On June 6, 2016, I took the day off work and joined a handful of friends (along with a few thousand others) in San Francisco’s verdant Crissy Field to welcome Vermont Senator and Democratic presidential candidate Bernie Sanders. Albeit abrasive, Sanders’ idealistic, aggressively humane rhetoric resonated with me similarly to that of then-Senator Barack Obama in 2007, if not more. This was the person — not man, person — I wanted leading our nation into the next decade. Truth be told, I felt exactly the same way about Hillary Clinton in 2016 as I did in 2007: I admired and respected her in certain lights, but she was never my first choice. She was the establishment, and we were to believe it was her turn.

San Francisco wasn’t my first Bernie rally. A few weeks prior, I was stoned on my best friend’s couch with our ritual Sunday Night HBO gang when I learned the senator would be speaking at my high school back in Los Angeles the following evening. Monday morning at sunrise, I was asleep against a bus window, blasting down the 5 with Springsteen in my ears and manure teasing my nostrils. That night, as I stood arm-in-arm with friends I’d known since the Clinton presidency, Sanders spoke from the football field neither I nor Stephen Miller had ever played football on (I captained our golf team, he lettered in gaslighting), I recognized something far bigger — and better — than myself was afoot.

Looking back from 2020, I can only compare the atmosphere at these gatherings to an energetic blend of the protests I’ve marched in in Seattle, San Francisco and Los Angeles during 45’s presidency and the Dead & Company concert I attended here in LA at the end of 2019; as passionate and almost intimidatingly open as anti-gun rallies and Shakedown Street may appear to the outside world, there is palpable brilliance and sense for those “on the level.”

June 6 was different. Supporters lined up as far as the eye could see, stretching the length of the former airfield and into San Francisco’s Marina district. Still beaming from my first event and this representing the tour finale, a few of us opted to eat mushrooms. Go big or go home. Drum circles soon sprouted up around us, while pockets of millennial EDM enthusiasts and Woodstock veterans alike meditated, undisturbed well within earshot. Dave Matthews played a few songs. Half the crowd came with weed. Danny Glover spoke. Half the crowd came with “We’re all too old for this shit” jokes. I cuddled every service dog I saw, high-fived children and shook their parents’ hands, thanking them for exposing their young to this kind of environment, oblivious to the joint tucked behind my ear. Hope was alive and well, even in the face of likely defeat. Whether or not CNN was airing it, we were there — and there were a fuck ton of us.

As supporters braced for surge pricing and public radio tote bags began to rustle toward the end of Bernie’s speech, I turned to my friend Paul with I can only assume is a menacing twinkle I get in my eye whenever I have an a-ha moment on psychedelics. “We doing this?” Psilocybin aside, I can only describe what happened next as miraculous. As we rose to burrow our way into the throng, the departing crowd cleaved in unison like the Red Sea for Moses, exposing a perfectly lit fairway to the stage. We slid into the grassy clearing, and several struts later found ourselves face-to-face with our guy. In the blink of an eye, he grasped my outstretched hand with both of his, like a supple-pawed continuation of my grandfather. The only words my mouth could manage? “I love you.” He chuckled, squeezed, and gave as sincere a “Thank you, that’s very sweet” as I could hope for from a presidential candidate. I’ve had relationships implode over my inability to say those words, and here they were, floating freely in the fog.

Seeing the eyes are the supposed window to the soul and given the size of my pupils in that moment, it’s safe to say Bernie saw deeper into mine that evening than most. I saw into his, and while my momentary glimpse didn’t reveal anything explosive on my end, I felt received, seen, and heard — by someone who cared. My phone’s screen still capable of visually trickery, I frantically texted my brother, my roommate, and every other Bernie supporter in my life like I’d just met a Beatle. This isn’t to say I’m not occasionally stricken with hopeful moments today, but the night of June 6, 2016 was the last time I felt truly optimistic for our country’s future.

The following day, California voted convincingly enough in favor of the establishment candidate, I placed my hand-drawn sign in our window to fade in the sun as a fledgling remnant of idealism, and a few months later, our country — likely with the assistance of others — elected its first Nazi president. I was not surprised. Millions of us were not surprised. Disappointed beyond comprehension, but not surprised.

