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Transgender group in NM defends work with ICE

Agency under fire for treatment of detainees, facility conditions



The Cibola County Correctional Center in Milan, N.M., has a unit specifically for transgender women who are in the custody of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. The Transgender Resource Center of New Mexico makes monthly trips to the facility in rural New Mexico. (Photo courtesy of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement)

ALBUQUERQUE, N.M. — The co-director of a transgender advocacy group in New Mexico last week said it remains important to work with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

Adrien Lawyer of the Transgender Resource Center of New Mexico on June 12 told the Washington Blade and a reporter from Univision that his group “liaisons with ICE” and with the Cibola County Correctional Center in Milan, N.M., where ICE has a unit specifically for trans women who are in their custody.

CoreCivic, a private company that was once known as the Corrections Corporation of America, operates the Cibola County Correctional Center, which is roughly 80 miles west of Albuquerque in rural Cibola County. The minimum-security men’s facility also houses cisgender men who are in the custody of ICE, the U.S. Marshals and Cibola County.

Lawyer said he and his colleagues are able to visit the Cibola County Correctional Center every four weeks.

He said the Transgender Resource Center of New Mexico works with therapists who volunteer their time to meet with trans women who are detained in the facility. Lawyer added “a good friend of ours who owns a hair salon” now goes to the Cibola County Correctional Center twice a month and teaches classes at a hair salon that has been created inside the unit.

Lawyer said the Transgender Resource Center of New Mexico adds $20 to each detainee’s account after each visit in order to make phone calls and buy food and other items in the facility’s commissary. Lawyer also noted the Transgender Resource Center of New Mexico gives them cellphones, backpacks, makeup, personal hygiene products, snacks and clothing from the group’s thrift store to trans upon their release from ICE custody.

“One of the things that they always tell us is that they appreciate sort of being reassured that they are not being forgotten in there, that they’re not really alone, they have a tie to the transgender community on the outside and feel like they’re still cared about and remembered,” said Lawyer.

Lawyer spoke with the Blade and Univision a few hours after ICE for the first time granted reporters access to the unit.

ICE Assistant Field Office Director William Jepsen, who is based in Albuquerque, led the tour. Cibola County Correctional Center Assistant Warden Betty Judd and Corey A. Price, field office director for ICE Enforcement and Removal Operations in El Paso, Texas, were among those who accompanied the reporters alongside ICE spokespeople Danielle Bennett and Leticia Zamarripa.

Andrew Lorenzen-Strait, the former deputy assistant director of ICE Enforcement and Removal Operations (ERO) Custody Programs who recently became director of children and family services at the Baltimore-based Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service, spoke with the Blade and Univision alongside Lawyer at his office in Albuquerque. Bennett and Zamarripa also attended the reporters meeting.

From left: Andrew Lorenzen-Strait of the Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service and Transgender Resource Center of New Mexico Co-director Adrien Lawyer speak with reporters at the Transgender Resource Center of New Mexico’s offices in Albuquerque, N.M., on June 12, 2019. Lorenzen-Strait, who is openly gay, was previously the deputy assistant director of ICE Enforcement and Removal Operations (ERO) Custody Programs. (Washington Blade photo by Michael K. Lavers)

The unit for trans ICE detainees opened at the Cibola County Correctional Center in 2017.

A unit for gay, bisexual and trans detainees opened at the Santa Ana Jail in Santa Ana, Calif., in 2011. ICE from 2014 only housed trans detainees in the unit, which closed three years later after its contract with the facility ended.

“Cibola was the only facility I could get in time to be able to not have a disruption of care from 60 transgender women in California in lieu of protective custody, which would be ‘individual isolation,'” Lorenzen-Strait told the Blade when asked why ICE decided to create a unit for trans detainees in rural New Mexico. “That wasn’t an option for me as a pragmatic progressive. I had to figure out a solution that would work. and thankfully this field director, Corey Price, said yes.”

Roxsana Hernández died in NM hospital while in ICE custody

The Cibola County Correctional Center has come under increased scrutiny since Roxsana Hernández, a trans Honduran with HIV who had been briefly detained at the facility, died at an Albuquerque hospital on May 25, 2018, while in ICE custody.

