The Patriots of Drag

“Our democracy is embarrassing right now, it just isn’t working,” Alabama State Representative Anthony Daniels postulates. We spoke by phone yesterday as I drove through Tennessee in anticipation for my arrival in Birmingham today. Daniels is the youngest person and only African-American to ever serve as the Minority Leader in the Alabama Legislature. Of the 105 representatives in the state legislature, the 34-year-old Democrat is one of 27 black representatives

Early on, Daniels became an elementary school teacher and then a spokesperson for the National Education Association and campaigned for college affordability. That fight brought him into politics and at age 23 he ran for office. “I was making an impact as a teacher, but I thought I could do more,” he told me. The Representative considers himself more moderate than many of his Democratic colleagues, “my votes are shaped by my upbringing.” Growing up in poverty with his grandparents, has made him, in his opinion, more representative of the people he was elected to serve. Issues like criminal justice reform, healthcare, good paying jobs and education are the issues he notes people talking about the most, but there is a lack of organization to bring people into the fold.

“People aren’t engaged right now, this election may make people engaged, but there are no coalitions magnifying these issues.” He also notes the decline of local reporting as playing a factor in the lack of engagement, “when you start losing newspapers, you start losing focus.” But this system has a lot of issues, “the biggest problem with politics is that it’s reactive.” The representative is advocating for better voter education, more town hall meeting across Alabama, a focus on solutions rather than just problems to “start galvanizing the people on the ground, not just in election years.” Politics in Alabama is a tough line of work to make a living out of, a prospect that keeps many young people and people of color out of the field, leaving their voices silent at decision making tables. “There are no benefits, not even retirement,” he explains, a process that requires members to have other full-time jobs. “What kind of job wants to hire a young person that has to take off months at a time?” he questions. But gerrymandering, he says, could be the state’s biggest problem. “When politicians pick their constituents instead of the constituents picking them, is that even a democracy?”

Looking for anything to do to get out of my Birmingham Airbnb, I found a candidate meet and greet at a bar at nine o’clock last night. Intrigued by the late start time and craving something to do, I took my notebook and headed for Al’s on 7th. To my grateful surprise, it’s a meet and greet at a gay bar, one of Birmingham’s gay establishments. It is what I imagine the gay bars of old looking like; very sparse, dark, the blinds closed to keep private its customers. I had to sign up for a membership to the “private club” to enter, a process that I learned from one customer protects the establishment from being closed by the local authorities. The prospect of such hardships brings a tinge of melancholy to an otherwise joyous occasion. Folks are gathered in a “unity rally” for candidate Neil Rafferty, an openly gay veteran running for the State House in District 54. “Marines don’t leave anyone behind,” his campaign literature reads, with a portrait of his beaming face. “He joined the Marines after his boyfriend came back from a tour with PTSD, he didn’t want him to be deployed alone,” a friend tells me. They joined the same battalion and were then deployed together in Operation Enduring Freedom (someone, please contact them about buying the film rights to this lifetime movie.)

The need for a “unity rally” at a gay club follows the controversy that has been unfolding in the race. A staffer for one of Rafferty’s opponents began passing out fliers that listed the candidates and their qualifications, but next to Neil’s profile was a photo of two men (neither of them the candidate) engaged in a sexual embrace. “Lawmaking experience/political experience: None; Church membership: None; Relationship status: Male Partner.” The flier draws issue at the fact that the seat was traditionally held by an African-American lawmaker and now is represented by an openly gay woman who has endorsed Rafferty. Anti-gay politics are alive and well in Alabama, even in a democratic race.

“It is like living in the middle of crazy town and liberalville,” Maria Hernandez tells me in between puffs of her cigarette. Maria is a friend of Neil’s from the reserves, she moved to the U.S. from the Dominican Republic at age 19 and enlisted in the United States Navy where she served for a decade. She now has a degree in health policy and recently accepted a job at NASA where she will be assisting with experimentation on the international space station. “I was about to apply for food stamps, and then I got this job, and now I’m buying a house,” Maria tells me, beaming. “Birmingham has been embarrassing me for years, and now 45 is bringing them all to Washington,” she tells me of the shame she feels seeing people like Attorney General Jeff Sessions associated with her state. On the state of national politics, “It’s a shit show, but what really bothers me is the ignorance. Read a fucking history book, this is terrifying.” She relates it to a story she read about a quint German town in WWII that was oblivious to the fact that a concentration camp had opened just south of their town, by the time they woke up, it was too late. The race relations are becoming a growing problem for Hispanic-Americans such as herself, but “they aren’t afraid of the Hispanic that look like Sofia Vergara,” she chuckles. “I mean I get it, people feel better when they have someone to blame, like me with my ex-husband,” we both cackle at this one.

“I don’t understand how 49% of the country doesn’t see they’re getting conned.” Maria describes herself as a liberal Democrat, “Obama was too conservative,” she tells me. But there are glimmers of hope she sees in some of the state’s larger institutions such as NASA and the University of Alabama at Birmingham. These entities are the ones quietly pushing progressive agendas because they have to secure the best talent, and they have enough clout in the state to get it done. “They don’t care if you’re black, Hispanic, or gay, they need the best talent,” she notes. “Progress tries to break through while the state pushes back down,” she says in frustration, “Birmingham is bipolar, it doesn’t know what it wants to be.” We move inside to chat briefly with the candidate, surrounded by supporters and Ru Paul advertisements (and one colossal rainbow Absolute Vodka bottle.) The “patriots of drag” show is scheduled for that evening in celebration of Memorial Day weekend. A man walks in, suitcase in tow, “This isn’t a town where you can walk from your car to the bar in drag,” Maria tells me. That tinge of melancholy reemerges.