"I am a Colorado native, and, no, I did not vote for the anti-gay amendment or the same-sex marriage ban, and I am not a member of a militia"
About this Quote
The joke lands because it isnt really a joke: its a defensive biography squeezed into one breath, performed like small talk. Willis stacks disclaimers the way a novelist stacks clauses for rhythm, but here the rhythm is social triage. "Colorado native" should be a neutral credential, the kind that usually signals pride or belonging. Instead it becomes a trigger for preemptive damage control, as if the state label has been culturally rebranded as suspicion.
The line is doing three things at once. First, it refuses guilt by geography. Colorado in the 1990s and early 2000s was nationally synonymous with headline politics: Amendment 2 (a sweeping anti-gay measure that helped propel a landmark Supreme Court case), later marriage-ban fights, and a media appetite for "Rocky Mountain" extremism that often blended militias, guns, and paranoia into one caricature. Willis is pushing back against that lazy bundle with a crisp list: not that, not that, and definitely not that.
Second, the subtext is about how identity gets flattened by news cycles. She is not arguing policy; she is arguing against being typecast. The escalating sequence from ballot measures to militias is key: it shows how quickly a listener might slide from "oh, youre from Colorado" to "so youre one of those people". The punchline is the exhaustion.
Third, it signals solidarity without sermonizing. By naming anti-gay politics as something she didnt support, Willis aligns herself with a more plural, urban, future-facing Colorado, and she does it with the kind of dry, practical wit that reads less like virtue signaling and more like a seasoned writer refusing to let the room misread her.
The line is doing three things at once. First, it refuses guilt by geography. Colorado in the 1990s and early 2000s was nationally synonymous with headline politics: Amendment 2 (a sweeping anti-gay measure that helped propel a landmark Supreme Court case), later marriage-ban fights, and a media appetite for "Rocky Mountain" extremism that often blended militias, guns, and paranoia into one caricature. Willis is pushing back against that lazy bundle with a crisp list: not that, not that, and definitely not that.
Second, the subtext is about how identity gets flattened by news cycles. She is not arguing policy; she is arguing against being typecast. The escalating sequence from ballot measures to militias is key: it shows how quickly a listener might slide from "oh, youre from Colorado" to "so youre one of those people". The punchline is the exhaustion.
Third, it signals solidarity without sermonizing. By naming anti-gay politics as something she didnt support, Willis aligns herself with a more plural, urban, future-facing Colorado, and she does it with the kind of dry, practical wit that reads less like virtue signaling and more like a seasoned writer refusing to let the room misread her.
Quote Details
| Topic | Equality |
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