This summer, New York City will launch the nation’s largest and most comprehensive workforce development program for at-risk LGBTQ youth.
NYC Unity Works, a $2.6 million initiative that will reach 90 participants over the next four years, is targeted at young adults ages 16 to 24 who are homeless or at risk of experiencing homelessness. Along with job training, it will provide educational opportunities, mental health services, paid internships and job placement, all with the goal of establishing long-term employment and a secure financial future.
The program is an offshoot of the NYC Unity Project, a citywide effort to help at-risk LGBTQ youth launched in 2017 by New York City’s first lady, Chirlane McCray, wife of Mayor Bill de Blasio.
In a statement, McCray said Unity Works “marks the first time that any city has taken this particular set of comprehensive steps to provide training, mental health services and social supports that are critical to long-term success and stability for LGBTQI youth.”
Ashe McGovern, Unity Project’s executive director and a senior LGBTQ policy adviser in de Blasio’s office, praised McCray for prioritizing queer youth.
“I can say unequivocally if the first lady was not at City Hall championing this project, it wouldn’t exist,” McGovern, who uses gender-neutral pronouns, said. “She’s personally committed to it. She’s pushed for it.”
The pilot program will be run through the Department of Youth and Community Development in partnership with the NYC Center for Youth Employment and the Ali Forney Center, the nation’s largest LGBTQ homeless youth service provider.
But a Supreme Court ruling isn’t a magic bullet, McGovern cautioned.
“Nondiscrimination policies aren’t self-actualizing,” they said. “They don’t automatically create a pathway for success for people who have been marginalized their whole lives. Who have been rejected by their families … We need to give young people the skills to be competitive for jobs — even entry-level jobs. It’s an important paradigm shift.”
A recent survey by The Trevor Project, a nonprofit that provides crisis intervention and suicide prevention services to LGBTQ youth, found 35 percent of LGBTQ young people experience employment discrimination. For young transgender people, that percentage jumps to 61 percent.
Up to 40 percent of homeless young people identify as LGBTQ, according to numerous studies. Many are forced out of their homes due to a lack of support and seek acceptance in large (and typically expensive) progressive cities like New York. Without a permanent address, suitable work clothes or even reliable internet, they can be locked out of the job market.
“Many of them are literally in survival mode,” McGovern said of Unity Works’ target applicants. “There’s not space, time or support to think long term or feel energized and joyful about the future. We’re trying to give them that.”
To ensure their success, the staff will help participants with challenges such as changing identity documents and accessing public benefits. And participating agencies and employers are expected to demonstrate cultural responsiveness and competency.
In addition to two years of direct services, Unity Works participants will receive an additional year of followup from LGBTQ-affirming case workers and therapists.
“We know that young LGBTQ people are largely homeless because their family rejected them,” McGovern said. “They may face peer rejection, school rejection, community rejection, so we knew this had to be trauma-informed. It’s not enough to just give people resumé building tips and say ‘good luck.’ This program is a larger support system to help them feel empowered.”
Mario Smith, a 20-year-old who identifies as transgender and nonbinary and uses gender-neutral pronouns, said Unity Works has the potential to be life-changing.
“Giving trans people the tools to work and get educated — it’s not a handout,” they said. “It’s going to create such a productive group of people who can turn around and help their community.”
Smith immigrated to the U.S. from Jamaica as a teen and worked with the Ali Forney Center to get a green card and housing. Now they’re enrolling in Unity Works to study psychology and eventually become a youth health advocate.
“Everyone’s at a different place in their life,” they said. “Some people need job placement, some need help furthering their education. You can’t just have a cookie-cutter answer. This program is tailor-made to the individual.”
As much as Unity Works will benefit Smith and the other New York-based participants, McGovern is thinking even bigger.
“Ultimately we want to build a model we can prove and push it across other jurisdictions,” they said. “I want this to be such a success that it’s replicated all across the country.”
Justin Santiago, 66, the first trans man in Puerto Rico to change his name and gender on his birth certificate, remembers the long-ago incident that led to years of pain he hopes other teens don’t have to endure.
During biology class in the mountain town of Barranquitas, Santiago would sit at his desk, take a wooden pencil, grab a sheet of paper and write love letters to his teacher.
She had a voluptuous body, Santiago recalled, and wore her curly blonde hair tied back. He wrote the letters hoping that one day she would reciprocate his feelings. Every time Santiago wrote a love letter he would leave it in the teacher’s mailbox and hope for the best.
One day, the school counselor asked him to visit her office. She told him that leaving such notes was wrong.
“Because she is my teacher?” Santiago asked.
“No, because she is a woman, like you,” the counselor replied.
“But I’m a man,” said Santiago, then 15 and a trans youth.
The incident led to years of conversion therapy — an unscientific practice that seeks to change people’s sexual orientation and gender identity through psychological techniques, causing guilt and shame.
“They broke me and turned me into a sick person,” Santiago said. The treatment involved prescribing him psychiatric drugs that led to other dependencies, he said, with no one ever held accountable.
On May 6, a Puerto Rico Senate committee killed Senate Bill 184, which would have banned conversion therapies in Puerto Rico. The failure to advance the bill was a blow to LGBTQ advocates like Santiago, who had told his story before the Committee on Community Initiatives, Mental Health and Addiction.
Though former Gov. Ricardo Rosselló had signed a 2019 executive order banning conversion therapies in the U.S. territory, the bill’s sponsors wanted the ban codified into law, to prevent a future anti-LGBTQ+ rights governor from annulling Rosselló’s mandate.
“Don’t hurt your children”
Santiago hopes telling his story serves as a cautionary tale for younger generations. “If my story helps one person not have to experience the torture that I went through, for me that is enough,” he said.
