Day after day we see Republicans trying to outdo each other in how vile and frightening they can be. From the fight over the debt ceiling, to their presidential primary, they continue to try to take the nation backwards.
In the debt ceiling fight, they clearly say, “We will protect the wealthy in our country at all costs, and instead will cut, or eliminate, programs to help the poor.” The far-right wing crazies like Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-Ga.), Matt Gaetz (R-Fla.), Andy Biggs (R-Ariz.), Chip Roy (R-Texas), and Lauren Boebert (R-Colo.), are threatening their own speaker, Kevin McCarthy (R-Calif.), with the loss of his job if he doesn’t go along with what they want. Now that a deal has been cut, we will see how they, and left-leaning Democrats who have been putting pressure on President Biden to reject all Republican demands, will vote. These are facts of life in our nation today. Any person with a shred of decency should be embarrassed. I don’t envy President Biden for what he has to do to keep the nation from defaulting on its debts. The political reality is that he had to give in on some issues. Democrats should not fault him, but rather blame Republicans.
It is scary when you see what Republicans are doing around the nation with regard to abortion rights, civil rights, and LGBTQ rights. One recent example being Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis proudly signing the bill making abortion only legal until six weeks. There are women who don’t even know by then they are pregnant. Also, it’s time men start understanding how this impacts them. Women need to remind the fathers what their responsibility will be if they both aren’t ready for a child but are forced to have one.
One ignorant parent in Florida complained, and according to politico was able to have “A Miami-Dade elementary school limit some access to Amanda Gorman’s presidential inauguration poem, ‘The Hill We Climb,’ complaining that it contained indirect “hate messages.” This is insanity and the clear result of Trump’s impact on the culture of the nation. He made it OK to once again have hatred spewed from the public square, frightening decent people.
Like the threats against Target. CNN reported the company was “removing some products that celebrate Pride month after the company and its employees became the focus of a “volatile” anti-LGBTQ campaign. The company told the Wall Street Journal that people have confronted workers in stores, knocked down Pride merchandise displays and put threatening posts on social media with video from inside stores. Some people have thrown Pride items on the floor, Target spokesperson Kayla Castaneda told Reuters. CNN went on to report “Prominent right-wing activists, Republican political leaders, and conservative media outlets, have focused their attention on a women’s swimsuit that was described as “tuck friendly” for its ability to conceal male genitalia. Misinformation spread on social media that it was marketed to children, which it was not.” Again, insanity, promoted by the right wing. The people doing this should be arrested and prosecuted.
It only gets worse as Republican candidates running for president try to outdo each other with anti-LGBTQ rhetoric, trying to improve their poll numbers. DeSantis can tout his “don’t say gay legislation.” Sen. Tim Scott (R-S.C.), a Black man, who says the country is not racist, touts his opposition to marriage equality. Then there is Mike Pence who will quote the Bible to you, claiming it tells us how terrible it is to be gay.
The Daily News recently reported “Following last year’s more than 220 anti-LGBTQ bills introduced across the country, a poll by The Trevor Project found 71% of LGBTQ youth — and 86% trans and nonbinary youth — said they were negatively impacted by the flurry of proposals to restrict their rights.” They went on to report, “As of May 23, more than 520 anti-LGBTQ bills have been introduced in statehouses across the country, according to the Human Rights Campaign. More than 220 of those specifically restrict the rights of transgender and nonbinary people. These are all Republican bills.
This will continue unabated if we don’t defeat Republicans everywhere. In sharp contrast, Democrats in the Maryland legislature, led by Delegates David Moon (D-Montgomery County) and Luke Clippinger (D-Baltimore County) and State Senator Howard Lam (D-Baltimore and Howard Counties), managed to repeal the states sodomy law and pass gun-control measures.
Republicans will continue to carry out their agenda of hate across the nation unless we say with our votes, “We won’t take this anymore.” The United States is better than this and we will show the world we will not tolerate hate; we will fight it.
Peter Rosenstein is a longtime LGBTQ rights and Democratic Party activist. He writes regularly for the Blade.
Even by the relaxed standards of politicians, George Santos has a distant relationship with the truth. He can barely say “hello” without telling a lie, and hardly a day goes by without the media uncovering some new whopper that Santos used to inflate his image.
But in one sense, Santos fits right at home in today’s Republican party. From the open grifting to the flirtation with the party’s most anti-LGBTQ elements, he’s the epitome of the depths to which gay Republicans have sunk.
That’s not to suggest that every gay Republican is an inveterate liar who steals money meant to treat dying dogs. For a long time, gay (and they were primarily gay, not broadly LGBTQ+) Republicans were pretty comfortable in the establishment wing of the party, often moneyed and thus enamored of the GOP’s love of tax cuts. The culture war was an annoyance, but it’s not as if donors weren’t welcomed on the cocktail circuit.
Of course, money still matters. But in the era of Trumpism, the money is often from grifting. You don’t have to come to the party with money in your pocket. You can make your fortune off your identity.
There are a lot of right-wing donors with deep pockets willing to bankroll anyone who works against the standard narrative of what a Republican looks like or who should be a Democrat. One black woman scammed Republicans out of thousands of dollars by pretending to have been disowned by her parents because she backed Trump.
Republicans in the era of Trumpism have gone so far around the bend with their disdain for policy and ethics that they reward performative nonsense like intelligence, integrity, and hard work. It is no surprise that many GOP operatives knew that Santos’ resume was a pack of lies and decided to do nothing about it. What mattered more was the image that Santos presented of a GOP open to anyone who agreed with its standards.
Of course, that’s not true either. Santos’ hero, Donald Trump, unleashed a series of attacks against the LGBTQ+ community when he was president. Santos said during his first Congressional campaign in 2020 that he “had disagreements” with the president but supported him “70% of the time.”
In short, Santos was providing cover for Trump’s attacks, which made him even more valuable to the party.
