Big Tent New Hampshire

Crying on the floor (or in airports) is in

I don’t often sit in airport terminals and openly sob, but something about Gate 14 in Manchester, New Hampshire, broke me today. I’d rather be running—exercise is my daily release, the fuel that keeps me going in this work. But here I am, grounded, reflecting on what I do. My older kids call me an “influencer” now, a minor public figure shaping opinions through social media. Maybe they’re onto something—perhaps advocacy has morphed into influencing, and we’re just too old to catch the lingo shift.

Last night in Peterborough, New Hampshire, at a town hall, I was branded a TERF, a transphobe, a bigot. In a surreal twist, I swear my organization got called out by name—our pins gave us away. Maybe we’ve finally hit the radar as influential! What I witnessed was a collision of ideals in real time. Online, folks dubbed it a “struggle session,” a nod to the Cultural Revolution or even the “petite Khmer Rouge.” Hyperbolic, sure—no one’s eating grass or starving in Peterborough—but the verbal lashings were fierce, a public flogging of thought. How far is it from words to whips?

The Peterborough Town Library where the public flogging occurred.

The evening kicked off three hours early at a local pub, where our team rallied. We’ve been boots-on-the-ground in New Hampshire for months, targeting this battleground state to protect kids from puberty blockers, cross-sex hormones, and surgeries with our limited resources. We’ve built trust with local leaders and knew we had to show up for Rep. Jonah Wheeler, a young Democrat in his 20s who took office at 19. He’s a natural—loves people, thrives in politics. At the restaurant, he chatted effortlessly with supporters, dissecting the Clinton-era Democratic landscape he’s too young to have lived through.

The event, hosted by the local League of Women Voters, reeked of bias from the start. As we entered the library, we overheard three LWV leaders muttering about “cis women” needing to support “all women” and warning of “outside agitators” like me, Kara Dansky, Cori Cohn, Simon Amaya Price, Elle Palmer, Lauren Leggieri, plus DIAG supporters and local women. I grabbed a second-row seat and struck up a chat with the Democratic Executive Committee leader before things kicked off. He’d later read a prepared statement tearing into Wheeler’s votes. I asked about his background; he dodged. He demanded to know if I’m an expert—I am, so that was easy. When I asked his take on Democratic polling, he snapped that it’s irrelevant, claiming we’re in 1930s Germany. I suggested we stop talking; he bristled. I told him I get called a Nazi online plenty and didn’t need it in person.

His anger was palpable, his righteousness a red flag—he wasn’t safe to engage.

Then the Zoom imploded—porn, Nazi insignia, vile racist attacks on Wheeler. The three LWV women floundered, eventually killing the feed. That was a mistake—they assumed disruptions would come from Wheeler’s side, blind to the chaos from their own. I learned of the Zoom mess from folks at home and fumbled a livestream—my first, so apologies for the shaky footage. You can watch it here. The hour was brutal: verbal lashings, tears, masked women teetering on performative collapse. A friend called it “empathy cancer”—a boil bursting, spraying its mess everywhere.

Surreal moments stuck with me. A trans-identifying man with skinny legs in torn fishnets—why that choice for a government town hall, not a punk gig? I cringed at the decorum lapse. Blocked doorways nagged at me—what if someone brought a gun? That same man swore loudly, and I wondered why trans exceptionalism gets a pass when others wouldn’t. Hope flickered too—Wheeler’s firm “I am a Democrat,” Cori Cohn getting a question in. But frustration gnawed: the suicide myth trotted out, the LWV’s total lack of moderation, my clash with the NPR guy. NPR triggers me—jaw-clenching, face-scrunching visceral dread. I should just pretend they’re gone.

Wheeler didn’t back down. By the end, it was obvious the “listen” demand wasn’t in good faith. Karen in the blue dress was cringy, and hours later, learning she has a trans-identifying kid made her stance click. It was a raw, vital lesson.

Takeaways? We must meet people where they are. Not everyone needs to name-drop Skrmetti, Chase Strangio, or John Money to have a say. If folks can just get to “we can’t sex change kids,” that’s enough. If everyone who feels that in their gut could voice it without facing a research gauntlet, we’d be out of this mess.

I want a big tent, free speech—no policing words or expecting newcomers to master the ‘gender’ minefield without support. More welcomers, fewer gatekeepers, and we’d win. Post-event, I marveled at folks saying, “I don’t know that—can you explain?”

That’s Rep Wheeler’s strength: he knows what he knows and doesn’t need a gender PhD. He knows that women have rights that need to be respected and “we can’t sex change children” and let that be enough.

When we fill the tent with the millions who can say that we win.