Features
GSAs have uneasy future under Kentucky’s anti-LGBTQ+ law
Kentucky’s law is one of the nation’s most sweeping anti-LGBTQ+ laws, limits instruction of human sexuality/gender identity in schools
By Javeria Salman | OWENTON, KY. — During a school-wide club fair in this northern Kentucky town, a school administrator stood watch as students signed up for a group for LGBTQ+ students and their allies.
After the club sign-up sheet had been posted, students wrote derogatory terms and mockingly signed up classmates, according to one of the club’s founders. The group eventually went to the administrator, who agreed to help.
Simply being able to post the sign-up sheet in school was a victory of sorts. For two years, the club, known as PRISM (People Respecting Individuality and Sexuality Meeting), gathered in the town’s public library, because its dozen members couldn’t find a faculty adviser to sponsor it. In fall 2022, after two teachers finally signed on, the group received permission to start the club on campus.
Much of that happened because of one parent, Rachelle Ketron. Ketron’s daughter Meryl Ketron, who was trans and an outspoken member of the LGBTQ+ community in her small town, had talked about wanting to start a Gay-Straight Alliance when she got to high school. But in April 2020, during her freshman year, Meryl died by suicide after facing years of harassment over her identity.
Following Meryl’s death, Ketron decided to continue her daughter’s advocacy. She gathered Meryl’s friends and talked about what it might mean to start a Gay-Straight Alliance, a student-run group that could serve as a safe space for queer youth on campus. After trying, and failing, to get the school to sign off on the idea, the group decided to gather monthly at the public library, where its members discussed mental health, sex education and experiences of being queer in rural areas. Ketron, a coordinator of development at a community mental health center just across the border in Indiana, also founded doit4Meryl, a nonprofit that advocates for mental health education and suicide prevention, specifically for LGBTQ+ youth in rural communities like hers.
Around the country, LGBTQ+ students and the campus groups founded to support them have become a growing target in the culture wars. In 2023 alone, 542 anti-LGBTQ+ bills have been introduced by state legislatures or in Congress, according to an LGBTQ-legislation tracker, with many of them focused on young people. Supporters of the bills say schools inappropriately expose students to discussions about gender identity and sexuality, and parents deserve greater control over what their kids are taught. Critics say the laws are endangering already vulnerable students.
Kentucky’s law, passed in March, is one of the nation’s most sweeping anti-LGBTQ+ laws, prohibiting school districts from compelling teachers to address trans students by their pronouns and banning transgender students from using school bathrooms or changing rooms that match their gender identity. The law also limits instruction on and discussion of human sexuality and gender identity in schools. A separate section of the law bans gender-affirming medical care for transgender youth in the state.
“What started out as really a bill focused on pronouns and bathroom use morphed into this very broad anti-LGBTQIA+ piece of legislation that outlawed discussions of gender and sexuality, through all grades, and all subject matters,” said Jason Glass, the former Kentucky commissioner of education.
Glass left Kentucky in September to take a job in higher education in Michigan after his support for LGBTQ+ students drew fire from Republican politicians in Kentucky, including some who called for his ouster.
Because the law’s language is sometimes ambiguous, it’s up to individual districts to interpret it, Glass said. Some have adopted more restrictive policies that advocates say risk forcing GSAs, also known as Gender and Sexuality Alliances or Gay-Straight Alliances, to change their names or shut down, and led to book bans and the cancellation of lessons over concerns that they discuss gender or sexuality. Others have interpreted the law more liberally and continue to offer services and accommodations to transgender or nonbinary students, if parents approve.
Across the country, the number of GSAs is at a 20-year low, according to GLSEN, an LGBTQ+ education advocacy nonprofit. GLSEN researchers say there may be two somewhat contradictory forces at work.
Fewer students may feel the need for such clubs, thanks to school curricula and textbooks that have become more inclusive of LGBTQ+ individuals and thanks to an increase in the number of school policies that explicitly prohibit anti-gay bullying. Conversely, the recent surge in anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, as well as the halt to extracurricular activities during the pandemic, may also be fueling the drop, the researchers said.
Willie Carver, a former high school teacher and Kentucky’s Teacher of the Year in 2022, left teaching this year because of threats he faced as an openly gay man. Laws like the one in Kentucky legitimize and legalize harassment against LGBTQ+ kids, he said, and may even encourage it. “We’ve ripped all of the school support away from the students, so they’re consistently miserable and hopeless,” he said.
Coming out in fifth grade
Owenton is a picturesque farming community with rolling green hills and winding roads located halfway between Cincinnati and Louisville. Its population of about 1,682 is predominantly white and politically conservative: The surrounding county has voted overwhelmingly Republican in every presidential election since 2000.
Ketron moved here from Cincinnati in 2014 with her then-husband, seeking to live on a farm within driving distance of large cities. Shortly after the move, she recalled, a city official visited the property to give Ketron a rundown of expectations in the community — and a warning.
“It was basically ‘You better watch what you do and don’t get on the bad side of people because one person might be the only person that does that job in this whole county.’ Do you understand what I mean?’ ‘Yup,’” Ketron recalled saying, “‘I understand what you mean.’”
A few years later, she met her now-wife, Marsha Newell, and the two began raising their blended family of eight children on the farm. They also started fostering LGBTQ+ kids. Ketron said her family is one the few in the county to accept queer kids. Their children were often met with hostility, Ketron said; other students made fun of them for having two moms and told them that Ketron and her wife were sinners who were “going to hell.”
Ketron said the couple thought about moving, but beyond the financial and logistical obstacles, she worried about abandoning LGBTQ+ young people in the town. “Just because I’m uncomfortable or this is a foreign place for a queer kid to be doesn’t mean there aren’t queer kids born here every day,” she said.
After Meryl came out to family and friends in fifth grade, the bullying at school intensified, Ketron and Gwenn, Meryl’s younger sister, recalled. Few adults in Meryl’s schools took action to stop it, they said. When Meryl complained, school staff didn’t take her seriously and told her to “toughen up and move on,” Ketron said. (In an email, the high school’s new principal, Renee Boots, wrote that administrators did not receive reports of bullying from Meryl. Ketron said by the time Meryl reached high school, she’d given up on reporting such incidents.)
That said, as she got older, Meryl became more outspoken. As a ninth grader, in 2019, she clashed with students who wanted to fly the Confederate flag at school; Meryl and her friends wanted to fly a rainbow flag. The school decided to ban both flags, Ketron said. After that, Meryl brought small rainbow flags and placed them around campus. (According to Boots, students were wearing various flags as “capes” and were advised not to do so as it was against school dress code.)
Ketron said she generally supported her daughter’s advocacy, but sometimes wished she’d take a less combative approach. “You might need to dial it back a little bit,” Ketron recalled telling Meryl once, when her daughter was in eighth grade.
Ketron recalled seeing Meryl’s disappointment; she said it was the only time she felt that she let her daughter down.
Clubs provide a sense of belonging
For years, the most effective wedge issue between conservatives and progressives was marriage equality. But when the Supreme Court in 2015 recognized the legal right of same-sex couples to marry, opponents of gay rights pivoted to focus on trans individuals, particularly trans youth. After early success with legislation banning trans kids from playing sports, conservative legislators began to expand their efforts to other school policies pertaining to LGBTQ+ youth.
The ripple effects of these laws on young people are becoming more apparent, said Michael Rady, senior education programs manager for GLSEN. Forty-one percent of LGBTQ youth have seriously considered suicide in the past year, according to a 2023 survey by The Trevor Project, an LGBTQ+ suicide prevention nonprofit. Nearly 2 in 3 LGBTQ+ youth said that learning about potential legislation banning discussions of LGBTQ+ people in schools negatively affected their mental health.
Konrad Bresin, an assistant professor in the department of psychology and brain sciences at the University of Louisville whose research focuses on LGBTQ+ mental health, said that for LGBTQ+ individuals just seeing advertising that promotes legislation against them has negative effects. “Even if something doesn’t pass, but there’s a big public debate about it, that is kind of increasing the day-to-day stress that people are experiencing,” he said.
Bresin said that student participation in GSAs can help blunt the effect of anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment, since the clubs provide students a sense of belonging.
Bresin said that student participation in GSAs can help blunt the effect of anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment, since the clubs provide students a sense of belonging.
Supporters of Kentucky’s new law argue that the legislation creates necessary guardrails to protect students. Martin Cothran, spokesperson for The Family Foundation, the Kentucky-based conservative policy organization that advocated for the legislation, said the law is designed to keep students from being exposed to “gender ideology.”
Cothran said that nothing in the law impedes student speech, nor does it entirely prohibit traditional sex education. “It just says that you can’t indoctrinate,” he said. “Schools are for learning, not indoctrination.”
When the law, known as SB 150, went into effect last spring, Glass, the former education commissioner, said school districts were forced to scramble to update their curricula to comply with the bill’s restrictions. In some cases, that meant removing any information on sexuality or sexual maturation from elementary school health curricula, and also revising health, psychology and certain A.P. courses in middle school and high school, he said.
Some families have sued. In September, four Lexington families with trans or nonbinary kids filed a lawsuit against the Fayette County Board of Education and the state’s Republican attorney general, Daniel Cameron, alleging that SB 150’s education provisions violate students’ educational, privacy and free speech rights under state and federal law. The families say that since the law passed, their kids have been intentionally misgendered or outed, barred access to bathrooms that match their gender identity and had their privacy disregarded when school staff accessed their birth certificates in order to enforce the law’s provisions.
School districts that don’t comply fully with the law could face discipline from the state’s attorney general, said Chris Hartman, executive director of the Fairness Campaign, a Kentucky-based LGBTQ+ advocacy group.
Teachers from across the state have also shared stories about their schools removing pride flags and safe space stickers, banning educators from using trans students’ pronouns and names, and removing access to bathrooms for trans kids, according to Carver, the former Teacher of the Year, who is collecting that information as part of his work with the nonprofit Campaign for our Shared Future. Boyle County Schools Superintendent Mark Wade cited SB 150 as the reason for removing more than 100 books from the district’s school libraries.
Educators and school staff are fearful, said Carver. “It’s nearly impossible to know what’s happening because the law gets to be interpreted at the local level. So, the district itself gets to decide what the law’s interpretation will look like,” he said. “And teachers who before this were willing to speak out and advocate are, as a general rule, unwilling to speak publicly about what’s happening.”
For supporters of the law, that may be the point. GLSEN’s Rady said the bills are often written in intentionally vague ways to intimidate educators and school district leaders into removing any content that might land them in trouble. This year, his group is focused on providing educators, students and families information about their rights to free speech and expression in schools, including their right to run GSAs, Rady said.
