Last year I attended a rally for Bernie Sanders at the Moda Center in Portland, Oregon. Maximum capacity at the stadium was 20,000, and 28,000 supporters showed up to fight the establishment and the billionaire class. I stood in a line that rivaled the massive cue of fans at the Paul McCartney concert I went to in Salt Lake City. I was with my sister, Louise, and some other people form my high school. We bought Bernie pins and stuck them to our shirts. We found what we thought was the place where people who had RSVP’d (we had) were to line up. A grumpy middle aged man grumbled “I don’t think so! End of the line is back there.” So we made our way to the end of the massive crowd and waited to be let in. Already I was shocked at the turnout. Bernie Sanders, the guy who won’t take anything from ‘Big Money.’ The guy who the media did everything in their power not to cover. The socialist! It was amazing, and spirits were high because we all knew it. Luckily, when the time came we barely snatched up some seats and sat down to listen to the old man preach his unapologetic message: we will win and there will be a revolution. It was like a rock concert as Bernie explained to us that by redistributing wealth back to the working class, we could accomplish free tuition, health care, and proper retirement. “It is a disgrace” or “it is a national atrocity” were some of Bernie’s favorite taglines. As the night went on his hair got messier and his hand gestures wilder. Passion was the word of the night.