Transgender legislation trackers have universally noted that 2024 has seen the most radical increase in the total number of anti-LGBTQ+ bills. However, this year has also seen fewer anti-LGBTQ+ bills actually pass into law.
The Trans Legislation Tracker reports that 617 anti-LGBTQ+ bills have been in consideration this year across 43 states, with 225 having failed and 348 active. However, only 44 total bills are reported to have been enacted into law.
The American Civil Liberties Union reports similar data—they say that 517 bills have been introduced, 340 defeated, and 39 passed into law. Journalist Erin Reed’s legislation tracker reports 760 total bills in consideration, with 565 failing and only 53 brought into law.
According to all the trackers, the total number of bills that were in consideration in 2024 increased significantly from the previous year. About 800 total bills are being tracked across the different trackers, each using somewhat different inclusion criteria. Last year, Trans Legislation Tracker reported 607 bills in consideration, the ACLU 510, and Erin Reed’s team 540.
These laws range from sweeping bans on gender-affirming care for minors to restrictions on what LGBTQ+ content can be discussed with minors to those that define trans people out of the law.
This reflects growing anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment among right-wing political operators in the country. Nationwide, anti-LGBTQ+ hate crimes have dramatically increased, with the total rates quadrupling in states that have more anti-LGBTQ+ laws. Project 2025, a plan by the influential, right-wing Heritage Foundation to enact conservative policy should Donald Trump be elected, has support among politicians.
However, the data also reflects how the public does not support these laws.
More anti-trans bills passed last year than this year. Trans Legislation Tracker reports that 86 passed last year, in comparison to 44 this year. The ACLU reports that 84 passed into law last year and 39 this year. Erin Reed’s team reports that 81 were passed last year in comparison to 53 this year.
The Erin Reed tracker also reports that more pro-LGBTQ+ bills were passed into law this year than were anti-LGBTQ+ bills. Fifty-seven pro-LGBTQ+ bills out of a total of 616 were enacted, an increase in both counts from last year.
The data is unlikely to change from now until the rest of the year, as most state legislative sessions across the country have been brought to a close, with the majority of these bills failing to pass. Those that remain are likely to be rollovers, a type of bill that continues from one year into the next before being debated.
Lawmakers are more keen to fight these bills when they’re introduced, reflecting the broader views of their constituents. An NORC poll conducted in collaboration with the Los Angeles Times found that 77% of adults believe “elected officials are mostly using debates over transgender and nonbinary people to distract attention from more pressing priorities.”
A Fox News poll found that only 1% of voters believe “Wokeness / Transgender issues” is the most important issue today, and a Pathfinder Opinion poll sent to GLAAD finds that anti-trans policies motivate 53% of voters to vote against the politician, with only 25% being motivated to vote for them.
Gillian Branstetter, an ACLU communications strategist, said in a statement, “The end goal of anti-trans legislation is denying transgender people the words to describe our experience, the means to express it safely, and the community and support we all deserve.”
“Little to no” gender-affirming surgeries are being performed on minors in the United States, and those that are performed are overwhelmingly on cisgender minors.
Out of the 151 breast reductions that were performed in 2019 on American minors, 146 (97 percent) were performed on cisgender males, according to a new study published in JAMA. Out of the 636 breast reductions performed on adults, 507 (80 percent) were performed on cisgender males.
The study used data from 47,437,919 adults and 22,827,194 minors who were insured that year, finding that chest-related operations accounted for 1,591 out of 2,664 (59.7 percent) of surgical procedures performed on adults, and 82 of 85 (96.4 percent) of surgical procedures performed on minors.
The rate of transgender and gender-diverse people undergoing a gender-affirming surgery was 5.3 for every 100,000 adults, and 2.1 for every 100,000 minors ages 15 to 17 years. Among minors ages 13 to 14 years, the rate of gender-affirming surgeries was 0.1 for every 100,000. There were no procedures among minors 12 years or younger.
