Award (of which Ms. Swift has won 23—second only to Beyoncé—which am I pointing out, again, to annoy a certain type of insecure man who inexplicably cares about these things).

That is to say, yes, this is an iconic honor, and also: people tend to place far too much importance on it, mostly because we’ve conditioned to hold it in reverence, most of us clearly needing to be reminded that this is a rather arbitrary decision made by a small group of people through a predominantly American lens.

Since 1927, the editors of TIME Magazine have annually selected an individual, group, idea, or object that “for better or worse… has done the most to influence the events of the year.”

This is, of course, for so many reasons, a fool’s errand, even if we pretend this is being deliberated in the spirit of that clear standard. (It is not.)

What is influence? What is impact? What is newsworthiness?

None of these terms have concrete metrics in this context. The only thing that matters here is that the editors are going off vibes, and then, much of the public will respond to the editors with “no, those vibes are wrong; what about my vibes?” and other parts of the public will respond to those members of the public with “No, your vibes are wrong, too — only my vibes are right”, etc.

Everyone in this conversation is going off vibes. There are very few people who actually care about this enough to present a comprehensive argument for why their selection is the right one, along with salient rebuttals to the selections of others.

TIME’s Person of the Year is the kind of cultural symbol that the vast majority of us usually take just seriously enough for basic acknowledgment but not so much that we actively give a damn. Others in this category include: the turkeys pardoned by the President every year, ringing the opening bell at the New York Stock Exchange, and, of course, the MTV Video Music Awards.

It’s a fun game we all play. The folks at TIME announce their decision with an appropriate attempt at gravitas. We, the public, debate it for a little bit and pretend to argue on the merits. Occasionally, as in 2006, the choice is widely mocked. And by New Year’s Eve, we’ve all forgotten to care.

But for several days following the announcement, some people seem to care a lot, and they never fail to trot out the eyeroll-inducing argument that takes a lazy stab at being edgy. They’ll say that if it were truly about having the most influence, certain unpopular people should have received the honor.

They’ll say Osama bin Laden had the most influence and impact on the world in 2001 or that Emperor Hirohito should have taken the title in 1941. I guarantee you, as I type this, there are edgelords somewhere online asserting that Hamas had the most influence on the world this year and should have thusly been named.

These people are almost always a certain kind of man who insists on explaining to you how the world works, especially if you’re a woman. They have far too much time on their hands. They are boring and insufferable.

If these men applied as much scrutiny to their personal lives as they do in shamelessly assessing the validity of women’s accomplishments through their lens of undaunted mediocrity, perhaps they wouldn’t spend so many of their waking hours in online chat forums whining to each other about supposedly compulsory chivalry on dates, which is ironic given that no woman has agreed to go on a date with them in many years.

They’re also the only ones who appear to not get this that this whole TIME’s Person of the Year thing isn’t meant to be definitive. It’s an honor given with a wink. It’s somewhere between a respected formality and an inside joke. Sometimes, it’s quite serious, and sometimes, it’s less-than-serious.

Here’s my unsolicited view: there’s a decent range of plausibility when it comes to global influence, and with enough superlatives, there’s a surprisingly long list of worthy choices for Person of the Year.

Taylor Swift undeniably falls in that range of plausibility. It’s not just that The Eras Tour will be the highest-grossing concert tour of all-time. Ever. Anywhere in the world. It’s not just that heads of state like President Gabriel Boric of Chile and Prime Minister Justin Trudeau of Canada have publicly lobbied Swift to include their countries on the international tour. It’s not just that the tour’s consumer net spending ($4.6 billion, so far) is more than the GDP of almost 50 countries.

It’s not just that USA Today hired a reporter specifically to cover all things Taylor Swift or that the NFL went into hyperdrive merchandising when Swift began dating Kansas City tight end Travis Kelce (and even changed their social accounts into unapologetic Swiftie fandom) or that no less than Billy Joel and Paul McCartney have ranked Swift among the all-time great songwriters.

It’s not just that Swift helped register more than 35,000 new voters with one (1) short message on her Instagram or that some conservatives clearly perceive her as an enormous electoral threat and have been attempting to diminish her standing (to no effect.)

All of that is neat and make for persuasive talking points in favor of the selection, but for me, it’s just the sheer ubiquity of Taylor Alison Swift. She is, outside of a select group of heads-of-state, the most famous person in the world. She is certainly the most famous non-officeholder in the world. And she is absolutely the most famous anyone has ever been without being problematic.

Swift holds so much power at the moment—a global bully pulpit on steroids—that she could plausibly, in theory, shape world events on any given day, should she choose to do so.

To fans of Swift and most people under the age of 40, this has been a long time coming, seen as inevitable years ago to anyone willing to pay the slightest attention to the interests and concerns of young women. This has been coming from miles away.

I think there are a lot of insecure men waking up to this reality and being startled to discover that even if it’s TIME’s attempt to capitalize on a commercial behemoth (sure), it doesn’t negate Swift’s unquestionable hold on the zeitgeist.

Our society has a long history of doing this when it comes to aspects of culture strongly associated with women, especially young women. Historically, men in power have failed to take young women seriously — their interests seen as trivial, their opinions seen as fluff.

Taylor Swift represents a seismic power shift away from male-dominated structures to something that looks a little more like the other half of humanity.

We love to see it.

[Quick note: my good friend Jenny Keleman is selling these flat-out amazing markers, a wonderful holiday gift, and I told her I’d spread the word. Because they’re that fun. If you like ‘em, go buy a set and use “CHARLOTTEDAZZLES20” at checkout for a nice discount.]

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Brantley never suffered as much in service to theater as I did this week during the one-hour production of Ms. Smith’s 1st Grade Thanksgiving Class Play, which premiered to a lukewarm reception this morning in the cafeteria/gymnasium of Ann Richards Elementary School in Austin, Texas and just concluded its run at the same venue this evening before a family audience.

My god, the things people do for their families.

I have rarely felt so conflicted over the existence of protected speech via the First Amendment when it is this easily taken for granted by the parade of precocious mediocrity whom we are brazenly expected to believe are artistically intentional, much less inclined.

None of the players appeared to understand the responsibility they carry with them while performing, nearly all of whom constantly fidgeted, forgot simple lines, and engaged in tickle fights on the side, all while constantly and shamelessly breaking the fourth wall by waving to their parents from the stage.

One young actor had the gall to shout “hi, mommy!” immediately following her brief and uncritical appearance as a welcoming bowl of corn amidst her disgruntled classmates dressed as various livestock.

Her unprofessional outburst was greeted with the most proactively amused applause of the night, to give you a sense of how outnumbered I was in this audience of mouth-breaking plebs.

The production was pathetically bereft of a sensible score, with any semblance of a coherent musical theme being more scarce than a recent date night among the working parents in attendance.

The most adventure witnessed all evening, near the end of the hour, was the curious inclusion and attempt at a solo piano version of “All I Want for Christmas is You” — the 1994 holiday single by R&B singer-songwriter Mariah Carey which is, notably, not about Thanksgiving, and, in recent years, has grown in importance from an especially strong seasonal chart-topper to a tradition enforced with religious zeal, even if favorable intention comes at the steep cost of personal dignity.

In the earnest hands of Mr. Williams, 3rd grade teacher and aspiring possessor of basic rhythm, the holiday staple is within shouting distance of being recognizable, and yet, it is still predominantly absent of charm.

The acoustics of the venue being unfavorable to joy, there were often moments when the excitable yammering of a 3ft. human being being directed at my head felt concussive and made me question the longterm trajectory of American Theatre.

The writing is plainly abysmal, barely hovering with hyper-digestible dialogue, never daring to spice up one-liners, let alone dabble with something more polysyllabic curious.

The embarrassing lack of narrative structure is only favored by the distraction of a self-defeating manner of collective lisping through an astonishing prevalence of missing teeth. I have never seen so many toothless players.

Nor was there any bite to be found in the supposed message: a story of people from different backgrounds exchanging cultural understanding and mutual appreciation for the necessity of community. It was presented in crudely conceived parables involving stilted conversations between—for example—giant, papier-mâché costumes purporting to be anthropomorphic glazed honey hams.

While the fancy pork recited some sort of hippie pablum about togetherness, I was momentarily distracted by the sheer number of video recording devices out and all around me. There is certainly no way, I told myself upon witnessing this, that these people will actually watch this again at a later time. But I am told they will, that this is what parents do and then force their friends to do with them, as well.

They are all smiling and appear to be proud and even weepy. I despise them.

I emailed a list of questions to Ms. Smith, the director of the play, requesting an explanation for the compounding failures of her production, and as of this morning, I had received no response.

I am not terribly surprised. Excellence in the theater isn’t for the faint of heart.

Perhaps this company will take itself more seriously in 2nd grade.

[Hey folks, quick note: my good friend has started a fantastic new blog that covers all things in professional women’s soccer. It’s called The Jugadora, it’s fantastic, and it’s free to read. Subscribe here:

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I know it’s asking a lot, but remember way back when Matt Gaetz filed a motion-to-vacate against then-Speaker Kevin McCarthy?

That was a little over three weeks ago, and in that time, House Republicans have put forward three separate speaker-designates (that’s the term for a presumptive Speaker before the majority party ostensibly votes them in): Reps. Steve Scalise, Jim Jordan, and Tom Emmer.

For those unfamiliar, the typical process for the party holding the majority in the House is to nominate one (1) speaker-designate, who is then promptly voted in, takes the gavel, and pursues some sort of legislative agenda.

There’s usually not much, if any, suspense. Sometimes, a sitting Speaker may be challenged within their party before the start of a new congress, but after that, by the time the process gets to the House floor, there are no surprises.

Which is all to say that this year has been completely bonkers, and the past month, in particular, has been especially embarrassing for House Republicans. In the midst of several international crises (Ukraine, Israel-Gaza, Taiwan), yet another looming budget showdown in a few weeks, and numerous other problems to address, the House GOP has been steadfastly aloof and incompetent over this speaker mess.

Why is this so important? Because it’s unclear if legislation can be passed by the chamber without a Speaker who has been voted into that position. The unelected Speaker pro tempore—Rep. Patrick McHenry—may not have constitutional power to do so, and moreover, McHenry has flat-out refused to test that theory.

For a while there, a plan was floated for the bulk of the Republican majority to partner with Democrats and temporarily “elect” McHenry for a short period in order to pass critical legislation—similar to how a continuing resolution kicks the can down the road in a budget fight—but that got scrapped.

Also: the Speaker of the House is second-in-line to the presidency, just after the Vice President, and this vacancy presents a wee bit of a constitutional crisis on that front, too.

Anyway, only Jordan wound up getting a vote on the House floor (three failed ballot attempts, in fact) because Scalise had the good sense to avoid embarrassment and Emmer was essentially pushed out early yesterday evening, a mere 4 hours and 10 minutes after he won the conference vote.

Finally, much later in the evening, Mike Johnson, a four-termer representing Louisiana’s 4th congressional district and currently serving as the Vice Chair of the House Republican Conference, was named speaker-designate after three ballots in the party conference.

More on him in a second, but how the hell did we get here? A quick timeline:

January: After the GOP regained power in the House, Kevin McCarthy won the conference vote to become speaker-designate but then struggled through a jaw-dropping 15 separate ballots to finally get the gavel. In exchange for the title, he bargained away much of his power to extremists within his party conference, including the unprecedented implementation of a rule that would allow any single member to file a motion-to-vacate the chair, or in other words: it would only take one person to ask for a vote to fire McCarthy from the position.

Oct. 2: Matt Gaetz takes advantage of McCarthy's earlier concession and files a motion-to-vacate.

Oct. 3: McCarthy is removed before a vote of the full House, 216-210. Gaetz and his cronies within the GOP joined Democrats in voting to fire McCarthy. Dems gave McCarthy several options to keep the gavel and avoid this, but McCarthy refused to play ball.

Oct. 4: Jordan and Scalise announce their bids for speaker-designate. Rep. Troy Nehls announces he'll nominate Trump for Speaker, which creates fairly considerable buzz that it may happen.

Oct. 5: Trump endorses Jordan.

Oct. 11: In a private vote by the GOP House Conference, Scalise defeats Jordan, 113-99, to become speaker-designate.

Oct. 12: Scalise withdraws when it's clear he doesn't have the votes to overcome his detractors within the GOP.

Oct. 13: Jordan defeats Austin Scott, 124-81, in another private vote by the GOP House Conference, becoming the second speaker-designate this month.

Oct. 17: Jordan loses on the first ballot before the full House. He needed 217 to get the gavel. He could only muster 200 votes. That means 17 GOP colleagues voted against him.

Oct. 18: Jordan loses on the second ballot, becoming the first speaker-designate to fail to reach 200 votes before the full House. Desperate, Jordan and his allies allegedly threatened a number of his colleagues, attempting to bludgeon them into his corner. This completely backfires, and Jordan makes up no ground.

Oct. 19: More stories about Jordan’s aggressive—possibly illegal—tactics come to light, and his candidacy is widely assumed to be dead. This does not make him drop out, however.

Oct. 20: Jordan holds a bizarre press conference that morning in which he quotes the Bible and says he’ll prevail. Literally moments after the presser begins, one of Jordan’s allies, Rep. Derrick Van Orden, announces that he’s in Israel (!!!). Jordan can only lose four GOP votes. Not a great sign! He proceeds to be further humiliated, losing his third consecutive ballot for Speaker. Later that day, Jordan is removed as speaker-designate in a private conference vote, 112-86.

Oct. 20-22: A candidate forum is scheduled for the 23rd and nine candidates file before the deadline to be considered for speaker-designate.

Oct. 23: Following the candidate forum, two candidates withdrew (Dan Meuser and Gary Palmer), leaving seven candidate vying for the big chair.

Oct. 24 (yesterday): After five rounds in their private conference vote, Tom Emmer of Minnesota, House Majority Whip (3rd-ranking House Republican), emerges as the speaker-designate. Emmer is a controversial choice for House Republicans because he voted to certify the 2020 election results (gasp) and supported the Respect for Marriage Act. He is seen as more moderate than his opponents, yet Matt Gaetz inexplicably supports him and whips votes in his favor, which kinda implied Trump supported him, too. Here’s where things get even more chaotic…

Just past noon, Emmer won the vote and almost immediately called for a roll call within the conference to determine if he had enough support to go to the floor. There were reportedly 26 GOP holdouts. Remember: he could only lose four. Not good. But Emmer does have Gaetz and several other Freedom Caucus folks in his corner. So, maybe there’s a path.

At 1:11pm, Donald Trump, while sitting in court listening to Michael Cohen testify against him, posts on his platform Truth Social that Emmer is a “RINO” (Republican In Name Only) who shouldn’t be Speaker. Ruh-roh.

This causes a hell of a stir within the GOP conference, and Emmer is making no gains in bringing holdouts into the fold. The conference adjourns until 4pm to figure things out.

Just past 2pm, Gaetz, who just voted for Emmer and quietly worked to get him over the threshold within the conference, is asked by CNN’s Olivia Beavers about Trump’s post on Truth Social and responds that it’s really important to listen to “the leader of our party.” RUH-ROH. Also: WHAT?!

In that moment, Emmer’s candidacy is basically dead, and everyone is just working to figure out what happens next before House Republicans reconvene.

Just after 4pm, the GOP conference gathers again, and Emmer drops out. He then promptly leaves the conference in a huff, even while his colleagues stay to figure out where to go from there. Reportedly, Rep. Rick Allen told Emmer in front of all their GOP colleagues that he needs to “get right with Jesus” due to his support last year for the Respect for Marriage Act, the new law that grants federal recognition to same-sex marriages. Anyone still believe these people aren’t trying to overturn Obergefell?

At 6pm, the GOP conference reconvenes yet again, and after three ballots, Johnson wins the vote over Byron Donalds, 128-29. They then do a roll call vote to determine if he’ll have the support for a full floor vote; he gets 199 votes, with three members voting “present” and a few dozen members not voting. (Once again: he can only lose four GOP votes.)

There will supposedly be a speaker vote before the full house today.

Okay, so, that leads to two questions: 1) Who is this Mike Johnson guy? and 2) Does he have the votes?

Mike Johnson is far-right. He’s a steadfast supporter of Trump, notably serving as a member of his legal defense team during both impeachment trials in the Senate. He supported the Muslim travel ban, he opposes military aid to Ukraine, he’s aggressively anti-LGBTQ and anti-choice — he’s basically a Putin-sympathetic Christo-fascist.

But it’s really not clear that he has the votes. Because Johnson has flown under the radar, America really doesn’t know him or his political positions yet. It’s quite a roll of the dice for Republicans in Biden districts: do they take a chance on this guy now and hope he doesn’t hurt their reelection chances next year? Pretty damn risky call.

Here’s where Johnson is dangerous: he’s made few enemies among his colleagues, and he appears to be disciplined in presentation, a far cry from Jordan’s toddler antics. This could be enough to get him to 217, but again: he can only lose four GOP votes, and with his extremist positions, it’s asking a lot for his more moderate colleagues to take one for the team.

Anyway, per usual, I will be live-tweeting the speaker vote when it takes place today, god help me. And as always, if you’d like to buy me a cup of coffee for my coverage of this ongoing fiasco, I’d certainly be grateful.

I will leave you with this not-so-fun fact: there are 19 male House Republicans named Michael or Mike, and there are 33 women. When asked yesterday why no Republican women have run for speaker-designate, Rep. Cathy Morris-Rodgers replied: “We’re wiser.”

Oh, lord.

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I don’t know exactly how to explain it, but for folks my age, over the course of our lives, the concept that “silence is complicity” slowly went from being a rallying cry in activist communities to a generational imperative. We were the bridge for that societal transition.

We are, I believe, the first generation for which bullying started to be taken pretty seriously by authority figures and being an incurious bigot began to mean a significant loss in social standing. Adjacently, we were also the first generation to emerge from the post-9/11, public square chant of “see something, say something.”

As millennials enter our middle-aged phase, it’s fair to acknowledge we’ve learned the hard way that not speaking up enables evil things: hate crimes against marginalized communities, the illegal and immoral invasion of a country, government-sanctioned torture camps, travel bans, book burnings, and, among many other things: genocide.

For the past three weeks, in the midst of the murder of innocent civilians by the terrorist group Hamas, I have been astonished to witness a new wrinkle in our social fabric: it is has quickly become simultaneously impossible to either speak up or be silent.

When innocent people are being murdered, it’s morally unacceptable to stay silent, of course, but what happens when speaking up means somehow being perceived as taking a side between competing oppressions and their corresponding evils?

There currently exists a hair trigger sensitivity on this issue so pervasive in our national discourse that even so much as acknowledging the murder of an innocent civilian anywhere will draw hostility elsewhere.

It is no longer enough to express basic human empathy toward anyone suffering; it must be accompanied with extensive knowledge on foreign policy and the history of the Middle East, expressed through a litany of caveats, and even then, one risks being accused of condoning atrocities, either way.

In the past week, alone, I have been accused by online strangers of being in the tank for both the IDF and Hamas. Acknowledging the brutal murder of Israeli civilians by terrorists somehow means I’m condoning genocide against Palestinian civilians, yet calling for Palestinian liberation somehow means I believe Israel doesn’t have a right to defend itself against terrorists, much less exist.

Depending on the perspective of the extremists voicing these opinions, I am either an unapologetic neoliberal supporter of the open air prison that is Gaza or I’m a radical leftist who wants Israel wiped off the map.

For these extremist perspectives, there is no longer room for nuance, let alone grace; you must pick a side, they seem to say, and it had better be ours. At the same time, not speaking up—or, rather, the perception of not speaking up—draws anger from any given Very Online person who treats all of this like a team sport.

This weekend, a stranger DM’d me on Instagram and demanded to know why I hadn’t said anything about atrocities committed against the Palestinian people by the Israeli government. I had, of course, but they countered that I hadn’t done so via Instagram post, which, for them, I guess, is the equivalent of a press office.

Meanwhile, over on Threads—Instagram’s new-ish alternative to Twitter—I had posted that it’s morally unacceptable to deny water and electricity to Gaza, which was met with responses that demanded to know why I wasn’t taking Hamas seriously and openly wondered if I was condoning antisemitism.

Hovering above all this is a longstanding complexity in social justice: when it is better to amplify marginalized voices instead of speaking up ourselves and vice versa?

If I simply retweet the personal story of an Israeli survivor of the Hamas attack or a Palestinian survivor of an Israeli airstrike, but I don’t add anything in my words, am I doing enough?

At the same time, it has been completely heartbreaking to receive private messages from friends who are either Muslim or Jewish unnecessarily expressing thanks for me saying anything at all because they feel it’s become untenable for them to do so.

And we’re not talking grand statements. We’re talking the bare minimum. Common sense observations that have quickly become less-than-common. Simple truths like “murdering civilians is bad” and “hatred against an entire religion is wrong” and “we can separate people from the actions of their government.”

The national conversation on this conflict has become so fraught in such a short period of time that just about any observation risks becoming the target from a certain kind of mindset that believes recognizing the basic existence of others will lead to giving up a mile of survival for an inch of humanity.

I was astonished by some of the responses to President Biden’s Oval Office address to the nation last week. He made it clear that islamophobia and antisemitism are unacceptable, that civilians in Gaza and Israel and Ukraine have a right to safety and dignity, and that Putin and Hamas must be defeated.

And yet, he was somehow accused of folks on the far-left and far-right of not doing enough. The great horseshoe of performative nonsense reared its ugly head in response to a speech that was full of empathy, nuance, and clarity.

If a speech that balanced and thoughtful and humanity-focused is considered by some to be a failure, what hope do the rest of us have in the eyes of people who deem nuance to be a character flaw?

If you don’t know exactly want to say in this moment or you’re scared to say anything at all, I don’t blame you. It’s rough right now. An ill-timed, exasperated sigh is vulnerable to being accused of bias in either direction.

If you’re expecting me to hide behind a “both sides” defense to avoid saying anything that might offend extremists on either end, you’re sorely mistaken. I am more than happy to articulate my thoughts on this crisis.

I think Hamas is a terrorist group made up of antisemitic cowards who have been abundantly clear that they want to destroy Israel and drive Jewish people out of the Middle East, and they have used this to justify intentionally targeting and murdering more than 1,400 innocent Israelis and taking more than 200 hostage, many of them children.

I think Benjamin Netanyahu is one of the most incompetent, inflammatory, and hateful political leaders of the 21st century, and the Israeli government has a long history of committing atrocities against innocent Palestinian civilians.

I think Hamas uses innocent Palestinian civilians as shields against accountability for their atrocities, and I think the IDF consistently fails to take the humanity of innocent Palestinian civilians into consideration when seeking to hold Hamas and other terrorist groups accountable.

I think Hamas is no more synonymous with innocent Palestinian civilians than the current Israeli government is synonymous with innocent Israeli civilians. I strongly believe innocent civilians should never pay the price for the horrific actions of their government.

I think Israel has every right to protect itself against terrorists or any other credible national security threat, and I think the current Israeli government has taken advantage of the goodwill they received following the attack on Oct. 7th to inflict unnecessary and cruel acts on innocent civilians in Gaza and the West Bank.

I think Palestinian liberation is a moral imperative and Gaza has absolutely been reduced to an open air prison for more two million people—the vast majority of them innocent civilians, nearly half of them children—and I think any given Israeli citizen is rightly terrified of extremists who want to kill them simply for being Jewish.

I think it is more than likely that Hamas intentionally beheaded babies, and I think people who are haggling online over how the charred corpse of an infant came to be decapitated have completely taken leave of their senses and need to sit down and reevaluate their sense of morality.

I think Hamas used rape as a weapon of war during their attack, and it is disgusting to me that otherwise reasonable adults can’t bring themselves to acknowledge this.

I think the explosion at the Al-Ahli Arab Hospital last week was most likely not the result of an IDF airstrike, and yet, it is inexplicable to me that this is getting more attention than the fact that the IDF has clearly committed war crimes by ordering what they know is an impossible evacuation of the area before airstrikes.

I think media around the world—and American media, in particular—have been thoroughly abysmal in their reporting on the hospital explosion and are certainly to blame for needlessly inflaming an already impossible situation.

I think we all need to slow down and recognize that the unfolding catastrophes in Gaza and Israel are clearly ripe for disinformation. Don't readily accept any given thing you read on this situation without applying critical thinking and looking for confirmation. Slow down.

I think the IDF has viciously slaughtered innocent Palestinian civilians on a constant basis in the past three weeks, to say nothing of long before that, and it is has become increasingly difficult to avoid characterizing their actions as anything other than intentional.

I think anyone in the United States defending the actions of Hamas as “freedom fighters” or otherwise rationalizing the attack or claiming the Israeli government forced Hamas to murder innocent civilians are more than likely antisemitic and completely unserious adults.

I think anyone in the United States using this attack by Hamas to justify the air, land, and sea blockade of Gaza have lost their humanity for the cheap reward of false clarity and are also completely unserious adults.

I think anyone downplaying the immediacy of more than 200 innocent people being held hostage by Hamas are delusional and flatly hypocritical because there’s no way in hell they’d be fine with their loved ones being in the custody of an extremely violent terrorist group.

I remain unconvinced that a ground invasion of Gaza by the Israeli military is in the best interests of anyone, and I believe this because the IDF has repeatedly proven themselves to be unconcerned with the welfare of innocent Palestinian civilians, whom most certainly will bear the most fatal costs of such an operation.

I think both Muslim Americans and Jewish Americans have been ruthlessly targeted in the midst of this crisis (and long before it), and it is horrific to me that there are people who have seemingly learned nothing from the past two decades of war and their antisemitism and Islamophobia still go unchecked.

I think Wadea Al-Fayoume should have lived to see his seventh birthday, and his murder was the result of stochastic terrorism and that anti-Muslim public figures in our country are ultimately to blame for it.

I think shame should be brought upon anyone who claims to understand this conflict and its accelerating complexity but offers an opinion that is totally one-sided.

I think, above all, the highest priority should be the protection of innocent civilians.

I think everyone should be honest about their fears in this situation and be vulnerable enough with each other to admit that we’re all scared.

To me, that’s more important any statement that could be made right now.

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Today is my birthday. I officially turned 37 very early this morning. There is not a day goes by that I’m not grateful for how far I’ve come in life, and every year, on my birthday, I can’t help but reflect on the kid in Central Texas who dreamed big things.

When I was 13, there was nothing I wanted more than to participate in one of those programs where young people travel to D.C., meet Members of Congress, learn about politics, and receive support to start their journey into public service.

It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten the name of the program we learned about in my school, but I’ll never forget the feeling I had when I realized I’d never be able to participate.

With travel and lodging and programmatic costs, it was a few thousand bucks. My mother could barely afford our necessities, and so, I came up with a plan of fundraising for a scholarship-of-sorts to participate after a teacher suggested the idea.

When I came home from school, excited by the idea that maybe this wasn’t out-of-reach for me, I told my mother, and she flatly forbade me from fundraising.

My mother, who struggled with no shortage of personal demons, told me she’d feel embarrassed if I asked others for help on this. I tried to reason with her, and she wouldn’t budge. I can still picture her smoking a cigarette on the couch and shaking her head, promising to punish me if I didn’t do what I was told.

I didn’t argue with her. I knew better. I went to bed and cried myself to sleep, and that was that.

Nine years ago, as a 28 year-old gainfully employed with a federal job, I remembered that crushing feeling long ago and decided to celebrate my birthday that year by helping some young person be able to do what I couldn’t.

I reached out to Running Start, a D.C.-based organization that offers political leadership programs to young women in high school and college. Their program alums include the brilliant Congresswoman Lauren Underwood (IL-14).

I told them what I wanted to do, and they enthusiastically agreed.

That year, through my friends and colleagues, we raised enough money for two young women in need to have full scholarships to attend Running Start’s Young Women’s Political Leadership Program, a week in D.C. learning essential professional skills in politics and meeting women leaders on the Hill.

We did it again the following year, except we were able to fund FOUR young women who wanted to learn about politics but didn’t have the money.

Every year for the past nine years, I’ve done a birthday fundraiser for Running Start, and over that time, we’ve raised well over $100,000 in scholarships for young women in high school and college who otherwise couldn’t afford the opportunity to grow as leaders.

Last year, Running Star and their partner org Xceleader—founded by a young woman who went through Running Start’s program—asked me to dedicate my birthday fundraiser to their HBCU Women’s Leadership Summit, focused on empowering young Black women to go into politics. We raised more than $22,000 — covering all the travel costs for participants who couldn’t afford it.

Next month, hundreds of women will gather in Iceland for the 2023 Reykjavik Global Forum, an invitation-only global women’s leadership conference. The Forum convenes women leaders from all sectors, including politics, business, civil society, academia, the arts and media, to share ideas and solutions on how to further advance society towards gender equality in leadership.

Every year, Running Start brings a delegation of young women to the Forum to meet their peers from around the world, on every continent, participate in leadership training, build bridges for gender equality, and imagine a better future for all people.

I’ll be blunt: I don’t want any young woman to decide she can’t participate, despite being qualified and working hard, because she doesn’t have the money. I don’t want any young woman leader to have that crushing feeling of disappointment I had when I was a kid all those years ago.

So, the goal for my birthday this year is to raise $20,000 — enough to cover all expenses for young women who want to participate in this life-changing program but can’t afford it.

Look, I know I do a lot of fundraisers on causes that matter to me, and it probably gets exhausting for y’all—totally fair—but this one is especially meaningful for me. The thing about politics is that your life can dramatically change just by meeting the right person at the right time.

I wouldn’t be as successful as I have been if certain wonderful people hadn’t helped me out in critical moments in my career, and I wanna do everything I can to help out the next generation of young women leaders who have the drive to change the world for the better but not the resources.

So, I am asking with all humility and gratitude for y’all to make a donation to Running Start to support their delegation of young women to the Reykjavik Global Forum. I really do believe we can be the catalyst that sets these young women on a path to being global leaders someday.

Here are some incentives:

Every donation gets a personal thank you note from me. There is no such thing as too small a donation. You got $10 you can spare? That covers a meal for one of these young women. I’d be grateful.
Every donation of $100 or more gets a personal phone call from me.
Every donation of $500 or more gets an hour-long chat over Zoom with me OR if you live in the D.C. area, I’ll treat you to lunch.
For those who go way above and beyond and donate $2,500 or more, I will gladly travel wherever you want for a speaking engagement. Got a gala or a company event and need a keynote? I’ll happily do it if you support these young women.
Not really finding these interesting? Got something else in mind? Send me an email with your idea. I’m completely open to suggestions. I’ll do anything to ensure these young leaders can participate. (My email: cmclymer@gmail.com)

This is obviously an ambitious goal. I get that. But I think it’s absolutely worth it. And, after all, it makes that 13 year-old in Central Texas all those years ago feel a bit better about the world.

I appreciate the fact that y’all always show up. It really does mean a lot.

Here’s to 37 and making it count. Love y’all.

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Tomorrow is my 37th birthday, and oddly enough, it feels like both a decade and a week since my last birthday.

I spent my 36th birthday flying cross-country to a conference in San Francisco whilst simultaneously raising money for Running Start’s HBCU Summit, one of my favorite non-profits. Much to my astonishment, by the time I landed in the early evening, y’all had raised more than $20k for young women in politics. (Thank you!) I’ll be doing another fundraiser for them tomorrow.

