When Duty Calls
by: Aaron Aranza
“Brrrrrring, brrrrrring!” The electronic blare of the office phone pierced the morning silence, and I felt my jaw inadvertently clench. After one week of virtually interning for Representative Mondaire Jones, I had not yet acclimated to the frequent phone calls that interrupted my daily tasks. Having graduated from college only thirteen days earlier, I was eager to leave my mark by attaching myself to the most impressive-sounding projects that I could find. In comparison, I saw phone duty as tedious, unglamorous work that only distracted me from moving onto bigger things (of course, it didn’t help matters that my first week answering phones coincided with the release of a particularly inflammatory segment on Congressman Jones by Fox News — as a result, every other ring came from an angry caller outside of our district). As such, I saw phone duty as a nuisance and I resolved to pass the task to someone else at the first opportunity.
However, as one week turned into four, my attitude towards answering phones slowly shifted. After logging the case information for each constituent, I always kept them on the line in order to collect any helpful details that I might have missed. This additional review often led callers to spontaneously offer me the emotional context for their problems. As a result, I received an unexpectedly intimate glance into the personal lives of Congressman Jones’s constituents. One woman’s green card request turned into an explanation of her fragile family ties across the globe, while an entrepreneur’s inquiry about a business relief loan became a raw confession about his fears for the future.
In turn, these heart-to-hearts also revealed the high esteem in which constituents hold our office. At the end of our conversations, many callers took the time to gush over Congressman Jones’ work on Capitol Hill. Even over the phone, I could hear the warmth in their voices as they expressed their joy at having a tireless advocate for their issues. After finding themselves ignored or dismissed by everyone else, constituents see Congressman Jones as their last hope.
As an intern, it can be easy to dismiss certain assignments as mundane or inconsequential. Yet, after one month of daily conversations with the constituents of NY-17, I have found that the “smallest” tasks can actually be the most impactful ones. It is incredibly humbling to have strangers place their livelihoods in my hands and earning this trust has been one of the great honors of my lifetime. Working on Capitol Hill is not about the flashy proposals that you put your name on or the famous faces you see in the hallway. Instead, the real heart of the work has always been human connection.
Moving forward, I hope to continue centering the voices of those who would otherwise go unheard. Thanks to the Victory Congressional Internship, I am armed with a rich tradition of LGBTQ+ activism that teaches me how to effectively advocate for those in need. Duty was always calling me, but now I’m finally ready to pick up that call with a smile.
A Winning Hand
by: Nathan Terrell
As the cloud of Virginia Slim cigarette smoke diffused from across the table, my grandmother appeared with a winning hand of cards. She lowered her head and said to me, “Honey, wish in one hand, shit in the other, see which one fills up first.” Quickly, with her barracuda eyes, outlined in blue eyeliner and accented with purple eyeshadow, she slammed the winning hand of cards onto the table and stared into my defeated soul. I was crushed. I so desperately wished that I could just beat my grandmother in a card game, and she knew it was my wish too. She also knew that I didn’t practice, which is why she said those words to me before delivering my lunch special of crow.
What sage words my grandmother shared with me. It was now clear that just wishing for something I wanted was going to get me nowhere. Hearing those simple words expanded my seven-year-old mind. It was at that moment that I understood that we control our own reality. Moreover, we determine what dreams come true.
I was determined to cultivate a solid foundation of card game skills. I practiced with my sisters any chance I got. I interviewed any adult that would speak to me about tips and tricks for playing card games. It was the practice of this lesson on dreams that granted me the skill of determination. This wisdom continues to protect me. It comforted me when I was being bullied by my high school peers. Today, it comforts me when I go for a run on-campus, and a fraternity boy screeches a gay slur towards me. We hold the power to determine the hand of cards that we play. As Elle Woods would say, “You’ve got all the right equipment. You just have to read the manual.”
It is my determination that allowed me to find the Victory community. I survived a rough start to my life. Being gay in Eastern Kentucky was no easy walk in the park. I will never forget the day when my fifteen-year-old heart was beaming with joy for the arrival of marriage equality. However, this was quickly diminished when my hometown County Clerk, Kim Davis, became a national symbol for denying same-sex marriage. I was reminded of the discrimination lurking around me. I faced exclusion at all levels, whether that was exclusion when trying to join athletics or when attempting to become president of a club, simply because I chose to be myself. By choosing to be me, a proud gay man, I simultaneously decided to defy the traditional norms of a small town in the Bible Belt. This choice was not accepted kindly by many. This exclusion has been suffocating, but it’s the determination to become a strong leader that provides me oxygen.
Instead of wishing the words of insecure jocks or an unlawful clerk away, I focus on the work I can do to make things better. The Victory Congressional Internship has allowed me to spread myself across this nation to connect with other queer leaders. This organization is propelling me forward. It provides me the agency to work towards the change I wish to see in my community.
Though, sometimes, when running away from the trauma of being excluded, we begin to lose track of ourselves and forget to ask the questions that our soul needs answered. I’m guilty of it. Yet, through a year-long, one-on-one mentorship with my mentor, Seth, I have been able to ask myself the hard questions that are needed for growth and to begin acting on those answers. But it is not just having someone guide you to the right questions that makes VCI mentorship so unique. It is that VCI mentors, like Seth, are there to help you navigate each step that you will take towards becoming your best self that makes the VCI program so special. They are there because they, too, share a passion for seeing change and developing the next generation of LGBT leaders.
Thanks to the Victory Institute, I now know that if a County Clerk defies my rights, then I can just run a campaign against them myself or support a fellow queer leader to run. I will come back and change my community, and I more than sure I can do that because of the foundation Victory has helped me build. I am the most hopeful I have ever been about my future.
But hold up and wait…speaking of foundations… let’s get back to the story about my grandmother. After building a foundation on card games and routinely practicing, I FINALLY defeated my grandmother on one fateful day. (Umm, Alexa, please play It’s My House by Diana Ross.) As I slammed my winning cards on the table and stood up with chest puffed up in the air, my grandmother said to me, “So, we do listen.” Humbled by the sarcasm of my beautiful grandmother, I sat down. I reflected on the lesson I had learned: determination can make your wishes come true.
If we listen to ourselves, then we win the war. We can have our own victories, we just have to have faith in ourselves and be determined. Victory has given me confidence in my determination, and I look forward to the victories to come. And hey, wouldn’t it be nice to see the Republican Minority Leader be replaced with a determined Democrat who happens to be a gay boy from Eastern Kentucky?
