We were never meant to fight each other. We were meant to fight for one another.
Today, I want to talk about unity—not as a slogan, but as a test.
Because the truth is, unity asks something of us. It asks us to listen deeper. To lead braver. To stand for one another, especially when it’s not easy.
And today, I want to tell a story that hasn’t been easy for me to tell.
Not because it isn’t true.
Not because it isn’t powerful.
But because it makes me uncomfortable—and maybe it’ll make some of us uncomfortable too.
Still, I believe it needs to be heard.
🧭 The Illusion That Keeps Us Apart
We’ve been taught to be suspicious of one another.
Taught to look sideways at those who are different.
Taught to draw lines before we build bridges.
But that division? That separation? It’s an illusion.
One that keeps us weak. Distracted. Fighting shadows while the real problems go unchallenged.
The truth is: we are not enemies.
We are neighbors.
We are citizens.
We are countrymen.
And we are strongest—only strongest—when we choose to stand together.
📜 The Story That Stopped Me
As a student of history, I often look to the past not to dwell there, but to learn from it.
One story that continues to haunt and inspire me is the story of Alan Turing.
He was a brilliant man—a quiet man. He didn’t command a room. He didn’t shout. He didn’t seek praise.
But during World War II, he broke the German Enigma code—a feat that shortened the war and saved millions of lives.
He was essential. Irreplaceable.
But after the war, the very government he served turned against him. Not for what he had done—but for who he was.
Alan Turing was gay. And in 1950s Britain, that was a crime.
He was arrested, sentenced, chemically castrated, and ultimately died by suicide at the age of 41.
This story stops me.
It shakes me.
Because it forces me to ask: What would I have done? Would I have stood beside him? Would I have spoken up?
And here in Wyoming—in a place I love, where I was raised and where I’m running to serve—I wonder: Is this a story we’re ready to hear?
🪞 A Hard Truth, and a Harder Choice
I’ve wrestled with whether to share this.
Because I know fear. I know silence. I’ve felt both.
But silence doesn’t save us. It just delays the cost.
Unity isn't easy. It doesn’t mean we all think the same or vote the same.
It means we refuse to look away from the human being in front of us.
And what Alan Turing gave humanity? That wasn’t political. It wasn’t cultural. It wasn’t controversial.
It was a gift.
Turing gave us the blueprint—the very logic of modern computing.
He imagined a universal machine long before one could be built.
His ideas became the mind, the structure, the DNA of the digital world we now live in.
Every message we send, every search we make, every calculation behind the scenes—echoes his brilliance.
And he asked for nothing in return.
That was his gift to all of us.
And I believe that’s what unity is: seeing each other’s gifts.
Even the quiet ones.
Even the misunderstood ones.
Even the ones we don’t yet fully understand.
🌄 What This Means for Us
So what does this have to do with Wyoming? With our future?
Everything.
Because our legacy isn't just shaped by the heroes we praise.
It's shaped by the people we protect.
And if we are to rise—as neighbors, as a state, as a nation—it will not be because we shouted louder.
It will be because we listened deeper.
And what Alan Turing gave humanity? That wasn’t political. It wasn’t cultural. It wasn’t controversial.
It was a gift.
Alan Turing gave us the blueprint. The mind. The architecture of the digital world.
That was his gift to all of us.
And I believe that’s what unity means in practice—recognizing value in every voice, every soul, every contribution.
Even the ones we’re not used to seeing.
Especially those.
We will rise because we honored the quiet voices.
Because we stood up for the truth, even when it made us uncomfortable.
Because we chose compassion over cruelty.
And because we remembered—we are stronger together.
This is just the beginning. In our next episode, we’ll talk about what common ground really means—and why it’s not only possible, but sacred.
Until then, thank you for standing in the tension with me.
Thank you for believing in something bigger than labels.
And thank you for choosing unity—even when it's hard.
This is us. Still listening. Still standing. Still stronger together.
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