Commentary
The battle ahead lies overseas
World Bank, other international groups reluctant to back LGBT efforts
Two days before Justice Kennedy issued his landmark opinion affirming the Constitutional right of same sex couples to marry anywhere in the United States, Kyrgyzstanās anti-gay āpropagandaā bill passed its second reading in parliament by a horrifying majority of 90-2. And thatās an average week in the developing world ā more than 77 countries currently criminalize homosexuality. Of those, 10 percent punish that āactā by death. In fact, recent victories here may even be causing a series of backlashes (often state-sponsored.)
The story of LGBT Americans is a story of enduring courage across generations. Last weekās victory was paved over by the sacrifice of quietly celebrated Americans. From Mattachine to Stonewall, from Act Up to the repeal of “Donāt Ask, Donāt Tell,” from Lawrence v. Texas to nationwide marriage equality, the courage and persistence of LGBT individuals and their allies has bent the arc of history closer to justice.
Like those brave Americans, LGBT leaders in the developing world now demand fair treatment in healthcare, education, housing or public policy. And like their U.S. counterparts, they dare to challenge discrimination even when it feels futile. As Igor Yasin ā a Russian LGBT activist ā wrote in 2013, āThe time has come: we canāt expect anyone to do it for us, and nothing is going to change unless we act.ā
Today we know, based on growing statistical evidence, that LGBT people are over-represented among the poorest. In fact, we believe that as much as American law and policy has embraced unprecedented recognition of LGBT rights, international development for LGBT people is in reverse gear, pushed into regression by governments and the complacency of bystanders to unprincipled and tragically harmful discrimination.
As American gays, lesbians, bisexual, and transgender people begin to enjoy more of the benefits of equality than they ever have before, the lives of our LGBT brothers and sisters abroad often are, truly solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short. In a recent socio-economic survey we carried out in India, 80 percent of transgender respondents reported working in begging or sex work due to the lack of other options. This is an impediment to international development. One cannot eliminate poverty while ignoring such paralyzing discrimination which affects hundreds of millions.
Sadly, international organizations have been reluctant to support LGBT movements abroad because of their own entrenched cultural issues. Discrimination against LGBT people is often perceived as culturally permissible. In fact, my own organization, the World Bank Group, has spent none of its own $5 billion annual administrative budget to address LGBT discrimination in the past. A coalition of Nordic member countries have contributed from their own funds $250,000 (0.005 percent of the Bankās own administrative funds) to the topic in the last two years.
This grant allowed my team to launch needed studies on the amplitude and impact of discrimination worldwide. It also allowed us to bring global LGBT leaders to make the case for greater protection and inclusion in development initiatives. Together we literally shamed the World Bank into creating a sexual orientation and gender identity task force just a few months ago. One single task force does not make an international Stonewall. And yet, itās a place to start.
Perhaps more frustratingly, we LGBT people cannot rely on others to argue on our behalf. Our movement has been one supported by allies, but led from within. We must demand our fair share of development resources to benefit our brothers and sisters embattled abroad. And we must not be intimidated (back) into silence. Our movement has never succeeded ā and has always suffered ā in silence.
As has recently been reported by this and other LGBT outlets, my own efforts to speak up at the World Bank along with a group of LGBT organizations were the subject of a year-long $1+ million investigation and my very public demotion. Such personal costs do not compare to those paid by the LGBT activists who came before me. Perhaps that is one measure of progress. But they also pale in comparison to the price paid by LGBT activists today in Egypt, Russia or Turkey. We must not idle while discrimination is tolerated abroad. We must not be shaken, or silenced, or stymied by intimidation at home. And above all, we must, as Jamaican activist Angeline Jackson reminds us, remain hopeful: “We are not beaten; we are strong and we are resilient, and we are working for change.”
Fabrice Houdart is a country officer for the Maghreb at the World Bank. Since 2011, he is also a strong voice for greater consideration of LGBT people in international Development. In May this year, he faced disciplinary measures allegedly for having shared an official-use only document with a coalition of LGBT rights organizations pushing for greater protection for LGBT people worldwide. He lives with his twin boys in Washington, D.C.
Commentary
Sexting with younger guy has me asking: How queer am I?
Reflections on LGBTQ life in 2024
Once upon a time, not all that long ago, a man sexted another man.
There were words. There were pictures. There were filthy questions and even filthier responses. You know, the way a good sexting convo ought to be, for those who dabble.
One man was 33. The other, 24. And while it comes as no shock that I was the 33-year-old, it may be more surprising to learn it was the 24-year-old who grabbed the reins.
What kinks you into? he asked.
Shit ā I didnāt know. I barely even bottomed before the pandemic, and now I had to know my kinks?
Iām open, I replied, evasively. You?