‘Suicide is never one thing’
In March 2020, when the pandemic hit and schools went remote, Meryl, then a high school freshman, posted a video diary on social media. In it, she strums her ukulele, and shares a message to her friends. “Some of you guys don’t have social media, some of you guys don’t like being at home,” Meryl said in the video. “I won’t get to see you guys for a whole month which is awful because you guys make me have a 10 times better life, you guys make mountains feel like literally bumps and steep cliffs just feel like a little bit of walking down the stairs.”
The video ends with her saying she’ll see her peers in school on April 30, when schools were scheduled to reopen. On the morning of April 18, Meryl died.
Ketron, Meryl’s mother, had thought remote school would be a relief for her daughter after years of bullying in school buildings. But it was difficult to be separated from her friends, she said, and Meryl also knew some of them were struggling in homes where they did not feel accepted.
“Suicide is never one thing,” Ketron said. “A lot of times people talk about death by a thousand paper cuts. As sad as it sounds, for me to have that come out of my mouth, I feel like that really speaks to Meryl’s life. She had wonderful things, but it was just like thousands of paper cuts.”
For months after Meryl’s death, Ketron would read text messages on Meryl’s phone from her friends sharing stories about how she’d stood up for them in school and in the community. Ketron said she made a promise to herself — and to Meryl — that she was going to be loud like her daughter and “make it better.” In the spring of 2020, she started doit4Meryl.
“I don’t ever want this to happen again, ever, to anyone,” she said. “I never want someone to be in that place and pieces of it that got them there was hate and ignorance from another human being.”
In 2021, the anti-LGBTQ+ and anti-critical race theory book bans movement reached the Owenton community after a teacher in the district taught “The 57 Bus,” a nonfiction book that features a vocabulary guide explaining gender identities and characters who are LGBTQ+.
The book created an uproar in the town, with parents calling for its removal and for the educator to be disciplined. After that, Ketron said the few teachers who had seemed open to sponsoring the GSA no longer felt comfortable.
In mid-2021, Ketron decided to start the club herself, at the public library. Each month, a dozen or so kids gathered in one of the building’s study rooms, talking about what it means to be queer in rural Kentucky, and what they hoped to accomplish through their GSA. Some of them were Meryl’s friends, others were new to Ketron.
In July 2022, the group held a Color Run, a 5K to bring together various advocacy groups from around the county and state to uplift people after the isolation of Covid. Later that year, they invited Carver to speak about his experiences as an openly gay man growing up in rural Kentucky. The students worked with Ketron and doit4Meryl to create a “Be Kind” campaign: They printed signs with phrases like “You’re never alone” and “Don’t give up,” along with information on mental health resources, and placed them in yards around town.
In the fall of 2022, after a teacher agreed to serve as an advisor for the GSA, the school principal allowed the club on campus. While Ketron checks in with the students occasionally, the club is now student-led, she said. The past school year would have been Meryl’s senior year, and the club’s students were excited about finally being welcomed onto campus, Ketron said.
Tragedy strikes again
Then Kentucky’s 2023 legislative session began with an onslaught of legislation targeting LGBTQ+ youth that eventually merged to become SB 150.
Around the same time, tragedy entered Ketron’s life again: She lost one of her foster children, who was trans, to suicide. The loss of her daughters prompted her to spend countless hours in the state Capitol, attending committee meetings and hearings and signing up to testify against the anti-trans and anti-LGBTQ+ bills on the senate floor. She watched, devastated, as legislators quickly voted on and passed SB 150.
“All I could think about was Meryl,” she said. “They’re just starting and this world is supposed to love them through this hard part. When you’re shaping yourself and instead we’re going to tell you that we don’t want you to exist.”
In Owenton, the district follows SB 150 as per law, said Reggie Taylor, superintendent of Owen County Schools. Little has changed as a result of the legislation, he said: “It’s been business as usual.” Trans and nonbinary students have long had a separate bathroom they could use and that hasn’t changed, he said, and the district offers a tip line for students to anonymously report bullying, as well as access to school counselors.
Ketron, though, sees fallout. Fearful of bullying and other harms, she said that she and the other parents with trans kids in the school system are trying to get their children support by applying for help through Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act. While 504 plans are typically for students with disabilities, they are sometimes used to help secure LGBTQ+ students services and accommodations, such as protection from bullying, mental health counseling and access to bathrooms that match their gender identity.
SB 150 has also had a chilling effect on the work of the school’s GSA, according to Ketron. During the summer, after the law went into effect, PRISM members discussed changing the club’s name and direction to focus on mental health.
Across the state, students and educators are grappling with what their schools will look like as the law takes hold. In March, Anna, a trans nonbinary student from Lexington, launched an Instagram account called TransKY Storytelling Project, anonymously documenting the impact of the new law on young people and teachers.
People shared examples of the ways the legislation affects them, such as making them afraid to go to school, erasing their identities and making the jobs of educators and librarians tougher. A middle school guidance counselor in rural Kentucky wrote that the new law makes it harder to connect with students and support them: “If we are the only ones students have, and we can’t provide them the care they desperately need and deserve, the future looks very bleak.”
Even in the state’s more progressive cities, the law has changed daily life in schools, Anna, the Instagram account’s curator said. The GSA at Anna’s Lexington high school used to announce club meetings and events on the loudspeakers and post flyers in school hallways, Anna said. But the group has since gone underground, to avoid bringing attention to its existence lest administrators force it to stop meeting.
“The school felt so much safer knowing that [a GSA] existed because there were students like you elsewhere. You could go in and say, ‘Hey, I’m trying out this set of pronouns. I’m trying to learn more about myself. Can you all like call me this for a couple of weeks?’” Anna said. “It just allowed for a place where students like me could go.”
But while the absence of a GSA is concerning, Anna fears most the impact of SB 150 on students in rural parts of Kentucky. GSA members from rural communities have shared that they no longer have supportive school staff to advocate for their clubs because of the climate of fear created by the law, they said.
That said, November’s election brought some hope for LGBTQ+ advocates: Cameron, the state attorney general who backed SB 150 and campaigned on anti-trans policies, lost his bid for the governorship to incumbent Andy Beshear, and several other candidates for office who advocated anti-trans policies were defeated too.
Back in Owenton, Ketron is working with Carver to plan a summit for Kentucky’s rural, queer youth. Ketron said she hopes the gathering will serve as a reminder for students that even though they may be isolated in their communities, there are people like them across the state.
But as of this fall, participating in a GSA is no longer an option for students at the Owenton high school. Boots, the school principal, wrote in an email that the club had changed its focus, to one geared toward addressing “social needs across a variety of settings.”
But according to Ketron, students said they were afraid to continue a club focused on LGBTQ+ issues in part because of SB 150. She offered to help students restart the club in the library, or at her house, she said, but members worried that would be too difficult because many of them have not come out to their families.
Ketron said she’s not giving up. “At its core,” she said, a GSA is “a protective factor and so very needed, especially in a rural community.”
This story about LGBTQ+ students in schools was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up for the Hechinger newsletter.
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Javeria Salman is The Hechinger Report’s digital news producer and reports and writes the Future of Learning newsletter. She covers K-12 education issues through the lens of innovation and technology, and helps manage social media. Before joining Hechinger in 2019, she worked as a local news reporter in eastern North Carolina. Her work for Hechinger has appeared in Telemundo, The Atlanta-Journal Constitution, The Christian Science Monitor and the Solutions Journalism Network.
She attended community college in New Jersey before graduating with a bachelor’s degree from East Carolina University.
The preceding story was previously published by the Kentucky Lantern and is republished with permission.
The Kentucky Lantern is an independent, nonpartisan, free news service based in Frankfort a short walk from the Capitol, but all of Kentucky is our beat.
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Features
Celebrating 40 years of ‘Being Alive’
The team behind this landmark celebration speaks about HIV Advocacy today
For the past 40 years, the HIV Advocacy group has fought to provide people with the resources, support, and overall care that they need. Theirs is a beautiful mission of uplifting marginalized communities across Los Angeles — that, unfortunately, was borne out of necessity.
When it started in 1986, Being Alive was a tool for survival, created by the many LGBTQ+ individuals who’d been abandoned by society while in the midst of the HIV/AIDS crisis. The organization’s current Executive Director, Jamie Baker, explained, “When Being Alive first started, it was sort of out of frustration and desperation. No one was doing anything, and our friends and family were waiting to die. The founders of the organization decided to take action and help people have hope to find a way through this.”
What started as a couple of community members hosting small support groups has become one of the leading nonprofits providing wellness services for those living with HIV and AIDS. Whether it be mental health support, prevention education, or the various other services they offer today, Being Alive has become an essential resource for countless people living with HIV in LA — and on Saturday, September 12th, 2026, they’ll be celebrating four decades of hard work at the ‘40 Years of Being Alive’ celebration.
Hosted at the Los Angeles Athletic Club, 40 Years of Being Alive is a reception and awards ceremony that will see the organization’s many supporters come together for a moment of community joy. Because along with looking back at the organization’s history and all it’s accomplished, the event is promising some fun; Broadway legends Marissa Jaret Winokur, Kerry Butler, and Laura Bell Bundy will be performing an excerpt from their hit Mama, I’m A Big Girl Now show for everyone in attendance. “I was a kid during the AIDS crisis, but I remember losing colleagues and people I knew,” recounted Butler when discussing how it feels to be a part of such a landmark celebration. “A mission of mine has been to support the LGBTQ community, and help them to know how loved they are…[so] it’s an honor to get to help celebrate this organization that has been doing such amazing work.”
And this trio won’t be the only stars in attendance. Along with notable advocates from across Los Angeles, the event will be honoring actress Morgan Fairchild, renowned therapeutic specialist Joseph Leahy, and the legendary comedian Bruce Vilanch for their work supporting people living with HIV. “Being Alive was one of the volunteer-run charities that sprang up in the first few years of the AIDS epidemic,” said Vilanch. “It’s great to know there is still hope with everything that’s going on in our country…it’s been difficult for the smaller AIDS charities to keep up, and I’m happy to be a part of that effort.”
Being Alive honorees – Bruce Vilanch, Morgan Fairchild, and Joseph Leahy / Photos courtesy of Being Alive
Every person involved with the celebration spoke about not only their excitement but also why the LGBTQ+ community needs joyful moments like this right now. Especially because groups like Being Alive are some of our most important resources right now — and, in recent years, they’ve also been the most attacked.
“We lost a significant part of a government-funded contract,” explained Baker when describing the stark funding cuts Being Alive has continuously seen over the past two years. “These short-sighted and ill-informed attacks on LGBTQIA+ communities and people living with HIV are appalling and frightening.” This is sadly not an isolated incident; in Los Angeles alone, we’ve seen millions in funding for HIV-related resources be cut by the current administration. And these attacks are spreading worldwide, with the American government revoking historic funds meant to assist people all across the globe who are struggling with HIV and AIDS today. This has made thousands of people internationally scared for their health, and it’s left our local LGBTQ+ communities fighting to retain the services we’ve spent decades building.
