Marie-Adélina de la Ferrière

Pride may look different this year than those of recent memory. 

With the return of the Trump presidency, companies abandoning DEI, and the onslaught of anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, the sociocultural wars in the U.S. are having many LGBTQ+-led nonprofits gasping for air. I see this moment as an opportunity, as hopeful as I am. 

It’s time to rethink how our community interacts with the nonprofit industrial complex (NPIC). The relationship between governments and private philanthropy has gradually transformed nonprofit organizations into intermediaries that manage rather than solve social issues. Far too often, this structure has created a dependency on external funding, limiting the scope of radical change and prioritizing funders’ interests over the needs of the communities being served. 

For years, we’ve been told that our liberation was best served on a silver platter at the annual fundraising banquet, where high-level donors in designer suits and gowns clinked glasses as slideshows showcasing LGBTQ+ youth smiling or serious faces at organized group meetings. We built an entire infrastructure around the generosity of those who could afford to fund our fight. And yet, in a moment where queer and trans rights are under attack, when book bans and bathroom bills flood state legislatures, and when even our safest spaces feel precarious, we find ourselves facing a harsh reality. 

The money is drying up. 

This week, two of the nation’s leading LGBTQ+ advocacy groups announced layoffs: Human Rights Campaign, expected to lay off 20% of its staff; and GLSEN, planning to “resize” as it restructures and rebrands the organization—and it’s only February. These changes at a pivotal moment signal a systemic problem. We placed too many of our eggs in the baskets of benevolent benefactors and seasonal corporate allies, some of whom have pledged allegiance to the flag of Trump’s anti-DEI policies, instead of building sustainable models that center our own socioeconomic power. As companies scale back their commitments and nonprofits struggle to keep the lights on, we must ask ourselves a vital question. 

Did we invest too much faith in a system never meant to last?

For the last decade, we saw major brands wrap themselves in rainbows every June, eager to prove their LGBTQ+ bona fides with splashy campaigns, donations, and limited-edition merchandise. But behind the scenes, these same companies were donating to the campaign of anti-LGBTQ+ politicians and treating corporate diversity programs like PR stunts—and sometimes, we have to call out a stunt queen. Now that right-wing pressure has made “wokeness” and “DEI” a dirty word in corporate boardrooms, the pendulum is swinging back with a vengeance. The dollars and support that once flowed so freely are being reallocated, redirected, or outright cut as they pull the plug on their initiatives.

Meanwhile, the nonprofits meant to be our safety net have been caught in the cycle of dependence on these fleeting resources. Grants, sponsorships, and major donations & gifts shape the priorities of LGBTQ+ advocacy, sometimes more than the needs of the communities these organizations serve. Some grassroots leaders have long argued these leading queer groups prioritized palatable, fundable issues over the less marketable realities of queer survival: sex work decriminalization, empowering organizing, or direct cash assistance for the most vulnerable in our increasingly vulnerable community. But now, as the purse string tightens, we’re seeing just how fragile this queer nonprofit industrial complex is. 

When budgets get cut, it’s the most marginalized members of our community who feel the brunt of it. Programs serving Black and Brown trans individuals, unhoused LGBTQ+ youth, and low-income queer families may be on the chopping block. These organizations hire those historically facing financial uncertainty, and layoffs come with the dire concerns of having to navigate a country that is increasingly looking at them through cross-hairs. 

So, where does that leave us? If nonprofits, as they currently stand, continue to downsize and restructure with limited resources, what comes next? 

A New Model for LGBTQ+ Advocacy

From Charity to Mutual Aid

First, we must shift our focus from charity to mutual aid and cooperative economic models. The pandemic showed us the power of direct giving, community-driven and community-led support networks, and redistributive models that cut out the middlemen and got resources directly into the hands of those who needed them. We saw trans-led funds distribute relief, mutual aid groups provide food and medical supplies without bureaucratic red tape, and community members offer resources in ways that were faster and more effective than traditional nonprofits.

Instead of waiting for a savior in the form of a Fortune 500 company or a millionaire donor, we should invest in systems that allow us to care for each other. 