His response left me coughing: āLove musk sweat ws public group rough bb verbal bate edge roleplay and very open-minded.ā
Now Iām no prude (in fact, many would call me a downright whore) but this young man articulating his kinks and fetishes in such detail blew my mind. When did he learn what he liked? At 24, all I wanted was to top a guy and leave with as little communication or attachment as possible. At 33, I wasnāt sure what a few of the items he listed even meant.
Perhaps I shouldnāt be surprised when young men ā and the younger generation across the LGBTQ spectrum in general ā have already figured out their sexual interests. I arrived in D.C. from Idaho in 2008 as a fresh-faced 18-year-old; I came out three years later in 2011. Attitudes toward queerness have shifted substantially since then, and these days it is undeniably easier for younger people to explore their sexual and gender identities (which, by the way, is fantastic).
But this conversation left me wondering: What do I like? I havenāt sought out that many new sexual experiences, and while fetishes, kinks, and sexual desires can seem trivial, theyāre inextricably intertwined with gender and relationships. If I canāt articulate what I like in the sack (or in public, if I dare), then how do I know what Iām seeking from a long-term partner, or if thatās even what I want?
As soon as I came out, I thought my job was done. All I needed after that was to snatch up a cutie and settle down. Instead, my identity centered on building my career in politics, where sexual openness isnāt as appreciated. I, like many D.C. queers around me, moved here bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to change the world for good.
Then came a tough lesson: Just because I wanted to improve the world didnāt mean people wanted me to. I was inexplicably fired from not one job but two, and suddenly the do-gooder in me grew jaded. The career I dedicated years to was suddenly ripped from my hands, and I became so disillusioned I didnāt even want it back. Oh, and the cherry on top: My boyfriend dumped me two days later.
Once everything unraveled, I wondered: Was the me of the past the me I truly wanted? Or was I reflecting back what I thought everyone wanted me to be?
Well, a few major meltdowns and an extended slut phase later, my life couldnāt be more different. I now work at a new gay bar in town to support myself, and Iāve given myself space to pursue the arts. This former straight-laced, type-A, tightly wound gay abandoned the safe track and he couldnāt be more terrified. He also couldnāt be more excited.
But losing my old career also left an existential-sized hole in my identity. So, as I sexted this 24-year-old with newfound awareness of my limitations, I decided this must change.
How? As I said, I work at a gay bar in one of the queerest cities in America. Now more than ever Iām surrounded by those who are LGBTQ and every shade in between. Why not learn from those around me, whether younger, older, or around the same age, but whose experiences are no less queer? Why not carve out time to have in-depth discussions and discover what the possibilities are?
If being queer means to go against the established norms of gender and sexuality, then thereās still plenty of territory for me to explore. No longer can ābottomā or ātopā be my only options.
So, the purpose of this column ā aptly titled Queer Quest ā is to capture my exploration of queer identity. Itās not to teach you as much as it is to teach myself, and you can either learn alongside me or simply be entertained. At the very least, Iāll have a series of portraits on what itās like to be queer in the mid 2020s. At most, Iāll have a better understanding of who I am as a queer person.
Then maybe, just maybe, Iāll become a better sexter.
Jake Stewart is a D.C.-based writer.
Commentary
What will you do to make Pride safe this year?
Anxiety reigns among American Jews after Oct. 7
Each year, hundreds of thousands of Jews and supporters of Israel attend Pride marches. With a few exceptions, these spaces have always been safe and welcoming for the broader Pride community.
But this year is different.
For American Jews, anxiety reigns as we head into this Pride season. The appalling rise of antisemitism since Oct. 7 forces us to ask difficult questions. As many Jews increasingly feel alienated and excluded from progressive spaces, weāre left to wonder: If I wear a Jewish symbol, march with a Jewish group, or wave a rainbow flag adorned with the Star of David, will I be safe at Pride?
Even before Oct. 7, LGBTQ Jews had plenty of reason to feel trepidation about their safety at Pride. From blanket bans on Stars of David at past Pride gatherings to antisemitism on display at the recent Sydney Pride, too often Jews feel forced to choose between their LGBTQ and Jewish identities and hide their connection to Israel.
Since Oct. 7, terms like “apartheid,” “genocide” and “Zionism equals racism” are increasingly thrown around casually, often without a nuanced understanding of their impact or the realities they oversimplify. This rhetoric not only alienates but also endangers Jewish queer people. It makes us feel emotionally unsafe. It increases the chances that we will be physically unsafe as well.
We must not allow the Israel-Palestine conflict to be imported into Pride.
I will always remember the euphoria of the first Pride rally I attended. I was barely 18 years old, in a crowd of people of all ages, races, genders and gender orientations ā and they were like me. Queer. It felt safe. It was the first time I experienced that feeling of safety, and it will always stay with me.
Like Pride events everywhere, it was a vibrant, colorful space for LGBTQ people to celebrate our true authentic selves, without fear or reservation.