Alejandra, a prominent trans rights activist from El Salvador who has been in ICE custody since 2017, remains detained at the Cibola County Correctional Center.

Lawyer said he met Alejandra when he visited the facility for the first time in May 2018. He added he and his colleagues try to see her each time they visit the Cibola County Correctional Center.

“There’s been some times that we’ve come to visit when she’s been a little bit too depressed and didn’t want to come,” said Lawyer.

Nicole García Aguilar, a trans Honduran woman who the U.S. has granted asylum, was released from the Cibola County Correctional Center less than three hours before the reporters began their tour. Tania Linares García of the National Immigration Justice Center, a Chicago-based organization that represents García, on Tuesday in a statement to the Blade sharply criticized ICE.

“Nicole is only 24 years old,” said Linares. “She spent the past year of her young life suffering in immigration jails.”

“Her time in ICE custody was unconscionably painful, including spending months in solitary confinement solely because of her gender identity, even as she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, anxiety and depression, and suffered panic attacks,” she added.

An LGBTI advocacy group in San Pedro Sula, Honduras, honors Roxsana Hernández, a transgender woman with HIV who died in a hospital in Albuquerque, N.M., on May 25, 2018, while in the custody of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Hernández had been detained at the Cibola County Correctional Center in rural New Mexico before her death. (Washington Blade photo by Michael K. Lavers)

The Blade on June 11 visited the Santa Fe Dreamers Project, an Albuquerque-based immigrant advocacy group, and spoke with three trans women from Mexico and El Salvador who were previously in ICE custody at the Cibola County Correctional Center. They each criticized the facility for inadequate medical care and bad food.

Alma Rosa Silva-Banuelos, who works with the Santa Fe Dreamers Project, told the Blade on June 11 that ICE also allows the Trans Latin@ Coalition, a Los Angeles-based group with which she is also affiliated, to access the Cibola County Correctional Center and work directly with the trans women there who are in their custody.

Silva-Banuelos helps coordinate a project that allows trans women to stay in an apartment in Albuquerque once ICE releases them from custody. She said the former detainees receive clothes and a home-cooked meal before they leave New Mexico.

Silva-Banuelos added the Santa Fe Dreamers Project also helps trans women in ICE custody find sponsors that will allow them to be released from ICE custody.

“What we like to do is upon their release really make them feel like they’re at home, as we call it here in New Mexico, a bienvenida, a welcome, and (give) them a piece of humanity that was missing inside detention,” she told the Blade. “We like to bring that back so we can restore faith in society, faith in this country and help them start the healing process from the trauma of being detained.”

In spite of these efforts, Silva-Banuelos said the Cibola County Correctional Center’s remote location makes it difficult for advocates and relatives to access the ICE detainees who live in the trans unit.

“There’s very little access and resources out in Milan, N.M.,” said Silva-Banuelos. “It’s harder to access for visitation, for any number of things.”

Kristin Greer Love, a staff attorney for the American Civil Liberties Union of New Mexico, echoed these concerns

“We were very concerned about that news because Cibola is so remote for legal service providers, for medical service providers,” she told the Blade during an interview at her Albuquerque office on June 11, referring to ICE’s announcement that it would create a unit for trans women in their custody at the Cibola County Correctional Center. “It’s also in New Mexico, a place that’s severely under resourced. And to have people who are exceptionally vulnerable in ICE detention in the middle of the desert who need access to care and shouldn’t be detained in the first place, we were really worried about that.”

Love noted the ACLU of New Mexico has challenged prolonged detentions at the facility that have lasted more than six months. She told the Blade these cases highlight “the really egregious conditions that exist at Cibola.”

The Cibola County Correctional Center is located in Milan, N.M., in rural Cibola County. It is roughly half way between Albuquerque and Gallup, N.M., on Interstate 40. (Washington Blade photo by Michael K. Lavers)

‘It is truly a prison facility’

ICE officials have repeatedly defended its treatment of trans people in their custody.