Although I typically use this blog/newsletter to publish essays, I wanted to do something different today: I wanna offer y’all some opinions I’ve formed in the past year. These don’t necessarily represent growth. It’s not that serious. It’s more like a snapshot from my vantage point. Without further ado:

I truly have no desire to hear another thing about Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith's relationship, and I'm not sure why anyone does. It’s become tedious. I think they’re both good folks, and I hope they find peace through means that don’t involve mass media.
Aaron Rodgers should retire, not just from the NFL but from public life generally. He had a good run once upon a time. That run is over. May he embrace a peaceful retirement far away from any cameras or microphones.
I think Martin Scorsese is probably right about the effect of Marvel movies on the state of cinema, but I just don’t have the energy to care about it.
We must do all in our collective power to prevent the comeback of low-rise jeans.
It’s 2023, and some of you fools are still surprised to find out that Mariah Carey writes her own songs and it’s very weird and you should feel foolish for being surprised.
There are few things funnier than tennis players losing their s**t over pickleball enthusiasts.
When the transphobes started going after trans women in competitive chess, claiming we have an unfair advantage over cis women, that should have been the moment everyone went: “Oooooh, so, y’all are definitely dipshits, and this was never about fairness.”
If I never hear another thing about the alleged use of vibrating anal beads in world class chess tournaments, it’ll still be too soon.
I used to believe that Flamin’ Hot Cheetos are the best chips. I was wrong. It’s actually Lays’ Salt & Vinegar. Check in with me next year to see if this changes.

I hope y’all enjoyed this lighthearted post in the midst of many serious pieces I’ve written lately about the world.

If you’d like to wish me a happy birthday, please consider a paid subscription and/or just buy me a birthday drink, which I will gratefully accept.

Love y’all. Here’s to another year around the Sun.

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It shouldn’t need to be said, but here we are.

In the past 72 hours, it’s been incredibly disturbing to watch the attempted justification or rationalization for the terrorist group Hamas brutally murdering more than 900 people in Israel and taking 150 hostage in a coordinated attack that targeted civilians.

At best, it’s not that they so much condone the murder of civilians, such apologists claim, but that it’s understandable that Hamas resorted to violence out of desperation for the plight of the Palestinian people.

Their clownish argument, essentially, is that the Palestinian people have been backed into a corner, and there was no other choice: slaughtering and raping and kidnapping innocent people is a necessary evil in service to Palestinian liberation.

For example, on Saturday, three dozen student groups at Harvard University released a joint statement with this summation: “We, the undersigned student organizations, hold the Israeli regime entirely responsible for all unfolding violence.”

This is an unserious position. It is concerned far more with public performance and a desperate need for approval from peers than it is about Palestinian liberation. It is self-serving, disgusting, and wholly counterproductive to achieving freedom for those suffering in Gaza.

It has been truly depressing this weekend to watch grown adults gloss over mass murder by terrorists because they view the victims as necessary collateral against an oppressive government. In what reality is slaughtering innocent people aligned with a human rights framework?

It is impossible to reconcile support for Palestinian liberation as an obvious human rights imperative with excusing terrorists who massacre innocents, use rape as a weapon of war, and take children hostage.

I have long criticized the Israeli government’s history of atrocities against the Palestinian people. I believe Prime Minister Netanyahu is a horrible leader. It is abundantly clear—and it has been for quite some time—that Gaza is a human rights catastrophe.

And yet, none of this justifies the targeted murder of civilians. It is no more rational to intentionally kill innocent Israelis over the actions of their government than it is to kill innocent Palestinians over the actions of Hamas.

Rationalizing the actions of Hamas is entirely unhelpful to the Palestinian people. It accomplishes nothing beyond a temporary sense of self-satisfaction. It directly enables bad faith actors to point and say: “See? They support the killing of innocent people. They want to destroy Israel. They hate Jewish folks.”

It plays right into the hands of terrible people who care neither about Palestinians nor Israelis and take advantage of our consistently inept mass media environment to hide the truth and promote a narrative through which all innocent civilians continue to suffer.

This needs to be understood: the vast majority of Americans wouldn’t know how to locate Israel and Palestine on a map, much less explain why they’ve been in conflict for decades.

Right now, the average American is seeing that a terrorist group murdered, raped, and kidnapped innocent civilians and that some campus groups at Harvard believe the terrorists are justified. And that is accurate.

It doesn’t matter if the crisis is far more complicated. It doesn’t matter if that’s unfair framing on this broad issue. What’s going to dominate tens of millions of conversations this week in the United States is that a bunch of elitist students at Harvard sided with terrorists over innocent civilians.

That will be the story in much of America tonight at the dinner table.

Furthermore, it has become impossible to push back against claims of antisemitism when supposed supporters of Palestinian liberation fail to rightly condemn all violence against civilians except when those innocents happen to be Jewish.

I am completely heartbroken for Jewish people around the world who are watching violent antisemitism be excused as a strategy of liberation when it is nothing more than an act of cowardice being used by terrorists who are exploiting the suffering of innocent Palestinian people to justify their hatred.

Hamas has made it clear that they want to destroy Israel. They have made it clear they want to eradicate Jewish people. They have flagrantly violated human rights for women, for LGBTQ people, and for anyone who falls outside their violently extremist worldview.

It is profoundly foolish to conflate the plight of the Palestinian people with a terrorist group who are using those innocents as shields.

And every reasonable adult should be pushing back against such nonsense.

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Early this morning, the terrorist group Hamas launched the broadest attack on Israel in five decades, murdering at least 250 Israeli civilians, wounding thousands, taking many hostage, including children, on a Jewish holiday and on Shabbat, it would seem intentionally so, all of which amounts to what many experts are calling Israel’s 9/11.

Today’s coordinated attack on Israeli civilians by Hamas is not about protecting Palestinian civilians. It’s about degrading and dehumanizing Jewish people. Let’s be very clear about that.

This is not about keeping Palestinian children safe. This is not about preventing further violence against Palestinians. This is not about freedom for the Palestinian people. This has nothing to do with liberation.

Hamas has decided to attack innocent Israeli civilians because they are self-serving terrorists who exploit others’ suffering as a vehicle for their unrelenting antisemitism.

Nothing is to be gained for innocent Palestinians from these cowardly actions by Hamas, and they know that.

This is about hatred of Jewish people and a denial of Israel’s right to exist and a rejection of their rumored, historic peace deal with Saudi Arabia, and it is an astonishing moral failure for anyone to suggest otherwise.

It is completely absurd on the part of some to take advantage of the sheer complexity of this horrific conflict to justify the intentional targeting of civilians. You can criticize the Israeli government and not be antisemitic. You can speak out against Netanyahu’s atrocious leadership without being anti-Israel.

But you cannot justify the intentional murder of civilians with criticism of the Israeli government.

There is no rationalizing this. There is no moral basis for it. There is no nuance to be found here, however much some might wish there were.

Hamas has never cared about human rights. They have never cared about freedom. They do not care about the Palestinian children whose trauma they are attempting to weaponize for hateful ends.

Israel has every right to defend itself, and they are completely justified in doing all in their power to prevent this from happening again. The United States and every other country should be roundly condemning Hamas and offering support to Israel.

My heart breaks for the countless Israeli families whose lives were shattered today, and yet, it is abundantly clear that those who will suffer most for this cowardly attack are innocent Palestinian civilians.

In one fell swoop, Hamas has placed innocent Palestinians in grave, imminent danger for no more reason than their hate-fueled incompetence. They are intentionally using innocent civilians as shields while they carry out their senseless acts of violent bigotry against Jewish people.

Whatever happens next, it is clear that children and the elderly will suffer most, and it is obvious that Hamas is at peace with that.

They need to be defeated and dismantled for the sake of all innocents, and the world needs to unite against them with that objective in mind.

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This afternoon, Kevin McCarthy became the first Speaker of the House to be ousted from that position following a motion to vacate that was filed last night by Rep. Matt Gaetz of Florida.

Gaetz needed only six GOP votes to go against McCarthy, but he got eight, including a somewhat curious vote from Rep. Nancy Mace (SC-01), the anti-choice and anti-LGBTQ lawmaker who seems quite invested in convincing political media she’s a moderate while she does things like this. (She is not a moderate.)

It’s hard to understate the history at play here. It’s not just that McCarthy is the first Speaker to be removed, but that he was ousted less than nine months into his tenure, the shortest of any Speaker who didn’t die in office. It is certainly not an overstatement to point out that this is a massive political failure.

It’s not just a failure for McCarthy but the entire Republican Party, who have been made to look disorganized, fractured, and clownish by a small number of GOP extremists. The GOP will undoubtedly suffer from this in the short-term, particularly with elections next month in Virginia and New Jersey.

And it may spell significant trouble for 2024. Depending on how long this vote for the next Speaker is dragged out, Republicans could be losing hundreds of thousands of moderates across the country—if not millions—with each day this circus continues.

In January, McCarthy needed 15 ballots to finally be elected Speaker, and he had to give the extremists everything they wanted, including the motion-to-vacate by an individual member, which Gaetz duly weaponized last night.

Following the vote, one congresswoman was reportedly crying on the House floor, and dozens of Republicans supporting McCarthy lined up to console him.

So many shocked faces being acquainted with a leopard.

Speaker Emerita Nancy Pelosi was not present; she’s currently in San Francisco after traveling back with the body of the late Sen. Dianne Feinstein. There was no way she could have come back in time. The Speaker Emerita and McCarthy are not exactly fond of each other, so you can imagine she was disappointed to miss this vote.

McCarthy served 270 days, the equivalent of 27 scaramuccis or 0.093 of a pelosi, after giving away his power—and his dignity—to man-toddlers who eventually stabbed him in the back.

Nancy Patricia Pelosi, who served 2,290 days as Speaker of the House, won election to Speaker by her colleagues on the first ballot every time, deftly shepherded some of the most notable legislation in modern history, and successfully defied challenges to her leadership with uncommonly brilliant coalition skills, backwards and in high heels.

Kevin McCarthy just found out in the hardest way possible that Nancy Pelosi only made it look easy.

Tonight, the GOP will meet in private and then, supposedly, we’ll get the first ballot vote for Speaker. I’ll continue to cover it, of course, through here, Threads, and the website formerly known as Twitter.

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I don’t remember the first time I saw Vivek Ramaswamy in one of the countless cable news hits he’s done since the announcement of his presidential campaign just over six months ago, but I remember the first time he held my attention. It wasn’t a cable news hit. It was some random video in my timeline.

Mr. Ramaswamy was at a campaign event six weeks ago in Ottumwa, Iowa, a town of 25,000 that has seen five presidential visits, most recently with then-Pres. Obama in 2010. This small town hall was hosted by the local GOP.

He was in the middle of a longer answer about “firing the managerial class of the Pentagon” over the accusation against top military leadership of engaging in “wokism” and so on—you’ve likely heard some version of these thoughts from one of the countless rightwing provocateurs who parrot it—when suddenly, he was interrupted by a shouting protestor.

The protestor—whose name I ain’t gonna put here in order to protect her privacy—was yelling at Mr. Ramaswamy: “Protect women! I am not having someone else’s kid if they rape me!”

He immediately (and curiously) said “Amen!” and attempted to pivot in some related direction (the audio is a bit muffled) when she responded: “Republicans are raping people! President Trump is a rapist!”There were overlapping interruptions until she was swarmed by campaign staff and volunteers, who motioned for her to leave, which she started to do for about 15 yards, when Mr. Ramaswamy asked for her to come back and speak. So, she walked back up, to in front of the stage, and did speak.

She talked about abortion rights and the absolute terror of living in a country in which rape can be a death sentence because of unnecessary and clownish (my words) restrictions on abortion care.

Mr. Ramaswamy waited for to say her piece and asked for her name and if she said she’s a mother (yes, she said, and her kids are successful) and he replied: “I want to say you’re doing one of the most important things...a mother raising more children in this world. Even if we have our disagreements, I want to say thank you for that. So thank you.”

She started to walk back out—probably because this was all a bit overwhelming, she later told an NBC reporter she had no plans to interrupt or protest the event—when Mr. Ramaswamy then said this:

“And part of what it means to live in this country is we have free speech, we get to speak our minds openly, even if we all don’t agree on it. So, let’s actually applaud her for the courage, coming into a room and asking a question even though we don’t agree on everything, OK?”

She nodded to acknowledge what he said, the audience applauded her as she was walking out, and that was it.

Mr. Ramaswamy supported Donald Trump in the 2020 election and has steadfastly defended him in the public square against his various indictments and other legal controversies in recent months. He is absolutely a Trump supporter, but what he did at that event was not a very Trumpian move.

His political idol—the inspiration for his entry into politics—would not have asked the woman to come back and speak her mind. He would have done some combination of talking over her, mocking her, and exploring sidebar topics that were halfway between adjacent to the discussion-at-hand and seemingly random.

We all know this.

But Mr. Ramaswamy invited her back and gave her the space to speak and then deftly defused the tension in the venue with praise for her, and by the time she was walking out of that event, he was looking pretty good to a lot of people.

Was it sincere? Probably not. Was it very contrived retail politics? Yeah. But honestly, I don’t think it really matters. I think debating his intentions in that moment is worthless, knowing that the folks who would debate something like that were not his intended audience.

At no point did he admit that he or Trump are wrong. He just expressed a basic show of empathy on shared values that sounded really classy to his intended audience. It wasn’t to convince the likes of me, I know that, because I am not who he has in mind in his broad messaging.

He threaded the needle in that moment for Trump supporters, however cynically, in such a way that he got credit for both refusing to budge on his views and coming across as a decent man, the latter of which Trump has struggled to do most (all?) of his life, even when he’s actually trying.

So, now, Trump supporters can show this video to others and say: See? We’re decent folks who respect each other in disagreement. It’s the left who shows up to interrupt a conversation and stir up trouble.

Again, I need to emphasize that whether or not this makes anti-Trump folks (like myself) feel anger or frustration or annoyance is completely besides the point because once again: we are not the intended audience for Mr. Ramaswamy’s campaign comms strategy.

Mr. Ramaswamy has one goal in mind: he wants to be the heir apparent for the Trump wing of the Republican Party (which is most of the GOP). He wants to succeed him as the leader of that faction, which has reliably kept Mr. Trump in place as the de facto leader of the Republican Party.

The only thing that matters to Mr. Ramaswamy in this moment is positioning himself as the obvious choice to pick up that mantle, however far in the future. Maybe that includes angling for the bottom of the ticket, but even if he missed out on that, he’s still building his brand solely in Trump’s image for that handoff.

Take last night’s debate. Mr. Ramaswamy was widely criticized for his over-the-top, bombastic, uninformed, meandering, and non-sensical performance. He repeatedly talked over his opponents and the moderators. He seemed to relish embodying an intentional arrogance.

Sound like anyone to you?

Mr. Ramaswamy wasn’t at the debate last night to court MSNBC commentators who have spent last night and this morning consistently praising (and rightly so) former U.N. Ambassador (and South Carolina governor) Nikki Haley for handing Mr. Ramaswamy’s ass to himself with logic in a heated exchange.

He wasn’t there to court the minority of Republican voters who (rightly) believe his political hero is a traitor to American democracy or (correctly) sense that the Era of Trump will eventually end in disaster for the GOP.

He wasn’t there for social media pundits like myself who have found it all-to-easy to mock his manic performance. (I likened his general vibe last night to that of a youth pastor who taken’s a bump of cocaine backstage before coming out to deliver a sermon.)

No, he was there to audition for an audience of one: Donald John Trump, and it didn’t take long for supporters of Mr. Trump to pick up on that.

Mr. Ramaswamy declined to offer any support for accountability of Mr. Trump in the midst of his myriad indictments and other legal controversies. Whereas as every other candidate, to some degree, criticized Mr. Trump, he has stood steadfastly beside his political hero and defended him.

This is not by accident. The party’s frontrunner may not have been present last night, but the spirit of Trumpism was very much present in Mr. Ramaswamy’s performance.

All of the other candidates on that stage last night have been struggling with a common puzzle: how to attract Trump supporters without alienating them — with these added complexities: 1) the risk in turning off moderate voters in the general (as Trump does) and 2) the risk in attaching their integrity to a sinking sink (which Trump is).

Unsurprisingly, none of these candidates have come close to figuring it out, probably because it’s an impossible task. Mr. Trump’s voters only want him. Prime example: look no further than Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis, who has a glittering resume and—until recently—had the wide backing of much of the Republican establishment.

Mr. DeSantis’ message to the Trump faction has been: I’m not saying my approach is morally better; I’m saying my approach is smarter, and we can go a lot further in conservative goals with my approach.

Mr. DeSantis has attempted to run to the right of Mr. Trump, seeming to throw down a gauntlet: This guy is all talk; I am all action. Watch me go after Mickey Mouse. Watch me take over universities. Watch me ban books. Watch me not give a damn what my critics think, either, including Trump.

The Governor of Florida has sought to present himself as the new and improved Donald Trump, with far greater discipline and actual legal and policy chops — Trump without the embarrassing gaffes, Trump without the raging narcissism, Trump without the self-destructive chaos.

His efforts over the past several years in the direction of this goal have mostly failed because it turns out—surprise—that Trump supporters do not want an improved version of Mr. Trump. They don’t see need for improvement. They want Mr. Trump in the original packaging, thank you very much.

I firmly believe that every candidate on that stage last night understands this about Trump supporters, but none of them have been willing to do what Mr. Ramaswamy is clearly doing: unapologetically embracing everything about Mr. Trump, no matter how awful, in an attempt to be anointed as his successor someday.

Mr. Ramaswamy is not actually running for president; he’s running to be Mr. Trump’s crown prince, and if Mr. Trump should, someday, find himself out of the running due to the overwhelming legal quagmire he’s currently in, Mr. Ramaswamy is waiting there with open arms: your vision and your legacy are safe with me.

And if Mr. Trump stays in the race, despite the very steep legal challenges, Mr. Ramaswamy is setting himself up as a strong Veep choice or, barring that, with an unconditional blessing and unparalleled favor from the leader of the GOP.

That’s the goal.

To do that, Mr. Ramaswamy has clearly decided he must kill his own ego and shed any sense of shame. All that matters is being an especially devoted cover band for the twice-impeached, 4x-indicted, former president.

It means pretending that he is not a Phi Beta Kappa graduate, summa cum laude, of Harvard College and earned his law degree from Yale with the assistance of a Paul & Daisy Soros Fellowship for New Americans, a fact which was inexplicably removed from his Wikipedia article back in May.

It means pretending that he is, somehow, the only millennial of his high intellectual curiosity who has not hunched over a computer at any point in the past two decades and typed the words “climate change” into the Google search box and pressed enter.

It means pretending that he lacks the requisite legal education—let alone, the best legal education in the world—to clearly discern that Mr. Trump has repeatedly and flagrantly and shamelessly broken federal and state law many, many, many times over.

It means pretending that the list of “truths” he has taken to parroting—an itemized ideology of Trumpism tenets, basically—are somehow not completely antithetical to basic critical thinking skills, let alone the whole of his elite education and life experience.

It means pretending, to all the world, that he is somehow inferior to Mr. Trump, which everyone knows is completely false, including Mr. Trump himself. The point is not to acknowledge what’s obvious to everyone; the point is the performative kneeling that is required to sell himself to Mr. Trump as eventual heir.

And it all comes with enormous risk. Mr. Trump has managed to evade, for six years, substantial accountability for his numerous crimes and acts of cruelty. Now, in recent months, full accountability of Mr. Trump feels more real to the country than at any point in this era. It feels inevitable.

Four active indictments, 91 total federal and state charges, ranging from obstruction to racketeering to conspiracy to defraud the U.S. government to illegally hoarding highly classified documents pertaining to our national security, on record openly admitting to wrongdoing, legally screwed beyond imagination.

If Mr. Ramaswamy makes his own future inextricably bound with the reputation of the person previously described, he certainly risks going down with the ship, even if he didn’t break any laws.

That’s the gambit. All the other candidates in this race are trying to shape some kind of reasonable, post-Trump future, and wouldn’t dare careening off the cliff with him — yet, Mr. Ramaswamy is doing exactly that and hoping it pays off with being anointed by Mr. Trump, one way or the other.

He doesn’t care about annoying or enraging the other candidates. He doesn’t care about the lectures from pundits across the spectrum. He doesn’t care about shame. He only cares about fully committing to this singular role.

It would seem Trump supporters sense this. While most non-Trump folks were picking Mr. Ramaswamy apart last night, myself included, he was earning high marks from Trump folks who were watching.

When CNN did a post-debate poll among a focus group of 15 Republican voters in Iowa, these were the results: seven for Mr. Ramaswamy, four for Ambassador Haley, two for Gov. DeSantis, and two abstentions.

The cherry-on-top for Mr. Ramaswamy was the praise posted by Mr. Trump on his platform Truth Social: “This answer gave Vivek Ramaswamy a big WIN in the debate because of a thing called TRUTH. Thank you Vivek!”

What answer had Mr. Ramaswamy given that so impressed Mr. Trump?

“President Trump, I believe, was the best president of the 21st century.”

Made in his own image, indeed.

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On Monday, a photo of the Illinois State Fair Butter Cow — that is, a cow presented as “sculpted out of butter” — went viral after the shocking revelation that it’s a wire-and-steel-mesh frame sculpted in the likeness of a cow that has simply been covered in slabs of yellow spread.

I got serious beef with this, but I will admit that I accidentally shared this image with the caption that it’s from the Iowa State Fair, which has been in the news a lot lately with the GOP presidential primary and the fact that the two overlap. I was wrong. My apologies, Iowa. To err is bovine.

But I will not apologize for The Truth being accidentally revealed about the butter cow at the Iowa State Fair, which, it turns out, is also a wire-and-steel-mesh frame covered in “600 lbs. of low moisture, pure cream Iowa butter,” according to the Iowa State Fair website!

So, what is going on here? Is nothing sacred? Apparently, most of us have just been walking around under the assumption that when our fellow Americans tell us they carved a statue of a cow out of butter, by god, they’re telling us the truth. We salute the flag, and we give thanks for bovine providence.

Well, no more. I have looked into all these claims of “butter cows” to figure out who’s telling the truth and who’s udderly shameless.

First, I looked into the scope of state fairs. Three states (Connecticut, Maine, and New Hampshire) have no singular state fairs but rather various agricultural fairs, which was the original purpose of the state fair, anyway, so I’m counting these. Rhode Island does not have an event of these sizes, per se, but does host smaller fairs.

Interestingly, Massachusetts annually hosts The Big E (Eastern States Exposition) in Springfield, which is intended to be more of a regional fair for the New England states, including the four aforementioned. So, based on how you look at it, you could say every state has a state-fair-of-sorts.

The District of Columbia—which should absolutely be a state if we lived in a just world—also hosts a state fair annually.

Additionally, while the U.S. territories—American Samoa, Guam, Northern Mariana Islands, Puerto Rico, and U.S. Virgin Islands—do not have “state fairs” in the sense of large primarily-livestock-and-agricultural gatherings, they do each have commensurate, popular fairs and/or festivals.

For example, Puerto Rico hosts the San Sebastian Street Festival in Old San Juan, the U.S. Virgin Islands host Carnival, and Guam hosts the Guam Micronesia Island Fair.

Also: the Navajo Nation annually hosts the Navajo Nation Fair in Arizona, drawing more than 100,000 visitors in 2016, larger than some state fairs.

All told, there are close to a hundred big fairs of various varieties in the United States, and many states have multiple fairs beyond their primary state fair. Pennsylvania, alone, has five. Talk about really milking this concept.

But there are only four state fairs that regularly feature a butter cow sculpture: Illinois, Iowa, Ohio, and Wisconsin. Although Iowa’s butter cow sculpture is probably the most legen-dairy, Ohio was the first to do it in 1903, eight years before Iowa.

All four use a similar process: a frame of various materials, mostly wire-and-steel mesh, covered in layers of sculpted butter. Of course, the more you think about it, the more this makes sense. We’re usually talking 600-800 lbs. of butter with the frame, alone, so a solid butter heffer would probably be cowed by the laws of physics.

The Minnesota State Fair, in my humble opinion, is where things get a lot more interesting. They annually crown the “Princess Kay of the Milky Way” among ten young women finalists, each of whom has a likeness of their head sculpted, one per day, by famed butter sculptor Lisa Christensen.

Christensen is said to be the only butter sculptor whom regularly works with live models, and the process usually takes between six and eight hours. The sculpted heads are displayed in a walk-in, refrigerated area over the duration of the fair.

The winning young woman is crowned Princess Kay the day before the beginning of the fair, and she receives a scholarship and serves as the ambassador for the Minnesota dairy industry for a one-year term. Shout-out to incumbent Rachel Rynda, whose term cow-incidentally ends this evening when the 70th Princess Kay of the Milky Way is due to be crowned.

There are no frames or any other non-butter materials used by Christensen when carving these likenesses, just ~90 pounds of butter and pure instinct. Even the thought of using a frame probably makes her curdle.

All that said, as much as I joke, carving the likeness of a cow’s body shell takes remarkable talent, even if it is margarinally less than the full-butter cow most of us perceived.

And to be fair, none of these sculptors claim to be shaping livestock fully out of butter. All are quite transparent about their process. So, don’t have a cow about it.

I say “well done” to all you sculptors out there; when it comes to these cows, you butter believe I affirm all of them.

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In a matter of hours, England’s women’s national football team—known affectionately as “The Lionesses”—will compete against Spain in the first World Cup Final that England has seen in nearly six decades.

For those unaware, football (known to us Americans as “soccer”) is massively popular in England. In fact, it’s where “association football” (as it’s formally termed to differentiate from variants) was born and popularized. In fact, even “massively popular” feels like a bit of an understatement.

Football is one of those things that is central to British identity, right up there with the Royal Family, the Beatles, subtle and self-deprecating comedy, colonialism, and unseasoned food.

Unfortunately, since its victory against Germany in the 1966 World Cup Final, the English men’s team has failed to recapture that glory. In the intervening six decades, the closest they’ve come were two semi-final flameouts. Something akin to a national crisis occurred when they failed to even qualify for the 1994 Men’s World Cup.

So, I want y’all to humor a hypothetical. Imagine if England’s men’s national football team had made it to the World Cup Final last year in Qatar. As Americans, the best comparison we have is probably the 1980 Winter Olympics, in which a young U.S. team upset the U.S.S.R. juggernaut on the way to the gold medal.

I don't mean in terms of direct sport comparison but national fervor. Our U.S. Women's National Team has been enormously successful and deserves all the plaudits, but here, too, sexism is rampant. Our country didn't screech to a halt for the last World Cup Final we were in.

So, take that comparison on steroids, and you’d have the likely response of England to its men’s team being on the verge of greatness. The country would practically shut down for the event. British media would be in a frenzy of orgasmic patriotism. Maybe the Spice Girls would even finally announce a new world tour.

And this is what’s key: there is no doubt—not a single doubt—that King Charles III, Prince William, and Prime Minister Rishi Sunak would be attending the Men’s World Cup Final in person. It is silly and childish to pretend otherwise. There is absolutely no way these three men miss that event.

And yet, as of this writing—and it doesn’t look as though things will change—neither King Charles nor Prince William nor Queen Camilla nor Princess Catherine nor any of the other British Royals nor Prime Minister Sunak will be attending the World Cup Final to cheer on The Lionesses.

Literally all of the top British leadership are missing this historic event. But why? Is there a national crisis? Have they fallen ill?

No. They’re mostly “on vacation” and can’t be bothered to attend. I’m not kidding.

William & Kate and their young children are currently on holiday, though it’s not especially clear why William can’t get his happy ass on a plane ride to Sydney for a brief visit to celebrate this moment.

Charles & Camilla didn’t even bother to offer a reason, explaining through a press statement that they would be cheering on The Lionesses in front of a television at Buckingham Palace.

PM Sunak has also failed to offer a reason, though it’s almost understandable—almost but not quite—that a sitting prime minister may, in theory, have other factors to consider.

Here’s the kicker: Prince William has been the president of the Football Association—England’s governing body for football—since 2006. He is the literal figurehead for English football, and though it may be mostly symbolic, that symbolism comes with a responsibility.

As criticism of the Royals has ramped up, the Prince’s press flacks have frantically and weakly attempted to float the absurd reasoning that William is missing the World Cup Final to reduce his carbon footprint.

Yes, you read that right. Prince William is hiding behind climate change to avoid cheering on The Lionesses.

Spain, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate. Queen Letizia and her daughter Princess Sofia hopped on a plane and will be cheering on their women’s team from a suite at Stadium Australia, along with 75,000 other spectators.

It’s quite embarrassing for the British Royals, and they should absolutely feel ashamed for the message this sends, not just to The Lionesses and their supporters but every woman and girl in the United Kingdom, who are being told, unequivocally, that women’s sports are just not that important.

William’s advisors, sensing the growing public resentment could prove problematic, scrambled to have him film a 14 second video for the The Lionesses with Princess Charlotte, his 8 year-old daughter, sitting beside him. He said the following:

“Lionesses, I want to send you a huge good luck for tomorrow, we're sorry we can't be there in person but we're so proud of everything you've achieved and the millions you've inspired here and around the world. So go out there tomorrow and really enjoy yourselves.”

I do communications for a living, and sometimes, I have to explain to clients that the most important thing, bare minimum, is that your audience feels heard and you’re making an effort. If nothing else, acknowledge the needs of your audience and that you care about those needs.

Did anyone watch this video and really believe that William gives two s***s about The Lionesses? I don’t. I think an exasperated advisor convinced him to sit down for a quick iPhone video and this is what we got. It’s deeply underwhelming.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a crisis comms response that is simultaneously aloof, cloying, weakly pandering, and vaguely annoyed. It’s not only less than the bare minimum but so poorly attempted that it comes across as insulting. It feels as though William’s teeth had to be pulled to make it.

If you’re gonna hinge your response on a video, why not make an effort? Talk about the importance of women’s sports and what this World Cup Final must mean to girls across England. Talk about the growth of women’s sports and why it makes England stronger.

Get the entire family—William, Kate, George, Charlotte, and Louis—in the video, and have Kate talk about why their boys will be watching, too — why boys and young men have a responsibility to cheer on the girls and young women in their lives.

I have to admit that even as an American, I feel angry over this. I feel angry for The Lionesses and women athletes in England generally and girls and women who know that if they bring up the clear disparity in support compared to male athletes, they’ll be shouted down as “shrill feminists.”

Enjoy your vacation, William. I know your job is so hard, after all.

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About ten days ago, Oliver Anthony, a farmer and former factory worker in Virginia, uploaded a casual performance video of his new song “Rich Men North of Richmond” to YouTube. As of this morning, it’s been viewed nearly 15 million times.

Mr. Anthony, with no previous experience in the music industry, now has the #1 song on Apple’s global music chart and may well top Billboard’s Hot 100 by next week.

It would be easy to claim this is the result of astroturfing (that’s when a “grassroots” campaign is fabricated), and sure enough, some progressive commentators have been loud in their suspicions. The overnight groundswell of support in rightwing media for Mr. Anthony’s debut—every far-right luminary from Kari Lake to Matt Walsh has spent the past week hyping the song—doesn’t help in that vein.

But there are two big things that undermine this theory. The first is that Mr. Anthony has a legitimately great voice and when set to a simple guitar accompaniment, there is an undeniable gravitas to his delivery. If some of the lyrics were different, it’d be easy to see this emerge as a mainstream, crossover chart-topper that appeals to folks across the political spectrum.