He pleads with parents: “Don’t hurt your children.”
After telling his school counselor that he was a man, Santiago was removed from class and he never saw that teacher again. The counselor called his parents, Jesús and Justina, to inform them about Santiago’s notes. To continue studying there, he had to visit a psychiatric center in Río Piedras in the island’s capital. His parents, a farmer and a housewife, traveled by public transportation for nearly 2 hours to get Santiago to his appointments.
Santiago recalled that he had to sit in a chair in front of the desk of his psychiatrist, who constantly questioned him about his gender identity. She had a cross on her wall and sometimes mentioned God.
“I remember that she asked me if I would ever be happy. And I asked her, are you?” Santiago said.
He insisted that all he wanted was to have surgery to make his body look like he felt — a man. But the psychiatrist emphasized that that was not possible.
“She immediately prescribed drugs,” Santiago said.
When Santiago was 18, the psychiatric center gave him a letter with his dead name (the name he was given at birth) written on the envelope.
“Don’t open it!” the psychiatrist said, telling him it was for his parents. But he ignored her orders and learned he was being diagnosed with schizophrenia and chronic neurosis. The report also mentioned that Santiago “felt no guilt about the damage he was doing to his parents.”
Santiago, who insisted he wasn’t suffering from mental illness, said he and his family never discussed what happened in those sessions. He stopped using the prescribed medications, but said he became an alcoholic.
LGBTQ activist Justin Santiago.Courtesy Justin Santiago
Miguel Vázquez-Rivera, a psychologist who has served trans, queer and nonbinary communities for over a decade, says that the use of prescribed medications can lead a person to seek ways to relieve pain through other substances, like tobacco and alcohol.
“The psychiatrists constantly told me that I was going to hurt my parents and my family. It caused me to get sick. I never wanted to hurt them,” Santiago said. “The idea of committing suicide was always in my head, but I did not do it, so I wouldn’t hurt my family. That’s why I did not kill myself.”
Santiago doesn’t remember psychiatrists telling him that loving a woman was wrong. But they rejected his gender identity as a trans man.
A right to raise children “according to their convictions”
Conservatives like Sen. Joanne Rodríguez-Veve and Rep. Lissie Burgos-Muñiz, of Proyecto Dignidad (The Dignity Party), a Christian-led party founded in 2019, opposed the bill against conversion therapies. Rodríguez-Veve has argued that “parents have a right to raise their children according to their convictions.”
Rodríguez-Veve, who voted against bringing the bill to the Senate floor, was criticized by LGBTQ activists for repeatedly questioning if the legislation would open the door to allowing minors to undergo hormone-blocking processes without parental consent — which was not the case. Rodríguez-Veve did not respond to requests for comment.
It is not the first time that the island’s Legislature has blocked a bill against conversion therapies. When a version of this year’s bill was introduced in 2019, the House of Representatives’ Legal Committee denied that those practices were carried out on the island. At the time, the body was chaired by Rep. María Milagros Charbonier, who resigned last year after being arrested on federal corruption chargesand has a long history of spearheading anti-LGBTQ measures.
Since the bill was introduced, conservative and religious public officials have argued that conversion therapies do not exist on the island. Vázquez-Rivera, the psychologist, disagrees. Through his practice, he says he’s seen conversion therapy lead to anxiety, depression, drug abuse, maladaptive behaviors and suicide attempts.
Eunice Avilés, a doctor in psychology with 16 years of experience working with trans communities, insisted that conversion therapies are not always called that, making them harder for officials to identify. Sometimes, they are sold under the guise of “religious counseling sessions.”
“When they insist that who you are (your gender identity) and what you feel is wrong, that damages you from the innermost fiber of your body to the outside,” Avilés said. “That is violence.”
Several LGBTQ+ community members who offered their testimony in the public hearings for the bill said they had been exposed to these practices through religious groups.
“Sin is not homosexuality,” Pedro Julio Serrano, a well-known LGBTQ+ activist, said at the public hearings. “Sin is homophobia.”
Serrano urged Santiago to tell his story. He knew that Santiago would not agree to tell his testimony before the commission without the support of his community. Although conversion therapies had been going on in Puerto Rico for years, the issue is now coming to light, and Santiago would finally have the opportunity to tell his story, Serrano said.
Santiago says he had to prepare himself to tell his story in public. Decades have passed since he was put through conversion therapies, but he does not feel like he has healed.
“My parents would have loved me”
Santiago recalled a visit to his father just a few years ago. He told his dad that he never had identified with the name he was given at birth. He told him he planned to change it and call himself Justin Jesús, in honor of his parents.
His father looked at him for a few seconds and, looking concerned, told him it would be difficult to call him Justin Jesús because he would feel like he was talking to someone else.
“You are my father. You can call me whatever you like,” he replied. Santiago asked for his blessing and told him that he loved him. His dad hugged him and said he loved him, too.
“That conversation didn’t last 45 seconds. It took me 62 years to have that conversation with my father,” Santiago said. “This is all those people’s fault. My parents would have loved me.”
When his mother died in 2007, Santiago assumed in full his gender identity, decades after the first time he expressed he was a man. During a nine-month period, he began taking hormones, underwent surgery, and changed his name and gender on legal documents.
“Making history”
In 2018, Judge Carmen Consuelo Cerezo of the U.S. District Court for the District of Puerto Rico declared that the local government’s policy of not allowing trans people to change their birth certificates was unconstitutional.
The timing allowed Santiago to make history as the first trans man to legally change his gender identity in Puerto Rico.
Carmen Padilla, a friend of Santiago for more than 30 years, accompanied him to his double mastectomy. Padilla lived in Boston and came to Puerto Rico for three weeks to help Santiago during the post-operation recovery. “He was prepared for this. I’m very happy that he found himself,” Padilla said.