Santos’ big mistake is that he decided to apply his grifting to an election, where there are laws that can be broken and paper trails that reporters can follow (if later than they should have). Given Santos’ track record, he appears to be more of an opportunist than a strategist when identifying potential marks. He probably assumed he would lose his election again, and no one would bother digging into his background.
Had that been the case, he would have been able to create a new persona on the outrage circuit. It’s not hard to see Santos as a talking head on Fox News trashing Buttigieg and defending the Supreme Court for going after marriage equality. After all, think of all the money he would have made.
It hit me one morning this fall as I woke up: I’ve turned 70.
As I’ve been celebrating this milestone, I’ve marveled at the changes that have occurred for our LGBTQ community during my lifetime.
Marriage equality, Pete Buttigieg (or any LGBTQ person) running for president and/or the fab queer rom-com “Bros” would have been unimaginable when I began coming out 50 years ago.
Then, just three years after the Stonewall uprising, I and many other LGBTQ folk felt far more shame than pride about our queerness.
Most of us in that era wouldn’t have dreamed that, decades later, not only LGBTQ teens, but queer people our age would have marched, out and proud, in Pride parades. We’d never have thought that in the 21st century any of us would ever proudly say, shout or chant “we’re queer!”
Nothing is more emblematic to me of the progress made in LGBTQ rights from Stonewall to today than the evolution of the word “queer” from a hateful epithet to an expression of pride.
Today, the term “queer” can be found everywhere from news outlets (including NPR, the Blade, the New York Times and the Washington Post) to museum exhibits such as “Queering the Crip, Cripping the Queer” at the Schwules Museum Berlin through the end of January and “Queer Creativity Through the Ages: Artwork from the Center on Colfax Open Art Studio” at the Denver Art Museum through Dec. 31.
I can’t think of any of my under 60 friends, hetero or LGBTQ who don’t use the word “queer.” Sometimes they’re proudly writing it on Pride parade signs. Often, they use it as a neutral adjective. The way you’d say “they’re from Boston” or “he’s about six-feet tall.”
Many of my over-60 pals are beginning to use the word “queer.” If they’re not comfortable using it about themselves, they’re increasingly comfortable with others using it. My 70-something hetero cousins, who are LGBTQ allies, no longer feel I’m putting myself down when I say I’m queer.
Given that “queer” is so often used as an affirmation of identity or neutral descriptor, I was surprised when New York Times columnist Pamela Paul recently lamented the popularity of the “q-word.”
I’m an avid reader of Paul’s column. Paul, a former editor of the New York Times Book Review, is, like many writers, obsessed about language. She’s an astute observer of the culture and of how we use words.
Yet, I can’t help but wonder what Paul was thinking. “Language is always changing – but it shouldn’t become inflexible,” she wrote, “especially when new terminologies, in the name of inclusion, sometimes wind up making others feel excluded.”
Paul, who is hetero, worried that the widespread use of “queer” excludes LGBTQ people who don’t identify as queer. She was upset that so many Gen-Zers identify as queer, and annoyed that “gays and lesbians can feel crowded out” under the LGBTQ umbrella.
Paul chided new Human Rights Campaign president Kelley Robinson for using the word “queer,” and not saying the words “gay,” “lesbian” or “bisexual” in a video where she introduced herself.
People at HRC do say “gay,” “lesbian” “bisexual” “transgender” and “nonbinary,” Robinson wrote in response to Paul’s column in a letter to the Times.
“I identify as a Black queer woman,” Robinson wrote, “and when I say ‘queer,’ it’s to be as inclusive as possible, to re-center those at the margins, to embrace our differences and to embrace our power, too.”
Robinson nailed what attracts so many of us to the word “queer.”
Of course, many LGBTQ boomers and Gen-Xers vividly recall when “queer” was a homophobic slur.
A hetero friend remembers when she was seven riding on a school bus. “I was mad at a kid,” she told me, “I wanted to call him something mean. So I said he was ‘queer.’”
“My sister told me not to say that again,” my pal added, “She said it was too horrible to tell me what it meant.”
But in recent decades (starting with AIDS activists), we’ve reclaimed the word “queer.” We’ve taken away its sting: transformed it from a hate-mongering, othering slur to a source of power. It’s hard to think of a more inclusive word than queer. It includes and values all LGBTQ folk. In the wake of the Colorado Springs LGBTQ club shooting, it’s more important than ever to be proudly queer.
Kathi Wolfe, a writer and a poet, is a regular contributor to the Blade.
It hit me one morning this fall as I woke up: I’ve turned 70.
As I’ve been celebrating this milestone, I’ve marveled at the changes that have occurred for our LGBTQ community during my lifetime.
Marriage equality, Pete Buttigieg (or any LGBTQ person) running for president and/or the fab queer rom-com “Bros” would have been unimaginable when I began coming out 50 years ago.
Then, just three years after the Stonewall uprising, I and many other LGBTQ folk felt far more shame than pride about our queerness.
Most of us in that era wouldn’t have dreamed that, decades later, not only LGBTQ teens, but queer people our age would have marched, out and proud, in Pride parades. We’d never have thought that in the 21st century any of us would ever proudly say, shout or chant “we’re queer!”
Nothing is more emblematic to me of the progress made in LGBTQ rights from Stonewall to today than the evolution of the word “queer” from a hateful epithet to an expression of pride.
Today, the term “queer” can be found everywhere from news outlets (including NPR, the Blade, the New York Times and the Washington Post) to museum exhibits such as “Queering the Crip, Cripping the Queer” at the Schwules Museum Berlin through the end of January and “Queer Creativity Through the Ages: Artwork from the Center on Colfax Open Art Studio” at the Denver Art Museum through Dec. 31.
I can’t think of any of my under 60 friends, hetero or LGBTQ who don’t use the word “queer.” Sometimes they’re proudly writing it on Pride parade signs. Often, they use it as a neutral adjective. The way you’d say “they’re from Boston” or “he’s about six-feet tall.”
