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Strong’s concordance

Alabama football superfan and D.C. resident comfortable with new role as a trans-masculine role model

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At 30, Eli Strong has become the local face of trans-masculine men for all who watched last week’s ‘American Transgender’ on the National Geographic channel. (Blade photo by Michael Key)

Eli Strong is a Washington-based trans-masculine University of Alabama fanatic and family man who became a television star and local hero last week thanks to a groundbreaking National Geographic documentary, “American Transgender.”

“I really appreciate all of the attention its been getting.” Strong told the Blade this week via phone when we called to chat about the reaction to the documentary, which took audiences into the lives of three transgender people living in different places around the country.

“It’s been a bit of a whirlwind for the last few days,” Strong says. “It’s been a snowball. I was already working with (National Center for Transgender Equality), but as soon as they posted about it, Huffington Post Tweeted about it, [the Washington Blade] Tweeted about it, GLAAD, and suddenly when you Googled it, it went from 10 hits, to just before the documentary aired it was pages and pages.”

Strong sounds both humbled and invigorated by the positive attention the documentary has received in the transgender community.

“I think the documentary can and did do good.”

Strong — now a database coordinator at Avalere, a health care advisory services company in Dupont Circle — came to Washington for an internship at Human Rights Campaign several years ago and followed that with a five-year stint at NARAL Pro-Choice America. However, Strong’s heart is in his home state of Alabama where his accepting family still lives.

We talked Strong’s obsession, football at his alma mater the University of Alabama.

“We lost a couple of good players,” he says, lighting up, recalling being at last season’s national championship game in New Orleans. “But I think It’ll be another good year.”

Strong studied social work at Alabama and received both his bachelor’s degree and masters degree from the University Alabama, as did both his parents. He says his wife — whom he’s celebrating his one-year anniversary with next week — knows that weekends in the fall belong to Alabama football in their house.

“Even in the darkest days of Alabama football, if you put us up against some of the best teams in the country, every year I look at that schedule and I go, ‘We can beat every team on the schedule’ and I feel the same this year.”

When it comes to his involvement in “American Transgender,” though, Strong says he and other trans leaders were “gun-shy” about the special before it aired based on prior television portrayals of the trans community that had been deemed “distasteful” or that “pushed someone to answer questions that they weren’t comfortable with.”

“I have every confidence that its going to turn out positive,” Strong says he told friends concerned about a sensationalized portrayal. “I had been very up front with National Geographic about what I didn’t want to discuss, and they very much respected those boundaries.”

“Those same people have said that it did turn out really well, and that they thought it was very well done and very respectful and very educational,” Strong says. “Some people have even said they’d hoped it be an ongoing series, rather than a one-off documentary show.”

WASHINGTON BLADE: What’s the reaction to “American Transgender” been like since the premier?

ELI STRONG: Everything that’s been said to me directly has been positive. I’ve seen one or two negative comments, but these weren’t people that have probably ever known a trans person. But for all the people that have contacted me directly, it’s been really positive for them.

I was up until about 12:30 that night talking to people all over the country on Facebook just saying, “Thank you for sharing your story and putting that out there.” They said it really meant a lot to them to see someone that had a similar path that they did. I heard from a lot of my family that thought it was really well done.

I feel like in general from the trans population and my family that everyone feels that not only was it a good presentation and that they enjoyed the stories, but that the way that National Geographic actually went about it was very tasteful and respectful of all those involved.

BLADE: You said some people were “gun-shy” that the depiction might be distasteful. What where they afraid of?

STRONG: A lot of people in the trans community had a very large problem when [Thomas Beattie] had gone on “Oprah,” where Oprah said, “Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty,” and asked about his genitalia. I was very upfront and said, “If you’re not married to me, its not really any of your business.” As a trans person, I’m a whole person, I’m not the sum of what surgery I have and haven’t had.

One of the things that I really enjoyed about this project was when I first discussed my participation in the documentary with [the producers] one of the things that made me feel more comfortable was that other than that opening segment on the show, there was no narration. Everything that was narrated was taken directly from mine and Jim and Clare’s direct interviews, and I thought that was a great way to do it, because there would never be a question of, “Is that how they really felt or is NatGeo putting words in their mouth.”

BLADE: What’s it like to go through that process in the D.C. area?

