National
Ram Dass, important gay New Age guru, dies at 88

Portrait of Ram Dass taken by the late Mark Thompson
Baba Ram Dass, aka Richard Alpert, the gay author of the important New Age bible “Be Here Now,” died on Sunday at his home on Maui, Hawaii. He was 88, the New York Times reported.

Alpert, a Ph.D teacher at Stanford, is perhaps best known for his association with Timothy Leary, whom he met teaching psychology and education at Harvard. Leary had researched the mind-altering psilocybin in some mushrooms at the University of California and continued his research at Harvard. Psychiatrists were clinically interested in psychedelic drugs such as LSD as aids for mental illnesses such as schizophrenia while the Pentagon was interested in weaponizing the hallucinogen to incapacitate the enemy.
Leary was interested in mind-expansion and, The Times reported, “invited some friends — including Mr. Alpert and the poet Allen Ginsberg — to his house in Newton, Mass., on March 5, 1961, a Saturday. In his kitchen, he distributed 10-milligram doses of psilocybin. After taking his, Mr. Alpert recalled, he felt supreme calm, then panic, then exaltation. He believed he had met his own soul. He said he realized then that ‘it was O.K. to be me.’”
Two years later, in May 1963, Leary and Alpert were fired — Alpert for giving drugs to an undergraduate and Leary for abandoning his classes, per The Times. The two subsequently moved into a 64-room mansion on a 2,500-acre, provided by Gulf Oil heiress Peggy Mellon Hitchcock, a volunteer LSD research subject, which became a psychedelic commune.
But tensions surface between Leary and Alpert over the latter’s expressed bisexuality.
From the New York Times:
“Mr. Leary accused Mr. Alpert of trying to seduce his 15-year-old son, Jack, whom Mr. Alpert often took care of while Mr. Leary, a single parent, traveled.
“Uncle Dick is evil,” Mr. Leary told Jack, according to [Don Lattin’s book “The Harvard Psychedelic Club: How Timothy Leary, Ram Dass, Huston Smith and Andrew Weil Killed the Fifties and Ushered in a New Age for America.”]
“Oh, come on, Dad,” Jack replied. “Uncle Dick may be a jerk, but he’s not evil.””

In 1967, Alpert left for India where he met Neem Karoli Baba, known as Maharajji to his followers. A spiritual encounter resulted in Alpert taking Maharajji as his guru and Maharajji dubbing Alpert “Ram Dass,” which means servant of God. Dass also was gifted with the prefix “Baba,” which respectfully means “father.”
Maharajji sent Ram Dass home in 1968, where he subsequently moved into a cabin on a New Hampshire estate owned by his father. Hundreds of people showed up to follow him and he soon went on tour, espousing wisdom such as: “Treat everyone you meet like God in drag.” he said in one talk.
In 1971, Ram Dass published “Be Here Now,” a reflection on his own personal journey and a “how-to” on how to create a spiritual life: “Cookbook for a Sacred Life: A Manual for Conscious Being.” It was the must-read book for the countercultural movement and New Age aspirants. The rest of his life was devoted to helping people, especially shifting the fear of dying into a spiritual journey.
Ram Dass also continued to evolve, shaving his guru beard in the 1980s, and conceding that his “400 LSD trips had not been nearly as enlightening as his drugless spiritual epiphanies,” The Times reported, though he took a drug trip or two once a year “for old time’s sake.”

Ram Dass officially came out the 1990s. Here’s an excerpt from his interview (hat tip to The Bach Book) with the late Mark Thompson, former editor at The Advocate and author of several books, including the 1995 anthology Gay Soul: Finding the Heart of Gay Spirit and Nature.Thompson also photographed a portrait of Ram Dass, which he took on tour with other notable souls.
From Mark Thompson:
“If eyes are the windows to one’s soul, then Ram Dass’ are shatterproof. At first, they are all you notice, suspended in space, lambent and unflinching, a world unto themselves, until slowly the surrounding features assemble. It’s like watching a portrait by a sidewalk artist take shape: first the eyes, and then, in a few deft strokes, the rest of the face is drawn.
The face itself is generous and kind, inset with permanent lines of amusement. But it’s the liquescent, penetrating gaze of the man that so clearly impresses, momentarily jolting me out of superficial pleasantry. We finish our handshake, and I renew my introduction. Ram Dass nods jovially. I try to feel reassured despite my nervousness.
It’s this quality of being stripped so clean, so zero to the bone—a vast but potent emptiness that Ram Dass reveals with one effortless look—that leaves me unnerved. I’ve come to his front door armed with questions and theories, a lifetime of assumptions left intact. With uncanny ability, he absorbs my projections and hands them back to me. The interviewer, in the end, must answer to himself.
I’ve long considered Ram Dass a wise gay elder, a conferral that comes as a surprise not only to Ram Dass but to others as well. While the author, speaker, and spiritual activist has made no attempt to hide his homosexual past — it is discussed at random, usually in passing, among the pages of his seven books — the fact that he is gay is not commonly known. And while he counts among his followers many who are gay, he has left little imprint on the gay community itself.
“Gay sexual autobiography,” he quietly muses to himself after we’ve settled down to talk. We’re sitting in a high-ceilinged room that has one wall covered with shelves holding hundreds of tapes of his lectures. A bowl of figs and other fruit sits on a small table between us. He continues to reflect while fingering his mala beads; the raucous laughter of children in a nearby schoolyard fills the silence. It’s almost as if he’s flipping through the various tapes in his head containing past life experience. Finally, he looks up smiling. “It’s interesting,” says Ram Dass. “I’ve never been interviewed about this topic, so this is fun for me.”
I’m surprised to hear this but, of course, allow its truth. After all, much of Ram Dass’ life for the past thirty years has been about unloading the weight of personal history, chucking away and burning in the bright, pure flame of spiritual enlightenment all that is not needed. Sexual identity has undoubtedly been part of that consumed baggage. Judging from the spartan, business-like trappings of his home Ram Dass seems to need or want very little these days other than the opportunity to perform compassionate service in the world.
When asked anything about his personal life, he casually mentions a longtime male relationship: “We’ve had a very close and dear friendship for fifteen years,” he says. “We don ’t define it, and its extremely satisfying to me as a fellow human being.
….
The human fate of suffering — on both the physical and spiritual planes – is the one universal condition that Ram Dass seems most apt to address. Suffering is “grist for the mill” (to borrow the title of his classic 1977 work), the propellant of conscious awakening if one only employs it as such. Sexual needs of whatever persuasion and material wants, such as fame and fortune, are fueled by the personality-possessed “me” part of our minds. Desire creates suffering and keeps our innermost selves from finding life’s ultimate fulfillment: the state of being at one with God. Given this quintessential Eastern view of life, I can understand Ram Dass’ objections to labeling people based on their sexual predilections. Gay or straight—what’s the difference if we are meant to transcend attachment?
Still, as appealing as this philosophy may sound, we live in a Western world deeply entrenched in its prejudices and roles, a you-are-what-you-own attitude. Modern gay identity has been spun out of those elements, but some of us cling to the belief that there remains an inexplicable mystery about our being that exists far beneath the constructed surfaces. According to Ram Dass, the answer lies in examining the clinging itself.
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In Compassion in Action you freely relate past homosexual experiences, something you have not often done. Have you been uncomfortable in talking about being gay? When did you first know?
I had a late latency, and not until I was fifteen years old did I start to really become sexually awakened. Up until then I hadn’t differentiated, I had no labels; I was just so floored by sex. By the time I was seventeen, I started to have relations with boys and realized I enjoyed that. But it was still within the category of teenage folly. You see, I grew up at a time when homosexuality was far deeper in the closet than it is now. I became engaged to be married when I was in college in Boston, but then I started to go out cruising. I’d picked up people or get into sexual encounters with men in parks and bathrooms. So I was confused. Later, when I moved to California to do postgraduate work at Stanford, I started to get more involved in gay life in San Francisco. I’ve only roughly estimated, sometimes to just blow people’s minds, but I’m sure I’ve had thousands of sexual encounters. It was often two a night. Then I returned east to be a professor at Harvard and continued to have this incredible sexual activity. But I always had a woman as a front to go to faculty dinners and things like that.
As many did, and continue to do, you were leading a double life.
My life was completely duplicitous for thirty years. I had an apartment and would have guys in overnight, but I didn’t live with anybody and didn’t make any real liaisons. I gained a reputation at the health service for how sensitive I was to people with gay problems. The psychiatrists kept referring all the homosexual cases to me, but they had no conception of who I really was. This was 1958 until 1963, the year I got thrown out of Harvard.
That’s a famous incident. What really happened?
Tim Leary and I and a lot of friends had one of these big community houses. We got into a situation where Harvard started to get so freaked about the drugs we were using that they asked us to stop doing our research using any undergraduates. We could use graduate students, or outside populace, but we couldn’t use undergraduates because it was too risky. But I had all these relationships with young men whom I really wanted to turn on with. And it had nothing to do with our research; it was my personal life, so I went ahead. It turned out there was another student who was very jealous of this, an editor of the campus newspaper, and he created a huge expose.
So it was gay eros and not LSD that got you thrown out of Harvard.
It was a combination of all those things. In a way, LSD had given me the license to be what I am. It looked at me inside and out and said what you are is okay. And that gave me a license to start to say I didn’t want to hide anymore. The American Association of University Professors wanted to defend me, but I realized that that would just be such a mess–the hell with it! I wasn’t interested in going back to Harvard anyway; I was too far on the drugs. I wanted to go on that trip much, much more.
Most gay men, particularly of that time, have had to deal with overwhelming emotions of guilt and shame. How did you cope with your feelings of internalized homophobia?
The guilt was toward all sex in life. There was no differentiation because nobody even thought about homosexuality in my upbringing. So after that, I didn’t feel called upon to define myself in any way at all. I mean, why define myself? I can fill many roles in life. So I didn’t join “being gay,” I didn’t become a clubbie within the gay community–I just wasn’t drawn to it. Instead, I became very involved in consciousness and spiritual work.