The second thing is authenticity. Unlike Jason Aldean’s hypocritical screed “Try That in a Small Town” (Mr. Aldean is neither from a small town nor has he ever lived in one, nor did he write the song), Mr. Anthony has plenty of blue collar credibility and penned his own lyrics.

There’s also the difference in aesthetics. Mr. Aldean’s music video for “Try That in a Small Town” (which clumsily uses stock footage from protests in Canada) feels like a weak-ass, racist clone of any given bro country music video on CMT.

Mr. Anthony’s video, on the other hand, is just him and his guitar and a microphone set up with the Virginia countryside in the background.

Where Mr. Aldean comes across as too corporate and pandering for his own good, Mr. Anthony, clad in a sweaty t-shirt, looks like he just told his buddy to set up a camera on the farm and get this all in one take. The visuals are simple and natural and powerful, which is, I strongly believe, partly what’s making this song go mega viral.

Hell, maybe we will find out that this is a particularly sophisticated campaign by the far-right to stir up nonsense, but I honestly don’t think that’s it. I think Mr. Anthony made an unusually compelling song with an unusually compelling video and it landed in the right hands at the right time.

Nevertheless, it’s unfortunate that Mr. Anthony’s song could have been a broad call to unite against corporate corruption but instead, he settled for a confused, distracted, and unkind broadside against vulnerable people.

The far-right appears to love this song not so much for its gorgeous melody and his voice but the dogwhistles strewn throughout the lyrics.

The first 45 seconds or so are pretty straightforward and, on their own, could even be mistaken for a leftist anthem:

I've been sellin' my soul, workin' all dayOvertime hours for b**t paySo I can sit out here and waste my life awayDrag back home and drown my troubles away

It's a damn shame what the world's gotten toFor people like me and people like youWish I could just wake up and it not be trueBut it is, oh, it is

Livin' in the new worldWith an old soul

And then, things take a sudden turn:

These rich men north of RichmondLord knows they all just wanna have total controlWanna know what you think, wanna know what you doAnd they don't think you know, but I know that you do'Cause your dollar ain't s**t and it's taxed to no end'Cause of rich men north of Richmond

Obviously, those are references to cancel culture, censorship, and taxation being promoted by politicians in D.C. (a few hours north of Richmond, Virginia). Still, even so, these are pretty garden variety conservative lyrics.

But suddenly, without warning, things go off the rails:

I wish politicians would look out for minersAnd not just minors on an island somewhereLord, we got folks in the street, ain't got nothin' to eatAnd the obese milkin' welfare

Well, God, if you're 5-foot-3 and you're 300 poundsTaxes ought not to pay for your bags of fudge roundsYoung men are puttin' themselves six feet in the ground'Cause all this damn country does is keep on kickin' them down

You caught all that, right?

The “minors on an island somewhere” is referencing Jeffrey Epstein, the infamous, dead pedophile-rapist-trafficker whose name has become synonymous with the most shameless QAnon conspiracy theories.

In fairness, the welfare bit could be an honest condemnation of all welfare by Mr. Anthony, but in a conservative context, it’s almost always a dogwhistle referencing “welfare queens,” the term popularized by then-candidate Ronald Reagan to horribly, implicitly slander Black mothers.

(Then again, if Mr. Anthony is condemning all welfare, how would that work out for folks in the street who ain’t got nothin’ to eat? Hmmm. Also: Republican-led states benefit the most from federal welfare programs, which is, curiously, an essential fact that’s routinely left out of these conversations by conservatives.)

Mr. Anthony then curiously attacks overweight folks, claiming our taxes are paying for their fudge, and then pairs this with a reference to the “War on Boys” or “War on Men” or “War on Masculinity” or whatever grifting, nonsense framing the far-right is using these days to claim masculinity is in trouble.

After that second (and final) verse, Mr. Anthony finishes with his chorus, where, now, the words “people like me and people like you” hit a lot differently than they did at the beginning of the song.

So, is this meant to be a rightwing anthem? Is Mr. Anthony a diehard Trump supporter? According to him, not the case, and I gotta say: I think he’s being sincere when he says that.

In a video commentary posted to his YouTube channel the day before the release of this song, Mr. Anthony states:

“I sit pretty dead center down the aisle on politics and, always have. I remember as a kid the conservatives wanting war, and me not understanding that. And I remember a lot of the controversies when the left took office, and it seems like, you know, both sides serve the same master. And that master is not someone of any good to the people of this country.”

Do I agree with all that? No, I don’t. I think there are crooked politicians across the political spectrum but only one party is actively fighting to undermine working class and middle class families, and I think that’s obvious to anyone willing to be honest with themselves.

And yet, the rest of the video is unexpectedly disarming. Mr. Anthony genuinely comes across as reasonable, humble, and compassionate. I could definitely see myself sharing a beer with the guy in that video, and yet, it’s hard to reconcile the guy in that video with the guy who wrote that song. They don’t seem like the same person.

In my most generous reading of all this, I think Mr. Anthony is a nice man with a good heart who wants to do right by others and has simply been exploited overnight by rightwing media who see a useful vehicle for their grifting.

But then, I go back to those inflammatory lyrics. Those weren’t written by accident. They’re mean-spirited and unapologetically conspiracy-minded and definitely not middle-of-the-road politically.

It’s clear that the who’s who among the far-right want to turn Mr. Anthony into the voice of their movement. They have latched on to him with a quickness. There is no doubt in my mind they’ll soon claim his music is being censored or repressed by “liberal media” (contrary to the widespread coverage he’s already received in mainstream media).

Only time will tell if Mr. Anthony is his own man — and better than that: the man we saw in his introduction video.

I pray that’s the man who emerges from all this.

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I often feel old these days, though I know I’m not.

I’m only 36, but don’t try telling my body that. My back is often sore. My joints move like caramel popcorn being squeezed. I’ve reached the point in my life—probably earlier than what’s healthy—in which, occasionally, taking a few ibuprofen has become an anticipatory action.

But I have noticed—though I don’t want to speak for anyone else here—that the most compelling proof I’m getting older is in watching those who built the world of my childhood pass on.

There is something about that time, coming-of-age, the latter part of early childhood to adolescence, in which reality is simultaneously being crystallized and suspended, brought into sharper clarity but not-so-threatening. In youth, we experience the peak of a mindset in which the consequences of our actions seem highly plausible but still somehow unlikely.

(By the way, this is one of the many reasons I do not wish to be a parent: I have, thus far, failed to fully grasp the careful art of understanding consequence without allowing it to hold me back in necessary moments, and I can’t imagine being qualified to teach a child this essential life skill. Hats off to you parents who are capably doing so.)

As a child, I understood death and appropriately feared it to a degree. I understood that I could die. Of course I could die. I was a little s**t effortlessly rendered helpless and swelling by a random bee sting. My mortality was not up for debate in my own mind.

My failure as a child was understanding the mortality of others and the ensuing paradox that arose from that (again, in my own mind). Yes, I could die, but these adults in my life were much stronger and somehow less likely to die. When I was nine years old—and I think this is true for the vast majority of people—even the thought of making it to thirty felt on par with traveling to the Moon.

Plausible, I guess, but justifiably too far away to put much thought into it.

Because that perception of time is so cavernous, it felt like the reasonably healthy adults in my life might live forever. They would not, and I knew this, of course. But for a small part of me, it felt that way, and so long as they were perceived to be in relatively good health, there was no reason to adjust that perception.

They had already traveled to the Moon. Who was I, with more fingers than years, to say they ever needed to stop traveling?

I remember exactly where I was when Robin Williams died. I was sitting at a seafood restaurant’s outdoor section in Bar Harbor, Maine. I was on a vacation with my ex-girlfriend. It had been a pleasant trip, full of fun and adventure. She had left to use the restroom, and I sat there at the table, briefly alone, basking in the comfort of our gorgeous surroundings.

My phone buzzed, I picked it up, and the notification ruthlessly glared back at me. I don’t remember if it was CNN or NYT or whatever, but my brain, refusing to accept it, quickly decided a sick joke was being played. A particularly successful hoax had been perpetrated. There was absolutely no way Robin Williams was dead. Impossible.

I searched around and read what you might read in a few minutes from reputable sources, too many outlets with too many details for it to be wrong. I don’t remember when she came back to the table, but at some point, she was again seated across from me and asking if I was okay.

I recall looking up at her, not sure how to say it, and realized that most of these other folks seated around us probably hadn’t heard the news yet, either. And I really, truly envied them.

Robin Williams’ death was the first time my brain seemingly wouldn’t accept new information. It was the strangest damn thing. For six or seven months, I would occasionally forget he died and then be reminded and feel a bit shocked all over again, embarrassed by my unintentional childishness.

If you grew up in the ‘90s, Robin Williams was Genie and Jack and Peter Pan and Prof. Brainard and Patch Adams and, hell, for those of us staying up way later than we should have been, we knew him as Mork on Nick-at-Nite, too.

He was the Ultimate Fun Uncle to millennials, and yes, we knew he was mortal, but that was still no excuse to defy our childish expectations that he live forever. Someone as special as Robin Williams isn’t supposed to die—not just early but at all—even though we know that’s completely irrational.

When Sinead O’Connor and Paul Reuben died within a week of each other, I wrote a small note of condolence for Gen-X on Twitter, believing that most of the folks of that generation were experiencing a bit too many reminders of our collective mortality in such a short span of time. When the celebrities that defined your youth die, it hurts a little more than usual.

I don’t believe every person of a certain age experiences this the same way, nor do I believe any person outside a particular generation isn’t just as hurt by a particular person’s death, if not moreso.

But I do believe in generational grief, a specific type of pain that comes with notable deaths of those adults we revered in childhood. In fact, reverence isn’t even required. Even the reminder of that person’s presence in the world when you were a kid is enough to be poked in the side by Death’s hand and told: someday, it will be you.

I have never been good at grieving. I’m not even sure what “good” looks like. My mother died three years ago, and I would be lying if I said that I’ve moved past it. I know I haven’t, and worst yet, I’m not sure how it would look to do so.

In the time since, with the goal of better understanding it all, I have written something like 20,000 words about our relationship, which was quite unhealthy, to put it mildly. Sometimes, I think about publishing an essay on her and quickly throw away the idea. I wonder who needs to read it, and if no one, then aren’t I just writing it for myself? And if so, who else needs to read it?

I say again, I have never been good at grieving, whatever that’s supposed to be.

Along with most of my friends, who are around my age, I am entering a period of my life in which death, unexpected and otherwise, is increasingly becoming a far more prominent feature of living. In the past several years, alone, I have lost several friends and even more colleagues.

That’s life, I know. That’s how it works. Grief, I guess, is the active process of feeling what needs to be felt, whatever that may be, with the hopeful goal of getting back to active living.

Much easier said than done.

In the meantime, I’m trying to be more grateful for the people in my life now who make it worth living, those who hung the Moon in my sky while I’ve been too worried about missing it.

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This past May, country star Jason Aldean released a new song called “Try That in a Small Town,” which has lyrics that are—there’s really no nice way to say this—corny as hell.

I’ve been listening to country music all my life, and I gotta say that Mr. Aldean’s latest single sounds as though ChatGPT were asked to write an excessively generic bro country song sung by a white nationalist and this is what we got.

There are many commentators correctly pointing out that the song amounts to a symphony of racist dog whistles, but also: I just find it so incredibly boring as to be tedious beyond belief.

“Bro country” as a sub-genre tends to be tedious because it prioritizes commercial value to a specific demographic—aggrieved, conservative white men—over storytelling, which, in my humble opinion, is what historically makes country music so damn compelling.

I grew up watching CMT (Country Music Television) and listening to country radio, and I firmly believe the ‘90s were a golden age for the genre. George Strait, Garth Brooks, Reba McEntire, Trisha Yearwood, Randy Travis, Alan Jackson, etc. — so many catalogues chock-full of superb storytelling.

And yet, even that cohort pales in comparison to the greats who became before them: Alabama, Dolly Parton, Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Loretta Lynn, etc. etc. etc. (I’m just rattling these off in no particular order, so please don’t get on me for not including one of your faves.)

Anyway, in more capable hands, country is a high art and fun as hell. Bro country, on the other hand, is off-brand fast food produced with the specific intention of placating insecure, white, conservative men who perceive the genre as a bastion for their beliefs in a changing world.

About two weeks ago, Mr. Aldean released a music video for his new single that left no doubt as to what he was attempting to communicate via the lyrics he sings (but did not write, which ain’t that surprising given that Mr. Aldean hasn’t written any of his singles since 2009).

The music video—which I will not link here but you’re than welcome to google it—has Mr. Aldean singing with his band in front of the Maury County Courthouse in Nashville, TN while a montage of violent scenes from protests against white supremacy are projected on the building.

The intent of this imagery is very clear: Mr. Aldean is attempting to pander to white nationalists who believe that Black Lives Matter protestors are, somehow, a threat to The Heartland™ and that, somehow, “small towns” are shining beacons of patriotic light in the chaos.

It doesn’t help that, as many commentators have pointed out, the Maury County Courthouse is the site of the 1927 lynching of Henry Choate, a Black teenager who was murdered by a white mob after being falsely accused of raping a young white woman.

The song and video together essentially equate protesting white supremacy with violent crime whilst simultaneously threatening said protestors with violence if they ever do “try that in a small town.”

You get the picture. It’s racist as f**k, and it should be called out as such.

It’s so bad, in fact, that CMT pulled the video from rotation only four days after its release, which, in case you’re wondering, is extremely rare.

So, not great, to say the very least, but there’s something else to all this that I believe isn’t being discussed enough: what exactly is a “small town”?

According to a 2020 report from the U.S. Census Bureau (“America: A Nation of Small Towns”), incorporated places of the small variety are defined as having a population of less than 5,000 residents.

Interestingly, under that definition, the report points out that 76 percent of the nation’s population live in small towns, and more than 40 percent live in towns with a population of less than 500.

Thus, if you randomly pick a resident of the United States at random, it is more than likely that person lives in a small town.

Even more interestingly: Jason Aldean is not one of them and never has been.

Mr. Aldean was born and raised in Macon, Georgia — which, at more than 157,000 residents, is the fourth largest city in the state and ranks #166 nationally. That may not seem all that high up until you consider it’s out of 19,500 incorporated places in the United States.

That means Macon has a bigger population than 98.5 percent of places in our country, which isn’t too surprising if you know anything about Macon. It has not one but TWO airports. It has six hospitals. It has five college campuses. It has robust local media, print and television.

But here’s the biggest clue that Macon isn’t a “small town”: tens of millions of folks who’ve never visited Macon have at least heard of it. It’s referenced in Margaret Mitchell’s “Gone With the Wind” and in a “Simpsons” episode and in countless books on the Civil War given that Macon was the official arsenal of the Confederacy.

Mr. Aldean did spend summers with his father in Homestead, Florida — which has a population of over 80,000. That’s still a far cry from being a “small town” and even moreso when you consider that it’s a suburb of Miami and has a population density several times that of Macon.

Mr. Aldean’s entire professional career has been spent in Atlanta (pop. 498,715) and Nashville (pop. 689,447), so there’s ain’t any help there, either.

So, it has to be asked: is Mr. Aldean confused? He could be, and I think I may have found a clue as to why.

Mr. Aldean, who has shaped his career around projecting the image of a good ole boy from simple beginnings, is an alum of the Windsor Academy, a K-12 private school in Macon that has a not-so-cheap tuition price tag of nearly $9,000 annually for every student in 5th grade and above.

Hey, don’t worry, y’all: the Windsor Academy has a rigorous financial aid program and offers limited scholarships. Of course, if a student’s family does fall behind on tuition payments, barring extraordinary circumstances, they’re ineligible to receive financial aid until satisfying delinquent payments.

I bring this up because the full student body, across all grades, K-12, is just over 300 students. This could be the reason Mr. Aldean believes he relates to small town life: the vantage point of his small private school experience.

So, essentially, with Mr. Aldean, what we have here is a prep school dilettante who was raised in a big city, singing a song he didn’t write about an experience he never had, accompanied with a music video of which much of the footage was filmed in Canada.

Mr. Aldean has about as much credibility describing the “small town” experience as I would have working alongside the professionals of a NASCAR pit crew, and trust me, folks: you sure as hell don’t want me doing that. I respect my limitations.

Listen, y’all, this isn’t supposed to be literal. We all sense that. Mr. Aldean is not really attempting to describe actual “small town” life. He’s trying to pander to a specific feeling of a particular demographic that happily codes their bigotry with information shortcuts.

“Small town” does not mean a place that is literally small; it’s a symbol of a passed society for which Mr. Aldean and like-minded folks openly pine. It’s openly fantasizing for a time in which there was no question that folks who look like Mr. Aldean called all the shots.

But even aside from the biggest problem here—the racist bullhorn aspect—it’s also just incredibly insulting to folks who live in small towns. It’s condescending. It’s infantilizing.

The vast majority of folks who live in small towns don’t feel threatened by those who are different from them. They don’t solve their problems with violence.

It erases people of color (particularly Black folks), LGBTQ people, religious minorities, and social progressives who are just as much apart of small town life (and always have been).

That’s what’s most glaring about Mr. Aldean’s pandering: it’s obvious he simply doesn’t know the folks who live in small towns beyond his tourism.

In 2017, Mr. Aldean was performing onstage at the Route 91 Harvest country music festival when a mass shooter opened fire from the 32nd floor of the Mandalay Bay Resort in Las Vegas, murdering 60 people. It is still the deadliest mass shooting by a lone gunman in American history.

I don’t blame Mr. Aldean one bit for his response in that moment. I truly don’t. He could have used his microphone to urge folks to seek cover. He could have rushed into the crowd to save folks or administer aid. Instead, he ran backstage. I would have done the same thing. I think most folks would. I don’t think I would have had the wherewithal to be immediately helpful in that chaos.

Then again, I would never release a song, six years later, suggesting otherwise, and that’s partly the problem here.

Let’s hope Mr. Aldean embraces the concept of extending grace and nuance toward others as much as he expects it for himself.

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There are two highly anticipated films being released this week.

One of them is about an iconic and controversial public figure from the 20th century, their influence on how we perceive ourselves and each other, and how they reflect the enduring cognitive dissonance between our stated values as a society and the reality of our myriad systemic hypocrisies.

The other movie is about J. Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the atomic bomb.

Greta Gerwig’s “Barbie” is somehow both the perfect summer flick—hilarious and fun as hell—and an unflinching critique of a universal brand that has sold more than a billion dolls since its launch in 1959.

This is the fourth directorial effort from Gerwig, who received consecutive Oscar screenplay nominations for her two previous films, “Little Women” (2019) and “Lady Bird” (2017), the latter of which garnered her a directing nod, only the fifth woman to be in that category.

She is also an exceptional actor. Her performance in “Frances Ha” (2014)—one of my favorites—was widely praised and led to a Golden Globe nod for Best Actress in a Comedy.

Gerwig does two things particularly well in her work: she makes us laugh, and she makes us think. It is no surprise then that “Barbie” feels like an especially potent trojan horse, beckoning us with well-earned laughter into a larger conversation on gender and how Barbie—the defining cultural symbol of high femme expression—has shaped that discourse over the past six decades.

Neither preachy nor pandering, Gerwig is searingly honest and admirably fair in the screenplay she co-wrote with longtime partner Noah Baumbach. Barbie, the iconic doll, is rendered here—played brilliantly by Margot Robbie—as neither saint nor villain. She is an ever-changing projection of social views that have amalgamated during her tenure at the top of the toy world.

Gerwig drills into that dynamic at the center of the film’s plot. Barbie, who is initially depicted in a montage of the Barbieworld utopia—a gorgeous Dreamhouse, a sexy Barbie Convertible, great friends, perpetual sunshine—is randomly confronted with thoughts of death and finds herself literally caught flat-footed. She consults with Weird Barbie—the iconoclast of Barbie Land, played pitch perfect by Kate McKinnon—who explains to her that these changes are from the outside world, the thoughts of a girl playing with her.

Barbie reluctantly sets out to find this girl in the real world and make things right, so she can get back to her daily utopia. She is joined by Ken (Ryan Gosling), who cannot perceive of himself as anything other than an extension of Barbie and the two are shocked to find that the real world is an inverse of gender power dynamics.

In Barbie Land, the Barbies run everything and the Kens (and poor Allan) are merely accessories, but in the real world, Ken discovers the fast-food-like joys of patriarchy in a hilarious sequence of scenes while Barbie contends with unbridled misogyny for the first time. Moreover, upon finding the young woman who played with her, she learns that Barbies are considered by many girls to be enablers of the patriarchy.

If this all seems like a lot, it’s a testament to Gerwig’s brilliance in putting it onscreen, in which zippy dialogue and clever sight gags in a visual feast acknowledge the nuances of Barbie’s complicated legacy without even a hint that we should give up on Barbie. On the contrary, Robbie imbues Barbie with such empathy and charm that it’s impossible not to root for her.

And yet, Gerwig doesn’t shy away from putting Mattel on blast, whom are depicted in the film as an all-male Board of Directors led by Will Ferrell, who humorously attempts to get Barbie out of the real world and back to Barbie Land.

Ferrell’s clumsy attempt to insist to Barbie that women are important to Mattel’s history while surrounded by his all-male colleagues is one of the funnier bits of dialogue in a flick packed with hilarious exchanges and zingers.

Many of those zingers and other thoughtful lines are delivered by an outstanding supporting cast: Rhea Perlman, Issa Rae, and Emma Mackey among them. I was quite delighted to see Hari Nef play one of the Barbies with substantial dialogue, and she is magnificent in this. Some fun cameos include Dua Lipa and John Cena as mermaids (ahem, excuse me, Cena is a “Kenmaid”).

Without giving anything away, I was particularly taken with America Ferrera’s performance as Gloria, an employee of Mattel and mom of the teen girl being sought out by Barbie. Ferrera is an outstanding generational bridge between contrasting views on Barbie, her character having a complicated nostalgia for the doll while her daughter rejects it.

But it’s Ferrera’s monologue on what it means to be a woman about two-thirds through the film that marks a standout moment. Honest, funny, and a bit depressing, the speech captures the essence of what makes Barbie’s legacy so uneven. It serves as an anchor for the story, forcing the viewer to confront some unhappy but necessary truths.

Again, what makes Gerwig’s vision so brilliant is in how the seriousness of the film’s discussion on gender neither washes out the fun nor is diminished by it. It’s a tightrope act that Gerwig walks with fantastic balance. The film wouldn’t be nearly as fun without her honest framing.

Gosling is especially a joy to watch. The Ultimate Himbo, after discovering patriarchy in the real world, Ken rushes back to Barbie Land to become something of a Jordan Peterson guru to the other Kens, except where Peterson has zero charm and is the dipshit’s idea of a smart man, Gosling is quite hilarious and charming in parodying him.

As Ken realizes that he has to define himself separate from Barbie and not treat her as the source of his self-worth and therapeutic needs—HINT HINT HINT—Barbie is realizing that she may want a lot more with her existence than what she’s always had.

Don’t worry: no spoilers, but the ending is particularly moving and well-written.

I’m going with my girlfriends to see it again on Saturday. We will all dress in hot pink and laugh at the biting humor. Then, we’ll probably get drinks and talk about Gerwig’s clever approach in unpacking the complexity of Barbie and the closing line of the movie, which alludes to how this whole conversation on gender and womanhood is based on a doll without a vagina.

“Barbie” is in theaters this Friday, July 21st. Four stars. Go see it.

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You may have heard about the organization Moms for Liberty.

It was founded in early 2021 with the initial purpose of advocating against COVID-era protections in schools, like vaccines and mask mandates. Over the past two years, the group has become far more infamous for their support of book bans, censoring any mention of white supremacy, anti-Blackness, and LGBTQ identities in textbooks, and calling for the segregation of LGBTQ students into special classes.

The org has ties to the Proud Boys and Three Percenters, both of which, as I’m sure y’all know, are extremist, anti-government groups. This year, the Southern Poverty Law Center designated Moms for Liberty an “extremist” group itself, laying out its active presence within the far-right movement since its launch.

The latest round of controversy involving Moms for Liberty is in how they’ve taken to quoting Hitler, Stalin, and Mao during their events — almost always in the context of pointing out the evils of indoctrinating youth.

Moms for Liberty and their defenders will claim that this is being taken out-of-context and that quoting violent dictators isn’t meant to defend those dictators but merely implying that their ideology aligns with the far-left, particularly on issues of LGBTQ equality.

I don’t believe that Moms for Liberty is lionizing Hitler, Stalin, and Mao. I also don’t believe that the group has read much into the history of these tyrants, either.

Before we get to the meat of all this, let’s point out the obvious: reconciling Stalin’s role in helping defeat Nazi Germany—and thus, helping to save the Western hemisphere—with his legacy as a mass-murdering piece-of-s**t.

I imagine that the following conversation has taken place many times in these conservative homes that so heavily rely on information shortcuts and not so much the depth that history deserves:

Teenager: Dad, this Hitler guy seems pretty evil.

Dad: He sure was. Your great-grandfather served in the Army. He was part of the Normandy landings. It’s because of men like your great-grandfather that we’re free.

Teenager: That’s really cool. I’m proud of him. It was a coalition of countries, right?

Dad: That’s right. We were part of the Allies. A number of countries worked together to defeat Germany, Japan, and Italy.

Teenager: Russia was our ally, right? Stalin?

Dad: Well… yes, in that particular war, Russia was our ally.

Teenager: So, Stalin helped keep the world free, too.

Dad: It’s more complicated than that. Yes, Russia helped, but Stalin was evil, too.

Teenager: I read that the U.S.S.R. lost 11 million people during WWII, more than 22 times the fatalities of the United States. It sounds like they did a lot more than help.

Dad: Look, just shut up, and eat your dinner.

Because, it turns out, history is often complicated! We would have lost World War II without the U.S.S.R. and its evil dictator. Stalin was absolutely a mass-murdering piece-of-s**t, and yet, somehow, white Christian nationalists would have their children believe that the U.S. singlehandedly defeated Hitler.

We live in an era that has become calcified by information shortcuts following the larger part of a century’s worth of relentless propaganda about American exceptionalism and the evils of anything remotely adjacent to Nazi Germany and the Communist movement.

There is no room for nuance.

If you bring up that the single-day most devastating wartime acts of murdering civilians were carried out by the United States in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, you are a traitor to the brave heroes in uniform who sacrificed everything for our country.

If you bring up that Nazi Germany’s horrific laws and policies took significant inspiration from U.S. white supremacist laws and policies, you are claiming that the U.S. has a history comparable to what Nazi Germany did — which, given the millions of Black people enslaved and tortured and raped and murdered in our country and the white supremacist laws thereafter via Jim Crow, is fairly accurate.

Groups like Moms for Liberty don’t want our country’s history to be told. They want fairy tales that help them sleep at night, free from the enduring burden carried by the countless millions of descendants-of-enslaved-people in our country.

I’m not trying to make anyone uncomfortable here — though, if you’ll allow me to say so, discomfort is often a gift because it means we have learning left to do. I wish Moms for Liberty were inclined to examine their own discomfort and take the cue that they have learning left to do, as well.

If they did, they would realize that Hitler and Stalin and Mao would absolutely support their indoctrination of children against LGBTQ rights. All three dictators were viciously anti-LGBTQ. Let’s take a tour!

Hitler

LGBTQ people—primarily homosexual and bisexual men—were persecuted by Nazi Germany as soon as Hitler came to power. Thousands of queer people would be murdered in concentration camps and public streets and detainment centers. LGBTQ people who were imprisoned were forced to wear an inverted pink triangle to identity them as “sexually immoral” and thus at odds with Hitler’s vision — you may recognize this as the logo of ACT UP, the LGBTQ advocacy group most prominent during the HIV and AIDS crisis. The Institute for Sex Research—the world’s first sexology institute, based in Berlin—was raided in the early days of the Third Reich and was an early prominent target of book burnings, its entire archives destroyed by the Nazis.

Stalin

In 1917, following the Bolshevik Revolution, under Vladimir Lenin, homosexuality was decriminalized by the Soviet government, but under Stalin, it was re-criminalized in 1933, carrying up to five years of hard labor for relations between gay and bisexual men. Interestingly, Soviet propaganda linked homosexuality to Nazi Germany at the same time that Hitler was sending queer people into camps. It’s been estimated that up to 1,000 gay men in Soviet Russia were imprisoned annually for their sexual orientation under Stalin’s leadership. It was later revealed in declassified documents that he personally ordered an anti-gay law to be implemented.

Mao

Although I haven’t found definitive confirmation, there’s substantial evidence that LGBTQ people—particularly gay and bisexual men—were persecuted under the rule of Mao Zedong after the Chinese Communist Revolution. Mao supposedly believed queer men should be castrated for their “deviancy,” and in addition to the thousands of gay and bisexual Chinese men who reported systemic discrimination while seeking asylum, there are confirmed reports of gay and bisexual men being forced to undergo electric shock therapy as a treatment for their sexual orientation.

There you have it. Hitler, Stalin, and Mao—the triumvirate of conservative boogeyman bedtime story hour—have a lot in common with the Republican Party when it comes to LGBTQ rights.

So, while far-right extremists like Moms for Liberty openly quote these dictators in an attempt to fear-monger over the belief that LGBTQ people are trying to indoctrinate kids (never mind that I barely have time to pick up my dry cleaning this week), those same dictators were essentially making the same claims about LGBTQ people in their own time.

Can I close with a point that should be painfully obvious to anyone with common sense?

Folks like those in Moms for Liberty fall back on some of the most extremist literature written by some of history’s most evil people, openly quoting it to their kids, and then pretend that their children are somehow unprepared to read a picture book about a woodland creature with two moms.

The entire conservative blogosphere melted down when there was even just acknowledgement of gay anteaters or koalas or whatever the hell in the PBS children's show “Arthur,” but sure, do go on reading whole passages from the Little Red Book or Mein Kampf to your children.

By the way, for the millionth time, this has never been about the kids. This is about adults who can't negotiate their own internal discomfort about the world around them or be open to the 8 billion other experiences on this planet and have now put that labor on their children.

Your kid is going to learn at some point that some of their peers have two moms or that some of their peers are trans or that they, themselves, are LGBTQ, and that it used to be a lot harder to simply exist as such in most spaces and they're gonna struggle to reconcile the current, positive visibility of LGBTQ people with your hateful propaganda.

I say with all sincerity that I pray for your children’s health and happiness, that they may find an open heart in you when that times comes — that last bit being for your own sake.

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My earliest memory of patriotism is from kindergarten.

My family was living in a cramped apartment building, and every morning, as I waited for the bus to fetch me, the property manager would bring out an American flag to the pole resting in a grassy island in the middle of the parking lot.

I don’t know when I started doing this, but it only made sense for me to salute the flag as it was hoisted. I had seen it on television—soldiers rendering their own salutes—and I imitated them.

The property manager got a big kick out of this, and his beaming face only served to encourage my foal-like love of country.

The seed planted at that early age was invaluable. I had a broken family and an abusive home, and as a child, long before I really knew why, I needed some kind of pride in something — a value system, a set of beliefs, a confident path out of fear and uncertainty.

When you’re a kid who knows a little too much and doesn’t have much—materially and parentally—it can feel brutally lonely and hopeless.

