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Gay Iraq war vet: From homeless to activist

Perez overcame PTSD and the streets to land job at DC Center

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Eric Perez, gay news, Washington Blade
Eric Perez, gay news, Washington Blade

Eric Perez, pictured with his God-sister, spent a year and a half on the streets of Washington. (Photo courtesy of Perez)

Editor’s note: This is part three of a four-part series on LGBT homelessness.

Eric Perez, 27, has lived in D.C. for the past six years. Despite risking his life protecting our country in Iraq, by 2010, he found himself sleeping in alleys in the city.  Eric joined the U.S. Army at age 19. By 20, the Bronx native and first generation American was serving a 13-month tour in Iraq as a military police officer. Eric served during the time that “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” which prohibited gays and lesbians from openly serving in the military, was law. Thus, there were no formal protections for LGBT service members.

“I was attacked by one of my NCO’s [noncommissioned officers] and when I followed up with my company, they didn’t do anything about it,” Perez said. “During my tour in Iraq, I was seeing a therapist because of my issues with early onset PTSD.” His therapist knew that he was gay and was supportive. “The clinical staff is much more progressive than other job classifications in the military. They kept it hidden from my unit. I was out to my therapist and out to my platoon. My platoon was supportive, but the rest of the company wasn’t.”

“Once I got back to the U.S., I decided to cut all ties to the military. I had a hard time adjusting. My parents didn’t understand PTSD [post traumatic stress disorder] and they were getting divorced, so I didn’t have much support. My mom and I get along well, but she is an immigrant from El Salvador, so she doesn’t understand mental health concerns, especially in an LGBT person.”

Perez and his sister decided to move to D.C. Upon arriving, he obtained a position in the restaurant industry. He worked a variety of positions, including as a bartender, host, server and dishwasher.

“Making minimum wage and depending on tips is not as reliable as one would hope,” he said. He started drinking heavily to cope with his PTSD issues. There were four people staying in a one-bedroom apartment. His sister “eventually got exhausted from my heavy drinking and being a little depressed, so she said she couldn’t keep helping me,” Perez said.

He did not make enough money working in the restaurant industry to afford an apartment, so after moving out of the one-bedroom apartment, Perez slept on the streets. “I would go into an alleyway and sleep there.” Other times, he would “go behind some of the stores closed in Dupont Circle and try to get some sleep” or “find a random hookup at a bar. When I could afford it, I would get a cheap motel. I was in Iraq, so I knew how to survive.”

Eric continued to work the entire year and a half that he was homeless. He did not tell people about his living situation. “Bartenders would ask because I would stay a period on their couch. People kind of knew. It’s never something I would share with people. I did create relationships with guys just to make sure I had a place to sleep.”

At times, he would stay with his uncle. There were six people staying in a two-bedroom unit and it was full of bedbugs. When I slept upstairs, I would show up to work covered in bites. I would cover myself in [rubbing] alcohol and pretend nothing happened.” He decided he was better off staying in the basement. “I slept on a chair and covered myself in plastic.”

While staying at his uncle’s place, Perez met a friend of his uncle’s, who was also staying there. The two of them moved to a one-bedroom apartment in Fort Totten. He paid $200 a month for his portion of the rent. He worked multiple jobs and he and his roommate were eventually able to get a two-bedroom apartment in the Georgia Avenue/Petworth area.

After moving to Petworth, Eric met and began dating his boyfriend Scott, who he has now been with for more than two years. Eric and Scott now live in Brightwood Park.  “My boyfriend made me realize that my military experience was valuable. He pushed me and I started getting benefits from Whitman-Walker. I started picking myself up more. I began working on my resume, speaking out and getting more involved in the community. That is something that I think all veterans should do.”

Perez started looking for new employment through the D.C. Department of Employment Services and through online resources. After sending out numerous resumes, he “found a job on Craigslist that described everything I’ve been through.” He applied for the position at Helping Our Brothers and Sisters (HOBS), which provides direct service and financial assistance to LGBT veterans, service members and those suffering from PTSD. The executive director reached out to him, interviewed him and hired him as an executive assistant. He also “did a lot of direct service work” for HOBS.