Serrano, the activist, who has known Santiago for a decade, said that for many years Santiago “manifested himself as a lesbian with masculine experiences,” before being able to affirm his gender identity.
When Santiago began to assume his identity as a trans man, he looked “much happier, more dynamic and more assertive,” Serrano said. After Santiago was administered hormones and had surgery, Serrano said he soon saw the effects — hair growth on Santiago’s chin, changes in his voice and gait, and a masculine haircut.
“He looked empowered. It was a rebirth,” Serrano said. “He recognized that through his experiences he could become a leader in the trans community.”
Santiago is now an icon of activism in the transmasculine community who has blazed paths for other transgender Puerto Ricans. Younger generations affectionately call him “TransPa.”
He and other LGBTQ activists say they will continue to advocate against conversion therapy and push for legislation against it.
As a teenager, Santiago wrote letters to his teacher. Decades later, after his surgery, Santiago wrote a love hymn to himself.
I do not transition; I reaffirm myself from my skin and my own identity
I free myself and vindicate
before an oppressive binary system
that insists on controlling and invalidating my existence
in diversity
His existence, Santiago says, is “a cry of freedom” that he now shares with the world.
Trans and non-binary people experience barriers to accessing cervical screenings due to discrimination, new research has confirmed.
The findings from Jo’s Cervical Cancer Trust, which were published in the British Journal of General Practice on Tuesday (18 May), surveyed 137 trans men and non-binary people about their experiences with cervical screening.
Among the respondents, 47 per cent reported they were eligible for cervical screening – but just over half (58 per cent) of this group had ever been screened for cervical cancer. Only 53 per cent of those eligible felt like they had sufficient information about cervical screening.
According to the research, trans men and non-binary people faced a range of factors impacting their ability and intention to attend cervical screenings. This included female-focused information, not receiving invitations for screenings and being discouraged or turned away from attending cervical screenings. Some participants felt they would not be able to attend the test because of of medical professionals’ lack of expertise in gender dysphoria.
Almost all the participants in the study, which was conducted in partnership with the Gender Identity Clinic at the Tavistock and Portman NHS Foundation Trust, felt that training for healthcare professions would be useful. Participants said this should include LGBT+ awareness training, education on inclusive language and terminology and “reports from those with lived experience of gender diversity”.
The NHS says any person with a cervix between the ages of 25 to 49 should be invited to a cervical screening every three years. All people with a cervix who are registered with a GP and aged 50 to 64 are invited for a cervical screening every five years.
But according to the charity’s report, the NHS cervical screening programme invites only people who are registered as women or female to take part. The researchers said this means trans and non-binary people, who are registered at their GP as male, will usually have to request a test.
Laurie Hodierne, a trans man and doctor, told the BBC that he was re-registered as male by his GP surgery, meaning he could potentially miss out on being flagged for life-saving cervical smear tests.
He said, as a doctor, he understands “how the systems work and the language”, but he still finds it “exhausting” to keep asking for appointments and chase up on results.
“You keep coming up against a brick wall,” Hodierne said. “It’s a healthcare inequality in the sense that you aren’t able to get access to the screening programme in the same way.”
Of the participants in the research, only 61 per cent were aware that being registered with the GP as male meant they are not routinely called for cervical screening appointments.
Rebecca Shoosmith, acting chief executive at Jo’s Cervical Cancer Trust, said in a statement that accessing the live-saving screening can be difficult for many people but especially for trans and non-binary people.
In the summer of 1953, Audrey Hartmann was 23 years old and on vacation with friends. She was staying in Ocean Bay Park, a small beach town on Fire Island, 60 miles from New York City.
She’d heard whispers about a place down the beach called Cherry Grove. A few miles away, it was said to be a welcoming community of gay people. She’d heard there were lesbians there.
Hartmann walked down, and what she saw is on display at a new exhibit at the New-York Historical Society, as well as chronicled in the 1993 book “Cherry Grove, Fire Island: Sixty Years in America’s First Gay and Lesbian Town” by Esther Newton. Hartmann encountered “charming little houses” lit by gas lamps, and wherever she walked were canopies of trees. She caught a glimpse into some of the homes and said, “I remember seeing women by candlelight sitting there,” and wished she was one of them.
Maggie McCorkle and Audrey Hartmann in Cherry Grove, ca. 1963.Cherry Grove Archives Collection
Her wish came true. She would go on to live in Cherry Grove and became a beloved member of the community. She and her longtime partner were some of the first women to buy a home on the island. Hartmann, now 90, was interviewed for the exhibit, “Safe/Haven: Gay Life in 1950s Cherry Grove,” which opens Friday at the New-York Historical Society, on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. In a recording, Hartmann says of Cherry Grove, “It was an escape for everyone to be able to come out here on the weekend and be yourself. It was a safe haven. I could say to someone, ‘I’m Audrey Hartmann … and I’m gay.’”
That, at the time, was unheard of.
The exhibit includes 70 photographs and additional ephemera contributed by the Cherry Grove Archives Collection. Included in the exhibit are recorded accounts from notable residents, including Hartmann.
Hot House, 1958.Cherry Grove Archives Collection
Cherry Grove was one of the first gay beach towns in the United States, joining a handful of LGBTQ vacation spots and resorts that became popular in the pre-Stonewall era, along with places like Provincetown, Massachusetts, and Saugatuck-Douglas, Michigan.
The striking images in the collection are special because of their rarity, as well as the joy and intimacy displayed in them. There is a relaxed nature to the photos, of couples with their arms around each other, friends out at parties or spending time together on the beach.