In those early years, I had public schools teachers who told us that we could be anything we wanted in this country if we were willing to work hard to achieve it. To be fair, I don’t think it’d be remotely accurate to say that’s true. Privilege is a real thing, and I have found, far too often, that those with it seem unwilling or unable to see it.

But at that time, I bought into it. I studied hard, I stayed out of trouble, I dreamed big, and, above all, I wanted to serve my country.

For many, this is far too earnest. It smacks of naïveté and propaganda and jingoism and indoctrination into the ideology of American exceptionalism, specifically created to enable the military-industrial complex and keep the most elite in power.

I can’t deny our country is built on a horrific past, and moreover, we have an obligation to confront it, be honest about it, and rectify it, whatever discomfort that will entail.

But I do love my country. I love America. I often feel disappointed by what happens in this country—and in recent years, with increasing frequency—but I have never abandoned a feeling of pride in what this country could be.

I am a proud American because I still believe there are countless people in this nation who also believe in the vision of a country where no one is oppressed and where no one gets left behind.

In spite of our history, I still believe America has the potential to be a model society, and it is because of this belief that I rarely felt lonelier in my perspective than I have in recent years.

I am a trans woman living in a country in which a major political party has made it one of their prime policy objectives to eradicate people like me, for no more reason than mollifying their own fear and insecurity.

I have watched my community become a scapegoat through which mainstream politicians seek to shamelessly pander to their base and exploit unyielding ignorance for fundraising and political gain.

My community is living through a nightmare of violent propaganda from which there appears to be no immediate escape.

It is, of course, not just the trans community. Every marginalized community is witnessing a moment in which the human imperative to be empathetic and respectful, the very basics of decency toward others, is derided as “woke.”

And thus, I can understand why there are some in marginalized communities who see a trans woman wave an American flag and can’t help but feel annoyance and frustration.

My fluency in the language of pain is only native to the hurt I’ve experienced. I cannot fully understand the complexity of pain others experience that is varied from my own, nor do I pretend to understand it.

But respectfully: I have pride in my country because over the course of my life, it is has often been one of the few things that kept me going. Imperfect and struggling though it may be, I have to believe in America because I have already thrown my whole self into the idea of it.

And I do believe in this country. I still believe we can be something grand and hopeful and proud and inclusive, if only we’ll keep it up long enough to finally make the choices required to that end.

I hope all of you will enjoy time with your family and friends today, and more than that, I hope you’ll take time to remind your kids of the country we could have someday.

Happy Fourth to you and yours.

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This weekend, Lance Armstrong announced a video interview with Caitlyn Jenner regarding trans inclusion in sports, as part of a series which he’ll begin releasing today.

I don't know why Mr. Armstrong woke up one morning recently and decided that trans athletes and "fairness in sports" should be a topic that needs his public exploration, but I do have thoughts on all this and context for those without it.

First, let's get the obvious out of the way: as most folks know, in 2012, Mr. Armstrong received a lifetime ban from basically all competitive sports--not just cycling--after declining to challenge the findings of an investigation by the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency. The findings were so damning that he was stripped of all his Tour de France victories and dropped by every sponsor.

What did the USADA say about Mr. Armstrong?

That he was the ringleader of "the most sophisticated, professionalized, and successful doping program that sport has ever seen."

Not just in cycling. Not just in an American context. But in the history of sports. Ever.

And hey, look, even now--just as in baseball--there are folks, including Mr. Armstrong, who say this is far more complicated than perceived -- that everyone in the sport was doping, that doping in itself isn't the critical factor for superior athletes, etc.

My personal belief: there are regulations in sports and when you knowingly break those regulations, that's called cheating. That's a controversial take in some quarters, but even so, let's just, for a second, put Mr. Armstrong's historic, all-time #1 doping operation aside.

Forget about that.

I'm far more concerned with Mr. Armstrong's very long history of lying to people, intimidating them, threatening them, and generally engaging in pretty direct sociopathic behavior toward anyone who had the audacity to get in his way. I mean, we're talking YEARS of this behavior.

And that's all to say: I don't know how, after all that, after years and years of Mr. Armstrong publicly destroying his own credibility, anyone could take anything he has to say seriously.

This wasn't a few little goofs. This wasn't a rough patch. This was his entire career.

I'm from Texas, and he was a hero to many of us growing up. I can't emphasize enough that wherever you were during the height of Mr. Armstrong's popularity, it was nowhere bigger than in Texas. There was a solid year where it seemed almost everyone was wearing yellow bracelets.

So, when he denied he was doping and called out his critics, we took his side. Why would he lie? Why would he cheat? And then, as it unraveled, there was just severe heartbreak and the realization that he used our good faith and support to viciously attack innocent people.

Mr. Armstrong probably sees some sort of link between his historic cheating and the inclusion of trans athletes, or in other words: he wants his audience to draw a relationship between the two, which really sucks for trans people who are just trying to exist and play fairly.

I don't know exactly what Mr. Armstrong gets out of this--maybe a big check--but the effect is pretty obvious: a conversation between the greatest doper of all-time and a trans woman who despises other trans people as a rightwing media grift = further anti-trans propaganda.

Before Caitlyn Jenner became the rightwing's favorite anti-trans propagandist, she was firmly on the side of trans inclusion in sports. She played in women's golf tournaments and told journalist Dawn Ennis, in no uncertain terms, that trans kids should be protected in sports.

But then, as Ms. Jenner realized her quasi-advocacy path was too hard and wasn't doing whatever it is she had wanted and that the siren song of the conservative media circus called with promises of money and attention, she suddenly, seemingly overnight, changed her tune.

Suddenly, Ms. Jenner was the go-to mouthpiece for anything the GOP wanted said about trans people but needed a trans person to say it. Someone convinced her that running for Governor of CA while saying this would boost her profile. She was soundly trounced.

And now, having unequivocally burned bridges with the critical mass of reasonable adults, Ms. Jenner takes whatever odd jobs she can get pushing the same b**t rightwing nonsense -- whatever table scraps that sad world will offer her in exchange for complicity.

It is no mistake or coincidence that Mr. Armstrong isn't interviewing trans athletes currently competing or trans advocates or parents of trans children or supportive medical experts or champions of trans inclusion in women's sports like Meghan Rapinoe or Billie Jean King.

It is no mistake or coincidence that Mr. Armstrong is seeking out an interview with arguably the most famous transgender former athlete in the world who just so happens to be engaged in a multiyear effort to harm the livelihoods and rights of all other trans people.

Mr. Armstrong doesn't appear to want a complicated or nuanced narrative on trans inclusion in sports, which is interesting given how assiduously he has attempted to push for affirmation of complication and nuance in his own story.

You're not going to get illumination in the interview between Mr. Armstrong and Ms. Jenner, of course. You'll get Mr. Armstrong's calculated attempt at empathy for trans people and Ms. Jenner's sincere feelings of hostility toward trans people.

Mr. Armstrong—who is officially independent but thrown out various hints that he's more Democratic than not (for example, he endorsed Beto over Ted Cruz in 2018)—will probably tell you he doesn't hate LGBTQ people, including trans folks.

I don't think Mr. Armstrong hates trans people. I also think he doesn't give a s**t about us, one way or the other. For the vast majority of folks holding this view, it's fine with me. But now that he's found a way we can be useful to him, he intends to fully take advantage.

Mr. Armstrong still has a large platform and plenty of clout to gain access to folks willing to pay him to utilize that platform. There are many millions of people who still probably think he was wronged and still trust him to a large extent.

So, even though he doesn't care about trans rights either way, our utility to him is now being leveraged in the typically cynical manner he approaches the world. It seems the conversation on trans equality is paying dividends to those willing to mollify anti-trans sentiment.

Here are some things you will not learn in that interview:

No trans woman in high school has ever been awarded a college athletic scholarship in the United States. Ever. It's never happened.
No trans woman has ever medaled at the Olympics, despite erroneous reporting.
Trans student-athletes are so rare that on multiple occasions, when GOP lawmakers were asked to cite examples in their own states, they couldn't answer.
Lia Thomas has never broken a national or NCAA record and has had many races in which she didn't even place.

Now, do I think that any young trans woman in high school should be able to come out on Monday and start competing on any sports team she wants on Tuesday?

No, I don't. I think it's common sense to have fair regulations in place that protect the safety of all involved.

That looks different depending on the sport. We should be having that conversation in good faith. Any young trans woman should be permitted to compete provided she has followed through on regulations that ensure safety and fairness. That may mean waiting to compete! That's fine.

At the same time, I think it's utterly absurd to suggest there weren't unfair advantages in sport until this conversation on trans inclusion. When it's a cisgender male student athlete involved, these unfair advantages are praised and sometimes take on mythological importance.

Boys and young men who are significantly larger, taller, faster, and stronger than their peers are deemed to be great for sports.

Girls and young women who are similarly outliers are most often said to be bad for women's sports, and that was true long before trans inclusion.

The history of women's sports has seen rather disgusting policing of women's and girls' bodies. Girls and women who are not transgender but have atypical bodies have been attacked as being supposedly transgender long before now. There's a history of this.

The real war on women's sports is the lack of funding, lack of respect, and lack of overall support that has been true before and after Title IX. Even now, women athletes in the NCAA are given bare bones facilities compared to male counterparts. It's ridiculous.

All of these rightwing anti-trans clowns didn't really seem to care about women's sports before now. They're the same ones who claim no one watches women's sports (false), no one will pay for women's sports (false), and that women's sports aren't fun as hell (very false).

This is all the more absurd when you consider that most of the trans girls and women who compete in women's sports are average in ability. When a young trans woman is bad at sports, no one cares. But when she's good? Everyone suddenly has an opinion.

The same week that the parents of three young women who are not transgender filed a lawsuit against Connecticut to bar the inclusion of young trans women in track and field events, one of the young trans women was beaten by one of the young cisgender women in a state final.

Did any of y'all see that news?

No, because it undermines the narrative that has driven this absurd moral panic against trans student-athletes. If reasonable adults are made to sit down talk calmly through this in good faith, it suddenly lacks its clickbait value. God forbid.

I don't think this is a topic that has easy answers, but it has been so completely one-sided and so absolutely vicious against trans children that even children in sports who are not transgender are being harassed on suspicion of being transgender, such as the nine year-old girl who was shouted at by transphobic grandparents at a track meet.

So, yeah, when Mr. Armstrong and Ms. Jenner decided to further weaponize this complicated issue for their own benefit, I get a little angry over that. I think anger is warranted in a situation in which the lives of children are being directly affected by rightwing narcissism.

When your friends and family inevitably cite this interview as something to watch, I hope you'll take the time to gently inform them of the ways in which this is all a massive grift being built on the backs of trans kids who just wanna play sports with their friends.

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Pat Robertson passed away this morning.

He was a Southern Baptist minister best known for launching the Christian Broadcasting Network (CBN), founding the Christian Coalition (at a time, one of the most powerful political organizations in the country), running for president in the GOP’s primary in 1988, and hosting The 700 Club on CBN.

He used his large platform and outsized political influence to dehumanize innocent people and accelerate their persecution. Some highlights:

He once described all people who aren’t Christians as “termites.”

He spent his career encouraging Islamophobia and described Hindus as “demonic.”

He claimed LGBTQ people cause hurricanes, earthquakes, and tornadoes.

He subscribed to the belief that 9/11 was caused by feminists, queer people, and the ACLU, among others.

In 2010, the day after a horrific earthquake struck Haiti and killed an estimated 160,000 people, he went on The 700 Club and said that Haitians are to blame, claiming they made a deal with the Devil during their revolt against slavery in 1791.

He never apologized for these incidents. He never attempted to make amends.

So, while I'm sure there are many who will claim we shouldn't speak ill of the dead, I would like to point out that Pat Robertson went out of his way to inflict suffering on innocent people grieving the loss of their loved ones.

I’m holding his family in my prayers today, and I hope they receive far more love than he ever offered us.

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(WASHINGTON) — On Tuesday, House Republicans passed sweeping legislation that would prohibit all minors from entering Christian places of worship, ban Christian clergy from public K-12 campuses, and otherwise restrict interaction between children and Christian clergy in public spaces.

The Children’s Health and Religious Integrity, Safety, and Trust Act of 2023—CHRIST Act—was introduced only weeks ago in response to a massive public outcry over widespread sexual abuse of children across numerous Christian denominations in the United States.

“I am thankful to my colleagues for ensuring rapid passage of this bill, and I urge our Senate counterparts and the White House to seek immediate passage and implementation,” said House Speaker Kevin McCarthy, who has won praise for his leadership in confronting sexual abuse in churches.

The sexual exploitation of children by Christian clergy has come to the forefront of the nation’s conscience following seemingly unending revelations over the past two decades of adults in positions of authority assaulting and raping minors within their congregations only for that abuse to be swept under the rug.

In the United States, sexual abuse of children in Catholic parishes, alone, have led to about $4 billion in payouts to more than 17,000 survivors, according to data compiled by U.S. Catholic dioceses. Despite the widespread documented abuse, only one arrest has been made in connection with these cases: a defrocked priest charged with lying to FBI agents.

Some experts believe those numbers are just scratching the surface and could as much as double within the next decade as more investigations conclude their findings.

This past April, a report released by the Maryland Attorney General found that more 600 children have been sexually abused by priests and other church officials in state parishes.

Last month, the Illinois Attorney General released a report revealing that 2,000 children in his state had been sexually abused by Catholic officials.

The investigations were at least partially motivated by a report published five years ago by then-Pennsylvania Attorney General Josh Shapiro—now that state’s governor—detailing at least 1,000 survivors of sexual abuse by more than 300 priests and the myriad efforts by church officials to cover it up.

For example, in 2019, the Associated Press reported that nearly a thousand clergy members accused of child sexual abuse had been left off lists circulated by Catholic dioceses, including more than 100 former clergy members who have already been charged with rape or possession of child pornography.

Reports of child sexual abuse in Christian churches have gone far beyond U.S. Catholic dioceses.

For several years, the Southern Baptist Convention has been reconciling with ongoing revelations that have, to date, found more 700 victims of sexual abuse by about 380 clergy and other church leaders. Survivors were “stonewalled and denigrated” by top SBC leaders, according to a report released last year.

Sexual abuse scandals have similarly plagued white evangelical, charismatic, or independently-affiliated churches. Released this week, the Amazon Prime docuseries “Shiny Happy People” details a startling, widespread pattern of sexual abuse among congregants subscribing to teachings of the Institute of Basic Life Principles (IBLP), a nondenominational Christian organization that has gained major influence in the United States.

The documentary laid out efforts to cover-up various sex crimes by Josh Duggar, the eldest son in the reality TV family featured in TLC series “19 Kids and Counting,” including molestation and possession of child pornography. It then revealed evidence of countless other alleged sex crimes within the IBLP network, including an implication of inappropriate conduct by Bill Gothard, the minister who founded IBLP.

Countless other child sexual abuse scandals have been cited across the country in numerous denominations at churches and religious schools.

The growing outrage over these reports has reached such a fever pitch that House Republicans, newly in the majority after last year’s midterm election, have taken great pains to distance themselves from abusive clergy and hold them accountable.

“Look, we’re not saying that all Christian clergy are predators, of course,” stated Speaker McCarthy at a press conference following the vote. “But until we have assurance from church leaders that there will be zero tolerance for child abusers within their ranks, we cannot allow children to be put in harm’s way.”

He then pointedly added: “Christ would protect children. These churches need to be reminded of his teachings and get their houses in order. It’s time to root out these demons who are preying on children.”

Other GOP officials were more blunt.

“This is a culture problem,” insisted Rep. Majorie Taylor Greene (R-GA). “You have these men in dresses performing in front of kids and reading to them, indoctrinating our children into an abusive ideology. Children should be nowhere around these predators.”

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Dear Sir,

We don’t know each other past a brief interaction, and in the event this finds you, wherever you are, tucked behind anonymity, I am hoping it may be of service in your walk with God.

We were both on the Amtrak N.E. Regional that initially departed from New York City last Tuesday in the early afternoon. I’m not certain if you boarded at Moynihan Train Hall or shortly afterward in Newark, but by the time we were leaving New Jersey, it was difficult for anyone not to notice you.

I was sitting at a table in the Café Car with my back to you and a young man with whom you were engaged in robust conversation. It was a packed ride, and not only were all the tables occupied but there was a considerable line running down the center of the car to purchase food and drinks — which is to say: even in this especially loud part of the train, chatter aplenty, you stood out.

I promise I had no desire to eavesdrop, and yet, it was impossible to not hear your conversation. The entire car was forced to listen. I’m not kidding.

It started out innocently enough. You were talking about your relationship with Christ, and hey, being a churchgoing person myself, the subject doesn’t bother me. You were, I guess, attempting to proselytize to this young man, but it sounded like he was engaging enthusiastically, and the conversation was none of my business. So, I attempted to focus on work.

But the volume. My goodness, the volume. This was a moment I cursed myself for leaving my headphones at home, a rookie travel mistake for which I was now paying dearly.

You gradually became louder — so loud that out of the corner of my eye, I could see folks at the tables in front of us (and the folks in line), occasionally glancing back with a raised eyebrow. At least one person in line looked back at you and then locked eyes with me, as if to say: is this guy serious right now?

I did a small shrug and tried to focus on the many emails waiting patiently in my inbox for a response.

And yet… you kept going. It reminded me of that Saturday Night Live character played by Will Ferrell: the voice immodulation activist — not as monotone, mind you, but definitely as concussive. You were, I kid you not, a notch above that volume, just booming over the typical yammering of the Café Car.

I was very tired—this was my third roundtrip to NYC from D.C. in less than a week’s time, with some sort of work event every evening (multiple events on a few evenings)—and I just didn’t have the energy to care.

But then, the conversation between you and the young man took a turn. You told him—and the rest of us in the car, as everyone could hear you—about a moment recently when you were talking to one of your work friends about a mutual acquaintance who’s a trans woman.

You talked about how you misgendered this woman and your friend at work quickly corrected you. This had made you angry because your work friend—apparently, a middle-aged man like yourself—insisted that you not misgender her. This enraged you.

During your rant, you said something like “why do we have to pretend to be considerate to these people” — which, in case you’re wondering, is positively fantastic to have shouted at the back of one’s head when the conversation is about oneself.

There was a perceptible drop in the decibel level of the Café Car at that point, and this time, I felt a dozen eyes purposefully scan our corner, including a few that fell directly on me, gauging my reaction.

I’m not really allowed to have a reaction. You see, I’ve been here before. If I say something, I risk inflaming a situation with a person who is clearly primed to be a problem. On the other hand, I’m not gonna run to Amtrak personnel and bother them with a complaint that someone in the Café Car is being rude, which can also inflame the situation. Anyway, those folks are overworked, and I don’t wanna drag them into this.

There’s also the question of how trans folks are generally perceived when we express anger or hurt. It doesn’t always go well. In fact, most of the time, it puts people who are not transgender on edge. When we express pain, people who are not transgender have a tendency to get defensive and angry.

It’s also exhausting. Every trans person has been conditioned to pick our battles and engage selectively. If we responded to every instance of transphobia, from trivial to severe, it’s all we’d ever do. So… we have to choose wisely.

I did the quick arithmetic and decided to keep my mouth shut and hope the moment would pass quickly. I didn’t see a need to escalate things, and honestly, again, I just didn’t have the energy.

The young man sitting across from you—apparently as caught-off-guard as the rest of us—responded admirably, all things considered. He told you he lives his life and respects how others live their lives. He then changed the subject.

You went back to talking loudly about Jesus, and mercifully, my own prayers were answered because I was provided with a sufficient distraction that made me temporarily not care about your presence.

The train made another stop, and at some point, I looked up to see someone different sitting across from me: former Maryland Governor Martin O’Malley. We exchanged pleasantries, and before I knew it, we were engaged in one of the better conversations on politics and American life I’ve had in quite some time.

Mr. O’Malley is good people. We were both Fellows in different years at the Georgetown Institute of Politics and Public Service, over which we bonded, among other topics. He kindly bought me a drink and regaled me with anecdotes from his storied career in public service.

It was a nice respite from, well, you know… your pontificating.

Midway through our conversation, there was a ruckus behind me, and I looked back to see you engaged in some kind of heated argument with someone over table space, which got bad enough to the point that, once again, the rest of the Café Car looked back toward our corner as you spat out expletives at this person for whatever reason.

I’m sure it was super important.

For what it’s worth, that outburst felt like a gift because, truth be told, in one fell swoop, you came across as both insecure and in pain. Grown adults don’t cuss out strangers over table space in the Amtrak Café Car. Even on bad days, that’s not a thing reasonable adults do.

Suddenly, things clicked into place, and the marginal hurt over your anti-trans commentary earlier instantly dissolved. I was left simply feeling sorry for you. I don’t mean that in a condescending way, I promise. I mean that it made me wonder what’s going in your life that you felt this angry and insecure in the company of strangers on a mundane Amtrak ride.

It made me wonder what you’re going through right now that feels so painful. Your behavior that afternoon came into clearer focus. You’re in considerable pain and lashing out at the world.

Mr. O’Malley departed at the Baltimore stop, and eventually, you and me and all the rest finally arrived at Union Station in D.C. and began to leave the train.

I had forgotten my water bottle, so I doubled back, where a kind gentleman saved it for me, and I noticed you and me were nearly alone in the Café Car. I’m not sure why you hadn’t left yet, but there we were.

I should point out that one of my biggest weaknesses is my naïveté. I tend to have an annoying faith in the goodness of others, even when they haven’t exactly acted with kindness toward me. I’ve seen this work both ways. Sometimes, it leads to a moment of understanding (and sometimes, even friendship). And sometimes, it leads nowhere, and in those moments, it’s hard not to feel foolish for trying.

I think I do this because I know I’m profoundly imperfect myself and grace is one of those things that has a way of being reparative far beyond the present issue. We could all use a lot more grace in the world, right?

Against my better judgment, I walked up to you and extended my hand. I introduced myself with my first name and, with all the warmth I could summon, told you that I hope you’re gonna have a good day. I said it genuinely. I wanted someone to offer you a smile before you left the train and collided into the outside world.

With a look of deep annoyance, you quickly shook my hand, went back to gathering your things, and hissed that you were just trying to spread the Gospel. The way you said it as you glanced up gave me the impression you thought it might have an effect equal to that of water being tossed on the Wicked Witch of the West.

You, I guess, had thought this was about me overhearing all the Christ chatter — that I was about to confront you on all the Jesus talk.

When I responded “Oh, I have no problem with the Gospel; I find sharing it is most effective when done by example rather than words,” you did a double take from the bag you were gathering. Of all the responses I could have given, it was clear this one wasn’t on your bingo card.

You stood straight up, looked me in the eye, intent on getting the last word and asked (in a bit of a harsh tone):

“But do you know the Holy Spirit?”

(You asked this not unlike how a certain kinda dude would say “okay, name all their albums in chronological order” if a woman said she liked a particular rock band.)

But I do know the Holy Spirit quite well, so I answered in the affirmative. I told you I had known the Holy Spirit for a long time, which is quite true. I know what it means to know the Holy Spirit, to feel the Holy Spirit within me. I don’t expect others to understand it, of course, but I get it. I know that feeling. I crave that feeling.

I then said: “And the Holy Spirit reminds me that Christ loves you and Christ loves me and we are all called upon to love each other as Christ loves us.”

Naïvely, I thought this might thaw the ice between us, but I don’t think it did. You were still looking at me, but now, you had the expression of someone who really wants to be angry but you’re not sure why. What I had said is something you’ve heard in your church a thousand times, I’m sure of it.

But coming out of my mouth, it was just confusing.

You’ve built this bubble for yourself. You’ve flooded your daily life with people who sound and think exactly like you do. You thought you had your own language with them, a language only spoken in your church community. Because of that, it’s easier for you to disregard the outside world, particularly anyone who doesn’t speak your language.

And now, suddenly, standing in front of you, here’s this trans woman who’s fluent in that language and possibly may even speak it with greater efficiency than you do.

You stared at me, still angry but unsure what to say. I mean, what could you say in response to that?

I promise that all I wanted to do was mend some fences. In my wildest (and naïve) dreams, I had this hope that maybe we’d hit it off and talk about how God is bigger than all of us, how little we understand compared to God’s own understanding.

Clearly, that wasn’t gonna happen, so I said: “I hope you take care, brother.”

You looked at me for a beat and muttered “you, too” and walked away in a bit of a huff.

If this ever does find you, I hope you’ll understand that I recognize you’re in pain, and we do odd things when we’re in pain. One of the most common phrases of this era, already well-worn, is: “Hurt people hurt people.” I think there’s a lot of truth to that.

But I also hope you’ll understand that exclusion is the opposite of Christ’s teachings and has never amounted to anything worthy of the Gospel.

Finally, and I say this with love: just because you’re not in the Quiet Car doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be considerate to others.

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On Tuesday, Target announced they’re pulling some items from their famous annual Pride collection, which has become a huge hit in the wider LGBTQ community over the past decade. In their statement, they wrote:

“Since introducing this year’s collection, we’ve experienced threats impacting our team members’ sense of safety and well-being while at work. Given these volatile circumstances, we are making adjustments to our plans, including removing items that have been at the center of the most significant confrontational behavior.”

In case you’re wondering, the items in question are harmless but have become the center of the typical anti-LGBTQ conservative outrage machine that has plagued our national discourse at a fever pitch over the past few years.

If you're a corporate marketing officer concerned over what's happening with Target, let me make something abundantly clear: you will never appease anti-LGBTQ extremists. They don't want some concessions. They want all of them.

But there's a colder truth at play here.

You think this is about a few clothing items, and it's not. I promise you it's not. These are the same people who were livid that Pink Floyd used a rainbow in their 50th anniversary logo for "The Dark Side of the Moon" -- for the unfamiliar, that iconic album cover depicts line being shone through a glass prism and dispersed into the color spectrum—also known as a rainbow—years before the rainbow became a symbol of LGBTQ pride.

So… think about that for a second, right? These are not reasonable people.

When the Bud Light controversy erupted, the CEO of Anheuser-Busch made the unwise choice to cave entirely. He essentially apologized for the company recognizing that trans people exist and suspended the marketing executives behind the harmless Dylan Mulvaney campaign.

It didn't work. They're still boycotting Bud Light even after the CEO’s painful public groveling to anti-LGBTQ consumers.

You need to understand something about these people: their objective is not really to gain any ground but to find an outlet for their rage at the world changing around them. They are starving for outrage all the time. They would rather be perpetually angry than be mollified.

They are furious that anyone would ask them to learn about others because it de-centers their experience as the unassailable, unaccountable default. And deep down, they know we're never going away. The closet has been permanently opened.

These people long for an America that always catered to those who look and act like them -- that is: white, heterosexual, traditional families. They use religion as a shield for their bigotry. They don't really care about what Christ taught; he's just a convenient vehicle.

But that America is long gone, and it's never coming back. We are witnessing the very long and painful last gasp of that world. And boy, are they furious. Enraged. They've had to keep quiet about it for so long, but in the past several years, the quiet part became very loud.

If they can't get that world back, what's the next best thing? Finding community in outrage. These people go out of their way to be angry. They'll share rightwing clickbait articles they know to be false because it gives them permission to be spitting hot mad. They’ll look for any and every opportunity to fume over the most anodyne things if there’s even a hint that it falls outside their extremely narrow worldview.

They are angry, and beneath that, they are very, very scared. They will claim they're not scared. But they're terrified. None of this works without fear.

Fear of what? Uncertainty over their place in a changing society that increasingly doesn't defer to them.

For rightwing grifters, Christmas is every day right now. All they have to do is feed these people things to get irate over and rake in the cash. Click and subscribe. Buy their book. Buy their b**t wellness product. “Give me your money, and I will give you a reason to be angry." It's a paid service. It’s a drug.

Target thinks this is going away, and it's not. Target could pull all their Pride merchandise and sever every relationship they have with the LGBTQ community, but anything short of a corporate statement of "Yeah, we hate LGBTQ people, too" will not end this.

Companies need to understand what's happening right now. You cannot mollify bigots whose primary desire is to be angry. You've already lost them. They're gone. If you cave to them, you're sacrificing the loyalty of other consumers for a sad, small group that will never like you.

On the other hand: if Target and other companies refuse to play this b**t game with enraged bigots, they will solidify their loyalty with reasonable adults and their families.Don't give in to these hateful people. You will never satisfy their craving for outrage.

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On Saturday, at Westminster Abbey, The Most Reverend and Right Honourable Justin Welby, the 105th Archbishop of Canterbury, placed all 2.23 kilograms of St. Edward’s Crown upon the head of Charles Philip Arthur George.

That’s King Charles III to you plebs.

He’s the oldest person ever to accede to the British throne, and his coronation was a spectacle not witnessed by the world in more than 70 years, which is the same amount of time Charles has been waiting for a promotion. And you thought your professional advancement is underwhelming.

It was an entertaining show. It had to be entertaining. But was it entertaining enough?

Because if it weren’t entertaining enough, what would be the point of the British Monarchy?

It was more difficult to pose that question with Elizabeth II. To most observers, she embodied the dignified — that primary duty of the Crown to serve as something of a spiritual bulwark and compass for her subjects, as a complement to the legal power held by Parliament to actually do something, as envisioned by 19th-century British political philosopher Walter Bagehot.

And where did True North on that compass point for Elizabeth II?

Above all else: preservation of the United Kingdom and allegiance to her constitutional obligations, which is to say: not much.

Elizabeth II was beloved by so many not because of any real power she had to change their lives but because of her unflappable consistency. She held a steady presence in the lives of her subjects and didn’t rock the boat, something which became a great comfort to many over the decades of her reign.

But times change and cracks begin to show. As Elizabeth’s reign endured various cycles of instant mass communications—the introduction of television, the introduction of the internet, the introduction of social media—it became increasingly more difficult to maintain that dignity.

Messy affairs, subsequent divorces, a globally beloved daughter-in-law who had the audacity to recognize her self-worth over the institution (a characteristic practically beaten out of Elizabeth from birth), the occasional racist or sexist remark from husband Phillip (or one of his affairs), the periodic, embarrassing story about son and heir Charles, the allegations of rape against son Andrew, etc.

In hindsight, the poise with which Elizabeth held herself in reaction to the swirling chaos around her is undeniably impressive, and yet, her considered choice to maintain preservation of the Crown over holding it (and the governments formed in her name) accountable will undeniably shape her legacy.

It’s this simple: if we choose to believe that Elizabeth II was intended to be a grand moral beacon, the True North on society’s spiritual compass, we’re bound to be disappointed. But if we choose to acknowledge her intended role as one of the greatest political entertainers of the 20th century, she was certainly successful.

But much like explaining why a joke is amusing, illuminating the actual role of the British Royal Family as the world’s best paid acting ensemble takes the fun out of the experience. We’re not supposed to look behind behind the curtain. We’re supposed to suspend disbelief and skepticism in order to be entertained by all this.

With Elizabeth, it was much easier to suspend that disbelief. Even many anti-royalists held a grudging respect for her consistency and dignified stature. Elizabeth was playing a role that coincidentally wasn’t far off from her private life. Were it not for her, the House of Windsor would have likely imploded decades ago into a shadow of its former self — it existing at all.

The British Royal Family is the most pointless and painful method acting process of all-time. Elizabeth simply lent it undeserved credibility with her extraordinary commitment. She was the Daniel Day-Lewis of royal performance. Beyond reproach.