Many of my over-60 pals are beginning to use the word “queer.” If they’re not comfortable using it about themselves, they’re increasingly comfortable with others using it. My 70-something hetero cousins, who are LGBTQ allies, no longer feel I’m putting myself down when I say I’m queer.
Given that “queer” is so often used as an affirmation of identity or neutral descriptor, I was surprised when New York Times columnist Pamela Paul recently lamented the popularity of the “q-word.”
I’m an avid reader of Paul’s column. Paul, a former editor of the New York Times Book Review, is, like many writers, obsessed about language. She’s an astute observer of the culture and of how we use words.
Yet, I can’t help but wonder what Paul was thinking. “Language is always changing – but it shouldn’t become inflexible,” she wrote, “especially when new terminologies, in the name of inclusion, sometimes wind up making others feel excluded.”
Paul, who is hetero, worried that the widespread use of “queer” excludes LGBTQ people who don’t identify as queer. She was upset that so many Gen-Zers identify as queer, and annoyed that “gays and lesbians can feel crowded out” under the LGBTQ umbrella.
Paul chided new Human Rights Campaign president Kelley Robinson for using the word “queer,” and not saying the words “gay,” “lesbian” or “bisexual” in a video where she introduced herself.
People at HRC do say “gay,” “lesbian” “bisexual” “transgender” and “nonbinary,” Robinson wrote in response to Paul’s column in a letter to the Times.
“I identify as a Black queer woman,” Robinson wrote, “and when I say ‘queer,’ it’s to be as inclusive as possible, to re-center those at the margins, to embrace our differences and to embrace our power, too.”
Robinson nailed what attracts so many of us to the word “queer.”
Of course, many LGBTQ boomers and Gen-Xers vividly recall when “queer” was a homophobic slur.
A hetero friend remembers when she was seven riding on a school bus. “I was mad at a kid,” she told me, “I wanted to call him something mean. So I said he was ‘queer.’”
“My sister told me not to say that again,” my pal added, “She said it was too horrible to tell me what it meant.”
But in recent decades (starting with AIDS activists), we’ve reclaimed the word “queer.” We’ve taken away its sting: transformed it from a hate-mongering, othering slur to a source of power. It’s hard to think of a more inclusive word than queer. It includes and values all LGBTQ folk. In the wake of the Colorado Springs LGBTQ club shooting, it’s more important than ever to be proudly queer.
Kathi Wolfe, a writer and a poet, is a regular contributor to the Blade.
If you were diagnosed with HIV in the first fifteen years of the AIDS pandemic, your doctor might as well have handed you the diagnosis with one hand and with the other a death certificate, just waiting for the appropriate date to be filled in. Having HIV was an almost certain death sentence. Those of us who were diagnosed as HIV-positive in those years were told to “get your affairs in order,” meaning, “prepare to die.”
Many of us did exactly that: we quit work, lived on SSDI payments, settled debts if we could, alerted our friends, and learned to live with the constant expectation that we could meet an ugly, painful death at any time. Very few of us were able to “keep hope alive.”
That long-awaited hope arrived in 1996 with the advent of HAART (Highly Active Anti-Retroviral Treatment), the first efficacious treatment for HIV. Suddenly, the possibility of “living with HIV,” instead of “dying of AIDS,” became a reality for those of us with access to HAART. We rejoiced — we were going to survive the virus that had taken so many of our friends, lovers, and family from us! We tore up those proffered death certificates — we were going to live!
We soon realized, however, that surviving the pandemic, living with HIV, would bring its own problems. Those of us who couldn’t work and lived on SSDI were trapped in poverty; and the outrageously expensive medications we took, while saving our lives, caused innumerable new medical problems: chronic fatigue, accelerated ageing, loss of bone density, liver diseases and failure, a propensity for various cancers, enhanced risk of cardiovascular diseases, and myriad comorbidities. Further, in the pre-U=U days, we lived in fear of transmitting the virus to others. And surviving did nothing to lessen the stigma we faced for being HIV-positive, often within our own communities, causing an epidemic of isolation, loneliness, despair, and depression.
Human beings are meant for more than just “surviving,” we are meant to thrive. But how does one thrive while living with a still-debilitating, stigmatized virus? To find out how some have thrived, and not merely survived, I talked with three long-term survivors, friends from a Thursday night writing group, about their growth from surviving to thriving.
Harley, a San Francisco resident, was thirty-four when he acquired HIV; at seventy-six, he has lived with HIV for forty-two years. Like many of us, Harley said he reacted to his diagnosis with “shock and sadness, fear and depression, isolation and hopelessness, desperation and confusion. I was relieved to finally know my serostatus, but it caused distractions at work and negative projections of my profession, social life, love life, family relations, and fear of the future.” After a period of depression and self-mourning, Harley was determined to take care of himself. “I made a commitment to myself that I would not only survive, but strive to thrive.”
That commitment led Harley to a very proactive approach to living with HIV. He connected with other HIV-positive friends; read all the current information about HIV; attended community meetings led by doctors; joined support groups at San Francisco AIDS Foundation, the Shanti Project, and the Stop AIDS Project; joined an HIV-positive yoga class; quit smoking cigarettes and drinking alcohol; and began a healthy natural diet. Of course he continued to encounter barriers to thriving—economic challenges; job stress; the continuous loss of friends, neighbors, co-workers and community members. He credits “yoga, acupuncture, meditation, dharma talks, humor, comedy, dancing, hiking, and swimming” with helping him stay healthy enough to thrive.
Harley said, “service became a new medicine for me. I volunteered at San Francisco AIDS Foundation’s telephone Hotline when it first started at old drafty building on Valencia Street. I also trained at Shanti and became a ‘buddy.’ I spoke at local schools as an AIDS educator and became active with AIDS political activist groups like Project Inform and ACT-UP.” Significantly, he changed professions and started work full-time at an HIV medical clinic. These days, he said, he now deals with “normal geriatric issues rather than HIV fears.”