There was a moment when there were four of us making this pilgrimage around southern India in a Volkswagen microbus. One of the fellows in the car was an extremely attractive young man, and one night he and I ended up having a sexual affair together. The next day we sat down in front of my guru, whom I knew knew everything, even though I’d never discussed this kind of thing with him. He looked at me and he looked at this guy, and then he said to me, “You’re giving him your best teaching,” I thought, OK, if you say so. I’ll buy that. But then he said we shouldn’t have any more sex and we didn’t.
There was a long period which I really saw my homosexuality as deeply pathological. I was growing up in the zeitgeist of Western psychology. I had been trained as a Freudian therapist in the analytical institute—and that’s the way it looked. Men and women were made to go together; and everything else seemed like something had gotten fucked up somewhere along the way. I saw my mother as a prime contender of that because she had taken my power. She was such a deep love for me. The reason my puberty was so late was because I kept trying to stay a child to stay in intimate relationship with her. It was clear that if I became a man, she’d reject me. And so I got fatter and fatter, eating everything. she gave me as my form of intimacy with her. At one point in prep school, where I was horny all the time, I hugged her and got an erection. She pushed me away and said there’s milk and cookies downstairs.
This is a more common dynamic between gay men and their moms than would be supposed.
Oh, I understand! So, I ended up having a hard time in my relations with women, in getting my own pleasure. The women that I ended up having sex with were women who were quite aggressive, who really demanded it of me. I mean, they were just scratchers and yellers. I got to the point where I would take huge amounts of acid and look at these slide pictures of women to try to see where my fear was because I saw that there was a block where I just turned off women.
As you were growing up, what was your relationship with your father like?
I was sort of an appreciator of him. He was a very successful and upwardly mobile person, so he didn’t have too much time for the family. He was a somewhat remote figure. When he was around, we did a lot of things together but I never felt he heard me.
In Compassion in Action you state: “As the result of being a Jew, I felt that I had been imbued with three things: first, the sense that behind and within the multiplicity of forms there is One, seamless and radiant, and that loving that One, with all my being, is a path. Second, a love and respect for knowledge as a path to wisdom. And the third great gift I felt I had received was an awareness of suffering and the compassion that arises with that awareness.” I’d like to know how being gay has also shaped your spiritual journey. What gifts have been endowed to you from that?
As a result of being caught with another fellow in prep school, I was completely ostracized – nobody would speak to me for about a year. I’d walk into a room and all the kids would stop speaking. I couldn’t tell my parents, so it cast me way back inside myself; it drove me inward.
That deepened, first of all, the quality of my compassion toward other human beings who are ostracized. But I also think it served me in good stead later on when I started experimenting with psychedelics. I have always felt like I was an outsider.
The added burden was that I had small genitals, and in this society that is a major crime. I was ostracized a lot for that, too. I was laughed at, and I’m sure it affected my behavior a great deal because it was the double whammy of not only being gay but having this feeling of deficiency. But–after I had done a lot of deep work with psychedelics, genital sexuality wasn’t a dominant issue. The areas of my gratification had shifted. It didn’t matter to me that much.
….
Rather than discuss ideas and theories let’s talk about something that is very real in the lives of gay men–the issue of being wounded. I have talked with hundreds of gay men over the years, and not one has escaped being ostracized, or being called a “sissy” or a “faggot, ” or having some other kind of deeply wounding experience.
I would say that’s true. But being “wounded” refers to the personality–not to the soul. I’d say I’ve been deeply wounded in my personality. Absolutely, deeply wounded. And I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over it. I still feel wounded by it. I still feel unwelcome in this culture. Because I live among so many straight populations, I’ve started to talk more about being bisexual, being involved with men as well as women. Most of the audiences with whom I do that are people who already love me so much they couldn’t care if I turned into a frog. Allen Ginsberg, who’s an old friend, goes and confronts people with his gayness. I don’t see any reason to do that—it’s not my trip. I never deny it, but I don’t push it because it’s not part of my active identity.
You’ve been more open in recent years. Why the candor now?
I trust myself more. Before, the candor would have been a bid to try to seduce people, to get young men to come near me. Like as an initiation or something like that—come up and see my holy pictures! I don’t think I trusted myself because I think my desires were so strong.
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Like many gay men, I’ve been caught up in thinking about death alot these days because of AIDS. But that aside, it seems to me there’s still an enormous amount of suffering around being gay in such an intensely homophobic culture.
I think there is, too. But for gay men, the work is to work on their own minds. They may be doing social protest, or be part of the Radical Faeries, or whatever, but let them do it from a place where they understand that it’s all work on themselves. Because as long as their minds are the way they are, they’re going to keep suffering. Ostracism and the judgment of the culture feed on very deep inadequacies in the individual that they’re still clinging to in the mind, and these judgments play upon them. They resonate with those thoughts that are not quite excoriated, extirpated, expiated.
Do you think gay men have a special role to play in society today, a role that would encompass special aptitudes for compassion, empathy, and insight? And, if you do, then what is your advice for actualizing that potential in the world?
When you read the obituaries, you become aware that an extraordinarily disproportionate amount of beauty brought into the culture was created by gay people. But how to interpret that? I would be hard-pressed to say that those qualities aren’t available in everybody, but the cultural roles everybody found themselves in made it easier for gay men to express themselves in this way. It’s like, the Jews became moneylenders because they weren’t allowed to do anything else. People who have identified either androgynously or in a way not as male in the cultural sense of maleness have accessible to them qualities of creativity and sensitivity and appreciation that they would be well to capitalize upon and use. You’ve got to stand back far enough to see the stages of transformation in a culture. If you watch the women’s movement, for instance, you see it go through many stages: from a kind of militant, male identification in which women want what the man has, to then finding themselves having lost something that they wanted because they were so busy getting something else, until finally you start to see women who are not imitating outward strength but are really developing inner strength as beings. At that point, they’re more willing to accept differences and celebrate them rather than to deny them.
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There are many spiritual seekers to be found within the gay community, of course.
Oh, many. The predicament is that the deeper your spiritual practice, the more you are aware that everybody is androgynous. That’s why when you say “gay soul” there’s something in me that grabs, since I don’t think of souls as either male or female. I think souls have karma that determines the way they manifest, gay or straight, female or male. But I don’t think souls themselves have any sexual identity at all.
I agree that AIDS has opened a lot of hearts and minds. Still, gay men have built a culture based largely on desire–the commercialization of sex and physical attractiveness. The gay sensibility is very Dionysian. So how do we learn to strike a new balance Is pursuit of sexual fulfillment really antithetical to spiritual enlightenment? Can both exist harmoniously?
There’s a sequence: You grow up very invested in the physical and the psychological. Then you feel the finiteness of those things. And then you awaken through some process only to realize you’ve been trapped. After that, there’s a tendency to go into a kind of renunciative fervor to get into the place where you feel at one with the universe and spirit. That often creates what are called horny celibates—it’s a certain kind of rejection of the physical/psychological plane.
But in a still later stage you realize that the aversion is keeping you from being free—and you want to be free, not just high. So you start to come back into who you are, passionate and nonattached. You are fully in life, joyfully participating — sex is a celebration. It’s all wonderful, and at the same moment, it’s all empty. That’s a very evolved stage of spiritual maturation. I don’t find the gay community as a group very spiritually ripe or eager to go beyond. I think they’re too caught up enjoying the power and the desire systems. In some ways it feels like a certain kind of hell realm to me because it’s not going to be enough.
How do we move out of that? How can being gay be used as “grist for the mill” of inner development?
Only when you have gone through your rebellion against the culture for cutting you out of the juice, then getting the juice, having what you want, and seeing that that is just another state. Once you get a partner, a bed without hiding, and freedom to walk down the street holding hands, then what are you going to do? But you can’t shortcut the process. If somebody wants a Cadillac, you can’t say, “Don’t have it,” because they’ll be busy not having the Cadillac, and they’re not gonna get free. They’ll be somebody without a Cadillac.
One of the deepest issues plaguing gay men is inner-directed hate. People can go out and march in gay pride parades all they want, but that still doesn’t mean they’ve dealt with low self-esteem or their own internalized homophobia.
There are corrupting psychological correlates to being gay in our society—I’m not necessarily saying of being gay, but of being gay in our society. There’s tremendous frustration, self-hatred, and fear that’s rooted in power issues—a good coating of masochism. Those things color the way a movement proceeds. You can make those things into icons to be worshipped. I mean, there’s a lot of masochism expressed in the gay community. There are clubs for it.
….
In your own life, what fears and areas of resistance are you particularly aware of right now?
Gee, that’s tricky. There are some bizarre ones, like trying to be at peace with the emptiness of it all. I would say trying to continually let go of models about existence into the richness of the moment. I still cling to somebody doing something, going somewhere. But I don’t cling very much to it. I can see this correlated with gayness at some level. I have a tremendous perfectionistic streak in me about myself. And because I don’t live up to it, I have a tremendous judgment of others as being not perfect enough. I find that a very unappealing quality, and I have to work with it. I’m horrified by my imperfections because I so want to be free. But I think that’s a cop-out. I’m very fierce, at times, and the fierceness isn’t coming necessarily out of love; it’s coming out of judgment, out of my own pain.
How does your perfectionism correlate with your being gay?
That perfectionistic quality is very deep in many gay people I know. I think it comes from unworthiness and inadequacy, a sense of wanting to be perfect so that you can be loved enough. If I do something perfectly, I can love myself. I get the gold star. And that’s hard when you’re a human: you just can’t do things perfectly enough.
You know, this conversation has brought to the surface in me a lot of uncooked stuff that I haven’t fully integrated into my being—things I’ve just put into little compartments in my head.
Like what, for instance?
Different stages of life, different attitudes toward the gay community. Talking about these issues with someone who has given them as much thought as you gives me something to work on. I mean, what have I got to learn here? What have I got to learn about my own prejudices? I just took a course last year on hidden racism from a Latino man who was showing me my own oppression, my own subtle racism. I’m probably imprinted so deeply from my generation that I don’t know if I will ever get out of thinking that gayness is a pathology. Even though I’m delighted that other people don’t, and I would like not to, it’s so deep in me.
