Commentary
Gay Iraq war vet: From homeless to activist
Perez overcame PTSD and the streets to land job at DC Center

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.
Today, on World AIDS Day, we honor the resilience, courage, and dignity of people living with HIV everywhere especially refugees, asylum seekers, and queer displaced communities across East Africa and the world.
For many, living with HIV is not just a health journey it is a journey of navigating stigma, borders, laws, discrimination, and survival.
Yet even in the face of displacement, uncertainty, and exclusion, queer people living with HIV continue to rise, thrive, advocate, and build community against all odds.
To every displaced person living with HIV:
• Your strength inspires us.
• Your story matters.
• You are worthy of safety, compassion, and the full right to health.
• You deserve a world where borders do not determine access to treatment, where identity does not determine dignity, and where your existence is celebrated not criminalized.
Let today be a reminder that:
• HIV is not a crime.
• Queer identity is not a crime.
• Seeking safety is not a crime.
• Stigma has no place in our communities.
• Access to treatment, care, and protection is a human right.
As we reflect, we must recommit ourselves to building systems that protect not punish displaced queer people living with HIV. We must amplify their voices, invest in inclusive healthcare, and fight the inequalities that fuel vulnerability.
Hope is stronger when we build it together.
Let’s continue to uplift, empower, and walk alongside those whose journeys are too often unheard.
Today we remember.
Today we stand together.
Today we renew hope.
Abraham Junior lives in the Gorom Refugee Settlement in South Sudan.
Commentary
Perfection is a lie and vulnerability is the new strength
Rebuilding life and business after profound struggles
I grew up an overweight, gay Black boy in West Baltimore, so I know what it feels like not to fit into a world that was not really made for you. When I was 18, my mother passed from congestive heart failure, and fitness became a sanctuary for my mental health rather than just a place to build my body. That is the line I open most speeches with when people ask who I am and why I started SWEAT DC.
The truth is that little boy never really left me.
Even now, at 42 years old, standing 6 feet 3 inches and 225 pounds as a fitness business owner, I still carry the fears, judgments, and insecurities of that broken kid. Many of us do. We grow into new seasons of life, but the messages we absorbed when we were young linger and shape the stories we tell ourselves. My lack of confidence growing up pushed me to chase perfection as I aged. So, of course, I ended up in Washington, D.C., which I lovingly call the most perfection obsessed city in the world.
Chances are that if you are reading this, you feel some of that too.
D.C. is a place where your resume walks through the door before you do, where degrees, salaries, and the perfect body feel like unspoken expectations. In the age of social media, the pressure is even louder. We are all scrolling through each other’s highlight reels, comparing our behind the scenes to someone else’s curated moment. And I am not above it. I have posted the perfect photo with the inspirational “God did it again” caption when I am feeling great and then gone completely quiet when life feels heavy. I am guilty of loving being the strong friend while hating to admit that sometimes I am the friend who needs support.
We are all caught in a system that teaches us perfection or nothing at all. But what I know for sure now is this: Perfection is a lie and vulnerability is the new strength.
When I first stepped into leadership, trying to be the perfect CEO, I found Brené Brown’s book, “Daring Greatly” and immediately grabbed onto the idea that vulnerability is strength. I wanted to create a community at SWEAT where people felt safe enough to be real. Staff, members, partners, everyone. “Welcome Home” became our motto for a reason. Our mission is to create a world where everyone feels confident in their skin.
But in my effort to build that world for others, I forgot to build it for myself.
Since launching SWEAT as a pop up fundraiser in 2015, opening our first brick and mortar in 2017, surviving COVID, reemerging and scaling, and now preparing to open our fifth location in Shaw in February 2026, life has been full. Along the way, I went from having a tight trainer six pack to gaining nearly 50 pounds as a stressed out entrepreneur. I lost my father. I underwent hip replacement surgery. I left a relationship that looked fine on paper but was not right. I took on extra jobs to keep the business alive. I battled alcoholism. I faced depression and loneliness. There are more stories than I can fit in one piece.
But the hardest battle was the one in my head. I judged myself for not having the body I once had. I asked myself how I could lead a fitness company if I was not in perfect shape. I asked myself how I could be a gay man in this city and not look the way I used to.
Then came the healing.
A fraternity brother said to me on the phone, “G, you have to forgive yourself.” It stopped me in my tracks. I had never considered forgiving myself. I only knew how to push harder, chase more, and hide the cracks. When we hung up, I cried. That moment opened something in me. I realized I had not neglected my body. I had held my life and my business together the best way I knew how through unimaginable seasons.
I stopped shaming myself for not looking like my past. I started honoring the new ways I had proven I was strong.
So here is what I want to offer anyone who is in that dark space now. Give yourself the same grace you give everyone else. Love yourself through every phase, not just the shiny ones. Recognize growth even when growth simply means you are still here.
When I created SWEAT, I hoped to build a home where people felt worthy just as they are, mostly because I needed that home too. My mission now is to carry that message beyond our walls and into the city I love. To build a STRONGER DC.
Because strength is not perfection. Strength is learning to love an imperfect you.
With love and gratitude, Coach G.
Gerard Burley, also known as Coach G, is a D.C.-based fitness entrepreneur.
Commentary
Elusive safety: what new global data reveals about gender, violence, and erasure
Movements against gender equality, lack of human rights data contributing factors.
“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.