“These findings suggest that concerns around high rates of gender-affirming surgery use, specifically among [transgender and gender-diverse] minors, may be unwarranted,” the report reads. “Low use by TGD people likely reflects adherence to stringent standards of gender-affirming care.”
Dannie Dai, lead author of the report, said the hope is that the study “will help policymakers understand how gender-affirming surgery is being used by both cisgender and TGD people,” as “health policy should be driven by facts” rather than partisan or religious views on sex and gender.
“Our findings highlight a bitter irony: that by banning gender-affirming care for only TGD people, these bills are targeting a group that in reality accounts for the minority of gender-affirming care use and for whom gender-affirming care has been most clearly shown to be lifesaving,” Dai said.
Although HIV transmission rates have declined from 201 to 2022, one demographic is seeing a rising share in new HIV infections: young Latino men, the Associated Press reported.
Young Latino men are the most at risk for HIV infection, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). This demographic recently accounted for nearly 33% of new HIV infections even though they only make up 19% of the United States population.
African-American men still have the highest rate of new infections from HIV. However, Latino gay and bisexual men accounted for the largest amount of new HIV cases in 2022. Kentucky, Louisiana, Georgia, and South Carolina have the highest rates of these new diagnoses.
The finding comes at a time when the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) is three years into a federal initiative to end the U.S. HIV epidemic.
HHS seeks to increase access to HIV treatment and information by allocating funding into areas that have the highest infection rates. HIV rates declined 23% from 2012 to 2022, but there are still currently 1.2 million people living with HIV in the U.S., including those who don’t know they’re infected.
In 2022, Kentucky, Louisiana, Georgia, and South Carolina saw the highest rates of new diagnoses among Latinos. But in South Carolina, there is enough funding for only four community health workers focused on HIV outreach, some of whom are not bilingual; leaving Latinos who only speak Spanish cut off from healthcare resources.
Public health advocates say that the federal government should redistribute funding to focus on HIV prevention, including access to testing and pre-exposure prophylactics (PrEP), a medication that greatly reduces the likelihood of HIV transmission. Only 4% of the almost $30 billion dollars in federal funding for HIV healthcare has gone to prevention.
Advocates say that outreach efforts at churches, training bilingual HIV testers, and testing at clubs on Latin nights could all help decrease new HIV infections in Latino communities.
“HIV disparities are not inevitable,” Dr. Robyn Neblett Fanfair, director of the CDC’s Division of HIV Prevention, in their call for additional funding and awareness around this disparity.
The aforementioned study also noted that although South Carolina saw HIV infection rates double among Latinos from 2012-2022, the state has not yet expanded HIV mobile testing in rural areas, where the need is greatest.
Likewise, in Shelby County, Tennessee the Latino HIV diagnosis rate rose 86% from 2012 to 2022, yet health department director Dr. Michelle Taylor said, “There are no specific campaigns just among Latino people.”
Shelby County received $2 million in initiative funding in 2023, setting forth a response plan that acknowledges Latinos as a target group for HIV treatment and outreach.
TheHuman Rights Campaign is pioneering a new frontier in the fight againstHIVstigma and health disparities. The organization’s GENERATE initiative, part of HRC’s celebrated “My Body, My Health” campaign, is a beacon of hope and empowerment for Black and LatineLGBTQ+ young men living with HIV.
Launched in 2023 with a blend of advocacy, storytelling, and education, GENERATE is more than a program—it’s a lifeline. “This initiative is about transforming lives,” says Torrian Baskerville, the dynamic director of HRC’s HIV and Health Equity program. “We are equipping these young men with the tools to not only survive but thrive.”
The program promises a transformative six-month journey for its eight lucky participants. The most recent application period closed at the end of May. The trans and cisgender men selected will be flown toWashington, D.C., for an immersive weekend of workshops and networking events. Participants will delve into the complexities of mental health, especially as it intersects with HIV, under the guidance of a licensed mental health therapist who shares their lived experiences.
“Access to mental health services has always been a significant barrier,” Baskerville notes. “We’re tackling this head-on by embedding mental health support into every facet of the program.”