Rebecca Dennison was diagnosed with HIV in 1990, although she is certain she acquired the virus in 1983 and lived with it for seven years before her diagnosis. “I was devastated. In June 1990, HIV was considered a death sentence. I thought I had only months to live. I was about to start law school when I found out. I decided not to go. Partly because I didn’t think I’d live long enough to finish.” In those days before the ACA, and before the Ryan White Care Act passed, Rebecca continued to work in order to retain her health insurance. “To me, being uninsured meant you were going to die even sooner than you would otherwise. So having insurance was as big an economic issue as having an income.” With the support of her workplace, she continued to work until she could get covered through her husband’s insurance. Despite the support of dear friends and her husband Daniel, “I felt alone and alienated. People were kind but they really couldn’t understand what it was like to be me. I felt like I was living in a 4th dimension where we all saw the same world but experienced it differently. For a while, I felt really angry at HIV-negative people for the privilege of being able to walk away if they wanted. And then I felt ashamed of being angry because I knew it wasn’t fair to be mad at people for being healthy.”
At first, after her diagnosis, Rebecca was afraid to make plans beyond one year. She had planned to become an immigration lawyer specializing in asylum law. When that plan collapsed, “I didn’t know what to do with myself. But AIDS activists, friends, and family all encouraged me to follow my heart and get involved in AIDS activism–and I did.” She threw herself into fighting for herself and others. “I joined ACT UP Golden Gate, went to all the Project Inform town meetings, started going to conferences, and then started WORLD, an organization by, for, and about HIV-positive women (because they were missing in most of those places). Through that work I got to be friends with women from all over the world, especially after I helped start the ICW (International Community of Women Living with HIV/AIDS).
“Of course, coming to love all those people also meant losing hundreds of people as well. That part was tough. It was tragic to see people die in what should have been the prime of their life. And the cumulative grief of hundreds of people dying while most of the world really didn’t give a damn… that wore me down.” She paused her HIV work in 2003 and went off to raise her daughters. After a while, “I just missed it too much. Various histories of AIDS started coming out and the vast majority left women out completely, which really bothered me. So I started writing, got into therapy, and eventually started reconnecting with other long-term survivors. One of the silver linings of COVID was that we were forced to learn how to meet by Zoom. Suddenly, that opened all kinds of doors. I’m in two weekly writing groups with long-term survivors, which I wouldn’t have joined if I’d had to cross the Bay Bridge to attend—and I’m loving it. The writing always provides a way in to connect with more depth than we might if we were just making small talk.”
Activist, writer, and long-term survivor Harry Breaux learned he was HIV-positive in 1984. Harry had contributed blood samples to a CDC clinical study of hepatitis. The samples from 1979 were negative for HIV, but samples he gave in 1981 were positive for HIV. Thus, he deduces that he contracted the virus in 1980, at age thirty-five; he celebrated his seventy-seventh birthday in March 2022.
“Initially, I was not surprised when I was called in and given the results of the HIV antibody test,” he told me. “After having so actively participated in the sexual freedoms of the 1970s, I knew that I probably had been exposed and probably had contracted the virus. As a slow progressor, my physical life changed very little, but my mental and emotional life was devastated. As long as I felt ‘healthy,’ I continued to live a ‘normal’ life on the outside, but mentally and emotionally, I lived with the knowledge that every little change in my physical condition, every sniffle, every pimple, every cough prophesied the beginning of my march toward death. It just never came for 15 years. Then when I did approach death in 1996 [diagnosed with AIDS], the ‘cocktail’ came along to save me.”
Harry Breaux (Photo: SFAF)
Like the majority of us long-term survivors, Harry faced barriers to thriving. “Finding supportive and stable housing and sufficient financial assistance to care for myself. Finding social support from others who understand my situation or the situation of those in similar circumstances. Finding medical services sensitive to my unique physical condition of being HIV-positive and aging.” He credits San Francisco AIDS Foundation, Openhouse, PRC, the Shanti Project, and other organizations with providing rent and food subsidies as well as opportunities to connect with other HIV-positive survivors. “When I first noticed that I was driven by a different sexual impulse and believed I was the only one, that I was flawed, I felt alone and lonely. Being HIV-positive and surviving so many friends left me feeling old, alone, and lonely. But finding the HIV Community and its strength has allowed me to look at my life as one of thriving through the experience of surviving. No longer alone and lonely as a person with HIV, I now recognize thriving as a viable present and future.”
I asked all three of these survivors what “thriving” means to them as opposed to “surviving.” The three of them gave me similar, almost identical definitions. Here’s Harry’s definition:
“Thriving to me means being able to function as a ‘normal’ human being; being able to experience joy and sadness and peace along with love and compassion; being able to take care of my own personal needs. being mentally alert and creative; being able to contribute to the society around me; being able to maintain my independence; being able to experience the ‘normal’ ageing of my body appropriate to my age; being able to assist others.
“Surviving to me means just being able to breathe, move, eat, and shit.”
As members of the AIDS Generation, we long-term survivors have a deep well of knowledge and experience to share with the newly diagnosed. Unsurprisingly, when asked for advice to the newly diagnosed, all three stressed the same things: know that HIV is no longer fatal if you stick to your medications and take care of your health; educate yourself about the virus, its effects, and how to combat them; learn the history of the pandemic; know that you are not alone, flawed or damaged by this virus, but you are challenged to maintain your hope and tenacity in its unyielding face; know the science, listen to the professionals, and seek to find your own way through; release any sense of shame you may have for being positive; maintain your social life by connecting with other HIV-positive people; volunteer in your community; never hesitate to ask for emotional or financial support from the resources that are available; remain hopeful.