Along with millions of others, I believed Bernie was the right choice to face a disturbingly momentous Donald Trump and further whatever social, economic, and geopolitical progress President Obama had accomplished during his two terms. I also agreed strongly with his socially beneficial platforms, to my very core. Albeit in opposite directions on certain spectrums, Sanders’ and Trump’s profiles have both grown immensely in the past four years — a notion undeniably worth noting when considering a 2020 Democratic candidate’s chances.

If 2016 taught us not to invest too much confidence in polls, 2020 should be no different — however seeing Bernie polling above Biden, Warren, and most importantly, Trump — in both Democratic strongholds and battleground states in which HRC catastrophically stumbled — is resounding. He’s also currently polling above the aforementioned in California; if Sanders wins here on March 3, this would provide a formidable early boost in the Democratic race, veritably securing the nomination in the eyes of some. It’s a treat for the Golden State to have this much sway in such an influential election, and given the way I suspect certain outlets will attempt to unravel his peace pact with Warren, this primary arriving three months early may shorten Bernie’s racetrack. You want party unification? We could have it by the first week of March, internal bickering turned to potential running mates.

It should bear no repeating that I will be voting for the Democratic candidate on November 3. If I could stay true to the party in 2016, I can do it again now — and as was the case then, whether or not the 2020 candidate is my first choice, they’ll have my unequivocal support. Begrudgingly, this seems to be a renewably mandatory oath for Bernie supporters. I’ve resented the notion and connotation of the “Bernie Bro” from its coinage, and I take whatever steps necessary to distance myself from this partially manufactured faction. (I’ve also donated to Warren, and currently have her sticker next to his on my car.) To the best of my knowledge, not one person I know who supported Sanders in the 2016 primaries voted for anyone other than HRC that November. It’s frustrated me endlessly that toxic masculinity and intra-party animosity could seep into a campaign I’ve seen as rooted in selflessness from the onset, but it’s reassuring to know our candidate doesn’t back (or benefit from) this. After the last election, I vowed to myself not to jump to early conclusions this time around, which is why I’ve yet to make anything close to a decision until now.

When it comes to Bernie hypothetically debating Trump — from a place of facts, ideals, preparedness, and all-around coherence, the president will have his pasty ass handed to him. How the public interprets this (and how media outlets frame it) will be up to them. (Not that debates win elections; HRC accomplished this feat with grace.) I have the utmost faith in any candidate the DNC trots out to flush Trump like the turd he is.

Personally, I see Bernie trouncing Trump in a general election, if not more so today, given what we know of 45’s dangerous incompetence, the upcoming shit show of a battle for self-preservation as he faces impeachment, and the fact that even his most fervent supporters have reached their moral brink. As far left as his values and policy reach, Sanders has the ability to attract stalwart votes from the right who’ve learned firsthand just how low one must sink before acknowledging they’ve been abandoned by this GOP.

“Crazy Bernie” is the only Democratic candidate I’ve seen sit down with a FOX News town panel not only to open ears, but nods of agreement. That’s because — and I believe it in my heart of hearts — that Bernie Sanders genuinely cares about every American, from families drinking poison in Flint to the billionaires he intends to justly tax. (He merely feels some of these billions could help provide clean drinking water and medical treatment.) Empathy transcends borders.

He’s also the only candidate among this Democratic stable with a four-year head start in reaching 14-, 15-, 16-, and 17-year-olds across the country who’ll be voting in their first presidential election with the fate of their democracy — and planet — hanging in the balance. Say what you will about his mannerisms or high-in-the-sky idealism, but the grassroots support Sanders has generated exclusively via small donors since 2015 is an admirable, repeatable campaigning model for years to come. He’s been planting these seeds for decades, there are now millions of us heeding the call in our darkest hour yet. The man knows how to rally, and our country needs desperately to do so.