After their initial training, participants return to their communities armed with knowledge and a renewed sense of purpose and community. Regular check-ins and ongoing support are in place to ensure they stay on track with their personal goals, whether it’s achieving viral suppression or excelling in their careers. The significance of this continuous support cannot be overstated, as these young men often face isolation and stigma that can hinder their progress. Baskerville says that the GENERATE initiative is committed to their success every step of the way.
The initiative also responds to the pressing need for tailored support within marginalized communities. Baskerville, himself a Black man living with HIV, emphasizes the importance of representation and relatability in this work. “When participants see themselves reflected in their mentors and peers, it creates a powerful sense of belonging and motivation,” he explains. The program provides critical resources and fosters an environment where participants can share their experiences and learn from one another.
The cohort members will be announced later this month, and the program will officially begin in July. The stakes are high, but so is the potential for impact. Baskerville says, “If even one participant walks away with a clearer path to a healthier, more empowered life, we’ve succeeded.”
The Utah Public Auditor has been “unable to substantiate” a single violation of the state’s anti-transgender bathroom ban out of over 12,000 complaints.
The state auditor released a form in May for the public to report transgender people who use the changing rooms and restrooms that align with their gender identity to state authorities. The form was meant to be a method of enforcing a recently enacted state law that levies criminal penalties against people who use “changing rooms” that do not align with their biological sex in government-owned and run buildings.
HB 257 changed the state’s legal definitions of “female” and “male,” defining the terms based solely by one’s reproductive organs. It defines a “women’s bathroom” and “men’s bathroom” as spaces exclusively designated for females and males, respectively. Government facilities impacted include public schools, courthouses, libraries, recreation centers, airports, and some sporting arenas.
The form was quickly flooded with memes and joke reports upon its launch. Now, nearly two months later, the form still has not led to a single substantiated complaint after over 12,000 filings. Only five reports were deemed “plausible” enough to investigate, and each inquiry turned up nothing, the Utah Public Auditor announced in a statement Wednesday, via the Salt Lake Tribune.
The state auditor’s office has struggled with how to enforce the bathroom ban since its passage, noting in its statement that it still does not have a “privacy compliance plan” in place. Privacy violation has been a key concern since the law’s passage, as the form enables people to upload pictures to provide evidence of “incidents” while requiring the submitter’s name and email address.
Despite the overwhelming failure, the Utah Public Auditor insisted it would keep the form up and continue to investigate the few reports it deems serious.
“During June, almost all of the complaints we received were also frivolous complaints,” the statement continued. “We have completed our investigations and are not investigating any other complaints at this time. As we identify credible or good-faith complaints, we will investigate those pursuant to the statutory requirement.”
Rabbi Sharon Kleinbaum prepares for her last service at the Masonic Hall in New York on June 28.Andres Kudacki / AP
For more than three decades, Rabbi Sharon Kleinbaum has led the nation’s largest LGBTQ synagogue through the myriad ups and downs of the modern gay-rights movement — through the AIDS crisis, the murder of Matthew Shepard, the historic civil-rights advances that included marriage equality, and mostly recently the backlash against transgender rights.
She is now stepping down from that role and shifting into retirement. The New York City synagogue that she led for 32 years — Congregation Beit Simchat Torah in midtown Manhattan — will have to grapple with its identity after being defined by its celebrity rabbi for so long.
Her retirement also comes at a challenging moment for the LGBTQ-rights movement. Same-sex marriage is legal nationwide, but conservative politicians are enacting restrictions on transgender healthcare, restricting LGBTQ curriculum in schools, and proposing bans on the performances of drag queens.
“I’ve been blessed and privileged to have the opportunity to use the gifts I have, on behalf of God’s vision for the world,” Kleinbaum said in an interview. “I’m very, very lucky that I’ve been able to do this. I just feel like now is the time to make room for a younger generation.”