STRONG: I think it makes it both easier and harder. The easier part is something that I find that most people understand immediately. It’s a more liberal place to be. You have more access to groups and to people who are like you and like minds so you can discuss these issues or find people who have gone through the process and things like that. So in that way it’s a little easier. There’s a larger queer community, there are surgeons that are in the area, there are doctors at Whitman Walker that have experience so you don’t have to worry about — like say — had I gone through this in Alabama, with a doctor that may have never treated a trans person, and having a very hard time finding those that do.

But its also harder because living in a much more liberal area, and a much more politically correct area, people in D.C. are much more accustomed to gender variance. That being the case, when I lived in Alabama, even before I identified as male, I was “sirred” constantly. “Yes sir,” or “Can I help you sir.”

I was seen as much more male in Alabama, because the way I presented my gender, was not the way that they saw, it’s how they normally saw male, so to them it’s like, “You fit into this box.”

While in D.C., it’s both positive and negative that they are used to gender variance, but it becomes very frustrating for trans men that when I used to walk into a place and be completely presenting as male, someone would still “ma’am” me, because they would think, “This is a masculine lesbian and I don’t want to offend this person by saying ‘he.’”

It took at least three-and-a-half years of being on testosterone before people completely stopped saying “ma’am” to me.

I will tell you this though, I will take the negatives of D.C. over anywhere else any day when it comes to transition.

BLADE: What kind of legal hurdles does the trans community still face in D.C.?

STRONG: I don’t know so much if it’s the laws as it is the adherence to those laws. In D.C., I am protected from discrimination when it comes to employment, I am protected as far as the fact I can relatively easily get my drivers license changed, get my name changed.

And with outlets like the Washington Blade who have always made it much easier to post your name change documentation at a much lower rate than, say, a regular paper would, that does make it easier, and those laws are all there.

The problem comes in adherence to those laws and training employees on those laws.

There’s a law in D.C. that says you use the restroom as the gender you present as. There’s also a law that says if you have a single-use restroom, they have to be gender neutral. But just because that law exists, doesn’t mean that every business in D.C. follows that law or is even aware of that law. So do you want to bring it up and fight the good fight, or do you want to not make yourself the center of attention, and point this out? Now you’ve just outed yourself. The main factor in making that decision for me is safety. If I feel unsafe in that moment, I’m not going to say anything. I’m not going to do anything. I’m going to find a way out of that situation. While bathrooms should never be the central issue, its still a big issue, because, in my view, it’s the one place in public where you’re at your most vulnerable. There are a lot of restaurants that I will frequent because they will adhere to that law, without question.

BLADE: How did your involvement with “American Transgender” come about?

STRONG: I am on the coordinating committee for a D.C.-area trans-masculine social and support group. They found us and they simply sent the webmaster and myself an email and said, “Here is our project, can we email your group and ask people to participate?” and we said absolutely.

I think the reason they told me that they really like my story is because it was kind of ironic that I’m from the state of Alabama, and my entire family is about as Republican and very conservative and Catholic — not just Catholic as in I go to church every week, but as in my stepdad is in the Knights of Columbus and my mother is a Eucharistic Minister, and she does announcements every week and they are very involved in the church — and to have as much support as I have had coming from that environment, I think that they really found it very engaging and very hopeful and interesting to show.

BLADE: How did you feel after you watched the full documentary?

STRONG: Proud. I was very proud of not only how it was done, but how it came through once it was all finished. I was proud of my family for stepping up and putting themselves out there. I was very proud of all of the people that had spoken out. I looked around the room and had a lot of friends at the viewing party and I was very proud of them for being there the whole time.

BLADE: Are you a role model?

STRONG: If it’s a positive role model, then sure. I would like to think that I’m a role model, without that sounding really self-centered, only in so much as if something that I say or do can shed a positive light on the community or help somebody out … then sure. As long as it’s a positive one.

BLADE: What advice would you give to young people realizing that they are transgender?

STRONG: Be patient. Be patient with yourself. Be patient with those around you — particularly your family. I feel like a lot of people in the queer community, not just trans folks, but even when I came out as a lesbian at 16, one of the things that I lacked was patience. Even though I’d only kind of admitted it to myself three days before my mom found out, it was me, so I was OK with it so much faster than anybody else was. I didn’t understand, and said, “Well, I’m fine with this, why can’t you be OK with it?”

Just giving those around you the time to sort through it and just talk to them as much as you are able and they are willing.

And having patience with yourself and having patience with the fact that while you feel you weren’t born in the body you should have been, you can’t change that overnight and it can get very frustrating, because it’s expensive to transition and it’s not easy to transition. Just be patient and enjoy the process and try to learn from it as much as you can.