Rebecca offered the most eloquent advice I can think of:
“Pursue your passions. People who feel happy take joy in the happiness of others. People who feel loved want others to feel loved. People who are inquisitive and curious inspire curiosity in others. If you can find a way to lend your time and talent to making the world a better place, all the better. I have seen how having a sense of purpose helps people who are struggling get out of bed in the morning. There’s no ‘right’ way to do this. You do you. Make your art. Write your poetry. Draft awesome legislation. March in the streets. Teach a child to read. Feed someone who’s hungry. Save a redwood tree. Rescue puppies. Grow tomatoes. Smile at the bus driver. Be kind to the checker at the grocery store. Whatever experiences you’ve had up until this point make you a truly unique individual with skills and insights and interests unlike anyone else’s on the planet. If you have a degree, great. But if you don’t, you’re still an expert in lots of things. Don’t overlook the fact that everyone has value and has something to contribute.”
I’ll give Harley the last word: “Trust in your future. Keep Hope Alive.”
We who live with HIV live in a country where many of our fellow citizens seem adamantly determined to negate our very lives. Thirty-seven states continue to criminalize being HIV-positive, despite our knowing that people living with undetectable viral loads cannot pass the virus on to others via sex. Twelve of those states refused to expand Medicaid, cutting many PWAs off from the medications they need to live. During the first two years of the Covid-19 pandemic, many of the services available to people living with HIV were curtailed: as funds and personnel were diverted from HIV to COVID-19, clinics closed; testing for HIV declined; PrEP use withered; sheltering-in-place and quarantining forced many long-term survivors back into the kind of isolation and loneliness that we had just begun to address. With many of us long-term survivors living at or below the poverty level, worldwide inflation has made it increasingly difficult to afford the basics of life like food and shelter. The last two years have been abnormally grim for us.
The HIV-negative members of the LGBTQ+ community have not been spared the back-sliding in the efforts to secure our civil rights. Anti-LGBTQ forces in Florida have criminalized even speaking about LGBTQ people in school classrooms, with many states poised to pass copy-cat laws like Florida’s. The activist, uber-conservative Supreme Court that overturned Roe V. Wade, leading to the criminalization of those who seek or perform abortions, signaled quite clearly that their next targets are the right to use contraception and the right to same-sex marriage. With the Court’s conclusion that there is no Constitutional right to privacy, the right to engage in homosexual sex acts may well be on their chopping block, despite the guarantees in Lawrence v. Texas.
Our transgender sisters and brothers, regardless of their serostatus, are under constant threat in Republican-controlled states. South Dakota, Florida, Georgia, Kentucky, Missouri, South Carolina, and Texas have all enacted laws that inhibit the availability of gender affirming care — with some states actually criminalizing doctors who offer gender affirming care. Conservative politicians and church leaders routinely mock transgender folks and the use of appropriate pronouns. The transgender community has weathered the bulk of attacks in recent years.
But we have all been vulnerable. For every step forward toward true equality we have taken, we seem to have taken two steps back in recent years. None of the advances we have made is immune to the forces that seek to erase those advances. There are citizens and politicians in our country who seem hell-bent on making our lives as miserable as possible.
In the face of all this hatred and bigotry, I ask again, “Thanks for what?”
The only answer I can give is a very personal one, a list of things that I strive to be grateful for.
I’m grateful for the medications that have kept me alive since 1996 (even despite the ones that caused my advanced osteoporosis). I am grateful for the many long-term survivors whom I’ve gotten to know through SFAF’s Elizabeth Taylor 50-Plus Network and through Shanti’s Honoring Our Experience — friends with whom I share much more than just serostatus, friends whose love and support have sustained me through more than my share of setbacks. I am thankful that after five years of being confined to a wheelchair, I am finally walking again! I am thankful that despite the ravages of living with HIV for thirty-three years, despite facing a handful of death sentences, I will celebrate my seventieth birthday next month. I am thankful that despite my advanced ageing (70 is the new 85!), my brain still functions well enough for me to be able to string words together in coherent sentences… sometimes!
The one, the only thing that I never struggle to be grateful for is the enduring love and support of a great, generous, loving man. My husband Rick Greathouse has been a true godsend, not only for the last two years, but for the twenty-one years we’ve been together. He has wholeheartedly supported my writing — every time I write something, he is my first and best reader; in fact, his love and support are the sole reason I was able to break a 33-year trauma-induced writer’s block, and he has stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me whenever I’ve taken my writing public. He has taught me patience in dealing with things I cannot control and courage in changing those things that I can control. He has weathered my every illness alongside me, and during those long years that I spent in a wheelchair, he never once complained about having to push me around this hilly city. He has dried my many tears and brought more joy and laughter into my life than any one man deserves. They say a good man is hard to find. I am forever deeply grateful that I found one of the best.
And so, despite this hateful world that seems to wish harm and grief on all of us, it is still possible to feel gratitude every day. It’s difficult sometimes to maintain that sense of gratitude, for all of us. But we must. We all must find and nurture those things that make us grateful for each new day in a world that seems to conspire against our joy.
For this Thanksgiving and throughout the coming season, my wish is that you live every day filled with bountiful joy and gratitude for life. You deserve it!
Q.Digital CEO Scott Gatz penned this foreword for Joe Gantz’s new book, The Secret I Can’t Tell: The First Generation of Children from Openly Gay and Lesbian Homes. Gantz located five same-sex-headed households in different parts of the nation, embedded with them for a week, and from 1979–1983 interviewed these lesbian and gay parents and their children about what effects the fear-mongering and anti-gay pressures had on them. Updated in 2022 with new interviews with the children (now adults in their 50s), the book is a fascinating glimpse into how far the LGBTQ community has come – and how far it still has to go. Q.Digital is the publisher of LGBTQ Nation.
