A letter to Utah’s Lieutenant Governor, Spencer Cox, from his constituent Bari Nan Cohen.

Dear Lieutenant Governor Cox:

You know that rockstar apology you gave to the gay community in Utah after the mass shooting in Orlando? The reason your speech went from local news headline to viral Facebook post so quickly was because it was epic. As a 15-year resident of Utah—I moved here for the skiing and found an amazing community in which to raise a family—I am all in for your apology. Sure, I’m a sucker for beautiful oratory—it was heartfelt, and gorgeous, and I’ve dissolved into tears each time I’ve read the transcript or watched the video. But this thing has legs not only because it took by surprise those who had dismissed us as a Red-State backwater with no truck for diversity (um, yeah, they’re wrong), but because it did many hard things well—including acknowledging our state’s many shortcomings in the human rights arena. And, most importantly, because you did it with love. More on that in a minute.

First, in the spirit of your own “admission and apology,” I owe you an apology. I assumed that because I did not vote for you, you did not represent me. I was wrong. I apologize. You are my Lieutenant Governor. Thank you for your service to our state and our country.

Second, I underestimated your office. I consider myself politically savvy; I’m locally active, nationally conscious. Yet, I don’t have a clue about what Lieutenant Governors actually do. For all I knew you were the ceremonial head of the Grand Poobah Secret Society of State House Sorcerers. Unfortunately, I hadn’t paid enough attention to know whether you’d supported things I’d consider either brave or boneheaded. Sure, you make a good impression on 7th graders field-tripping to the State House (my son wants you to know he thought you were a nice guy), but I hadn’t a clue about your policy stances. Yet you got this right, and it matters. Going forward, I’ll pay closer attention. I’m sorry I underestimated you.

You got this right because knew where you’d gone wrong, you made sure your apology was loud and clear, and you respected your audience enough to start off by acknowledging the perks of your perch.

“I begin with an admission and an apology. First, I recognize fully that I am a balding, youngish, middle-aged straight, white, male, Republican politician… with all of the expectations and privileges that come with those labels. I am probably not who you expected to hear from today.

Then you did something harder—something that was both uncomfortable and necessary: You acknowledged that we’re nowhere near where we need to be in loving one another, in taking for granted that our differences are what make us lovable, human and true. You noted that you’ve not always been a positive force in this fight, and then you demanded that our entire state join you in figuring out how to get there, that we figure out how to fix this, together.

I’m here because, yesterday morning, 49 Americans were brutally murdered… I’m here because those 49 people were gay. I’m here because it shouldn’t matter. But I’m here because it does. I am not here to tell you that I know exactly what you are going through. I am not here to tell you that I feel your pain. I don’t pretend to know the depths of what you are feeling right now. But I do know what it feels like to be scared. And I do know what it feels like to be sad. And I do know what it feels like to be rejected. And, more importantly, I know what it feels like to be loved.

The speech was a perfectly formed apology for your own failings and for our community’s failings. You explained without excuses, which is its own gift and art form.

I grew up in a small town and went to a small rural high school. There were some kids in my class that were different. Sometimes I wasn’t kind to them. I didn’t know it at the time, but I know now that they were gay. I will forever regret not treating them with the kindness, dignity and respect — the love — that they deserved. For that, I sincerely and humbly apologize.”

You went on to quote great presidents of our nation, along with Jesus and the prophet Mohammed. You may not realize it, but you were also quite Jewish in your approach—for there is nothing more sacred in Jewish life than learning. The Hebrew honorific for clergy, “Rabbi,” translates directly to “teacher.” You get it, Lieutenant Governor Cox. You thanked your rabbis — the gay community — for their patience and love, for their ability to effect change in your heart and mind, as the best teachers do.

Over the intervening years, my heart has changed. It has changed because of you. It has changed because I have gotten to know many of you. You have been patient with me. You helped me learn the right letters of the alphabet in the right order even though you keep adding new ones. You have been kind to me. Jim Dabakis even told me I dressed nice once, even though I know he was lying. You have treated me with the kindness, dignity, and respect — the love — that I very often did NOT deserve. And it has made me love you.

You set out to share your heart with the gay community of Utah. You emerged as a world thought leader, one who is able to point out the flaws in our partisanship, the wrongness of our divisiveness, and to challenge us all to find greatness, together. It is this acknowledgement that may be even harder to state than our apologies.

Your path forward echoed my thoughts on Sunday morning, when, upon hearing the news, I could find no words. I merely changed my profile photo on Facebook to a rainbow flag. But I couldn’t find the image I wanted—a mashup of the American flag and the rainbow flag. To my mind, the attack on the gay community was also an attack on the American values of freedom and family. You put words to this, and you found a way to inspire us all to do better, without sanctimony or shame.

Today we need fewer Republicans and fewer Democrats. Today we need more Americans. Ultimately, there is only one way for us to come together. It must happen at a personal level. We must learn to truly love one another. On behalf of the 3 million people of the state of Utah, We Are Orlando. We love you. And I love you.

We love you right back. Thank you for apologizing.

Today, I am #utahproud.

Sincerely,

Bari Nan

 

Bari Nan Cohen has been an editor and/or contributor for women’s magazines including Glamour, YM, Self, Good Housekeeping, More, Redbook and Woman’s Day. You can read about her adventures raising her family in Utah on her blog and follow her on Twitter.