A 2015 memorandum then-ICE Executive Associate Director of Enforcement and Removal Operations Thomas Homan signed requires personnel to allow trans detainees to identify themselves based on their gender identity on data forms. The directive, among other things, also contains guidelines for a “respectful, safe and secure environment” for trans detainees and requires detention facilities to provide them with access to hormone therapy and other trans-specific health care.

The trans women from Mexico and El Salvador with whom the Blade spoke said they all received hormones while in ICE custody at the Cibola County Correctional Center. The Transgender Resource Center of New Mexico has also conducted a “cultural competency” and “trans 101” training with the facility’s staff.

Lawyer said prolonged detention “doesn’t make sense to me as a civilian.” He added “the vast majority of the women that we’ve visited with and gotten to know in Cibola have not been charged with any crime whatsoever.”

“They’re serving time in a prison that has contracts with the country out there and the U.S. Marshals,” said Lawyer. “It is truly a prison facility.”

“Many of them have already experienced harrowing violence — physical and sexual violence in their home countries — they come here to try to be a little bit safer and the first thing that happens is they’re placed in a prison facility,” he added. “There certainly are these alternatives we can create or expand programs that allow them not to be held in a prison while they’re going through the process.”

Lorenzen-Strait agreed with Lawyer when he said ICE can allow trans women to pursue their asylum cases outside of detention.

“ICE can exercise its discretion and parole these individuals into welcoming and affirming communities,” said Lorenzen-Strait.

“What we need to do is invest in alternatives,” he added. “We need to ensure that ICE has the ability to employ its discretion under the immigration laws and work more hand and glove with people like Adrien.”


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Honoring the legacy of New Orleans’ 1973 UpStairs Lounge fire

Why the arson attack that killed 32 gay men still resonates 50 years later



Fifty years ago this week, 32 gay men were killed in an arson attack on the UpStairs Lounge in New Orleans. (Photo by G.E. Arnold/Times-Picayune; reprinted with permission)

On June 23 of last year, I held the microphone as a gay man in the New Orleans City Council Chamber and related a lost piece of queer history to the seven council members. I told this story to disabuse all New Orleanians of the notion that silence and accommodation, in the face of institutional and official failures, are a path to healing.  

The story I related to them began on a typical Sunday night at a second-story bar on the fringe of New Orleans’ French Quarter in 1973, where working-class men would gather around a white baby grand piano and belt out the lyrics to a song that was the anthem of their hidden community, “United We Stand” by the Brotherhood of Man. 

“United we stand,” the men would sing together, “divided we fall” — the words epitomizing the ethos of their beloved UpStairs Lounge bar, an egalitarian free space that served as a forerunner to today’s queer safe havens. 

Around that piano in the 1970s Deep South, gays and lesbians, white and Black queens, Christians and non-Christians, and even early gender minorities could cast aside the racism, sexism, and homophobia of the times to find acceptance and companionship for a moment. 

For regulars, the UpStairs Lounge was a miracle, a small pocket of acceptance in a broader world where their very identities were illegal. 

On the Sunday night of June 24, 1973, their voices were silenced in a murderous act of arson that claimed 32 lives and still stands as the deadliest fire in New Orleans history — and the worst mass killing of gays in 20th century America. 

As 13 fire companies struggled to douse the inferno, police refused to question the chief suspect, even though gay witnesses identified and brought the soot-covered man to officers idly standing by. This suspect, an internally conflicted gay-for-pay sex worker named Rodger Dale Nunez, had been ejected from the UpStairs Lounge screaming the word “burn” minutes before, but New Orleans police rebuffed the testimony of fire survivors on the street and allowed Nunez to disappear.

As the fire raged, police denigrated the deceased to reporters on the street: “Some thieves hung out there, and you know this was a queer bar.” 

For days afterward, the carnage met with official silence. With no local gay political leaders willing to step forward, national Gay Liberation-era figures like Rev. Troy Perry of the Metropolitan Community Church flew in to “help our bereaved brothers and sisters” — and shatter officialdom’s code of silence. 

Perry broke local taboos by holding a press conference as an openly gay man. “It’s high time that you people, in New Orleans, Louisiana, got the message and joined the rest of the Union,” Perry said. 