I experience being gay as a wonderful blessing, an opportunity—anything but a pathology. But I’ve come of age during a different time than you. I’m making my assumptions with a different set of cultural references in hand. People who have defined themselves as gay are at a point in their collective journey where they don’t need to throw the definition away, but rather keep evolving it.
I would say that if gay people who read this are willing to really sit down and examine their own minds in a systematic way, they may experience the freedom to take more delight in life and in their gay expression of it. And they will see that who they are isn’t gay, and it’s not not-gay, and it’s not anything—it’s just awareness. I really challenge them to make that exploration on their own before they write the script of their lives in stone too much. Because if they have picked up a book that’s called Gay Soul, they’re asking for it. And if they’re asking for it, they should be able to get it. Somebody should say, “Look, don’t get trapped in that. Get on with it.” There’s no need to label yourself at all.”
South Carolina
Trump uses anti-trans slur against Democratic Senate candidate
President mocked Annie Andrews
President Donald Trump used an anti-trans slur against Democratic South Carolina Senate candidate Annie Andrews on Monday as he sought to rally support for Republicans in the state’s Senate race.
In a post on Truth Social, Trump attacked Andrews three times, referring to her as “trannie” while promoting U.S. Sen. Darline Graham (R-S.C.)’s campaign.
Andrews is running against Graham for a Senate seat in the solidly Republican state.
Earlier this year, Graham was specially appointed to the seat following the death of her brother, Lindsey Graham, who represented South Carolina in the Senate from 2003 to 2026.
Andrews, the Democratic nominee from the state, is a pediatrician that lives in Charleston with her three children. She told NBC News that she will “work with anyone to put South Carolina first.”
“As a mom and a pediatrician, I’m in this race to fight for my patients, my three kids, and South Carolina,” Andrews said, adding that “lowering costs and making life better for families across our state is going to take all of us working together.”
Andrews used the attention from the president’s attack to emphasize what she described as a focus on policy issues rather than the culture wars that have dominated much of the political debate.
“If you care more about your bills than the politics in Washington, this campaign is for you,” she added.
Trump’s remarks have drawn criticism from leaders on both sides of the aisle.
Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-N.Y.) condemned Trump’s words Monday night on social media, calling his attacks on Andrews “despicable.”
“Annie Andrews is a mom and pediatrician who’s always put her community first — and she’s exactly who South Carolina needs representing them in the Senate,” Schumer said on X.
Former South Carolina Gov. David Beasley, a Republican, also criticized the president’s attack on Andrews, urging voters to “reject politics based on division and hate.”
“This is abhorrent. Elections don’t have to be about cruelty and lies. South Carolina deserves better,” Beasley wrote Monday night on X.
South Carolina has not elected a Democratic senator in nearly three decades.
Andrews’s campaign website does not mention her positions on LGBTQ+ issues.
The Los Angeles Blade reached out to Andrews’s campaign for comment on Trump’s attack and her positions on transgender rights but did not hear back by time of publication.
Georgia
In Ga., 2 trans candidates believe voters are ready for them
Bentley Hudgins, Bella Bautista running for state House of Representatives
Uncloseted Media published this story on Oct. 6.
This story was reported in partnership with The 19th, a nonprofit newsroom reporting on gender, politics and policy.
By ORION RUMMLER | Bentley Hudgins is a 33-year-old democratic socialist who spent the past three years advocating for LGBTQ+ rights in the Georgia statehouse.
Bella Bautista is 10 years younger, the first transgender woman to win a legislative primary in Georgia and head of a nonprofit distributing supplies to at-risk young adults.
Both are running for a spot in the Georgia House of Representatives, part of a cohort of Democrats who hope to shrink or end Republicans’ hold on the chamber. Both would make history as the first trans members of the body. Neither wants to discuss identity politics or pronouns — they want to talk about data centers, the price of groceries and healthcare.
But their districts are very different: Hudgins is running in a liberal stronghold in Atlanta with no serious Republican opposition and is all but certain to win in November. Bautista’s district is rural and deeply conservative; it hasn’t elected a Democratic state representative since 1996, and she’s the first to run for this seat since 2010. But Hudgins’s and Bautista’s bets are the same: Voters are looking for someone to fight for them. In Hudgins and Bautista’s view, something in the country is broken and no one else will fix it. So they stepped up.
“People around here just hate the government, and that’s why I’m running,” Bautista told Uncloseted Media and The 19th. “People have lost faith in the system as a whole.”
Hudgins’ mind is on the big picture: getting as many Democrats, especially progressives, in the statehouse as possible. Without that, they believe the future — especially for LGBTQ+ people and immigrants — isn’t certain.
“At the end of the day, we have to have the numbers,” Hudgins told Uncloseted Media and The 19th.
A deep red district in rural Ga.
In the hourlong drive from Atlanta to Cartersville, where Bautista grew up, suburbs fade away and the land expands into RV lots, farms, and houses on the edge of the woods. Bautista launched her campaign in this small town, at Noble & Main Coffee Co., across the street from a butcher shop that offers deer processing.
“It’s one of those hidden gems,” she says. “They’re friendly toward Democrats.”
It’s also not in the statehouse district she wants to represent. She’s running for office in the more rural side of the county, an area that’s about 80 percent white, mostly older and mostly conservative. And it’s been a challenge. Most people here vote Republican. Her opponent, the GOP incumbent Mitchell Scoggins, has not run against anyone since he first won a special election in 2018.
Lack of change is what spurred Bautista to run. And it’s not just Scoggins sailing unopposed to reelection every two years. Bartow County is one of a small handful of counties in Georgia with only one commissioner, who single-handedly decides the fate of everything from data center construction to new roads. The current commissioner has held the position for 14 years.
The issues facing her hometown can’t be left to one man, Bautista says. She wants to pass legislation for locals to vote on a board of commissioners, regulate Flock cameras, shield locals from data center pollution, conserve farmland and expand rural mental healthcare. She thinks these stances will appeal to voters who may otherwise vote Republican. But it’s still an uphill battle — and a lonely one.
“This is not a story about pride. It’s not a story about visibility,” she says. “It’s a story about challenges, difficulty. I don’t want to be the fucking first to do it, but I have no choice but to be the first.”
But Bautista says she’s struggling. This campaign has cost her privacy and peace, which doesn’t impact just her: She lives in her family home as the primary caretaker for her mom.
In May, during the primaries, someone came to her house twice, she says: once to put up a sign supporting President Donald Trump next to her own campaign sign in the front yard, and later to take down her sign.
“I literally live in the middle of nowhere,” she says. “That sent chills down my back, because I’m like, OK, that means someone physically went to my home, got out of their car, went up the hill, put up a Trump sign.”
Her neighbors, who she’s known her whole life and are Trump voters, assured her that they weren’t involved. But that fear hasn’t left her. Since then, more signs have gone missing: A few weeks after we met, hundreds of her campaign signs were taken down across the district. Those cost money to replace — money the campaign doesn’t have.
As a trans Latina, she belongs in Bartow County just as much as anyone else, she says. This is the only home she’s known. But campaigning in this district feels like being thrown into the ocean, she says. Online, people mock her and misgender her. It hurts. Often, they’re the same people she’s fighting for.
At one point during an interview at Noble & Main Coffee Co., Bautista started crying. Keeping her head above water means she doesn’t often take time to think about why she’s doing this.
“You’re just having to swim, swim, swim, swim and you never get any chance to look back and think, oh my gosh, why am I doing this, what does this mean to other people?”
Dramatically different districts
Hudgins launched their campaign at Joe’s Coffeehouse in East Atlanta Village, roughly 50 miles from Bautista’s district. This place, a local indie fixture, holds personal history for them: When they became homeless in 2017, it became a refuge as they couchsurfed and lived in their car. It took a year to find stable housing.
This neighborhood is where they got back on their feet after being kicked out of their apartment, something they know is common for queer people in the U.S., as well as in their own circles.
“Most of the queer electeds that I’m really close with are people who have experienced homelessness,” they say. “It just goes to show how prevalent this is for queer Southerners.”
And, years later, this same neighborhood is where they fell back in love with politics.
Being here makes Hudgins think about how the city is changing as people get priced out. Gay bars are closing and, as a former drag performer, they know of only three places still putting on shows. It’s all getting too expensive. Midtown isn’t the bustling queer neighborhood it used to be, they say, but the queers are still here: They’re just moving further into DeKalb County, East Point and southeast Atlanta, all in search of affordability.
That’s part of the problem. Hudgins sees solutions, though: raising the state minimum wage to $20 an hour or creating a state earned income tax credit to give money to lower-income families. Previous Democrat-sponsored bills to enact those policies have been blocked in the statehouse, and it’s those stalemates that are driving voters to push for something different, Hudgins says. Decades of Republican control have left people disillusioned.
“People’s political will and spirit has kind of been chipped away at,” they say. “Life can be better.”
The first time Hudgins ran for this seat in 2022, they were 28 and single, and the pandemic was still fresh. The previous year, Atlanta spa shootings targeting Asian women had taken place, and “Cop City,” the massive training ground for local police in DeKalb County, was formally proposed amid national protests against police brutality. Joe Biden was president, and from where Hudgins sat, the Democratic establishment was clamping down on progressive dissent.
They were angry — but that anger didn’t resonate with voters, they say.
“It was such a more agitated time in a lot of different ways, and this strong leftist point of view wasn’t as appreciated,” they say. “At that time, I was also angry. I was mad. And I think it came through.”
Their opener in their 2022 race was, “To be frank, I’m tired of my friends dying,” they say. They had lost friends to police violence, addiction, hunger and mental illness. One of their friends was left permanently disabled from a hate crime, they say. Hudgins had begun to get severe cluster headaches and was managing that while running their first campaign.