It’s this fight, Baker explains, that is at the heart of the 40 Years of Being Alive celebration. Because, yes, the event will be a fun-filled afternoon for connecting with like-minded supporters from across LA. But it will also be a valuable reminder that Being Alive, and the mission it represents, is not going anywhere.
“We are celebrating 40 years of resilience and the people who fought for every service and treatment we have available today,” explained the Executive Director. “We honor those we lost, and everything we do is on the foundation built by those who came before us…those who marched, held ‘ die-ins ‘ on the Washington Mall, and those whose voices still resonate. We are still here, and our community of people with HIV has the opportunity to thrive because of those activists and pioneers. That’s the celebration.”
40 Years of Being Alive takes place on Saturday, September 12, 2026, from 2:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m.at the Los Angeles Athletic Club. You can buy your tickets here.
Features
REACH LA: Where community, culture, and liberation kiki
Three strong voices from REACH LA’s community show us how Ballroom, activism, and collaboration are transforming LGBTQ+ life in LA while also building a more liberated future
For LGBTQ+ folks of color in Los Angeles, community can mean much more than simply having a place to come together. It can mean finding a chosen family, discovering a creative outlet, accessing wellness resources, or simply walking through a door and knowing that you belong. REACH LA has spent years creating spaces where health, creativity, advocacy, culture, and celebration meet. At the heart of that work are the people who show up every day to teach, organize, advocate, perform, mentor, and build connections.
In this collective interview, three members of the REACH LA community – multidisciplinary artist and Ballroom icon Packrat Whitfield, advocate and community connector ChiChi Navarro, and Invisible Men founder Luckie Alexander – reflect on what brought them to REACH LA, what the organization means to their respective communities, and why intentionally creating spaces for LGBTQ+ people of color remains so important. Their stories are different, yet they share a common value: the belief that representation matters, community is a form of healing, and the future of LGBTQ+ liberation depends on people continuing to show up for one another.
Packrat Whitfield
A multidisciplinary artist whose work spans choreography, movement, artistic direction, production, dance education, DJing, Voguing, activism, and Ballroom culture, Packrat Whitfield has spent more than two decades immersed in the Ballroom community. Their relationship with REACH LA began in 2014, shortly after moving from New Jersey to Los Angeles.
“I first showed up at Reach LA in 2014 after moving from New Jersey to LA and being told about Vogue open sessions at the dance studio,” Whitfield shares. After years of attending and supporting REACH LA, they were eventually invited to join the organization professionally. Today, they teach weekly Vogue classes that are free to attendees, sharing knowledge and skills accumulated throughout their career.
For Whitfield, REACH LA’s mission is inseparable from the history of Ballroom itself. “Ballroom was created by Black and Latino LGBTQ+ individuals,” they explain, making REACH LA’s commitment to LGBTQ+ people of color especially meaningful. Having spent more than 20 years in Ballroom, Whitfield sees teaching as an opportunity to give back while helping younger generations carry the culture forward.
They have also experienced firsthand the importance of representation. As a queer Black woman participating in Ballroom, Whitfield says they rarely saw someone who reflected their identity. Rather than allowing that absence to define their experience, they decided to become the representation they wished they had.
“I really wanted to be the change I wanted to see,” they say. “I really worked hard over the years to be visible, present, and be a role model when I had none.”
That commitment extends beyond performance. Whitfield describes REACH LA as a space where creativity can become a pathway toward healing, confidence, and professional development. They have watched young people enter the organization, take classes, develop their artistry, and eventually become prominent performers within Ballroom.
“They call me the mother of Reach LA,” Whitfield says, reflecting on the many young people they have helped nurture. For them, teaching isn’t simply about technique. It’s about helping people find their voice and providing tools that can make their journey into entertainment easier.
Social justice, too, is woven into Ballroom culture. “The consistent fight for freedom is a form of social justice in its own right,” Whitfield says. Whether that means fighting for the right to occupy space, live authentically, or be recognized and respected, Ballroom has long transformed resistance into art, movement, and community.
ChiChi Navarro
ChiChi Navarro describes themselves as “a person of many multitudes,” moving between roles as a drag artist, event host, fundraiser, educator, community connector, policy advocate, and organizer. Their advocacy centers LGBTQ+, TGI, Latine, working-class, and poor communities, with an extensive network of involvement throughout Los Angeles.
Navarro’s relationship with REACH LA began through participation. “I first fell in love with REACH LA while attending some of their incredible group sessions and Vogue classes!” they recall. While Navarro jokes that attempting a dip would be “the end of me,” those early experiences opened the door to a much deeper relationship with the organization.
That relationship eventually expanded into advocacy. Navarro invited REACH LA to participate in a TransLatin@ Coalition Day of Advocacy during the fight for the TGI Wellness and Equity Initiative in Los Angeles County. With support from organizations including REACH LA, the initiative ultimately passed and became TGI RISE.
For Navarro, REACH LA’s mission reflects their own belief that liberation must center those who are most marginalized. “True liberation happens when we intentionally empower the most marginalized among us,” they say.
They also emphasize the importance of joy. Advocacy can be exhausting, and community members need spaces where they can celebrate as well as organize. REACH LA provides opportunities to recognize frontline activists, honor those who came before them, and build relationships outside the immediate pressures of political work.
Navarro’s own journey toward advocacy is deeply personal. Having experienced shame around sexuality and gender expression while growing up, they describe the process of reaching acceptance, and ultimately celebration, as requiring significant interpersonal work.
Today, Navarro proudly describes themselves as a queer and gender-expansive Mexican-American Angeleno. That journey has shaped a philosophy grounded in empathy, patience, understanding, and genuine acceptance.
When asked about the future, Navarro imagines a world where sexual orientation, gender, and gender expression are never grounds for exclusion. They envision housing, food, healthcare, and vibrant community spaces as fundamental rights rather than privileges.
Most importantly, they hope their legacy encourages radical collaboration. “It truly takes a village,” Navarro says. “We are infinitely stronger working together.” And alongside the seriousness of that vision comes a reminder not to lose joy in the struggle: “Have fun and be kind to yourself.”
Luckie Alexander
Luckie Alexander, CEO and founder of Invisible Men, has dedicated more than two decades to gender and social justice, education, workforce development, advocacy, and community organizing. His work has included leadership with the Los Angeles County HIV Commission, the Brown Boi Project, the West Hollywood Trans Advisory Board, and the historic 2019 National Trans Visibility March.
His connection with REACH LA has evolved through collaborative projects, but one particular program has brought him back into closer contact with the organization: T Boy Tuesday’s Game Nights.
“Having space created intentionally for Trans men and transmasculine individuals is what continues to bring me back,” Whitfield says.
That intentionality is central to what REACH LA represents for him. As a Black trans man, Whitfield recognizes the importance of seeing people who reflect your identity doing the work. “It is great to see folks that look like you doing similar work for the LGBTQ+ community,” he says, particularly when those spaces include demographics that are frequently left out of broader conversations.
His activism began in response to his own experiences during transition and the treatment of trans men within society. Community eventually became a place where he could see reflections of himself that he hadn’t previously known he needed.
“I was able to use my academic and life experiences to help those coming behind me to not have to experience what I did,” he explains.
That philosophy of paying it forward is central to Invisible Men’s mission and to what he sees in REACH LA. For Whitfield, the organization’s greatest contribution is creating a space where trans men can interact with one another while accessing community, support, and the broader resources that make wellness possible.
“Spaces intentionally for Trans men are very far and few between,” he says. “REACH LA provides a safe place for us to interact, with us, led by us.”
Ultimately, Whitfield hopes the work being done today helps create a future in which people no longer have to fight simply to exist. His vision is simple but profound: a world where people are seen fully as themselves and where community space is genuinely shared.
“I want my legacy to be that everyone sees everyone for the person,” he says. “In ten or twenty years I want there not to be a reason to fight so hard just to live. I hope that existence isn’t so complicated.”
Across Ballroom floors, advocacy tables, classrooms, game nights, policy meetings, and creative spaces, the stories of Packrat, ChiChi, and Luckie demonstrate why organizations like REACH LA matter. Their approaches may differ, but each sees community as something active; something built through teaching, listening, showing up, making room, and passing knowledge forward. In a world that can still make LGBTQ+ people of color fight for visibility, safety, and belonging, REACH LA offers something essential: a place where people can gather not only to survive, but to create, celebrate, heal, and imagine what comes next.
For more information, head to ReachLA.info.
Features
Micah Jesse wants you to invest in your authenticity
The professional explains why your queerness is always your biggest asset
Most queer people can remember the first time they saw another LGBTQ+ person.
For many, it wasn’t a very good experience; the media’s historic focus on stereotyping has led to depictions of our community as caricatures, not as people. This has luckily lessened over the years, but it can still be hard for folks today to see others with their identities living openly. Somehow — even with its many, many pitfalls — the rise of social media has addressed this issue, making it easy for LGBTQ+ users to share their lives with people all over the world. Now more than ever, it’s possible for queer folks to go online and see the real representation they need…which is why the rise in online discrimination has been so heartbreaking.
The past few years have seen ongoing attacks against anything queer online. And while there are still many influencers sharing their authentic selves with the world, this bullying has led to many hiding themselves from others, scared that showcasing their real selves will lead to nothing but digital hatred. It’s because of this hatred that we need LGBTQ+ creators more than ever — and it’s why Micah Jesse, Head of Influencer & Creator Marketing for e.l.f Cosmetics, has committed himself to making the influencer industry as inclusive as possible today.
The best creators start out by simply doing what they love, and Micah is no different; the man’s career began as staff at The Box SoHo, a prolific nightclub known for its ultra-famous customer base. “When I first started, ‘influencer’ wasn’t even a word yet,” Jesse laughed, remembering his early days in the role. He described the many celebrities who walked through The Box’s doors and how, to the shock of his managers, he loved nothing more than to casually tell each how much he adored their work. He paired this confidence with the signature style (mainly bright colors and rhinestones) he still wears today, with the man’s all-around brazenness earning him the attention of Ali Puliti, editor at the historic OK! Magazine. “She saw something in [me],” he explained. “She’s told me since that I had ‘no phoniness,’ which in this industry you learn to notice when it’s missing. I asked for her card — my first assignment was interviewing Rihanna on the roof of the Empire State Building.”
