I Stayed in My Seat—Even When Free Speech Walked In Wearing Heels

What voting for drag history, book rights, and the First Amendment taught me about staying put when everyone else walks out.

Let’s start with a moment that would’ve made some people squirm and others cheer, and a fair number just silently slip out the side door.

Last week, the Oregon House took up a resolution honoring the history of Black drag in Oregon. Now, if your first reaction is, “Wait, what?” you’re not alone. Most of the Republican caucus walked out. I didn’t.

I sat in my seat. I listened. And when the vote came, I was one of two Republicans who voted yes.

Not because I’m particularly plugged into Oregon’s drag history. Not because I think legislatures should issue cultural commentaries as often as traffic reports. But because I believe the First Amendment isn’t just ink on parchment. It’s a moral commitment to letting people speak, believe, express, perform, protest, and, yes, even prance, without needing the government’s stamp of approval on the message.

Here’s the thing. You don’t have to agree with a performance to recognize the performer’s right to exist. That’s the First Amendment. That’s the deal.

And the Capitol, by the way, is not a church. It’s not a gated community for ideological purity. It’s the People’s House. That means everyone. Drag queens. Dairy farmers. Evangelical pastors. Woke twenty-somethings with ironic mustaches. Retired loggers in flannel shirts. If our building has a dress code for who gets to speak, we’ve already lost the plot.

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Rights Are Not Reserved for the Popular

In the days that followed the vote, my inbox filled up. Some of you were kind. Some... less so.

I got called everything from a sellout to a secret liberal. Someone even questioned whether I still believed in “traditional values,” as if free speech somehow ended up on clearance at the cultural thrift store. A few folks offered a different perspective. Appreciation for standing up for something bigger than a partisan win.

To all of you, I say this: my oath isn’t to a party. It’s to the Constitution. I swore to uphold it. That doesn’t mean just when it’s convenient. It means especially when it’s not.

And that brings me back to another vote from in the last couple of weeks. Remember, Senate Bill 1098? It’s the bill that said, quite simply, that public schools can’t ban a book just because the author is gay. Or Black. Or Muslim. Or, for that matter, white.

It didn’t say you have to agree with every book. It didn’t say parents can’t weigh in. It just said we’re not going to blacklist stories because someone doesn’t like the person who wrote them.

You know who introduced that bill? Senator Lew Frederick. A man whose great-grandfather was born into slavery. Who, as a child, marched for civil rights in Atlanta and played with Dr. King’s children. The man has lived a life that sounds like something out of a history book! And, he still shows up to work every day with the quiet, unshakable belief that America can live up to its promise.

I sat with him this week, and he showed me a picture of himself at five years old with his 103-year-old great-grandfather. One man born before emancipation. The other born into the civil rights movement. That’s not just a family photo. That’s a living reminder of what it means to struggle for the right to speak and be heard.

And here we are, more than a century later, still arguing over whether people get to tell their stories.

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The Town Square Is Not a Clubhouse

Let me say this plainly: the Capitol is not a clubhouse for the popular opinion. It’s not supposed to be comfortable. It’s supposed to be honest.

The Founders didn’t draft the First Amendment to protect polite conversation over tea. They wrote it to protect the messy stuff. The controversial stuff. The kind of speech that makes you want to roll your eyes or change the subject. Because that’s the speech most likely to be silenced if we’re not vigilant.

That’s why I keep saying: rights don’t come from popularity. They come from principle.

When we block out voices we disagree with, or walk away from conversations because they’re uncomfortable, we’re not standing on conviction. We’re just changing the subject.

And yes, I get it. People are tired. They’re overwhelmed. Culture war fatigue is real. But let’s not mistake exhaustion for clarity.

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Doing the Right Thing Isn’t Always a Campaign Strategy

I’m not naïve. I know how this stuff plays on Facebook. I’ve seen the comments. “Why are you wasting time on drag when people can’t afford gas?” or “Another liberal victory in disguise.”

Let me be clear: I didn’t vote for HR 3 because I think drag will fix potholes. I voted for it because liberty isn’t a menu. You don’t get to order up your favorite freedoms and send the rest back to the kitchen.

I didn’t vote for SB 1098 because I think every book belongs in a school library. I voted for it because we don’t get to ban books based on the skin color or faith or sexual orientation of the author.

There’s no asterisk on the First Amendment. It doesn’t say, “except when it makes the base mad.”

When we put “winning more seats in the next election” ahead of doing the right thing, we’re not defending freedom. We’re managing a brand. And that’s not what public service is supposed to be.

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What Kind of Legislator Do You Want?

Last week, I wrote about immigration and rights. About how even someone standing on our soil without papers still has rights, because the Constitution governs us, our government, not just our citizens.

It’s the same principle here. The Constitution doesn't just protect the people we agree with. It protects everyone from us, especially when we’re tempted to use power to silence rather than listen.

So, yes. I’ll keep voting for the First Amendment, even when it’s not convenient. Even when it costs me a few points in the polls. Even when it means sitting in a mostly empty chamber while someone shares a perspective I’ve never lived and may never fully understand.

Because I didn’t get into this job to curate consensus. I got into it to uphold the Constitution. To defend the town square, not just my seat in it.

And if that makes me a little unpopular, well, so be it.

After all, the First Amendment doesn’t promise applause. It promises freedom.

And I’m here for that.

Image via The Oregonian / oregonlive.com