With Charles III, a man who seems absurdly dedicated to being publicly awkward, almost as though it’s a kink, it is far more difficult to suspend disbelief in order to be entertained. Charles is only convincing as a king in all the least admirable qualities perceived by the public: arrogant, out-of-touch, and self-absorbed.

Is that fair? Well, it doesn’t really matter at this point. Maybe Charles is a wonderful human being behind closed doors. Maybe he’s the victim of some truly atrocious framing by media. Maybe he simply has insurmountable weaknesses in his style of communication.

And maybe… he’s just not really good at this.

Regardless, the public is being asked to suspend disbelief in order to be entertained, and Charles, bless his cotton socks, is simply less-than-convincing in the ways in which it will be necessary to prevent further decline of the Monarchy.

I’ll concede that he doesn’t need to be entertaining if he’s doing something that endears him to the public — like, you know, an actual leader with real authority to shape the lives of his subjects. But that’s very unlikely to happen.

We could be surprised.

Maybe Charles will be a transformational sovereign who finds a way to work around constitutional restrictions on his legal power (which, again, is basically none) or manages to locate something inside himself that exchanges his awkwardness for an image resembling genuine connection with the public.

Maybe Pluto will become a planet again. Maybe the U.S. will win the next Men’s World Cup. Maybe I’ll co-write a song with Brandi Carlile and watch her sing it at the Grammys someday.

Maybe can be an entertaining game.

Unfortunately, maybe just isn’t enough for Charles to keep the public favorably engaged, particularly one that’s ever more cold to him in the wake of Harry & Meghan formally splitting with the House of Windsor.

There are no big British royal weddings on the horizon. No grand royal jubilees. No global spectacles offering entertainment that justifies the citizenry paying a lot of cash to keep the King and his issue comfortable. There are no real opportunities for Charles and the British Royals to globally shine simply for existing.

The only person with the kind of peerless charm and warmth that could have saved the British Monarchy, without need of a global event and embossed invitation, was killed in a Paris tunnel more than 25 years ago.

She was pushed out of the British Royals for the same qualities that made her arguably the most beloved person in the world.

She didn’t need to act. She simply was.

It doesn't matter how many horses and military personnel in silly hats marched in front of them on Saturday. It doesn't matter how many lush robes were draped over their shoulders or the weight of the gold-framed crowns placed on their heads.

Charles and Camilla never be as loved and respected as Diana, and they know it.

And now, they will attempt to entertain.

Good luck.

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Hey folks, it gives me absolutely no pleasure to bring up that we’re now entering the 2024 campaign cycle.

I know, it’s horrible.

Didn’t we just get done with the last one? Have we not suffered enough through endless texts, emails, and phone calls from politicians and campaign orgs?

Yes, indeed, but the next one is upon us.

Candidates are starting to announce their campaigns, networks are angling for presidential debates and forums, and political journalists everywhere are looking like that meme of Ben Affleck smoking a cig in resignation.

But look, here’s the really good news: Republicans are running on stale fear-mongering that has most American voters rolling their eyes, President Biden keeps notching wins, and 2024 is poised to be the best year ever for electing LGBTQ candidates.

As many of y’all know, I’m on the Board of Directors for LPAC, the nation’s largest political advocacy org specifically dedicated to electing queer women.

Last year was our best ever. Even in the midst of erroneous talks of a “red wave,” LPAC’s candidates performed remarkably well. Of the 125 LGBTQ women we endorsed and supported last cycle, 84 of them were elected, an impressive 67% win rate in a cycle that saw the GOP win the House.

LPAC helped elect the first two lesbian governors in U.S. history: Maura Healey of Massachusetts and Tina Kotek of Oregon. We helped reelect the phenomenal Michigan Attorney General Dana Nessel in addition to new Arizona Attorney General Kris Mayes.

We helped Rep. Sharice Davids (KS-03) and Rep. Angie Craig (MN-02) get reelected to the House in tight races and Rep. Becca Balint (VT) to become not only the first lesbian but the first woman ever to represent Vermont in Congress in either the House or Senate.

All that in addition to dozens of LGBTQ women at the state and local level across the country.

I mean, look, not to keep beating this drum, but that’s a remarkable slate of wins in a year that political media insisted would be disastrous for Democrats and in response to an avalanche of anti-LGBTQ propaganda.

I’m incredibly excited to see what we’re gonna do in 2024. There is no doubt in my mind that LPAC can double the number of queer women in Congress and dramatically expand our numbers in state legislatures and city councils.

So, before y’all get inundated with fundraising requests, I’m reaching out to ask you to help us get more queer women in office.

You can donate here: https://bit.ly/DonateToLPAC

Okay, but is that it? Hell no, I brought incentives:

Every donor to LPAC this cycle will receive a handwritten thank you note from me, and I have pretty great stationary, I must say.
Every person donating $100 or more will get a phone call.
Donating $250 or more will get you an hour-long Zoom chat. One-on-one. Just you and me chatting and laughing and being dorks.
Donating $500 or more will you get my help on whatever project you want. Need some comms help? Need media outreach? Want me to edit your essay? Let’s talk.

But maybe you got something else in mind. Perhaps you want me to speak to your college or company. Maybe you’d like me to film a greeting for a friend or loved one. If you have an idea, reach out and we’ll chat about it: cmclymer@gmail.com

Y’all, I will do anything to get more queer women elected this cycle.

Finally, for those of you in D.C., LPAC is hosting a fundraiser tomorrow night, and I will absolutely be there in-person. Wanna hangout with me and have a few drinks and talk about the latest episode of Succession? Buy a ticket: https://bit.ly/PartyWithLPAC

Okay, that’s all I got, y’all.

Oh, one more thing: remember that ‘80s movie review I promised a few months ago?

Well, we just hit our goal a few days ago. I’m publishing that on Friday.

Be on the lookout. <3

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[This morning, I spoke at the ADL’s Together Against Hatred Rally on Capitol Hill, alongside some amazing folks who are committed to fighting antisemitism and all other forms of hatred, specifically calling on Congress to fully fund the Nonprofit Security Grant Program to protect synagogues, schools, and other public spaces. Video is available here, and the full text of my remarks are below.]

It seems one of the worst things you can do these days is admit when you don’t know something. We’ll forgive a lot of things in this country, but for some reason, admitting when we don’t know something is often taboo.

Now, that’s quite a problem for me because I have found that the older I get, the more I realize just how much I don’t know.

I did not grow up learning much about Jewish culture or history. I am not an expert on antisemitism. There are so many things I have not yet learned about the history of hatred against the Jewish Community.

But the thing is… I have never been asked by any Jewish person to become an expert on antisemitism. I have never been asked by any Jewish person to become an expert on Jewish history and culture.

All I have ever been asked by friends and colleagues and loved ones in the Jewish community is to stand beside them against antisemitism.

I know antisemitism exists because the Jewish community tells me antisemitism exists.

And that’s all I need to know.

In my mid-20s, I worked at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum, and at the end of the permanent exhibition–the main exhibition–there is a quote by Martin Niemoller. You’ve probably heard of it. He talks about how he didn’t speak up when other groups were persecuted by the Nazis because he wasn’t part of those groups. But finally, when the Nazis came for him, there was no left to speak up.

It’s a powerful quote. It’s an important lesson. But respectfully, I must admit that I take issue with his premise. I take issue with the implication that the safety and dignity of another community only becomes important when my community’s safety and dignity are threatened.

I am not here today because Jewish leaders speak up for LGBTQ rights, although they do.

I am not here today because my friend Jonathan Greenblatt speaks up against transphobia, although he does.

I am not here today because the ADL advocates for the safety and dignity of all communities, although they do.

I am not here today because I have Jewish friends and loved ones and colleagues and neighbors, although I can tell you that my life wouldn’t be worth living without them.

That’s not why I’m here, and I don’t need Jewish people in my life to understand that there is a crisis of antisemitism in the United States right now.

I don’t need to have Jewish friends to acknowledge that there were nearly 4,000 incidents of antisemitism in the United States last year.

I don’t need to have Jewish loved ones to mourn those who were murdered at the Tree of Life synagogue in 2018 and to recognize how unchecked antisemitism in our country led to their murders and to understand why it is imperative that Congress authorize full funding for the Nonprofit Security Grant Program.

I don’t need to have Jewish colleagues to speak up when I hear or see something that is antisemitic or to understand the implication of violence against the Jewish community when Jewish graves are vandalized.

I don’t need to have Jewish children to be horrified by what Jewish children and young people are experiencing right now on campuses across the country and to understand that I have an obligation as a grown adult to protect any child from violence and discrimination.

Yesterday, during a session at ADL’s National Leadership Summit, I listened to a young woman, Alison Stone, a student leader, talk about her experience of a professor on her campus saying something antisemitic. And her primary concern in that moment was trying to figure out how she should approach her professor about this without being accusatory or condemnatory.

No child in this country, no young person in this country, no student in this country should ever feel that their right to safety and dignity should revolve around the discomfort of a grown adult. Let alone an authority figure.

One of my best friends has a daughter in high school. She’s smart, empathetic, and has a good head on her shoulders. She has become my niece. I have become her aunt. She is also a young Jewish woman in the United States in 2023.

I worry about her safety. But moreover, I wonder if I am doing enough to be an example to her: that we should never need any other reason to speak up against hatred beyond the existence of that hatred.

I want my niece to understand that she doesn’t need to know everything about a community in order to stand beside them. I want her to know that saying “I don’t know, but I want to listen and learn” is a sign of strength and character.

I want her to know that all of us, every single one of us, are imperfect and none of us know everything and the greatest collective strength we have as humanity is the opportunity to learn from each other.

I want her to know that there is so much I don’t know, but this I do know:

There is no excuse for antisemitism. Period. Those of us who are not Jewish need to speak out against it wherever it appears. That is our moral obligation.

If you've ever wondered if you would have been the kind of person to speak out against anti-Jewish hatred in the '30s and '40s, you don't need to wonder today. Vicious antisemitism is out in the open. Here’s your moment to join me in listening and learning. Here's your moment to say something about it.

When are you speaking up against it?

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You may have missed it in all the Trump indictment hoopla, but late last night, Kid Rock, aka Robert James Ritchie, posted a 35 sec. video on Twitter in which he fired an MP5 submachine gun in the direction of several cases of Bud Light resting on a table next to a lake. I say in the direction of several cases because he seemed to struggle in taking them out.

No, I’m not kidding. I’ll post it here for your convenience.

Mr. Ritchie was apparently upset that Bud Light—whose parent company is Anheuser-Busch—hired Dylan Mulvaney, a massively popular TikTok star, as one of their new brand ambassadors. She’s a nice lady and deserves her success. She also happens to be a trans woman, thus the bellyaching from social conservatives.

Normally, I’d be worried over Mr. Ritchie’s violent gun message concerning the inclusion of trans people — if he were capable of aiming correctly. Alas, he doesn’t appear to be much of a threat with firearms.

It turns out that worrying about Kid Rock shooting you is kinda like worrying about losing a spelling bee to Donald Trump. It ain’t worth the trouble.

Because I am a benevolent queen, I’ve decided to offer some feedback to Mr. Ritchie on how to fire his weapon. You see, despite being a star-spangled patriot, he never actually served in the military even though he was an able-bodied young man eligible to enlist during the Persian Gulf War and the War on Terrorism. So, you could forgive him for not knowing the basics.

Of course, it’s harder to forgive him for claiming to care about the troops but wearing a hat that honors a five-time draft dodger who called service members that died in combat “losers” and “suckers.”

But I did serve in the Army, in the infantry, and I was actually raised in the South around firearms, and as a woman who has fired plenty of assault rifles and machine guns in my lifetime, I’m happy to offer Mr. Ritchie some guidance.

As you can see in the video, Mr. Ritchie, no more than 20 yards away from his targets, practically point-blank range with that kinda weapon, struggles mightily to take down the cases of Bud Light. In fact, after his tantrum, two of the cases are still completely upright, barely even touched.

Sorry, that’s a tad inaccurate because it wasn’t just him firing. Although Mr. Ritchie implies in the video that he’s the only one shooting, one of his buddies is actually off-camera, just to the right of the frame, firing what appears to be a shotgun — given away by three blasts that nick the left side of the table and land in the lake behind it.

So, between the two of them combined, from 20 yards away, well… let’s just say these two gentleman should stick to their day jobs.

Okay, Mr. Ritchie, some tips:

First, always wear eye protection. You never know when the weapon may malfunction, nor guarantee where a bullet casing or excess gun powder or other debris might fly.

Ear protection is a good idea, too — especially for a musician who has been known to struggle with key changes. Just looking out for ya.

Let’s talk about your firing stance. It’s garbage. It needs work.

Your frame should be facing toward the target, not from the side. Feet shoulder width apart, right foot slightly behind the left (since you’re right-handed) about six inches. At the moment, your stance looks like you’re golfing, which is a bit ironic given that your shooting skills are… subpar.

You wanna keep your weight equally balanced on both feet and flex your knees a bit, something which I would think you’d be eager to do since you haven’t flexed a big chart hit in almost 15 years.

Your hand placement is alright, but for some strange reason, you got bad chicken wing going on. That’s when your firing elbow sticks all the way up and out, making it harder to stabilize the weapon. Bring it into your side. This’ll make it easier to aim, especially with the recoil.

And oh lord, that aim. Instead of sweeping your line-of-fire across the target, back-and-forth, and hoping something sticks, try holding your firing sight—that metal thingie popping up out of the top of the barrel—at the midsection of the target. Now, fire a controlled burst—that’s several rounds—and once you’ve hit it, move to the next one.

Not only will you be more accurate and faster in engaging targets, but you’ll save ammo — and whatever fish had the misfortune of being in that lake behind your target where most of you and your buddy’s rounds went.

Okay, let’s talk about the beer. You wasted a good $75—$100 of Bud Light. Now, where I come from, that’s a lot of money. You see, actual blue collar families can’t just drop a hundred bucks’ worth of beer for s***s and giggles. That’s a waste.

I’m trying to be patient with you on this because I understand you’re the furthest thing from blue collar. You grew up on a palatial estate, apple picking and raising horses, because your daddy owned several car dealerships. Your family has wealth: six acres and a mansion with a tennis court, five-car garage, and guest house in lily-white Romeo, Michigan.

You’re about as southern and blue collar as Mitt Romney.

I was raised in trailer parks in Central Texas by actual rednecks, so I hope you’ll forgive me for being amused by seeing you struggle to cosplay one of my folks. I promise you it wasn’t especially romantic. We had what we had and tried to make the most of it. We couldn’t call daddy up and ask for a bridge loan.

If you feel I’ve reduced you to a caricature based on a few things in your bio, maybe it’s a sign you should get to know trans folks like myself and Ms. Mulvaney before you reduce us to caricatures based on your own assumptions.

Try being a straight shooter for once, Mr. Ritchie.

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NEW YORK CITY (AP) — On Tuesday, former president Hillary Clinton turned herself into authorities at the office of the Manhattan district attorney following last week’s grand jury indictment for her role in allegedly falsifying documents. She is the first American president to be indicted.

Clinton, who became the first woman elected president in 2016 following a razor-thin victory over Republican nominee Donald Trump, is said to be facing more than two dozen criminal counts, although the full details of the indictment have yet to be released.

In a CNN poll released Monday, 84 percent of respondents said it was “good for democracy” and only 13 percent felt it was politically motivated, an astonishing consensus among American voters in an era that has been dominated by bitter partisanship.

Pundits and politicians across the spectrum were quick to praise Alvin Bragg, the popular Manhattan district attorney and Democrat who has won universal plaudits for his professional handling of the case. Variations of “the system worked” were echoed throughout the world of political media.

“This is a great day for the republic,” wrote The New York Times editorial board on Sunday. “No person is above the law, not even a president — not even an historic president. This makes it clear that our democracy is strong.”

“This is what the Founders intended,” remarked one CNN pundit. “The majesty of the Great American Experiment has stood the test of time. We have no kings or princes, only the people and their public servants.”

Many former Clinton supporters expressed disappointment while offering sober agreement. Cathy Turing, a 37 year-old accountant and precinct captain for Clinton in 2016, lamented the development while waiting outside the Manhattan court house during her lunch break to catch a glimpse of the former president’s arrival.

“I have two daughters, ten and eight,” she said. “I can’t have them believing that being a trailblazing woman should excuse someone from breaking the law. It hurts to watch Hillary’s fall from grace, but no one is exempt from accountability. That’s who we should aspire to be as a country.”

There were a few commentators who offered contrarian views. One political strategist on MSNBC drew substantial ire when she asked if the indictment of the former president could accelerate political polarization and wondered aloud if a pardon from President Trump would go a long way toward healing the country.

“You can’t be serious,” hissed the anchor, his eyebrows furrowing. “She broke the law.”

“No, wait,” she responded, “I’m not saying what she did is okay. I’m only pointing out there’s a chance that our country and democracy may not fully recover from this, not to mention women in politics.”

She was then dragged out of the studio and into the street, where she was beaten to death with pickleball paddles.

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Haven’t the Mets Suffered Enough?by Charlotte Clymer

With the Big One they’ve long seemed not to trifle,

Almost 37 years without a World Series title,

I was barely born when Queens’ joy last caught an eyeful,

Haven’t the Mets suffered enough?

That heartbreaking loss in the mid-Aughts NLCS,

Beltrán striking out last, his bat put to rest,

Collapsed the following year in the season’s closing test,

Haven’t the Mets suffered enough?

The ‘80s were good until they clearly weren’t,

Cashen traded everyone away and their fortunes quickly turnt,

And it was the fans left empty-handed and so brutally burnt,

Haven’t the Mets suffered enough?

Giving Ryan to the Angels was a sin against God, to be sure,

And yes, Doc and Straw certainly had their own misery’s tour,

But after all this time, shouldn’t fate be square and demure,

Haven’t the Mets suffered enough?

So, when I popped open Twitter and witnessed this curse,

George Santos or Anthony Devolder or whomever he was first,

Even as a Nats fan, this felt too far, and clearly the worst,

Haven’t the Mets suffered enough?

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On Monday morning, at The Covenant School, a private elementary school in Nashville, TN, a mass shooter opened fire over fourteen minutes, killing three children who were students there, all nine years old, and three staff members before police arrived and took out the shooter, mercifully bringing the horror to an end.

The children were Evelyn Dieckhaus, William Kinney, and Hallie Scruggs. The staff members were Katherine Koonce (the head of the school), substitute teacher Cynthia Peake, and custodian Mike Hill.

According to Gun Violence Archive, this is the 150th mass shooting in the United States this year. GVA is an independent research and data collection organization that defines a mass shooting as “four or more people shot or killed, not including the shooter.”

This definition has been criticized by some conservatives, who feel that the metric poorly frames America’s gun violence epidemic and accuse those who adopt GVA’s definition of “four or more injured” as inflating the problem. They point to the FBI’s definition of “mass murder,” which describes any type of violent incident in which four or more people are killed, not just injured.

Of course, the more you think about it, that doesn’t make much sense. For example, if a mass shooter wounds 10 people—perhaps paralyzing several, to say nothing of other longterm health complications of a bullet ripping through one’s body—but only kills one person, that would not fit the definition of a “mass shooting” by the FBI.

Nor if a mass shooter wounds 50 people but only kills three. Or wounds 100 people but kills none. Neither of these are “mass shootings” under the FBI’s definition.

Does that make any goddamn sense? Of course not.

Okay, well, fine, conservatives might say, but the threshold is still too low because GVA allows for just four people to be injured—not killed—in order to qualify as a “mass shooting.”

Some of them may hint that certain injuries are more qualifying than others. What if, they seem to say, four people are merely grazed by bullets, simply burning their flesh rather than entering their bodies?

Gee, I don’t know, if their child were merely grazed by a bullet, their tender flesh burned by it, how would they feel? Would they think it’s a problem worth addressing?

Of course they would, and they’d be right. So, we’re sticking with GVA’s “mass shooting” definition. Because common sense.

Last year, there were 647 mass shootings in the United States. In 2021, there were 690 mass shootings. Since January 1, 2016, GVA has tracked 3,581 mass shootings in the United States.

When the carnage at The Covenant School began hitting news and social media in a way that has become nauseatingly familiar, the gun extremists immediately starting doing what they do best: pointing fingers and blaming anything but our country’s ludicrously easy access to firearms.

Fox News contributor Nicole Parker attempted to posit that “side doors” to schools—meaning physical entrances to schools other than the front—are the real problem here.

Bless her heart.

There were the other usual excuses by gun extremists — their greatest hits of shifting blaming: that teachers should be armed, that it’s an issue of mental health, etc.

Of course, I’m not sure anyone expected GOP Congressman Tim Burchett to openly admit he and his conservative colleagues have no interest in finding a good faith solution to the gun violence epidemic. I’m not kidding. Here’s the full quote, and I’ll even link you to the video:

“We’re not gonna fix it. Criminals are gonna be criminals. My daddy fought in the Second World War, fought in the Pacific, fought the Japanese — he said ‘Buddy, if someone wants to take you out and doesn’t mind losing their life, there’s not a whole heck of a lot you can do about it.’”

So, there you have it. Criminals are gonna be criminals, the man said. Why bother trying to stop children from being slaughtered? Mr. Burchett’s children are homeschooled, by the way.

When I first heard of the shooting, my stomach dropped in the same way it has every other time this senseless violence has occurred. And when you find out children were killed, it only compounds that feeling.

But this time, on top of that, it was eventually revealed that the shooter—whose name I refuse to mention—was a trans man.

Predictably, anti-trans conservatives seized the opportunity to cynically exploit the murder of these children and staff members to further their transphobic propaganda and distract from their own complicity in enabling gun violence. Marjorie Taylor Greene claimed testosterone was to blame, something she has never said all the other times when a cis man was behind a mass shooting. Donald Trump, Jr. and others put up tweets and memes implying trans people are especially violent.

You see where this is going.

The obvious problem here, of course, for anyone who has mastered 3rd grade math, is that the numbers indicate trans people are substantially less likely to commit gun violence compared to cisgender people and far more likely to be victims of gun violence ourselves.

Of the 3,581 mass shootings that have occurred in the United States since January 1st, 2016, four were perpetrated by a trans person. I absolutely refuse to count the Colorado Springs mass shooter who murdered five people at Club Q, an LGBTQ nightclub, and then attempted to claim, through his lawyers, that he identifies as nonbinary, clearly in an effort to troll the victims. And this after neighbors and police brought forward evidence of his long history of anti-LGBTQ hatred.

Thus, of that total number of mass shootings since the start of 2016 and the available data on those mass shooters, cisgender people account for 99.9 percent of them.

According to a report released last year by the Williams Institute at the UCLA School of Law—which is considered one of the leading data sources on LGBTQ people—the trans community makes up about 0.6 percent of the 267.8 million people in the United States who are age 13 or older.

So, trans people make up 0.6 percent of the population but 0.1 percent of mass shooters, six times less than what would be proportionally expected in an even distribution of mass shooters.

It turns out that cis people are disproportionately more likely to be mass shooters.

I have no problem recognizing that a trans man murdered these children and staff members. I'm glad police arrived and killed him before he could murder other innocents. But if these anti-trans conservatives are gonna demand trans people answer for him, shouldn't they answer for the 99.9% of mass shooters who aren't trans?

I have a feeling we’ll never get an answer to that.

This week, I am holding the families of these children and staff members in my thoughts. I cannot begin to imagine their suffering, and I am filled with rage at this coward, at this piece-of-s**t, who cruelly took the lives of these innocents.

I am praying for two things: 1) a measure of peace and healing that must seem impossible for these families in this moment and 2) that anti-trans conservatives will actually start giving a damn about vulnerable children instead of exploiting their deaths to further a hateful agenda.

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This past Saturday, Howard University’s Men’s Basketball Team won its first conference championship in three decades in a razor-thin thriller, capping off an historic season that has witnessed a culmination of Head Coach Kenneth Blakeney’s rebuilding efforts since being hired to helm the program in 2019.

The Bison haven’t been to the NCAA Division I Men’s Basketball Tournament (better known as “March Madness”) since before Bill Clinton was elected president, and today, at 2pm ET, they’ll face off against defending champion University of Kansas in the opening round.

And yet, it’s only the second most impressive thing the team has done this season.

Howard is one of the most prestigious colleges in the country and one of its leading HBCUs. The long list of notable alumni include Vice President Kamala Harris, Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall, Zora Neale Hurston, Toni Morrison, and numerous other politicians, journalists, writers, scientists, engineers, actors, activists — the list goes on and on.

This past September, Coach Blakeney challenged the young men under his wing to choose a season-long social justice project that honors the legacy of activism at Howard. They could pick any issue for which to advocate, so long as they worked as a team to advance the cause.

The young men deliberated and came back to Blakeney with their choice: Black maternal health, one of the most overlooked public health disparities in a country that already isn’t known for its commitment to protecting the health of expectant mothers and pregnant people generally.

The team landed on this issue because of the recent overturning of Roe v. Wade and their place as male students on a campus where women make up more than 70 percent of the student body.

The statistics on Black maternal health in the United States are harrowing. According to the National Partnership for Women & Families, Black women are three to four times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women, which cannot be explained away by simply pointing to economic barriers. Black women and pregnant people across income and education levels are more vulnerable to fatal pregnancy outcomes than most economically-disadvantaged white women.

But how?

As with so many other traumatic barriers for Black Americans in the public square, it goes back to systemic racism. Even Black women with wealth and access to high quality health care environments still experience disproportionate fatal outcomes.

This is a sobering summary from “Research Overview of Maternal Mortality and Morbidity in the United States” by the Center for Reproductive Rights:

“Past and present experiences with racial discrimination shape Black patients’ interactions with their medical providers, and stereotypes, implicit bias, and mistrust continue to interfere with care. Studies show that Black patients are treated differently than White patients with the same symptoms, receiving fewer diagnostic and therapeutic interventions, and even less pain medication.”

It’s pretty severe. I encourage folks to attend a screening of the new documentary “Birthing Justice,” from executive producer and Olympic Track & Field Champion Allyson Felix, who experienced her own horrific complications during childbirth as a Black woman. The film brilliantly lays out how systemic racism lies at the root of all this.

Coach Blackeney and the staff at Howard embraced the team’s advocacy project, working over the past six months to bring greater attention to the issue and getting the D.C. community more involved along the way.

It started with the team attending a panel on Black maternal health at the Congressional Black Caucus Annual Legislative Conference, with Congresswomen Alma Adams (NC-12) and Lauren Underwood (IL-14), where they kicked off their season with a screening of “Birthing Justice.”

In October, the team invited Fatima Goss-Graves, President of the National Women’s Law Center, to campus for a discussion on Roe v. Wade, in order to contextualize the history of reproductive rights in the United States.

For MLK Day of Service, the team organized a full day of preparing pregnancy care kits at Mamatoto Village in D.C., a health clinic that centers Black women in the community. Numerous elected officials, including Members of Congress, joined D.C. residents—myself included—to do the basic labor of sorting supplies and assembling the kits. (On a personal note, I never expected to have so much fun stuffing diapers and other pregnancy items into Ziplocs.)

That same weekend, during halftime in a game against Morehouse, the teams joined together to present scholarships to single mothers at Howard. Later that month, they were invited to the White House to visit with Vice President Harris and discuss Black maternal health and also: barriers experienced by young Black men.

Last month, the team hosted their own screening of “Birthing Justice” for the student body on campus and organized a panel featuring team captain Jelani Williams, Taylor Ware (legislative aide to Rep. Adams), Brianna Green (Director of Operations at Mamatoto Village), and Jaidyn Gambrell, President of Mothers of the Mecca, a student organization for mothers studying at Howard.

It was after that screening that I had the chance to talk further with Coach Blakeney about the team. He and his young daughter were heading home and offered me a ride, and over the course of conversation, in which he humored my nerdy sports questions and talked about the team, it became crystal clear to me how the team has had so much success this season, on and off the court.

Coach Blakeney is the kind of leader who embodies service to others. After playing on two national championship teams at Duke under Mike Krzyzewski (and being appointed team captain his senior year), he threw himself into coaching. He has spent his life mentoring young men, perfecting it as an art, and it shows.

I’m sure he would tell you that the young men he’s leading into March Madness this week deserve all the credit for the effort they’ve put into centering Black mothers this season, and that’s certainly true. But it took someone to catalyze that motivation, and he was ready to spark the talent and empathy in these young men.

In the 84 years that March Madness has existed, #16 seed teams have only pulled off one upset against their #1 seed team opponents (2018’s thriller that saw UMBC defeat top seed Virginia in the opening round). It’s a tradition to identify underdogs in these tournaments that perform well as the “Cinderella” of March Madness.

I have no idea if the young men of Howard University will defeat reigning champ Kansas this afternoon, but if they put half as much heart on the court against the Jayhawks as they have into advocating for Black maternal health all season, we may all get a sports story for the ages and witness a real life fairy tale in the making.

If you’d like to join me in financially supporting the team—who are massively underfunded compared to their opponents—make a tax-deductible donation to The Mecca Society and keep this amazing program going strong.

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My favorite poem is “Good Bones” by Maggie Smith.

There’s a decent chance you’ve heard of it — if not by the numerous times it’s gone viral since its publication in 2016 or its occasional glowing references in popular media, then certainly by following my Twitter feed, where I can’t help but re-share it every four months or so.

Smith’s sobering reflection on how she wants to teach her kids about the world is equally startling in its brutal honesty and brave optimism. It firmly rejects the laziness and pointlessness of nihilism and ironic detachment but refuses to gloss over the darker bits of our collective reality. It is nakedly gritty and deeply hopeful.

In directly acknowledging the especially shitty facets of life on earth but daring us to create a more beautiful world, anyway, even with all the horror that saturates our surroundings, it does something so rarely seen in all the television shows and films and podcasts and books that are generally (and rightly) regarded as high art but seem to luxuriate in dark grittiness without directly challenging us to do better by each other.

When “Ted Lasso” premiered in mid-August of 2020 on Apple TV+, I didn’t take notice. My mother had just unexpectedly died and there was a global pandemic raging and the country (and the world) was navigating the aftermath of George Floyd’s murder by law enforcement and oh, yeah, there was an upcoming election that felt like a potential catalyst for the apocalypse.

I was perpetually not in a good place. I was hurting pretty bad. I was grieving. I consistently felt like s**t. I felt lonely and unmoored. I was deeply uncertain if there would be a better world in 2021, much less my place in it as a trans woman. It all just seemed relentlessly bleak.

I would say the last thing I wanted to do in that moment was watch a show about what I had assumed was some college football coach who apparently never feels sad and asks why other people don’t just choose to be happy, too.

That year felt like I was stubbing my toes every goddamn day, and in my humble opinion, when you stub your big toe—I mean, when you really slam that sucker into something hard, bereft of socks and shoes, life flashing before your eyes through the searing pain, nerve endings aflame—the most unhelpful response is some jackass offering “have you tried smiling through the pain” and believing themselves to be helpful.

I would like to believe I am not a cynical person, but that year was so rough that I was not about to waste energy on what I perceived to be some quirky new show asking us to smile through the pain.

No, I am hurting, and smiling isn’t going to fix that. This hurts. Do you not understand how much this hurts?

But I kept hearing about this damn show — from friends, from colleagues, from random folks on Twitter, even from conversations I would overhear in public.