When my son was in kindergarten, the children taught their classmates about their life outside the classroom. The kids learned a bit about each other’s day-to-day lives, what they liked to do for fun, and all about their pets and family members. Toward the end of the year, the class read Todd Parr’s The Family Book, a brightly-hued book that celebrates all different kinds of families through fun illustrations and humor. Taking inspiration from The Family Book, the kindergartners drew their own pages for a book with two captions that included “All families have_____” and “Some families have_____.” The answers reflected their age: “Some families have dogs,” “Some families have cats,” “All families have love,” and “All families have toys.” And most importantly for my family: “Some families have two dads,” and “Some families have two moms.”
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That kindergarten exercise probably could never have been imagined by the families interviewed in A Secret I Can’t Tell. In the 40 years since this book was originally published, we have come a very, very long way. Unlike the era in which marriage was not available to people like my husband and me, today, LGBTQ people in the United States (and in 29 countries) enjoy equal marriage—and, according to a Family Equality Council survey, 63% of millennial LGBTQ people want to start a family, or grow theirs. Marriage isn’t just a ceremony or a piece of paper, either. According to the United States Government Accountability Office (GAO), there are 1,138 statutory provisions in which marital status is a factor in determining benefits, rights, and privileges.
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The kids Joe Gantz interviewed between 1979–1983 were raised by same-sex couples who did not have the right to exist in the way they do today. These families were not supported by the law or their communities, and the children frequently expressed the view that no one their age would understand their family structure. That came with a grave cost: keeping their home life concealed.
Unfathomable to those young people is the kind of world my son is now growing up in. It’s a world where he can see many families just like his, and it’s a world in which young people feel much safer coming out and are doing so in record numbers. Each summer, Family Week in Provincetown, Massachusetts, brings together hundreds of LGBTQ-parented families for a week of connection, activities, and fun. It’s truly awe-inspiring to look across a beach of thousands of people, all from LGBTQ families. Today we have organizations supporting us, like those that run Family Week. Family Equality is the organization advocating for and connecting LGBTQ Parents, and COLAGE is dedicated to connecting children of LGBTQ people. These organizations help families find each other—even in isolated places with very few LGBTQ people. I treasure that my son gets to grow up knowing that a community of people supports him and that his family isn’t something he needs to keep secret.
Chapter 1’s Selena sums it up best in her 2022 update: “I think it is going to be really hard for anyone who is being raised in a gay family now to understand what it was like to be a part of that forty years ago. Because it was a completely different world…[The change has] felt like the speed of light!”
The stories in these chapters contain pain, love, dysfunction, and joy. Any family has a mix of all of these things in different measures. But these families had more than their fair share of pain, dysfunction, and difficulty as they held tightly onto their secret. They feared being ostracized or losing their jobs, but more frighteningly feared their families being split up. Some lesbian and gay parents were stripped of their parental rights because being in a same-sex relationship meant they were violating state sodomy laws or they were viewed as “deviants” by family court judges. With distance, we can see that these fears led to anguish, anger, poor behavior, dysfunction, and a lot of pain. The pressure to keep a secret likely exacerbated normal teenage angst and added stress to already stressful parenting situations. This pain was caused by a society that forced these families to hide in fear. As you read these interviews, I encourage you to remember the prevailing societal force that shaped many of these moments.
By returning to his subjects in 2022, Joe shows their stories in true context. Time heals many wounds, and as we grow older, we remember the good times and gain perspective on the bad times. These families were full of love and wanted to be the best they could be for each other. Some of the kids are now parents, some are married, and some are divorced, creating new chapters in their lives undoubtedly marked—but not always limited by—the secrecy they were forced to maintain growing up. I delight in reading the stories of their own kids knowing LGBTQ kids and families, and how their grandparents were LGBTQ. In just one generation, their families are in a whole new world.
Our society is a much better one today now that families like ours can live freely and openly. The unfair pressure on parents and kids to keep a secret is devastating to witness, and I’m glad that for many families, this is in the past.
Sadly, we are at risk of returning to some of those days.
We live in a societal backlash that seeks to force our families back into the closet. Laws in multiple states (most infamously Florida’s “Don’t Say Gay or Trans” bill) are shutting down all discussion or mention of LGBTQ people and our families in schools. Todd Parr’s The Family Book has become one of the most banned books in U.S. schools and libraries. Teachers and students are forcing themselves and the story of their families back into the closet, once again making their lives a secret they can’t tell. And several justices on the Supreme Court have signaled their interest in overturning the Obergefell decision that made marriage equality the law of the land. And the Equality Act has yet to pass, meaning there is no federal law protecting equal marriage and the many family rights that come with it.
I recently met a young transgender girl in Texas, roughly the same age as many of the children in A Secret I Can’t Tell. She kept her gender identity a secret from her classmates until someone found out and told everyone. Her family was forced to pull her out of school and has since moved to another state after Texas enacted a law criminalizing parents who provide gender affirming care to their children. It is unfair and unacceptable to put this burden on our children, and yet here we are again.
It’s been 40 years since Joe Gantz interviewed these families. Even today, the love and laughs and struggles are something we can all relate to. The forced secrecy and pressure these kids and parents felt are foreign to most people today, and that’s a testament to how far we really have come. I hope that we can all read these stories, the 1983 interviews and the 2022 updates, and see a fully rounded picture of how alike we all are and how unique their challenges were. I hope that these stories teach us what once was and could be again if we don’t course correct.
These stories, rich and complex, are not just a view into another era. They are a time capsule. Let’s act to ensure that they do not also contain an urgent warning for our future.
Roe v. Wade was overturned by the Supreme Court on June 24. Six conservative justices chose to remove a person’s right to an abortion. The decision uprooted much of America and caused women to feel like their bodies were an unsafe place to live in. Regulation of women’s bodies by a conservative cohort of mostly white men is wrong.