“Most people didn’t share themselves in that way because they couldn’t be documented. It could be held against them legally,” said Parker Sargent, 46, one of the curators of the exhibit and a representative of the Cherry Grove Archives Collection. In Cherry Grove, gay residents were able to form a community, have a voice in how things were run and be out. “And that’s revolutionary in a really quiet way,” Sergeant said.
“Patricia Fitzgerald & Kay Guinness, Cherry Grove Beach,” September 1952.Cherry Grove Archives Collection
Part of what makes Cherry Grove special is its remote location on a barrier island between Long Island and the Atlantic Ocean. Most of the island is only accessible by boat and inaccessible to cars. Cherry Grove provided a sanctuary while also offering queer people the distance and safety required to be themselves, away from the New York laws prohibiting their queer identities and the constant police enforcement of anti-LGBTQ policies.
“Because it’s isolated, people are not judging you, like you’d be afraid of in the real world,” said Susan Kravitz, 77, who curated the exhibit with Sargent and is a committee member of the Cherry Grove archive. “The women in the ‘50s had to wear skirts and dresses … but when they came to Cherry Grove, they could wear trousers — and that was a big deal. Not just pants, but trousers … It’s always about freeing oneself to be who you want to be, and where else can you do that?”
Cherry Grove did have its share of raids and arrests, but the last boat left the island at midnight, meaning there was no police presence once the boat left the dock. That contributed to a vibrant nightlife, one so integral to the community a section of the exhibit is devoted to theater, performance and the social scene. Theater is a lasting legacy of Cherry Grove, as it was theater people who began to vacation there as early as the 1930s, laying a foundation of creativity and openness that has had a lasting draw for the LGBTQ community.
Pat Fitzgerald, Kay Guinness, Mary Ronin and Bea Greer, c. 1950. Cherry Grove Archives Collection
Cherry Grove was different from the city, where the gay bars were run by the mob, according to Sargent, who described these urban watering holes as “dark and seedy clubs” where “you always had to be careful that the lights would come on,” signaling a police raid.
“In Cherry Grove, you were suddenly out in nature and sitting on people’s front porches and going to house parties,” Sargent said. “There was a levity and a freedom of not being caught.”
Cherry Grove continued to evolve after the 1950s, moving from a sanctuary for mostly white and affluent gay men and women to a more inclusive place with the advent of the 1960s, as the civil rights movement gained traction and more commercial real estate in the area led to affordable housing options for greater swaths of the community. As the decades move forward, photographs begin to show queer people of color and working-class LGBTQ people.
“You will see such joy in these photographs, you will see happiness, you will see laughter, and you would never think that would be the case given the times in which these people lived,” Kravitz said.
“Parasol Party.”Cherry Grove Archives Collection
Part of the mission behind “Safe/Haven: Gay Life in 1950s Cherry Grove” is to create an archive where there has been none.
“It’s more than just the photos or the old videos,” Sargent said. “It’s getting that material out there for people to see and to rewrite our history in a way that has been very blank because we tend to think that gay life started at Stonewall. … People have a look at gay history before Stonewall. We’ve always been here.”
Today, Cherry Grove remains a beloved summer destination for LGBTQ beachgoers, particularly lesbians, as has the adjoining community of the Fire Island Pines, which has traditionally catered to gay men. Though the world has become more accepting over the decades, these two Fire Island enclaves remain important to the community, and just as vibrant as ever, welcoming hundreds of thousands of visitors to its boardwalks every season.
A proposed law that would criminalize violence and hate speech against LGBT people in Italy has thrown together an unlikely alliance of opponents.
Some feminists and lesbian associations have joined the Catholic church and the political right in opposing a bill that would add gay, transgender people and the disabled to the categories protected by a law punishing religion and race-based hate crimes.
Conflict over the proposed legislation has become an ideological battle at the heart of the culture wars in Italy, pitting freedom of expression against protection of those at risk of discrimination and victimization.
Catholic leaders say the so-called Zan bill, named for a Democratic Party lawmaker and gay rights activist Alessandro Zan, amounted to “a liberticide,” with conservatives warning the bill risks criminalizing those who publicly oppose gay marriage or adoptions by gay people. Opposition from some lesbian and feminist groups centers on concerns that recognizing gender identity could put at risk rights won by women.
But even among LGBT and feminist groups, there is great divide over the bill, with some groups splitting from a top national lesbian association after it came out against the legislation.
Although Italy approved same-sex civil unions in 2016, the country lags behind its EU counterparts and is on similar footing with the likes of Poland, the Czech Republic, Bulgaria and Lithuania in terms of anti-homophobia measures, according to ILGA Europe, a federation of groups pushing for civil rights. Italy placed 35th out of 49 European and Central Asian countries on a list ranking the legal and policy situation of LGBTI people compiled by ILGA.
A homophobia and transphobia helpline run by the Gay Center association in Italy receives about 20,000 requests for help a year from those who experience violence or threats.
The Zan bill was approved in the lower house of parliament last year. But its passage through the upper house, or Senate, for it to become law has been delayed by a change of government and obstruction by the right-wing League, for whom it has become a rallying cry at a time when, constrained by being in a so-called government of national unity, the party is struggling to differentiate itself.
The case of Malika Chalhy, a 22-year-old from Tuscany, who was thrown out of her home and sent death threats by her family when she came out as gay earlier this year has led to renewed calls for urgent approval of the bill.
Using gender identity instead of biological sex means that “everything that is dedicated to women can be occupied by men who identify as women or say they perceive themselves as women,” the groups said in a statement.
When ArciLesbica, one of the country’s top national lesbian associations, signed onto the joint letter, several of its local affiliates distanced themselves from its stance.