You gotta watch this show. There’s nothing else like it.

So, one day, in the midst of all that chaos and pain, I began watching it, and I’ll admit that I was initially skeptical. The premise felt like a bit much. You’re telling me an NCAA Division II football coach—not even Division I—is tapped to helm an English professional soccer team, despite having zero expertise about the sport?

Even for what I had initially assumed is an intentionally silly comedy, it felt dangerously close to being derailed by its own silliness. Is this just gonna be ten episodes chock full of countless variations of some midwest dork making English sportswriters roll their eyes by calling it “soccer”?

Well, it wasn’t. Not even close. I was completely wrong. It immediately felt effortlessly clever and interesting and authentic. I laughed constantly. I was taken aback by Lasso’s unapologetic earnestness, which contrasted so richly with the understandable skepticism of his English counterparts, mirroring my own.

By the pilot’s end, when Lasso, full of warmth and generosity, listens painfully to his child’s voice over the phone, half the world away, and then tells his wife he loves her and she can’t say it back, indicated only by Lasso—superbly played by Jason Sudeikis—comforting her with “No, no, that’s okay. You don’t have to,” I was hooked.

This is not a show about an oblivious man gliding through life and telling others they just need to smile. It’s a show about a man deeply in pain and all-too-aware of his own shortcomings but having the courage to acknowledge them, and choosing to stay in the arena, not to do Teddy-Roosevelt-like battles with those around him but to insist on building community through shared struggles.

When Lasso is wronged, he responds with empathy. When Lasso does wrong, he is quick to recognize it and make amends. He is imperfectly human in the best sense imaginable: cognizant of his own flaws and graceful with the flaws of others, feeling his own pain and using it to bear witness to the pain of those around him.

And the best part? He’s hilarious throughout.

This past Tuesday, I attended the Season 3 premiere of “Ted Lasso” at the Regency Village Theatre in Los Angeles, where a packed, enthusiastic audience watched the first two episodes of what is widely assumed to be—but not yet definitively confirmed as—the final season of the show.

Sudeikis and co-creaters Bill Lawrence, Joe Kelly, and Brendan Hunt (who also plays the immensely likable Coach Beard, Lasso’s second-in-command) have long said the original story was only intended for three seasons (and have stuck to that), but there have been various hints the Ted Lasso universe might extend beyond this newest season.

Perhaps the most telling clue: despite undeniably being the most successful project to date for Apple TV+ (and that’s saying something given their deeply impressive stable of acclaimed shows and films), it is not being marketed as embarking on its final season.

And yet, here’s another clue: based solely on the first two episodes, it is apparent to your humble reviewer that this is shaping up to be the best season yet, which may provide more than enough incentive for Sudeikis and gang to go out on top instead of risking a decline in quality with a narrative extension that feels awkward and forced.

Let me repeat that: this is likely to be the best season of the series, judging by how much I found myself laughing and unexpectedly crying only two episodes in.

Nate Shelley (played by Nick Mohammed)—the bullied, former equipment manager turned assistant coach for AFC Richmond (under Lasso’s generous tutelage)—has left the club after being hired as head coach for powerhouse West Ham United and betraying Lasso by revealing to a sportswriter, Trent Crimm (James Lance), that the head coach left the pitch during a match due to a panic attack instead of Lasso’s publicly stated reason of food poisoning.

The opening episodes primarily revolve around Nate turning into the kind of bully who once tormented him, and as he continues to betray Lasso with a vicious mean-spiritedness in public, it seems everyone in Lasso’s world is urging him to punch back, particularly Lasso’s boss, AFC Richmond owner Rebecca Welton, played by the brilliant Hannah Waddingham.

In the first season, Welton had originally hired Lasso in an attempt to sabotage AFC Richmond into oblivion to get back at her horrible ex-husband, the original owner, but Welton unexpectedly finds herself won over by Lasso’s relentless kindness and the two become close friends. Now, she is aghast as Lasso rebuffs her call to publicly strike back at Nate and his new boss, her ex-husband, who has just bought West Ham.

Both episodes are quite excellent, but there are two specific scenes that are beyond exceptional and show “Ted Lasso” at its very best. I promise not to spoil them for y’all, but I will say this: the first scene involves a press conference, and honestly, it shouldn’t work, but by its end, I found myself tearing up and praising the writers for having the guts to take a risk that pays off beautifully. The second scene involves Legos, and I definitely cried during that one.

Without spoiling anything, here’s what I assume will be the dominant theme of the third season: people are enormously complicated, far beyond our own limited understanding of the individual, private struggles of others, and separating people into dueling categories of “good” and “evil” is profoundly foolish.

The show has given us every reason to root for Lasso and every reason to despise Nate, and yet, through Lasso’s vantage point, it also seems to insist there are no true heroes or villains here. All are imperfect people in different trajectories of growth (and, yes, sometimes, lack thereof) — responsible for their actions and whom certainly should be expectant of accountability, sure, but none are perfect.

Without being preachy or pandering, Lasso communicates this with remarkable effectiveness, not only in the vulnerability through which he owns up to his mistakes but in the grace he consistently centers in how he approaches the mistakes of others.

I have no idea what the rest of this season entails, but my hunch is that we’re going to learn things about Ted Lasso’s journey that bring his own imperfections into greater clarity and illuminate how his empathy is derived from navigating his own past mistakes, most likely related to his ongoing anxiety with family back home.

In 2021, after the premiere of the second season, I wrote a review that praised the show’s honest approach toward mental health, particularly among men. I also proposed, as a concept for reviewing film and television, the Lasso Test: “at least two men talk to each other about their mental health or emotional wellbeing in a frank and vulnerable and loving way without needing to involve women as vehicles or guides for their self-improvement.”

I am pleased to say, unsurprisingly, that this season’s opening episodes pass the Lasso Test with flying colors, as well as the famous Bechdel Test, from which I took the inspiration. It is wonderful to see the men of this show engage with each other so thoughtfully and the women support each other as strong individuals without needing the conversations between them to hinge exclusively on what Lasso and his players are doing or thinking.

Alright, that’s a lot of serious stuff, and I don’t want this to get lost: the show remains hilarious and fun on all fronts.

Roy Kent is still the charming and profane curmudgeon we’ve come to know and love through Brett Goldstein. Juno Temple has me hoping for a future spinoff series with her ever-glowing performance as public relations pro Keeley Jones.

I’m eager to see what the writers will do with Dr. Sharon Fieldstone (played by Sarah Niles), the sports psychologist whose professional presence is an especially potent foil to Lasso’s irrepressible personality.

Leslie Higgins, Hannah’s lovable righthand, played delightfully by Jeremy Swift, is also someone I can easily see leading a spinoff, and Jamie Tartt (the rising superstar on the pitch played by Phil Dunster) continues one of the most interesting character arcs in the show.

The charming trio of Sam Obisayna (Toheeb Jimoh), Dani “Football is life!” Rojas (Cristo Fernández), and team captain Isaac McAdoo (Kola Bokinni) lead a cast of players that have every scene making me wish I could attend one of their games in real life.

In fact, at the post-premiere party, I was pleased to relay to Mr. Bokinni that his character’s deft deployment of the word “f**k” is one of the more underrated aspects of the show, and on his behalf, I relay to y’all that he takes great joy in that duty.

I firmly believe that “Ted Lasso” is currently the greatest Trojan Horse in pop culture, a show that invites the audience into a fun premise that doesn’t take it itself too seriously and then offers, without any self-congratulatory fanfare, a vision of interpersonal relationships that prioritize grace and growth and good faith over all else.

Lasso and friends are having a hell of a lot of fun, but they’re doing it whilst simultaneously telling us, in a spiritual echo of Smith: “This place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful.”

Believe.

The third season of “Ted Lasso” premieres on March 15th on Apple TV+.

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Recently, I saw a post online with this challenge: "Without saying your age, say something a young person today wouldn't understand."

For me, it was The Phone.

It had its own place and aura in the home. If you didn't have internet--and most homes did not during the entire '90s--The Phone was the only non-postage way of reaching people if you couldn't travel to see them or didn't want to.

It may not seem that way in hindsight for some folks, but there wasn't a majority of homes with internet until the early 2000s.

(And when that started happening, The Computer took its own little place and aura in the home.)

The U.S. Census Bureau reported that between 1998 and 2005, the number of households in the United States with cell phone ownership went from 36% to 71%. As late as the very early 2000s (forgive the contrary phrasing there), about half of adults and teens didn't own a cell phone.

So, around the start of the Millennium, most households didn't have a cell phone or a computer with internet access or both. There was a television, maybe two, and there was The Phone and god shined upon the lucky teenager who had their own phone in their bedroom. (I did not.)

If you had to meet someone, you would make plans to meet them at a specific time and all parties would take it on faith that each other would follow through. Because the only way to communicate with them was a landline phone. At your home. Or maybe at the intended destination. Maybe you'd find yourself close enough to a convenient pay phone (that's a whole other story).

If you knew you were going to be way late, say, to a restaurant, you might call ahead and leave a message with the host to give to the folks you were meeting, so they knew you were still coming. If the destination didn't have a phone, you would just hope they waited for you.

So, when The Phone rang, it was an event. As a younger kid, it was very common to race your siblings to the phone to answer it. When you're, like, seven years old, you have a hope that it could be someone interesting or exciting. Maybe it's the President calling. It never was.

Answering The Phone was a crapshoot in many homes without an answering machine or caller ID. Who was it? Who the hell knows? It could have been anyone. Sometimes, it was someone who shouldn't be calling. Still, we rushed to answer it. In hindsight, it was crazy, but we did that.

We'd race to The Phone, sometimes from the exact opposite part of our home or even run from outside when we heard it, sprinting, because we had to be the one to see who was calling on The Phone and report it to the rest of the family. As younger kids, this made us feel important.

You and your siblings would fight over who gets to answer The Phone, sometimes colliding into each other at full speed, having run from different parts of your home, a flurry of arms and elbows and much shouting. There were arguments!

When you were a younger kid, you might test an adult calling by attempting to imitate your parent's voice or a general "adult" voice. It was terrible acting and tremendous fun. The adults were not always amused by this. There were arguments!

As we got older, racing to The Phone was done in the hopes of a classmate calling about homework or maybe a crush from school. Or a friend calling about hanging out. For most of us, there was the one line, meaning only one person could use it at a time. There were arguments!

When internet access began reaching homes, going online meant The Phone couldn't be used while someone was online because the modem used the phone line. There were arguments! Whole fights over who got to control the doorway to the rest of the world. This was all very exciting.

Many of us grew up with corded phones. When we were younger, we'd sit or stand near The Phone, talking to a relative on a holiday or a friend from school, idly wrapping the cord around our fingers or absentmindedly getting it tangled up around ourselves and others walking by.

The cord would sometimes stretch across the room and annoyed family members would have to step over it or dip under it and might flash you a look of annoyance for your lack of spatial awareness. There were arguments!

The cordless phone was a game changer. Suddenly, there was freedom with where you could use The Phone. Snatch that damn thing and talk in your bedroom for hours. You and your siblings and your parents would be annoyed with each other when it was missing. There were arguments!

Sometimes, one of you would take the cordless phone into your bedroom and talk for hours and hours until it died, and then, everyone else who needed to use it had to wait until it charged on its little dock. There were arguments!

Cordless phones felt a bit less like The Phone. Less formal. When it was corded to the phone base, which was plugged into the wall, it felt more permanent and older. Cordless phones felt new, an aura less congruous with "The Phone". Hard to explain. It just felt that way.

Cell phones, of course, slowly eroded this aura of The Phone over time before suddenly obliterating it -- slow at first and then, suddenly, very quickly, seemingly overnight. It felt like it was overnight. It wasn't. But it felt that way.

The aura of The Phone is no longer a substantial part of American life and hasn't been for some time. Less than a third of homes have a landline now; the vast majority use only cell phones. Just about everyone in the family over a certain age has a phone in their pocket. Wild.

Anyway, younger folks don't need to understand any of this, of course, but to those of us who grew up at the tail end of The Phone, it was just a completely different vibe stuck in a specific time that's now long gone.

And sometimes, weirdly, irrationally, I kinda miss it.

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It was August 17th, 2015—a typical, late summer, hot Monday morning—when I heard booming music outside the bedroom window of my apartment. It sounded like it was coming from RFK Stadium, which was just up the street on the east side of Washington, D.C.

I was entering the final year of undergrad and needed a break from getting my class schedule in order and filing G.I. Bill benefits and looking at grad schools, so I decided to take a walk and locate the source of the revelry.

As I got closer to RFK, I saw what appeared to be a stage and a small contingent of security officers keeping watch and no more than a hundred or so people dancing away the hot, late morning.

Because the stage was facing away from me, I couldn’t tell who was singing, but they sounded a lot like Stevie Wonder. Pitch perfect impersonation of him. Impressive, I thought, I don’t mind listening to a great cover band for a while.

I entered the area, a grassy plot of land in front of RFK, rounded the stage, and looked up to see a full band playing alongside—oh my god, that’s Stevie Wonder.

Stevie Wonder. In the flesh. Right in front of me.

Songs in the Key of Life. Innervisions. I Just Called to Say I Love You. You Are the Sunshine of My Life. Fingertips. Superstition. Uptight (Everything’s Alright). My Cherie Amour. For Once In My Life. Tell Me Something Good. The definitive musical prodigy. Three consecutive Grammys for Album of the Year, all of them earned in a span of four years, a record that will never be tied, much less broken, during a run of musical production that is without equal. An artist of such depth and genius and delightful creativity that even his most successful contemporaries, like Sir Elton John, readily concede there is no one like him and never will be again.

Dr. Stevland Hardaway Morris. Little Stevie Wonder.

And he was singing in my little neighborhood to a small audience. My jaw had become nearly detached from my face, and I dragged it forward to get closer to the stage, ignoring the heat and humidity and any and all responsibilities and worries that were on my mind.

He was doing a surprise pop-up concert, announced just two hours prior through local media, which I had completely missed. When I went back to read the press mentions, several said the first 1,000 people to show up would get free donuts. And while I do remember the donuts and partook, but there weren’t even close to a thousand folks there.

It was a regular ole Monday morning in the District of Columbia. Folks were working, and anyone who wasn’t working was getting in a final summer vacation before the new school year.

And what few people weren’t working or on summer vacation probably saw the news and didn’t believe it would be so easy to attend the show. Maybe they missed that it’s free. Maybe they thought it’d be too packed. Maybe they weren’t sure it was worth the drive or metro ride to southeast D.C. Maybe they didn’t know about the donuts. Maybe they didn’t believe it.

But he was in my neighborhood—a good, loud shout from my apartment—and I now stood with a hundred other folks, in the sweltering heat, listening to this man play his heart out for us. As word quickly spread, it would grow to several hundred by the end of his set, folks taking an early lunch and rushing over. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Near the end, he suddenly got quite serious. He said he wanted to honor someone he deeply admired. He went on and on about this unnamed person. He talked about their humanity and grace and empathy. He talked about their leadership, and how they embodied the love that he felt the world needs right now.

As he continued talking up this apparent saint, I heard murmuring of guesses all around me. We were all waiting for the reveal. Who is this?

And then he said: “…so, I would like to honor my friend, former president Jimmy Carter.”

It was a sweet moment, but it was also mildly concerning. Did President Carter pass away that morning? Does Mr. Wonder know something we don’t? I wasn’t the only one thinking this, as I saw a few dozen folks quickly take out their phone to do the same thing I was doing: googling for any news on the 39th POTUS.

No, he was doing just fine. He wasn’t in the news. This wasn’t a response to a tragic or sorrowful development. Stevie Wonder just felt like that moment was an appropriate time to honor a man he deeply admired.

Yesterday, the Carter Center announced that the former president—by this point, at 98, the longest-living in American history—would be entering hospice care and foregoing further medical intervention in order to spend his remaining time with family.

I’ve thought about a lot of things, from the trivial to the extraordinary, since I saw the announcement. I thought about how he gave up his family’s peanut farm to run for president. I thought about how he once led the effort in saving a nuclear reactor as a young Naval officer and had radioactive urine for months afterward. I thought about his support for LGBTQ rights and the ordination of women clergy. I thought about his long association with Habitat for Humanity. I thought about when I was a little kid interested in presidential history and my grandfather, a world away from politics, beaming as he told the story of when he shook Carter’s hand many years ago. I thought about how much I regret not getting the chance to shake his hand, too.

But the first memory conjured when I heard the news was that pop-up show by Stevie Wonder and the kind words he had for President Carter, for no other reason than the sake of acknowledging his love for him and encouraging others to spread their own love, too — as he said: what the world needs right now.Thank you, Mr. President. Rest easy.

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Today, I purchased a rose gold, carry-on luggage piece at Target, with smooth-gliding wheels that display tasteful, faux-chrome mini-hubcaps and a sensible yet alluring plastic handle deployment apparatus. When extended with intention, the apparatus creates a succession of pleasing "clicks" that are sufficiently muffled by the substance of the polypropylene handle, so as to provide the welcome auditory stimulant one has been conditioned to associate with adventure in air travel but without the sometimes obnoxious metallic resonance produced by traditional shafts and handgrips. The sides of the case feature a mould of uniformly-spaced, abbreviated ribbing that enable more effective traction during handling without compromising the stylistic continuity of the overall design. The mobility of the wheeling component feels not unlike a pad of butter being dragged across warm toast when maneuvered in its rolling disposition, the slightest of touches on a forgiving hard surface producing movement that seems instinctual. The color layout incorporates just enough metallic trimming to accentuate its feminine expression whilst avoiding a garishness that is not uncommon in the production of mass market, high-femme luggage. The frame is exceptionally light and bound with a reinforced expansion zipper that can maintain a slim profile but permit up to two inches of additional space for one's packing list.

Capitalism tells me that this purchase will fill the gaping hole in my soul and alleviate the severity and frequency of myriad pains, within and without.

Cross your fingers.

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The Junk Drawer is back!

This is a feature of my blog I intended to do regularly when I began it last year, and things just got terribly busy with the midterms. So, it’s become one of my goals this year to reignite the feature.

It’s about odds and ends: random musings, things I’m reading and watching, stuff I found interesting, and updates on my work.

Enjoy!

The Ballad of the Nosey Balloon

The surveillance balloon fiasco over the past week has been embarrassing for pretty much everyone involved. Embarrassing for China in their clumsy espionage and laughable response. Embarrassing for the U.S. government in the revelation that, apparently, several of these were tracked during the Trump Administration, and Trump declined to do anything about them. Embarrassing for political media’s inability to clarify the situation for Americans, instead leaning into a framing of partisan jousting.

Per usual, on matters of national security, the smartest voices seem to be the peripheral of cable news. I found this Twitter thread by NatSec expert William Kim particularly insightful.

If nothing else, with the successful shoot-down of the balloon by an air-to-air missile from an F-22 Raptor (the first such recorded kill by the fighter jet model), notch this as a victory in President Biden’s war on inflation.

Another Award Show You Probably Don’t Care About But Here’s Why You Should

The 65th Annual Grammy Awards are being broadcast this evening. Most of you probably don’t care about it. I will admit that I love awards shows; from the fashion to the high drama, I find them delicious.

But this year’s Grammys have a particularly sharp significance. Beyoncé leads with nine nominations for her album Renaissance, an instant cultural landmark that is widely considered her most complete record. It also lifted her to 88 career nominations, tying her with husband Jay-Z for the most Grammy nominations by an artist ever. And with 28 Grammy wins under her belt already, she’s the most awarded singer in the Academy’s history.

Here’s the problem: Beyoncé rarely wins the big general awards (Album of the Year, Record of the Year, Song of the Year). She’s been previously nominated six times for Record of the Year, winning none; five times for Song of the Year, winning once; and most glaringly, three times for Album of the Year as a lead artist and once as a featured artist, winning none. She wasn’t even nominated for Best New Artist during her time with Destiny’s Child or after her solo debut, which was a stunning critical and commercial success.

The Grammys have always been suspect, and there’s long been debate over how much critical favor is weighed against sales and certifications. What makes Beyoncé a point of considerable debate is that she’s been consistently both: highly praised for her artistry and highly lucrative as an entertainer. Her Album of the Year losses have occurred in years in which she found near-universal favor among reviewers and near-universal adulation among listeners.

So, which is it?

That’s not to say the artists to whom she lost were undeserving, but it’s become a highly suspect pattern in which Beyoncé releases a beloved album that’s critically and commercially successful, only to lose to a white artist whose album would not be assessed similarly, at least to that degree.

Tonight, if Beyoncé doesn’t win at least one of the three major awards, there’s gonna be a lot of understandable chatter about misogynoir among Academy voters.

What I’m Reading

“The Revolutionary: Samuel Adams” by Stacy Schiff — One of the most interesting biographies I’ve read in a while. Schiff has a hell of a bibliography, with classics like “Vera (Mrs. Vladimir Nabokov)” (winner of the 2000 Pulitzer Prize for Biography or Autobiography) and “The Witches: Salem, 1692”, and her latest work on forgotten founding father Sam Adams is thoroughly fascinating. (https://bit.ly/SamAdamsBook)

“Dyscalculia: A Love Story of Epic Miscalculation” by Camonghne Felix — I was lucky enough to score an advance copy of Felix’ latest work, set for release this Valentine’s Day. She won rave reviews for “Build Yourself a Boat” (2017), which was longlisted for the National Book Award, among other recognitions. She’s one of those writers that makes me wanna write. (preorder here: https://bit.ly/PreorderDyscalculia)

“Master of the Senate” by Robert A. Caro — This is the second time I’ve read Caro’s third work in the LBJ biography quintet (the fifth part, we are told, will eventually be published when he’s damn good and ready). If you want to understand how the Senate got to be so thoroughly complicated and counterproductive (to put it mildly), Caro’s history of the chamber is, alone, worth reading this. It’s a big one, I won’t lie. You’ll need to dedicate at least a few weeks to it. But the understanding you’ll glean about American politics is indispensable.

What I’m Watching

“Fleishman Is in Trouble” (Hulu) — Adapted from the book of the same name by Taffy Brodesser-Akner (who also executive produces). It’s a great miniseries. Lizzy Kaplan and Claire Danes give exceptional performances, and the writing is brilliant. It's a bit dark but in the best way.

“The Last of Us” (HBO) — I’ll be real with you: as much as I love Pedro Pascal, I wasn’t especially motivated to start watching this. I’ve kinda had my fill with post-apocalyptic narratives. But then, the third episode, centered around guest actors Nick Offerman and Murray Bartlett, was released last weekend to rave reviews, so I finally watched it. I’m glad I did. The love story between these two men is one of the finest episodes of television I’ve ever seen. Absolutely brilliant.

“80 for Brady” (Paramount) — Oh god, I so wanted to hate this damn movie. Metro Weekly offered to pay me to review it, and when I realized it would give me a chance to trash Tom Brady, I gladly accepted their commission. And then, must to my surprise, I quite enjoyed it. Ugh, I hate it when that happens. To read my review, click here.

What I’m Writing

The week before last, I published this essay on an interview Pope Francis did with the Associated Press, in which he called for homosexuality to be decriminalized. My take is this simple: it’s very good news when a global religious figure takes an LGBTQ-affirming stance, especially right now, and it should be encouraged.

Last week, I wrote a satirical article about Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis announcing a statewide ban on Pink Floyd. I honestly thought it was a bit over-the-top and wouldn’t gain much attention. I was wrong. It went super viral. It’s one of the most widely-read pieces I’ve written for my blog, mostly because a lot of folks readily believed that DeSantis would do something like this. In fact, it gained so much traction that Snopes published an article in response, confirming that its satire.

And, of course, the aforementioned review of “80 for Brady,” which you should definitely read.

Where I’m Gonna Be

3/2/23: “Gabrielle Blair, In Conversation with Charlotte Clymer” at D.C.’s historic Sixth & I Synagogue — When my friend Gabrielle Blair asked me to join her for a one-on-one discussion on her bestselling book “Ejaculate Responsibly: A Whole New Way to Think About Abortion,” I thought I might be dreaming. For those who aren’t in D.C., Sixth & I is considered one of the premiere venues for book events. This will be my first event on the stage instead of in the audience, and I am so damn excited to talk about Gabrielle’s brilliant book. (Tickets here: https://bit.ly/GabrielleBlairEvent)

3/9/23: 2nd Annual Democracy Solutions Summit — RepresentWomen is hosting its second annual virtual summit on how to safeguard democracy. On its final day, I’ll be moderating a fantastic panel on the Fair Representation Act. It’s free! (Register: https://bit.ly/DemocracySolutionsSummit)

4/28/23: 17th Annual Freedom Rising Conference — On the last day of this much beloved annual gathering organized by NYC’s iconic Middle Church, I’ll be participating in the segment “How Christian Fascism Made a Home Within Our Government” with Melissa Harris-Perry and Robert P. Jones. I have so much respect and admiration for Middle Church, particularly Dr. Rev. Jacqui Lewis. I’m looking forward to this. Join us! (Tickets here: https://bit.ly/FreedomRisingConference)

Personal News

In case you missed it, Charlotte’s Web Thoughts was nominated for Outstanding Blog at the 34th Annual GLAAD Media Awards. This is an enormous honor, and I can’t thank you all enough for supporting this little blog/newsletter of mine. I’m grateful for your support. Truly.

For those of you who have been following the ‘80s movie guessing chaos, I have some good news: we’ve raised over $9,000 for Team LPAC. Almost there! Once we hit $10k, I’ll be publishing my review of the movie, thus finally revealing the answer. Shout-out to my friend Amanda Hite for her substantial donation toward that total. Please join her and donate (https://bit.ly/ProjectLPAC). Bonus: anyone who donates at least $50 will get followed back on Twitter; just send me the receipt at cmclymer@gmail.com

I joined Spoutible, the new social media platform created by Christopher Bouzy, the gentleman who accurately nailed the outcome of the midterms election long before mainstream political punditry caught up. And I really love it. Come join us. You can find my profile here.

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TALLAHASSEE (CWT) — Florida Governor Ron DeSantis shocked political observers and reporters this morning at a press conference where he announced a statewide ban on Pink Floyd, the English progressive rock group generally considered by popular music critics to be one of the most influential bands of all-time.

The stunning move came less than a week after controversy erupted in response to the release of their 50th anniversary album logo for The Dark Side of the Moon—the group’s magnum opus—which prominently features a rainbow, harkening back to the original album cover that depicts light being shone through a glass prism and then dispersing into a spectrum of color. Because physics.

The logo design drew enraged criticism from many who felt the band were attempting to engage in “wokeness” by referencing the Pride flag, the LGBTQ-inclusive banner that was created by gay activist Gilbert Baker five years after the release of The Dark Side of the Moon.

At the press conference, DeSantis slammed the group as “attempting to push their sexual frivolity on children” and “the latest example of moral degenerates seeking to weaponize pop culture against families.”

DeSantis, who has spent the past few years engaging in an all-out attack on LGBTQ rights in the state, then proceeded to lament the “demise of rock ‘n’ roll” to incredulous political reporters in a series of awkward exchanges.

When asked by one journalist to elaborate on his misgivings over the trajectory of the genre, DeSantis pointed to legendary rock acts and pointedly asked why today’s music is so sexually immoral.

“You know, when I was in high school and college, rockers were men’s men,” he said in response to reporters. “I’d pop in a Judas Priest CD on the way to class and feel amped. You remember Rob Halford? That guy was a beast. Women loved him.”

Reporters, exchanging confused glances, asked DeSantis if he had any other favorites.

“Oh yeah, sure, I liked all kinds of stuff back then. I drove up with my old high school buddies to see Against Me! when they were first starting out and playing little gigs around the state. That was real punk rock. They understood that men are men and women are women.”

DeSantis appeared briefly confused at muffled laughter from the gathered press.

“I mean, look, you can laugh at my taste in music, but you can’t deny that men back then weren’t wearing dresses onstage. You’d never see Kurt Cobain or David Bowie dressing like women.”

At this point, the Governor’s press secretary attempted to intervene by rushing to the podium and claiming he was behind schedule.

“Wait, wait—”, DeSantis said, waving off his concerned staffer, “These people need to understand what real rock ‘n’ roll is. Uh, where was I?”

“Sir, you were saying Kurt Cobain never wore dresses,” a reporter called out.

“Right, thank you, men were men. Rock music in my high school days was about men playing music to attract girls. Even the weirder groups like The B-52s and Scissor Sisters played songs that made sense. We didn’t have all these queers on the radio, singing about their sexual depravity.”

“Governor DeSantis, you may want to—”, a Fox News reporter attempted to interject before being shushed by his colleagues.

“The music industry no longer makes good ol’ fashioned, red-blooded-American rock,” DeSantis continued, ignoring the interruption. “Where is today’s David Geffen? Even music critics are no longer manly. Back in my day, we had Jann Wenner.”

“Governor, that may be true for rock but what about pop in those days,” another journalist asked, struggling to suppress a smile.

“Pop music was never my thing,” DeSantis admitted. “But you’d have to admit that pop a few decades ago was still about boys playing music about girls. You remember Ricky Martin? That guy was surrounded by hot chicks. Boy bands, too. I’ll take Lance Bass and his buddies in N*SYNC over any of today’s sexually subversive music acts.”

Laughter broke out among the gathered press.

“Hey, this isn’t funny,” DeSantis chided them. “We’ve gotten away from the days when men knew rock is about extolling the virtues of women.”

He paused.

“Freddie Mercury knew a thing or two about fat-bottomed girls.”

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In an exclusive interview with Associated Press reporter Nicole Winfield, published this morning, Pope Francis said homosexuality should not be a crime and called upon all countries with such laws—67 of them in total—to decriminalize.

There are currently three majority-Catholic countries that criminalize homosexuality: Burundi, Kiribati, and Saint Lucia.

There are also a few countries with a substantial Catholic population that criminalize homosexuality, Rwanda (49.5%) being the most prominent in this group.

Francis was intentional about making a distinction between homosexuality being a “sin”—which he believes it to be—and being a criminal act, which he believes it should not be.

This is arguably the strongest statement of support for LGBTQ rights from Francis since the beginning of his papacy. Over the years, he has periodically made headlines with his openness on topics of sexual morality.

The most famous example was in 2013 when Francis said to a reporter: “If a person is gay and seeks God and has good will, who am I to judge?”

In 2018, Francis urged the parents of gay children to maintain their relationships and love them and “not throw them out of the family.”

In 2020, he sent a handwritten note of praise to a Carmelite nun in Argentina who opened a permanent safe house for transgender women, noting: “God, who didn’t attend seminary and didn’t study theology, will reward you generously. I pray for you and your daughters.”

In 2021, he made clear his support for same-sex civil unions as a logical compromise against same-sex marriages.

Throughout his tenure, the Pope has attempted to traverse a tricky middle-ground between maintaining support for traditional Catholic views on sexual morality and expanding access to the Church for LGBTQ people and condemning abuse toward them. This has brought substantial criticism from both sides of the debate; social conservatives believe he’s overstepping his bounds and many social progressives reject his efforts as not nearly enough.

As a trans woman and Christian, I think the Pope’s actions have been great in the context of how substantially worse he could be. I don’t expect the Catholic Church to change its official views on LGBTQ identities in my lifetime, but it would be nice if we could all offer a baseline of respect for each other. In my humble opinion, Francis has certainly exceeded expectations.