Recently, the Biden administration issued an executive order that will reverse the fateful Supreme Court decision so that women may still have access to abortion services. I hope these efforts succeed.
Despite the potential reversal, it needs to be made clear that abortion, and all reproductive rights, are an intersectional issue. Countless Instagram posts, memes, captions, and news articles are talking about how women will suffer. Women will most definitely suffer from a reversal of Roe v. Wade, but transgender men and other nonbinary people will suffer too.
Transgender men are fully capable of having pregnancies. It is imperative that people remember our right to an abortion as well. Many transgender men either forego going on testosterone therapy for a while to have a baby or choose to become pregnant before starting hormone therapy. This is fine and a perfectly normal process to opt into.
Transgender men also deserve legal and affordable access to Plan B pills, just like all women should. Much of our body still works in the same way that a biological female’s would, despite doses of testosterone.
Tangentially, trans men also partake in the medical conversation about contraceptives and other medicines that prevent STI infection. Trans men who choose to have sex with men need affordable access to condoms and birth control.
They also need safe and affordable access to PrEP, which prevents HIV transmission. Recent federal guidance will make PrEP free, or borderline free, which is a step in the right direction. Gender nonconforming patients should also ask doctors about any differences in PrEP’s effects on bodies assigned female at birth versus those assigned male at birth.
All sorts of people — women and others — are threatened by the Supreme Court right now. The conservative cohort of justices sitting in D.C. is simply ruining America’s future.
The treatment for ectopic pregnancies and septic uteruses is an abortion. People have already been dying because they can’t access these safe and legal abortions. The cruelty being inflicted on these bodies is unrivaled.
But it’s time we include all sorts of genders in the conversation on abortion.
Isaac Amend (he/him/his) is a transgender man and young professional in the D.C. area. He was featured on National Geographic’s ‘Gender Revolution’ in 2017 as a student at Yale University. Amend is also on the board of the LGBT Democrats of Virginia. Find him on Instagram @isaacamend.
The tasteless, anti-LGBTQI+ comic Dave Chappelle performed five shows at Luther Burbank Center for the Arts in Santa Rosa. It is difficult to believe the LBC staff and board were unaware of Chappelle’s numerous anti-LGBTQI+ comments that are well-documented and for which he has offered no apologies. Chappelle identifies as a so-called “TERF (Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist)” joining author J. K Rawlings in such dangerous hate speech. These people refuse to accept that we are in the position to declare our gender or lack thereof.
Netflix came under fire for producing and airing two Chappelle shows that feature anti-Trans comments. LGBTQI+ Netflix employees protested – some even quit. Days before the LBC shows comenced, a Minneapolis Chappelle show switched locations as a direct result of a protest organized after Chappelle referred to Monkeypox as “a gay disease.” Chappelle mocked the members of the local LGBTQI+ Community who brought about the move. The original venue apologized to the local LGBTQI+ Community for once welcoming Chappelle and his hate. Chappelle has never backed down, apologized or even reached out to better understand the concerns of he LGBTQI+ Community. Instead, he continues to mock our Community.
The Press Democrat revealed that mere weeks before the five July shows, Live Nation approached LBC with an offer LBC appears to have found unable to refuse. The LBC staff and board claim there was considerable conversation – considerable, but certainly brief and misguided. Did they notice how few dates Live Nation had booked for Chappelle? None in San Francisco or Oakland or Los Angeles. LBC thought they could sneak this past our Community. No doubt comedy venues in big cities find Chappalle as toxic as the LBC staff and board should have.
Luther Burbank Center for the Arts found it necessary to confiscate all audience cell phones before the Chappelle shows. I have attended too many LBC concerts to count but have never had my cell phone taken away before a show. They must have done this so no footage of his anti-LGBTQI+ vitriol would find its way onto social media identifying LBC as the location. Sorry, LBC, you are now forever linked to anti-LGBTQI+ comments.
Should the North Bay’s LGBTQI+ Community allow hate speech and inflammatory comments to be staged in our backyard? Make no mistake – this is not an attack on free speech or about censorship. This is about making LBC aware that Trans people are harmed and even killed as a result of such despicable comments. 2021 saw a record number of Trans-folks murdered. So far this year 57 have been murdered in the United States alone. We once valued this venue, but it’s decision to allow Chapelle a forum for his hate is unacceptable. The LGBTQI+ Community finds Dave Chappelle comments offensive, inflammatory and even deadly.
Let’s stand up to Hate Speech and inform those in power at Luther Burbank Center for the Arts we will boycott the venue. Some shy away from boycotts. If you are amongst them, at least express your opinion by contacting the people listed below.
Let the Staff and Board of Luther Burbank Center for the Arts, its sponsors, those who share the Center’s campus, and elected officials know that such Hate results in harm to members of the LGBTQI+ Community. Email and call, as many as possible and as often as possible.
Call to Action: BOYCOTT Luther Burbank Center for the Arts for Bringing Anti-LGBTQI+ Hate to Sonoma County
The tasteless, anti-LGBTQI+ comic Dave Chappelle performed no less than five shows at Luther Burbank Center for the Arts in Santa Rosa. It is difficult to believe the LBC staff and board are unaware of Chappelle’s numerous anti-Trans comments that are well-documented and for which he has offered no apologies. Chappelle identifies as a so-called “TERF (Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist)” joining author J. K Rawlings in such dangerous hate speech. These people refuse to accept that we are in the position to declare our gender or lack thereof.
Netflix came under fire for producing and airing two recent Chappelle shows that feature anti-Trans comments. LGBTQI+ Netflix employees protested – some even quit. Recently, a Minneapolis Chappelle show switched locations as a direct result of a protest organized after Chappelle referred to Monkeypox as “a gay disease.” Chappelle mocked the members of the local LGBTQI+ Community who brought about the move. The original venue apologized to the local LGBTQWI+ Community for once welcoming Chappelle and his hate. Chappelle has never backed down, apologized or even reached out. Instead, he continues to mock our Community.