Zan also rejected the letter. “To say that trans women are not real women is not acceptable,” he said. “We are talking about people who are particularly discriminated against.” There are more murders of transgender people in Italy than in any other European country, he said, “showing an extremely high level of cultural discrimination.”
His bill does not repress freedom of expression, he said, but only the inciting of violence and hatred. “If I say my son is gay and he should be burned to death, it is clear this is not an opinion but an instigation to violence.”
Zan said it was regrettable that the left was not united: “Unfortunately, some statements by historic and radical feminists have the same content as the extreme right and religious fundamentalists.”
Despite the setbacks for the bill, there are signs that the proposed Zan law has increased popular support.
Italy’s most influential Instagrammers, power couple Chiara Ferragni, a fashion mogul, and rapper Fedez, have taken the cause to heart. There were protests in favor of the bill in 54 towns and cities around Italy last weekend, suggesting the younger generation of Italians may be ready to address the lack of LGBT protection.
Even the feminists are changing, according to Zan. “The new generation of feminists are inclusive not exclusionary — for them, giving rights to someone doesn’t take away from the rights of someone else.”
In its announcement, the French Rugby Federation acknowledged that World Rugby – the global governing body for the sport – implemented a ban on trans women last year.
However, the World Rugby ban was only advisory, meaning individual countries’ governing bodies can put in place their own policies around transgender participation in sport.
In a statement, the French Rugby Federation said it is committed to the inclusion of trans people in rugby.
The group said its steering committee had voted unanimously in favour of allowing trans women to participate on women’s rugby teams following a recommendation from an equality commission.
Under new rules, trans women who have had gender-affirming surgeries and those who have received hormone treatment for at least 12 consecutive months will be allowed to play on women’s teams.
However, the rule will come with a number of conditions. Trans women must also have been legally recognised in their correct gender, and their testosterone levels must not exceed five nanomole/litre.
“Rugby is an inclusive, sharing sport, without distinction of sex, gender, origin or religion,” said FFR vice president Serge Simon.
“The FFR is against all forms of discrimination and works daily to ensure that everyone can exercise their free will in rugby without constraint.”
The news comes months after World Rugby announced a ban on trans women playing at an elite level following a months-long review process.
A high school in Indiana has ordered teachers to remove Pride flags from their classrooms to “maintain viewpoint neutrality”, and students have slammed the decision.
The principal of Pendleton Heights High School, Connie Rickert, ordered three teachers to remove Pride flags from their classrooms, local newspaper The Herald Bulletin reported.
“Teachers are legally obligated to maintain viewpoint neutrality during their official duties to ensure all students can focus on learning and we can maintain educational activities and school operations,” she stated. “Our counselors are trained to respond to any student who desires support.”
Despite outrage from students, other senior staff also issued statements about the ban, with one comparing the Pride flag to a white supremacy flag. One student slammed the comparison, telling The Indianapolis Star: “One is about inclusiveness and the other is about hate.”
The president of the board of trustees for the local district wrote in an email to parents: “The issue with displaying the flag in a school is a double-edged sword.
“If an LGBTQ+ flag is allowed to be displayed, then any other group would have the same ability. That could include such flags as supporting white supremacy, which is in direct conflict with LGBTQ+. I hope we can model equality and support through our actions.”
Student Bryce Axel-Adams started an online petition, calling for the school board to officially allow Pride flags in classrooms. At the time of writing, it has more than 3,500 signatures.
Bryce wrote: “Having a pride flag is one of the clearest ways to say, ‘I support you, and I’m here for you. You are loved.’
“That is so important for LGBTQ+ youth, we have always been told that teachers will always be there for us, and being able to easily identify teachers we can safely go to is extremely important to our mental health.”
Bryce later added that they had received an update from the school administrators saying they had changed their stance, and weren’t banning the flags because they are “political speech”, but to “avoid a discrimination lawsuit”.
The petition received a number of heart-warming responses from teachers in other districts, Pendleton alumni and other students.
GayCities encourages you to stay safe during the Covid 19 pandemic. If you choose to travel, we recommend that you follow all CDC Travel Guidelines and adhere closely to all local regulations regarding face coverings, social distancing and other safety measures.
The risk of transmitting Covid is known to decrease outdoors. Therefore, planning a trip to a gay campsite is not only one way to get a little closer to nature, but also the possibility of socializing with others a little more safely.
Don’t know where to start? There are dozens of gay campgrounds across North America. Here are just a few recommended ones.
Roseland Resort in West Virginia
Bear weekend fun at Roseland Resort (Photo: Roseland Resort)
Roseland is one of the best-known gay-owned and operated campgrounds in the US. It’s set amongst 222 acres of West Virginia countryside. Besides stunning views, it offers bed and breakfast style cabins and tent sites. There’s also a pool, bar area and the Walnut Tree restaurant. It’s aimed at gay men over the age of 21. It scores highly on Trip Advisor for its clean facilities and friendly staff.
“This place is amazing. Beautiful scenery, great facilities, but most importantly very, very nice people. I can’t stress that enough. Just a lot of fun, easy going energy,” says one reviewer.
