Moving The Baton: Remembering the Honorable John Lewis

Written by Jae C. Henderson July 2020

I worked for Congressman John Lewis at a time in my life when I was looking to reconcile the intersection of my Black and queer identities. Though very rarely ever despondent, I carried a healthy amount of indignation in my heart, almost feeling righteous in my pain and suffering. Every encounter in spaces that celebrated Blackness but shunned queerness further justified my plight. 

Prior to my internship, I’d canvassed for the California “No on 8” campaign, walking door to door to garner support. This included a middle-class Black neighborhood in South Central Los Angeles where I was once warned by a Black woman that while she supported same-sex marriage, I’d better get away as quickly as possible before her husband arrived. Some of my own family members told me outright that my “lifestyle choice” was against their religious beliefs, and they’d vote to ban same-sex marriage. Once the ban passed in California, I knew it was a fight primed for the Supreme Court. President Obama was serving his first term at the time, and I wasn’t certain he’d come out in favor of LGBT equality because he had so much on his shoulders and the entire world watching. The country was debating whether LGBT rights were civil rights, while people near and dear to me scoffed at the parallels being drawn. I brought all of that with me to DC, simultaneously carrying a cautious optimism that I would finally be able to reconcile some of the beliefs I held by learning at the feet of one of the last living and active sources of the 60s Civil Rights Movement - Congressman John Lewis. 

Working for the Congressman was surreal. I remember the first day I met him. The Congressman walked into the office greeting every single person there. He brought an energy with him that invigorated the office and seemed to remind people of a greater purpose. It happened to be the summer when the Senate had a closed chamber hearing on the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA), and after assisting a staffer with the Congressman’s notes, I was invited to attend the hearing with Congressman Lewis to witness the testimony first-hand. I recall sitting in the roped-off area for staff and the Congressman looking over at me and smiling just before taking the mic to deliver his testimony. I cannot begin to describe to you what it was like to be in the room where it happened. I left feeling confident about DOMA being struck down and empowered that I was working on the right side of history. I’d informed the staffers that it was my hope to personally interview the Congressman as a part of my school project. On my last day in the office, he agreed. We sat down in an unscripted interview where I asked him all the questions I had looming in my mind until, finally, I asked, “Are LGBT rights civil rights?” And I’ll never forget his answer. Without blinking or even taking a second to think about it, he declared that he’d “fought too long and hard” to believe that LGBT rights weren’t civil rights.  

It’s difficult to explain what happened to me immediately following that interview and internship, but my view of the world changed. I was granted a peek behind the curtain of the surrealism that surrounds Washington, D.C. I was granted the privilege of being in the presence of a legend who was so caring, gracious, and charismatic that it was almost as if he’d been shown the glory and possibility of a world beyond the present state of what was conceivable. John Lewis was a man dedicated, in every sense of the word, to fighting the good fight and would always remind me that it was ok to get into good trouble for doing so. 

I look back on that summer and everything leading up to it and realize that just as Black women have carried and protected me, Black men have guided me, cleared paths for me, and boosted my confidence and understanding of my place in the world - all the while clearing thrones for me to sit on and counseling me on ways to navigate a world where my existence was secured through rebellion. I consider my time working with the Congressman to have fundamentally changed my life, and it was all orchestrated by Black men. From my college advisor Billy Curtis who all but smacked me over the head to apply and went to great lengths to make sure I could find ways to afford it to George Walker who called in a favor to get John Lewis’ office onboard and has continued to be a role model I can trust to the Black men I found comradery with in the office making lighthearted banter while working for someone who we all truly believed in. Then there was the Honorable John Lewis, representing not only Georgia's 5th Congressional District but also the hopes and dreams of the disenfranchised everywhere. 

His passing has led me to a place of deep contemplation about legacy and showing up in the world. It’s my current belief that legends don’t die, they matriculate. They teach others who carry the baton forward. I only aspire to give as many people as possible at least a fraction of what Congressman John Lewis gave me. I know he’s resting in power, having been on the right side of history until he was called on. I honor his legacy by moving the baton forward in service of creating a world that enhances the human experience, adding a little more magic to the lives of others, and not being afraid to get into some good trouble along the way.