Article: Gavin Newsom: They told me it was political suicide. I did it anyway

This article is quoted from Gov. Gavin Newsom’s new memoir, “The Fast Guy: A Memoir of Discovery.”

On January 20, 2004, I took a seat in the gallery of the House of Representatives to hear President Bush deliver his State of the Union address. The seat came courtesy of House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi. Ten months earlier, Bush made the decision to invade Iraq after his historic disinformation campaign convinced the American people that Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction. We couldn’t get ourselves out of that expensive argument for another seventeen years. His big speech that night was a further attempt to sell the cause of his war to the nation. “If we had failed to take action, the dictator’s weapons programs would have continued to this day,” said Bush. He described the Patriot Act, which introduced new dimensions of surveillance of American citizens, as “one of those important tools” in the war on terror.

The rest of his speech was standard fare, really ho-hum, until he got to the back part about American values ​​and the need for us to “work together to resist the negative influences of the culture and send the right messages to our children.” He said he was troubled by activist judges in states fighting for human rights who threatened to overturn the Defense of Marriage Act signed by President Bill Clinton’s predecessor. We had to “protect the sanctity of marriage” as a bond between one man and one woman, he said. If necessary, he will seek a constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriage.

As I left the room, a middle-aged couple next to me were talking about how happy they were that their president was finally confronting the “homosexual agenda.” Name homosexuality came out of their mouths bent in defiance. I was supposed to go downstairs to welcome Congresswoman Pelosi and a delegation of California Democrats, but I needed to get some fresh air. Outside the Capitol, I kept walking and talking to myself. “These are my people Bush is attacking. Those who voted for me. My staff. My closest advisers.” In the cold and dark of Washington, I called one of my assistants back in San Francisco and promised to “do something about it” as soon as I got home.

The law in our state was no different from the law in all other countries. Same-sex unions could not be recognized by the local inspector’s office. They were illegal. As I explained to help my determination now to override that law, I held up a copy of the California Constitution. In article I, the first paragraph promises that “all men are by nature free and independent and have inalienable rights.” Among these rights is the pursuit and enjoyment of “safety, pleasure and privacy.” It wasn’t until Section 7.5 that these rights were abridged: “Only marriage between a man and a woman lawful or recognized in California.” This not only contradicted the first paragraph but was racist on its face.

My senior staff didn’t disagree with my reading, but almost to a person they disagreed with my take on the matter. Steve Kawa, my chief of staff, a gay Bostonian whose name cut through all the nonsense, pulled me aside and spoke from the heart. His father had disowned him for being gay, and he wanted nothing more than to live in an America where homophobia was no longer the norm. But opening the doors to the city clerk’s office and inviting gay men and gay women to the wedding altar was political suicide, he said. We had just entered the ranks, for one thing. And polls have shown that less than one-third of Californians support gay marriage.

The admonition to “go slow” was the mother’s milk of Democratic politics. In the endless battle for the hearts and minds of allies, it seemed the only possible way for a Democrat to be elected and govern. But this was San Francisco, and we were talking about equal protection under the law for a class of people whose discrimination by family, friends, and society brought them to San Francisco in the first place. If not here, where? Eric Jaye, one of my campaign coordinators, was able to see my problem. I was caught between my conscience and the sound political advice of people closest to me. We had several late night conversations on the phone. “What do you want here? Why did we work so hard to win if you can’t do something brave?” he asked. “This is a short life, Gavin. Your time as a politician to get things done is a gray one.”

I thought back to my winery model. The whole purpose was to turn the ladder on its head and create a new reality. I called Joyce Newstat, my policy director, who was also gay. “We need to do this,” I told him. He heard from my voice that I had made up my mind. “Okay, but we can’t take the wrong step,” he said. “Gays and gays have a history of conflict, and you don’t want to be part of that story. Give me a week or two to reach out to the public.” Joyce sat down with Kate Kendell, executive director of the National Center for Lesbian Rights, based in San Francisco. “Who is this boy?” Kendell wondered. “He cannot just come in here and upset the balance that we have taken years to achieve.” Joyce told him that I would not talk about it, that it had been internalized after I went to Washington and heard racist voices in the Capitol. “Well, fine. But if he’s going to do it, he’s got to do it right,” Kendell said. He instructed his lawyers at the center to work with our team in making a plan.

Then I went to Mabel Teng, a former colleague on the board of directors who was now a San Francisco auditor. I asked him what problems he would face in his job if we allowed same-sex marriage at city hall. Mabel, who started her political career as an activist with Jesse Jackson’s Rainbow Coalition, did not surprise me with her answer. “It won’t be a problem at all, Mayor.” A marriage between a man and a man, or a woman and a woman, will never require a change in the documents. Instead of “husband and wife,” they would appear on his computer as “Applicant” and “Second Applicant.”

Alarmed by my plans, my father and Uncle Brennan and their close friend Joe Cotchett – each of them steeped in law and politics but only Joe who stood on all fours and was a Special Forces paratrooper – tried to intervene at the last minute. They lured me to the Balboa Cafe for dinner and wine. They weren’t the type to beat around the bush. Did I realize that I was about to disrupt my political career?

Joe got right in my face. “Why are you doing this, Gavin?”

“I’ll tell you why I’m doing this,” I said defiantly. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

I wasn’t going to give him a simple and honest answer, and it seemed to hit Joe, who built his career on standing up for the underdog, right in the gut.

“Okay,” he said in a different voice. “Let’s do it then.”

Saying that, my father and uncle were silent. No other word was said about it. I left that night thinking that even my Newsom relatives, those who had my best interests at heart, could make a mistake from time to time. Although I was open to doubt and speculation, I really accepted such a process, in the end I had to trust my gut. On the issue of civil rights for all Californians, there was no turning back. As for the great Joe Cotchett, he eventually joined the ranks of lawyers fighting for the legal right to same-sex marriage.

From “The Fast Guy: A Memoir of Discovery” by Gavin Newsom, published by Penguin Press, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright © 2026 by Gavin Newsom.