Bernie will be 79 on Election Day, yet I sense more urgency to sustain our one planet for future generations from him than anyone running. It’s astounding that as headliners in the same Democratic field, Sanders has proposed a ten-year, $16 trillion Green New Deal to combat climate change, which Biden has referred to as a “middle ground issue.” The age of our president doesn’t concern me half as much as one continent melting, another burning, and my own native coast primed to split at the seams. Anyone qualified and willing to sacrifice the comfort of their golden years in service of their country and humanity at large is a legitimate patriot in my eyes, a real mensch.

Healthcare shouldn’t be a privilege, but a human right. Although my medical needs have been primarily “self-inflicted,” the only reason I’m above ground at 37 — both in terms of life and finances, both of which I hardly have where I want them— are the medical professionals who’ve maintained me, advised me, and put me back together as needed. Without my parents’ health coverage as a youngster or that provided by previous employers as an adult, I may still be alive today, but I’d be lugging a Sisyphean debt well into the six-figure range. Despite working well over full-time for my current employer of over a year, they don’t provide my health coverage; the State of California still subsidizes it, though. (Thanks, Obama.)

Last summer, it took me but a few hours in Italy to fall into a Venetian canal, slicing my leg open in the process. While tourists flowed by to the tune of “Gee, what’s his problem?” two local shopkeepers offered supplies on the spot, slathering brown sugar on my wounds to stop the bleeding and calling an ambulance as they shut down shop. A few months after returning, I received an Italian hospital bill for my gondola ride over and brief consult; I smiled while paying the 200 euro. Dare I say, I like the scar I brought home as a souvenir.

In contrast, when I was hospitalized with pneumonia and sepsis in Seattle the previous year, my ambulance bill alone was $1,300. My life-saving ER treatment and weeklong hospital stay would’ve run me upward of $80,000, had I not had coverage. Profiting off those in need isn’t wrong, it’s pure fucking evil. No candidate — Democrat or Republican — displays an understanding of this more than Bernie Sanders, who’s made a habit of accompanying diabetes patients across the Canadian border for reasonably priced insulin. Operating on the firm belief we’re only as strong as our treatment of our weakest, his Medicare for All crusade has pushed nearly every other Democratic candidate left on the topic, whether it be out of conviction or political necessity.

Four years ago, Sanders struck a chord with five words: “When you hurt, I hurt.” Our country visibly infirmed since 45 took office, the tone of Sanders’ message has now adapted: “I am willing to fight for someone I don’t know.” Although I’m ashamed our social and economic climates are largely responsible, I’ve felt more love for strangers in recent years than ever. Quite frankly, we all should.

It should come as little surprise that Bernie has connected greatly with teachers, union workers, and those of us who’ve slipped into the trappings of the gig economy. He was the first among this crop to push for tuition-free college, he was the first to call for a $15 minimum wage, and he has CEOs across every industry rightfully squirming at the notion of paying a reasonable (any) tax to fund it.

No candidate has a more convincing political record for me, not by a longshot. Joe Biden was a front-runner for the Democratic nomination in 1988 before shooting himself in the foot with another man’s words. His subsequent mishandling of Anita Hill’s testimony against then-Supreme Court nominee Clarence Thomas and authoring of the 1994 crime bill were, put entirely too gently, malarkey. As inspired by Elizabeth Warren as I’ve been at times, she’s only been in politics since 2012. While thankful for his military service and blown away by his linguistic talent, Pete Buttigieg is friends (IRL!) with Mark Zuckerberg, absentee father of the greatest propaganda machine the world has ever known.

Sanders won his first mayoral election in 1981 after a decade of unsuccessful governor and senate bids, and he’s served admirably in Congress since 1990. He marched for civil rights in the 1960s, protested the Vietnam War, and unlike Biden (or HRC), stood against Bush & Cheney’s invasion of Iraq in the wake of September 11. During 45’s reign of terror, he’s managed to coerce behemoths Amazon and Disney into affording their marginalized employees a living wage. Social equity is the cornerstone of his policy, and the widespread diversity of his 99%-heavy base shows it.