After losing that race, they reassessed if they wanted to do politics at all. They were broken-hearted, they say. A friend helped them get a job at a Laotian pop-up restaurant in East Atlanta Village, only a short walk from Joe’s Coffeehouse. But what they thought would be an escape from politics became a reeducation in why it mattered, they say. Surrounded by other Asian Americans, they learned about U.S. bombing campaigns in Laos and connected with their new friends’ working-class struggles.
“I really got to understand more about how my Southeast Asian neighbors and friends have experienced American identity,” they say.
If elected, Hudgins would be Georgia’s first Japanese American lawmaker. To them, it feels like that usually gets left out of their story as people instead focus on their gender identity.
They weren’t planning on running for office this year. Their wedding is in November. Until recently, they were lobbying against anti-LGBTQ+ bills as Georgia state director for Human Rights Campaign, a major LGBTQ+ advocacy group. But Saira Draper, who beat Hudgins in 2022 to represent House District 90, is running for the state Senate. That left the House seat open. And it left the door open for Hudgins to run again.
When three other Democrat contenders dropped out in the primary, Hudgins became the front-runner. Their opponent, Samantha Boston, received only about 500 votes in the Republican primary. Hudgins got over 7,000 in the Democratic contest.
Fearless advocates
On a muggy September night, Hudgins and Bautista were in full glam at the College Park Woman’s Club in Atlanta, gathered alongside activists, volunteers and political candidates at a fundraising gala for LGBTQ+ youth.
At her table, Bautista prepared to present a “fearless youth advocate” award to state Rep. Akbar Ali, sworn in last year at 21 as the youngest lawmaker in Georgia. Bautista won this same award last year for the work she does at her nonprofit, which primarily supports transgender and immigrant young adults. Seated with Ali and friends running for office in Bartow County, she read over her notes.
Democrats in the room buzzed with the possibility of reshaping the statehouse, and with nerves that Republicans’ now abandoned redistricting effort will resurface.
On stage, Bautista looked to a different future — one where trans visibility in politics is not a rarity in Georgia.
“To all my transsexual girls in the building, just know that I’m fighting for you, and that in two years it’s going to be one of y’all,” she said. “It’s going to be one of y’all running for governor. It’s going to be one of y’all running for state senator. It’s going to be one of y’all running for commissioner.”
But she knows that history recognizes the victors, people who make it past the finish line, regardless of how much work they put into the race.
“I stand before you in the middle of history, not on the other side of it,” she said on stage. “I keep going not because the water is calm, but because someone on the other side is waiting for proof that a person like them survived it.”
Hudgins watched from the front of the room. They sat next to Sam Park, the Georgia House minority whip, a longtime mentor.
“I’m incredibly proud of Bella’s leadership and her courage for stepping up,” Park told Uncloseted Media and The 19th in an interview a few days later. “Bella is giving her voters, her fellow neighbors, an option, a real choice to say enough is enough.”
Rural Democrats are craving someone willing to fight for them, says Courtney Bruder, chair of the Democratic committee of Cherokee County, where Bautista’s district also touches. But complacency has gotten in the way, she says.
“It’s been difficult to try to get someone to be willing to fight for a seat that’s going to be hard,” she told Uncloseted Media and The 19th. “It’s been a slow change to get Democrats in this area to run.”
Bautista hasn’t felt supported by the Georgia Democrats, she says. She has allies in the statehouse and in others running for office, but she still feels like the subliminal message from the party is that she just isn’t electable. She feels like she isn’t taken seriously because she’s not white, doesn’t have wealthy donors and isn’t running in a safe district for Democrats.
Democrats in leadership say she’s changed the game, though, and see her candidacy as a sign of a changing tide in Georgia.
A blue wave may be brewing in the Peach State. Georgia saw record-breaking engagement in the primaries, and an NBC analysis found that Democrats turned out in unusually high numbers across the state. But in Bartow County, where Bautista lives, Democrats make up just one-third of the vote in the gubernatorial primary, according to data from the Georgia Secretary of State’s elections office.
Bautista is positioning herself as an anti-establishment candidate first, and a Democrat second, to appeal to people who aren’t engaged in politics, she says.
It may not be enough to win. But for the past 16 years in this district, no one was willing to step into the ring at all. She still sees victory in that, and in the ways her campaign has gotten neighbors to care about what’s happening in their backyard.
‘I’m going to be who I am’
If elected, Hudgins would become the state’s first nonbinary lawmaker. But they don’t care if voters understand their gender or use the correct pronouns; they just want voters to understand the issues.
“I realized if I led with my identity, it would distract people from understanding what I had to say,” Hudgins says.
One moment in particular on the campaign trail, at Israel Missionary Baptist Church in April, changed their perspective on this.
“The deacon lays his hands on me. He’s like, ‘God, help her, help this person, help him, just help them be victorious.’ I wanted to laugh, but then I was really touched. This guy I’ve never met before … was just trying to be respectful,” they say.
If they win, a whole new set of challenges awaits them at the Georgia statehouse. The dress code is gendered; men must wear a coat and tie, while women are allowed a more nebulous “dignified dress.” But it’s not just the clothes; they would be joining an institution built around a gender binary they don’t adhere to.
Lawmakers are used to referring to each other as “Mr.,” “Mrs.” or “Miss,” per the rules. Although there are more formal options that could allow for a loophole, those are gendered too — members may identify each other by the district “he or she” represents or by the city of “his or her” residence. The bathroom is its own ordeal: if there is a gender-neutral bathroom, Hudgins has yet to find it. As a gender nonconforming person, if Hudgins takes office, they would be walking into a system designed to exclude them. And there are fines associated with breaking these rules.
They are still weighing how to respond to it. They want to be taken seriously as a legislator and build relationships that move bills, but if they don’t stand up for themselves, it sends a poor message, they say.
“I have a pesky knack for maintaining who I am regardless of what the rules say,” they say with a laugh. “If we have a Democratic majority, we can change the rules. If there is a Republican majority, I’m going to be who I am and I’m going to dress how I think is appropriate. And their problems, we’ll address them as well.”
National
988 restores crisis services for LGBTQ+ youth
The lifesaving 988 call-in number to help people experiencing mental health crises or suicidal thoughts has once again restored its specialized services for LGBTQ+ youth.
The lifeline, which used to have the option to “press 3” to be directly sent to specialized services for LGBTQ+ youth facing mental health crises or suicidal thoughts, was returned on Wednesday following an over-year-long battle with the Trump-Vance administration, which removed the service in May 2025.
The Press 3 option rolled out as a pilot program in 2022 through a government contract with the Trevor Project, a suicide prevention and crisis intervention organization for LGBTQ+ people.
Then, in June 2025, the federal government announced that the lifeline would be eliminated within a month. By July 2025, 988 Lifeline’s “Press 3” services were terminated.
Openly gay U.S. Sen. Tammy Baldwin (D-Wis.) helped lead Congress in reversing the removal of the lifesaving resource from American phones. As a member of the Senatw Labor-HHS Appropriations Subcommittee, she started the process of securing $535 million for 988 — a $15 million increase — as well as dedicated funding for LGBTQ+ youth specialized services.
Then, in September 2025, Baldwin, along with U.S. Sen. Lisa Murkowski (R-Alaska), introduced bipartisan legislation in the Senate, the 988 LGBTQ+ Youth Access Act, to codify the 988 Lifeline’s specialized services for LGBTQ+ young people.
At the same time, U.S. Rep Raja Krishnamoorthi (D-Ill.) introduced the legislation in the House of Representatives alongside U.S. Reps. Michael Lawler (R-N.Y.) Sharice Davids (D-Kan.) Brian Fitzpatrick (R-Pa.) and Seth Moulton (D-Mass.)
The Senate passed Baldwin’s bipartisan funding bill in January 2026, funding the Department of Health and Human Services with explicit language mandating the return of 988’s LGBTQ+ youth specialized services.
In February 2026, Congress passed legislation mandating that the previously eliminated “Press 3” specialized services be restored and funded with $33,100,000 — but it was unclear if the Press 3 option would still be allowed under current executive orders, namely Executive Order 14168, or “Defending Women From Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government.”
Despite the securing of federal funding for the Press 3 resource, the battle to get the 988 LGBTQ+ Youth Access Act through Congress is ongoing — and would provide codafied protection from this removal ever happening again.
According to data on the Trevor Project’s website, LGBTQ+ young people are more than four times as likely to attempt suicide than their peers.
Baldwin’s office touts the immense help the lifeline provides to LGBTQ+ people in their moments of greatest need. The press release on the reinstatement of Press 3 highlighted the continued demand for the service:
“The volume of calls, texts, and chats 15 percent higher than a year earlier and nearly 50 percent higher than two years ago. Since the lifeline launched, it has received over 27 million contacts, including over 18 million calls, 4 million texts, and 3 million chats.”
Advocates for LGBTQ+ rights and mental health awareness have agreed with the increasing numbers and hailed the return as a win for everyone.
“Suicide and mental health struggles touch every community across our state, and that’s why creating the 988 crisis lifeline to make sure help is there for everyone is one of my proudest accomplishments,” said Baldwin said in a statement. “But, last year, the Trump administration decided to make these real struggles a political football and ripped away the specialized line that helped LGBTQ children. This was a deliberate choice. The Trump administration chose to put children’s lives on the line to score some political points.”
“I’ve fought tooth and nail to restore this lifesaving resource. When I realized the Trump administration was not going to do it on their own, I wrote it into federal law to require them to restore the Press 3 option,” the Wisconsin senator said. “This lifesaving resource never should have gone away in the first place, but I am glad the lifesaving support Press 3 provides is once again there for people who need it.”
“I’m proud that we secured the funding to restore this lifesaving LGBTQ+ crisis line and successfully pressured the Trump administration to bring the program back,” Krishnamoorthi said. “When an LGBTQ+ young person reaches out for help in a moment of crisis, they deserve to reach a counselor trained to understand and support them. This program should never have been taken away, and now we need to make sure it stays available for every young person who needs it. I’m grateful to the Trevor Project, NAMI Chicago, Equality Illinois, the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, and all the advocates and young people who worked alongside us to bring these services back.”
