The alarm went off early, well before sunrise. I crawled out of my warm bed in my cold
bedroom and then quickly jumped into the shower. I dressed in a black top, black pants, and
black shoes. After breakfast I carefully
tucked a rolled black shirt into my waistband, slipped into my black jacket,
and placed a pewter cross necklace with the word “hope” around my neck. I put a thin black wallet containing my
driver’s license and a credit card in my jacket pocket. I was ready.
And I was nervous.
My husband and I climbed into our little Honda. Fifteen minutes later he dropped me off
downtown and I walked a block to the Idaho State Capitol building. I climbed the stairway to the third floor and
briefly joined the people standing across from the House Chambers
entrance. Soon I walked around to the
Senate side to join a few people there.
We stood as we had been doing for the past couple of weeks of vigils—silently
with hands over our mouths. However,
this day was to be different. There were
more of us than usual which may have made the Senate door guard suspicious.
Two of our group are also lobbyists and were dressed for it that
morning. When the door guard left
briefly they tried to go through the closed door but he was back in a flash to
stop them. We had all run towards the
door, and being unable to enter we turned around to block the entrance
instead. We stood shoulder to shoulder,
hand over mouth, and watched the group on the House side hurry into the House
Chambers as our leader held the door.
Their door guard had walked away.
We saw them line up in front of the Speaker’s podium. The press had shown up and the photos and
videos began. We also had our own
videographers, photographers, and legal observers.
Our plan was to enter the Senate Chambers so we watched for an
opportunity. We tried again. The door guard was determined to keep us
out. At some point this large older man
picked up one of our guys off his feet until an Idaho State trooper told him to
stop. His arms were out in an attempt to
block us and somehow I got hit in the head; I ended up with a headache. I think one person got through that time and
the rest of us lined up outside again.
On the third attempt I made it through and almost tripped as I ran through
the chambers. I think I was the fourth
person to line up in front of the podium.
More came to join us and finally the door guard gave up, allowing the
rest of us to come in. There were eleven
of us lined up with our hands over our mouths.
All of us were now wearing shirts saying “Add the 4 Words Idaho.”
Why were we there? For 10 years
Idaho lawmakers have refused to add four simple words, sexual orientation and
gender identity, to the Idaho Human Rights Act.
Currently, gay, bisexual, and transgender people in Idaho live in fear
of being fired, evicted, and denied service by restaurants and other
businesses. This year a public hearing
was finally held. Legislators on the
House State Affairs Committee listened for 3 days while people told their
stories of harm. However, they declined
to pass the bill on to the full House, killing it in committee. Hundreds of hours have been spent at the
Capitol educating and lobbying lawmakers.
Compromise language has been offered with support from a majority in
both the House and Senate, but the leadership won’t allow it. Twenty-three of us, ordinary Idaho citizens
of all ages, both LGBT and straight, stood in the Idaho State House and Senate
Chambers where we said we would stay until serious consideration is given to
adding the four words into law. As our
press release stated, “We will remain peacefully, silently, respectfully
standing in the Capitol until your deafening silence ends.”
Why did I stand there? This was
not an easy decision for me. I was
arrested once last year; we were cited but not taken to jail. I knew I would go to jail this time. I’m recovering from hand and wrist surgery so
I would have to wear my brace for protection.
I have back problems which make standing for hours difficult. Participating in civil disobedience is
unpredictable; you never know how others will behave or if they will be
peaceful. However, I believe that all
people should be treated equally. This
strongly held conviction has its roots in my deep Christian faith. I follow Jesus who showed us that God loves
all people. Not only did I think hard
about this decision but I prayed. It is
hard to explain in words how God answers our questions. All I can say is that by Sunday night I knew
I needed to be at the Idaho Statehouse the next morning. I had no doubts.
We stood there in the Senate and House Chambers for over an hour. We continually switched hands in unison as we
got tired. We shifted our weight from
foot to foot as our bodies started to hurt.
News media came in and out. We
were given reports from our leadership.
We learned that we would be removed first since the Senate needed to
convene. (Apparently our presence was a
bit of a distraction.) Finally, we got
the official warning; we had 5 minutes to leave or we would be arrested.
