Streeter: Thank God I live in Maryland

Since I moved back to my native Maryland six years ago, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read panicked news stories and social media posts about the terrible things happening in other states. Not being able to get abortion care for any reason, even if the mother is about to die. The dismantling of voting rights. The efforts to legislate the trans community out of existence.

And all I keep thinking is “Thank God I live here.”

Maryland is traditionally called the Old Line State. But as lawmakers here constantly pass legislation that just makes sense — protecting rights rather than than taking them away — I’m inspired to come up with a more modern nickname: the Common Sense State.

Take, for instance, the recently enacted Vax Act, which gives the state authority of decisions about immunizations rather than the federal government — meaning Maryland can continue recommending flu shots for children, for instance. Gov. Wes Moore was incredibly direct when he announced that he was seeking the legislation earlier this year: “The federal government’s rapid shifts and the unnecessary confusion surrounding vaccine policy put public health at risk. In Maryland, we will continue to protect our people by ensuring our guidance is driven by proven science, not political headwinds.”

Listen, this state is not perfect. It’s costly and traffic sucks. “I am always very honest with people that it’s very expensive to live here,” said Catonsville resident Kim Rice. “And it’s not cheap to move here, but there’s an improvement of your life.”

I spent 18 years in Florida, which doesn’t have state income tax, before willingly coming back to Maryland, which has one of the highest state tax rates in the country. I’ll gladly pay more if it means the state enacts laws that keep my family and others healthier and safer, like preserving my right as a Black woman to vote for measures that protect myself and my family. I was thrilled that Moore passed a voting rights law the day before the Supreme Court weakened the federal version.

I’m not moving.

“Every time something is threatening [nationally], I love to see what Maryland is gonna do about it,” said Molly Hershfeld of Owings Mills. “And I’m like ‘We’re good, we’re good.’”

A few years after I left the Sunshine State, Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis signed a “medical freedom” law prohibiting businesses from denying entry to people who weren’t masked or vaccinated from COVID. He even yelled at masked students standing behind him at a press conference. Just terrible. And I was happy I didn’t live there anymore.

“I remember being so relieved when the [COVID-19] vaccine came out,” said Hershfeld, who was pregnant with her first child at the time. “The vaccine isn’t perfect, but it was a step up.”

For Rowan Schober-Levine, a trans person who plans to study theater tech at Towson University this fall, living in Maryland means knowing they can have gender-affirming care protected by law “without having to fight.”

Their college choice was even dictated by those rights they find here in Maryland. “I was looking at Austin, [Texas], because it has a huge, thriving, super-weird arts theater scene and because it’s a blue city in a very red state, but I just can’t move there,” Schober-Levine said. Ditto for Georgia, with its thriving ballet, film and television productions, which they would love to make costumes for.

“My entire college decision has been shifted around where I can live,” they said. “I can’t study wherever I want to, go around the country and see all this interesting art. The middle of the country is off-limits. That is really sad.”

It’s not just sad. It’s pathetic. Their mother, Melissa Schober, said she went as far as leaving her job with the federal government, where her child’s gender-affirming care was no longer covered, and went to work for the state, where it is.

“My calculus about staying here is my ability to parent, even though Rowan is 18,” Schober said. “I have to be supportive, and have supports for our kid locally.” When Schober-Levine attended Baltimore School for the Arts, they were able to use the bathroom and pronouns of their choosing. “Instead of it being a problem, it was treated as them being a part of the community, for acceptance,” their mother said.

Myself and those I spoke to are grateful to live in a state that makes what seem like common-sense laws to protect rights even if we don’t personally need to avail ourselves of them. I have a close trans relative who moved here with their Maryland-native parents from Texas, where, as Schober-Levine said, the state isn’t as friendly to that community. I am in menopause and won’t need abortion care, but I’m happy it’s there for others.

“Just the way that it’s going in places like Florida or Tennessee, I can’t imagine living somewhere like that,” said Baltimore resident Will Brockman. He has people close to him with trans and non-binary children who’ve chosen to live here “because they need to be in a state that respects their identity.”

All of these freedoms — whether it’s access to health care, protecting voting rights or being able to live as your authentic self — translate for me and others as just a better place to be overall, no matter the downsides.

“We are small but we are mighty,” said Rice, a self-described Maryland cheerleader. “We have literally everything anywhere else in the country has. Except deserts. We do not have deserts. But I see it as a beacon of hope that people from those other places, if they can make it to the border, can live like they wish to do.”

And being able to access the rights and freedoms this country is supposed to be about? Makes perfect sense to me.