HOBS ran out of funding for his position, so he began working at the DC Center for the LGBT Community in May 2014. In his current position with the DC Center, Perez coordinates services for LGBT veterans and the LGBT Latino Task Force.

“I only make $625 every two weeks, but I’m doing something that I’m very passionate about and that causes me to be very immersed in the job and in the community.”

His position, which is funded through an AmeriCorps grant, ends this May. He will then continue to work with the DC Center part-time through another grant from Brother Help Thyself and the Mayor’s Office on Latino Affairs. He was recently elected as an officer with the Latino GLBT History Project.

 

Lateefah Williams’ column ‘Life in the Intersection’ focuses on the intersection of race, gender and sexual orientation. Reach her at [email protected] or @lateefah4DC

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Elusive safety: what new global data reveals about gender, violence, and erasure

Movements against gender equality, lack of human rights data contributing factors.

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Activists who participated in a 2024 Pride march in San Salvador, El Salvador, carry a banner that calls for a country where “being a woman is not a danger.” (Photo courtesy of Colectivo Alejandría)

“My identity could be revealed, people can say whatever they want [online] without consequences. [Hormone replacement therapy] is illegal here so I’m just waiting to find a way to get out of here.”

-Anonymous respondent to the 2024 F&M Global Barometers LGBTQI+ Perception Index from Iraq, self-identified as a transgender woman and lesbian

As the campaign for 16 Days Against Gender-Based Violence begins, it is a reminder that gender-based violence (GBV) — both on– and offline — not only impacts women and girls but everyone who has been harmed or abused because of their gender or perceived gender. New research from the Franklin & Marshall (F&M) Global Barometers and its report A Growing Backlash: Quantifying the Experiences of LGBTQI+ People, 2022-2024 starkly show trends of declining safety among LGBTQI+ persons around the world.

This erosion of safety is accelerated by movements against gender equality and the disappearance of credible human rights data and reporting. The fight against GBV means understanding all people’s lived realities, including those of LGBTQI+ people, alongside the rights we continue to fight for.

We partnered together while at USAID and Franklin & Marshall College to expand the research and evidence base to better understand GBV against LGBTQI+ persons through the F&M Global Barometers. The collection of barometers tracks the legal rights and lived experiences of LGBTQI+ persons from 204 countries and territories from 2011 to the present. With more than a decade of data, it allows us to see how rights have progressed and receded as well as the gaps between legal protections and lived experiences of discrimination and violence. 

This year’s data reveals alarming trends that highlight how fear and violence are, at its root, gendered phenomena that affect anyone who transgresses traditional gender norms.

LGBTQI+ people feel less safe

Nearly two-thirds of countries experienced a decline in their score on the F&M Global Barometers LGBTQI+ Perception Index (GBPI) from 2022-2024. This represents a five percent drop in global safety scores in just two years. With almost 70 percent of countries receiving an “F” grade on the GBPI, this suggests a global crisis in actual human rights protections for LGBTQI+ people. 

Backsliding on LGBTQI+ human rights is happening everywhere, even in politically stable, established democracies with human rights protections for LGBTQI+ people. Countries in Western Europe and the Americas experienced the greatest negative GBPI score changes globally, 74 and 67 percent, respectively. Transgender people globally reported the highest likelihood of violence, while trans women and intersex people reported the highest levels of feeling very unsafe or unsafe simply because of who they are. 

Taboo of gender equality

Before this current administration dismantled USAID, I helped create an LGBTQI+ inclusive whole-of-government strategy to prevent and respond to GBV that highlighted the unique forms of GBV against LGBTQI+ persons. This included so-called ‘corrective’ rape related to actual or perceived sexual orientation, gender identity, or expression” and so-called ‘conversion’ therapy practices that seek to change or suppress a person’s gender identity or expression, sexual orientation, or sex characteristics. These efforts helped connect the dots in understanding that LGBTQI+ violence is rooted in the same systems of inequality and power imbalances as the broader spectrum of GBV against women and girls. 

