The Line It Is Drawn

The View From Inauguration Day

Separation. Division. Affliction. Fatality. For many of us, these terms carried very literal significance from policies implemented by the Trump/Pence administration over the past four years. With the swipe of a pen by way of executive orders and an aggressively conservative presidential cabinet selection, countless human and environmental rights were violated and lives were subject to destruction.

Xenophobia and the almighty American dollar had become the catalysts for decision making in the White House. Travel bans based on religious identity, violent family separation based on national origin, refusal of medical rights based on gender identity, and catastrophic construction of pipelines displacing Native citizens for economic gain were enacted on a federal level. On a personal level, as a gay man, even my liberties and safety were being threatened. Opposition to the Equality Act, guaranteeing protections for LGBTQ+ citizens, was a well-known Trump proclamation. His appointed Department of Labor began issuing regulations that viewed religious beliefs as exemptions, resulting in discriminatory actions in the workplace. Let us not forget all of the administration’s appointed judges at every level of the judicial system, who vocally opposed LGBTQ+ rights, especially the Supreme Court of the United States. Y’all remember Kavanaugh? With these actions, death was a real fear for many of us.

When it was announced that Joe Biden and Kamala Harris had finally won the 2020 presidential election, a tsunami of relief rushed over me. While Biden was not my initial choice on the Democratic ticket, for the sake of salvation, I soon adopted the “Vote Blue No Matter Who” campaign, checking that box next to his name with pride. I believed with the incoming administration would also come a chance at a new life for us in America. In the following weeks, my twin brother, Alan, a fellow progressive (and my #1 fan) and I decided to plan a road trip to experience the Inauguration. Less than two weeks before we were slated to leave town, on January 6th, a group of Trump-supporting extremists rioted and executed a siege on the nation’s Capitol building, culminating in the death of five people. Although we were warned by many not to attend out of fear for our safety, the idea of not witnessing such a monumental transfer of power was something we decided we would regret.

Approaching the outskirts of Washington D.C. the day before the Inauguration, we passed an abundance of warning signs on the highway in an attempt to defer travelers making their way to the metropolitan area. In the aftermath of the riots twelve days prior, much of the circumference surrounding the city’s government buildings and monuments were on lockdown. Approximately 30,000 members of the National Guard had been deployed to secure the area littered with roadblocks, fences, and concrete barricades.

Inside the city was a different world. “Black Lives Matter” signs, banners, and murals were erected on every corner. Transgender and LGBTQ+ flags flew proudly outside residences and businesses. Hell, there is even a popular (and very delicious) restaurant aptly named “Immigrant Food” exactly one block from the White House, founded in defiance of the Trump Administration’s restrictive policies and the fear they instilled by a family who immigrated to America. Citizens of the district were ready for change and you could feel it in the streets.

Our Airbnb reservation was cancelled by the international lodging company weeks prior for consequential safety measures, so my brother scored a little room with the closest boutique hotel to the White House. Upon arrival at the hotel, we made certain we displayed our liberal attire aggressively. I donned my rainbow-colored RBG mask and “We the People Defend Dignity” attire while Alan wore his favorite “Not My Fucking President” t-shirt. We wanted to assure the staff, and all inhabitants of the surrounding neighborhood, that we were there to document this joyous occasion, as to not instill fear of yet another violent eruption from white conservative outsiders.

Alan and I share similar outgoing and personable perspectives when it comes to human interaction, especially with strangers. Maybe that’s a twin thing? Instantly striking up conversation with the front desk, the concierge, and the coffee shop employees, we talked about the best spots to eat, what to see and do, and how to navigate this temporary traffic clusterfuck the city was undergoing. They noticed our progressive garb. “We’re preparing for a party in the streets here tomorrow!” our front desk friend exclaimed. This was made apparent as Alan and I made our way on foot.

First stop: the liquor store across the street to obtain some celebratory libations for myself for the following day. A “Free Palestine” flag flew proudly above the front counter. We struck up small talk with the two men working, whom, we learned immediately, owned the joint. They were prepared for a party in the streets as well apparently. “We’ve got an entire truckload of champagne coming in tomorrow,” one of the men declared with an enormous smile on his face. We had a feeling they too would be popping bottles.

We arose immediately after sunrise that Wednesday morning. Something felt different. The last four years under the Trump/Pence administration had created an anxiety-ridden bubble which we all had no choice but to exist within. Whose human rights were next to be violated? What freshly implemented trigger-happy orders by our emotionally charged, narcissistic fascist-in-chief would be divulged this week? Whose livelihood would be stolen from them today? But that morning was different. Exiting the hotel lobby doors, there was a sense of calm that permeated with the brisk D.C. wind as it hit our foreheads.