Rabbi Sharon Kleinbaum sings during her last service at the Masonic Hall in New York on June 28.Andres Kudacki / AP
Embraced by her congregation and left-leaning politicians, Kleinbaum, 65, taught an unapologetic progressive vision for Judaism that resonated beyond the enclave of Manhattan and liberal Judaism. When Donald Trump was elected president, Kleinbaum had the synagogue do outreach to Muslims. The congregation also built an immigration clinic to help LGBTQ refugees in hostile parts of the world get asylum in the U.S.
“It is a religious calling to help the immigrant. I see that it is just as deeply important for (the synagogue) as it is leading Friday night services,” Kleinbaum said.
Congregation Bet Simach Torah, better known as CBST, has roughly 1,000 paying members. About 4,000 Jews, from nonreligious to Orthodox, show up to the temple’s High Holy Day services, historically held in New York’s Jacob Javits Convention Center on the West Side of Manhattan.
The temple’s regular congregants have been a Who’s Who of media and LGBTQ historical figures. Edie Windsor, who sued and won to overturn the Defense of Marriage Act, was in regular attendance while she was alive. Andy Cohen, of “Real Housewives” fame, is there regularly. Joan Rivers showed up for Yom Kippur. Kleinbaum’s wife is Randi Weingarten, the head of the nation’s biggest teachers union.
Appointed in 1992, Kleinbaum spent much of her first year burying members of her congregation, many of them dying from AIDS. The need for a salaried rabbi to provide pastoral care was among the biggest reasons for CBST to hire its first rabbi. One of her first funeral services was for a member of the search committee that hired her.
The 1990s brought the increased visibility of gay and lesbians in the public sphere, but also brought the passage of the federal Defense of Marriage Act, which defined marriage as between only a man and a woman.
“She really was doing rabbinical triage work at the beginning, working with a community that ultimately saw (a third) of its members die of AIDS,” said William Hibsher, a member of CBST for several decades who was there when Kleinbaum was appointed.
Hibsher was not an observant Jew in early 1990s, but he said he felt inspired by Kleinbaum’s work as well as the care she provided to his partner, who died from AIDS in the mid-1990s. He later became heavily involved with the synagogue, including serving on its board of directors and helping raise millions for its current location on West 30th Street.
When New York legalized same-sex marriage in 2013, Kleinbaum stood in the park across the street from the marriage bureau and performed same-sex weddings outdoors. Among the couples she married in 2014 were two men who had spent 20 months planning their wedding, which was held in a former Broadway theater.
Kleinbaum hasn’t specified what she plans to do in retirement, but said she’s likely to continue doing social justice work or working in Democratic politics. CBST has given her the title of “senior rabbi emerita” to show a level of connectedness as she steps down, but the bimah at CBST will no longer be hers.
Rabbi Sharon Kleinbaum reads with her daughter during her last service at the Masonic Hall in New York on June 28.Andres Kudacki / AP
Even people who would be considered her ideological adversaries have found common ground to collaborate with her on issues of religious freedom and human rights.
When President Joe Biden appointed Kleinbaum to the U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom, which monitors and researches freedom of religious expression worldwide, she served as a commissioner along alongside Tony Perkins, head of the Family Research Council. The council opposes the LGBTQ-rights movement.
“She’s able to step back and see where (two with strong ideological differences) can meet on core issues, and realize here’s where we can find common ground,” said Fred Davie, an administrator at Union Theological Seminary and a longtime friend of Kleinbaum.
Kleinbaum served two terms on the USCIRF. Her first term ended early in 2020 when she decided to focus attention on her congregation amid the COVID-19 pandemic. For her and the congregation, it was familiar territory after the AIDS crisis.
“We knew immediately many of the elements that we had to deal with: isolation, loneliness, fear,” Kleinbaum said. “There were differences, of course, between AIDS, but many things were enough similar that it almost felt like muscle memory.”
For the congregation, there seems to be a degree of uncertainty of what the synagogue will be without her. CBST, like many congregations, skews toward older members; many have been with Kleinbaum since the beginning.