Jaymes Black, CEO of The Trevor Project who works with the SAMHSA, in their press three operations celebrated the return of the resource.
“We are grateful to see that the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline’s ‘Press 3’ specialized services for LGBTQ+ youth have been restored. Resuming this national resource will be critical in addressing the public health crisis of suicide among LGBTQ+ young people, and supporting the estimated more than 1.8 million LGBTQ+ youth who seriously consider attempting suicide in the U.S. each year,” Black said via a statement. “We are thankful for the large coalition of bipartisan lawmakers, mental health advocates, allies, and supporters who fought tirelessly for this restoration. We will monitor the launch and usage of these important services to ensure all LGBTQ+ youth are supported with clinically best standards.”
If you or someone you know needs mental health resources and support, please call, text, or chat with the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline or visit 988lifeline.org for 24/7 access to free and confidential services. Trans Lifeline, designed for transgender or gender-nonconforming people, can be reached at (877) 565-8860. The lifeline also provides resources to help with other crises, such as domestic violence situations. The Trevor Project Lifeline, for LGBTQ+ youth (ages 24 and younger), can be reached at (866) 488-7386. Users can also access chat services at TheTrevorProject.org/Help or text START to 678678.
U.S. Federal Courts
Renee Good’s family files two federal lawsuits
ICE officer killed lesbian mother of three in Minneapolis in January
The family of lesbian woman who a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement killed in Minneapolis in January have filed two federal lawsuits.
The Associated Press notes Renee Good’s partner, Becca Good, and her brother, Brent Ganger, in the lawsuits accuse the Trump-Vance administration and ICE officer Jonathan Ross of “unjustified and excessive use of force.”
Renee Good was a 37-year-old mother of three.
Ross on Jan. 7 shot and killed her in Minneapolis.
The shooting took place during the Trump-Vance administration’s so-called Operation Metro Surge that targeted Somalis and other immigrant groups in Minneapolis. U.S. Customs and Border Protection agents on Jan. 24 shot and killed Alex Pretti, a 37-year-old nurse who worked for the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, in Minneapolis.
Both shooting sparked outrage across the U.S. and around the world.
“Every morning, she is my first thought. I think about how the kids are growing up without their mama, and how I will grow old without the love of my life. I think about how we should have had 40 more years together. But I also think about what she would have wanted after all of this,” said Becca Good in a statement the Human Rights Campaign released after she and her partner’s family announced the lawsuits.
“As we have tried to navigate our own massive loss, I am also devastated by how many other lives have been destroyed in this darkest of times. So many other families are dealing with the loss of their loved ones; to everyone who has had to witness it — the pain of this moment extends far beyond our family,” added Becca Good. “What happened to us should never happen to any family. No child should grow up without a parent because of it. No one should lose their sister or their daughter. No one should have to live without their soulmate. Accountability — real accountability — is the only way to make sure that no other family has to go through what we have.”
HRC President Kelley Robinson in her own statement said the Good family “is one of our own — and today, the Human Rights Campaign joins them in demanding justice.”
“It has been eight months and 24 days since Renee was shot and killed by an ICE agent, and the United States government has failed to take responsibility for its actions,” said Robinson. “Her partner, Becca, and brother Brent, have made the brave and bold decision to hold the government accountable, and we stand with them. Like every person murdered by ICE, Renee should be alive today. The Goods were robbed of what every American family deserves: to be together.”
National
HRC report: LGBTQ+ students face ‘far greater challenges’ in non-supportive states
Survey finds anti-LGBTQ+ school harassment, bullying highest in 17 states
The Human Rights Campaign Foundation, the educational arm of the national LGBTQ+ advocacy organization Human Rights Campaign, has released a report showing LGBTQ+ public school students are more likely to face bullying, harassment, and “other barriers” in states that have less overall supportive LGBTQ+ laws and policies.
The report is based on the HRC Foundation’s National Educator Survey of School Climate and Bullying, which was released on Sept. 17.
“The report finds that harassment, bullying, and other barriers to LGBTQ+ inclusion are more prevalent in states with limiting policies, where educators report widespread restrictions on LGBTQ+ resources, visible expressions of support, and assistance for transgender students,” a statement released by HRC says.
“As just one example,” the statement adds, “while 59 percent of educators in states with limiting policies report restrictions on supporting their transgender students, just 6 percent to 8 percent of educators in states with supportive policies report the same, underscoring the impact of these policies on school climate, student well-being, and the stakes of the upcoming midterm elections for LGBTQ+ youth and inclusive classrooms.”
The report says the survey consisted of responses by 826 educators in 42 states who worked as teachers, principals, counselors, administrators, and others who worked in support services. All worked at schools with students from pre-kindergarten to 12th grade, most being public schools and a smaller number being charter schools, the report says.
It says the survey was conducted between April 15 and May 21, 2026, and included a survey questionnaire with about 55 questions covering a wide range of LGBTQ+ related school issues.
According to the report, its classification of LGBTQ+ supportive and non-LGBTQ+ supportive states is based on a detailed analysis of the LGBTQ+ related laws and policies of all 50 states, D.C., and U.S. territories conducted by the Movement Advancement Project, or MAP, which describes itself as an “independent, nonprofit thinktank.”
The report includes a chart consisting of 51 boxes representing the 50 states and D.C., with 32 plus D.C. colored as blue and said to have overall LGBTQ+ supportive policies. The 17 boxes colored in red are said to have overall non-LGBTQ+ supportive policies and laws, Each of the boxes has the initial of a state or D.C. printed inside it.
In addition to D.C., the chart shows Maryland, Virginia, New York, California, and Massachusetts as among the supportive states. Florida, Texas, West Virginia, and Ohio are among the states shown to be non-LGBTQ+ supportive.
The HRC statement includes these “key” findings from the survey:
- In states with restrictive LGBTQ+ inclusion policies, 59 percent of educators report restrictions on supporting transgender students, compared to just 6-8 percent of educators in states with supportive LGBTQ+ inclusion policies.
- In states with restrictive policies, nearly 50 percent of educators reported restrictions on LGBTQ+ books or resources, compared to just 7 percent of educators in states with supportive policies.
- Roughly 32 percent of educators in states with restrictive policies reported anti-LGBTQ+ harassment was a moderate or serious problem, compared with 11 percent of educators in states with supportive LGBTQ+ inclusion policies.
- In states with restrictive LGBTQ+ inclusion policies, 29 percent of educators were very worried about anti-LGBTQ+ harassment, compared to 15 percent in states with supportive LGBTQ+ inclusion policies.
- In states with restrictive LGBTQ+ inclusion policies, 36 percent of educators witnessed anti-LGBTQ+ student bullying, compared to 27 percent in states with supportive LGBTQ+ inclusion policies.
- In states with supportive LGBTQ+ inclusion policies, 75 percent of educators reported no restrictions on LGBTQ+-supportive displays, highlighting a substantially more supportive school environment than in states with restrictive policies.
- Educators in states with restrictive LGBTQ+ inclusion policies also reported significant harassment of students based on appearance (57 percent), race or ethnicity (43 percent), sexual orientation (42 percent), and gender identity or expression (39 percent). (No direct comparison figure from supportive-policy states is provided in the data above.)
“Every young person deserves to feel safe and supportive at school, but this report makes clear that fore too many LGBTQ+ students, especially transgender youth, are being failed by policies designed to exclude them,” said HRC President Kelley Robinson in the HRC statement.
“We know that when students feel seen, supported, and affirmed, they are more likely too thrive, but when schools become places of exclusion or hostility, young people pay the price through lower engagement, missed opportunities to learn, and poorer mental and physical health,” Robinson said.
The HRC statement notes that the survey findings come at a time when a growing number of states have passed laws targeting LGBTQ+ students and the school officials and teachers who support them. It says that for the first time, the survey found that “educators themselves are also experiencing anti-LGBTQ+ harassment, highlighting the growing impact of these policies on school staff as well as students.”
The full survey findings and report can be accessed here:
National
Education Department rolls back protections for LGBTQ+ students under Title IX
The DoE policy rescinds Biden-era protections
The Department of Education rolled back a Biden-era Title IX interpretation on Monday that secured sex-based discrimination protections for students on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity.
Title IX was established in 1972 as landmark civil rights law. It prohibits sex-based discrimination in any school or any other education program that receives funding from the federal government.
Education Secretary Linda McMahon spoke about the revision of the policy, claiming the decision would explicitly help “women and girls.”
“Thanks to today’s action, the published Title IX regulations faithfully reflect court orders and congressional intent — reducing confusion for parents, students, and educational institutions. We will continue to relentlessly champion equal opportunity for all Americans and hold accountable any school or college that violates the rights, privacy, or athletic opportunities of our women and girls,” McMahon said via press release.
Prior to her work under the Trump-Vance administration, McMahon was a World Wrestling Federation/World Wrestling Entertainment executive before resigning to pursue a career in politics. She was appointed to the Connecticut State Board of Education by then-Gov. Jodi Rell in January 2009, but resigned from her role shortly afterward to run what ultimately became two failed campaigns for Connecticut’s U.S. Senate seat in 2010 and 2012.
A “fact sheet” provided by the Department of Education also called the inclusive sexual assault and gender identity protections expanded under the Biden-Harris unlawful, saying, “This change is necessary to provide clarity in the Code of Federal Regulations so that institutions, administrations, students, and families can see the rules that are actually in force and to help eliminate public confusion about the Biden administration’s unlawful attempt to stretch Title IX’s legal protections to cover ‘sexual orientation’ and ‘gender identity.’”
This is not the first time this policy has faced judicial hurdles. While Biden was still in office, the plan was struck down in multiple courts in Republican states.
Opponents of the move say it will harm transgender athletes and weaken protections for sexual assault victims.
