Finding Hope Admidst The Darkness

I never expected Californians to turn our back on our legacy of expanding civil rights and protecting the rights of one another with the passage of Proposition 8. Tuesday night was a night of mixed emotion, as in one moment, we elected Barack Obama, America's first black President, yet in that same moment realized the passage of Proposition 8 seemed all but certain.

These past few days have found me trying to find direction, understanding and insight into what has happened, and how to move forward.

I attended a candlelight vigil on the steps of City Hall in San Francisco Wednesday night, where members of the community had gathered together, to stand up, once more, for equality. As I listened to the speakers analyze the current situation, I felt disheartened that such a thing ever could have happened, let alone, could be happening as I stood there, in silence. I felt powerless, as though I was speaking but could not find my voice. I was handed a candle, and the roundness of the flame seemed small in comparison to the struggle. Over the murmur of the crowd, someone began singing "we shall not be moved", at first a single voice, then another, and then a group. As flame passed from candle to candle, from stranger to neighbor, someone raised their candle above their head, others joined in, and 2,000 tiny lights lifted up for a common purpose. In that moment, I found my voice again, within the community; we all found our voices once more.

And, as we marched through the streets of San Francisco, being joined by others as we went, our voices growing louder, as we moved together in solidarity, I could not help but think how far we have come- how far forward we have moved as a state. In 2000, Proposition 22 passed with nearly 62 percent support, and in 2008, Proposition 8 received 52 percent of the vote. Within just eight years support for banning same-sex marriage has fallen nearly 10 percent in California. In fact, more Californians have already voted against Proposition 8 than ever voted for Proposition 22. So as I marched forward, holding a single flame for civil rights, I was not alone. The 2,000 of us marching for equality, we were not alone. Our 2,000 tiny flames were not the only light shining in the darkness—there with us were the nearly 4.9 million Californians who had stood up to protect our constitution, and the rights of fellow Californians.

The march finished in a rally where we gathered together in the street, chanting and holding our candles, lifting our voices together. We began to chant "Yes We Can, Yes We Can." For though I had never so fully understood the reality of the struggle, I had never been so filled with hope.

As Anne Lamott writes, "Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up." And as I thought of the hope offered by our new President, and his promise of change, never before had those three simple words resonated so deeply within my heart. We had the audacity to hope once, and if Barack Obama could be elected president of the United States, I will dare for an audacious hope once more.

In Solidarity,

Andy