Some grassroots initiatives include a network of community fridges to provide free food for neighbors in need. Nikki Aye

Economic Empowerment as Activism

Second, we need to reclaim the means of production. Economic empowerment has to be at the forefront of the next wave of LGBTQ+ activism. Queer co-ops, businesses, and community land trusts can create stability where philanthropy falls short. (Yes, economic empowerment also means reminding brands who turn their backs on the power of our purse through boycotts.) We should seek to channel queer labor into structures that don’t depend heavily on generosity from those who show up like an estranged parent with presents. Let’s build institutions that belong to us and serve us without any strings attached. 

Redefining Success

This leads me to my final thought: redefining what success looks like regarding LGBTQ+ advocacy work. Is the measurement solely based on a glossy report, or is it showcasing how an organization has changed lives outside the traditional nonprofit framework? Is it by ensuring big-named donors get the shiny press release and top billing at an event, or is it by thanking the many who contributed to the cause without asking for a tax write-off receipt? If the past few years have taught us anything, it’s that the quest for queer liberation has never been rooted in institutions alone. 

It has thrived in underground networks, chosen families, and the radical act of caring for one another when no one else would. 

The collapse of the queer nonprofit industrial complex is not a tragedy but a wake-up call. It’s time to build a system that cannot be dismantled by shifting political tides or corporate support. Our future must be built on our own terms, with our own resources, and for our own people. Because true liberation has never been granted from above. 

It has always been forged from within. 

Marie-Adélina de la Ferrière is the Community Editor at equalpride, the publisher of The Advocate, and holds a Master’s degree in History and a Master’s Certificate in Public & Arts Administration from SUNY Brockport. With nearly two decades in the nonprofit sector, she has worked with organizations ranging from childhood development agencies to arts and cultural institutions. This year, she joined the Board of Rainbow Seniors Roc, a local nonprofit that serves as an advocacy and social group for LGBTQ+ individuals aged 50 and over. 

Voices is dedicated to featuring a wide range of inspiring personal stories and impactful opinions from the LGBTQ+ and Allied community. Visit advocate.com/submit to learn more about submission guidelines. We welcome your thoughts and feedback on any of our stories. Email us at voices@equalpride.com. Views expressed in Voices stories are those of the guest writers, columnists and editors, and do not directly represent the views of The Advocate or our parent company, equalpride.

Unlike so many readers, I’m not stressing about Thanksgiving. 

Between my siblings moving between Turkey Day and Black Friday and my mother maintaining her peace after a very long year, I’m most thankful for takeout and a few days off work. 

But I also know only a few are lucky.

Thanksgiving is a time to reconnect with family and friends and give thanks for the things we have. But this holiday season may feel slightly different, thanks to the latest election. Admittedly, I was as surprised by the results as the number of folks in my network who favored Donald Trump. I couldn’t imagine how the same people who voted for him, the man at the head of an anti-trans party, could count me as a Black trans woman among those they knew so fondly. 

How do I break bread at a table with those who vote against my best interests? 

There’s something undeniably electrifying about sitting down with someone like Brit Barron, partly because it was only a week after the election results. Concern and confusion were still settling when I spoke to the writer, speaker, and self-professed advocate. Barron makes you feel like saving the world starts at your dinner table in an increasingly polarized world. 

And given the topic of our conversation, that feels like a necessary superpower. Joshua Lott/The Washington Post via Getty Images

“Depolarization,” she says with conviction, “Is going to be some of our most important work moving forward.” It’s not a casual statement; it’s the kind of thesis that feels at home in one of her workshops or keynote speeches. But with Barron, it’s clear she’s not just practicing for a word. She lives and breathes this philosophy. 

And lucky for us, she’s got the receipts to back it up. 

From Evangelical Roots to Radical Empathy

To understand Barron’s current mission, you must start with her past. It’s a kaleidoscope of identities and experiences that she refuses to distance herself from. “I grew up super religious,” she shares. “Very conservative, evangelical Christian. That’s informed a lot of the work I do now, even though I’m on the opposing end.” 