From there, Micah’s life became a glamorous whirlwind; he began as a reporter, interviewing some of the country’s biggest celebrities and documenting every jaw-dropping experience in his popular blog. He was one of the first influencers to successfully translate these writings into a social media presence, developing a massive following who loved hearing his thoughts on makeup, fashion, and all things celebrity culture.
Jesse remembered the joys and struggles of these early years fondly, recounting how, while fun, it was also immensely difficult making a name for himself in the tenuous entertainment industry. And he’s especially proud to have been one of the few people to do all of this while being openly queer…despite being told many times that it ‘wasn’t a good idea.’
“There was a talent manager early on who told me flat-out that America wasn’t ready for someone ‘so out,’” recounted Micah. “And that I’d be more universally liked if I dialed it back.” It’s an issue that has only gotten worse; not only do online algorithms favor more ‘traditional’ (AKA heterosexual and white) creators, but too often large brands discount partnerships with diverse influencers who don’t appease the bigoted parts of their audience. Yet despite this ‘advice,’ Micah continued to be open about his sexuality, understanding that, “Authenticity ended up being the thing that worked in my favor. Talent and their management loved speaking with me because I wasn’t performing…[my] enthusiasm wasn’t a liability. It was the whole asset.”
It’s this authenticity that Micah cultivates in his current role: Head of Influencer & Creator Marketing for e.l.f Cosmetics. “e.l.f. had its finger on the pulse of inclusivity and culture long before I ever walked in the door — that’s exactly why I wanted to be there!” He raved, detailing how he works with multi-million-dollar marketing teams and some of today’s biggest influencers to amplify the company’s brand.
Micah fights to spotlight creators like himself, marginalized folks who love all things makeup and fashion but are too often ignored by companies who don’t appreciate their voices. “Treating creators like cultural forces instead of vendors, and watching that philosophy actually move the business…it’s proof you don’t have to choose between doing right by people and doing right by the numbers,” he emphasized. “Because representation isn’t abstract — it’s the difference between a kid scrolling at 1 am feeling alone and that same kid seeing someone who looks or sounds like them, thriving, unbothered.”
Jesse strives to find the marginalized creators who have a passion for these products, whose distinct experiences not only make their personal styles unique but offer representation for the millions of other people who love e.l.f. today. He emphasized that, of course, he will partner with a great creator no matter their identity — but finally, he’s working to give marginalized artists an equitable chance at developing the partnerships they deserve. It’s a mission that he holds dearly every day, saying, “Culture moves through creators now more than it moves through almost anything else. When we go quiet, that space doesn’t stay empty — someone else fills it, and not always with care.”
Since first beginning in this space, Micah Jesse has committed to being his biggest, brightest self to show his thousands of followers that they can too. He is so honored to continue this work on a global scale at e.l.f. And on what he hopes his impact — not only in this job, but in the numerous others he’s poured his heart into over the years — will be, Micah ended the interview by saying, “I want to help crush the idea that authenticity and professionalism are in tension…you don’t have to dim yourself to be taken seriously in a boardroom. And you don’t have to perform to be taken seriously online.”
Features
A throuple of questions for the 3Dudes1Life Creative guys
Imagine meeting the loves of your life and turning it into a career?
In addition to the growing list of sexualities, we’re expanding how we look at our relationships. Whether you’re monogamous, open, or living in a pansexual polycule, love is love. Daniel, Will, and Caleb, the hosts of the A Little Throuple Tea podcast, have invited the world into their unique relationship to show them the ins and outs of throuple life.
This tell-all podcast is one part of 3Dudes1Life Creative, which also includes a romantic memoir series, Tres Amigos, Una Vida, and a budding lifestyle brand that’s destigmatizing living and loving in a threesome.
You’ve got Will, the HBIC with the clipboard and mastermind behind creating this whole enterprise. You’ve got Caleb, the grounded, pragmatic one with a dry sense of humor. Then there’s Daniel, the creative who brings humor, creativity, and spirituality into the mix.
The guys took some time to share their origin story and how they make it all work. They are also quick to dispel any fantastical fixations and morbid misconceptions about their romance. They’re direct, plainspoken, and most importantly grounded in a relationship they’ve built that works for them.
So how did you all meet?
Will: I moved to Southern California from South Dakota in 2006 for college and met Caleb later that year before going out to Rich’s one night. He was in the Navy, and our friends set us up. We have been together ever since.
In 2010, we met Daniel through nightlife and started a friendship. We actually tried the “throuple” thing back in 2011, but it didn’t last long. We continued our friendship after that, but in 2016, after a trip to the Dominican Republic, our second attempt at a throuple began. Since then, we have been together for over a decade, enjoying this wild ride called life.
Caleb: I came from a small city in West Texas, Lubbock. I was 20 at the time, renting a cheap hotel in downtown, and drinking with shipmates was the usual. After seeing places like Australia, Hong Kong, Japan, Dubai, and Malaysia, I had a shipmate tell me about her friend who was single. By the time we got back to port, her single friend was no longer single, but they did introduce me to Will.
He tried to seduce me by introducing himself in just a towel, which worked. After going out that night, we started to hang out every weekend. And then soon after that, I was moving in with him, and the rest is history.
Daniel was an avid bar goer who spent at least 6 nights a week bar hopping. Will, being the hip-hop DJ that he is, would draw Daniel and his friends to his dance floor. Soon after, they started talking on Facebook and a friendship blossomed. One night, when Will was DJing, Daniel and his friends, of course, came out to dance. I came out later that night, and when I went to go say hi to Will, he told me that Daniel was there and pointed him out on the dance floor.
The night was mostly a blur after that from shots, drinks, Daniel backing it up on me, and ending with some greasy food. I’m pretty sure they all crashed at our place that night cause pretty much every weekend after that, Daniel and his friends were crashing at our place.
Daniel: We all met in Hillcrest while Will was DJing back in 2010. I had always known who Will was from the local scene, but our actual introduction happened when he sent me a Facebook message offering to get me into the bar for free. That night, I met both Will and Caleb, and the rest is history.
What do you feel is the biggest misconception about being in a throuple?
Daniel: The biggest misconception is that a throuple is all about sex. In reality, our relationship is like any other. We have conversations, challenges, ups and downs, quality time together, and yes, intimacy too. It’s all about balance.
Caleb: I think that the biggest misconception is that because we are a polyamorous relationship, we are open in our relationship. Now, yes, Will and I weren’t open per-say but we did have some hot, heated times, and we always played together. I think if we didn’t have some occasional fun together, the idea of being a throuple would have been out of the question. But as soon as we became an official throuple, we closed the door and are monogamous now.
Will: That someone must be a “homewrecker” or that the original couple must not have been happy together. It’s almost as if people think adding a third person will somehow fix a struggling relationship. For us, the evolution from friendship to partners happened naturally. Adding a third personality and dynamic to a relationship doesn’t fix problems—if anything, it requires a lot more communication, trust, and work to make it successful.
Another misconception is that it’s just a phase. Maybe for some people it is, but for us it definitely isn’t. We’ve built a life together, and in the end, it has made all three of us better men.
What inspired the podcast?
Caleb: This is a Will question, lol. After having a great success with an LGBTQ+ day at state and county fairs called “Out at the Fair”, current political views quickly turned what was a successful, family-friendly LGBTQ+ day into the “red-headed stepchild” no one wanted.
So Will did what any CEO would do; he pivoted! He saw how popular “Out at the Fair” was, along with a few side hustles; we had an Etsy that was gaining traction, and for some reason people wanted to know who we were. So he started a blog. Then the blog very quickly became the podcast.
Will: We have been told for years that we should record our life and share our story. Over the last year, I experienced some major changes in our business, and it gave us the opportunity to pivot in a new direction.
Instead of dwelling on things we couldn’t control, we decided to turn that frustration and uncertainty into a creative project. That’s how the podcast was born. It became a way for us to share our experiences, our relationship, and the ups and downs of life with the world.
When we first got together, there really weren’t many examples of long-term throuples living normal lives. We wanted people to see that our life isn’t all that different from anyone else’s. We work, pay bills, argue about dinner, take care of our dogs, and try to build a future together.
At the end of the day, it’s really just three guys talking about life, love, chaos, and everything in between—and people seem to connect with that.
Daniel: The inspiration mainly came from our Instagram page. We get a lot of questions about how our relationship works, where we’re from, and how we met. With the following we built on Instagram, Will had the idea of starting a podcast and sharing more of our lives through conversations on a mic and camera. The podcast gives people a chance to hear answers to their questions while also seeing our authentic personalities, how we communicate, and how much we tease each other. It’s been a lot of fun to create.
Do you think anyone could be in a throuple, or do you feel you’re uniquely suited for each other?
Will: I don’t think being in a throuple is for everyone, and that’s okay. We can tell by some of the reactions, facial expressions, and comments we receive that it isn’t something everyone understands or would want for themselves.
But for the people it does work for, it can be amazing—and really, that’s all that matters. At the end of the day, every relationship is unique. Ours just happens to have three people instead of two.
Daniel: I think anyone could be in a throuple if the connection, communication, and mutual respect are there. That said, I’ve had many people tell me they couldn’t do it because they’d be too jealous or wouldn’t want to share their partner. I understand that feeling. In my experience, jealousy often shows up when someone doesn’t feel secure, equal, or heard. Communication is what helps navigate those feelings. When everyone feels valued and understood, a throuple can be an incredibly loving and supportive relationship.
Caleb: No, I don’t think a throuple is for everyone. They are not for the weak-hearted. And I feel like you have to be emotionally mature. I say that because, like all relationships, jealousy can play a huge role, especially when there are more than 2 people in a relationship.
What do you think is the secret to your relationship success?
Daniel: I call it the “triangle of support.” We’re able to balance each other and lean on one another. If a misunderstanding or disagreement happens, the third person can often provide perspective and help us better understand each other. I also think our success comes from the fact that we were friends first. We know each other deeply, understand how each person communicates, and genuinely enjoy spending time together.
Will: Communication. I know most would say, ‘Well, duh,’ but when you add a third personality, family, career, schedule, and life into the mix, communication becomes even more important. If you aren’t talking about everything and anything, it’s easy for someone to feel left out or not included. Honestly, our group chat is ridiculous, but it’s also one of the reasons we thrive. We stay connected throughout the day, work through issues as they come up, and make sure everyone feels heard. It may sound simple, but consistent communication has been the foundation of our relationship’s success.
Caleb: I guess really there’s nothing different than a traditional relationship. We try to make a monthly date night, we take vacations together, we give each other our space when we need it and support each other when it’s too hard to stand. And of course we try to keep it spicy in the bedroom. It is easier to spice things up when you have 2 ‘joysticks’ to play with.
What would you say is the most important aspect of your relationship?
