The humidity in the District of Columbia triumphs any I’ve experienced before. The muggy, nasty air almost always accompanies me on my walk to work like a friend I don’t really want around and leaves only once I enter the air-conditioned lobby of my office.
The last Wednesday of June wasn’t any different. The sun beat down and the humidity lingered close, but the haven of my small, overcrowded desk tucked into the corner of the fifth floor of my building wasn’t where I was headed that morning. The sanctity of air-conditioning would just have to wait.
I met a small group of interns at the entrance to the Foggy Bottom Metro station; almost all of us were wearing the matching Human Rights Campaign T-shirts we received the previous day at work. Together, we traveled to the steps of the Supreme Court.
We arrived to a scene of systemically lined-up reporters and a crowd that was already huge and only promising to get bigger. I pushed my way through rainbow flags and equality symbols to the front of the steps where I waited with the rest of the interns until 10 a.m. rolled around; it was then that the decisions regarding the Defense of Marriage Act and Proposition 8 cases were to be released.
I let my mind linger to the potential negative outcomes of rulings only once during that wait, and the gravity of that moment was almost unbearable. Nine justices, five of them conservatives, had already made up their minds on the chance of securing marriage equality for millions of LGBT Americans nationwide, and that idea alone was terrifying.
When 10 a.m. came around, we all huddled around my phone and watched my Twitter feed that I was constantly refreshing for any news of the decisions. I could hear the faint sound of the runners dashing to their respective news outlets and the hour I spent in the humidity and 90-plus degree heat left me drenched in sweat that trickled down my forehead as I waited.
At 10:01 a.m. I read that DOMA was ruled unconstitutional and my hands were shaking so badly I thought my phone would fall out of my hands. I remember screaming and hugging and crying and a push of reporters asking me what this meant and how I felt, and I was sweaty and gross, but happy — so, so happy. In that moment, all I could think about was that my life was irrevocably changed forever, and whether you are gay or straight, it is important to realize that yours is too.
When we strive for equality under law, we all benefit from the sense that the freedom we fought for actually means something. We should be free to speak, to pray, to assemble, to protest, to vote, to work, to love and to exist without lawful bias hindering us. And though the Supreme Court decisions that day were tremendous victories for the LGBT community, we must realize we just aren’t there yet.
There are still 37 states in which same-sex couples aren’t allowed to marry, and almost all of those states don’t include sexual orientation or gender identity in their non-discrimination laws. The transgender community is still one of the most misunderstood minority groups to ever exist. The topics of race and the LGBT movement are often perceived as mutually exclusive, when truth lies in the knowledge that they are not. The generational gap seen in the public perception of LGBT inclusivity continues to affect efforts toward equal justice under law.
We must make note that the fight isn’t over just because the Supreme Court ruled in our favor. Now, more than ever, we need to mobilize and aim for equality in every aspect of the word and not give up after a victory so small. We can no longer be bystanders as we watch this civil rights movement rush by us. We can’t hold onto this mentality that our individual efforts mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. Because it’s moments like June 26, 2013, when I stood on the Supreme Court steps and watched as little Miss Edith Windsor challenged the United States government and won, that prove otherwise.