Two days later, on June 26, 1973, as families hesitated to step forward to identify their kin in the morgue, UpStairs Lounge owner Phil Esteve stood in his badly charred bar, the air still foul with death. He rebuffed attempts by Perry to turn the fire into a call for visibility and progress for homosexuals. 

“This fire had very little to do with the gay movement or with anything gay,” Esteve told a reporter from The Philadelphia Inquirer. “I do not want my bar or this tragedy to be used to further any of their causes.” 

Conspicuously, no photos of Esteve appeared in coverage of the UpStairs Lounge fire or its aftermath — and the bar owner also remained silent as he witnessed police looting the ashes of his business. 

“Phil said the cash register, juke box, cigarette machine and some wallets had money removed,” recounted Esteve’s friend Bob McAnear, a former U.S. Customs officer. “Phil wouldn’t report it because, if he did, police would never allow him to operate a bar in New Orleans again.” 

The next day, gay bar owners, incensed at declining gay bar traffic amid an atmosphere of anxiety, confronted Perry at a clandestine meeting. “How dare you hold your damn news conferences!” one business owner shouted. 

Ignoring calls for gay self-censorship, Perry held a 250-person memorial for the fire victims the following Sunday, July 1, culminating in mourners defiantly marching out the front door of a French Quarter church into waiting news cameras. “Reverend Troy Perry awoke several sleeping giants, me being one of them,” recalled Charlene Schneider, a lesbian activist who walked out of that front door with Perry.

(Photo by G.E. Arnold/Times-Picayune; reprinted with permission)

Esteve doubted the UpStairs Lounge story’s capacity to rouse gay political fervor. As the coroner buried four of his former patrons anonymously on the edge of town, Esteve quietly collected at least $25,000 in fire insurance proceeds. Less than a year later, he used the money to open another gay bar called the Post Office, where patrons of the UpStairs Lounge — some with visible burn scars — gathered but were discouraged from singing “United We Stand.” 

New Orleans cops neglected to question the chief arson suspect and closed the investigation without answers in late August 1973. Gay elites in the city’s power structure began gaslighting the mourners who marched with Perry into the news cameras, casting suspicion on their memories and re-characterizing their moment of liberation as a stunt. 

When a local gay journalist asked in April 1977, “Where are the gay activists in New Orleans?,” Esteve responded that there were none, because none were needed. “We don’t feel we’re discriminated against,” Esteve said. “New Orleans gays are different from gays anywhere else… Perhaps there is some correlation between the amount of gay activism in other cities and the degree of police harassment.” 

(Photo by H.J. Patterson/Times-Picayune; reprinted with permission)

An attitude of nihilism and disavowal descended upon the memory of the UpStairs Lounge victims, goaded by Esteve and fellow gay entrepreneurs who earned their keep via gay patrons drowning their sorrows each night instead of protesting the injustices that kept them drinking. 

Into the 1980s, the story of the UpStairs Lounge all but vanished from conversation — with the exception of a few sanctuaries for gay political debate such as the local lesbian bar Charlene’s, run by the activist Charlene Schneider. 

By 1988, the 15th anniversary of the fire, the UpStairs Lounge narrative comprised little more than a call for better fire codes and indoor sprinklers. UpStairs Lounge survivor Stewart Butler summed it up: “A tragedy that, as far as I know, no good came of.” 

Finally, in 1991, at Stewart Butler and Charlene Schneider’s nudging, the UpStairs Lounge story became aligned with the crusade of liberated gays and lesbians seeking equal rights in Louisiana. The halls of power responded with intermittent progress. The New Orleans City Council, horrified by the story but not yet ready to take its look in the mirror, enacted an anti-discrimination ordinance protecting gays and lesbians in housing, employment, and public accommodations that Dec. 12 — more than 18 years after the fire. 

“I believe the fire was the catalyst for the anger to bring us all to the table,” Schneider told The Times-Picayune, a tacit rebuke to Esteve’s strategy of silent accommodation. Even Esteve seemed to change his stance with time, granting a full interview with the first UpStairs Lounge scholar Johnny Townsend sometime around 1989. 