Daniel: Communication and the ability to be silly together. We joke with each other constantly, and that keeps life fun. Being able to laugh together makes even stressful situations feel a little lighter.
Will: The most important aspect of our relationship is knowing that none of us ever has to face life alone. No matter how bad the day is or how difficult a situation becomes, there is always someone there to lean on. We call it our “triangle of support.” When one of us is struggling, the other two are there to help carry the load. At the end of the day, knowing you are loved, supported, and never alone is a pretty powerful thing.
Caleb: Us 3 are all totally different personalities! I think that’s why we work so great together. Otherwise life would just be too boring.
Check out their 3Dudes1Life app to access their podcast, their book, and more!
And look for more of these guys on the Los Angeles Blade. Part 2 of our interview with them, answering relationship questions, is on the way, and we will be sharing the latest episodes of their podcast right here!
Features
Preserving our stories: Dr. Lydia Otero on memory, community, and queer history
Historian and activist Dr. Lydia Otero explains how the everyday moments of 1987 uncover powerful stories of identity, resilience, and community that still resonate today.
Activist, author, and queer historian Dr. Lydia Otero has spent their life documenting the stories that are often left out of many historical records. In their latest book, L.A. Interchanges: A Brown & Queer Archival Memoir, Otero combines personal memory and meticulously preserved archival materials to spotlight the everyday experiences of a Brown, queer life in Los Angeles during the late 1980s. Rather than focusing solely on landmark events, Otero shares how ordinary moments, community organizing, and personal artifacts become powerful evidence of queer history.
Ahead of their August 16 lecture, 1987: Reflections on a Brown and Queer Life in Los Angeles, at One Gallery, we had the opportunity to speak with Otero about archives, activism, and the significance of preserving queer history. In the interview, Otero explores how one seemingly ordinary year reveals larger truths about identity, resilience, and the ongoing work of ensuring queer people of color remain visible in both the historical record and the future.
Your upcoming lecture is titled 1987: Reflections on a Brown and Queer Life in Los Angeles. Why did you choose to center your talk on this specific year? What made it such a pivotal moment in your journey?
I wouldn’t call 1987 a pivotal year. In many ways, it was an ordinary year in my life. That’s precisely what interests me. Rather than trying to tell the story of my entire life, I focus on a single year, specific experiences, and what they reveal about a much larger queer history.
What surprised you most when you revisited your own memories and personal archives nearly four decades later?
What surprised me most was realizing how much I had saved. I moved multiple times while living in Los Angeles, yet somehow I always prioritized keeping calendars, flyers, photographs, and other documents. I wasn’t consciously creating an archive, but I was preserving a record of my life. Nearly four decades later, those ordinary items became invaluable in helping me reconstruct the past.
Memory can be unreliable. How did you balance your own personal recollection with archival evidence while preparing for this lecture?
Memory is never perfect, which is why I don’t rely on memory alone. I wrote L.A. Interchanges as an archival memoir, using photographs, calendars, flyers, news clippings, and other documents to guide and verify my recollections whenever possible. It’s still my story and my perspective, but I wanted readers to see the evidence behind it. That’s why I included an archival section at the end of the book, so readers could examine many of the same materials I used to reconstruct my past.
Your work examines the intersections of race, sexuality, and place. How did Los Angeles shape your identity as both a Brown and queer person during the late 1980s?
I always felt like I was carving out a place for myself. As a working-class electrician in the construction industry, I lived paycheck to paycheck while building a life in Los Angeles. I also had to navigate racism and exclusion within parts of the predominantly white queer community, as well as homophobia within segments of the Latine community. One of my priorities was finding and organizing with other queers of color who understood many of the same struggles. Los Angeles was large enough that, despite these challenges, it offered opportunities to build community and organize around the issues that mattered most to me.
How did broader social movements (AIDS epidemic, and growing LGBTQ+ visibility) influence your own life and work?
They influenced my life immensely. The founding of ACT UP Los Angeles in 1987 was a game changer for the entire queer community. Although I supported and participated in some of its actions, I also recognized that Latine queers had needs that were not always being addressed. I felt a responsibility to serve my own community, particularly Spanish-speaking Latines who needed HIV/AIDS information and educational materials presented in Spanish and in culturally relevant ways. That commitment shaped much of my work during that period.
Your latest book, L.A. Interchanges: A Brown & Queer Archival Memoir, mixes memoir with historical research. What inspired you to experiment with this format?
I wanted to center archival materials rather than treat them as illustrations. A flyer I saved or created in the 1980s may not have seemed especially important at the time, but I kept it because it meant something to me. It took the passage of time for me to realize how precious those materials had become. They don’t just document events; they document the efforts of an ordinary person who tried to make the world a little better, one small contribution at a time. To me, that’s what an activist life is really about.
You are just as much an activist as you are a scholar, including serving as president of Gay and Lesbian Latinos Unidos and helping found Lesbianas Unidas. How has activism informed your historical writing? How has writing informed your activism?
Over time, I have come to understand how deeply my activism informs my scholarship. My years as an activist taught me to notice whose voices were missing, whose stories were overlooked, and how systems of inequality shaped people’s lives. At the time, I did not have a college degree. When I later returned to school to study history, I acquired the tools to document those experiences and place them within a broader historical context. Looking back, I see that my activism shaped the questions I ask as a historian.
Queer history is far too often overlooked or erased, especially the stories of LGBTQ+ people of color. In what ways are recovering these histories necessary in today’s political climate?
Recovering these histories is more important than ever. One of the enduring slogans of the queer movement is, “We’re here. We’re queer.” History reminds us that we were always here. That is especially important for LGBTQ+ people of color, who have too often been left out of both queer history and the histories of their own communities. Seeing Latine and queer lives documented in the historical record affirms that we have always existed, contributed, organized, and belonged. At a time marked by ICE raids, gentrification, and widening class divisions, preserving and sharing those histories is an act of visibility and resistance.
What responsibility do LGBTQ+ communities have in documenting our own stories?
I think we’ve learned that much of that responsibility falls on us. That’s one reason there is such a growing emphasis on LGBTQ+ archives, community collections, and oral histories. My talk on August 16 is a product of that commitment. It reflects the growing recognition that our shared past matters, and I’m grateful that the One Institute continues to create spaces where conversations about who we were, who we are, and where we want to go can take place.
What words of wisdom would you like to dispense to aspiring queer historians? You don’t need a formal degree to appreciate history or to help make it. History is created every day through the choices we make: attending a meeting, writing a post, supporting a new idea, joining a collective, or standing up for someone else. Live your life with the future in mind. Preserve what matters, because one day today’s ordinary moments may become the history someone else needs to understand.
One Institute Presents:
The Paul D. Lerner and Stephen Reis Lectures on LGBTQ+ History
Sunday, August 16, 2 p.m.
Dr. Lydia Otero, “1987: Reflections on a Brown and Queer Life in Los Angeles”
Features
Veteran journalist Karen Ocamb continues the good fight with the launch of her podcast
It’s a tough time for journalists and for the LGBTQ+ community, but Karen intends to tell stories that can make a difference.
Karen Ocamb has had a long and distinguished career in LGBTQ+ journalism, and now she’s taking it further with the launch of her podcast, LGBTQ+ Freedom Fighters with Karen Ocamb. It’s a companion to her LGBTQ+ Freedom Fighters blog on Substack, and The Los Angeles Blade is what she calls a “friendly partner” in both ventures.
Ocamb launched the blog a year ago, knowing this year’s midterm elections would be important. She’s published a variety of news and commentary pieces on it, interviewing activists such as Lambda Legal attorney Jon Davidson, TransLatin@ Coalition founder Bamby Salcedo, AIDS Healthcare Foundation president Michael Weinstein, and seniors fighting for transparency at the San Diego LGBT Community Center.
She has also offered many takes on the misdeeds of Donald Trump and appreciations of important LGBTQ+ figures and allies who’ve left us, including Wallis Annenberg, Michael Callen, Jewel Thais-Williams, Rob Reiner, David Mixner, and Eleanor Roosevelt. The blog features interviews with midterm candidates as well, such as Angie Craig, running for U.S. Senate from Minnesota; Shevrin Jones and Elijah Manley, seeking U.S. House seats from Florida; and California State Senate candidate John Erickson. (Full disclosure: This reporter is a contributor to LGBTQ+ Freedom Fighters and did the interviews with Craig, Jones, Manley, and Erickson.) The Blade cross-posts articles from LGBTQ+ Freedom Fighters.
“I do political analysis, and I also, importantly to me, do a lot of history,” Ocamb said. “I think context is really, really important because we have such short-term memories now that we think everything is just based on what we see that’s right in front of us right now, without pulling back the lens and seeing, oh, wait a second, there’s a bigger picture here, and so I’m very happy to be able to provide history that I have seen and covered myself and things that I haven’t covered that I think are important.”
The podcast will offer similarly important and interesting content, she said. Episodes available so far include interviews with veteran activist Cleve Jones, talking about Andry Hernández Romero, the gay makeup artist wrongfully deported to a brutal prison by the Trump administration; Rayna Zemeland and Miranda Winters, the married filmmakers behind Moms Club, a documentary about the mothers standing up to anti-transgender school board members in Southern California; longtime West Hollywood politician John Duran; and Weinstein. The podcast is available on platforms, including Apple, Spotify, iHeart, and Amazon.
Ocamb took a roundabout path to becoming a journalist. “What led me to become a journalist in the first place was that I didn’t want to become a sports producer,” she said. That may sound strange, she noted, but her mother, a real estate agent in Westport, Connecticut, was friends with Brent Musburger, a prominent CBS sportscaster at the time Ocamb graduated from college in 1973.
“Brent suggested that I start out as a sports producer and then maybe eventually become the first woman sports producer and first sideline female reporter, which you know was kind of interesting in 1973, when I graduated,” she said. “But truthfully, as much as I love sports, I just could not see me ginning up any interest in going into some male locker room and pretending I was excited to talk to these boys about whatever it was they wanted to talk about. So I politely declined.”
It turned out, however, that there was an opening on the CBS News assignment desk in New York City, and she applied and got hired. “It was amazing,” she said. “Watergate was happening. The Vietnam War was still happening. I got to clerk for Dan Rather and Walter Cronkite.” Cronkite told Ocamb he had known of her father, who was a journalist on The Kansas City Star when Cronkite was working at UPI in Kansas City before World War II. “So it was kind of fate … that I wound up there at that time and got the journalism bug, and I’ve been at it ever since,” she said.
She left CBS News in late 1983, having held jobs including desk assistant, broadcast associate, and assistant producer; but her last assignment was producing coverage of the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles for CBS affiliates. She wanted to become a playwright, so she took an acting class with actress Salome Jens (who starred with Rock Hudson in one of his best films, Seconds) because she wanted to know what actors would do with her words. But AIDS started hitting her classmates, and after a few years of various jobs and a relationship with Annenberg, a philanthropist and closeted lesbian, Ocamb got into the fight as a journalist.
