Joy is Crying on the Sidewalk

A poem I wrote on No King’s Day, and a quick survey!

Hello, beautiful people! I hope you had a restful, energizing, angry, joyful, communal weekend. Maybe it was just one, or a couple. However you’re doing, I’m glad you’re here.

A few quick housekeeping notes from me

First, in case you haven’t RSVP’d, I have an event coming up next Tuesday called “Keep Dancing: The role of Joy in Social Movements Through History”. It’s going to be a wonderful evening of learning how to ground our current movement and advocacy in the joy and strength of civil rights movements around the world. Joy is not a wasteful dalliance, it’s a necessity! The event is free, and if you RSVP you’ll receive a recording of the event afterwards!

Second: I’m trying to figure out what the future of my work looks like, and how to expand my work with good queer news in ways that you all are interested in engaging with! Could you take 2-3 minutes to fill out this survey and let me know how I’m doing? It’s anonymous, and will be tremendously helpful to me in figuring out where to put my time and energy moving forward.

No Kings Day!

In the name of solidarity, in the name of resistance, in the name of community, in the name of standing up to a wannabe tyrant, I’d say that 5 million people taking to the streets in the US, and thousands more around the world is some pretty great queer news.

A snapshot of the nearly 1,500 people that attended one of many No Kings Day rallies here in Orange County! Yes, I have taken 30 seconds to blur out the faces and license plates of the folks in this picture, as we should all be doing if you choose to post any images from a protest.

This weekend, I attended a No Kings Day protest. It was not my first protest by any stretch, but I found myself moved. Rather than wait until I got home to write a whole article, I wrote a poem while standing on the sidewalk. I’d like to share that poem with you now.

Crying on the Sidewalk

I can’t remember the last time I cried in public.

But I am standing on the sidewalk today, weeping.

I was supposed to be at a trans joy celebration in Los Angeles, but as I watched no kings day unfold, I felt the call.

I checked my nearest protest. It had just started. And so I chose joy.

Once my mind was made up, my body was insistent. No time to make a sign, to pick the perfect shirt. I need to be with my people, now.

I packed up, and I parked, and I joined the crowd.

And now I’m standing on the sidewalk weeping.

Because we are together. Because of the sheer unavoidable truth of how not alone we are.

I am not crying just because of how big and how loud and how beautiful this protest is—how unifying it is with those standing up around the world.

I am crying thinking of what it means that each person is here. The love that brought them to the streets of Orange County.

A nurse is here in her scrubs. Her patients are safer because of her love.

A carful of teachers is here. Their students are safer because of their love.

A family is walking down the street with a wagon, daughters handing out water bottles and learning how we take care of each other.

A dump truck drove by, horn blaring, big beard, dusty collar, white fist in the air. What did he reject to be here?

Teenage boys are marching down the road with signs and flags. What kind of men are they choosing to be? What lessons are they teaching their friends with their courage?

Who almost didn’t come today? Who’s seeing this on the news? Who was ready to give up, and who will go to sleep ready to fight?

I am here because I love my country and what it represents. I am here because I love myself enough to fight for trans rights. I am here because I love my neighbors, and my friends, and my family, and my planet, and because I know we can build something better.

And so today I chose joy. And today, joy is a raised fist, a sunburn, and crying on the sidewalk.