Most of the figures in this historic tale are now deceased. What’s left is an enduring story that refused to go gently. The story now echoes around the world — a musical about the UpStairs Lounge fire recently played in Tokyo, translating the gay underworld of the 1973 French Quarter for Japanese audiences.

When I finished my presentation to the City Council last June, I looked up to see the seven council members in tears. Unanimously, they approved a resolution acknowledging the historic failures of city leaders in the wake of the UpStairs Lounge fire. 

Council members personally apologized to UpStairs Lounge families and survivors seated in the chamber in a symbolic act that, though it could not bring back those who died, still mattered greatly to those whose pain had been denied, leaving them to grieve alone. At long last, official silence and indifference gave way to heartfelt words of healing. 

The way Americans remember the past is an active, ongoing process. Our collective memory is malleable, but it matters because it speaks volumes about our maturity as a people, how we acknowledge the past’s influence in our lives, and how it shapes the examples we set for our youth. Do we grapple with difficult truths, or do we duck accountability by defaulting to nostalgia and bluster? Or worse, do we simply ignore the past until it fades into a black hole of ignorance and indifference? 

I believe that a factual retelling of the UpStairs Lounge tragedy — and how, 50 years onward, it became known internationally — resonates beyond our current divides. It reminds queer and non-queer Americans that ignoring the past holds back the present, and that silence is no cure for what ails a participatory nation. 

Silence isolates. Silence gaslights and shrouds. It preserves the power structures that scapegoat the disempowered. 

Solidarity, on the other hand, unites. Solidarity illuminates a path forward together. Above all, solidarity transforms the downtrodden into a resounding chorus of citizens — in the spirit of voices who once gathered ‘round a white baby grand piano and sang, joyfully and loudly, “United We Stand.” 

(Photo by Philip Ames/Times-Picayune; reprinted with permission)

Robert W. Fieseler is a New Orleans-based journalist and the author of “Tinderbox: the Untold Story of the Up Stairs Lounge Fire and the Rise of Gay Liberation.”

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New Supreme Court term includes critical LGBTQ case with ‘terrifying’ consequences

Business owner seeks to decline services for same-sex weddings



The U.S. Supreme Court is to set consider the case of 303 Creative, which seeks to refuse design services for same-sex weddings. (Blade file photo by Michael Key)

The U.S. Supreme Court, after a decision overturning Roe v. Wade that still leaves many reeling, is starting a new term with justices slated to revisit the issue of LGBTQ rights.

In 303 Creative v. Elenis, the court will return to the issue of whether or not providers of custom-made goods can refuse service to LGBTQ customers on First Amendment grounds. In this case, the business owner is Lorie Smith, a website designer in Colorado who wants to opt out of providing her graphic design services for same-sex weddings despite the civil rights law in her state.

Jennifer Pizer, acting chief legal officer of Lambda Legal, said in an interview with the Blade, “it’s not too much to say an immeasurably huge amount is at stake” for LGBTQ people depending on the outcome of the case.

“This contrived idea that making custom goods, or offering a custom service, somehow tacitly conveys an endorsement of the person — if that were to be accepted, that would be a profound change in the law,” Pizer said. “And the stakes are very high because there are no practical, obvious, principled ways to limit that kind of an exception, and if the law isn’t clear in this regard, then the people who are at risk of experiencing discrimination have no security, no effective protection by having a non-discrimination laws, because at any moment, as one makes their way through the commercial marketplace, you don’t know whether a particular business person is going to refuse to serve you.”

The upcoming arguments and decision in the 303 Creative case mark a return to LGBTQ rights for the Supreme Court, which had no lawsuit to directly address the issue in its previous term, although many argued the Dobbs decision put LGBTQ rights in peril and threatened access to abortion for LGBTQ people.

And yet, the 303 Creative case is similar to other cases the Supreme Court has previously heard on the providers of services seeking the right to deny services based on First Amendment grounds, such as Masterpiece Cakeshop and Fulton v. City of Philadelphia. In both of those cases, however, the court issued narrow rulings on the facts of litigation, declining to issue sweeping rulings either upholding non-discrimination principles or First Amendment exemptions.