Barron doesn’t just skim over her history but embraces it as a crucial part of her story. Coming out, marrying her wife, and existing as a queer woman of color have all shaped her work. “I know what it’s like to buy into a message, to be indoctrinated, and to now stand on the other side,” she explains. She’s not interested in shaming the person she used to be. Instead, she uses that understanding to approach others with radical empathy. 

“Sometimes, as progressives, we forget what it was like before we know what we know now,” she affirms. “I call it progressive amnesia. We lose sight of our journeys and how we evolved, making it harder to invite others into that evolution.” 

A Balancing Act in Bridging and Bonding 

Barron’s work often circles back to one central question: How do we connect with people who don’t share our beliefs? 

She recalls the sociological framework of “bonding circles” and “bridging circles,” which are vital for a balanced life. Bonding circles are the safe spaces where we exhale and feel seen. Bridging circles, on the other hand, challenge us to engage in tough conversations. 

“You can’t live fully in either,” she insists. “If you’re always in a bonding circle, you’re never challenged. If you’re always in a bridging circle, you’ll burn out. You need both.” 

For Barron, these circles are as theoretical as they are personal. Existing at the intersection of racial, sexual, religious, and political identities, Brit knows what it’s like to feel like you don’t fully belong. Her advice? “Find the spaces where you can breathe deeply and the spaces where you can grow. And if you’re missing one, go seek it out.” 

So…Do You Still Talk to Grandma? 

With the holidays approaching, Barron’s wisdom feels especially relevant. Her latest book, Do You Still Talk to Grandma?, explores the complexities of maintaining relationships across political divides. The title itself was inspired by a friend’s dinner-table anecdote about a beloved grandmother who happened to vote for Trump. Courtesy Penguin Random House

“Can you hold deep love and deep disappointment at the same time?” Barron asks, her voice equal parts earnest and inquisitive. “Can you maintain your own integrity and still have relationships with people you disagree with?” 

Her answer, of course, is yes…but it’s not easy. 

Barron offers this mantra for those dreading holiday conversations: “More than one thing can be true.” She explains, “This person picked me up from school and made me spaghetti when I was sick. And this person also voted in a way I find hurtful. Both can be true, and we can sit with that tension.” 

From Cancel Culture to Connection

Barron’s work pushes back against the extremes of cancel culture, which she views as a dead-end road. “What’s on the other side of culture culture?” she asks. “How do we move forward in a way that actually gets us where we want to go?” 

Her approach isn’t about sweeping disagreements under the rug but leaning into them with curiosity and courage. She acknowledges that social media, with its penchant for amplifying the most extreme versions of people, doesn’t make this any easier. “We consume these stories, and then we convince ourselves that everyone we know is the most extreme version of the thing we just saw online,” she says. Her solution? Step away from the noise and engage with the real, flawed, multifaceted humans in your life. 

A Reminder for the Rest of Us this Holiday Season and Beyond

I asked Barron what she hopes readers will take away from her story as they sit at the Thanksgiving table and beyond. “I hope people feel empowered to decide what their ‘work’ looks like,” she says. “It doesn’t have to look like your neighbor’s work or the person in your newsfeed. It just has to feel true to you.” 

Whether that means diving headfirst into tough conversations, skipping the family gathering entirely, or something in between, Barron’s message is clear: Bridging divides starts with each of us in the places where we are most uncomfortable and most loved. shutterstock creative

These next few years will be increasingly challenging as politicians and pundits continue to thrive in a division between the “us” versus “them” rhetoric. However, the real revolution will not be in the streets or on social media but in sitting at the table. 

An act so simple—yet so complicated—as staying there, holding space, and discussing how we build a shared community and world with a common destiny.

Voices is dedicated to featuring a wide range of inspiring personal stories and impactful opinions from the LGBTQ+ community and its allies. Visit out.com/submit to learn more about submission guidelines. We welcome your thoughts and feedback on any of our stories. Email us at voices@equalpride.com. Views expressed in Voices stories are those of the guest writers, columnists and editors, and do not directly represent the views of Out or our parent company, equalpride.