“Sexual harassment and assault continue to be pervasive in schools and, to the fullest extent possible, we should be working to enforce the laws that protect student survivors of sexual violence. Yet, Education Secretary Linda McMahon and the Trump administration have decided to ignore what survivors need, instead weaponizing Title IX to attack trans students,” said Shiwali Patel, senior director of education justice at the National Women’s Law Center.
This is a return to a first Trump term policy after Biden issued an executive order to attempt to curb discrimination for all — especially those with different sexual orientations and gender identities — that had been given a pass during Trump’s first term. Much of Title IX’s policy has a narrow vision of what sex protections look like that often and enthusiastically leave gender-diverse and non-heterosexual people out.
In March 2021, President Joe Biden signed Executive Order 14021, “Guaranteeing an Educational Environment Free From Discrimination on the Basis of Sex, Including Sexual Orientation or Gender Identity,” to attempt to undo some of the flagrantly anti-LGBTQ+ policy the Trump-Pence administration had set forth relating to Title IX protections for LGBTQ+ students and sexual assault survivors.
The secretary focused this “win” for the administration as one more step toward restricting transgender students from competing in women’s sports, but the 2020 rule, completed under former Education Secretary Betsy DeVos, didn’t explicitly ban trans students from participating on sports teams consistent with their gender identity. It did limit the types of sexual harassment and assault complaints that schools had to investigate and required live hearings so male students could respond to accusations.
McMahon didn’t discuss those aspects in her statement or in requests for comment. The 2020 rule drew praise from conservatives and intense opposition from advocates who said it downplayed sexual abuse and left victims unprotected.
In a statement, U.S. Rep. Tim Walberg (R-Mich.), who chairs the House Education Committee, said, “Returning to the 2020 regulations restores longstanding protections for women and girls that the Biden-Harris administration attempted to dismantle and realigns Title IX policy with court precedents.”
LGBTQ+ activists have called this decision a direct attack on LGBTQ+ safety — particularly for trans students who continue to face a barrage of legislative, executive, and judicial attacks in recent years from the Trump-Vance administration.
Kelley Robinson, president of the Human Rights Campaign, the largest LGBTQ+ advocacy group in the world, released a statement following the DoE’s announcement.
“Title IX is, quite simply, about protecting students and ensuring that they are safe from abuse, harassment, and discrimination while they pursue their education. But Donald Trump and his cronies aren’t interested in any of that,” Robinson said. “Donald Trump’s Department of Education has completely lost sight of that mission. Instead of enforcing protections for students, they’re rescinding them. They don’t care if sexual harassment and assault go unaddressed. And they’re happy to strip funding away from school districts and states that are actually trying to keep students safe.
“We know who will be hurt: women, girls, and others who are vulnerable to sexual harassment, assault and abuse — including LGBTQ+ students. The fact that they’re dropping this rule into place abruptly, without a comment period, denying families, educators, loved ones, and the students themselves a say in how they should be treated, shows how little they care about the safety of our students.
“This is a monstrous injustice, and it drives home how essential it is that we take action at the polls this November to start bringing some accountability to an administration that has turned its back on the very students Title IX was written to protect,” she added.
The Los Angeles Blade reached out to the DoE for comment and questions on whether Title IX protections still included LGBTQ+ students, but did not receive an answer.
Netherlands
Dutch prime minister visits Stonewall Inn
Rob Jetten is the Netherlands’ first openly gay prime minister
Dutch Prime Minister Rob Jetten on Monday visited the Stonewall Inn in New York.
“The Stonewall Inn is not just a gay bar in New York, but the place where in 1969 riots took place as a reaction to years of discrimination and police violence,” wrote Jetten on X. “This is seen as the starting point of the global LGBTIQ+ emancipation and activism. Nowadays, the bar is a national monument, dedicated to the LGBTIQ+ rights movement.”
“For me, it is impressive and moving to be here tonight. And also fitting, because the defense of human rights is an important part of our foreign policy,” he added. “The Netherlands stands alongside the Stonewall Inn community when it comes to everyone’s right to live openly, safely, and with pride, no matter who you are or who you love.”
De Stonewall Inn is niet zomaar een gay bar in New York, maar de plaats waar in 1969 rellen plaatsvonden als reactie op jarenlange discriminatie en geweld van de politie. Dit wordt gezien als startpunt van de wereldwijde lhbtiq+-emancipatie en activisme. Tegenwoordig is de bar… pic.twitter.com/hJmFYjF91Z
— Rob Jetten (@MinPres) September 23, 2026
Jetten in February became the Netherlands’s first openly gay prime minister.
He opened last month’s World Pride Human Rights Conference in Amsterdam. Jetten also participated in a panel with former Irish Prime Minister Leo Varadkar, former San Marino Captain Regent Paolo Rondelli, and other current and former heads of government who are gay or lesbian.
Jetten is scheduled to speak to the U.N. General Assembly on Thursday.
(Editor’s note: Jetten visited New York’s LGBT Community Center with New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani before he left the city.)
National
For lesbian victims of domestic violence, competent care is scare
Heteronormative assumptions, funding cuts contribute to lack of resources for survivors
Uncloseted Media published this story on Sept. 22.
By EMMA PAIDRA | Claire, a 25-year-old Los Angeles resident, distinctly remembers the night she and her ex-girlfriend broke up.
“She was strangling me in a CVS parking lot,” Claire recalls, adding how she was gasping for air as bystanders looked on. “I made eye contact with one man who just kept walking, and we were right behind a car that was trying to reverse out of a parking spot. No one got out of the car. They didn’t honk; they didn’t do anything.”
Claire, who asked to use a pseudonym due to safety concerns regarding her ex, says she managed to fight her way out of her then-girlfriend’s grasp. It was at this moment in 2024 she realized things had reached a breaking point.
While research on intimate-partner violence has traditionally focused on opposite-sex couples, two recent reports found that queer women, like Claire, are not immune to this type of abuse. An international research review published last year in the Journal of Media Critiques found “IPV rates in same-sex relationships are comparable to or exceed those in heterosexual relationships,” with up to 46 percent of lesbians encountering such abuse, compared to 36 percent of straight women. A separate review published earlier this year found that nearly 27 percent of lesbians surveyed had experienced IPV.
Despite the prevalence of IPV in lesbian relationships, heteronormative and outdated assumptions have left many queer women feeling like they have nowhere to turn for competent services and support, according to experts, advocates and victims interviewed by Uncloseted Media.
“Queer folks are joining the conversation to say, ‘This is happening in our communities, too, and we need the same resources and support services that straight women are offered,’” Tori Stranges, a professor of women’s studies at the University of British Columbia, told Uncloseted Media.
A frequently overlooked problem
Stranges says the false notion that only men are domestic abusers can result in violent same-sex relationships not being taken seriously.
“People assume that violence is perpetrated by men against women,” she says, adding that this “has left queer people out of the conversation.”
“If it was a man that was doing all these things, and people heard and saw it, I’m sure I would have been taken seriously,” says Claire. “People saw a 5-foot-7 woman who didn’t look that strong — and above all, she was a woman. Men, especially, don’t really see that as a threat. So they’re like, ‘If I’m not threatened, then I’m sure it’s not a big deal.’”
Outdated assumptions about IPV can even result in victims themselves overlooking their abuse.
“When it comes to abuse in heterosexual relationships, there are national campaigns, there are resources that you can access,” Stranges says. “There are people coming into the school systems to talk about relationship violence. We don’t have similar recognition and the same conversations about queer people.”
Claire says the violence she was subjected to was paired with moments of intense affection, which made it harder for her to recognize the abuse.
“We would get into a fight, and she would physically abuse me, and then apologize. She was actually also very gentle with me sometimes,” Claire recalls. “That kind of cycle can be really addicting. I would always wait for the good parts.”
The role of mental illness
K.P., a 47-year-old lesbian living in Maine, was with her abusive ex-girlfriend for five years before ending the relationship in 2023. During their time together, K.P. says her ex, who struggled with panic disorders, ADHD and depression, experienced a decline in her mental health, which contributed to more frequent outbursts of rage. When it comes to the link between rage and violence, one 2022 meta-analysis found that “anger was a significantly stronger correlate of IPV perpetration for women than men.”
K.P., who was working from home at the time and felt like she had no escape, says her ex’s verbal abuse spiraled into physical violence.
“I was on the couch with my laptop, trying to work, and she was just being belligerent,” recalls K.P., who asked to be identified by only her initials because of safety concerns. “I tuned her out, but when she realized I wasn’t giving her the attention that she expected, she went to the kitchen, grabbed two knives and started coming at me.”
K.P. ran outside, trying to get away. Her ex ran after her and then chased her back inside to avoid being seen by neighbors.
Once inside, her partner hid her phone. K.P. used this brief window to message a co-worker on her laptop, asking him to call the police.
“I was confused and afraid,” K.P. told Uncloseted Media. “I’d never been chased with a knife before, let alone by someone who I cared about.”
Research shows LGBTQ people have higher rates of mental health conditions than their non-LGBTQ+ peers. A study published last year in JAMA Network Open found sexual and gender minorities had “significantly higher odds of at least four of 10 commonly diagnosed mental health conditions,” including post-traumatic stress disorder and bipolar disorder.
IPV may also contribute to negative mental health effects, with research finding that victims experience an increase in depression, anxiety and PTSD and a reduction in life satisfaction.
“After we broke up, I was messed up,” K.P. says. “It took me a good six or eight months to feel like I could breathe again.”
Trapped in a ‘double closet’
In addition to mental health, the stigma of being queer may affect a victim’s response to being in an abusive relationship. When Claire first came out to her family, she says they kicked her out of their home until she returned to the proverbial closet. They eventually accepted her sexuality, but Claire says the residual shame she carried afterwards led her to avoid the added stigma she feared she’d experience if she admitted to being in an abusive relationship.
“All of that combined made me feel so trapped. I just thought, ‘Oh my god, I’m being judged from every single angle,’” she says. “There was just nowhere to go.”
Letícia Yuki de Araujo Furukawa, a clinical psychologist specializing in supporting survivors of IPV, says this kind of thinking is not uncommon among queer women in abusive relationships.