I found that having that patience with a lot of folks has brought us closer together and has made me a lot more sure in knowing who I am and being comfortable with who I am.

I really tried to figure out in that process of, “OK, there is a certain amount of time that I’m going to have to wait to save money and really figure out who I am.” I took advantage of that time to really explore who I was and what kind of person am I going to be. Because this isn’t just the end, just because you go through surgeries and hormones, that’s the beginning of your life, so what kind of life do you want it to be?

BLADE: What’s been the most fulfilling part of transitioning?

STRONG: Two things. One is feeling much more whole and who I am. For a long time, when I realized I was attracted to women, I thought, “Well I must be a lesbian,” and that was it, but I think I wasn’t happy with me. I constantly was battling this screaming voice. Now I feel so much more whole and much more calm.

The other part is not just feeling it myself, but having other people see it. A great secondary plus is that’s how other people see me now, especially my family. It’s great not to be “ma’amed” by a stranger, but to have my mother love me not as her oldest daughter, but as her oldest son.

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Arts & Entertainment

How Dolly became a folk saint for Appalachian queers

Judging others is ‘God’s job, not a human responsibility or capacity’

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Dolly Parton (Photo by DFree/Bigstock)

American singer-songwriter and actress Dolly Parton died last month. Parton’s death was announced by the family with a tribute video in which her nephew Bryan Seaver noted that her final wish was to rest in a “beautiful bed of plush cotton” so that she could finally be comfortable after a lifetime of wearing rhinestones. Fans across the country and the Internet thanked her and took up the mantle — wearing rhinestones, cowgirl boots, and glittering hats to honor her legacy and hosted events incorporating her favorite colors (pink and yellow) alongside butterflies in celebration of her life. 

Parton’s memorial has drawn an interestingly pan-generational crowd — from conservative elders to their queer and trans grandchildren and everyone in between who admired Parton not just for her music but also her commitment to putting books in the hands of children across the country to openly and defiantly expressing her love and affection for LGBTQ+ people, including her long-time driver and assistant who is a trans man. But for one group of folks, queer and trans Appalachians, Parton represented something special — the possibility of coexistence. 

Along with being for some the first person who told queer and trans people she loved and affirmed them in her Tennessee drawl, Parton fiercely defended the fact that she and we could hold two things at once. For Parton, this meant being both a devout Christian and an out and proud advocate for the LGBTQ+ community, and for many queer and trans Appalachians, this meant the ability to be LGBTQ+ and people of faith, people from the country, people with accents who don’t have to give up their mountain heritage in order to join communities of affinity and solidarity. 

Parton made clear that loving LGBTQ+ people was not a caveat to her faith, but it was directly the result of it. Parton was an LGBTQ+ ally because of how she was raised and what she believed. It was because she believed in a social justice gospel that she stood in solidarity with the LGBTQ+ community, even in the face of intense criticism (including after her death when eulogized by far right Christian leaders and public figures). 

Dolly repeatedly shared her love for and faith in the LGBTQ+ community, most recently in the face of a Tennessee anti-trans law reported that sharing with The Hollywood Reporter: “I just want everybody to be treated good. They cannot help that any more than I can help being Dolly Parton.” 

“I do not believe we should criticize and judge other people,” she said. “We should be accepting and loving. We are all God’s children.” Judging, she believed, was “God’s job, not a human responsibility or capacity. 

For many LGBTQ+ people raised in faith traditions that continue to deny our existence or who argue that we can be changed to fit a cisgender, heterosexual norm, Parton was the devout Christian “meemaw” who we all knew — for some of us, they knew and loved us as we were and are but for others, the people who spoke and speak with her Appalachian tongue hurt us and continue to do so in the name of faith, continue to shun and try to convert us in the name of the same God Dolly knew.

Dolly never tried to change who we were. She believed that we, just like her, were exactly who we were meant to be. She never spurned her LGBTQ+ friends, questioning if the rumors she was a lesbian were so bad and joking that “if I hadn’t been a woman, I would’ve been a drag queen.” Parton changed lives, I know, by being a proud Christian woman who continued to love and stand with LGBTQ+ people.

And unlike other LGBTQ+ allies in name only, Parton’s allyship was never performative. Parton co-owned Sandollar Productions, one of the companies that produced “Common Threads: Stories from the Quilt,”the 1989 documentary about the NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt. She wrote the Oscar-nominated song “Travelin’ Thru” for the 2005 film “Transamerica,” and when a Dollywood visitor was asked to turn a shirt recognizing marriage equality inside out to cover the message, she publicly apologized, offered refunds, and reinforced that “all families are welcome” at the park. 