The synagogue named Jason Klein as new chief rabbi earlier this year; he will start on July 1. But the consensus among members seems to be that Kleinbaum is simply irreplaceable.
“I think people, in their heart of hearts, wanted to find a Kleinbaum 2.0 to replace her,” Hibsher said. “There’s a landscape of wonderful progressive synagogues throughout Manhattan. So part of the question for the congregation will be: Is there a need for an LGBT synagogue in the year 2024? I think there is.”
While Kleinbaum laid out her plans to leave CBST a year ago, there were audible gasps at Yom Kippur services last September among the attendees when it was mentioned that CBST would no longer be headed by her. Her second-to-last Shabbat service, held June 21, was a sold-out event. The keynote speaker: New York Attorney General Letitia James.
“Most importantly, she has given us a space,” James said, using her hands to point to the synagogue and its standing room only crowed. “This space. Where we can be safe. Where we can be free.”
Gene Dinah misses his late husband, Robert Malsberry, every day. He misses Malsberry’s cooking, his love for gardening, the way he fixed things around the house and the way he made him feel special and protected.
“He was just great,” Dinah said of Malsberry, who died in 2019. “I couldn’t have had a better partner.”
The memories of the 46 years the men had together are all around him.Malsberry is in the paintings he bought to decorate their home in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. He is in the medals he received for his service with the Air Force. Heis in the photos from a lifetime together.
“Oh, this is one of my favorite pictures,” Dinah said as he held a photo of himself and his husband standing in front of lush green shrubs at their home. “That’s our rock garden.”
Gene Dinah, left, and his husband, Robert Malsberry.Courtesy Gene Dinah
Picking up another photo, he said, “That’s my husband in our dining room in our house in Victoria Park with Cleo, our Persian cat.”
Robert Malsberry with Cleo, the cat he shared with Gene Dinah.Courtesy Gene Dinah
“Oh, this is a good picture,” he continued. “This is my husband when he was an Air Force lieutenant after graduating college.”
Robert Malsberry when he was an Air Force lieutenant.Courtesy Gene Dinah
They had no children, so when Malsberry was diagnosed with leukemia and later dementia, Dinah became his full-time caregiver. “I took care of him as best I could,” he said.
Malsberry died in 2019, four years after the couple got married in 2015, following that year’s landmark same-sex marriage ruling by the Supreme Court.
“My husband was very happy when we got married,” Dinah said. “I didn’t know how he was going to take it. I really didn’t, because he’d been in the closet, you know, for all those years.”
Dinah was destroyed after Malsberry died. “My whole life was him,” he said.
While taking care of his sick husband, Dinah did not think about his own elder years. Now, at 76, he is one of many LGBTQ elders who have no surviving relatives who can take care of them.
LGBTQ older adults are four times less likely to be parents than older heterosexual adults, and twice as likely to grow old single and living alone, according to SAGE, a national group that offers services and advocacy for LGBTQ adults 50 and older.
The challenges LGBTQ elders face overlap with an aging U.S. population. According to the U.S. Census, the population aged 65 or over grew to an unprecedented 55.8 million, or 16.8% of the total population, in 2020. The number of people in the U.S. that are 65 or older is projected to increase by 47% by 2050.
An older population exacerbates workforce shortages in senior living facilitiesand health care institutions, and while this affects many older Americans, LGBTQ elders face unique challenges when compared to their heterosexual counterparts.
In a report published in 2018, SAGE found LGBTQ elders are far more likely than their heterosexual peers “to have faced discrimination, social stigma and the effects of prejudice.” They are therefore, the report found, more likely “to face poverty and homelessness, and to have poor physical and mental health.”
Caregiving
Since LGBTQ people are less likely to have children, more than half (54%) of LGBTQ elders receive care from their partner and nearly a quarter (24%) receive care from a friend, according to SAGE. More than 20% of older LGBTQ adults have provided care to friends, compared to just 6% of their heterosexual counterparts.