One recent visitor praised the local landscape: “One of the most under appreciated aspects of Roseland is how much amazing hiking there is,” said Mike (@thedreamofthenineties)
Enjoying the scenery around Roseland (Photo: @thedreamofthenineties/Instagram)
You’ll find it at 925 Nolte Lane, Proctor WV 26055. It’s quite a drive into West Virginia and the owner do recommend you check the route on Google Maps as some GPS systems don’t track all the small local roads.https://www.instagram.com/p/CCT830NjKdo/embed/?cr=1&v=13&wp=1080&rd=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.gaycities.com&rp=%2Foutthere%2F53815%2F10-best-gay-campsites-us%2F%3Futm_source%3Dqueerty%26utm_medium%3Ddirectlink%26utm_campaign%3Ddirectlink%26utm_content%3D10%2Bof%2Bthe%2Bbest%2Bgay%2Bcampsites%2Bin%2Bthe%2BUS%2Bfor%2Bsummertime%2Bfun#%7B%22ci%22%3A0%2C%22os%22%3A1501%2C%22ls%22%3A1016%2C%22le%22%3A1033%7D
Sawmill Camping Resort, Florida
Sawmill has won several awards as a camping resort (Photo: Supplied)
One of the most highly-rated gay and lesbian camping grounds in the south-east, “where camping meets nightlife.” Sawmill offers it all: Four bars, Woody’s Nightclub, a clothing-optional pool, plus nature trail, lakeside walks (around Ricki Lake!), and local Zip Lines and antique shopping. There’s also a nightly campfire and regular entertainment on the courtyard stage.
“How wonderful is it to find a place where you can go and be you,” said one visitor on TripAdvisor. “Very welcoming and inviting. Along with all the amenities, one could want while camping … Sawmill Campground is truly the best”
‘Ricki Lake’ at Sawmill Camping Resort (Photo: Supplied)
You’ll find Sawmill Resort at 21710 US Highway 98, Dade City, FL 33523. You can rent a cabin, or space for your RV or tent. Membership is required, which costs $35 and lasts for 12 months.
Vitambi Springs in Florida
(Photo: Vitambi Springs)
Near the tranquil Lake Vitambi, you’ll find Vitambi Springs at 28280 Etumakee Way, Clewiston, FL 33440. Once again, do check Google Map before setting off on your drive as it’s quite out there in the wilderness! It’s around 90 minutes to Miami, Naples or Fort Lauderdale.
Around two-thirds of this huge site are clothing optional. It offers a range of accommodation, including inn room, private cabins, military barracks, plus space for RVs and tents. There’s a pool, a lakeside dock with canoes, a bar, gym, café, ‘Big Oak Lodge’ and plenty of wild deer wandering around. There’s also a regular calendar of event, such as Bad Bear weekend.
Nestled in a hidden valley of the Superstition Mountains, it offers bed and breakfast accommodation along with camping facilities. Amenities include a hot tub and pool, BYOB Saloon, full food menu, karaoke, community fire pit and 40 acres of trails. It’s also clothing optional!
Local attractions include the Tonto National Forest, Hike Peralta Trails and the town of Superior.
There’s also an airport shuttle service if you’re flying not driving to the resort. It hosts regular events, such as its upcoming Wellness Weekend and Drum Circle on May 14, and ‘Cowboy Fling’ weekend.
“You get to meet new people and everyone is so nice and very welcoming!” one customer, Cesar Alonso Borey, told GayCities. “They don’t treat you like a stranger even if it’s your first time there. Uncle Bobby and Rich always do their best to make you feel very comfortable! You get to really talk to people like we used to! A totally wonderful, relaxing, fun experience!”
Copper Cactus Ranch Men’s Retreat, 4516 North Elephant Butte Road, Queen Valley,
Campit Resort in Michigan
Campit Resort bills itself as an “affordable getaway and vacation destination” for the LGBTQ community, their friend and allies. “We are all affirming, with a reputation as a very friendly, welcoming and safe place to relax and play.”
It offers 33 acres to explore and roam, ten minutes from the towns of Saugatuk and Douglas. The Lake Michigan beaches are also not far away.
Besides space for tent and RV’s, there are also 22 log cabin which can be rented, plus a five-bedroom bunkhouse. It also offer a clubhouse with regular entertainment, swimming pool and nature trails. Themed weekends are aimed at both gay men and lesbians.
Someone who’d visited several times told GayCities he liked it for its range of sleeping options, while nearby Saugautuk is also very gay-friendly and offers a number of cider mills, breweries and a winery to visit.
Campit Outdoor Resort is at 6635 118th Ave, Fennville, MI 49408.
The Woods Camping Resort in Pennsylvania
The pool at The Woods Camping Resort (Photo: Supplied)
Nestled in the Pocono Mountains, and open since 2004, the Woods Camping Resort in Lehighton, Pennsylvania, is another of the country’s best LGBTQ camping grounds. It’s set amidst 161 private acres with its own streams and four-acre lake.
You’ll find it open between May and October, with a whole calendar of events to explore and activities such as yoga and volleyball. In addition to plenty of space to rent for tents and RVs, it offers 30 cabins and three resort homes.
Events include an annual bears gathering, leather/country weekend, and Christmas in July weekend, among many others. To make a reservation, you’ll need to take out a membership.
The resort’s ethos is simple: less digital interaction and more real-life interaction!
(Photo: The Woods Camping Resort)
“In an era when old methods of meeting people have dwindled, The Woods has risen.
“At The Woods, you are among like-minded people in an inviting atmosphere which encourages face-to-face interaction. You can choose from a variety of activities and places where you’ll be among real live people! Talking, laughing, dancing and yes, cruising if you so choose.”
The inclusive resort welcomes everyone from the LGBTQ spectrum: “The only people not allowed at The Woods are bullies, racists, fighters, immature jerks and those who get overly intoxicated.”
The Woods Camping Resort, 3500 Forest Street, Lehighton, PA 18235.
Triangle Recreation Camp in Washington
Triangle Recreation Camp (47715 Mountain Loop Highway, Granite Falls, WA 98252) in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, 21 miles east of Granite Falls, has a history dating back to 1975.
Situated in a beautiful, extremely rural part of the country, this clothing-optional site tends to pull in visitors from Washington, Oregon, British Columbia, as well a further afield.
