Advocacy at the Capitol: Finding Purpose When Hope is Elusive
The following was written by Advocacy Co-Chair Nick Ducharme and was published in The West Volusia Beacon in February, 2024.
Conflict is an inevitable part of life. Sometimes, it can be resolved amicably, with both sides willing to find common ground. But in modern politics, this option is vanishingly rare. The next-best thing would be to utterly defeat the opposition. It’s easier to march, to speak out, to show up when you’re on the winning side.
So, what about when you’re losing? What about when the stakes have never been higher, and your cruel-hearted enemy takes glee in the infliction of suffering upon you and your people? What about when all hope feels lost? These are the moments that test us the most.
I recently joined my friends and colleagues from DeLand Pride in attending Equality Florida’s Pride at the Capitol Kickoff, which was a two-day event full of direct political engagement, abundant fanfare, and inexpressible amounts of heartbreak at the beginning of the 2024 legislative session. It was a four-hour drive each way between DeLand and Tallahassee. During the quieter moments of the drive up, I found myself wondering: “What am I doing here?” I had no idea what to even expect. And with how bleak the outlook has been for the LGBTQ+ community in Florida lately, it wasn’t hope that motivated me—other than maybe the hope that I could gain a more hopeful perspective through the experience. More than anything, I now believe that I had a sense of misplaced obligation. The word “Advocacy” is literally part of my title as a committee co-chair for DeLand Pride. I thus concluded that my legitimacy was predicated on my willingness and ability to attend.
I did it all. I attended a press conference that felt more like a pep rally than a sincere promise of any concrete legislative change. I spoke at a hearing where, despite our overwhelming audience majority in opposition to the flag bans (such as pride and BLM) being proposed for all Florida government buildings, we were ridiculed, wrongly accused of indoctrination, silenced due to increasingly shorter speaking windows, and unable to stop the unjust bill from passing committee. I participated in several meetings with the aides and interns of lawmakers who wouldn’t bother to give us the time of day to hear our concerns directly. And the only one who did speak with my group directly was an author of some of the most egregious and despicable bills targeting LGBTQ+ persons. My group sat in his small conference room and looked that monster in the eyes as he had the gall to play the hero of his own story, to dismiss the concerns of a transgender man, and to tell said trans man directly to his face that he did not “agree” with the validity of his most basic identity and personal struggles. This politician clearly did not approach the conversation in good faith, which makes me wonder why he took the meeting at all. Just to mock us?
My shock turned to rage. My rage, to hatred. And my hatred, to despair. I had a lot to talk about with my therapist.
Yet, reflecting back now, I see how valuable the experience was. Yes, I have no proof that I succeeded in changing even one heart or mind, or in reducing the harm of even one awful bill. But I also have no concrete proof that I didn’t achieve these things. What I do know is that I successfully delivered the intended message and information to most of the intended people (or at least to their subordinates), who will probably need time to mull it over. What those lawmakers do what that knowledge is their business; I did my part. And if more well-meaning people would do that, just imagine what we could accomplish in the fight for equality/equity.
I think that even in these dark times, human rights advocacy does have a crucial place in our political lives. Here are the key takeaways that I intend to carry with me.
Human rights advocacy takes all kinds of people. Not everyone has to be the voice of a movement. We need our quiet scribes and meeting planners just as much as we need our loud-and-proud messengers. Everyone with love in their heart and a willingness to learn has something they can bring to the table, and you should not sell yourself short or force yourself into a specific event or role for the wrong reasons.
Realistic goal-setting is essential. Rather than hoping that things all just work out or that you will singlehandedly stop the idiots peddling “groomer” and “white genocide” falsehoods, prepare yourself for the actual tasks at hand. Consider making a checklist of concrete, actionable goals such as “I will request a meeting with all lawmakers on my assigned list.”
Also prepare yourself for what to expect when you walk into a potentially volatile situation, especially when you may be dealing with unfriendly/disagreeable audiences (read: bigots). It helps to desensitize oneself to the kinds of disrespect and callousness that you may have to endure.
Trauma and mistakes can be powerful teachers. Take lessons learned from wherever you can. For instance, I know so much more about the political process and how the sausage is made than I did before. I’ll be better prepared if I decide to participate in this kind of activity again. And I intend to use that knowledge to help other would-be advocates and LGBTQ+ allies when possible.
Putting yourself out there into a world where hatred and cruelty run amok is an act of profound courage that in itself is praiseworthy. So, if you’re even considering human rights advocacy of any form, especially those that challenge your comfort zones, pat yourself on the back. You deserve that self-recognition.
And finally, to borrow a sports adage, remember that you miss all the shots that you don’t take. The LGBTQ+ and BIPOC communities (to name just two of many) need you more than ever, and most individuals would welcome your well-meaning advocacy with open arms. You have unique skillsets that will be valuable to the advancement of human rights. So, just go for it!
Worst-case, at least there’s probably free food.