On a thick grey damp morning in south Ft. Worth, Texas, small gatherings began to form at Will Rogers park.  My friend and I showed up eager to march with James Talarico and 99-year-old Opal Lee, the Grandmother of Juneteenth.

Huddled under our umbrellas with a few others in their Talafreako tees, we paused to listen to the the voice of Opal Lee coming from the makeshift stage: “Don’t just walk for yourself, walk for your family, walk for the ancestors who dreamed of this kind of freedom, and walk for the work that still has to be done.” 

We were a small ripple in the wave of regular Juneteenth walkers, and notably whiter in complexion. As we began to walk, a woman stopped me to pass on a message, assuming my white tee and matching complexion gave me special access:  

“Tell him Federal workers have suffered,” she stated with irritation. I started to explain smiling and she cut me off, “I am serious. We have suffered.”  My smile faded, “Yes,” was all I could utter. She understood my power and access better than I did. 

I turned back to the crowd ahead of me just as Talarico stepped out of a car and into the throng of marchers. At 5’ 8” tall, James got swallowed up in the sea of people stopping to take a photo with him. He wore his signature dark grey button down untucked, sleeves rolled up neatly, wrangler jeans and cowboy boots. He walked with the slight bow-legged walk of a ranch hand while exuding the nerdy gentleness of a former middle school language arts teacher and speaking with the wise, easygoing steadiness of a Presbyterian minister.His demeanor read as genuine and kind with an unrushed and unaffected quiet confidence. He was hardly recognizable as a politician.  

What is it about this guy, Talarico? What makes him tick? Why does he seem unfazed by critique? What drives him to remain respectful despite the hate he receives. How does he keep his anger in check? How does he appear unflappable? I don’t know about you, but my good intentions get derailed by the what abouts: What about the cruelty? What about the abuse? What about the greed? What about the lies?  What about. . . ? And how can I love my neighbor if I don’t like them? 

Many on the political right are trying to discredit him saying he is “weak. soft. weird.” Schoolyard bullying is hardly a surprise for this former middle school teacher. As grown men hurl names like, “Tofu Talarico, Six-gender Jimmy, Low T Talarico, and Talafreako,” JT barely skips a beat, rolls out a Talafreako Tee and continues with his campaign to bring Texans together. 

His genuine, empathetic demeanor threatens the system — the understood strong masculine hierarchy— with words like unity, love, everyone is welcome; reminding us we are all Texans. He reminds us Hope is an action that lies in the We not the me. He reminds us that we belong to each other. 

It’s no secret that Talarico is a Christian. He is the love your neighbor kind, the love as an action verb kind, the love like Jesus kind, the welcome the stranger kind, the build bridges not walls kind, the feed the hungry kind, the Sermon on the Mount, Beatitudes kind, the love your enemy kind. 

One of his first speeches from the Texas House of Representatives floor went viral for his audacity to use scripture and Christian language to critique fellow Christians. Apparently, the only thing more threatening to a Christian Nationalist than The Sermon on The Mount is facing a public school teacher and seminarian who has done his homework. 

Talarico makes clear, “We were not founded as a Christian nation. We were founded as a nation where you are free to be a Christian, or a Jew, or a Muslim, or a Sikh, or a Buddhist, or an atheist.” 

He also gives clarity to who counts as Texan by showing up and listening to people from all zip codes across Texas: from historically Black neighborhoods, to overlooked neighborhoods to rural red towns to blue cities. People are angry and tired of broken promises. He seems fearless and endlessly curious to hear from the furthest out, to lean into hard conversations, to disrupt the status quo. He explains how people will regularly whisper in his ear, “I am a conservative.”  

He received criticism from his own party supporters for doing a two hour and 41 minute interview with Joe Rogan, who was an early vocal advocate of Trump. He expects and welcomes people’s fears, frustrations, and anger. He listens intently and validates them.   

“He is the first politician who makes me hopeful,” said my 22-year-old who shared the Rogan podcast with me. “He listens to people and doesn’t judge them. He never makes anyone feel dumb, just really listens. He says my generation will be the one to make a difference.”   

It is no small thing to make young men feel seen, heard and valued. Talarico is not showing up in spaces asking anyone to be different. He is saying: You matter. You are worthy.    

He poses a threat precisely because his presence threatens and inverts the usual power-over, top-down structure with a bottom-up servant of the people one. “He punches up not down,” one blogger explains. He disrupts the status quo. He reminds people of their inherent worth and value and refuses to normalize the greed and corruption that has dominated state and national politics. He won’t take PAC or special interest money. He threatens the protections of the privileged by calling the wealthy to account while reminding everyday Texans: “The biggest divide in this country is not left vs. right but top vs. bottom.” 

What is a surprise to no one is how this race is even close. The party of the Moral Majority seems concerned with anything other than morality and is unapologetic about it. At least now, the pretense has been dropped. Talarico, with the steady moral compass of an Eagle Scout, is running against the scandalous, adulterous Ken Paxton, impeached by his own party.

And still, in Texas, the race is close. While many Hispanic voters have swung from red to blue for Talarico, conservative white voters, particularly evangelicals, have remained loyal to the GOP. And for those who choose not to vote and see that as the moral high ground, a non-vote is a vote. It is a vote for the status quo. With less than 100 days left until November, Texans will be faced with a vote and an undeniable reality.   

As we neared the end of the Juneteenth march, a woman ahead of us screamed with excitement and hugged Talarico as her friend snapped a photo. The friend walked past us, exhaled, and said,  

“He is a good man.”