They represent those who are tired of being told by the people in power what their choices and beliefs are or should be.
Last Thursday night, most pundits, journalists, and columnists were huddled around their televisions or devices, poised to opine on the long-awaited DeSantis/Newsom matchup. Having forced myself to sit through two GOP debates only to have them both end with me lowering my head in despair and wishing I had bought an extra fifth of scotch to help me weather the evening, I opted to forego the Presidential Hopeful WrestleMania. As I understand it, I didn’t miss much, and both sides declared victory. Instead, I found myself huddled on a cold sidewalk outside of a bar in Salt Lake City. The reason? Robert F. Kennedy Jr. was holding a campaign rally, and I had been given press credentials. As I am the child of ’60s activists, JFK, MLK, and RFK were practically the Holy Trinity in our house. So, it was with a mix of nostalgia and curiosity that I went out into the cold.