It took a lot longer than 5 minutes for all of the Idaho State troopers
to arrive. We were informed that we were
in violation of Idaho State code which bars the public from the Senate floor 30
minutes prior to the opening of their session and that we would be arrested for
trespassing. A trooper asked if anyone
wanted to leave. Silence. One by one he informed each of us that we
were under arrest and pointed where we should go. As we walked out in a line, the cameras
filmed us.
We were led to a small room and two at a time we were sent over to
be frisked and cuffed. Our possessions
were placed in a large plastic bag and we were all handcuffed. Everybody had a chain placed around their
waist and cuffs were attached to the chain.
Everybody but me, that is. My
brace wouldn't fit in those cuffs so they used flex cuffs which are really like
large zip ties. Our IDs were collected
and the information was put into computers.
We were issued misdemeanor citations.
A woman in a wheelchair was cited and released—catch and release, she
said. The rest of us were led out to the
waiting bus.
Everybody was sent to the back of the bus but me. I couldn't really sit down because of the way
my hands were cuffed. The flex cuff was
really cutting into my good arm and it couldn't be loosened. One of the deputies went back inside to get pliers. He cut off the flex cuffs and put my hands in
regular cuffs with my hands in front of me.
Finally I could join the others.
We had to wait a while for the group on the House side to join us. The deputies were very kind to us.
The deputy in charge explained to us that we would first go to the
Courthouse to be processed and then to the jail for mug shots and
fingerprints. If they had the ability to
do fingerprints and photos at the Courthouse, they would have; our large number
put a strain on the jail. Our bus drove
into the Courthouse garage and we were led into a large holding cell. One by one we were taken out to be processed. Our possessions were placed in a plastic
envelope, labeled, and taken from us. We
were asked all sorts of questions from address to “Are you depressed?” and “Have
you consumed alcohol or narcotics today?”
One by one we went back to a holding cell. When the women were done, we were led back to
the bus. Without waiting for the eight men,
they drove us to the Ada County Jail.
Someone began singing “We Shall Overcome” on the ride over and we all
joined in. Upon arrival a deputy asked
us not to sing once we got inside because they had some rather unstable
prisoners. That was sobering.
Single file we walked inside.
Our cuffs were removed and we were placed in two stark holding
cells. Most of us in my cell were older
women so the low cement bench was a bit challenging. As we sat there our view was of a low metal
toilet. One woman asked for toilet paper
but explained it was only in case she got desperate. Two others were grateful that they had been allowed
to use the restroom at the Courthouse.
Right next to the toilet was a door with a large window and lots of
people outside. A male deputy would
periodically stick his head in to bring one of us out. Nobody wanted to use that toilet. One of my companions stated that she was
going to wash all of the clothes she was wearing as soon as she got home; she
was sure the place was crawling with germs.
One by one we were removed from the cell. Finally it was my turn. I got my photo taken from three sides. No, I didn’t smile—somehow it didn’t seem
appropriate. The deputy took all sorts
of fingerprints and hand prints on his machine.
I had to take off my brace for a palm print. Once done I joined another woman in a seating
area; others joined me. Finally we were
each called to be checked out. I was
given my little bag of possessions and walked out with four big men, one of
whom smelled a bit. We wound our way out
and finally I walked into the waiting area where our group was gathered. I was greeted by cheers. Supporters and those released earlier were
there. Someone gave me a Tylenol for my
headache. I was directed over to the
bail bondsman and signed the paperwork.
I was surprised to learn that one of my fellow arrestees had paid the
bail for all of us. How generous! I gave her a hug.
There was bottled water and all kinds of food for us. It was not quite 2:00 p.m. and we were
starved. I visited, cheered as people
walked out of the jail, and snacked. My
husband arrived to pick me up. After a
bit more visiting, cheering, and snacking, we headed home. I was tired and I had a headache.
I’m not done. Of course there
will be legal issues; I will get my day in court. While I do not plan to get arrested again
anytime soon, I will be leading our weekly prayer vigils and joining in other peaceful
activities to bring justice for our LGBT citizens. I do this with love and joy because it is
what I am called to do. Add the Words,
Idaho!