Mitchell Zahn, a coordinator for SAGE in South Florida, said that in heterosexual family units, caregiving tends to have a vertical model, in which the child takes care of their parents.
“But in the gay community, since so many do not have a family, caregiving tends to be with friends, a more horizontal model,” Zahn said. “However, when you age, your friends tend to be older as well and have their own health needs, so our health support is failing as well because we don’t have that intergenerational aspect.”
Photographs of Gene Dinah and his husband, Robert Malsberry, throughout the years.Courtesy Gene Dinah
Dinah is a vivid example of the horizontal model of caregiving. For the four years during which Dinah was his husband’s sole caregiver, he arranged all of his medical appointments, found him the doctors he needed, took care of him through medical procedures, cooked for him, took care of the house and got him all the medical supplies he needed. After his husband died, Dinah had no one to help him with his own health care.
“I didn’t see a doctor or a dentist for four years while I was his caretaker,” he said. “When it was all over, I started going to the doctor, and I found out I had prostate cancer.”
Dinah went through six weeks of radiation treatments by himself.
Health care
Discrimination in health care and the fear of such discrimination are major factors that lead to health disparities for LGBTQ elders, according to research. In its 2018 report, for example, SAGE found approximately 20% of LGBTQ people avoid medical care out of fear of discrimination.
Zahn, the SAGE coordinator, said that because many LGBTQ elders grew up in a time when discrimination was more widespread and intense, they tend to fear government and health care institutions.
“People have experienced housing evictions, not having their partners recognized in health care institutions,” Zahn said. “So as a result, many are closeted when seeking services through traditional institutions.”
Zahn said LGBTQ elders may feel judged for who they are, so they may not share everything about their medical history with their doctors, which could lead to misdiagnosis and overall poor health outcomes.
The challenges of aging are even greater for transgender elders and even more for trans immigrants and trans people of color.
More than 20% of transgender people report that a doctor or other health care provider used harsh or abusive language while treating them, according to SAGE, while 50% of trans people reported having to teach medical providers about transgender care.
Morgan Mayfaire, 65, is the executive director of TransSOCIAL, an organization that aims to create a more inclusive community for transgender people. As a trans man, he said, he has experienced prejudice when visiting medical providers.
“When they look at your records, they’re going to see in your list of medications that you’re either taking estradiol or you’re taking testosterone,” Mayfaire said. “The question then is, ‘Why?’ The minute you tell them that it’s because you’re trans, you can see the bias in their face.”
Mayfaire helps train a variety of institutions, including those focused on health care, about best practices when caring for older trans people.He said very few medical professionals have gone through sensitivity training, and those that have, typically don’t train their new hires.
Florida is one of the states that has recently passed legislation seeking to restrict transgender rights, including a law signed by Gov. Ron DeSantis that made it harder for transgenders adults to access gender-affirming care. That law is now on hold after a federal district court ruled it unconstitutional, but Mayfaire said the effects are palpable.
“A lot of the providers that we had before have either left the state and moved somewhere else, or are reluctant to reopen those services,” Mayfaire said.
Andrea Montanez, a trans field organizer in Orlando with the National LGBTQ Task Force, said, “It’s scary to be an elder as a transgender person, to be honest.”
Montanez, 58, said a doctor who had given her great treatment for years suddenly turned curt, cold and distant after she transitioned.
She also suspects her apartment lease was not renewed because she told her landlord she had transitioned.
Housing
Mayfaire said housing is another big obstacle for LGBTQ elders.
Half the LGBTQ population live in states with no laws prohibiting housing discrimination against them, and 48% of LGBTQ couples experience adverse treatment when seeking senior housing, according to SAGE.
“There are very few retirement communities for LGBTQ folks to begin with,” Mayfaire said. He added that even at retirement communities that are accepting of gays and lesbians, “it’s very rare” that they accept trans people.
He said he has heard of LGBTQ elders who end up having to go back into the closet in order to be accepted in some retirement communities.
“It’s a little bit more difficult when you’re trans and you’ve transitioned,” Mayfaire said. “How do you backtrack on that and how do you deal with that emotionally and mentally?”