The Press Democrat revealed that mere weeks before the five shows, Live Nation approached LBC with an offer they seen unable to refuse. The LBC staff and board claim there was considerable conversation – considerable, but perhaps, but certainly misguiged. Did they notice how few dates Live Nation had booked for Chappelle. None in San Francisco or Oakland or Los Angeles. LBC thought they could sneak this past our Community. No doubt comedy venues in big cities find Chappalle as toxic as the LBC staff should have.
Imagine, Luther Burbank Center for the Arts confiscated cell phones at the Chappelle shows. I have attended too many LBC concerts to count but have never had my cell phone taken away before a show. They must have done this so no footage of his anti-LGBTQI+ vitriol would find its way onto social media identifying LBC as the location. Sorry, LBC, you are now forever linked to anti-LGBTQI+ comments. Did you think this community could be so easily duped?
Should the North Bay’s LGBTQI+ Community allow hate speech and inflammatory comments to be staged in our backyard? Make no mistake – this is not an attack on free speech or about censorship. This is about making LBC aware that Trans people are harmed and even killed as a result of such despicable comments. 2021 saw a record number of Trans-folks murdered. So far this year 57 have been murdered in the United States alone. We once valued this venue, but it’s decision to allow Chapelle a forum for his hate is unacceptable. The LGBTQI+ Community finds Dave Chappelle comments offensive, inflammatory and even deadly.
Let’s stand up to Hate Speech and inform those in power at Luther Burbank Center for the Arts we will boycott the venue. Some shy away from boycotts. If you are amongst them, at least express your opinion by contacting the people listed below.
Let the Staff and Board of Luther Burbank Center for the Arts, its sponsors, those who share the Center’s campus, and elected officials know that such Hate results in harm to members of the LGBTQI+ Community. Email and call, as many as possible and as often as possible.
As soon as I cross state lines, I mask my queerness.
I attended a school-sponsored trip to the Smoky Mountains while in middle school a few years ago, to explore Tennessee’s vast countryside and stunning views. We traveled as a cohort, and I was lucky to have close friends on the trip, with whom I felt extremely comfortable sharing my sexuality. In my hometown of Chicago, I never felt unsafe expressing myself. It wasn’t a secret— I crossed my legs every time I sat, my painted nails reflected the Southern heat, and my octet-raising voice certainly wasn’t helping.
But in Tennessee, the stares started to pile up, from the staff at the hotels, the servers at the restaurants we ate at, and even the security guards whose job it was to make us feel safe. I bought the cheapest nail polish remover at a local drugstore; I uncrossed my legs whenever I caught myself falling into old habits; I cleared my throat before speaking to ensure it came across as masculine as possible. I was afraid for my physical safety.
As soon as the plane landed back in Chicago, I breathed a sigh of relief, sat at the bedside table and despite the exhaustion from the long flight, I repainted my nails.
As queer youth, we are forced to limit who we can be queer with and where. We code-switch whenever the situation demands it. We observe which teachers respect our pronouns, which friends say slurs too liberally, whether our parents were home or not. And now, states are adding to that burden – codifying those worries into law.
Today, an unprecedented amount of anti-LGBTQ laws are flooding state legislatures across the country. One after the other, conservative states are rushing to ban trans youth from participating in sports, ban comprehensive sex education in schools, undermine longstanding & federally-backed non-discrimination policies, and prevent gender-affirming medical care. On a national scale, LGBTQ youth are now having to determine for themselves whether our authenticity is worth risking our security.
As queer youth, we desperately need the government to take action and pass the Equality Act today. Whether or not we are entitled to LGBTQ rights has become dependent upon the geographical boundaries of where our feet stand. Today, in 27 states there are no explicit laws protecting us from discrimination and in 21 states it is still legal to discriminate against LGBTQ people in many spheres of public life, including education.
The Equality Act would protect LGBTQ people from protections on a federal level so that our rights are equal no matter where in the country we choose to live. It would expand federal civil rights laws to protect us from discrimination in employment, housing, credit, jury service, and federally funded programs, such as those for health and education, as well as public places and spaces. It would allow us to live as our most authentic selves.
I watched the Equality Act first pass the House of Representatives in 2019 through my phone’s tiny screen. For the first time, I felt great pride in my country, assured we were finally heading for the right track, oblivious to the onslaught of anti-LGBTQ laws that would soon spread across the country like wildfire in the years to come. Just as Pride month began this year, President Biden issued a proclamation in which he called on Congress to pass the Equality Act, which he said, “will enshrine long overdue civil rights protections and build a better future for all LGBTQI+ Americans.”
But currently, the legislation is languishing in the Senate. Despite repeated calls from LGBTQ advocates and the endorsement of the entire federal Democratic caucus, there has now been no action on the bill since the middle of last year. Supported by an overwhelming majority of Americans, the Equality Act still seems in danger of failure even as it nears the finish line in the Senate. We are on the precipice of finally ensuring LGBTQ can be themselves and live without fear of discrimination, no matter the state they reside in, but we can’t get there if our elected officials keep ignoring our rallying cries.
State lines will never define who we are. Queer people exist in every state, are here to stay, and we deserve the right to feel safe while doing so. As the list of dangerous anti-LGBTQ state legislations grows rapidly, the Senate has a responsibility to act now to swiftly pass the Equality Act for President Biden to enact into law.
Across the country, queer youth are watching closely for the day they no longer have to hide their true selves – their desire to play sports, dress how they choose, and access healthcare that affirms their gender identities. Just as flowers do not choose where they bloom, LGBTQ young people deserve the right to thrive everywhere we exist. The fight for equality must not die in committee nor across state lines.
Jorge Martinez is a Senior at Bennett Day School in Chicago, IL. Jorge is a community activist for queer voices and a youth ambassador with AMAZE.org.