I take the Pope at his word when he maintains that being LGBTQ is sinful (I firmly disagree, of course), but I respect that he has been steadfastly committed to: 1) a clear separation of Church and State on these matters and 2) encouraging the inclusion of LGBTQ people in the Church. It is especially meaningful when he insists that LGBTQ people are entitled to a family, even if that family structure is imperfect in the eyes of traditional Catholics.

I’ll be honest with you folks: this is a great thing, and I’m pretty exhausted with some progressives who, beyond being unsatisfied, have attempted to downplay the Pope’s efforts on LGBTQ equality.

This morning’s announcement is an enormous step forward, particularly in an era that has seen a heartbreaking backlash against LGBTQ advancement in recent years, all over the world.

Some people deeply struggle with the very simple concept that demanding total and complete change overnight is not only damn near impossible but can be enormously counterproductive, especially in response to a moment of progress. It comes across as performative and naïve.

Do I love that Francis has described transgender people like me as “lepers”, as though I am diseased and in need of specific ministry? No, of course not, but I’m also not gonna let that get in the way of meaningful progress. When the Pope says something that is likely to reduce violence and discrimination against my community, I’m gonna loudly praise it and hope anyone within earshot has their heart softened.

Lost in most of the discussion on this morning’s news will be the significant matter of continuity in papal leadership. There are currently 124 cardinal electors (that is, cardinals who are presently eligible to vote in a papal conclave), and Francis has created 81 of them. A new pope is elected with 2/3 of eligible cardinal electors, so a current threshold of 83 if all eligible voters were to participate in a conclave today.

That doesn’t mean the next pope is likely to be as progressively attuned as Francis, but he has undoubtedly made it highly unlikely that his successor will be a hard conservative in the mould of Benedict XVI.

Bottom line: don’t buy the nonsense view that this isn’t a big deal or that it won’t be helpful to LGBTQ people. Folks throwing out such criticism are allowing the perfect to be the enemy of the good at a time in history when there’s not been much good to go around.

Let the good flourish and plant more seeds.

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Last week, I watched a particular ‘80s movie for the first time in years, and I had forgotten how much I felt it was largely underwhelming, even overrated, despite its standing as a niche favorite.

Without naming the movie, I casually mentioned this in a group chat with a bunch of girlfriends, and they started guessing titles. Half an hour and dozens of guesses later, no one had landed on it, and being the curious goddess I am, I went to Twitter to see how fast it would take for someone to figure out.

No one did. At least not initially.

And it is a fascinating activity on perspective!For example, I didn’t anticipate the sheer number of guessers who apparently believe that flicks like “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” and “The Princess Bride” have a niche fan base.

(For those wholly unfamiliar with American Cinema, neither of these movies would ever be described as anything other than universally beloved.)

Eventually, someone did guess the correct movie, but because I enjoy occasionally torturing the online masses with very low stakes nonsense like this, I decided to make it interesting.

I could practically hear the groans, but much to my surprise, folks began responding in earnest, both donating to LPAC’s non-profit research arm and making persuasive arguments for certain films and/or urgent moral pleadings to spare their own beloved ‘80s flick.

The always charming Jon Cryer, beloved actor and ‘80s icon, among many other things, poked in to see if it’s “Pretty in Pink” (1986).

My friend Meredith Salenger—beloved writer, producer, and actress—had her own guess: “Dream a Little Dream” (1989).

The brilliant Yvette Nicole Brown, unsatisfied with mere guessing, offered a loving warning that it better not be one of her faves.

Amid the celebrity guesses were hundreds of responses that ranged from the patently absurd (“Purple Rain”? Who would ever describe that as less-than-great?) to the intriguing but ultimately incorrect (“Grease 2”).

Over the past week, I’ve occasionally trotted out a range of clues, some of them intended to be helpful but most simply thrown out there for my own amusement at the expense of those playing. Because I am sometimes a cruel queen.

Here are the list of clues, in order of my tweeting them over the past week:

‘80s movie that probably has a niche fan base
I just don’t think it’s that good
theme: a young person confronting societal pressure
based in high school
Rotten Tomatoes score of more than 50% but less than 90%
one of the leads has been nominated for a Saturn Award for acting during their career
the entire cast was named TIME’s Person of the Year in 2006
it was not directed or produced by Steven Spielberg
it was distributed by Paramount
one of the actors cast in this movie was also cast in “Jerry Maguire”
the year this film was released, the San Francisco 49ers made the playoffs (LOL)
released in theaters prior to former Justice Anthony Kennedy beginning his tenure on the Supreme Court
one of the actors who was cast in this movie is well-known for their exceptional voiceover work
released before Jon Bovi’s signature hit “Livin’ On a Prayer” reached #1 on the Billboard Hot 100
released before Ronald Reagan gave a nationally-televised address kinda sorta hinting at his role in the Iran-Contra scandal but ultimately denying any substantial wrongdoing

So, the clues quickly escalated from amusing to outlandish, and I will admit that I’ve quite enjoyed veering them between unhelpfully broad and tantalizingly specific.

That said, incredibly, we’ve raised more than $5,000 for LPAC. We’re already more than halfway there.

I have written a review of the movie, which no one has yet seen, and once this dorky little fundraiser of mine for queer women in politics reaches $10k, I’ll be sending it out to all of you.

Anyone who donates at least $50 can email me the receipt (cmclymer@gmail.com), and I will follow you back on Twitter.

Additionally, the first five people who guessed the movie correctly will receive a personal phone call from me congratulating them on their excellent deductive reasoning.

Hey, it’s for a good cause! I like seeing queer women get elected, and LPAC has done a phenomenal job of that.

So, please make a donation, and in the meantime, I’ll leave you with one final clue: this movie reveal and accompanying review are guaranteed to break a few hearts.

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Good morning from our Nation’s Capital!

The 118th Congress was supposed to start yesterday, and although the Senate went about its business, the House is currently in a holding pattern after the Republican Caucus failed to elect a speaker to lead its new majority. Three times, in fact.

This isn’t normal. The last time it took more than one ballot to elect a Speaker of the House was in 1923, when Republican lawmaker Frederick Gillett of Massachusetts seized the gavel after nine ballots.

(I should note here that Nancy Pelosi won nine consecutive leadership elections on the first ballot and would never have gone to the House floor without having the votes in hand.)

At noon, today, the House will reconvene to try again on a fourth ballot, and until a new speaker is elected, no other business can proceed, including the swearing-in of House members.

A good friend of mine who doesn’t work in politics texted yesterday to point out that although she follows the news fairly regularly, yesterday’s events were entirely confusing. I don’t blame her. Many of y’all probably feel the same way.

So, here are a few clarifications on the situation.

In the two months after Election Day, every two years, both major parties will privately meet to elect the leaders of their caucus for the following congress. Then, on January 3rd, both parties meet to open the new congress, beginning with the speaker vote. This is almost always straightforward because the vote is along party lines, which have already been settled by that moment.

Again, until a speaker is elected, no other business can be conducted. The proceedings can be adjourned, but things like establishing committees and passing bills and all that other governing stuff can’t be done until a speaker is in place.

Despite winning back the House with a slim majority, Republicans are significantly fractured over whom should be the next speaker.

Rep. Kevin McCarthy (CA-20) has been the leader of House Republicans for four years, patiently waiting to take the House reins and doing his damnedest to build goodwill with his GOP colleagues in order to successfully reach this moment, when handing the reins over to him—the caucus leader—should be a done deal.

The problem is that a large bloc of the more conservative members of the Republican Caucus don’t like McCarthy all that much. For the past several weeks, McCarthy has attempted to smooth over these differences, offering numerous concessions to his detractors.

Although McCarthy has certainly gained ground, it hasn’t been enough. Before I get to that, let me explain how this vote works.

To win the Speakership, one only needs a simple majority of the votes. The House has 435 voting members, and in a full vote, that would mean the magic number is 218. That’s when every seat is filled and all members are voting for a nominee.

Sometimes, for various reasons, members will vote “present” or decline to vote, and their seats will not count toward the overall total. When this happens, the majority threshold is lower. So, for example, if there were ten non-votes in the House, the total counted votes would be 425, and the simple majority to be elected would be 213.

Because of the tragic death of Rep. Donald McEachin (VA-4) in late November, there is currently a vacancy in the House, or a current max of 434 votes for speaker.

Making things more complicated, “present” or “decline to vote” can happen without warning during a roll call. Thus, if you’re watching the proceedings today, make sure to keep a mental note on the threshold if someone does not offer a vote that counts toward the total.

However, it is unlikely that there will be a substantial number of members voting “present” or “no vote” today. I’ll circle back to this in a second.

When the House opened proceedings yesterday, McCarthy could stand to lose only four Republicans. Prior to the first ballot, he was nominated for speaker in a glowing speech by Rep. Elise Stefanik (NY-21), the former moderate who sold her soul to jump on the Trump bandwagon and climb the leadership ladder. The speech failed to get the job done. Not even close.

The anti-McCarthy Republicans—19 in all—mostly voted for Rep. Andy Biggs (AZ-5) and Rep. Jim Jordan (OH-4). There was one vote for Rep. Byron Donalds (FL-19). It’s important to note here that Jordan and Donalds voted for McCarthy on the first ballot, underlining the absurdity of the anti-McCarthy bloc.

So, that was embarrassing, and the day only got worse for McCarthy and more confusing for folks watching at home.

On the second ballot, McCarthy didn’t gain a single vote, and all the anti-McCarthy votes switched to Jordan, who had just given a hearty nominating speech in support of McCarthy prior to the second ballot.

On the third ballot, McCarthy again failed to gain any ground, and Donalds stunned the caucus by switching his vote to Jordan, despite voting for McCarthy on the two previous ballots.

Jordan, who is set to become Chair of the House Judiciary Committee, has resolutely stated he does not want to be speaker and supports McCarthy’s bid. This has failed to dissuade the anti-McCarthy bloc.

It was clear a speaker would likely not be elected in the evening, so the House was adjourned, giving McCarthy the night to salvage his bid and saving the many scheduled swearing-in parties around town.

All of this took place over five long hours, which were oddly riveting given the circumstances.

One thing that’s notable: if someone hadn’t known the results of November’s midterm elections and were watching the floor proceedings yesterday, they’d have probably thought the Democrats were the party in power. While Republicans mostly sulked and bickered with each other, Democrats were jubilant, offering enthusiastic words for new leader Rep. Hakeem Jeffries (NY-8), who succeeded former Speaker Nancy Pelosi last month.

At last night’s party and concert for Rep-Elect Maxwell Alejandro Frost, the Democrat who became the first Gen-Z person elected to Congress, the mood was upbeat and celebratory. Despite no one yet being sworn-in and Democrats having lost the House majority, you’d have thought we were in the driver’s seat. Members of Congress, cabinet secretaries, and congressional staffers streamed in and out of the festivities at Union Market on The Wharf.

For once, Democrats were full of confidence and Republicans were in retrograde, an odd juxtaposition given, well, the past six years of shenanigans.

So, what’s gonna happen today?

I’ll be honest with you: I don’t think anyone knows. I think if anyone claims to know what happens next, they’re probably full of it. McCarthy needs to extract 16 votes from the anti-McCarthy bloc to become speaker OR—and this is very unlikely—strike some sort of deal with Democrats to reach the magic number.

It’s been offered that some Republicans may vote “present” or decline to vote in order to make a statement on McCarthy, while lowering the threshold for their colleagues. I don’t think that’s gonna happen. I think the anti-McCarthy folks are seeking to draw blood, not engage in symbolic maneuvers.

And I personally don’t think Kevin McCarthy will be elected speaker. Maybe he’ll surprise all of us by digging down deep. Maybe Trump will finally speak up for McCarthy and pressure the holdouts. Maybe—and again, this is very unlikely—a coalition is built between McCarthy and a handful of Democrats. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I find this all quite delicious. The GOP House Caucus is deeply divided, and if yesterday is any signal of things to come, they’re gonna struggle over the next two years in presenting a case to the American people that they deserve to continue holding the House.

In the meantime, if you’re a Democrat, sit back and give thanks that we have a strong leader in Hakeem Jeffries.

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This is my first full year of earning a living as a writer, thanks to you fine folks. It’s been a damn good year on that front, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to do something I love that pays the bills.

I have written more this year than any previous year of my life, and fortunately, some of these pieces make me quite happy. Here are five essays of which I’m particularly proud.For the Love of Henry Greenbaum (January 28, 2022)

Following a string of antisemitic incidents at the beginning of the year, including a school board in Tennessee banning the Holocaust education graphic novel “Maus”, I was furious and wanted to say something but what? I was in my office one evening in late January, struggling to find the words, and suddenly, I remembered my friend Henry and the words came tumbling out.

Yes, It’s True, I Cannot Get Pregnant (July 14, 2022)

The debate over trans rights reached a fever pitch this year, notably regarding the language that is used to describe pregnant people. Much to my frustration, it seemed there were even well-educated cis journalists who don’t understand this issue. So, I wrote a brief explainer about why all of us, regardless of gender identity, should care about how we discuss pregnancy in the public square.

Hopelessly Devoted to You (August 8, 2022)

When Olivia Newton-John passed away in August, I had the most visceral wave of grief and nostalgia. Growing up as a poor kid in Central Texas trailer parks in the ‘90s, we didn’t have access to cable and internet. We had VHS tapes, one of them being “Grease”. In this essay, I talked about how Olivia Newton-John’s performance had such a welcome influence on a closeted trans girl.

Yes, Life Isn’t Fair(August 24, 2022)

President Biden’s announcement of relief for federal student loan debt led to, shall we say, some feelings for millions in this country who felt his new policy was unfair. I did recognize that, but I also felt this was a great opportunity to talk about the general unfairness in the journey that leads to a college education. This was, by far, my most read essay of the year.

I Hate the Senate Bill, and We Need It to Pass (November 15, 2022)

Lord knows I had a lot to say about the final version of the Respect for Marriage Act when it was first announced after the midterm election, but above all, what was abundantly clear is that it needed to pass. Politics, despite what you may have heard, is not about getting what we want; it’s about the art of making things possible through compromise. Despite my brutal honesty, Senator Tammy Baldwin, the bill’s lead sponsor, called me a few days after this was published to offer thanks for supporting the bill. I was humbled and felt that was quite lovely of her given that it’s all of us who should be thanking HER for getting the first federal LGBTQ legislation across the finish line in more than ten years.

You folks might have other essays in mind for this, and I’d love to hear about them in the comments. Meanwhile, I can’t thank you all enough for supporting my work with paid subscriptions and reading and sharing my essays with the folks in your life.

It really does mean the world. Happy New Year, y’all. <3

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Friends, I have been deeply concerned in recent days by the frequency of people in my life—smart, wonderful, hardworking people—who reveal that they are watching “Emily in Paris”, for the first time, with the wrong expectations.

I want to help by setting the record straight: you don’t watch “Emily in Paris” for the writing or character development. That’s not why this show exists.

You watch it purely for the vibes.

It is a low-effort, live-action adult cartoon. It’s not supposed to make sense.

Would you overanalyze Bugs Bunny in viking warrior opera drag or question Wile E. Coyote’s curious, unfettered access to industrial-strength explosives?

Of course not. You would spark a blunt, eat your cereal, and enjoy the damn show.

Watching “Emily in Paris” with critical nuance is like excessively ruminating over the tragic inconsistency of dress sizes at Forever 21 or wondering why Trump doesn’t have a public library card. It’s a waste of your time.

You watch “Emily in Paris” for the relentless onslaught of gorgeous couture this woman couldn’t possibly afford, the charming cast who can’t help but be charming, the crude and clownish rendering of French culture that reduces it to caricatures meant to be consumed through the American Gaze for uncultured dorks like us, and the hot people having sex with other hot people.

Any attempt to make sense of all this is a waste of the viewing experience.

It isn’t even a case of the show being so bad that it’s actually good. It transcends good and bad. It is derived from our pleasure center, created in a lab purely for the high.

It is fatty, salty, delicious eye candy for American viewers who crave beautiful and unknowable Parisian chaos that doesn’t actually exist anywhere other than in our own dorky ass minds, and that is why we love it.

It is the furthest thing from prestige television, let alone the real world, and we are grateful for that.

So, pour yourself a bowl of Reese’s Puffs, and say: OUI.

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Today, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy met with President Biden at the White House in the afternoon and addressed a joint session of Congress later in the evening at the invitation of Speaker Nancy Pelosi in one of her final acts as the nation’s top lawmaker. You may recall the Speaker flew to Kyiv to meet with Pres. Zelenskyy and offer moral support back in May.

(I also want to note how proud I felt to see Vice President Harris and Speaker Pelosi standing behind Pres. Zelenskky, as is tradition, perhaps the last time we’ll see two women behind the dais for quite a while.)

His public remarks at the presser were succinct and compelling, and tonight’s speech may be one of the finest oratorical performances of the modern era in global politics, and I don’t say that lightly.

It was especially impressive given his English proficiency. It was obvious to all that President Zelenskyy's fluency in courage and family easily transcended the language barrier.

His communications approach repeatedly goes back to the same theme: family, family, family. Parents and children, over and over. This war is about ensuring parents watch their children grow into happy adults in a free and independent Ukraine. It is a message that is authentic and highly effective.

Pres. Zelenskyy walked into a chamber that, for many years, has been full of pettiness and cynicism and childish antics by unserious politicians and—solely through his passion and common sense—appeared to be a moral giant from a distant era. His speech couldn't have gone any better.Some of my favorite lines:

Against all odds and doom and gloom, Ukraine didn't fall. Ukraine is alive and kicking.

…

It gives me good reason to share with you our first joint victory. We defeated Russia in the battle for minds of the world.

…

Europeans gained this victory, and it's why Europe is stronger than ever. The Russian tyranny lost control over us.

…

The struggle will define what world our children and our grandchildren live in... this battle cannot be frozen or ignored.

…

The world is too interconnected and interdependent to allow someone to stay aside and feel safe when such a battle continues. Our nations are allies in this battle, and next year will be a turning point.

…

I assure you that Ukrainian soldiers can perfectly operate American tanks and planes themselves.

…

Your money is not charity. It is an investment in the global security that we handle in the most responsible way.

…

We'll celebrate Christmas, and even if there is no electricity, the light of our faith, in ourselves, will not be put out.

He also compared Ukrainian soldiers fighting for their independence to American soldiers fighting in the Battle of the Bulge—both at Christmastime, both against a tyrannical force, 78 years apart. An incredibly effective rhetorical strategy.

But despite that, there were some pundits—whom I will not name here—that seemed to be displeased with his attire.

These pundits are failing to read the room, but moreover, they're just completely missing the point.

His clothes are intentional symbolism. A country and its leader under immediate and existential threats from a tyrannical force have no time for suits and neckties.

Notice, too, that he's not wearing a formal uniform.

He has no visible rank or medals or nametapes. He has no commander’s cap or mirror-shined shoes. He has no epaulets or brass buttons or starched creases. He isn’t even wearing patches.

He's wearing simple, practical fatigues. He's wearing what women and men who are fighting on the frontlines in Ukraine are wearing.

He’s wearing what the mothers and fathers of Ukraine are wearing as they’ve spent weeks and months away from their scared children. He’s wearing what the school teachers and plumbers and doctors and janitors of his country are wearing as they defend their right to exist freely.

He's wearing the urgency of the moment, and thank god for that.

That's the point.

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Last night, two substations in Moore County, NC were fired upon with weapons simultaneously, allegedly to cut power to a local theater hosting a drag show. I say “allegedly” because it hasn’t yet been confirmed by authorities, but it sure would take a hell of a string of coincidences to arrive at any other conclusion.

I’ll get to that in a second, but let’s talk about how folks in this county are being affected by this cowardly act.

As of this afternoon, nearly 45,000 residents of Moore County are without power. There are reports of very heavy traffic as thousands attempt to temporarily relocate to areas outside the county, which has a higher-than-average proportion of retirees.

One resident sent me video of a long traffic jam, with this note: "People trying to leave Moore County. US1 at tramway. Traffic is at a standstill everywhere leaving MoCo."

One resident claimed: "I am in southern pines; one thing I haven’t seen people talk about is the cell service is also down. Verizon especially. Anyone on their network is having trouble making calls/texts/internet etc. AT&T network seems to be working fine. No communication is HUGE."

This is all important to note because of those residents who rely on life-sustaining medical equipment and just had their power go out in a county with a higher-than-average proportion of retirees and elderly residents. This attack has immediately put lives in danger, and despite efforts by local authorities to set up an emergency shelter at the Moore County Sports Complex and what I imagine is a tireless operation by EMS personnel to provide care, it is not out of the question that we could see deaths that result from this power outage.

Local resident Andrew Wilkins wrote a thread of impacts the power outage has had on the community, which you can read here.

At an emergency press conference a few hours ago, a representative from Duke Energy, the local power company, said that during the initial investigation, it was determined there was intentional damage on the substations, and the Sheriff’s Office confirmed firearms had been used to disable them. He said equipment will need to be replaced, "a pretty sophisticated repair with large equipment." Repairs, he said, could take until Thursday.

Moore County schools have announced they will be closed tomorrow, and at the press conference, the Superintendent said those closures could last through Thursday.

Clearly, this is a dangerous and deeply disruptive situation for every resident of Moore County.

Let’s discuss possible motive.

Emily Rainey is a former active duty Army officer who resigned her commissionafter the Army launched an investigation into her participation in the Jan. 6th attack on the U.S Capitol. Last night, shortly after the power outage began, she posted on Facebook:

"The power is out in Moore County, and I know why."

In a follow-up post, Rainey tagged Sunrise Theater, where the drag show was being held, and wrote “God will not be mocked” above what appears to be a photo of the building last night during the power outage.

Rainey has not been tied by authorities to the attack on the substations, and during the press conference, when asked by a reporter why the Sheriff’s Office had turned up at her home last night, presumably to investigate her claim of knowledge regarding the attack, Sheriff Rob Fields responded: “We had to go interview this young lady and have a word of prayer with her. But it turned out to be false.”

When a reporter asked how this had been verified, the Sheriff simply responded with only three words and nothing further:

“Good law enforcement.”

That’s it. There were no follow-up questions from reporters about what she may know. There were no questions about the specific content of her posts. There were no questions about the oddly thrown-in religious remark, which I suppose can be explained as a reference to her own summary of the event in a follow-up post on her Facebook profile after their visit:

And there were no questions about her leadership of a Facebook group called Moore County Citizens for Freedom, which describes itself as “a non partisan network of Moore County Citizens dedicated to the promotion of conservative values in Moore County, NC through education and activism.”

Two weeks ago, Moore County Citizens for Freedom posted the contact information, including emails and numbers, for local sponsors of the scheduled drag show last night with this simple caption: “You know what to do.”

Meanwhile, within hours after the outage began, while Rainey was posting references to it and claimed knowledge of why it happened, Sarah Fields, the Director of Advocacy for the Texas Freedom Coalition, which is exactly what it sounds like, posted a tweet appearing to endorse the firearms attack on the substations, then edited the tweet to remove an approving hashtag: #ImOkWithIt. You’ll notice, of course, that she left the hashtag #ProtectChildren, implying children were there.

I want to point out a few things:

The organizers of the drag show specifically stated on event fliers that children would not be permitted at the event and all attendees would be required to show ID to satisfy the 18+ restriction.

I do not point this out to enable the terrible propaganda that drag shows are inherently harmful to children (though there are some shows that are adults-only) but to emphasize that the organizers went out of their way to alleviate any concerns, however unfounded and harmful, expressed by those who irrationally and hatefully oppose drag shows for that claimed reason.

This follows an all-year-long concentrated effort by anti-LGBTQ propagandists to claim drag shows are intended as a tool of indoctrination and evidence that LGBTQ people are inherently pedophiles.

Two weeks ago, there was a mass shooting at a queer bar in Colorado Springs, in which five people were murdered and 25 injured. Despite the suspect’s long history of anti-LGBTQ rhetoric and past violence, his lawyers suddenly claimed he’s nonbinary in what many assume is an effort to troll the LGBTQ community (by mocking self-identification) after murdering five queer people.

Yesterday, in Columbus, armed protestors showed up outside of a drag show, forcing organizers to close it down out of concern for everyone’s safety:

I want to be very clear: we are witnessing a coordinated campaign of violence and intimidation against LGBTQ people, and if it is substantiated that anti-LGBTQ assailants attempted to cut power for 40,000 people in order to have a drag show cancelled--and I suspect it will be--that is the definition of terrorism, and we can expect more acts of violence will be perpetrated against LGBTQ people.

This is all quite terrifying, and so, I want to end this on a note of recognition and pride in those who attended last night’s drag show in Moore County. When the power went out and attendees suspected it was due to sabotage by anti-LGBTQ extremists, instead of leaving the venue out of fear for their safety, they collectively turned on their phone lights to illuminate the stage, so the show could go on. You can watch a video of it below.

Naomi Dix, the hostess of the event, gave a moving impromptu speech reminding attendees that they are loved and should feel pride in their community.

I didn’t see these videos until later this afternoon, and like many who viewed them, I couldn’t stop myself from crying.

I wish those who so blatantly express hatred and threats of violence against LGBTQ people in our country could find the comfort in their own skin that we have in ours, the sense of pride in their insular community that we have in our open community, and the expression of love we have toward anyone that they seem to deny to everyone who falls short of their extremist hatred.

I, of course, will only speak for myself when I say this, as one queer person, but I will say it with a full heart because it’s important: I was lovingly made by God, as I believe to be true for every human being, and I am guided by the instruction of Jesus Christ, emphasizing God’s words in Corinthians, repeated every Sunday in the church that I call home: that our greatest commandment is love.

I wish those who are behind these acts of hatred would have the courage to follow Christ’s instruction, too.

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When they said the decriminalization of homosexuality would destroy society, they were wrong.

When they said allowing LGBTQ adults to serve as public school teachers would be inappropriate because children would be vulnerable to sexual abuse, they were wrong.

When they said permitting gay, lesbian, and bisexual people to serve openly in the military would destroy military readiness and compromise national security, they were wrong. When they said the same thing later about trans people serving openly, they were wrong.

When they said protections for any LGBTQ person against workplace discrimination would destroy businesses and organizations, they were wrong.

When they said same-sex marriage being legalized would harm other families and upend society, they were wrong.

When they said permitting LGBTQ couples to adopt would put children at risk and deny them a healthy childhood and enable child abuse, they were wrong.

When they said permitting trans people to use restrooms aligning with their authentic gender would present safety issues for others, they were wrong.

When they claimed trans girls and women would “destroy women’s sports”, not only were they dead wrong, but in the midst of this whole discussion, they never attempted to address the real threat to women’s sports: the intentional lack of funding and institutional support.

When they claimed that gender-affirming health care for trans children is at odds with science, every major medical organization—from the American Medical Association to the American Academy of Pediatrics to the National Institutes of Health—said quite clearly that they’re wrong.

Social conservatives have been thoroughly and entirely wrong on every single LGBTQ rights issue.

Every histrionic warning, every red-faced speech in Congress, every bizarre and creepy and disgusting claim, every threat to life and limb directed at queer people, every b**t "study" fabricated at the Heritage Foundation -- all of it has been dead wrong.

And so I have to ask: at what point will social conservatives be held accountable by political media on their long record of being entirely wrong on these issues?

Political media seem to be suffering en masse from amnesia on this topic. Or perhaps they’re just lazy. Or perhaps they, too, hold anti-LGBTQ beliefs.

When will they do their jobs and stop protecting social conservatives?

"Senator, we pulled your past quotes on other LGBTQ issues, and all of them turned out to be completely false. You have been consistently wrong when it comes to the implementation of LGBTQ rights. Why should we trust you on this latest matter?"

It's that simple. Do your jobs.

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In hindsight, it was probably unwise for me to enlist in the military right before the thick of the holidays, and it will not surprise you that it certainly didn’t take me more than a few days of teenage clarity to reach that conclusion after the ink on my contract had dried.

I took my oath at the San Antonio MEPS (Military Entrance Processing Station) on Fort Sam Houston, Texas on November 22nd, 2005. I do vaguely recall an aside from my recruiter asking if I wanted to wait until after New Year’s before officially signing and receiving my orders to ship out for training.

Being a very intentional young person, I wanted to go immediately. I felt like I was wasting time, and it was better to get it out of the way.

I was wrong.

A little more than 30 hours later, I quietly stood in a slow moving and strictly monitored mess hall line.

My hair had been completely shorn, my energy entirely depleted from a lack of sleep, my skin poked and prodded by so many immunizations I had lost count, my eyes bespectacled with the ugliest pair of frames that have ever been created in the history of optometrical design, with a cute little black strap that was cinched unto the temple tips and chaffed against my formerly hairy skull, and I stood in this line, where I had been ordered to stand silently and stare straight into the back of the skull of the soldier in front of me (and that soldier and the one behind me had been told to do the same) while locked up in a rigid position with a plastic cafeteria tray held parallel to the marching surface (the floor) and as the soft holiday music played ever-so-ironically over the mess hall sound system and around our young and deeply frazzled brains—tauntingly, I feel, in retrospect—I could only think of one word, over and over and over again: “S**t.”

This was a mistake. This really sucks.

Over the previous day, from shortly after arrival with the shouting training cadre to this very moment with more shouting training cadre, I had been shouted at so much to stand in line, to be quiet, to walk, to run, to do anything on command and nothing otherwise, that I began to think I may not enjoy this whole experience as much as I hoped.

Time had slowed to a crawl and then became, without warning, irrelevant. We didn’t need to know the time to do our very important job of standing still quietly and staring at the back of others’ heads, and so, time no longer mattered.

It could have been an hour. It could have been ten hours. Eventually, the skulls in front of me floated forward enough that I suddenly found myself facing a long display case of prepared holiday food and in front of them, a line of important looking people, some of them clad in festive Santa hats, ladling and spooning out things unto the trays ahead of me.

By military tradition, on holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas, senior officers and NCOs (sergeants) in a unit will man the food trays, both as symbolism of leadership and a nice holiday gesture.

It was an odd juxtaposition: on one side were smiling, happy older adults, cheerfully doling out helpings of turkey and mashed potatoes and stuffing, and on the other side were an unending parade of the most numbly miserable young faces ever witnessed outside of a Ticketmaster presale.

It became much worse. My tray settled in front of a large man overseeing the distribution of green beans. On his uniform were several stars. He softly smiled and said, “Would you like some green beans, private?”He said this with genuine warmth, but before I could answer, I suddenly noticed the person standing next to him. This was undoubtedly his daughter, about my age, and she looked equally cheerful. The two of them, utterly disgusting in their holiday joy.

I looked at her, and I saw only one thing: freedom — the freedom of youth I had so easily surrendered when I signed that contract. She could have been a college student. She could have been working part-time shifts at the local Dairy Queen. She could have been out parole. I didn’t care. I wanted to immediately trade places with her.

These older men in uniforms were a novelty to our young eyes and came with our fresh surroundings. Her presence, on the other hand, so warm and kind and eager to make us feel at home, only served to remind us of our lives being put on indefinite hold and more importantly: just how impossibly far away from our homes we truly now were.

I can laugh about all of this now. Those early days in the military are retrospectively hilarious, but at the time, it was the worst Thanksgiving in a series of Thanksgivings I would spend only around other service members, always somewhat homesick.