Isolation
Nearly 60% of LGBTQ older adults report feeling a lack of companionship and over 50% reported feeling isolated from others, according to SAGE.
That isolation can really impact the mental health of LGBTQ elders, many of whom faced the brunt of discrimination and were the pioneers of the movement for LGBTQ rights.
To combat that loneliness, SAGE matches elders with “friendly visitors”: volunteers who donate their time to accompany an LGBTQ elder.
Volunteers sometimes share a meal with an elder, tell stories, watch movies, play board games or just simply talk. Some volunteers check in with their elders with a simple text message or a call.
“I’ve seen some real magic happen between volunteers and participants, some incredible relationships that have formed,” Zahn said.
Craig Rosenblatt is one of SAGE’s volunteers. Sitting next to Dinah on a recent Friday afternoon, Rosenblatt said he volunteers in part to pay homage to and learn from his LGBTQ elders.
“You’ve had experiences that I have not had with bigotry. Where there were a lot of things that I was able to do that you were not able to do, and there’s a lot of things that I was not able to do that people can do today,” Rosenblatt told Dinah.
After his husband died, Dinah said, he was so consumed by grief that he couldn’t manage to put up his Christmas tree for several holiday seasons.
“I just didn’t feel like doing anything for the holidays,” he said. “Grief is a funny thing. It saps your energy.”
Last Christmas, however, that changed, thanks to another SAGE volunteer.
“He got our Christmas tree out, got it working and plugged it in and everything, and that meant everything to me,” Dinah recalled. “The passage of time is a good thing. I know I feel much better now than I did in the beginning.”
Baltimore city officials and LGBTQ activists participated in a ceremony on June 29 officially dedicating the renaming of a street in honor of transgender woman Iya Dammons, who founded and serves as executive director of the LGBTQ services organization Maryland Safe Haven.
A section of Baltimore’s 21st Street at the intersection of North Charles Street, where the Maryland Safe Haven offices are located, has been renamed Iya Dammons Way.
The ceremony took place six years after Dammons founded Maryland Safe Haven in 2018 and one year after she launched a Safe Haven operation in D.C.in 2023 located at 331 H St., N.E.
A statement on its website says Safe Haven provides a wide range of supportive services for LGBTQ people in need, with a special outreach to Black trans women “navigating survival mode” living.
“Through compassionate harm reduction and upward mobility services, advocacy support, and community engagement, we foster a respectful, non-judgmental environment that empowers individual agency,” the statement says. “Our programs encompass community outreach, a drop-in center providing HIV testing, harm reduction, PrEP, medical linkage, case management, and assistance in accessing housing services,” it says.
Among those participating in the street renaming ceremony were Baltimore City Council member Zeke Cohen, interim director of Baltimore Mayor Brandon Scott’s Office of LGBTQ Affairs Alexis Blackmon, and Dominique Morgan, an official with the national foundation Borealis Philanthropy, which provides financial support for transgender supportive nonprofit organizations, including Safe Haven.
“This is a significant achievement and historic moment for our city,” a statement by Maryland Safe Haven announcing the ceremony says. “Iya Dammons has been a tireless advocate for transgender rights and has worked tirelessly to provide safe spaces and resources for transgender individuals in our city,” it says. “This honor is well-deserved, and we are thrilled to see her contributions recognized in such a meaningful way.”
Several churches have made the decision to leave one of the oldest Christiandenominations in the United States after the delegation voted to hit members who support LGBTQ+ worshipers with a “limited suspension.”
The Christian Reformed Church in North America (CRCNA), which has approximately 200,000 members, voted 134-50 last week to disaffiliate congregational leaders and institutions that go against the church’s beliefs on same-sex relationships by publicly embracing the queer community. The decision comes two years after the synod voted to include “homosexual sex” in its definition of “unchastity,” which also includes adultery, polyamory, and pornography.