“I decided I needed to do something other than be at my friends’ bedsides when they died or take them to doctors’ visits,” she said. “I’m also in 12-step programs, so there was a lot of taking care of people … and it seemed logical to me that the best thing for me to do is to use my skills as a journalist and apply that to our people.”
She met pioneers in the LGBTQ+ movement such as Harry Hay, Jim Kepner, Morris Kight, and Ivy Bottini. “It was kind of like being bitten by a second bug,” she said. She committed to being a fair and balanced journalist, dedicated to telling the stories of LGBTQ+ people in all their diversity and intersectionality.
“I covered pro-life Log Cabin Republicans on one side and Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence on the other side, and the whole point was to give them a voice so the rest of us could get to know them,” she said. “Honestly, that didn’t mean kowtowing; it meant asking honest questions. But I didn’t have to be rude about it. I could ask hard questions and still be civil.”
She was mostly a freelancer, writing for Frontiers, The Pride LA, and the Blade in Los Angeles, the San Francisco-based Bay Area Reporter, Chicago’s Windy City Times, and more. “Whoever had a publication out there, I either wrote for or tried to write for,” she said.
One of her big achievements was interviewing Hillary Clinton when her husband, Bill Clinton, was first running for president in 1992. Ocamb interviewed Clinton while riding in a van with her and David Mixner between events Clinton was attending in Los Angeles. “In addition to the regular questions I asked her, I asked her if she’d ever lost anybody to AIDS, and I swear … the whole mood, the whole atmosphere, the air in the van changed when she sort of sat back, settled down, and started talking about a dear friend that they had lost, who they knew in D.C., she and Bill Clinton, who they lost to AIDS, and she became a real person then,” Ocamb recalled. At the time, Bill Clinton, as governor of Arkansas, was being criticized for not doing enough about AIDS, but it turned out Arkansas was doing more than California, she added.
But her most important interviews were those she did in hospital rooms with people who were dying of AIDS complications. “It afforded them the dignity of being seen as a real human being” and knowing that someone cared, she said. “This wasn’t about winding up as an inch column in an obit section … but it was about telling the story of this person, and that really meant a lot to me.”
One of the most heartbreaking moments, she said, was when a dying 22-year-old told her his greatest regret was never having fallen in love. “So I said, ‘Well, I can’t give you the romantic love, but I’m here, and I love you, and your story will be told,’” she said. “So those are the stories I’ll remember.”
A few years ago, Steve Ralls, formerly of Servicemembers Legal Defense Network, recruited her to work for him at Public Justice, a public interest law group. She was there for two years, then took the steps toward starting LGBTQ+ Freedom Fighters. She has assistance from Max Huskins, a young straight ally, and sponsorship from the AIDS Healthcare Foundation.
It’s a tough time for journalists and for the LGBTQ+ community, she noted, but she intends to tell stories that can make a difference. Long ago, she saw the connections between anti-LGBTQ+ discrimination and other societal problems, such as poverty resulting from not being able to get a job. “So that’s why I do what I do, and that’s why I continue doing what I do,” she said.
She urges LGBTQ+ people and allies to do whatever they can to fight back—go to a protest, write a check to an organization, or anything else they’re comfortable with. But most of all, she said, “Vote, vote, vote. Don’t be intimidated. Vote. That’s the important thing.”
Check out Karen’s podcast: LGBTQ+ Freedom Fighters with Karen Ocamb
Check out Karen’s Substack here.
Features
Thank You, LA, for Wallis Annenberg Day!
The late lesbian philanthropist finally gets her real flowers.
Los Angeles County and the cities of Los Angeles, Santa Monica and Beverly Hills declared July 15 “Wallis Annenberg Day” – a local holiday on what would have been the longtime philanthropist’s 87th birthday. She died last July 28 from lung cancer.
Wallis, chair of the board, president, and CEO of the Annenberg Foundation, oversaw a nonprofit that contributed over $5 billion in grants and support for numerous significant projects and endeavors since 1989 – more recently, many that bear her name, including as founder and president of the Wallis Annenberg Legacy Foundation.
Santa Monica’s Annenberg Community Beach House – once media mogul William Randolph Hearst’s 5-acre, 110-room opulent home for his movie-star mistress, Marion Davies – will hold a private celebration. Wallis would surreptitiously visit California’s first public beach club just to watch regular folks have a good time. That’s how she determined her “return on investment” – gauging if the unique space was really serving the “public good.”
The Wallis is another example. Wallis donated $25 million, which seeded roughly $70 million more over ten years to rescue the historic 1933 Beverly Hills post office. It became the Wallis Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts – launched with lots of celebrity fanfare in 2013. The Wallis features the 500-seat Goldsmith Theater, the 150-seat Lovelace Studio Theater, GRoW at The Wallis: A Space for Arts Education, a sculpture garden, and a promenade terrace to enjoy the arts and community.
Annenberg, a lesbian who contributed immensely to benefit AIDS and LGBTQ+ organizations, ensured The Wallis’ inclusive mission and core values.
“In honor of PRIDE Month and the contributions of the LGBTQIA+ communities, The Wallis welcomes all to join in a joyful celebration of love, identity, and inclusivity,” the June 6 site says. “The day of prideful celebration includes Bob Baker Marionette Theater, Iwalani Music, Everybody Dance LA, Drag Story Time, Color Me Face Painting, and more!”
The Family Pride Fest is actually culturally subversive. Beverly Hills welcomes LGBTQ+ money, but major pockets in the reddish-purple city are Trumpian conservative. A gay employee brought a lawsuit alleging wrongful termination and discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation and race at Jimmy Choo’s on Via Rodeo Drive!
The Los Angeles Times headline at her death got it right: Wallis “helped transform LA.”
“Her name is ubiquitous in public spaces around Los Angeles: the Wallis Annenberg Building at the California Science Center in Exposition Park,” the LA Times wrote, “and the soon-to-debut Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing in Agoura Hills” over the 101 Freeway between the Simi Hills and the Santa Monica Mountains.
Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing live stream screenshot / Photo: Steve Winter/National Geographic / Video Stream Provided by: The John Logan Foundation
Wallis also created a space for seniors at the Wallis Annenberg GenSpace in Koreatown and the Wallis Annenberg PetSpace, an animal shelter in Silicon Beach that helps rehabilitate “unadoptable” animals before placing them for adoption.
In 2009, Wallis founded the Annenberg Space for Photography in Century City. The site closed during Covid in 2020, but the Annenberg Foundation site features tons of art, photography, films, streaming, and live webcams. Wallis was also a longtime board member of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and L.A.’s Museum of Contemporary Art. She gave $10 million in 2002 to endow LACMA’s director’s position.
The Annenberg Foundation also responded to the Palisades and Eaton wildfires, funding recovery efforts through nonprofits and organizations such as the Los Angeles Fire Department Foundation and the Team Rubicon Response Fund.
Wallis received many accolades and awards, including the National Humanities Medal from President Joe Biden in 2022.
“Wallis believed that communities flourish when people invest in one another,” Wallis’ adult children Lauren Bon, Gregory Annenberg Weingarten, and Charles Annenberg Weingarten, directors on the Annenberg Foundation board, said in a joint statement when “Wallis Annenberg Day” was declared.
Lauren also offered a unique insight, aligning Wallis’ character with the city she loved.
“My mother came to Los Angeles from a diasporic tradition — from a history that understood movement, reinvention, memory, and the search for belonging. She chose Los Angeles not as a backdrop, but as a place where the future was always being improvised in plain sight. She understood the city’s contradictions: its glamour and loneliness, invention and neglect, vastness and hunger for connection,” Lauren said in a statement released by her Metabolic Studio.
“She also understood that women of her generation were often invited to care, but not always invited to decide. My mother did both. She cared, and she decided. Through her philanthropy, she worked to alter the conditions under which people might live, learn, age, gather, create, and belong.
“For her, care was not a sentiment. Care was infrastructure. It was a door that opened, a classroom, a theater, a beach house, a place for older people to remain visible, a place for animals to be regarded with tenderness, a bridge built so wildlife might cross a wound made in the land.
“She noticed where the connection had been broken, and she did not accept brokenness as permanent.
Wallis Annenberg Day not only remembers her, but asks something of us: What kind of city do we build when care is treated as public work?”
“Wallis Annenberg Day” is the triumph of a virtually self-made woman finally being recognized for what she accomplished and the human being who trudged that long road from “brokenness” to public service to transform LA and people’s lives.
Oh, Wallis could be a bitch with a big snarky bite. But her friends often knew about her struggles and would give her a pass or, especially in 12 Step programs, would gently or firmly tell her to get over herself and get back in the lifeboat.
Several public profiles line up with what Wallis told me about herself during the short time in the late 1980s when we were together. Specifically, “Prodigal Daughter” by Stephen Schiff in the June 1985 issue of Vanity Fair and Bob Colacello’s “Her Own Kind of Annenberg” in Vanity Fair’s October 2009 Issue (published September 14, 2009) are rich with stories and candid interviews with Wallis and some of her friends.
The June 1985 piece starts off with: “It’s not easy growing up in the shadow of one of the wealthiest men in America, but Wallis Annenberg survived. Now she’s emerging as a major force in Southern California society. Here she tells STEPHEN SCHIFF her secrets of philanthropy and party giving, Hollywood-style.”
Ironically, the bible of high society came out in the same month that a Life Magazine hysterical cover declared: “Now No One Is Safe From AIDS” after movie star Rock Hudson finally revealed he was gay and dying of AIDS. Hudson had been diagnosed on June 5, 1984, with a KS lesion on his neck, three weeks after attending a state dinner. At the Reagan White House. By the end of 1984, 130,400 new HIV infections were reported globally.
Wallis’s close friend Joan Rivers was already among mostly women entertainers who were trying to raise money to fight AIDS. Interestingly, Wallis had just met Elizabeth Taylor for the first time on July 16, 1984, when she presented Taylor with the Helen T. Devereux Award at the ceremony in Beverly Hills.
They became friends, and according to a 2022 Vanity Fair report on an Elizabeth Taylor book, it was a note from Wallis that convinced Taylor to co-chair the first critical APLA Commitment to Life gala on Sept.19, 1985, where more than 2,500 people raised $1.3 million for APLA.
“Bill Misenhimer was the director of AIDS Project Los Angeles, and he knew that he needed Taylor’s help,” the report says. “In the end, Misenhimer said, he had to present a note from the philanthropist Wallis Annenberg, who was working with APLA [via lesbian attorney Diane Abbitt and LA Times society columnist MaryLouise Oates], to prove to Taylor that they were a legitimate organization committed to helping AIDS patients.”