Losing data and accountability

Data that helps better understand GBV against LGBTQI+ persons is also disappearing. Again, the dismantling of USAID meant a treasure trove of research and reports on LGBTQI+ rights have been lost. Earlier this year, the US Department of State removed LGBTQI+ reporting from its annual Human Rights Reports. These played a critical role in providing credible sources for civil society, researchers, and policymakers to track abuses and advocate for change. 

If violence isn’t documented, it’s easier for governments to deny it even exists and harder for us to hold governments accountable. Yet when systems of accountability work, governments and civil society can utilize data in international forums like the UN Universal Periodic Review, the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women, and the Sustainable Development Goals to assess progress and compliance and call for governments to improve protections. 

All may not be lost if other countries and donors fill the void by supporting independent data collection and reporting efforts like the F&M Global Barometers and other academic and civil society monitoring. Such efforts are essential to the fight against GBV: The data helps show that the path toward safety, equality, and justice is within our reach if we’re unafraid of truth and visibility of those most marginalized and impacted.

Jay Gilliam (he/him/his) was the Senior LGBTQI+ Coordinator at USAID and is a member of the Global Outreach Advisory Council of the F&M Global Barometers.

Susan Dicklitch-Nelson (she/her/hers) is the founder of the F&M Global Barometers and Professor of Government at Franklin & Marshall College.

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Second ‘lavender scare’ is harming our veterans. We know how to fix it

Out in National Security has built Trans Veterans State and Local Policy Toolkit

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(Photo by Cheryl Casey via Bigstock)

Seventy years after the first “lavender scare” drove LGBTQ Americans from public service, a second version is taking shape. Executive directives and administrative reviews have targeted transgender servicemembers and veterans, producing a new wave of quiet separations and lost benefits.

The policy language is technical, but the result is personal. Veterans who served honorably now face disrupted healthcare, delayed credentials, or housing barriers that no act of Congress ever required. Once again, Americans who met every standard of service are being told that their identity disqualifies them from stability.

Out in National Security built the Trans Veterans State and Local Policy Toolkit to change that. The toolkit gives state and local governments a practical path to repair harm through three measurable actions.

First, continuity of care. States can keep veterans covered by adopting presumptive Medicaid eligibility, aligning timelines with VA enrollment, and training providers in evidence-based gender-affirming care following the World Professional Association for Transgender Health Standards of Care Version 8.

Second, employment, and licensing. Governors and boards can recognize Department of Defense credentials, expedite licensing under existing reciprocity compacts, and ensure nondiscrimination in state veterans’ employment statutes.

Third, housing stability. States can designate transgender-veteran housing liaisons, expand voucher access, and enforce fair-housing protections that already exist in law.

Each step can be taken administratively within 90 days and requires no new federal legislation. The goal is straightforward: small, state-level reforms that yield rapid, measurable improvement in veterans’ daily lives.

The toolkit was introduced during a Veterans Week event hosted by the Center for American Progress, where federal and state leaders joined Out in National Security to highlight the first wave of state agencies adopting its recommendations. The discussion underscored how targeted, administrative reforms can strengthen veterans’ healthcare, employment, and housing outcomes without new legislation. Full materials and implementation resources are now available at outinnationalsecurity.org/public-policy/toolkit, developed in partnership with Minority Veterans of America, the Modern Military Association of America, SPARTA Pride, and the Human Rights Campaign.

These are technical fixes, but they carry moral weight. They reaffirm a basic democratic promise: service earns respect, not suspicion.

As a policy professional who has worked with veterans across the country, I see this moment as a test of civic integrity. The measure of a democracy is not only who it allows to serve but how it treats them afterward.

The second “lavender scare” will end when institutions at every level decide that inclusion is an obligation, not an exception. The toolkit offers a way to begin.

For more information or to access the toolkit once it is public, visit outinnationalsecurity.org/toolkit.

Lucas F. Schleusener is the CEO of Out in National Security.

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Miss Major Griffin-Gracy paved the way for today’s transgender rights revolution

The annual Transgender Day of Remembrance is Nov. 20

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Miss Major at the 2024 Democratic National Convention in Milwaukee. (Washington Blade photo by Michael Key)

I’ll never forget the moment Miss Major Griffin-Gracy looked me in the eye and said, “Baby, you can’t wait for permission to exist. You take up space because you deserve to be here.” It was 2016, and I had just finished interviewing her at Northeastern University. What began as a professional encounter became something far deeper. She welcomed me into her chosen family with the fierce love that defined her life’s work.