“Sometimes lesbian women who are experiencing IPV relationships start to isolate themselves, to prevent themselves from the shame and judgment they think they are going to suffer,” she says.
Furukawa says this impulse is rooted in the layers of stigma queer women face.
“It comes down to two things that make it like a double closet: We have the closet of being a lesbian, and you have the other one that comes from being in a violent relationship.”
According to Furukawa, having a supportive family can decrease the risk of entering an abusive relationship. Unfortunately, strained familial relationships are common among queer people: A 2022 study in the Journal of Marriage and Family found that 32 percent of gay and lesbian adult children — compared to 22 percent of their heterosexual counterparts — were estranged from their fathers.
Because of the shame Claire faced from her family when she came out, she was reluctant to admit there was a problem in her relationship when her mother and sister expressed concern. She worried that if her family knew her lesbian relationship was abusive, they would stop accepting her queer identity.
“My mom and sister would say to me during the relationship that they thought my ex looked evil, and that I changed so much. I used to be such a bubbly girl, and my personality made a complete 180,” she remembers. “In my head, I was like, ‘I can’t admit that it’s true.’”
‘Gaps in, policy, care, and services’
When queer women have the courage to report IPV, some don’t receive the response they’re hoping for. When police arrived at K.P.’s home following the knife-wielding incident, she says they opened a case file and wrote an incident report but said there was nothing else they could do because her ex had fled the scene.
“It was a little frustrating that since my ex-girlfriend drove away, the police couldn’t do anything,” K.P. explains.
Laura Elizabeth, an assistant professor of criminal justice at Virginia Union University who researches IPV, says there may have been additional steps police could have taken to support K.P., including connecting her with resources for domestic-violence survivors.
“It is vital that [police] make the proper referrals, and that it not just be limited to handing the victim a brochure,” she says. “There needs to be an active discussion with victims about what their options are in terms of who they can reach out to, who can offer what services.”
Kimberley Jackson, an associate professor at the Arthur Labatt Family School of Nursing at Western University, says lack of research on same-sex domestic violence also impacts the support services available to lesbian victims.
“The intersection of IPV and the LGBTQ community is really not well understood,” Jackson told Uncloseted Media. “What we can tell you based on really limited evidence, is that there are huge gaps in policy, care and services. And with respect to shelters, we haven’t really moved the needle very far.”
One area in which shelters may be failing lesbian victims has to do with both the perpetrator and the victim being able to access the same shelter.
“This issue is further compounded in rural areas, where there’s likely only one shelter,” Jackson says. “There’s a chance they won’t be able to turn someone away, even if they’re the perpetrator.”
Jackson says queer victims of domestic violence who aren’t open about their sexuality may face additional obstacles.
“With respect to anonymity, in a lot of rural places, you’re going to know people in the community,” she says. “There are issues with accessing help if you’re worried about outing yourself.”
Calls for change
Experts and victims say LGBTQ+ training for shelter workers and law enforcement, as well as funding for research, could help prevent same-sex IPV and address the damage done by such abuse.
But under the Trump-Vance administration, these funding resources are slipping away. In March of last year, the administration canceled at least 68 grants, totaling nearly $40 million, that were focused on LGBTQ+ health. A second round of cuts followed two months later, during which $800 million worth of grants dedicated to researching LGBTQ+ health were terminated.
Rebecca Hobbs, co-executive director of Through These Doors, a domestic violence resource and advocacy center in Portland, Maine, says LGBTQ+ training materials are essential to ensuring shelters can support lesbian victims.
“LGBTQ people will not come to us unless they see themselves reflected in our materials,” Hobbs says. “We want our advocates to be well versed in understanding the additional barriers and challenges that LGBTQ people might experience.”
Advocates say police departments could also benefit from LGBTQ+-awareness training.
The state of California and a number of large cities — including Atlanta, Chicago, Los Angeles, Houston, New Orleans, New York, Philadelphia, and D.C. — have implemented some form of LGBTQ+-sensitivity training.
But Greg Miraglia, founder and CEO of Out to Protect, a national organization supporting LGBTQ+ police officers and equipping all officers to serve queer people, says these programs are the exception, not the rule.
“Most other states do not require any type of LGBT awareness training,” Miraglia, a retired police officer who is based in California., told Uncloseted Media “There are over 18,000 law enforcement agencies out there, and I don’t think we’ve scratched the surface.”
“The problem comes about when law enforcement goes into a domestic violence incident with a same-sex couple without any training, carrying a lot of stereotypes that are common,” Miraglia adds. “They’re not picking up the fact that this is a couple that’s involved in an intimate relationship, and therefore domestic violence laws in that state apply.”
Claire says she wishes someone had intervened when her ex abused in the CVS parking lot and on her college campus. “The police had the biggest missed opportunity to intervene, as well as campus security,” she says. “A lot of our fights were in public, and she would get very loud. I made a promise to myself that if I ever saw anything like that in public, I would say something, because that’s all I needed at the time.”
National
Long-time DignityUSA executive director announces retirement
Marianne Duddy-Burke has been with LGBTQ+ Catholic group for decades
The executive director of the world’s oldest LGBTQ+ Catholic organization has announced she will retire once her successor has been chosen.
Marianne Duddy-Burke has been with DignityUSA for more than four decades. She has been the group’s executive director since 2007.
DignityUSA announced Duddy-Burke’s retirement on Sept. 17.
Duddy-Burke during her tenure has urged the Vatican to do more to welcome LGBTQ+ Catholics. She has also, among other things, championed marriage equality and advised the State Department on LGBTQ+-specific issues. (The Trump-Vance administration’s decision to freeze nearly all U.S. foreign aid shortly after it took office in January 2025 has had a devastating impact on the global LGBTQ+ and intersex rights movement and efforts to fight HIV/AIDS around the world. A report that Outright International released earlier this month notes 90 percent of LGBTQ+ and intersex rights groups around the world have lost funding since 2025.)
Duddy-Burke met with Pope Francis in 2023.
She traveled to Rome in 2025 for the papal conclave to choose the Argentine-born pope’s successor. Pope Leo XIV, who was born in Chicago, succeeded Francis.
DignityUSA in the press release that announced Duddy-Burke’s retirement notes she expressed “particular appreciation to people who spoke honestly about the reality of being a queer Catholic or family member.”
“I have been inspired every day by your stories and have done my best to lift them up,” said Duddy-Burke. “It is your lives, your faith, your struggles, your hopes that I have strived to reflect in my work, and doing this has been a great honor.”
DignityUSA President Meli Barber praised Duddy-Burke.
“It is almost impossible to sum up the scope and depth of Marianne’s achievements and contributions to DignityUSA over her more than four decades of service,” said Barber. “Under her wisdom and leadership, DignityUSA has only grown in stature as an advocate for LGBTQIA+ Catholics and as a visionary thought leader for LGBTQIA+ ministry and spirituality.
“Marianne has been more than an extremely able executive director,” added Barber. “Her care for and ministry to chapters, her deep personal relationships with countless Dignity members, her connections to LGBTQIA+ Catholics around the world, the relationships she has built with other progressive Catholic organizations, her skill as a public representative, the respect with which she is universally regarded, and her tireless devotion to service all leave an indelible mark. It is not an exaggeration to say that she has shaped not only Dignity but a generation of LGBTQIA+ Catholics.”
Barber said DignityUSA will “soon begin a search for a new executive director.” Barber added Duddy-Burke “will assist with the transition.”
Congress
Jeremy Moss looks to bring LGBTQ+ advocacy from Lansing to Capitol Hill
Congressional candidate would represent Detroit suburbs if elected
With fall comes swapping out T-shirts for sweaters, raking leaves and, of course, elections. The summer’s primaries have narrowed the playing field in a slew of races, but the big ones — the actual races for seats in federal and local elections — are still to come.
Jeremy Moss is one of those people running for a congressional seat in Michigan. Despite his young age, Moss has quickly learned the ropes of politics in the state, already serving terms in the Great Lakes State’s House of Representatives and Senate.
Moss sat down with the Los Angeles Blade to discuss his history in Michigan politics, his experience as an openly LGBTQ+ legislator and his vision for a better America as he looks toward Congress.
He currently represents Michigan’s 7th Senate District, but now he is setting his sights beyond Lansing toward Capitol Hill to represent Michigan’s 11th Congressional District, which includes Detroit’s northern suburbs.
Moss earned his bachelor’s degree in journalism from Michigan State University, where just a few years later he made history as the first openly gay person elected to the Michigan Senate and the first to serve as its president pro tempore.
His political experience stretches across multiple offices.
Moss worked in the offices of Southfield Mayor Brenda Lawrence, who also served in the U.S. House of Representatives, and State Rep. Paul Condino.
Moss, at age 25, was elected to the Southfield City Council in 2011, becoming the youngest member elected in the body’s history. He then switched over to the state legislature, representing Michigan’s 35th House of Representatives District in the Michigan House of Representatives from 2014-2018, becoming the second openly gay member elected to the Michigan legislature.
He then moved from Michigan’s House to its Senate in 2018, elected to represent the 11th Michigan Senate District and becoming the Assistant Democratic Leader. Moss started his second term in the Michigan Senate in 2023, this time representing District 7.
He currently has a long list of priorities listed on his campaign website, many of which have become standard for Democrats running across the country, with a particular focus on minimizing — and cleaning up — issues that the Republican-controlled federal government has created under President Donald Trump.
Those goals include lowering healthcare costs, tackling the cost of living crisis, holding U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement accountable and fixing the broken immigration system, restoring national voting rights, protecting rights — with a particular focus on abortion access and LGBTQ+ rights — combating corruption in politics, preventing gun violence and strengthening gun safety, empowering Michigan workers, and preserving the environment.
Why Moss is running for Congress
When asked why he wants to run for Congress, Moss pointed to his lengthy resume in state leadership, with a clear voice arguing that if he can do it in Lansing, he can get it done in Washington.