Wallis signed on former First Lady Betty Ford to co-chair, as well. In 1975, after Wallis hit bottom following her ugly public divorce, she went to the new Betty Ford Center in Rancho Mirage for therapy and to get clean and sober. Elizabeth Taylor made history as the first major Hollywood celebrity to go to the Betty Ford Center in 1983.
And then the world changed, not only for people with AIDS and Hollywood but for gay people who were being outed by AIDS and abandoned by family and friends, as well as still closeted people like Wallis who had to try hard to pass as straight or lose their family, friends, and status, too.
“If it weren’t for homosexuals, there would be no culture,” Taylor said that night, promising a lifelong commitment to fighting AIDS. “The idea that God should choose his children [to suffer]—his geniuses to whom he had given the talent to make it a different, more beautiful place for us mere mortals—made me so angry.”
By Dec. 19, 1985, the fear was so great that the Los Angeles Times reported that a survey of 2,308 people indicated that 51% would support quarantining people with AIDS.
Wallis was afraid of AIDS, too. One afternoon, when I came home from seeing my friend Johnny Pipkin, who was dying of AIDS, I went to give Wallis a hug. She backed off, holding her hand out to stop me, telling me to go take a shower.
I was surprised. But then I remembered when I sat with my 12 Step sponsor, Stephen Pender, as he was dying. I had a cut on my finger, and I was afraid I might “catch” HIV/AIDS by holding his sweaty arm. I held him anyway. It was 1985, just before I met Wallis. We all gave each other a lot more grace then.
Wallis Annenberg could be cold, a spoiled child, a snarky bitch – and she could be funny, ironically self-deprecating, a loving mother, brave and caring, and transcend all the stares and shifty pleas from people hungry for money and strive to be of real public service.
“Proof of a person,” Wallis Annenberg said at the Sephardic Hebrew Academy, “is when idealism is matched by her deeds.”
Wallis Annenberg earned her “Wallis Annenberg Day” of recognition.
Check out her chat with Good Mornings CBS:
This is a cross-post from Karen Ocamb’s LGBTQ+ Freedom Fighters Substack.
Features
An activist says he’ll stand for trans rights, even if he’s standing alone
Colin Campbell, a volunteer for Trans Youth LA, is determined to show Children’s Hospital its decision to reverse course on trans care won’t be taken quietly
Wearing a flag saying “protect trans kids” and waving a large transgender flag, Colin Campbell stands with a handful of other protestors outside of Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles every Thursday.
In June 2025, the hospital announced it would stop its gender affirming services for transgender youth and young adults. Leadership cited major budget cut threats and federal investigation probes from Donald Trump’s administration for its decision. By the end of July 2025, its Center for Transyouth Health and Development closed.
“Across the country, bills all over are targeting transgender people from health care and access to participation in public life,” Campbell said. “This fascist administration is trying to erase trans people. Restrictions on gender-affirming care put lives at risk, especially for young people and families with limited resources.”
For the last year, Campbell has led the protest charge against the hospital’s decision.
“We’re the longest ongoing weekly street protest for trans kids in the United States, and probably the world,” Campbell said. “This is the civil rights issue of our time.”
Campbell has been to almost every weekly protest since Feb. 20, 2025, as a volunteer for Protect Trans Youth LA. Protect Trans Youth LA is a group of care providers and community members aiming to protect gender affirming care and the safety of trans youth.
“The reason why I admire trans people so much is because they challenge the strict behavioral expectations placed on everyone, and they allow everyone more freedom,” Campbell said.
Rain or shine, at least one person is always protesting outside the hospital each Thursday night at 6 p.m.
”Sometimes it’s just me; sometimes it’s four other people,” Campbell said. “A month or two ago, there were 40 people. It really depends on how much we get the word out there, but we always make sure there’s someone.”
Campbell isn’t new to activism and its importance. He first got involved in activism as a member of ACT UP in 1987 because the government was ignoring victims of the AIDS crisis.
“We fought because we had no choice but to,” he said of his youth activism. “We were dying.”
He felt called to action when he saw Kamala Harris lose the 2024 election and when he saw the immediate attempts to limit trans rights after Trump took office.
He said trans people need allies now more than ever.
“There’s fear in the community, and all the trans kids and trans adults that were marching with us early on in this fight have gone underground,” Campbell said. “They’re afraid because there is danger in our simple protesting.”
Previously, there have been incidents where people jumped out of their cars to harass protestors, physical assaults have happened multiple times, and slurs were commonly yelled early on. Campbell was almost run over by a truck.
“I also think it’s very important that the LGBTQ+ community becomes more united on this issue,” Campbell said. “I’m not a trans person; I’m a cis white gay male, but I’m looking to see more of the letters of the LGBTQ+ involved in this.”
“The time for our community to be fighting for trans rights, and especially trans children, is now,” he added.
During Pride Month, Protect Trans Youth LA launched a petition on Change.org, urging the Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles to continue providing evidence-based care to children.
The petition is addressed to Paul S. Viviano, president and chief executive officer, and is titled “No Child Should Be Denied Care Because of Gender.”
As of July 3, over 200 people have signed, verified by Change.org.
“Week after week, our message has remained consistent: Children deserve healthcare decisions guided by patients, families, and medical professionals—not politics,” a portion of the petition says. “Behind every policy decision is a child, a family, and a future.”
The demands the petition lists include restoring access to gender-affirming care for trans youth, restoring services the hospital’s Center for Transyouth Health and Development used to provide, and reaffirming its commitment to providing healthcare “free from discrimination.”
“This petition is not about politics,” a portion of the petition said. “It is about fairness. It is about equal treatment.”
All Pride Month, Campbell has hit the usual Pride circuit to get signatures on this matter. At Weho Pride, Campbell handed out nearly 5,000 postcards and 1,000 stickers.
Campbell’s activism was highlighted at this year’s Venice Pride. He was honored with the Bill Rosendahl Pioneer of the Year Award for his “tireless advocacy on behalf of transgender youth.”
He was also presented with a certificate of recognition on behalf of the City of Los Angeles and the 11th Council District for his “extraordinary advocacy, leadership, and unwavering commitment to equality.”
“Your efforts have sparked important public dialogue, mobilized thousands of supporters, reaffirmed the values of dignity, fairness, and inclusion that strengthen our communities,” a portion of the certificate said. “The City of Los Angeles proudly recognizes your contributions to advancing equality and protecting the rights and well-being of LGBTQ+ youth.”
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Pride and possibility: Dr. Laurie Stephens on neurodiversity, Pride, and self-acceptance
Research reveals an undeniable connection between autism and LGBTQ+ identities, and it may challenge what many folks think they know about both communities
As discussions around identity and self-understanding continue to evolve, research has shown us an important connection between the autistic and LGBTQ+ communities. Studies consistently provide empirical evidence that autistic people are significantly more likely to identify as transgender, nonbinary, bisexual, asexual, or otherwise part of the LGBTQIA+ spectrum. Yet despite the data, public awareness of this intersection is still limited, often overshadowed by antiquated assumptions about autism and a lack of knowledge about how neurodiversity and identity development can intersect. As Pride Month honors the power of authenticity, these conversations have never been more appropriately timed.
Dr. Laurie Stephens, Director of Autism Studies at Help Group, has spent more than three decades working in the mental health field and has become an esteemed voice on the experiences of neurodiverse LGBTQ+ folks. In our conversation, Stephens shares what current research tells us about the overlap between autism and LGBTQ+ identities, the unique challenges faced by those navigating both communities, and the importance of affirming support, self-acceptance, and authentic living. Drawing on both research and lived experiences shared by clients, Stephens provides us with insights into resilience, advocacy, and the progress being made toward a more inclusive understanding of human diversity.
Many folks may likely be hearing about the overlap between the autistic and LGBTQ+ communities for the first time. What has data shown and why do you think this relationship is not well known to the general public?
There is fairly strong evidence that autistic people are substantially more likely than the general population to identify as LGBTQIA+, and researchers have identified increased overlap specifically with transgender, bisexual, nonbinary and asexual identities. In short, studies generally report that autistic people are 2–3× more likely to identify as LGBTQIA+ overall and 3–6× more likely to report gender diversity or transgender identity.
I feel the overlap may not be well-known to the general population due to misperceptions that conceptualize autistic people as socially interested, emotionally unattached and lacking desire for relationships and/or sexual encounters. In addition, the research on the intersectionality of autism and LGBTQIA+ identities is still new, and it can often take many years (up to 10) for research to spill over and be accepted by the general population.
Research has told us that autistic people are more likely to identify as trans, nonbinary, and gender-diverse. They are also more likely to identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, asexual, or otherwise outside traditional heterosexual norms. What do you think this can tell us about identity development and self-understanding?
I think what the research and the lived experience voices tell us is not that autism “causes” LGBTQIA+ identities, but that the overlap reveals something important about how identity develops when social conformity exerts less influence over a person. A common finding in autism research is that autistic people tend to be less guided by implicit social norms. They often learn social rules intellectually rather than automatically absorbing them, and often have a strong sense of ethics. This can create difficulties in some contexts, but it may also produce a different relationship to identity.
It may show us that autistic people are more authentic in their identity development, as they are not always as constrained by social norms or expectations. They may feel freer and at ease with not fitting in or being a part of the “establishment.”
When someone is both neurodivergent and LGBTQ+, what unique challenges can occur that may not be fully understood by either community individually?
It is important to consider the research on dual (or multiple) minority status when considering the challenges faced by autistic/neurodivergent LGBTQIA+ folks. We know from this research that multiple identities are not the sum of each identity. Rather, they are multiplicative in many ways. For example, an autistic person attempting to navigate LGBTQIA+ spaces may find a lack of consideration of sensory needs, physical and emotional overwhelm, differing communication styles, or the functionality of “stimming.” Likewise, in some autism spaces, there may be an inherent assumption of heterosexuality or lack of sexual/relationship interest, and thus no acknowledgement or discussion of SOGIE (sexual orientation, gender identity, and expression) may even take place. Clients have also said that they don’t feel fully understood or validated in solely autistic-focused or solely LGBTQIA+-focused environments.
Further, both identities have a long history of masking who they are, and when one identifies as both autistic and LGBTQIA+, I often find that one of these identities gets masked for longer than when one has a singular identity. Research has been clear on the significant mental health challenges that come from masking, including an increase in depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts/behaviors, anxiety, and eating disorders.
