Love Without Borders: A Modern Testament to the Power of Loving v. Virginia
How One Historic Supreme Court Ruling Paved the Way for My Own Marriage — and the Unshakeable Love I Found in My Wife
Richard and Mildred Loving’s story didn’t begin in the courts. It began in the quiet countryside of Caroline County, Virginia, where they grew up just a few miles apart. Mildred was soft-spoken and thoughtful, her Black and Native American heritage grounding her in a strong sense of self and community. Richard was a tall, quiet white man who loved working with his hands, especially with cars. They met in a close-knit, rural community not far from where Faithful Politics is based. Despite segregation laws, people often lived side by side and formed bonds that crossed racial lines more easily than in other parts of the Jim Crow South.
Their friendship turned to love during Mildred’s teenage years. Richard wasn’t one for grand gestures or flowery declarations. He showed his love in practical, steady ways — fixing things around her family’s home, making her laugh with his dry wit, and most of all, standing by her without wavering. When Mildred became pregnant, Richard insisted they marry. They drove to Washington, D.C., in 1958, where interracial marriage was legal, and became husband and wife.
Their love was quiet but unshakeable. But back in Virginia, their love became a crime. They were arrested for violating the state’s anti-miscegenation laws and were forced to leave the only home they’d ever known and not return for 25 years. For years, they lived in exile in D.C., raising their children away from their extended family. It wasn’t political ambition or a desire to be activists that drove them to challenge the law — it was the simple, profound desire to live as a married couple in the place they called home.
When Mildred wrote to Attorney General Robert Kennedy, it wasn’t with legal arguments but with a heartfelt plea to come home. He recommended they contact the ACLU, and so they did. In the Supreme Court battle that followed, Richard didn’t say much. But when asked if he had a message for the justices, he proclaimed only this:
“Tell the Court I love my wife.”
That simple proclamation of love — that refusal to let hatred and fear define the parameters of who can love whom — reshaped American history. On June 12, 1967, the U.S. Supreme Court handed down its landmark ruling in Loving v. Virginia, declaring state laws banning interracial marriage unconstitutional. The ruling didn’t just legalize interracial marriage; it validated love as a force capable of dismantling generations of legalized discrimination.
And it is because of that ruling that my own love story was allowed to flourish. Almost 41 years later, I married the woman I call “Monkey” — my Margaret — on May 10th in a small church in Northern Indiana, a place pastored by her father. Margaret is a white woman with Italian and Polish heritage. I am a Black man with African and Vietnamese roots.
We are two people from different worlds brought together by chance, separated by an ocean for most of our dating period yet bound by love, and freed to marry by the courage of the Lovings.
But unlike Richard and Mildred, our marriage has been void of midnight arrests and threats of prison. Rather, our love was allowed to grow in the open, in the light of day, because of their courage. Because of their fight, I can proclaim my love for my wife to the world, not to a judge. And that’s what I want to do now — tell you about the woman who captured my heart and changed my life for the better.
There’s so much I can say about Margaret, formerly of the Shutske tribe, who was born in Indiana but did move around some. She is the second youngest of six siblings and is fluent in German, a skill that took her to Germany on several occasions before she eventually moved to South Korea to teach English. It was there, in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt Hotel in Seoul at 2 AM, that I first laid eyes on her.
We had only known each other virtually for a few weeks before we planned to meet in person. Two strangers brought together by the fading glory of Myspace. Thanks, Tom. I was traveling to South Korea for work, and Margaret was there on a teaching contract. I affectionately remember her Myspace page played Colbie Caillat’s “Bubbly” every time I visited, and to this day, that song still gives me a dopamine hit whenever I hear it. When I finally saw her with my own eyes, she was stunningly beautiful and wearing a T-shirt with a monkey on it. As strange as it sounds, that monkey became the anchor to that moment — the symbol of a connection that would span continents, very expensive phone calls, and countless late-night conversations. It’s why I still call her “Monkey” to this day — because it keeps me tethered to the first moment I saw her, that first spark of love that hasn’t dimmed in 17 years.
Our first meeting was brief — just a few hours — because I had to fly back to the States the same day and she was going to tour the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) because for some strange reason it’s a tourist destination. But in that short time, something profound clicked. We kept talking. Every night for three hours, across five thousand miles, we connected despite a 16-hour time zone difference, using calling cards because Zoom wasn’t a thing back then. I flew back to South Korea a few more times for work, and we stole time when we could, just to see each other. But it wasn’t until I took a legitimate vacation to see her in Masan, South Korea where we spent a full two-weeks together — the longest stretch of time we’d ever had in each other’s presence - and it was heavenly. Before she returned to the States, I flew to Indiana to meet her family. Her brothers, protective of their youngest sister, made it clear they’d toss me in a bonfire if I hurt her. Fair enough.
