Friday night was cold and breezy, but my boyfriend and I were warm in our coats -- and inside a 3000-5000 person protest at the LDS Temple in Salt Lake City.
We took the train downtown, and walked to City Creek Park at the corner of State Street and North Temple. There, we crammed in and strained to hear former mayor and all-around hero Rocky Anderson, along with our three openly LGBT members of the Utah legislature, Senator Scott McCoy and Representatives Jackie Biskupski and Christine Johnson.
With an admonishment to stay within the legal boundaries from organizer Jacob Whipple, a very eager crowd marched out. (We stayed behind a few minutes to let Jacob know we have a much better PA which we will gladly donate for such events. We exchanged numbers, and then we marched on.)
The crowd was full of the kind of diverse faces one sees at these things: people of many races, lots of skinny-panted young punks and emos, many guys who were way too hot to be straight, older folks waving signs proclaiming their love for their gay sons and daughters, dads pushing strollers and moms carrying kids carrying signs, and families holding hands -- gay, straight, even a few poly.
The SLPD did a fantastic job of keeping us all safe; they cleared the streets around the 2-block Temple and Church Office building. Within the property boundaries, stern and sometimes scared-looking men in suits stood to make sure we didn't enter their space (maybe they were hoping we would, so they could have us arrested?). I smiled broadly at them, trying to keep it friendly; some smiled back, others refused to meet my eyes. Occasionally, one would aim a camera or video recorder at us, and I'd snap a photo of them.
A group of pretty young bigots sang Mormon hymns to us; much of the crowd was made up of ex-Mormons, so they joined in, waving pride flags. I've never been a Mormon, so I couldn't sing along.
All the way around we went, chanting the usual slogans: What do we want? Equality! When do we want it? Now!
We also had a new one: "Yes we can." How awesome is it that our new protest slogan was popularized in the US by our new president-elect? Presidents aren't usually that cool.
At the gates of the Temple Square itself, a few people stood inside the gates, filming us. Several were large Islanders, perhaps to remind us that in California, Tongans were allowed to beat up protesters. I personally am not afraid of someone twice my size; if they want to kick my ass, let them. Love is on my size, and I would hope they have more than violence on theirs -- even if I haven't seen much promise.
We went all the way around, twice. When we left, there were still an estimated 2000 people at the corner of the Temple Square, next to our own "Little Bit of Paris" -- the stretch of Main Street between the Temple and the administration buildings that the Church bought from the city and turned into a private "park" where protests, cigarettes, and offensive t-shirts are not allowed.
Finally, foot-sore and cold, we headed home, stopping at the Melting Pot for some cheesy-goodness. Our server, on learning that we'd been protesting, thanked us. He couldn't go because of work, he said, so he was glad we were there for him. (We ended up having "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" salad -- it almost certainly contained bacon, a fact that pleases the taste buds and upsets the mostly-vegetarian in me), and flaming chocolate, pronounced "Gay" by our server. We gorged ourselves, and walked home, stuffed, happy, and fired up to keep this up as long as it takes.