The synod did not vote to designate same-sex relationships as a “salvation issue,” instead determining that it “does not meet the high standards of definition and articulation needed for declaring a heresy.”
Rev. Ryan Schreiber, a pastor from Michigan, attended the meeting to speak in support of LGBTQ+ members. He said he intends to disaffiliate his Grand Rapids church following the synod’s vote, which he expects to negatively affect church membership and even threaten the denomination’s longevity.
“I am deeply concerned about the Christian Reformed Church, and especially those that I’m leaving behind, gentle conservatives and moderates,” Schreiber told Religion News Service, adding, “There is a coalition of churches in the Christian Reformed Church that is turning the polity of the Christian Reformed Church into a steamroller.”
Schreiber isn’t alone — synod delegate Trish Borgdorff was one of several Reform leaders in Michigan that told local station News 8 her church also intends to disaffiliate itself. Ultimately, she expects the majority of the nearly 30 supportive churches in her area to follow suit, saying: “There isn’t room for us anymore in the denomination I love.”
“What grieved my heart the most was that we were separating over conflict,” Borgdorff said. “In a broken world where we so long for peace, that even under what we know to be God’s call on our lives, we couldn’t find it with each other. And so it was a call to all of us to acknowledge that the problem we are facing, we all contributed to. It’s not any one person, not any one side.”
Turkey is an extremely popular destination, both for holidays and for people looking to get cost-effective dentistry and weight-loss surgery. But is it safe for LGBTQ+ people to visit?
Firstly, same-sex relationships and queer or trans people are not illegal in Turkey, but the country doesn’t offer any legal protection from discrimination in employment, education, housing or health care.
Same-sex marriages and civil partnerships are not recognised and, in general, the country is very conservative. People outside big cities can hold negative attitudes towards members of the LGBTQ+ community – but that’s not to say the major areas are liberal havens either.
Istanbul aerial shot. LGBTQ+ rights are complicated in Turkey. (Getty)
According to Intrepid Travel, gay couples should be wary of displays of affection except in private because kissing in public is frowned upon in relationships of any kind, but particularly risky for same-sex couples.
Following anti-government protests in 2013, president Recep Tayyip Erdoğan placed censorship restrictions on the press and social media, which halted Turkey’s EU membership application, and a failed coup in 2016 led to a state of emergency being declared.
This gave Erdoğan the opportunity to impose further restrictions on civil liberties and human rights. As a result, Istanbul Pride was banned in 2015 – shut down through police intervention– and banned again for the following two years. There were reports of widespread arrests and police violence against anyone who tried to defy the authorities.
A Turkish policeman detains a demonstrator during a Pride march in Istanbul. (Getty)
In 2017, Turkey’s capital Ankara banned all LGBTQ+-rights-related events, saying there was a need to provide “peace and security”.
The Guardian has previously reported that queer Turkish people were “fearful of what may follow” and felt the president was waging a war against them.
In 2021, then interior minister Süleyman Soylu dismissed student protestors as “LGBTQ+ perverts” and said the government would not tolerate the “perverts who attempted to occupy the rector’s office” just days after Erdoğan praised the young people in Turkey who did not identify as LGBTQ+.
Istanbul Pride was banned in 2015 and police took strong action against anyone who defied the order. (Getty)
“We’ll carry our youth to the future, not as LGBTQ+ youth, but the youth from this glorious past. You are not the LGBTQ+ youth. You are not the youth who vandalises, but you are those who mend those vandalised hearts,” the president said.
It’s clear that Turkey is not particularly friendly towards LGBTQ+ people, despite no laws being in place to actively discriminate against the community.
Azoulay told of being harassed, beaten and scalded with boiling water by his fellow inmates, in homophobic attacks. He was jailed for 16 years but released in 2021.
What’s arguably even more significant when considering your travel plans is the fact the Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office currently advises against travel to all parts of Turkey, whether you’re LGBTQ+ or not.
Your travel insurance could be invalidated if you travel against FCDO advice and British embassy staff cannot travel to areas where FCDO advises against travel to help you in person.