This reflection is courtesy of Grant Sloss
Participant in the 2009 LA AIDS Walk and
Trevor Project Volunteer Committee member
It’s easy to get complacent. As an active volunteer, I put in a few hours every month, breathe an exaggerated sigh and rush to pat myself on the back for making the world a better place. Sure, I haven’t solved everything (or really anything, other than the fairly simple problem of rounding up enough people to stick fake Trevor tattoos on Pride-goers), but I made a contribution. I was making a difference. I was leaving things a little better than I found them.
I was totally deluded. There is ALWAYS more to do.
Armed with this realization, and no small amount of goading from a pair of Trevor volunteers from Deloitte (thanks, Blake and Matt!), I rolled out of bed on a balmy Sunday morning and joined thousands of men, women, grandparents, parents, children and every other category of concerned citizen in AIDS Walk LA. I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect (this was my maiden voyage), but among my concerns were the early hour (I hate the morning), the chaos (I hate crowds), and the potential for obnoxious protesters (I hate Hate). Mercifully, my Deloitte captors were on a gold team, meaning we were able to sidestep the chaos portion with our own sectioned territory. Said territory housed no small amount of coffee, tea, breakfast food and balloons, which didn’t sidestep the early hour entirely but at least made it (fine, made ME) a bit more tolerable. Team t-shirts were distributed, team photos were taken and Team Deloitte took to the streets, which were flooded with walkers and cheerleaders – young, old, some in uniform, some in drag, some in street clothes – but all luckily far cheerier than I. So cheery, in fact, that they almost completely drown out the protesters that appeared as we turned onto La Cienega.
Almost.
And ultimately, that was for the best. Because as lovely and vibrant as the cheerleaders were, they weren’t nearly as successful in firing up the AIDS walkers as the six or so misguided souls hoisting their hateful placards. (I may be speaking for myself, but…no. No, I’m not.) I’m still not entirely sure what they were doing there shouting Bible verses and Phelps-ian (Fred, not Michael) absurdities through their megaphones. I assume some sort of Bat signal goes out whenever Santa Monica Boulevard is blocked off and these people show up to exercise their First Amendment rights without knowing what they’re actually shouting about. Had they been paying attention, they’d have realized a fundraiser for AIDS research has nothing to do with religion, sexual orientation or anything else they were shaking their fists at. They’d have realized they were hurling hate speech at children young enough to fit into strollers. And their straight parents. And, in general, a group of people who, at least for the moment, had no political agenda.
But this scenario didn’t call for logical, civilized discourse. When confronted with irrational rage, the walkers fought fire with fire, shouting down our far-outnumbered opponents – and gaining a nice boost as we breezed into our second mile. Thanks, guys! See you at the next one!
We marched onward through more mile markers – and more free refreshments. Honestly, the amount of freebies at this event cannot be (a) overstated, or (b) accurately quantified. If the protesters got us through mile one, the free juices, cookies, fruit and protein bars (and the hundreds of volunteers, many local schoolchildren, who dutifully and awesomely stood for hours handing them out) got us through the rest of the sun-scorched walk.
And we needed it. As an occasional and very amateur triathlete, I expected a six-mile walk to be a breeze. I was sorely, sorely wrong. Six miles, whether you’re running, jogging or walking, is still six miles to your muscles, which were surprisingly wiped by the time we pulled into the giant balloon arch at the Pacific Design Center full of cheering fans, friends and volunteers, all waiting to pat us on the back for our not-terribly-hard work. We hadn’t changed the world or solved anything by traipsing around West Hollywood. But it was a contribution. We’d made a (little) difference. And hopefully, we’d be leaving things a little better than we found them.
-Grant Sloss