“I’ve served 12 years in the legislature and have ascended into leadership as president pro tem of the Senate,” Moss explained to the Blade. “We flipped our state legislative chamber to a Democratic majority for the first time in 40 years in 2022, and we passed some big, generational-changing, consequential Democratic wins that had languished for a generation, but had improved people’s lives in our state.
“We’ve passed the first gun safety laws in a generation that are saving lives. We protected the right to vote amidst attacks from Donald Trump and other conspiracies. We pushed forward and finally put LGBTQ rights in our state civil rights law. We provided free school meals and lunches for all public school children in the state of Michigan.
“The problems from Washington, D.C., aren’t getting less severe over time,” he continued. “They’re getting more severe. So this district unexpectedly opened up due to a series of retirements and it was just a great opportunity for me to continue to advocate for big change that we’ve already achieved here in the state legislature.”
“I’m a product of this district. I grew up here. I’ve represented a bulk of the district already in the state legislature, and I knew that I was going to earn grassroots support to be able to wage this campaign. We sought it out, we earned it, including some premier endorsements from Gov. (Gretchen) Whitmer, among many others, and were highly successful in the primary because we were in tune to the needs of this district.”
Moss has been endorsed by a slew of Democratic leaders and organizations, including, as he pointed out, by Whitmer.
Other endorsements include former Gov. Jim Blanchard, Secretary of State Jocelyn Benson, Attorney General Dana Nessel, the Equality PAC, the Human Rights Campaign, the Unity Fund, and the LGBTQ+ Victory Fund.
His political identity and the Democratic Party
Moss described himself as being “on the liberal end of the spectrum,” but argued that the Democratic Party’s internal divisions should not be the central focus.
“I’m certainly on the liberal end of the spectrum, but I don’t even think it necessarily has to be this progressive versus establishment fight that we’ve seen play out,” Moss said when asked about various elements of in-party disagreements. “It has to be between action and, and inaction, fighters versus folders.”
He said that distinction between action and inaction is central to how he would approach Washington.
“At this moment, I think we need to demonstrate that we are ready to take on Donald Trump and MAGA chaos with boldness and effectiveness. I’ve been saying all along our campaign trail, we can no longer be the party that shows up to the knife fight carrying a pie chart, and so I think we have to be showing that we have spine and we have punch, and we’re really ready to be tough fighters for, for Michiganders and the American people.”
“We can’t walk on eggshells anymore. We can’t pull our punches,” he added. “We can’t fear that we’re offending someone, you know, one way or another with how we act. People are expecting a bold party to take on MAGA, and I think that’s exactly what the Democratic Party needs.”
Becoming an LGBTQ+ legislator
Moss also reminisced with the Blade about his first run for elected office — at a time when Michigan had no openly LGBTQ+ members serving in the state legislature — and how that experience became deeply connected to his identity and his approach to LGBTQ+ politics.
In 2014, Michigan was in the pre-marriage equality era, and the state had no openly LGBTQ+ members serving in the legislature.
“12 years ago in 2014 — this was pre-marriage, the pre-marriage equality era — we had zero people from our community serving in the legislature, and still they were talking about us.
“The big topic then in Michigan was whether or not to expand our civil rights law to include LGBTQ protections, so that people from our community would no longer face discrimination in housing and employment. And they were talking about us regardless of whether or not we were at the table.”
Moss eventually helped lead the effort to expand Michigan’s civil rights protections to include LGBTQ+ people, a measure that passed with bipartisan support.
He said his experience as an openly gay lawmaker allowed him to make the case for LGBTQ+ protections in terms that extended beyond LGBTQ+ issues.
“One thing I definitely aligned with Gov. Whitmer at the time was making the case that discrimination was not only morally wrong, but it was bad for business,” he said. “By not having these protections for our LGBTQ neighbors and family members and friends and community members, we were actually holding back our economy. We were essentially allowing people to be kicked out of Michigan as consumers and workers, because of who they are and how they identified.”
That led to various efforts — including committee hearings and meetings with advocates, businesses and the public — that helped make Michigan what the Movement Advancement Project deems the 16th most LGBTQ+-friendly state, solidly above other states due to its robust LGBTQ+-related legislation.
“I wanted to meet everybody where they were, including those who may have not been involved with or engaged with the LGBTQ community as legislators, but understood that we couldn’t sustain the economic impact of discriminating against our community,” Moss said. “And as I’ve said all along, discrimination is bad for business. That’s something I think helped broaden the vote and earn some bipartisan support for it.”
Representation and LGBTQ+ youth
For Moss, the importance of LGBTQ+ representation also comes from his own experience growing up.
“I think about when I was younger, when I was 18 years old. It was in 2004, and, you know, there are certain things that really shaped me in that time … Michigan had a ballot proposal that passed to have the strictest language banning marriage equality in our state constitution. We didn’t even allow civil unions in that language in our constitution to exist, and there were scandal-plagued LGBTQ politicians.”
“It was the same year that Jim McGreevey was forced to resign as he came out,” he said. “So it really was a signal to me that, you know, you don’t have a future. Not just you don’t have a future in politics; you might not even have a future. Period, and it was pretty defining for me.”
Despite those fears, Moss continued to pursue public office.
“And you can’t be what you can’t see, and so to be able to break the barriers at the state level and at this congressional level, I think is a signal to anybody who is struggling with wondering where their place is?”
“I think that visibility is incredibly important, and it’s something that I needed when I was much younger, and it’s something that I’ve been honored to be able to provide for the, for the next generation of emerging leaders.”
His LGBTQ+ priorities in Congress
When asked what LGBTQ+ issues he would prioritize in Congress, Moss emphasized the importance of growing the number of LGBTQ+ lawmakers while also expanding federal nondiscrimination protections.
“To have a caucus in the legislature has made all the difference because you can, you know, run these issues across the field. You can have somebody take on marriage. You can have somebody take on trans rights. You can have somebody take on LGBTQ youth. You can have somebody take on discrimination protections.”
He sees much of the work he wants to get done on Capitol Hill as a direct follow-up to his work in Lansing — most importantly, the passage of the Equality Act. The legislation has been debated in some form for more than 50 years at the federal level, with the goal of protecting LGBTQ+ people from discrimination under federal law.
“I think the Equality Act is incredibly important. That’s kind of the, the counterpart to what we’ve done in the state legislature, ensuring discrimination protections for the LGBTQ community,” he said.
“I think housing and, and workplace discrimination is, is everything, you know, to protect our community so that they can have a safe place to call home and earn a living … That’s incredibly important across the board. And I would really want to take a leading role in telling the story of how we were able to do it in Michigan after 50 years since this act was first written — and finally finished the job federally to ensure their federal protections in, in, in, in employment and housing.”
LGBTQ+ political organizations and Congress
Moss said the LGBTQ+ political organizations that have supported his political career from its early stages have helped him along the way.
“Obviously, I’ve been affiliated with Victory Fund since I first ran for office, and they were early endorsers, but Equality PAC, which is the political arm of the LGBTQ caucus in Congress, has been an incredible part of my support system. From day one they helped me out.
“I’ve been getting to know a lot of the members of Congress who are LGBTQ, really over the last year of this campaign. So I’m eager to join them. I’m eager to be one of the players on the field here to be able to advocate and advance our issues.”
Voting rights
Voting rights are another major focus for Moss, an issue he said dates back to his experience during the 2004 campaign over marriage equality.
“Something I’m very passionate about is voting rights, and it really does go back to that 2004 campaign where it was very evident that elections can determine your future.
“Elections can determine what rights you do have and don’t have, and so I’ve been very laser focused on increasing access to the ballot box, making sure our democracy remains whole and accessible.”
He explained how Trump’s recent attacks on voting legitimacy and mail-in voting have only made his desire to help that much stronger.
“We went through a real trial of that in 2020 with, with Michigan’s presidential election, with Donald Trump and Rudy Giuliani — as he jetted into Michigan and tried to overturn our valid and accurate election results. We were kind of the spotlight of the nation in that stop this deal movement that led to Jan. 6.”
That, according to Moss, spurred direct action on his end.
“I took the helm as chair of the Senate Elections Committee, and we wrote the law to implement pieces of that ballot proposal, including drafting the law that implemented nine days of early voting here in Michigan, increased access to absentee ballot. We further secured our canvassing and certifications so that nobody could jet in with an alternative slate of electors and send them to Congress on Jan. 6.”
“So I’ve been on the front lines in Michigan on defending our election systems and strengthening protections for both voters to access the ballot box and protections against those who want to overturn our election results.”
Those issues are still present today, he explained.
“He’s pushing for suppressive tactics like the Save Act. The Supreme Court has eroded the federal Voting Rights Act,” Moss said. “I want to really get into Congress as an election expert, we have a Michigan story to tell. I wrote a lot of that story, and, and I think the most urgent thing that we could pass is the John Lewis Voting Rights Act to make sure that there’s no pocket of discrimination anywhere in our country, and that people have the ability to exercise their constitutionally guaranteed right to vote.”
What he would do differently in Washington
Moss also shared that he believes Democrats should communicate differently in Washington, with an emphasis on getting things done.
“Yeah, again, we’ve, we’ve seen politics evolve in this Trump era, and I think that Democrats need to communicate differently.
“He talks so brazenly, and how proud he is that he’s renamed the Gulf of Mexico or Lake Ontario. I put that in the stupid category.
“He’s also done things in the harmful category that he boasts about, like cutting Medicaid and cutting SNAP. And of course, he’s doing things in the dangerous category, but proud of it, like trying to overturn our elections or suppressing the vote.
“What we’re doing is both popular and good for people, whether it’s growing our economy from the middle class outward, whether it’s lowering costs, whether it’s making healthcare more affordable, whether it’s strengthening the core functions of our democracy, we have to be talking about it with the same gusto and confidence that MAGA talks about their agenda.
“I think this is a party that needs more spine and more punch, and really meet this moment because I think that’s what people are looking for, and that’s really what I think a new generation will bring into this next Congress.”
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