The first time Donald Trump took the oath of office, I felt an overwhelming sense of doom. My whole body somehow felt both impossibly heavy and utterly empty at the same time, like it couldn’t decide whether it’d be safer to sink into the ground or float away into the clouds.

I’ll forever remember when Sean Spicer – Trump’s first in what became a revolving door of White House press secretaries – stormed up to the podium, red-faced and fuming, to declare in his first-ever meeting with the American people that no inauguration crowd had ever been as large as Trump’s.

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I already knew the country was in trouble, but that was the first time I really, deeply felt it, the first time it was clear Trump would not be rising to the occasion. 

This time around, it felt different. In January 2025, when Trump laid his hand on the Bible to begin his second term, it wasn’t heaviness or emptiness or darkness or doom that consumed me. It was resignation. None of this was unbelievable anymore. In fact, what made it so hard was just how believable it had become.

One term could have been a fluke, a voting bloc gone off the rails by a professional con artist promising roads paved with gold. But two terms? That’s a movement. Maybe this really is just who we are, I thought. Maybe it’s time to accept that.

I didn’t watch Trump’s second inauguration. I was too deflated, too beaten down, too exhausted by years of clinging to a childlike optimism that America would right itself in the future.

But then, LGBTQ Nation spent a year covering the folks who refused to surrender as I had. We covered No Kings protests, relentless lawsuits, fed-up politicians, powerful declarations of identity, solidarity statements, and the fiercely protective parents of transgender children. 

We covered cities paved in rainbow, the launch of new organizations, creative fundraisers, and blue waves. We covered trans beauty queens and surprise proposals by folks who refused to let this administration steal their shine.

Despite decades of oppression, the queer community has always had an enduring dedication to joy. Take the moment police raided a Pittsburgh queer bar in the middle of a drag event last May. The crowd was forced to wait outside as authorities inspected the premises, but the performers and patrons refused to let the cops quash their spirit.

Video captured during the wait shows the crowd belting Chappell Roan’s Pink Pony Club while the drag queen Indica dances up and down the sidewalk, collecting tips.

Every day, as more stories like this one found their way to us, I was reminded how much inherent good exists in the world, and how determined people are to drown out hate. Slowly, I allowed hope to creep back in.  

The January Issue of LGBTQ Nation isn’t about hope, per se, but it is meant to inspire it. It is meant to remind us that no matter how dire things seem, there are always good people trying to make it right.

The stories in this issue examine what LGBTQ+ activism has looked like during the first year of the second Trump administration, what needs to change moving forward, and how our leaders can do better. It will also cover that enduring joy, in itself a form of resistance.

I hope the pieces in this issue inspire you, as they’ve inspired me, to rise above that resignation that can seem so hard to resist at times. I don’t know what will happen to this country or to democracy or to the world as a result of the second Trump presidency, but I do know that as much as it has revealed the worst of humanity, it has also revealed the best.

Mr. Rogers once told us that in scary times, “look for the helpers.” I am choosing to not only look for them, but also to look to them, for guidance on how to stay engaged in this endless fight.

The queer resistance lives on, and now’s the time to give it all we’ve got.