Pizer, who signed one of the friend-of-the-court briefs in opposition to 303 Creative, said the case is “similar in the goals” of the Masterpiece Cakeshop litigation on the basis they both seek exemptions to the same non-discrimination law that governs their business, the Colorado Anti-Discrimination Act, or CADA, and seek “to further the social and political argument that they should be free to refuse same-sex couples or LGBTQ people in particular.”

“So there’s the legal goal, and it connects to the social and political goals and in that sense, it’s the same as Masterpiece,” Pizer said. “And so there are multiple problems with it again, as a legal matter, but also as a social matter, because as with the religion argument, it flows from the idea that having something to do with us is endorsing us.”

One difference: the Masterpiece Cakeshop litigation stemmed from an act of refusal of service after owner, Jack Phillips, declined to make a custom-made wedding cake for a same-sex couple for their upcoming wedding. No act of discrimination in the past, however, is present in the 303 Creative case. The owner seeks to put on her website a disclaimer she won’t provide services for same-sex weddings, signaling an intent to discriminate against same-sex couples rather than having done so.

As such, expect issues of standing — whether or not either party is personally aggrieved and able bring to a lawsuit — to be hashed out in arguments as well as whether the litigation is ripe for review as justices consider the case. It’s not hard to see U.S. Chief Justice John Roberts, who has sought to lead the court to reach less sweeping decisions (sometimes successfully, and sometimes in the Dobbs case not successfully) to push for a decision along these lines.

Another key difference: The 303 Creative case hinges on the argument of freedom of speech as opposed to the two-fold argument of freedom of speech and freedom of religious exercise in the Masterpiece Cakeshop litigation. Although 303 Creative requested in its petition to the Supreme Court review of both issues of speech and religion, justices elected only to take up the issue of free speech in granting a writ of certiorari (or agreement to take up a case). Justices also declined to accept another question in the petition request of review of the 1990 precedent in Smith v. Employment Division, which concluded states can enforce neutral generally applicable laws on citizens with religious objections without violating the First Amendment.

Representing 303 Creative in the lawsuit is Alliance Defending Freedom, a law firm that has sought to undermine civil rights laws for LGBTQ people with litigation seeking exemptions based on the First Amendment, such as the Masterpiece Cakeshop case.

Kristen Waggoner, president of Alliance Defending Freedom, wrote in a Sept. 12 legal brief signed by her and other attorneys that a decision in favor of 303 Creative boils down to a clear-cut violation of the First Amendment.

“Colorado and the United States still contend that CADA only regulates sales transactions,” the brief says. “But their cases do not apply because they involve non-expressive activities: selling BBQ, firing employees, restricting school attendance, limiting club memberships, and providing room access. Colorado’s own cases agree that the government may not use public-accommodation laws to affect a commercial actor’s speech.”

Pizer, however, pushed back strongly on the idea a decision in favor of 303 Creative would be as focused as Alliance Defending Freedom purports it would be, arguing it could open the door to widespread discrimination against LGBTQ people.

“One way to put it is art tends to be in the eye of the beholder,” Pizer said. “Is something of a craft, or is it art? I feel like I’m channeling Lily Tomlin. Remember ‘soup and art’? We have had an understanding that whether something is beautiful or not is not the determining factor about whether something is protected as artistic expression. There’s a legal test that recognizes if this is speech, whose speech is it, whose message is it? Would anyone who was hearing the speech or seeing the message understand it to be the message of the customer or of the merchants or craftsmen or business person?”

Despite the implications in the case for LGBTQ rights, 303 Creative may have supporters among LGBTQ people who consider themselves proponents of free speech.

One joint friend-of-the-court brief before the Supreme Court, written by Dale Carpenter, a law professor at Southern Methodist University who’s written in favor of LGBTQ rights, and Eugene Volokh, a First Amendment legal scholar at the University of California, Los Angeles, argues the case is an opportunity to affirm the First Amendment applies to goods and services that are uniquely expressive.