Despite the distance, the cultural differences, and the skepticism from some, we made it work. And on a chilly day in Seattle, Washington, where I was living at the time, I knelt before Margaret in the il Bistro restaurant, asked her to marry me, and she said yes. A round of applause from the other patrons was a nice touch.
For 17 years, she has been my wife, my best friend, my “Monkey.” She’s the woman who calls me out on my nonsense, grounds me when the world feels heavy, and makes me laugh when I’d rather cry. Together, we’ve built a life that is rich in love, humor, and shared experiences — a life that was only made possible because of the courage of Richard and Mildred Loving.
And yet, when I try to put into words how I feel about Margaret, it’s almost impossible without completely losing my grip on sanity. I’m just so madly in love with her. You see, my “Monkey” is no ordinary woman — she’s kind, hilarious, and absolutely stunning. She’s the mother of our two boys, the nurse to our oldest with medical needs, the teacher and tutor of homework, and the caretaker of this entire family. In fact, as I’m writing this, she’s off volunteering at a childhood cancer fundraiser. I mean, come on.
To really understand who Margaret is, let me tell you about what she’s done for our son Jericho. For those who don’t follow our show regularly, you might not know that our oldest was diagnosed with a brain tumor almost two years ago. We got the news on Valentine’s Day — a day that was supposed to be a lighthearted date night to see Nate Bargatze in Richmond. Instead, it kicked off a 15-month stretch of relentless chemotherapy and a continuation of the years of medical care Jericho has needed. Through it all, Margaret has been a rock to this family, never once complained (personal choice I’m not an Alpha male), missed an appointment, or hesitated in an emergency. Like the time our youngest accidentally yanked out Jericho’s G-tube and she leapt into action without missing a beat. Brothers, am I right?
Ask anyone lucky enough to call Margaret a friend, and they’ll tell you she’s one of the most incredible people they’ve ever met. She’s got a heart of gold, a voice that could stop you in your tracks, and a way of making everyone around her feel seen. Honestly, she probably never would’ve ended up with a guy like me if it weren’t for her unfortunate reliance on prescription glasses. But that’s the thing about true love — it’s okay for it to be blind (not a dig) and it’s not supposed to make sense to anyone but the two people living it.
And yet, even though love often defies logic, it’s deeply rooted in what makes us human. When we’re in love, it’s as if every part of us comes alive — that undeniable pull, that electric connection. And that’s what people miss when they try to decide who we can and can’t love. They can’t feel that same spark, that same ache, that same intoxicating rush of being around someone who means everything.
In the end, maybe love isn’t meant to be rational. Maybe it’s meant to be felt, cherished, and celebrated, even when it doesn’t make sense. That kind of love — steadfast, ordinary, and defiant in its simplicity — changed the course of American history. It made my marriage possible. It made my family possible. And it has given me the chance to proclaim to the world what Richard Loving proclaimed to the Court all those years ago: I love my wife.
Because of the Lovings, my love for Margaret didn’t have to be whispered behind closed doors or hidden in the shadows. It could be proclaimed openly, freely, without fear. And that freedom — the freedom to love without restriction, to build a life with the person who makes your heart feel at home — is a gift that I never take for granted.
So when I look at Margaret, when I call her “Monkey,” when I watch her juggle the endless demands of motherhood, laugh at my terrible jokes, or sing around the house, I think about Richard and Mildred Loving. Not because they fought a legal battle that changed the world, but because they fought to stay together when the world tried to tear them apart. They fought for the chance to wake up next to the person they loved, to raise their children under one roof, to hold hands in the daylight without fear of a knock at the door.
And because they fought, I get to love Margaret openly. I get to hold her hand in public, say “I love you” without a second thought, and call her my wife in front of our children. That’s what the Lovings gave me. That’s what they gave all 11.7 million interracial and same-sex couples since 1967 — the freedom to love beyond the lines society once drew so harshly, and sadly are beginning to do again.
So here’s to Richard and Mildred, who didn’t set out to make history — they just set out to love each other. And here’s to my Monkey, the woman I get to love without restraint, without apology, and without fear. I love you, Margaret. Happy Anniversary.
To learn more about Loving v. Virginia visit: https://lovingday.org
The "Love Beyond Boundaries" shirt isn’t just a design — it’s a memory, a symbol, and a tribute to the kind of love that lingers long after the moment has passed. Inspired by a single, unforgettable meeting that began on the fading pages of Myspace, this shirt is a nod to the first time I saw my wife Margaret. She was wearing a T-shirt with a monkey on it, and that quirky little image became a lasting anchor to the first spark of a love that would span continents and decades.
Seventeen years later, that memory still holds me. It’s why I call her “Monkey,” and why I created this shirt — in hopes that one day, someone will look at you in it and remember you the way I remember her. Because love isn’t just about the moments we share; it’s about the symbols we carry that keep those moments alive.
50% of the proceeds will go towards the Loving Day Organization. Check it out on our merch store: https://www.faithfulpolitics.us/product-page/love-beyond-boundaries-tee