Hers was a Christian faith that stood firmly on action (best seen in her support of marginalized communities across the country), and for queer and trans people, including The Skeptic Pastor, also known as Jeremy Steele, it was a ministry. Steele put it best when he described Dolly Parton as “a lifeline and honestly a minister to me.” “When I hear these things, when I see these videos, she’s talking to me, and especially growing up in the Deep South, closeted queer, this was everything.” 

This was another critical part of Parton’s legacy. The 80-year-old was also fiercely open about and proud of her Tennessee heritage. Despite continued attacks on her appearance, her background, and the way that she spoke (something many people from the mountains experience), Parton did not try to cover up her humble beginnings and how they shaped not just her understanding of faith but her legacy of action.

For many LGBTQ+ people born and raised in Appalachia (along with the South and Midwest), we rarely see representation of our strong and mighty communities in the media. In all three regions, gay bars served as vital sanctuaries and community hubs in rural and blue-collar regions, although many are shuttering after the economic downtown during the COVID-19 pandemic and communities shifting increasingly online. From The Shamrock in Bluefield, W. Va., to The Jungle in Nashville, and The Mark III Tap Room in Muncie, Ind., these gay bars show us that LGBTQ+ people have always and will always live across the country. 

While depictions of thriving queer communities on screen are largely contained to the East and West Coasts, the queer and trans people raised with accents and communities like Dolly’s know that there is a rich queer subculture at home, one that our ancestors created for us and we continue to nurture and celebrate. But largely because of continued trauma from far right religious pundits, of continued caricatures of “red necks,” and out of fear that people with our voices and our backgrounds will be bigoted and close-minded, we are hesitant to share who we are, to show up as ourselves in spaces of affinity and solidarity. 

Parton’s legacy, as queer artist Grace Haley painted beautifully on a bright pink horse after the icon’s passing, was that “it’s okay to be gay in Tennessee.”

As someone who was incredibly hesitant joining queer spaces in Washington, D.C. because of growing up in the Midwest and going to school in the Rust Belt, I didn’t know if I’d fit in, but as soon as I walked up to the doors at the Adams-Morgan gay bar Pitchers and saw that cardboard cut out of Dolly Parton in the window, I realized I was welcome — not just the part of me that is queer but also the part of me that pronounces it “pee-can” pie. 

Yes, Parton was and is controversial for many reasons. Some have argued that she could have been louder on some issues, especially the ongoing human rights crisis in Gaza, and some have pointed out that she died a millionaire. Although she gave away much of her money and established programs promoting literacy and healthcare in rural parts of the country, including in Tennessee where she grew up, some pointed out that she still contributes to a system of capitalist exploitation that extracted humanity out of her own community. Others have also criticized her involvement with the U.S. military.

But it’s important to remember that Parton was human. When people call her an angel, we all know what they mean, but it can sometimes make it hard for us to feel that we can ever be who she was or that we should even try.

Instead, people online are urging others to remember her instead as a folk hero, as a folk saint — complex and human but also someone that we can become, someone whose memory we can call on for strength and hope in times of struggle. As the LGBTQ+ community mourns her passing, I am heartened to see her recognized in this way, to see her canonized in the queer community as a folk saint of Appalachia, a folk saint of queer allies, and a folk saint of the Appalachian queers just like me. 

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PHOTOS: SUNFESTIVAL

Annual dance party held amid weekend festivities in Rehoboth Beach

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A scene from the SUNFESTIVAL Night of Dance at the Rehoboth Beach Convention Center on Sept. 6. (Washington Blade photo by Daniel Truitt)

The annual CAMP Rehoboth fundraiser, SUNFESTIVAL, was held over Labor Day weekend in Rehoboth Beach, Del. The festival included a massive dance party at the Rehoboth Beach Convention Center on Sunday.

(Washington Blade photos by Daniel Truitt)

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Nominate your favorites for the Blade’s 25th annual Best Of LGBTQ DC Awards

Submit your picks now; top 5 vote getters move to the finals

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Nominate your favorites in our Best of LGBTQ DC categories through Sept. 24. The top 5 nominees from each category will become finalists with voting starting Sept. 28. Our 2026 Best of LGBTQ DC winners will be announced at the Best of LGBTQ DC Awards Party on Thursday, Oct. 22 and our special issue will come out on Friday, Oct. 23. One vote per email address per day. Good luck!

CLICK HERE TO NOMINATE OR USE THE FORM BELOW!

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