The first time I heard U.S. Rep. Beto O’Rourke speak was in 2017 at Southern Methodist University during his campaign for U.S. Senate. It was one of the early speeches in which he casually dropped a few f-bombs. While it may have taken some folks aback, I shouted “Amen!” and applauded.

The El Paso congressman made his profane remark while discussing the mental health crisis in Texas and the fact that our jails have become a place where people go on purpose to get treatment. Before the Affordable Care Act, I was denied health insurance because of my diagnoses of major depression and anxiety disorder. These conditions were exacerbated by chronic migraines, and I struggled to get access to medications, doctor visits and therapy. Thanks to the ACA, also known as Obamacare, non-discrimination mandates and mental health parity help ensure I can get the care I need.

When folks like me are forced to go without medication and treatment, the harm is not just delayed care. We risk losing our lives to suicide. My work as a disability activist is more than fighting stigma — it’s promoting policy and defending civil rights. When I heard O’Rourke speak, I was thrilled to witness a politician with a passion for disability rights that matched mine.

But when I had the opportunity to chat with the congressman after his speech, we didn’t talk about wonky policy. Beto and I talked about punk rock.

In the 1980s, punk was my introduction to politics through bands like The Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, The Clash and Minor Threat. As a middle schooler, I memorized every song on the Dead Kennedys’ album, “Give Me Convenience or Give Me Death” — much to the horror of my conservative Christian parents. I was intrigued by the hard-hitting lyrics that criticized American culture, corporate consumerism and then-president Ronald Reagan. Punk was more than shocking fashion, fast music and youthful rebellion. It was a rejection of consumerism, ableism, classism and racism. As a sophomore at Richardson High School outside Dallas in the early 1990s, I joined my classmates for a protest at the civic center where presidential candidate David Duke, former Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan was speaking. Nearly 30 years later, we’re still fighting to keep the racists out of politics.

As a Gen Xer, I was even a fan of O’Rourke’s former band, Foss. The groups made headlines just before the last election when Texas Republicans tried to embarrass O’Rourke by sharing an old photo of him wearing a dress, posing with bandmates. After the election, footage surfaced of O’Rourke playing guitar in a sheep mask and pajamas, belting out Ramones covers in a band called The Sheeps. Art and punk rock have a long, colorful history of speaking truth to power. Provocative theatrics, rejection of gender stereotypes and thumbing your nose at the establishment was precisely the point.

But not just anyone with an instrument, animal mask and tight-fitting onesie can be punk. Authenticity is everything. True to form, O’Rourke encourages everyone to call him by his childhood nickname despite having served as an esteemed congressman. Even his public persona is unconventional: His campaign appearances were unscripted, unedited and livestreamed. The entire ethos of his senatorial campaign was punk — do-it-yourself and grassroots-driven — a major departure from establishment political tradition.

While authenticity is a punk rock virtue, being a “poseur” is the greatest sin. Our current commander-in-chief is the biggest poseur of all time. Trump campaigned as a champion of the working class, but instead he gave massive tax cuts to the wealthy, aims to gut Medicaid and is willing to furlough federal workers to the point that it triggers financial crises for hardworking families. Far from rejecting the status-quo, Trump is eternally status-seeking and obsessed with fame and fortune.

Punk remains an incomparable catalyst for change. O’Rourke doesn’t have to get the band back together, but he must return to the stage. His uniquely American brand politics — rousing, salient and self-produced with a vast and loyal following — is destined for wider audiences. We need the marquee to read Beto 2020, not as an encore run for Senate but for president. That’s because O’Rourke is a rebel with a cause. He’s fighting for human rights, and he knows that disability rights are human rights.

Ross is a disability rights activist in Dallas.