That advice didn’t just change my perspective; it changed my life. Miss Major had an extraordinary ability to see potential in people before they saw it themselves. She offered guidance that gave permission to dream bigger, fight harder, and live unapologetically in a world that often told transgender people we didn’t belong.

Today, as we reflect on her legacy, we must remember that Miss Major didn’t simply join the transgender rights movement. She helped create it. Her activism laid the foundation for every victory we celebrate today and continues to shape how we fight for justice, dignity, and equality.

To understand her impact, we return to June 28, 1969, when a 27-year-old Black transgender woman stood her ground at the Stonewall Inn. While history often overlooks the transgender women of color at the heart of that uprising, Miss Major was there, refusing to back down when police raided the bar that night.

After Stonewall, she dedicated her life to building what became the infrastructure of liberation. When she fought that night, she wasn’t only resisting police brutality, she was declaring that transgender people, especially Black trans women, would no longer be invisible. Her message was simple: We exist. We matter. We’re not going anywhere.

Miss Major coupled courage with care. She knew that real change required systems of support. While many focused on changing laws, she focused on changing lives. Her work with incarcerated transgender women stands as one of her most powerful legacies. She visited prisons, wrote letters, sent commissary money, and made sure these women knew they weren’t forgotten. It wasn’t glamorous work, but it was transformative.

She built a model of organizing rooted in love and mutual aid communities supporting each other while demanding structural change. That approach became the blueprint for today’s transgender rights organizations, especially those centering Black trans women.

In a time when invisibility was often the safest choice, Miss Major chose visibility. She shared her story again and again, using her own life as proof of transgender resilience and humanity. Her openness created connection and understanding. People who heard her speak couldn’t ignore the truth of our existence or the strength it takes to live authentically.

Miss Major also believed leadership meant creating space for others. After our first meeting, she connected me with other activists, shared resources, and reminded me that my voice mattered. Talk to any transgender activist who came up in the last two decades, and you’ll hear a similar story. She saw something in others and nurtured it until it bloomed.

Her fingerprints are everywhere in today’s movement: in grassroots organizing, in the centering of the most marginalized voices, and in the insistence that liberation must be rooted in love and community. The victories we see (from healthcare access to broader public recognition) are built on the foundation she laid.

In one of our last conversations, Miss Major told me, “This movement isn’t about me. It’s about all of us. And it’s about the ones who come after us.” Her life reminds us that movements are sustained by love as much as protest, by the daily act of showing up for one another as much as by the marches and rallies.

As anti-trans violence rises and our rights face relentless attacks, we need Miss Major’s example more than ever. We need her fierce love, her unwavering defiance, and her belief that we deserve to take up space. Her legacy reminds us that the fight for our lives is also the fight for our joy.

This Transgender Day of Remembrance, we honor those we’ve lost and celebrate those who dared to live fully, people like Miss Major, who taught us that remembrance must come with responsibility. Her life calls us to protect one another, to build systems of care, and to keep fighting for a world where every trans person can live safely and proudly.

The mother of our movement may be gone, but the family she built lives on. The best way to honor her is to continue her work: to build, to protect, to love without limits, and to remind every trans person that they belong, they matter, and they are loved.

Miss Major Griffin-Gracy, left, with Chastity Bowick (Photo courtesy of Catalina Silva)

Chastity Bowick is an award-winning activist, civil rights leader, and transgender health advocate who has dedicated her career to empowering transgender and gender-nonconforming communities. She led the Transgender Emergency Fund of Massachusetts for seven years, opening New England’s first trans transitional home, and now heads Chastity’s Consulting & Talent Group, LLC. In 2025, she became Interim Executive Director of the Marsha P. Johnson Institute, continuing her mission to advance equity, safety, and opportunity for trans people. Her leadership has earned her numerous honors recognizing her impact on social justice and community care.

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