It is regarded as the premier “recreational campground that is Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer owned and operated” in the northwest of the US. It’s open from mid-April to October, and offers 80 acres to set up your tent or RV.
@wolfie_braden and @bigbrojacks enjoy the amenities at Triangle Recreation Camp (Photo: @wolfie_braden/Instagram)
There’s stunning scenery to enjoy, including a local waterfall, beach and forests dominated by huge, centuries-old trees.
Freedom Valley in Ohio
Camping at Freedom Valley (Photo: @thepupodin/Instagram)
Freedom Valley is an acclaimed camping ground in Ohio, about 57 miles from both Akron and Cleveland.
It offers a large bunkhouse, a handful of cabins and trailers, plus plenty of space for tents amongst its flowery meadows. It is aimed at “all Men of all backgrounds, sizes, and ages (over 21).” It offers a pool, firepit, plus several themed weekends throughout its summer season.
A bunkhouse at Freedom Valley (Photo: Supplied)
In 2017, respondents to a survey in the South Florida Gay News voted Freedom Valley their second favorite campground in the US (behind Sawmill). It’s been praised for its appearance, accommodations and community atmosphere. You’ll find it at 1875 U.S. 250 South, New London, OH 44851.
Jones Pond in New York
Jones Pond in Angelica, NY, has a history as a gay camping ground going back to 1991. You can choose from a bunkhouse or cabin, while there’s an expansive area to rent space for a tent or RV (175 camping sites!).
An all-day cafe takes care of all your food needs, while there’s over 100 acres of rural, Western New York State to explore.
Aimed at men aged over 21, it’s clothing optional around the pool area. Like the other sites mentioned here, there are plenty of themed weekends throughout the summer, like an annual Pride weekend celebration and Cowboy Weekend.
Jones Pond camp site is at 9835 Old State Road, Angelica, NY 14709.
Camp Camp in Maine
Camp Camp is not a camping ground but a big, annual LGBTQ camping event that takes place every August in southwestern Maine (45 miles west of Portland, Maine).
It’s been running for over 25 years and routinely attracts around 200 attendees.
Activities include everything from hiking, zip-lining, rock wall climbing, and canoeing to pottery and stained glass workshops. You sleep in bunk beds in cabins named after LGBTQ icon like Ellen DeGeneres, Harvey Milk and Oscar Wilde.
The organizers say that around 75% of those who attend return for at least a second visit: a testimony to the unique and special atmosphere fostered by this inclusive event.
Humans have used symbols and iconography to communicate and identify things going back to when cave people made the first drawings on the cave walls. This use pre-dates language and the written word, but symbols have remained in use even after language became commonplace.
This use includes symbols and icons used to identify, segregate, promote intolerance and hate for groups of people. This use was especially true when it came to the persecution and systematic targeting by the Nazis under Hitler. The SS created a unique classification system to identify Jews who had to wear a yellow star formed by two triangles and criminals, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and anyone deemed nonconformist, including homosexuals who wore the pink triangle. As with other groups, the Nazis forced anyone known or suspected to be engaged in homosexual behavior to don the Pink Triangle, proven or not. This behavior included bi-sexuality and those who were transgender men. Typically, this did not include lesbians and transgender women.
It is important to note that early on, we were not singled out for who we were but instead lumped in with criminals or political prisoners and made to wear a colored triangle representing that group of individuals, perhaps giving us more “cover.” Later, the Pink Triangle became one of many colored triangles used to identify individuals and were often combined to show those belonging to more than one group.
It is no wonder that Hitler would target our community given the prominent and visible gay and lesbian culture in Berlin at the time. Even though homosexuality was technically illegal before the rise of Hitler under the Paragraph 175 statute, it was rarely enforced. As was true of so many groups of people, Hitler saw us as a threat to his creation of the perfect race. Similar in many ways to what we continue to face politically and socially today, Hitler was afraid of us. As a result of that fear, he used hate and fear as his weapon and the Pink Triangle as a way to identify, shame, and target us.
Like others persecuted by the Nazis, individuals wearing the Pink Triangle were easily identifiable, making them instant targets by other prisoners and guards in the concentration camps. The Pink Triangle also made it easy to continue the persecution even after the war ended. Many who wore the Pink Triangle were transferred from concentration camps to prisons because it was illegal to be a homosexual.
What is unique about the Pink Triangle, compared to other symbols of identification, segregation, and hate, is that it was reclaimed and turned into a symbol of perseverance, strength, and unity.
Heinze Heger’s 1972 book “The Men With The Pink Triangle” brought greater awareness to the origins and use of the Pink Triangle by the Nazis. As a result, a German gay liberation group used the symbol as a memorial to those early victims and a new symbol of protest. After the Stonewall rebellion, our community took what had once been a symbol of hatred and turned it into a symbol of pride. We have also used it as a symbol of protest, as was seen during the early years of AIDS.
While it has been a small minority, it is important to note that some have criticized using a symbol that originated from hate to represent us. In 1993, senior editor Sara Hart of the gay magazine 10 Percent expressed this and received significant backlash.
As unique as it is to have reclaimed the Pink Triangle as our own, it is easy to overlook its historical significance as time goes by. I look at my lack of knowledge and understanding as a young gay man coming out in the early 1980s and how I initially just knew it to be a symbol of our community without proper context.
Yes, the Pink Triangle is now a symbol of pride, but it should also serve as a reminder of how easy it is to have all we have fought for and earned stripped away from us. As we come upon another season of Pride, we need to understand what our community’s symbols represent now, but we also need to understand their origins and what they represented before.
After a doctor’s visit, three court appearances, five trips to the bank and having her name and address published in a newspaper, Billie Simmons finally got a debit card with her chosen name.