I want a woman in the Oval Office, but I want the right person more. I believe that Bernie Sanders supports this notion wholeheartedly, and I’ve had to process these most recent attempts to divide the left as nothing more. For the record, we’ve been told for some time now that Sanders had a discussion with Warren regarding her making a presidential run in 2015; when she declined (and only then), he threw his hat in the ring and his candidacy took flight. Video has also circulated of Sanders encouraging young children in the 1980s that not only should a woman be president, but that it wasn’t happening fast enough. [UPDATE: I couldn’t care less what Hillary thinks about Bernie. Plenty of us like him, plus he never sat on the board at Walmart.]

Thankfully, Bernie supporters are used to this existence by now; it’s fed the very underdog spirit which drives us. Even my hometown newspaper (The Los Angeles Fucking Times) balked to cover his Venice rally with Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez in December, which drew over 10,000 to one of our city’s most iconic locations — over the holidays, when our city notoriously empties. (LAT did run a profile on Joe Biden’s electability, however.) If you still require proof of Sanders’ belief in a woman president, look no further than AOC and fellow House members Ilhan Omar and Rashida Tlaib — all three of whom Bernie put his political weight behind en route to their historic 2018 congressional victories. (All three “Squad” members have endorsed Sanders in the upcoming primary.)

I relish Elizabeth Warren to the extent she’s been my consistent second choice since 2016, and I’ll sleep better with any variation of a Sanders-Warren ticket than I ever did between HRC’s nomination and the day her Leon Lett (sports reference!) of a campaign came to an end short of the goal line. Make no mistake, I’m confident in her ability to out-debate, out-campaign, and out-govern Trump. I’m confident she’d make a better nominee than her predecessor, both against her opponent and against the unfair, superficial expectations to which some voters hold female candidates.

Regardless of how I feel about them personally, I don’t see Warren or Biden winning as convincingly as Bernie, and it’s imperative not to lose sight of our goal — a complete fumigation of the White House. (Vote.) While I can see them both triumphant — and this is in no way suggesting it will be a cakewalk for Sanders — neither presents anything close to the electoral lock or ideological shift a growing number of Democrats pine for, but exponentially more would benefit from. (Vote.) If we can fear and witness HRC blowing a seemingly insurmountable lead, Diamond Joe’s telling us to hold his beer. (VOTE.)

Last but not least, I’ve yet to touch on Bernie’s Judaism. The reality of being the grandson of a man stripped of his native citizenship and imprisoned by Hitler — who lost nearly 50 family members and all earthly possessions, stared extermination in the face, and somehow emerged across an ocean to devote the rest of his life to pediatrics and his own family — has never been lost on me.

My “faith” peaked upon returning from my Birthright trip to Israel a decade ago, but I hardly consider myself religious at this point. After all, what God…?Aside from having a Jewish mother and an entire wing of Jewish family, it’s an identification I maintain primarily out of respect for her father’s sacrifice and strength; without them, I simply never would have existed. Although he passed away in 1992 and I’ll likely omit the drug use, I hope someday we reconnect so I can tell him I met the first Jewish president of the United States.

The fact that Sanders’ religion is the last reason I’m voting for him should speak volumes. If anything, he has a more balanced approach to Israeli-Palestinian relations — acknowledging Palestinians’ mere right to exist — than most of this field is willing to tread.

I’m both lucky and guilt-wracked to report there are remarkably few ways I’ve been marginalized in life — being born into the first world is a cosmic miracle unto itself, to a loving, present family in an inspiring, culturally abundant place like Los Angeles icing on the cake. As a cherry topper, my brother and I had a grandfather who valued education and expression enough to put money aside for us to pursue our respective callings. (We’d be making him proud on various levels.) I’ve only grown more appreciative of these blessings with age and experience, and Sanders’ ethos continues to encourage that gratitude unto others. (Not me. Us.)

It’s the year 2020, and our nation is governed by radical hatred, brazen deception, and legislative stonewalling. Why the hell not counter with radical compassion, integrity, and progress? The past four years, I’ve realized I’m a little more like Bernie than even I knew. Maybe you are too.