Another challenge I have found with many of my autistic transgender clients is that sensory factors can play an often unrecognized (and unstudied) role in gender identity and expressions. Sensory processing issues can influence clothing preferences (cannot tolerate wearing pants, discomfort in tight clothing), body awareness (posture, sitting positions), hair styles (cannot tolerate the feel of hair on neck, can’t handle tightness on hair such as wearing a headband or hair tie), and physical intimacy (cannot handle the feeling of skin on skin). This can lead to autistic transgender folks experiencing increased gender dysphoria as it becomes intertwined with sensory needs/preferences in complicated ways.
From your perspective, are there parallels between the experiences of coming out as queer and receiving an autism diagnosis later in life?
There are some clear parallels here. One is that both identities have been historically marginalized; thus, the fear of coming out is real for both autistic and LGBTQIA+ folks, particularly within our current socio-political landscape. Both populations have likely spent a long time feeling different and being unsure of their identities; both go through a long questioning process. With the autistic community, it may be challenging or overwhelming to seek out diagnostic confirmation of your feelings of being autistic, which can delay the coming out process.
But, on the contrary, coming out/getting the diagnosis often confirms feelings of otherness and difference that autistic and LGBTQIA folks experience. These identities can provide a framework from which they can both understand themselves better and to not feel isolated or alone. For both identities, coming out can be the start of acceptance, of themselves and by their broader communities.
In your experience, what does affirming support actually look like when it works well?
In my experience as a therapist, affirming support works best when the person’s identity isn’t necessarily the focus of therapy or discussions. It shows up through acknowledging and accepting the person as who they say they are and not questioning their identity. It’s adapting to their individual needs and goals, rather than assuming that being autistic or LGBTQIA+ alone is the driving mechanism behind their challenges or why they are seeking therapy to begin with.
For example, with one of my transgender clients, her gender identity is rarely the focus of therapy, as it is in and of itself not the underlying cause of her challenges. Affirming support is best realized when the message the client (or person) receives is that we accept who they say they are, and we acknowledge that they are the expert in their identity and their own lived experience.
Many people report feeling unheard or misunderstood within healthcare systems. What are some of the more significant gaps that still exist when it comes to serving neurodiverse LGBTQ+ folks?
The biggest gap is the lack of awareness of the intersectionality of neurodiversity and LGBTQIA+ identities. Too often, one identity or the other may be ignored or downplayed, such as telling an LGBTQIA+ person that they don’t “look autistic.” Further, many health care providers are not trained to work with intersecting identities and thus may feel ill-equipped to work with an autistic LGBTQIA+ person. A provider trained in working with the LGBTQIA+ community may not understand the communication styles of an autistic person, for example. As noted above, there is also a fallacious belief among people who lack experience with the autistic community that autistic people are not emotionally or romantically interested in other people, which often leads to downplaying the person’s questioning of their gender or sexuality.
The single most important change that should happen, in my opinion, is that everyone who works with the autistic population should undergo training in LGBTQIA+ identities, and those who serve the LGBTQIA+ community should also receive training in working with the neurodiverse/autistic community.
The conversation around autism has evolved in recent years, moving from awareness toward acceptance and, in turn, inclusion. Do you see this evolution reflected in LGBTQ+ advocacy?
I think there are some parallels here, as LGBTQIA+ advocacy’s early focus was also on becoming “visible” (awareness) and has moved toward acceptance (we belong). Both advocacy movements have a strong focus on reducing stigma associated with autism and LGBTQIA+ identities. Both have worked toward creating safe environments within the broader community. I think both advocacy movements have also challenged the “social norm” and worked toward others accepting differences as part of the human condition.
Mental health concerns like anxiety, depression, and social isolation can be elevated among both autistic and LGBTQ+ populations. What protections have you seen make a positive impact on mental health?
Extrapolating from research done several years ago by the Trevor Project, the biggest protective factor is having at least one supportive/affirming person in your life. Beyond this, I feel that mental health services that are truly affirming and focus on authenticity over masking are the most helpful. Finding a community is also key. Self-belief and embracing one’s identities are also important protective factors. Accepting yourself in the same way as you accept others (like radical self-compassion) can be extremely helpful. And for some, getting involved with advocacy organizations can help folks feel like they have some agency in how others treat or view them, what rights they have/are entitled to, and providing the lived experience voices needed to allow those from outside the community to begin to understand, affirm, and accept.
What have the neurodiverse LGBTQ+ folks that you’ve worked with taught you about resilience and self-acceptance?
My neurodiverse LGBTQIA+ clients have taught me that to be truly authentic one needs to fully accept themselves and stop taking in societal negativity. Being different isn’t a bad thing and our diversity is what makes humans so interesting. I’ve discovered that self-acceptance is contagious, in that I’ve actually become more accepting and open regarding my own neurodivergence. I’ve seen the high levels of resilience that neurodiverse LGBTQIA+ folks have, particularly in our current political landscape, where autistic and LGBTQIA identities are at times denigrated, yet advocacy and lived experience voices are at their strongest.
As Pride Month celebrates visibility, what does visibility mean for people who have historically felt unseen by both the neurodiverse and LGBTQ+ communities?
To me, events like Pride Month and Autism Acceptance Month give a voice to those who are often not listened to. Feeling like you have some agency in how the world sees you or thinks about you is a powerful tool that I think is often overlooked, and Pride and Autism Awareness months offer these opportunities. Visibility allows the unheard and unseen to speak up, to share their experiences, and to also find their own community. It’s a validation that you are not alone, that you are valid as a person, that you are loved, and that you are accepted.
What gives you hope? Are you seeing real progress in how society understands and supports people living at this intersection of these particular identities?
What gives me hope is the current focus on lived-experience voices and the increased acceptance of a social model of disability over a medical model. The fact that many communities are open to accommodating differences, such as using gender neutral language or offering gender neutral bathrooms, or providing sensory-friendly events, means that progress is happening. There is still a long way to go, but in my 30+ years in the field of mental health, I have been able to see how much of society is open to learning more about autistic, LGBTQIA+, or neurodiverse identities and accepting people for who they are. With young people now being exposed to so many different identities, it allows others to see they aren’t alone and that it is OK to be out and proud.
Another thing that resonates with me is seeing how many more people are identifying and embracing their intersectionalities. Every year at LA Pride events, there are more young folks who come into our Kaleidoscope booth. They proudly and openly identify as autistic and LGBTQIA+, and often are accompanied by supportive parents, families, or friends. Seeing an increase in pride in both identities is what keeps me so invested in the work I do.
Many people spend years, or sometimes decades, of their lives feeling different without fully understanding why. For someone reading this interview who may be questioning their own identity, neurodivergence, or sense of belonging, what would you most want them to hear this Pride Month?
I would want people who may be questioning to know that they are not alone and that the path to self-discovery is not something that needs to be rushed. Sometimes our identities unfold over time, or even change, and that’s OK. I want people to know that neurodiversity has had a positive impact in our world, as most of our discoveries, inventions, art, and creativity came about because people think differently, act differently, process information differently, and experience the world differently. This is to be embraced, rather than seen as a negative. And discovering who you are, be that autistic, neurodiverse, LGBTQIA+, is not closing the door on anything; rather, it opens the door to authenticity, self-understanding and ultimately, self-acceptance.
Check out Helpgroup.org for more information
Features
School of Sexuality Project nonprofit hits the Pride parade circuit to normalize queer sexuality
This all-ages group aims to provide comprehensive sex education in a comedic and impactful way
Bridgett Khoury founded the School of Sexuality Project, a nonprofit, in 2020. The vision was about destigmatizing conversations around body, pleasure, identity, and relationships. Taking a fun, inclusive, and trauma-informed approach has been top of the priority list.
“We believe that using art and humor makes difficult conversations more approachable, relatable, and human,” Khoury said. “Our goal is to kind of blend humor, art, storytelling, and intersectional perspectives in all of our programming to create engaging and meaningful learning experiences.”
Most of that is done through hilarious-looking, larger-than-life genitalia costumes, like the vagina ones worn by participants of all ages at the recent Long Beach Pride Parade in May. Other costumes include penises and condoms.
“We use theatrical humor and hands-on art activities as tools for education and connection,” she said.
Their ethos is that “comprehensive sex education is every individual’s right,” according to the website.
The project is regularly at pride events, as well as local queer events.
“We make sure that we are talking about all parts of identity, sexuality and different bodies,” Khoury said. “It’s important to highlight queer sexuality in sex ed because queer folks cannot live authentically, openly in public as themselves and in their relationships. Until everyone can do that, we need to be having honest and open conversations with young folks.”
The group regularly hosts age-appropriate sex education talks for K-12 and is “proudly gender-expansive and inclusive of all students,” according to its website.
The School of Sexuality Project partnered with Long Beach Pride to host and produce Teen Pride in 2025, though Khoury did say the groups parted ways before planning the event for this year, citing that the two “aren’t fully aligned on our approaches” and decided to host their own event later this summer.
The School of Sexuality Project will be hosting a “Vulva Gala” on August 15 at the First Congregational Church of Long Beach. The community-centered celebration will feature art and education, live music, interactive panels, and its signature vulva costume fashion show.
It is an event that will aim to “challenge stigma and center joy,” Khoury said.
The project recently got a lot of pushback online from parents about a pride event that they hosted with the Queer Mercado at an East Los Angeles high school, through a partnership with the Los Angeles Unified School District. An LGBTQ+ history game was available for students to play, and a guest speaker, Dr. Homie, talked about his experience as a queer veteran. The event also featured a drag performer.
“We’re extremely queer about the way that we approach sex education,” Khoury said. “The event was really simple and had a resource fair.”
Parents were upset that there was no notice or school permission slip that needed to be signed, according to a FOX 11 article. The event was completely optional, and doors were open to all, allowing students to choose to come in or leave at any time, Khoury said.
“A parent saw a video of our drag performer dancing and ended up sharing it with a far-right influencer who describes himself as a ‘fighter of gender ideology,’ so I guess you can imagine the kind of attention that that brought,” Khoury said.
Beyond fueling online backlash, some parents went to the superintendent about it.
“Ultimately, it fizzled out, but the reality is, situations like this are super common for us because of the work that we do,” Khoury said. “There’s so much information and misunderstanding around bodies and identity and sexuality, and that ultimately fuels hate.”
Khoury said that if anything, the backlash is further proof of why more events and education like the project is needed.
“As you know, queer communities are under attack, both through rhetoric and policy,” Khoury said. “It’s becoming more and more difficult for people to live openly and authentically without the fear of being harmed due to all the misinformation that is being spread, so it’s really important that we’re creating safe spaces to discuss sexuality.”
“We need a lot more spaces where young people can learn, feel seen, and engage with community in a positive and supportive way,” she added.
To learn more about the project, visit www.theschoolofsexualityproject.org.
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