“Distinguishing expressive from non-expressive products in some contexts might be hard, but the Tenth Circuit agreed that Smith’s product does not present a hard case,” the brief says. “Yet that court (and Colorado) declined to recognize any exemption for products constituting speech. The Tenth Circuit has effectively recognized a state interest in subjecting the creation of speech itself to antidiscrimination laws.”

Oral arguments in the case aren’t yet set, but may be announced soon. Set to defend the state of Colorado and enforcement of its non-discrimination law in the case is Colorado Solicitor General Eric Reuel Olson. Just this week, the U.S. Supreme Court announced it would grant the request to the U.S. solicitor general to present arguments before the justices on behalf of the Biden administration.

With a 6-3 conservative majority on the court that has recently scrapped the super-precedent guaranteeing the right to abortion, supporters of LGBTQ rights may think the outcome of the case is all but lost, especially amid widespread fears same-sex marriage would be next on the chopping block. After the U.S. Tenth Circuit Court of Appeals ruled against 303 Creative in the lawsuit, the simple action by the Supreme Court to grant review in the lawsuit suggests they are primed to issue a reversal and rule in favor of the company.

Pizer, acknowledging the call to action issued by LGBTQ groups in the aftermath of the Dobbs decision, conceded the current Supreme Court issuing the ruling in this case is “a terrifying prospect,” but cautioned the issue isn’t so much the makeup of the court but whether or not justices will continue down the path of abolishing case law.

“I think the question that we’re facing with respect to all of the cases or at least many of the cases that are in front of the court right now, is whether this court is going to continue on this radical sort of wrecking ball to the edifice of settled law and seemingly a goal of setting up whole new structures of what our basic legal principles are going to be. Are we going to have another term of that?” Pizer said. “And if so, that’s terrifying.”

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Kelley Robinson, a Black, queer woman, named president of Human Rights Campaign

Progressive activist a veteran of Planned Parenthood Action Fund



Kelley Robinson (Screen capture via HRC YouTube)

Kelley Robinson, a Black, queer woman and veteran of Planned Parenthood Action Fund, is to become the next president of the Human Rights Campaign, the nation’s leading LGBTQ group announced on Tuesday.

Robinson is set to become the ninth president of the Human Rights Campaign after having served as executive director of Planned Parenthood Action Fund and more than 12 years of experience as a leader in the progressive movement. She’ll be the first Black, queer woman to serve in that role.

“I’m honored and ready to lead HRC — and our more than three million member-advocates — as we continue working to achieve equality and liberation for all Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer people,” Robinson said. “This is a pivotal moment in our movement for equality for LGBTQ+ people. We, particularly our trans and BIPOC communities, are quite literally in the fight for our lives and facing unprecedented threats that seek to destroy us.”

Kelley Robinson IS NAMED as The next human rights Campaign president

The next Human Rights Campaign president is named as Democrats are performing well in polls in the mid-term elections after the U.S. Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, leaving an opening for the LGBTQ group to play a key role amid fears LGBTQ rights are next on the chopping block.

“The overturning of Roe v. Wade reminds us we are just one Supreme Court decision away from losing fundamental freedoms including the freedom to marry, voting rights, and privacy,” Robinson said. “We are facing a generational opportunity to rise to these challenges and create real, sustainable change. I believe that working together this change is possible right now. This next chapter of the Human Rights Campaign is about getting to freedom and liberation without any exceptions — and today I am making a promise and commitment to carry this work forward.”

The Human Rights Campaign announces its next president after a nearly year-long search process after the board of directors terminated its former president Alphonso David when he was ensnared in the sexual misconduct scandal that led former New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo to resign. David has denied wrongdoing and filed a lawsuit against the LGBTQ group alleging racial discrimination.

Kelley Robinson, Planned Parenthood, Cathy Chu, SMYAL, Supporting and Mentoring Youth Advocates and Leaders, Amy Nelson, Whitman-Walker Health, Sheroes of the Movement, Mayor's office of GLBT Affairs, gay news, Washington Blade
Kelley Robinson, seen here with Cathy Chu of SMYAL and Amy Nelson of Whitman-Walker Health, is the next Human Rights Campaign president. (Washington Blade photo by Michael Key)
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