I’m in a very strange place. One the one hand, I’m ecstatic that Obama-licious is our new leader, yet on the other hand I’m sad, and extremely angry that every anti-gay initiative across the country passed relegating me and my fellow gay, lesbian, transgender, and bisexual Americans as the last minority to be acceptably discriminated against. The very fact that these hateful initiatives were even voted on is an affront to my concept of what this country stands for and further proof that our founding fathers understood the true nature of religion and ensured freedom from it and its effects is framed in our basic principles and rights.

The fact that almost 75% of African-American Women voters chose to strip my rights from me has floored me. Really? 75%? African-Americans? How quickly history is forgotten and how quickly the oppressed become the oppressors.

I managed to drag myself out of bed yesterday morning to a new world filled with hope for most Americans, but sadness and anger for me and my kind. I was angry. I found myself sneering at people I passed on the sidewalk while walking the dog, on the verge of tears and unsure of what to do. I dressed, and settled into the routine of work in my home office. I couldn’t focus. I found myself wallowing and decided I needed to get out of the house. So I went to the office.

There are several vocal “Yes on 8” supporters in my office that I was hoping to run into yesterday but all of them had taken the day off, presumably to celebrate their hate and fear-based win with feasts of heathens on spits while praying and sacrificing gays to their vengeful god.

I stumbled through the day, my anger rising.

My boss, a supporter of my rights and the rights of all people and the basic concepts of decency carefully approached my desk and asked me how I was doing.

“I want to drag the first person I see with a “Yes on 8” sticker out of their car and cut them with a broken beer bottle” was my terse response spoken loud enough that my fellow cube mates gasped.

Needless to say, I didn’t accomplish very much yesterday and left the office after a few hours. On my way home, I received the below from someone in my office that has always been kind to me but never overly friendly. I cried as i read it. Without saying a word to me in person, he let me know that he understood and was supportive.

Subject: FW: Yesterday, today and tomorrow

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Maya Angelou

I forwarded this on to all my friends prompting the below e-mail/text stream.

Tom: Gays are the new blacks.
ME: OMG Gays ARE totally the new blacks…
TLBO: That’s an interesting concept.
ME: Which part?
TLBO: The fact that gays are the new blacks, the oppressed have become the oppressor

I found out that there was going to be a candlelight vigil at city hall to call attention to the injustice and call for and end to hatred and discrimination and I knew I wanted to be there. I wanted the anger in me to go away, I wanted to stop feeling like I needed to cry and lash out at people. I wanted to stop hurting.

Brendon and I walked to the event, hand-in-hand quietly, each of us brimming with emotions that neither of us could contain nor really put into words. We arrived to a very small gathering (in context of the number of gays, and lesbians in SF). Someone was handing out candles and plastic cups to those of us that didn’t bring any and Brendon grabbed some for us. We struggled with getting the hole into the plastic cup at first but once we did get the candles lit and the cup on it to block the wind we settled in to listen to the speakers. There were 2 helicopters hovering over the gathering blocking out all the words of the speakers given that there seemed to be no speakers available loud enough to broadcast. (I think someone brought along his or her Barbie Karaoke machine at the last minute thankfully). We stood there listening, hand in hand; my head on his shoulder, his chin on my head and it still wasn’t helping. Brendon started whispering into my ear… “burn it all down, set it on fire and burn it all down”. I smiled and I remembered the ACT-UP days of the 1990’s when we were angry and we made sure the world knew and I wondered where that anger was now.

I wanted more. I wanted anger. I wanted chanting. I wanted a brick to be thrown and the anger to erupt in full on citywide riots. I wanted a return to the White Night riots anger.

After a little while we realized that the vigil was to placate us, tell us how far we’ve come and keep us calm. Like the losing pee-wee soccer team getting a trophy because everyone is afraid of having winners and losers.

Let me tell you. The “Yes on 8” people aren’t calmly speaking about their win. They’re ecstatic. They’re taunting us like they want us to erupt and we don’t.

We left the vigil in the middle and returned to his apartment. We crawled into bed, turned out the lights and held each other, listening to the cheers from the vigil below, still in progress. We talked about our feelings, him quietly into the base of my neck, me into the darkness of his room.