As a transgender woman, that meant she didn’t run the risk of outing herself every time she used her card for routine expenses like buying groceries.
The legal process to change her name and her gender on identity documents took several weeks. Yet four years on, Simmons still receives her monthly credit report in an email addressed to her dead name.
She hasn’t been able to change her online banking username and her credit score is incomplete, only reflecting transactions made after she legally changed her name.
“It’s a constant emotional reminder that the system will always see me as the person I used to be and it won’t let me move on with my life,” the 27-year-old said.
“On tough days that’s a really hard thing to grapple with. These banking systems are not designed for us.”
Hoping to address some of these issues, Simmons has co-founded Daylight, an online banking provider focused on the LGBTQ community that is set to launch this summer.
Among its features, it allows users to set up an account online with their chosen name, regardless of what appears on their ID documents, and receive financial coaching focused on goals common among many LGBTQ consumers, such as saving for surrogacy or adoption.
Daylight estimates there are 30 million Americans who identify as LGBTQ. It is among a cohort of new digital banks in the United States targeting communities where many people say their needs have not been met by mainstream lenders.
Such startups include First Boulevard and Greenwood, both focused on serving Black Americans, Cheese Financial aimed at the Asian community and Majority serving immigrant groups.
“Historically, community banks have focused on cheaper customer acquisition by focusing on an underserved geography,” said Ian Kar, founder and CEO of research firm Fintech Today.
“The internet removes geographical restrictions. Developing banking services around people’s identity, like race and sexual orientation, is a modern approach.”
Digital banking startups that target specific demographics raised a collective $318 million from investors in 2020, according to data provider CB Insights.
They’ve raised $86 million in eight deals in 2021, including a $40 million cash injection for Greenwood from U.S. financial institutions including Truist Financial Corp, JPMorgan Chase & Co and Bank of America Corp.
Yet such startups are entering an increasingly crowded market for digital banking, where many rivals offer similar basic services and pricing, like no monthly fees, overdraft fees or minimum balance.
They’re betting their branding and tailored offerings for their target groups will trump the wider range of services offered by big banks. Yet they may need to swiftly expand their customer bases to challenge larger lenders who enjoy scale and cheaper sources of capital, according to some industry experts.
Yawning wealth gap
Kansas City-based First Boulevard, founded in the wake of George Floyd’s murder last year, says it aims to help customers build wealth and reinvest in the Black community.
The inequality in the United States is stark: the average wealth of Black families is $24,100 – less than 15% that of white families, at $142,500, according to Federal Reserve data.
Just 6% of Black business owners surveyed in 2020 by the Association for Enterprise Opportunity said their primary source of credit came from banks, versus 23% for all businesses. When approved, the median loan amount for Black business owners was less than half of the loan amounts extended to white peers, according to the survey.
“We are one of the only communities in the world that were considered property when our financial system was built,” said Donald Hawkins, First Boulevard’s CEO.
Among its offerings, First Boulevard is building a marketplace which gives users cash back for buying at Black-owned businesses.
Prentiss Earl, a teacher and entrepreneur in Kansas City, said he’d never felt comfortable asking his mainstream bank for financial advice, but would at a lender like First Boulevard.
“I want to feel I sense that my money is going to business ventures and people who look like me,” Earl said.
First Boulevard is launching on Juneteenth – an annual holiday on June 19 commemorating the abolition of slavery in the United States – and says it has a waiting list of 200,000 users.
It recently raised $5 million in seed funding from backers including UK banking giant Barclays Plc and fintech investment firm Anthemis Group.
“If you see more attention to this segment it is because it has been lacking for so long,” said Amy Nauiokas, founder and CEO of Anthemis, referring to minority groups.
‘It’s intimidating’
Given the challenges facing such entrants into the competitive digital banking market, success could hinge on how quickly they can grow their customer base by building a brand that resonates as authentic with the communities they aim to serve, according to analysts.
“You could make a mistake very easily as you will never appeal to every single person in that community. It’s a community but not everyone is a carbon copy,” said Sarah Kocianski, head of research at fintech consultancy 11:FS.
Houston and Stockholm-based Majority provides banking services to immigrants in the United States, a diverse group spanning multiple nationalities, cultures and languages, and says it signed up 5,000 subscribers in its first 3 months since launching.
The company began by offering financial services to the Nigerian community in Houston, later expanding to Cubans in Miami. It now plans to target immigrants from Ghana, Kenya and Ethiopia in Washington DC. It hires employees from the same communities who can act as local advisers.
CEO Magnus Larsson said many migrants go to physical stores in their communities to access basic financial services.
“Why do people go there when it’s expensive? Because of the cultural context,” he added. “They are uncomfortable or not feeling welcome (in mainstream banking). It’s intimidating.”
Financial access
For some people, specialized banks can be crucial, according to Ken Lian, who lacked a credit profile and struggled to open a checking account after he moved to the United States from China in 2008. He ended up paying more than $1,000 in various fees like ATM withdrawals and overdrafts.
He now has a 800 FICO credit score, which is considered above average, but says he can still get rejected by mainstream banks because of his relatively new status in the country.
This year Lian co-founded Cheese Financial, a digital banking service for the 21 million Asian Americans.
Tailored to be accessible for customers with no credit history, the company is also working on being able to take on new customers without requiring a social security number.
It offers 10% cash back at more than 10,000 stores and Asian-owned businesses and has pledged to donate $10 for each new user to a non-profit organization focused on helping the community.
“Given the current environment the Asian community is facing, we built Cheese as a new banking platform with a social cause,” Lian said, referring in part to a spike in attacks on Asian Americans over the past year.
