Fighting from the Heart for a World Free of Hate

By Grace Smith, Iowa for Warren Field Organizer

I was not unaware of the irony when I hid in the closet.

Maybe there was something to unpack in the realization that I found comfort in the physical representation of the concept that had held me captive for too many years. Regardless, in the moment of crisis, I found myself locked in my closet, curled up in a ball, clinging to anything that felt safe.

Nothing felt safe.

That was the moment I found out about Pulse — about the 49 people who had been killed at the queer nightclub in Orlando, Florida on their Latinx night on June 12, 2016.

Most of the people who lost their lives were queer people of color, and as I held close the names of those at the shooting that day, I held even closer my own identities as a queer person of color. The attack was as specific as it was general — it was at once a targeted raid on a queer nightclub and a national reminder that safety has historically been a privilege and not a right. The Pulse shooting was never meant to be finite; it was always meant to be perpetual, an insistent voice that would whisper in our heads every day after that we were not worthy of life.

Later that year, Donald Trump was elected to office as president of an America that seemed all too willing to choose hate over love; Pulse felt like a foreshadowing of the even greater horror to come. On December 31, 2016, I made a promise to myself, one grounded in all the pain my queerness held. I promised to fight for the world I needed — a world where people could dance at their favorite nightclub and never have to confuse the beat of the music with the bullets of a rifle aimed at their humanity.

And that’s how I ended up here, three years later, organizing for Elizabeth Warren and, more importantly, doing the work to create a world free of violence and full of love — a world where we get to wake up not afraid for our day but proud of the potential of time.

I’ve been in Iowa for the past eight months, proudly working in Windsor Heights and West Des Moines, and every one of the days of every one of those months has filled me with the hope that this better world we dream of, the more perfect union we know must exist, is closer than it has ever been.

Elizabeth Warren is the woman to make the change we need. She leads with brilliance and a relentlessly determined heart; I’ve waited my entire lifetime for a candidate like her.

This was never more evident than when Elizabeth released her bold plan for LGBTQ+ communities. It was the reassurance I needed that she’ll back up her commitment to my communities through action, not just words.

To be always in danger means to navigate the world with shoulders caved and head bowed, to hesitate instead of interrupt, to back up instead of step forward. Pulse taught me that no matter what I do, a hateful minority of this country will go to any length to tell me that my queerness is not meant to survive, that my queerness is a pre-existing condition America never intended to care for.

And that’s why Elizabeth’s LGBTQ+ plan matters — it continues the critical work of pushing back against this narrative and showing all the ways in which a democracy can protect and celebrate love of all kinds.

In the plan’s very first sentence, Elizabeth mentions by name two transgender women of color — Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera — who effectively wrote the encyclopedia for radical queer courage with every brick they threw at Stonewall and every protest they led with persistence. This is powerful. This is a rare acknowledgement, especially from a future president. This plan was never meant to be comprehensive, but it was always meant to be brave — and that’s exactly what it is.

Elizabeth immediately recognizes two communities often forgotten but necessarily remembered. First, she mentions the need for justice in our adoption services and ensures that, through her administration, adoption will be an accessible and equal process. As someone who is both adopted and queer, I am so thankful for this. It is critical that we have a president who understands that family should not be held to the narrow parameters of expectation and tradition. Second, she specifically highlights the unique needs of rural LGBTQ+ communities and reminds us that her rural plan will invest meaningfully in their success.

Queerness should never be a liability, and violent action fueled by hate should never be legalized. Because of this, Elizabeth Warren’s call for an end to the LGBTQ+ panic defense is particularly revolutionary in its confrontation of an excuse made viable for far too long. A legal strategy that places blame and excuses violence because of someone’s LGBTQ+ identity is simply unacceptable.

Queerness should also never be a diagnosis, medicalized beyond a capacity for empathy, processed to a point of extinction. Under Elizabeth’s plan for Medicare For All, the rights of patients, including and especially trans and non-binary patients, is affirmed. This means not only stopping discrimination and misgendering throughout the course of care but also protecting everyone’s ability to make health care decisions that lead them to authenticity and fulfillment.

I know what it feels like to sit on an examination table with a doctor who is spending more time trying to figure out what you are than how you are. I know it has stopped me from receiving the care I deserve. It is certainly time for a president and for a healthcare system to recognize the diversity of gender, bodies, and people — and to meet each individual with what they need. It is time for me to feel my power as a patient, not as a study.

Elizabeth knows that this important work of honoring and fighting for all of who we are and how we love has been happening for years. Her plan shows solidarity with everyone already doing this work and promises to give them the platforms, resources, and support they need to keep it going. This exemplifies the many ways in which Elizabeth Warren has surrounded herself with a team that understands the issues and fights for every community holistically and fiercely.

Put simply, when Elizabeth says she’ll fight for you as hard she fights for her own family, she means it.

There is nothing more beautiful than loving something into existence and watching it bring to life all the parts of you that feel inconceivably hurt. As June 12 of this year drew near — the three-year anniversary of Pulse — for any bit stronger I might have felt, I still felt crushed by the weight of the day. I still remembered what it felt like to be trapped by my own fear, for no matter where any queer person of color was on June 12 of 2016, we all felt a ripple of terror course through our veins that day for the violence inflicted on our communities.

With the help of many others, I organized a Pulse Vigil at The Blazing Saddle, a queer nightclub in Des Moines, where folks gathered for words, music, and community. It was everything I needed in one moment — and it was the power of organizing combined with the need for a space to feel all that we felt together. As people streamed in and stood beneath the rainbow flags, we sang, laughed, and cried together. We held candles in the darkness and read the names of the lives lost three years ago.

But it was when the Gay Men’s Chorus began singing the classic queer anthem True Colors that the tears came freely and the grief came back in all its strength. We all felt the weight of our pain and the weight of the responsibility to keep each other safe. We remembered that our bodies were targets of hate far before they were ever landmarks of worthiness, but in that moment, we also realized that we were all so deeply worthy of everything we could offer each other.

This is what healing looks like — hearts breaking by their own vulnerability and the weight they cannot handle and being gradually rebuilt by a chosen community brought together by love. At that moment, I was so grateful to this campaign for allowing me to create spaces of collective grief and healing and for pouring the love and support into them to give them power. This is how we find our pulse again, the rhythm by which we love and grow together.

Crisis can’t be our only call to action; we have to learn to fight proactively, passionately, persistently. We cannot wait until 49 of us are killed to understand that any one of us is worth fighting for. Big, structural change can’t wait, and with Elizabeth’s plans, it won’t. LGBTQ+ communities are counting on us, and I’m counting on you.

The pulse of Elizabeth Warren’s campaign is a constant, a unifying heartbeat for the masses, one that will persist with the conviction of all we’ve ever dared to dream. We dream big. We fight hard. And we win.

Grace Smith is a field organizer for the Elizabeth Warren campaign in Iowa.

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