I am many years down the road, and every Thanksgiving, I can’t help but think of those service members, all around the world, who, today, are sitting beside each other at long tables with festive decorations and breaking bread and missing their families and communities and trying their very best to grin their way through it.

To those of you reading this, remember that, for all the b**t, you are loved and appreciated, and we are so thankful that you’re serving our country.

Here’s to your safe return home and the seat we’re holding for you.

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The first time I presented publicly out-of-the-closet was at a queer spot in town, here in Washington, D.C.

In fact, it was Town itself -- "Town Danceboutique" in its formal name, as it was known to out-of-town newbies. My first night out as my true self was seven months before it closed.

That space made it easier for me to tip-toe into public life as my authentic self. It was a safe space to fill my own skin at a time when I was genuinely terrified of what lay ahead for me, even in a moment that was joyful for the long-savored liberation it offered.

I was afraid to go into broader public spaces early on. It took me time to get more comfortable in them.

Even now, I don't feel entirely comfortable in any public social setting outside of queer bars. It's not necessarily that I feel unsafe, but I am on guard. I have my head on a swivel. I am not able to simply relax and exist in spaces that aren't predominantly queer. Given my work, I spend most of my time in such spaces.

And I've gotten used to that. I understand what to expect in broad public spaces. I know the score, and I can get in an okay mindset before entering one. (Not that I should need to, but it is what it is.)

But with a queer bar, I can walk inside and let my hair down. I can be myself. I can be free. I can exist as God intended.

Gay bars, lesbian bars, queer bars -- these don't simply exist for social entertainment, although that purpose is quite cherished. Their primary and most important component is serving as an oasis of personal dignity and safety.

They are lifelines of supportive community. They are gathering places for organizing and advocacy. They are home and hearth for chosen family. They are nurturing desks for the drafts, rough and final alike, of queer artistic brilliance. They are a place to laugh and cry and breath freely. They are given to the fluency of free souls so often cloistered within spaces that purport to be free but fall far short of it.

They are ours. They are us.

Yesterday, five people, including at least one trans man, Daniel Aston, walked into a queer bar in Colorado Springs with that same expectation, and they were brutally murdered. 25 others were injured.

The shooting could have been so much worse, and I know we're all grateful it wasn't, due entirely to the heroism of patrons who overtook the gunman.

But I guarantee you that millions of LGBTQ people around the country are going to be more on edge moving forward, knowing there's always a chance some hateful bigot, motivated by the onslaught of violent anti-LGBTQ rhetoric from conservative politicians and charlatans in recent years, could show up to our spaces and open fire.

That is terrifying and people who are not LGBTQ need to understand that.

We need you to understand that.

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This Wednesday, Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer will bring the Respect for Marriage Act to the floor for a vote — the piece of legislation meant to protect marriage equality in the event that this current Supreme Court eventually decides to overturn Obergefell v. Hodges, the landmark case that legalized same-sex marriage in 2015.

This past July, the House overwhelmingly passed their version of the bill, with 47 Republicans joining the full Democratic caucus (and seven GOP members not voting).

Action on the Senate version of the bill was delayed until after the midterm election in what was seen as a clear effort to garner necessary GOP support in exchange for the issue not being weaponized against them in the final stretch of campaigning.

So, here we are: on Monday, Senators Tammy Baldwin (D-WI), the bill’s leader, and Kyrsten Sinema (who caucuses with the Democrats) were joined by GOP Senators Rob Portman (OH), Susan Collins (ME), and Thom Tillis (NC) in a statement describing how the bill addresses the controversy of this issue and urging their colleagues to support its passage.

The vote on Weds. is for cloture, the part of this whole process in which the full Senate advances a piece of legislation to a final vote by moving to restrict debate (otherwise known as overcoming the filibuster threshold of 60 votes). That cloture vote will set a time limit of 30 hours for consideration on the bill, and then, a final vote can be taken on whether or not to pass it. (Obviously, successful cloture votes almost always lead to final passage.)

So, by the end of Friday, unless we’re due for some big, unforeseen surprise, millions of families will have an additional layer of protection against marriage discrimination.

Sounds great, right? Not so fast.

You’ve probably heard about this bill along with the word “codify”, as in: this bill will codify marriage equality into federal law.

It will not. The word “codify” has been used very fast and loose by much of political media over the past 24 hours in describing this bill, and it’s just plain wrong and deeply misleading.

Here's what the bill does specifically regarding marriage licenses:

It requires the federal government to recognize same-sex marriage licenses. If Obergefell should fall, the federal government would still protect those marriages in every aspect under its purview (everything from Social Security benefits to military families).
It requires states that would not issue same-sex marriage licenses to recognize those licenses issued in states where legal. If you read the senators’ statement, this is what they meant by “the bill would guarantee that valid marriages between two individuals are given full faith and credit, regardless of the couple’s sex, race, ethnicity, or national origin”. That’s referencing Article IV, Section I of the Constitution. Basically, a same-sex marriage license issued in California would be honored in Texas, even if Obergefell is overturned and Texas bans same-sex marriage licenses from being issued under its state authority.

This is problematic for many reasons, one of the more obvious of which is that not every family living in an anti-LGBTQ state can travel to a pro-LGBTQ state to procure a marriage license. (You know those periodic reminders about why people can’t simply move out of hurricane zones because it costs money to move and restart somewhere else? Same principle here. Many folks can’t afford this nonsense.)

Currently, the constitutions of thirty states—in some way, shape, or form—ban same-sex marriage, and have only been prevented from being enforced by Obergefell. If that precedent should fall, all of those state constitutional bans would be enforceable unless repealed before then.

In 2020, Nevada became the first (and so far, only) state to repeal its constitutional ban on same-sex marriage.

Here, I’ll make it a bit easier with a visual I shamelessly stole from Wikipedia. Do you see all that red and black? Those are various degrees of bans (some just marriages, some both marriages and civil unions, and some go further than that). Everyone living in those parts of the country will be unable to procure a same-sex marriage license where they reside.

Some of these would certainly be repealed before then (California and Oregon) and some would not (Mississippi, Arkansas, etc.)

So, why not pass a bill that guarantees full marriage equality throughout the United States? That’s where this gets upsetting and complicated.

First, the bill would get challenged and probably thrown out for legal reasons that are too complicated to get into here within space constraints and which I, frankly, don’t feel qualified to convey with 100% accuracy.

Bigger to me is the most immediate problem: even with marriage equality more popular than ever (Gallup reported 71% support for it among Americans this past June), we simply cannot reach 60 votes to overcome a filibuster. There are not ten Republican senators who would support full marriage equality.

You might be thinking: gee, if Americans overwhelmingly support this, wouldn’t GOP senators face consequences at the ballot box for failing to support it?

Some would! Most would not — at least not enough to be the deciding factor. We just don’t have ten Republican senators who are vulnerable enough — or, perhaps, feel vulnerable enough — to be pressured into supporting a full marriage equality bill.

This is not unique. Last year, Gallup reported 55 percent of Americans identify as pro-choice, the highest rate taken by the survey since 1996, and yet, despite recent electoral losses that were clearly due to the Dobbs decision, the vast majority of Republican elected officials clearly do not feel much pressure to change their policy views on abortion access.

The GOP, true to form, would rather take their chances with their base on this issue in an election. They think it's worth the risk.

I'd like to believe most of them are wrong, and it'd be great if we could assume this will be enough of an issue that gets enough of them defeated in 2024 to make the difference. But that scenario is an entanglement of assumptions that risks everything.

Start here: the 2024 Senate map is brutal for Democrats. 33 seats will be up, 23 of them ours. We know that we will have tight Democratic incumbent seats to defend in Arizona, Maine, Michigan, Montana, Nevada, Ohio, PA, and West Virginia. That’s at least eight seats.

The GOP has maybe three: Florida, Missouri, and Indiana. And I'm being generous to us by saying those are "maybe" tight seats. I'm also being generous by not including Virginia for us because Sen. Tim Kaine is a strong incumbent. But that seat is far from guaranteed.

But we're not done yet. Some of our incumbents may retire or decline to run again. Possible are Jon Tester (Montana) and Angus King (Maine, who caucuses with Democrats). We could lose a critical incumbency advantage in Maine and Montana.

Then there's ticket-splitting. That's a significant disadvantage in swing states for a president's party. Enough voters could decide to keep Pres. Biden but vote for a GOP senator.

I don't think that folks realize that we are already at steep odds against holding the Senate in 2024. The odds are definitely against us. It's partly why getting Rev. Warnock (D-GA) reelected next month is so important. He could be the seat that makes the difference for the long haul.

It’s quite possible we barely break even in 2024 (and honestly, that feels overly optimistic), and the Reverend’s seat wounds up keeping us at 50-50.

And if Manchin, who is up for reelection in 2024, does win and is part of that 50-50, we may not get a chance to revisit legislation like this, anyway.

I think it is very foolish to assume that we'll be able to put full protections in place after the 2024 election if Obergefell is overturned.

It could very well happen that we somehow do way better-than-expected, reelect Pres. Biden in a landslide, and still fall just short of holding the Senate. What then?

No, I think it is completely ridiculous to risk everything on a hope and a prayer that we outperform against bad Senate odds in 2024.

In the meantime, we can considerably shore up protections with this bill.

I'm not happy with it. I'm angry, and I'm worried. I think these Republicans are hypocritical bigots, and it infuriates me that they're encouraging and leveraging hatred for their own bottom line. I am enraged at their cynical pandering. This bill pisses me off.

But it’s not about me being happy. It’s about survival. It’s about putting up a wall of protection that could shield millions of families from state-sanctioned discrimination.

We don't have any other reasonable options here.

But if we do pass this, we'll have protections for millions of families that otherwise wouldn't have had them, and then, we'll keep fighting for more.

It’s painfully slow, incremental progress. Disheartening and exhausting and necessary.

Every senator needs to vote for this bill.

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Welcome back to The Junk Drawer!

This is a regular feature of the blog in which I toss up a smorgasbord of thoughts and musings for your consideration, as well as personal news and updates from my little corner of the world.Let’s open up the drawer…

The 36th Revolution

I recently turned 36. You may have read my essay about it. I’m quite grateful to have made it this far in life and with my happiness and authenticity in tact, a marker that would be inconceivable to the vast majority of closeted trans people in the not-so-distant past. I am a lucky woman, and I know that.

Although I did a birthday fundraiser for Running Start (thank you to all who donated), many of you emailed to ask if you could buy me a birthday drink, which is incredibly sweet. I didn’t respond to any of those emails because I was quite busy over the past few weeks, and it felt a bit greedy to accept that kindness, I guess?

So, here’s my honest answer: this blog pays my bills. It ain’t a tremendous amount of money, but I consider myself lucky to be able to write for a living and pay my rent in doing so. If you were one of the lovely folks who sent an email asking if you could buy me a birthday drink, here’s my respectful request: consider a paid subscription. Help me to keep writing and do advocacy work with the rest of my time. I’d so appreciate it.

Reflecting on “Ordinary People”…

I recently rewatched Robert Redford’s 1980 directorial debut. I remained astonished at the complexity of Mary Tyler Moore’s performance. The french toast scene. The family photographs scene. The hug scene. Oh my god, the hug scene. She should have won the Oscar on that moment alone. The film is something like watching springs be wrapped around oneself and pulled tighter and tighter and finally let go in a sequence of flat-out phenomenal bits of acting. I wasn’t alive when the film was released, but I’ve been reading about how the public’s reception to her performance was considerable discomfort. It was, apparently, shocking to people that Mary Tyler Moore would play a cold mother — or, as reasonable adults might say, a human being feeling human being things.

Also: I love Donald Sutherland so much. He has a strikingly comforting presence in the film. Whenever his character is onscreen, there’s a palpable sense of safety. I don’t know how to adequately explain it, but his character just makes me feel better.

A bird in the cam is worth two minutes in your feed

I came across this video from a Spanish bird enthusiast who uses an app called Nest Box Live to film bird nests. In the following video, over two minutes, a mother bird builds her nest, lays her eggs, hatches them, and then feeds her babies over the course of seven weeks until they’re strong enough to fly out on their own.

It is, by far, one of the most interesting videos I’ve ever seen.

Jon Stewart and John Oliver go all-in on trans rights

It’s been a pretty brutal year on the trans rights front. At every level of government, Republican politicians have taken square aim at the rights of trans and nonbinary people. Some cultural public figures—like J.K. Rowling and Dave Chappelle and Bill Maher—have openly expressed viciously transphobic views. And all the while, it honestly feels as though much of the mainstream media landscape is largely disinterested in educating the public about trans issues in the face of such hatred.

This has all combined into a terrifying era for our community, one in which it feels as though so much hangs on the precipice of the next few election cycles.

I’ll be honest: until recently, I have wondered if Jon Stewart would eventually emerge as something in the same vein. Fortunately, I could not have been more wrong in that concern.

Stewart did an entire episode around the topic of trans rights, took responsibility for some of this own transphobic humor earlier in his career, and did the work of learning and listening to trans people and their families, particularly the parents of trans children.

Y’all really do need to watch the entire episode, but take special notice of his interview with Arkansas Attorney General Leslie Rutledge and her complete lack of preparation to discuss the health care of trans children, which she has so viciously sought to dismantle.

Last week, not to be outdone by his friend and colleague, John Oliver dedicated his own episode to discussing the moral and intellectual bankruptcy of anti-trans Republican legislators and spent 26 minutes educating the public in a manner I have scarcely seen this year from anyone in mainstream media. Click below to watch.

I can’t adequately explain how much of a breath of fresh air these two segments have been to the trans and nonbinary community. We have been terrified of what comes next for us in this country. There are families who have contacted me and asked if they should consider moving to a country with more affirming policies for trans and nonbinary people, and I honestly didn’t know what to tell them.

I love this country so much. In spite of this horror, I believe in the promise of this country. I really do. I believe that America can be a place where everyone is permitted to live in their full authenticity, free of violence and discrimination and shame in response to that authenticity.

I’m glad Stewart and Oliver are fighting for that promise. I’m grateful for them.

Thoughts on the Twitter news…

I’ll have more to say about this soon, but I do want to make something perfectly clear to all: I am not leaving Twitter. Hell no.

Folks have good reasons to leave, and those reasons are valid. I respect those who want to leave.

And folks have good reasons to stay, too.

Fighting disinformation and holding the line against bad faith in the public square is worth the fight. I’m absolutely staying.

Let’s respect and honor each others’ choices.

To those who may leave or are considering it and wanna stay in touch with me, here are some ways:

This blog, of course. You can subscribe for free here. All you need is an email.

IG: http://instagram.com/charlotte.clymer

FB: https://facebook.com/cmclymer

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/cmclymer/

Personal news…

If you’re getting speakers lined up for next semester or next quarter, I’m always available for speaking engagements to talk about LGBTQ issues, social advocacy, veteran’s issues, and a wide variety of other topics. Looking for someone to speak at your conference, college, or company? Click here.At that link, you’ll also find a few examples of my past speaking events.
I’m also available for consulting on general communications and DEI policies. Does your organization need some comms and messaging help? Are you looking for someone to advise on LGBTQ inclusivity? I’ve advised colleges, businesses, non-profits, and even a major studio film. I make it easy to focus on the rest of the work you’re doing. Shoot me an email: cmclymer@gmail.com

Books I’m reading lately…

“And There Was Light: Abraham Lincoln and the American Struggle” by Jon Meacham — One of the most well-known living presidential historians has finally released his Lincoln biography. It’s exquisite and searingly honest. Readers will notice the not-so-subtle warnings from Meacham about the long history of white supremacy in our country and how it still threatens to undo the progress we’ve had since.

“Ejaculate Responsibly: A Whole New Way to Think About Abortion” by Gabrielle Blair — Based on the author’s legendary and prescient Twitter thread in 2018, Blair explores the responsibility of cis men in the family planning discussion. She does so with startling clarity and a wealth of empathy for all involved. A must read.

“Mad Honey” by Jodi Picoult and Jennifer Finney Boylan — These two are among my favorite writers, and I was delighted when I found out they were collaborating on a novel together. The work is brilliant. It centers the evolution of a family as it breaks a few bones and attempts to reset them, and it does a fantastic job of getting at the pain of shattering cycles.

Where I’m gonna be in the near future…

Oct. 29: 2022 Human Rights Campaign National Dinner (Washington, D.C.)

Nov. 9: District of Columbia Commission on Human Rights Awards Gala: 35 Years of Moving Towards Equality (Washington, D.C.)

Nov. 11: HBCU Women’s Leader Summit, jointly hosted by Xceleader and Running Start (Washington, D.C.)

Nov. 17: 2022 United Nations Climate Change Conference (COP27) satellite event at American University. Participating in the event in partnership with the climate change organizationWe Don’t Have Time. (Washington, D.C.)

Nov. 17 (evening): Opening Night for “& Juliet”, the new Broadway musical that explores Juliet taking a different path. Book by David West Read. Music by Max Martin. (NYC) — This musical will feature a prominent nonbinary character, and I’m so proud of my dear friend Eva Price for producing it. [tickets here]

Dec. 3: Victory Institute’s 38th International LGBTQ Leaders Conference — speaking. Details to come. (Washington, D.C.)

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I turned 36 this past week.

It happened in the blink of an eye, and I’ve been so busy working, so exhausted, that I missed it.

Somewhere, about 35,000 feet above the earth’s skin between Chicago and San Francisco, I gained another year.

It was not a quiet day. At noon, I had been lucky enough to do a virtual keynote interview with the hyper-brilliant Angelica Ross to open up the 2022 Lesbians Who Tech San Francisco Summit.

But prior to that was an outside piece that needed to be written and a dozen phone calls to make related to the Midterms. There was submitting a signed release for an upcoming podcast appearance. There was checking on an op-ed pitch a brilliant former student had written that I was attempting to get placed. There were two loads of laundry that needed to be done at the crack of dawn. There were a few letters to write that I somehow managed to get to the Post Office during lunch, and I still don’t know how I swung that.

There was the flight to catch at 5pm at DCA, but before that—and all throughout the day, amidst everything else—there was the annual birthday online fundraiser to do for Running Start, which, thankfully, mercifully, went very well. (By the way, thank you to everyone who donated to it.)

I reached the airport early enough to get my ticket fixed at the United counter to have TSA precheck included (and thus, avoid the body scanners), and when the agent handed over the updated boarding pass and my driver’s license back to me, she offered a warm “happy birthday” with a big smile, which I realized was the first time someone had said that to me in-person all day, grateful as I was for all my friends’ loving texts.

I honestly don’t remember the first leg to O’Hare. I slept for most of it after attempting, in vain, to keep my eyes open long enough to read “Mad Honey”, the brilliant new novel by Jodi Picoult and Jenny Boylan.

There was an hour layover in Chicago, and then we loaded up for the second and final leg to San Francisco.

One of my seat mates was a woman who hadn’t flown in a few decades. In a nervous tic kinda way, she revealed basic facts about herself to me before takeoff, as though imparting information that could be useful if we’re somehow separated in a Nebraska cornfield.

She said she’s much older than me (verbatim). She said she’s a stenographer. She said she’s taking a much needed vacation. She said she’s tired of men and how nice it was to sit beside women on a long flight. She said all this within five minutes of my having sat beside her. She said all these things in an endearing manner that made it impossible not to like her.

She was nervous and quite lovely and I attempted, as best I could, to answer her very reasonable questions about air travel that understandably would come to mind for someone who hadn’t been on an airplane since the Clinton Administration.

We made small talk, with random divergences into deeper subjects, and while our other seat mate went to the restroom, the woman leaned over to me and asked where I wanted to be in a few decades. It was an odd question to ask in the flow of our conversation, a weird hybrid throwaway between a job interview and escalated banter on a date.

I hadn’t mentioned my birthday to either of them and what had been on my mind all that day — honestly, for the preceding several weeks. It felt too heavy, which is ironic given that she had seemingly read my mind with that question.

January 17th, 2049.

I wanted to tell her—and of course, I would never have said this—that my answer is to be alive long enough to reach that date.

It’s on that day that I will have spent most of my life in my authentic skin. I will be 62 years old when I have reached the majority of my life existing outside the closet, existing as my true self.

As of this evening, that’s 26 years, two months, and 29 days away.

But I did not tell her this, of course. Reasonable adults can disagree, but it felt a bit garish to get so existential before the drink cart had arrived. It’s common courtesy, I believe, to avoid discussion of mortality on an airplane without at least a drink in hand.

“I want to be happy,” I finally told her, with an intonation of humor.

She looked at me for a second.

“You will be,” she said earnestly, parrying my jokey response. “But in the meantime, you’re beautiful.”

And sometimes, we are reminded that a little bit of warmth from a stranger goes a very long way.

Ma’am, wherever you are, I hope your return flight was a peaceful one.

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[Hey there! This blog will always be free to read, but it’s also how I pay my bills. So, if you like what you read, please consider a paid subscription.]

Dear Readership,

Many of you have brought to our attention a pattern among our editors and reporters of obfuscating, withholding, downplaying, anesthetizing, and otherwise obstructing a clear picture of wrongdoing that would be of significant interest to the welfare of the public.

We want to clear the air and get back to our primary mission of… well, keeping our outlet profitable.

Last week, after a prominent politician claimed that puppies are carrying CIA-planted tracking chips that record our personal conversations and, thus, must all be euthanized, it was probably misguided of us to frame this public figure as simply “canine averse”.

We regret considering in good faith the unexpected benefits of such a proposal. Some of our best friends are dogs, but we worried that being publicly opposed to the mass murder of puppies might make us look biased and unprofessional.

On the heels of that was a story we published about a group that wants to ban Android users from the public square. While a few of you did respond approvingly, we recognize it was arguably inappropriate to “shoot the s**t” about possible roundup strategies.

From our end, it was all intended in good fun, although we acknowledge that this extremist group was not joking, expressed in a quote we printed from that group’s leader: “Seriously, we’re not joking about this. Eliminate all Android users.”

We should have pushed back instead of responding with nervous laughter and collegial banter.

Our editorial page recently published an op-ed entitled “I Am Rooting for Climate Change to Kill All of You”, written by a tech billionaire who is venturing into the Grief Economy with a new project that would monetize our stolen personal data into post-mortem avatars for the Metaverse.

To be honest, despite the unbridled bloodlust of this capitalist monster, something about the idea sounded really damn cool. Also: he owns this outlet.

A few months ago, we attracted heavy criticism for an admittedly soft profile of a cult leader who claims the Moon is made entirely of congealed queso and Armageddon will see all of us turned into nachos for aliens.

Unfortunately, we treated this belief system as equally valid to any other, which meant failing to ask important follow-up questions like “are you certain you’re not a dipshit” and “have you considered switching away from a less paranoid strain”.

We’ve been dropping the ball a lot when it comes to news about Space.

About a year ago, a team of star reporters at this outlet discovered, via top sources in the government, that an asteroid with a size approximately equivalent to the Austin-Round Rock metropolitan area is on a precise trajectory to destroy everything we know and love.

We admit this certainly qualifies as critical news, but we felt—and we still feel—there were no ethical boundaries breached by waiting to inform the public until it could be effectively utilized for our reporters’ book PR campaign, which, as you probably know, began in earnest last month.

(“Holy S**t, This is How It Ends” was released to rave reviews from many of our reporters’ colleagues and debuted at #1 in the “Dystopian Non-Fiction” category on Amazon.)

So many of you have written to us with anger and disgust over the alleged devolution of our journalistic integrity, and although we respectfully disagree with the tenor of such an accusation, we would like to offer a silver lining:

It could be much worse.

Imagine a world—for the sake of argument—in which these stories were about the vicious and violent targeting of a particular group of human beings based on race, ethnicity, religion, sex, sexual orientation, gender identity, disability, or some other characteristic that would be vulnerable to disinformation weaponized about their humanity.

Or what if they were about the actions of a growing extremist movement hellbent on destroying our last vestiges of supposed representative democracy and replacing it with—gosh, I don’t know, just spitballing—a white supremacist worldview that masquerades as a religion that’s protected by theocratic fascists posing as credible judicial authorities?

Sounds terrifying! Someone call Stephen King and pitch that for his next horror tome.

Anyway, we appreciate the feedback, and we look forward to your future concerns and inquiries, at least for this remaining month of our collective existence.

Sincerely,

Prestige National News Outlet

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[Hey there! This blog will always be free to read, but it’s also how I pay my bills. So, if you like what you read, please consider a paid subscription.]

I’m introducing a new feature called The Junk Drawer.

You know, that kitchen drawer where you stuff everything that doesn’t have an intuitive place elsewhere in your home? Old hot sauce packets? Spare change and batteries? Unfamiliar kitchen utensils that lack a clear purpose but vaguely seem at home in a kink seminar?

Also: the drawer for those who are lazy and need a place to put random things. (Me.)

This feature will be a weekly thing that offers odds and ends, mostly just interesting stuff that may not merit a larger essay but nonetheless makes me think or laugh or otherwise feel something.

I’ll also include any upcoming events I’ll be doing and personal news.

Here’s a cool feature of this: all are encouraged to submit items for consideration in The Junk Drawer. See something quirky or notable? Send it to me, and I’ll write it up as an item and credit you. (Email: cmclymer@gmail.com)

Lizzo plays a flute and some conservatives play themselves

On Tuesday night, Lizzo played a show at the Capitol One Arena here in D.C. — she was predictably fantastic, especially a segment in which she introduced, on behalf of the Library of Congress, a crystal flute once owned by James Madison from the early 1800s. She then became the first person ever to play it. She was magnificent. You can watch the full segment here, and you absolutely should.

A number of conservative commentators complained loudly that she “disrespected history” by playing the flute, though they failed to elaborate on how it was disrespectful. One commentator—to whom I will not link—claimed that her playing the flute was an attempt to humiliate white people.

I’m white, and I was at the show. I did not get the memo that Lizzo was attempting to humiliate me by playing a flute. She came across, however, as a history nerd and a music nerd and a nerd to whom I aspire in my own nerdiness.

Seriously, watch the damn video. It’ll make you smile.

I’m not a fan of performative hurricane coverage

This week saw the landfall of Hurricane Ian, the second major hurricane of the 2022 Atlantic season. It hit Southwest Florida at Category 4 strength on Weds. afternoon and barreled up the state over the following 24 hours, leaving in its wake widespread death and destruction.

Some experts predict it will be the largest hurricane economic loss in the state’s history. Karen Clark & Co, a catastrophe modeling firm, estimated the economic loss would be $63 billion and the total economic damage to “well over $100 billion”.

While the hurricane made landfall, the trope of vulnerable human beings reporting in the thick of it seemed to endure with no expectation of ever stopping.

Admittedly, I have never understood the appeal of watching some poor soul in a light parka needlessly stand outside in the middle of a hurricane to tell millions of folks watching at home that hurricanes are, in fact, quite dangerous. This isn't a gospel that needs evangelists.

Like, does anyone really think someone tuned into The Weather Channel today because they were skeptical about the lethality of a Category 4 hurricane? No, of course not. This is all entertainment. It's a show. And it's very weird that we all just kinda go along with it.

About that hero Coast Guardsman

In the aftermath of Hurricane Ian, U.S. Coast Guardsman Zach Loesch received a call from President Biden thanking him for his lifesaving rescue efforts. Rightwing media then jumped on this, pointing out that Loesch is expected to be separated from service within days due to his refusal to take the COVID vaccine. Here are a few of those headlines:
Fox News: “Biden thanks Coast Guard rescuer for hurricane heroics days before firing over vaccine policy”

New York Post: “Biden thanks Coast Guard member for hurricane rescue — days before vax mandate firing”

You get the picture.

But what they won't tell you is that this Coast Guardsman, when he enlisted in the military and began basic training, took vaccines for:

-- adenovirus

-- influenza

-- measles

-- meningococcal

-- mumps

-- polio

-- rubella

-- tetanus-diphtheria

-- varicella

They won't tell you that this Coast Guardsman was then required to take an annual influenza shot and--if he deployed--more than likely took additional vaccinations.

So, this Coast Guardsman has no problem with vaccinations. He's only doing this out of extreme partisanship.

This Coast Guardsman is not above the rules. He is not a special snowflake. He does not get preferential treatment because his politics are misaligned with common sense public health policies reasonably implemented by the military.

So, when you see some conservatives today inevitably claim that "a hero's career is being destroyed" over not taking the COVID vaccine, remember that he didn't have this issue with vaccines before now.

He made this choice all by himself and for selfish reasons.

Personal news…

My birthday is next week! I’ll be turning 36 on October 12th. Every year, I do a birthday fundraiser for Running Start, an org that empowers young women and non-binary folks to get involved in politics. More details regarding that on Monday.

I was unanimously confirmed by the D.C. City Council as one of Mayor Muriel Bowser’s nominees to the D.C. Human Rights Commission — very excited to serve in this volunteer role!

You know that Super Follower thing you’ve been seeing on Twitter? Well, I’m doing it now, and anyone who Super Follows me gets a follow-back. Just go to my Twitter profile and click “Super Follow”.

It’s a new fiscal year and school year, and I’m always available for speaking engagements. Looking for someone to speak at your conference, college, or company? Click here.

Where I’m gonna be in the near future…

Oct. 5-9: 2022 U.S. Conference on HIV/AIDS in San Juan, Puerto Rico (if you’re also attending and see me there, please say hello!)

Oct. 11: Sustainability Awards in Washington, D.C.

Oct. 12-15: Lesbians Who Tech San Francisco Summit (tickets here)

Oct. 15: moderating book tour event for “Mad Honey” by Jodi Picoult & Jennifer Finney Boylan at the Smithsonian Zoo Visitor Center Auditorium in Washington, D.C. (tickets here)

Oct. 16: Regina Spektor concert in Washington, D.C. (so excited for this!!!)

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It is 5am on a Monday morning in Washington, D.C.

I have no shortage of work that needs to be done. I have emails to send, meetings for which to prep and schedule, calls to make, just a lot of things to do that really cannot be put off. And yet, here I am, at an ungodly hour, watching dignitaries slowly file in for the funeral of a woman I never met and who never did anything for me.

Why?

How does a kid raised in trailer parks in Central Texas come to be obsessed with the British Monarchy and admire Queen Elizabeth II?

Nowadays, TLC is a channel where you’ll find programming as illuminating and varied as “90 Day Fiancé” and “90 Day Fiancé: Pillow Talk” and “90 Day Fiancé: Just Landed” and “90 Day Fiancé: Before the 90 Days” (I’m not kidding; these are all real titles, and I’ve intentionally kept the list short).

But in the early ‘90s, it was literally known as The Learning Channel, and in the only real bonding moments I can remember having with my maternal grandmother, we would sit beside each other in her bed in my grandparents’ trailer and watch episodes of “Great Castles of Europe”, a series that ran for two seasons on the network.

The show would take viewers on tours of these castles and the royalty that lived in them and the culture and social structure of the time in which they lived.

My grandmother would smoke a cig that she had asked me to spark on the kitchen stove and have me grab her a coke and we’d sit there for half an hour marveling at the gorgeous scenery on the tube while she told me the bits and pieces she knew about the British Royals.

I was hooked. I knew what “divine right” meant long before 4th grade social studies, to say nothing of the increasing controversy surrounding Charles & Diana, earning a fluency in House of Windsor scandals, via my grandmother, that would later shock my elementary school teachers.

The typical American view in the ‘90s was this: we didn’t think much of Charles, but we loved both Diana and the Queen—for different reasons.

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