But that feeling of safety wasnāt shared by everyone in my small New England town. I soon noticed a few people scattered throughout the crowd wearing paper bags over their heads, with eye holes so they could see but not be seen. I later learned that those faceless people were teachers who, in those days before civil rights protections, needed to protect their identities and their careers.
They did not feel safe. Will Jews and those who are connected to Israel feel safe this year?
The history of Pride is a testament to courage in the face of adversity. It wasn’t long ago when attending Pride events was a defiant act against societal norms, where participants like those teachers faced tangible threats of discrimination, ridicule and even violence. Even today in some places, our queer community still navigates a gauntlet of hatred as we try to celebrate who we are.
It’s crucial to recognize that within the Jewish community, there is a wide spectrum of views on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, including many who are deeply committed to advocating for Palestinian rights. In fact, many of the 1,200 innocent Israelis murdered on Oct. 7 were Zionists who devoted their lives to reconciliation and peace with their Arab neighbors.
We are at a pivotal moment, one that demands action: What can we do to ensure Pride remains a safe space for everyone, including Jewish participants?
It’s imperative that Pride committees around the country proactively address these concerns. They must implement training programs focused on de-escalation and fostering an environment of understanding and respect.
As individuals who stand in solidarity with the values of Pride, each of us must consider our role in this effort. Will you march alongside those of us who feel vulnerable, offering your presence as a shield against intolerance? Will you engage in dialogues that challenge the importation of external conflicts into Pride, advocating instead for a celebration that unites rather than divides?
The true test of inclusivity at Pride lies not merely in welcoming a diverse crowd, but in ensuring that every participant feels safe and valued. If we remain indifferent to the vulnerabilities faced by Jewish queer people this Pride season, we will fall short of the very ideals of inclusivity and solidarity that Pride stands for.
Just as we expect schools to protect trans and nonbinary students like Nex Benedict, we have a responsibility in the LGBTQ community to ensure that people can carry an Israeli flag or a Palestinian flag, wear a yarmulke or a hijab and be safe.
As we look forward to this year’s Pride, let us commit to making it a space where safety is not a privilege afforded to some but a right enjoyed by all. Let’s engage with our local Pride committees, advocate for comprehensive safety measures and stand in solidarity with those who feel at risk.Ā
Only then can we celebrate the true spirit of Pride, rooted in love, acceptance and the unwavering belief in equality for all.
Ethan Felson is the executive director of A Wider Bridge.
Commentary
A hero has fallen: A tribute to Mike Berman
Former HRC board co-chair was a sophisticated political adviser
A great hero has fallen. He was a gift to many but all should know that he was one of the greatest gifts ever to the LGBTQ community. Mike Berman was among the most sophisticated political advisers in the history of this country. For the past three generations he has advised presidents, and an army of elected officials, strategists, and operatives. Mike was among a handful of straight people elected to the board of the Human Rights Campaign, the nationās largest civil rights organization working to advance gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender equality. He was so trusted, he was then elected to co-chair the board of that institution.
Like so many, I feel so blessed and grateful to have had the benefit of Mikeās wisdom and insight throughout my tenure as president of the Human Rights Campaign. He went on to be a key adviser to each and every HRC leader and a true champion of equality.
He told us that to know us was to love us and how to slay political dragons in a new way. A life-long Democrat, his political acumen was brilliant and rooted in finding practical solutions across political lines. He understood back in 1995 (when my tenure began) that over time, most Americans would shed their bias and come to see LGBTQ Americans as worthy of dignity and equality.
In many ways, Mike was one of the key architects of how HRC was able to forge relationships and garner support from unlikely parts of the political spectrum. I learned so much from Michael about the way social change actually takes place. He more than anyone understood that progress cannot be made and this nation will not be healed unless both parties come together around shared values. In our time, that feels like an impossible formula. Yet the majority of this ruthlessly divided Congress voted to uphold marriage equality last year.
In addition to the LGBTQ community, Mike was a true believer in female leadership. He helped a legion of women rise to positions of power in Washington and beyond. He did so for the sheer joy of watching women rise in politics and as captains of industry. He grew up in an Orthodox Jewish family in Duluth, Minn. His father was Bob Dylanās godfather. (You have to love a state that can produce Bob Dylan, Prince and, of course, Mike Berman!) He was also a beloved gentleman. There was nothing more special than a lunch and a rose at I Ricchi, one of his favorite D.C. restaurants.
Each year, Mike would host a special Valentineās Lunch for a wide variety of women, all dear friends and colleagues. Even in the face of medical challenges, he soldiered on. The invitations to this yearās Valentineās lunch went out last week.
I am a direct beneficiary of Mikeās love and counsel. The Human Rights Campaign family will forever cherish him. Our love and support goes out to Mikeās family, friends and his wonderful wife, Debbie Cowan.
Elizabeth Birch is former president of HRC.